That’s what Teresa of Avila called it: spiritual dryness. I’m going through a period of that. Suddenly, I become convinced I am going backwards, and it feels as if I am not just walking backwards, but falling backwards, making a spiritual fool of myself, unable to catch myself, unable to go forward, unable to see anything like a light at the end of this particular tunnel, unable to accept myself or my life or my efforts…..I am helpless.
The Compleat Narcissist. That’s me.
I read over and over again that change necessitates periods like this, and that sounds right, but what has to change? I become increasingly convinced that I don’t have the slightest idea of what the big picture looks like, and therefore it seems less and less worthwhile to attempt to gauge my progress based on what I think is happening, since that’s probably just a tiny piece of the puzzle. Ghani sent me another poem recently:
dry tomato seeds ondiary pages
a hapless summers’ white mushy bread sandwich with words.
Scrawny words below their station,
the last line heavily penned
all wild tangled hair
a violin bow skittering over strings
“how unworthy…. how unworthy”
”Beloved Friend help me burn this false thing!”
stop writing and Stop!
Happiness is the slant of wind where you sail
where you have always been
savant of the quiet hallelujah.” –Ghani Odell
I await the quiet hallelujah. Maybe that’s the point.