Setting off on an Ignatian Prayer Adventure

A couple of months ago, I picked up The Ignatian Adventure by Kevin O'Brien. I read the opening chapters, then put it down to pick up a couple of other books, finish a report, and have just sat down with it again to begin the Ignatian exercises.

Right now, I'm on week 1, day 1. The process is as follows: begin with a prayer, read the Scripture passage or imagine the scene, pray, then review the prayer. 

Today's focus was Who is G-d for you? How does G-d see me?

I thought, Jesu, I have no idea. But that's the point, I guess.

The Scripture to pray over slowly and really feel was Isaiah 43:1-7.

Unexpectedly, I found myself shaken:

I have called you by name: you are mine.

When you pass through waters, I will be with you;

through rivers, you shall not be swept away.

When you walk through fire, you shall not be burned,

nor will flames consume you.

For I, the LORD, am your God,

the Holy One of Israel, your saviour.

I give Egypt as ransom for you,

Ethiopia and Seba^* in exchange for you.

Because you are precious in my eyes

and honored, and I love you,

I give people in return for you

and nations in exchange for your life.

Fear not, for I am with you;

from the east I will bring back your offspring,

from the west I will gather you.

I will say to the north: Give them up!

and to the south: Do not hold them!

Bring back my sons from afar,

and my daughters from the ends of the earth:

All who are called by my name

I created for my glory;

I formed them, made them.

You are mine. Something said to me over and over again by my parents, a statement of ownership, of my duty to them, not love - a claustrophobic phrase. But somehow, when I read this, it was like being held. You are mine: a shoulder to rest my head against, arms to be held in, somewhere to belong, sanctuary. Home.

Then: For me? You would do that for me? Walk with me through water and fire; give anything in exchange for me; gather what was scattered; demand my freedom from whom and whatever enslaves me? You love ME that much?

I don't get it. I can't even begin to comprehend it. To me, love has been duty, chains that bind, relentless taking on the part of others (witness those who show up only when they need to bend my ear about something or just vomit their stuff as if I'm a bucket, then go), dysfunction, needing to chase for crumbs of connection (witness no small proportion of my guy friends and EVERY man I've been romantically interested in).

But this? I don't understand this. I get DOING it, yes. But I don't understand it being done for me. No one does this. No one is there like this. There's always something to pay, usually the demand, conscious or not, that I am there, endlessly caring, giving, non-judgmental, non-human - no grumpiness, anger, darkness, needs of my own, just relentless compassion and giving of my gifts. Yet You would care enough to be with me through everything, to do anything for me, without my having to run after it or earn it?

I'm not sure I can relax into this. 

As I prayed, I fell asleep, because I really can't do a concentrated 40 minutes of prayer yet; I tend to do 5 min stints during the day, or keep it as an ongoing background conversation and that may be how I structure these exercises - I'm sure Ignatius would understand. 

As I always do, I dreamt.

I dreamt that I ran into a guy friend of mine who was being reserved - fitting the pattern I have (taking after my father, of course) - of guy friends who give intermittently, so you really have to stretch the connection in the same way you stretch that last bit of butter or jam to cover your bread. He was holding a little one, and I played with her, then put my hand on his arm and he stepped back. I was hurt by it, a bit angry, but curious too. 

Then the scene changed and we were at a party. The scene above was repeated, except this time, he stepped well away, into a dark alcove. My arm, still outstretched, was suddenly held reverently, as if it were the most precious thing in the world, and my hand kissed with the utmost love. The look on my friend's face was a mixture of WTF, anger/affront - almost possessiveness - and a sudden realisation that if someone valued me that much, maybe he valued me more than he thought. The man who had kissed my arm stepped in front of me - South Asian, turban, proper moustache and all - saluted me with his talwar and bowed. My first reaction was to recoil; my second, one of gratitude and affection. I curtsied in return. 

I have no doubt this - and other dreams - will be part of the exercises for me. There is much to unpack here, but at the moment, my reaction of recoiling is what's holding my interest: recoiling at the fact that he was South Asian, and thus too close to my father for comfort; recoiling because of discomfort at being publicly treated with such love; recoiling at the lavish expression of cherishing me. 

It also feels tied to this song that I rediscovered yesterday - one of a lover going to his beloved, expressing his love with abandon, the lover's only goal being to reach the beloved:

mahabuuba main aa rahaa huun
Beloved, I am coming.

jo khwaab dekha hai tujhko dikhaane
The dream I've seen I mean to show you

voh khwaab main laa rahaa huun
That dream, I'm bringing to you

chup kyon main rahuun ab kyon na kahuun
Why should I remain silent? Why shouldn't I tell you?

mere dil ka sukuun tu hai
You are my heart's peace.

Id quod volo?

To be that to someone and for them to be that to me.

I need and desire that in physical form, with another human being, and I will not apologise for or diminish that. Neither would He - marriage is a sacrament where each lover sanctifies their beloved, after all - an earthly witness to G-d's love for us.

But also, to the One who would walk through the waters and the fire with me,

Who would exchange anything to free me,

Who would bring me home from the ends of the earth,

Who would gather the scattered,

Who loves me with abandon, 

And whose I will always be...

to You I say:

Mera dil meri jaan mera saara jahaan
My heart, my soul, my whole world,
 

Saara armaan tu hai

All my desire is you.

Mere dil ka sukuun tu hai
You are my heart's peace.

That is who You, my G-d, are to me.

Where Moshe is reminded that Hashem's ways are not our ways...

This morning I discovered that I have 15,001 emails in my Yahoo inbox (that's almost 8 years' worth, for those who want to know), so I've taken it upon myself to delete at least 1,000 a day. Starting with the earliest, which I am deleting en masse, I've paused occasionally to read the odd email with an interesting subject line, or from a guy I later became involved with. As I read one from said gentleman and deleted it, another one from a cataloguing friend popped up to take its place: that became my current status. I saved that one. Then another - this one. As Prince of Egypt came into my consciousness yesterday (I posted Ashira L'Adonai on my facebook wall), I couldn't help but note the synchronicity. Another part of this synchronicity was that I happened to be listening to Chris de Burgh's One world yesterday, and the second verse begins:

I believe there is a God: but it doesn't mean that my God is greater than yours - it only means we all have the right to believe, 'cos nobody knows it for sure, for sure...

And as Archbishop Bloom points out in this story, not even he who met Hashem in the burning bush can define who G-d must be to the rest of us:

One day Moshe finds a shepherd in the desert. He spends the day with him and helps him milk his ewes, and at the end of the day he sees that the shepherd puts the best milk he has in a wooden bowl, which he places on a flat stone some distance away. So Moshe asks him what it is for, and the shepherd replies, "This is God's milk."

Moshe is puzzled and asks him what he means.

The shepherd says "I always take the best milk I possess and I bring it as an offering to God."

Moshe asks "And does God drink it?"

"Yes,” replies the shepherd, "he does."

Then Moshe feels compelled to enlighten the poor shepherd and he explains that God, being pure spirit, does not drink milk. Yet the shepherd is sure that He does and so they have a short argument, which ends with Moshe telling the shepherd to hide behind the bushes to find out whether in fact God does come to drink the milk.

Moshe then goes out to pray in the desert. The shepherd hides, the night comes, and in the moonlight the shepherd sees a little fox that comes trotting from the desert, looks right, looks left, and heads straight towards the milk, which he laps up, and disappears into the desert again. The next morning Moshe finds the shepherd quite depressed and downcast. "What's the matter," he asks.

The shepherd says "You were right. God is pure spirit and He doesn't want my milk."

Moshe is surprised and says "You should be happy. You know more about God than you did before."

"Yes, I do", replies the shepherd, "but the only thing I could give Him has been taken away from me."

Moshe sees the point. He retires into the desert and prays hard. In the night in a vsion, God speaks to him and says "Moshe, you were wrong. It is true that I am pure spirit. Nevertheless, I always accepted with gratitude the milk which the shepherd offered me, as the expression of his love: but since, being pure spirit, I do not need the milk, I shared it with this little fox, who is very fond of milk."

It reminds us that I AM THAT I AM, who is All that Is, lives in relationship with every part of creation - from the galaxies to the tiniest single cell - and that requires an infinite number of presentations to be in relationship: one for Moshe, one for the shepherd, and one for every being He is in relationship with, meeting them where they are.

Finding meaning

There are moments when, after what seems like an eternity of being stuck, you begin to feel the flow. Pay attention to the earthquake, wind and fire, but don't be taken in by them. Remember to cover your face and step to the cave's entrance when you hear the "qol dmamah daqah" or the "still, small voice".

Today, the still, small voice came to me after lunch, when I brought up a box of books to catalogue, and to my great joy, discovered the Judaica jackpot, starting with the Artscroll Tanach series. I flipped open the third book I pulled out (Shir Hashirim, or the "Song of Songs") and my eyes fell on these words:

"This, then, is the deepest, truest meaning of the Torah's concept of 'Song'. There is a profound harmony in creation. Every part of God's handiwork plays its role in His design. Only one ingredient impedes it completion - man's lack of insight. When man fails to see the truth, the interaction, the harmony, then the song of creation remains unheard; because it is man's function to give it voice, it remains mute.
...
This song is constantly in man's soul. But there are only instants where he hears its notes - and then only when he brings belief in God to his everyday life on earth. If he can attain the height where faith is never-ending and he is always guided by its light, he will always hear the song in his heart.
...
This is the prerequisite of song: man's perception is that everything plays its role and so he must give expression to the song of creation through his own deeds and the song that flows from his soul." --(Shir Hashirim: an allegorical translation based upon Rashi with a commentary anthologized from Talmudic, Rabbinic and Midrashic sources, Brooklyn: Mesorah, 1979, pp. xli-xlii.)

Amen. After weeks of silence, I could hear and feel the music again.

Excuse me whilst I cover my face and go to the entrance of the cave.