A Falling Out

Words and I have had a falling out, it seems. I wasn't aware of this, but lately words aren't coming through for me like they used to. They seem to be avoiding me, actually, and I can only surmise I did something to offend them. My deepest apologies, words, but do come back to me.

See, I have a lot to say. I have a sea of things to let out, to set forth unto the universe, and it doesn't seem right that it should all remain settled down in the heart of mine. I feel a multitude of incredible things that, at some point, someone saw fit to plant in me. I hear strains of such indescribable melodies, sounds of such unearthly, authentic beauty as I have never heard before. I see charity and grace walking, living, breathing, acting and moving, to the complete oblivion of the people they touch.

It's too much for me to keep in, frankly, but words have gone off and left me. Whatever I did, I'm terribly sorry, words, and I'll do whatever you like, just come back and help me out.

But then the thought occurs to me that maybe there aren't supposed to be words for all this. Or maybe there aren't words for me for this. I would probably botch it if I tried to get into it too much, and God forbid I misrepresented the glory of the things I have glimpsed. Even if I could put it into words, would it make much difference? I've read parts of The Interior Castle over and over for years, and I thought I had a clue what St. Teresa was talking about. In the last few months, as I've re-read those parts, it's suddenly clear to me that I had no idea what she was hinting at until I saw it myself.

When I did Young Apostles, one of the other kids told us about this quasi-vision someone he knew had: that when we adore the Blessed Sacrament, all of Heaven -- all the blessed souls, all our saints, our patrons, the angels, the divine beings -- joins us, and the sound of creation praising its God is thundering, deafening. That image struck me and stayed with me, and it remains one of the defining moments of my faith journey. Living in this house of prayer, that image keeps coming to me when I do mundane things like wash dishes and sit with the sisters. The Kingdom of Heaven, I see, isn't confined to Heaven. The oneness of the Church militant and triumphant is not limited to intention. Those saints walk with us whenever we are doing God's work, whether we realize it or not.

Most of these thoughts existed in my head in some fashion, be it a solid idea or a wisp of a notion, long before I came here, but now it seems so obvious. How the hell did I miss this? How did I not notice that I was living in the midst of such a huge thing? It's like living your whole life in the Amazon and only years into it hearing the racket, looking up to see the trees, the leaves, the flowers, the creatures, the birds, the sun – my God, the sun!

I realized tonight that I am afraid to leave this place, where I have a chapel at my disposal 24/7, where prayer is assumed and is part of the routine, where Mary walks so tangibly, where the best is assumed and expected of everyone all the time. I also realized I damn well better own this and make it stick, because leaving here and leaving the sun behind is just not an option. Perhaps this is why I’m so eager to put all of this into words, so I can refer back to it, and quite possibly that’s why I can’t, so I have to actually absorb it and make it my heart. Words might help with that, but only The Word can really do it.