“Spiritual experience is
individual…”
(V. Ray)
A short, lively, lovely conversation with a nun several weeks ago got me thinking about the ecotone joining:
a.) profound, isolated, spiritual experiences with b.) the ongoing practice of spirituality.
This wise woman implied that there is a continuity to spiritual life that is crucial to knowing The Divine. I understand that she was talking about commitment to a spiritual path. I like that. I liked her.
“We are not separate from
everything else.”
(N. Goldberg)
I was relaying this conversation with the nun to an exceedingly bright writer-introvert I recently met. I also mentioned my own intermittent but continual revisiting of my inclination to be in a hermitage, nun or not. Retreating from the world is so easy for me; I chalk this up to the writer/introvert part of me with which I so readily identify.
But, too, I realize that I still need to give to the world, to be in it…to understand something of it…in order that I may offer myself to it in accordance with my sacred calling. I muster up all my hope and much of my courage to do this – whether I am working on my latest book, writing a passionate article about inner/outer nature guiding, reaching out for business networking, or taking a risk with somebody I mentor.
“I am conscious of…an irresistible
movement of existence which is going on within me.”
(Amiel)
“I can return to this…simplicity of
minimal needs, time to live without pressure, the solitude that first heals and
then magnificently nourishes.”
(J. H. Griffin)
For me, this practice-commitment of spiritual life is the meeting ground between the “burning bush” and the convent. It requires that I pay attention to the simple daily tasks, as well as to the ongoing work of spiritual living in - working in and with - and giving to - the world.
“Felt good to be home alone with
the expanse of a day and to close out [finish up] some tasks [that had been lingering, incomplete]. Just spent the last hour
watering the yards and gardens. I like the simplicity and aesthetics of it. I
like watching the soil get soaked and to see the flowers that spring up later as
a result. I love calm. Quiet. A few days ago I saw a shimmering electric blue
wet light in the forest canopy; my head told me it was the sun shining through,
but as it morphed to liquid green and then disappeared, I knew otherwise. It
was nothing ordinary. For now, I am settling. Settling. Deeper. Calming.
Trusting.”
(J. J. Wilhoit, Journal Entry: 29 Aug 2013)
All blog images created and/or photographed by Jennifer J. Wilhoit unless otherwise noted.
