It was not until I learned to forget myself

that I discovered who I truly am,

The interior corridors of devotion at first

seemed more like a maze of sensations

than a splendid mansion,

and the whispers of mystics

seemed like an allusive mist that slowly

dissipates with the rising sun

just as the eyes begin to adapt

and are able to take in the contours of this mysterious world,

To truly see, my eyes had to be thwarted,

and to truly know, the mind relieved of its constant turning,

(It was not until he left the hum of the city that the boy

first saw the brilliance of the starry sky)

I had to allow the heat of divine love

to rise from within

and transfigure the faculties in the furnace of the eternal,

the moment illuminated from within,

drawn into the heart, but not place or experience as such

rather relationship, connection,

not one thing among many,

but someone who beckons from beyond

the limited horizon of creation,

drawn through communion beyond the frontier of awareness,

a whole new vista of communication,

not words, but the Word, incarnate,

singing the secret melody of the Holy Spirit

in the depths of a frail humanity,

Rhythm, beat, flowing into and out towards

the very center of all reality, beyond reality,

the whole movement of the interior life

a gravity towards the one for whom the heart desires,

the strain of desire

now rests in the ecstasy of intimacy,

all of this best summarized by what the tradition calls