Our essence, our being, our existence, our essential unity

‘hangs’ in God

for, ‘we possess this unity in ourselves, and in-fact, above ourselves.’

 

My goodness, try as I do, I cannot progress in my reading today. I feel thick and condensed within a translation, well not even that, within an introduction to a translation of Jan van Ruusbroec’s Spiritual Espousals.  Crammed full, as it is, with an amazing density I cannot fully get, a condensation of Spiritual non-steps and steps that seem to act as a mesmeric: To whit

My essence ‘hangs’ in God!  apparently. It seems to hang always and all ways, never given or actively wrought by good deed or sin, but indeed, is somehow ever present within and above floating lights of unity and love.

And how peculiarly happy I am to drift to this English translation of genuine mystic Brussel-Dutch wisdom. For these words fizz my tongue with intangible taste,  ungrasp my mind in conundrums of sense (less earned than set deep upon and within distant joyful thumping gulps that call towards my unravelling heart).

To gleam free the eyes behind my struggling eyes, to move sense to essence, to ungrip this wrestling ego, to welcome in the noticer that always rests in the Breath within my warming breath, I resolve to go back to my cushion and in contemplation to gather again around the plainly blank fractures of silent still light.

 

 

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