I am utterly bowed down and prostrate; all day long I go around mourning. For my loins are filled with burning, and there is no soundness in my flesh. I am utterly spent and crushed; I groan because of the tumult of my heart. O Lord, all my longing is known to you; my sighing is not hidden from you.
~ Of Dawud, From the Psalter of Judeo-Christianity
Continuing into the doldrums of deep depression, I am now again in the pitch black room, sealed on every side, groping in the oppressive darkness; crying to be heard, reaching to touch the strong Beauty born of my desire, fantastical, so unreal. No one answers; no one reaches; no one touches.
The world is filled “with sound and fury signifying nothing,” as the master playwrite spoke so long ago, and I am imprisoned in the tumultuous cacophony of futility, looking for my Redeemer upon whose bosom I might rest my head, to feel her strong arms wrapped round me, her succulent breasts of life-giving milk. And is she incarnate now, and will she come?
In this dark world, few can see. Like birds that free themselves from the net, only a few find their way to heaven. Swans fly on the path of the sun by their wonderful power; the wise rise above the world, after conquering Mara and his train.
Who will give me wings so to fly? And must I learn alone? Mara has conquered thus far; he relishes in his spoil, but there is still the path of the sun I cannot see, but know, as others have told. Shall I be free? Come thou Liberator to liberate! Come thou Creatrix to re-create! Come thou Shepherdess to guide me into fair pastures of verdure! Ah but…
Out of silent subtle mystery emerge images. These images coalesce into forms. Within each form is contained the seed and essence of life. Thus do all things emerge and expand out of darkness and emptiness.
And so shall I be born again out of this darkness and emptiness? One came from heaven to give life, abundant and everlasting. What is this life, though, when the life is lived alone ~ for it is not good for man to be alone ~ and where is the angel to whom I would render obeisance? Whom I would love and serve, uphold and praise, for only the recompense of being loved and led, comforted and caressed, claimed and cherished? Is there such an angelic one, so mighty and wise and altogether beautiful?
Ah, but I circle my dark cell, blindly groping the walls to find my freedom door, pining for the light and hope in the wondrous amazement of an ongoing creation not complete, wondering if this is the end of a life never really lived in holy communion promised by the Everlasting One, who is Communion. My God, my God! The splendor of your love and magnificence, how is it known but in the bonds of impassioned love of two become one ~ the icon of your heavenly splendor? And is purgatorial fire more fierce than the denial of this boon?
But I am alone and lonely, weak and weary. I cannot go on … Shall I here die in this prison, then?