Magma, Anyone?

In the spiritual core of the human psyche, there lies an inherent tension between the thirst for direct experience of the Divine and the desire to understand, even to catalog, that experience. While the wisest of them know it folly, theologians from every spiritual tradition have attempted to explain the inexplicable, and to provide a list of precepts and practices for us to follow.

Humans yearn to know. We want our questions about life and death and meaning answered in ways we can grasp. Looked at honestly, we want to reduce the ineffable Mystery into bite~sized, digestible chunks. Even now, after sitting on a cushion for decades, I want to put words to a particularly sweet or intense or transcendent meditative experience. I want to figure out how it happened, so I can do it again.

In a scene from the savagely beautiful book Prince of Tides, an awe~filled child turns to his mother after they watch the sun sink beneath the horizon in spectacular glory, and cries, “Do it again, Mama! Do it again!” It’s like that. We may not want someone to do it for us entirely, but we would at least like to know how to “do it again” for ourselves. The intention is pure, but there is no recipe for direct experience. And if we become too focused on finding one, we will surely lose God in the process.

In The Mystical Core of Organized Religion, Benedictine monk David Steindl-Rast writes that the revelatory impetus for all religious traditions “were like the eruptions of a volcano,” full of fire, heat and light. But like lava flowing down the mountainside, that vibrancy cooled as it moved from its source. Gradually, it “turned into…layers of ash deposits and volcanic rock…(that can) separate us from the fiery magma deep down below.”

            

Direct experience requires us to find our way back to the magma. Spiritual teachings can help, but as the Buddha reminds us, these are fingers pointing to the moon, not the moon itself.

           

For me, a Sufi phrase is one such finger pointing. Written phonetically, it is Ish ka la ma bood le la which means “God is love, lover and beloved.” It reminds me that love is at the core, and losing oneself to love is the path.

            

Emily Dickinson wrote, “The soul should always stand ajar to welcome the ecstatic experience.” But how do we open that door and keep it open? A simple piece of advice comes from the comparative religion scholar Joseph Campbell. He urges us to find or create a sacred place, and simply be there, repeatedly and often. He promises that something will arise.

            

It is not about making anything happen. It is about allowing. It is about opening. It is about losing oneself in surrender, sweet surrender.

            

So, sit by the open door. Let the red~hot fire wash over you. And offer yourself to the Beloved, in sweet surrender.

Leia

And I have lots of extras for you today!

For a link to Brother David's The Mystical Core of Organized Religion, click here.

To hear Joseph Campbell speaking of the importance of creating a sacred place, click here.

And for a beautiful chant about sweet surrender by the lovely Sára Rain, click here, and then select All That I Am at the top of the list. Warning, you'll be singing this for the rest of the day. But don't worry, it's not Louie Louie. You'll love it!