It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything new here. I have no excuse; I just haven’t really felt like it.
The last few months have been extremely hard and intense for me. As I continue shedding the remnants of this unbelievable and catastrophic darkness, I’ve been slowly (very slowly) returning back into the normal world. The inner clearing and healing work continues (albeit in new aspects and along new dimensions). It is still taking up the majority of the hours each day, demanding priority over all else. I’m told that’s temporary and will lessen over time.
Up until now it’s been too vulnerable for me to really share the details of these recent experiences, for a bunch of different reasons. Aside from fears and doubts, I didn’t quite have the words to convey the gravity or sanctity of what’s been happening to me. I still don’t. There are aspects of this that I can’t articulate, can’t conceptualize, and at times don’t fully understand. At first I found this to be intensely frustrating, but then resigned myself to the idea that not everything needs to be mentally understood or shared with others. (Shocking, I know. I’m kind of a blabber-mouth, so not sharing everything with everyone is weird for me. But I’m getting used to it.)
A few days later, Henry sent me a poem he’d written some time ago. Receiving it first left me speechless, and then completely overwhelmed with emotion. Each time I read it, I cry again and again; just as with some of the other works I’ve written about before. I’m not usually moved by poetry in this way, so it’s especially meaningful for me when that happens.
I think Henry’s poem speaks powerfully on its own; so it doesn’t need any introductory fanfare from me. The concepts are both deeply mystical and spiritually universal. The words carry an unmistakable energy, and can be interpreted as deeply as one wishes to go. To me, this piece rivals some of the best mystical poetry I’ve ever read. But more than that, personally, the words seem to answer a long-forgotten prayer from deep within me. It feels as though the words, arriving in perfect timing, served as a much needed validation of something that couldn’t otherwise be seen or confirmed in any other way. I am filled with immense gratitude for this incredibly meaningful meeting, for the message of this poem, and for Henry’s generous permission to share it with you here.
Before I share the poem itself, just a few short disclaimers of apology. The original is written in Spanish. I’ve taken the liberty of translating it very roughly into English (without any idea of how one is meant to translate poetry). I apologize to translators everywhere. Secondly, the spiritual energy and magic of the poem exist in the original alone. It is in reading it, in Spanish, that the effects can be felt somatically. I translated it for the sake of intellectual participation by non-Spanish speakers, trying to stay as true to the literal words and contextual meaning as I understand them. At the same time, I am trying not to compete with it, nor create a standalone piece of English poetry. I’m sure this is technically wrong, butchers the original, and is probably sacrilegious, so for this I beg the forgiveness of both Henry and poetry scholars everywhere. Thirdly, my Spanish isn’t great, but with the help of google and some other translation websites, I think I got the essence of it right. If I didn’t, apologies to my Spanish speaking friends; your suggestions/corrections are welcome. Finally, because I feel so deeply connected to this poem and so certain of this connection, I will endeavor to share the mystical significance of the words. For this only the saints can forgive me. So without further ado, I give you:
Clamor de guerra a la luz
By: Henry Pacheco
El alma vacío su llanto en la sed de las pupilas idolatradas;
Un montón de vidas maniatadas,
Destruyendo el decoro del universo.
He aquí un híbrido de la luz, la oscuridad, a veces bueno otras perverso.
Locura desenfrenada abre las puertas de los misterios.
Ángeles pecadores entrando al infierno;
desorden mundial, oscuridad, panico, miedo.
Diluvio bendito siente en las entrañas de la tierra,
la lava, el fuego, la luz, el viento.
Regeneración, resurrección al te quiero.
Príncipe de la luz, despoja a tu princesa de su hipócrita velo.
Hagase a la luz nuevamente.
Muestrame tu camino.
Pájaro de amor,
Canta de alegría tu humilde trino.
Siembra rosas, girasoles en el patio de tu vecino
Luz a la vida, vida a la luz.
Guerrero de mil batallas,
Liberate de la cruz.
Sucio el mendigo, limpia tus harapos de esclavitud
Rompe el llanto, las cadenas, prende las velas, incendia el manto
Clamor de guerra a la luz.
The clamor of warfare
By: Henry Pacheco (translated by me).
The soul emptied its weeping in the thirst of worshiping pupils;
Innumerable lifetimes bound up together,
Destroying the decorum of the universe.
Here a hybrid of light, darkness; at times good, at others evil.
Unbridled madness opening the portals to the mysteries.
Sinful angels entering into hell; world disorder, darkness, panic, fear.
A blessed flood felt in the bowels of the earth, the lava, the fire, the light, the wind.
Regeneration, resurrection at “I love you.”
Prince of light, strip your princess of her hypocritical veil.
Return yourself to the light once again.
Show me your way.
Bird of love,
Sing of joy your humble trill.
Sow roses, sunflowers in your neighbor’s yard.
Light to life, life to light.
Warrior of a thousand battles,
Liberate yourself from the cross.
Filthy that beggar, clean your rags of serfdom.
Break the weeping, the shackles,
light the candles, torch the mantle.
The clamor of warfare into the light.
I cry, I sing.
This poem tracks the journey through the most arduous mystical darkness encountered on the road to enlightenment. Detailed in these words is a profound account of the divine purification process of a mystic (and ultimately, a saint).
This particular experience is considered one of the most advanced stages in the spiritual process – the tail end of the purgation of spirit described by St. John of the Cross. Even among mystical writings, these descriptions are very very rare. Not every mystic attains this level of development and those that do often don’t write about it. (It’s a myth that enlightenment is some static uniform thing for everyone – it isn’t. Mystics vary; and mystical development has its own hierarchies and systems, directed and dictated from above.). In all of my research and work in this area, I’ve struggled to actually find accounts like this in the writings. Perhaps in the secret scrolls buried in monasteries around the world more detailed accounts exist to which I am not privy.
Captured only in these rare poetic glimpses, this experience is only really understood by those who themselves have encountered it. (I say that without any sort of pretense. For centuries mystics have complained and complained that no one understands them… it’s not weird that this experience, part of the larger framework, is even less well understood). Talking about these things, writing about them, trying to convey them or describe them leads only to confused silence at best, and attacks at worst. St. Teresa always took a rather careful and defensive tone writing about this subject, anticipating her harsh critics’ skeptical responses. I think most mystics would say that describing it to someone who hasn’t experienced it would reveal nothing to the listener, while only denigrating the experience for the speaker. (As I said before – some things are really not meant for sharing). Despite that, we continue (Because also as I said before – blabbermouth). 🙂 God forgive me.
During a particular stage in the process, following a clearing of the wounding of this lifetime, the soul begins to empty itself of all the lifetimes of pain it carries. The pain is digested emotionally and psychologically through the human body. What comes pouring out is lifetimes of human trauma – injustice, oppression, bondage, betrayal, grief. Unimaginable grief! Universal themes of suffering. Mind-numbing human pain. It is endless crying; every day, all the time, for months and months, until all of it gets digested out. It is all felt and lived through again and again, as if it were all happening now. Panic, fear, paranoia, persecution. The world turns upside down, and becomes a nightmare of hell that feels like it will never end. The truth is literally blinding and deafening. As the centers of perception open completely, and a raw impossible sensitivity takes hold, every experience is felt with such a magnitude that it feels like a continuous and persistent destruction of the very core of one’s being. Past life death scenes are encountered, one after another, experienced as if you are right there, remembering it, and re-living it again and again. At the same time, all aspects and varieties of fear are being processed out, triggered, digested, and healed. And courage and virtue, our default traits, arise to fill the empty spaces left behind. That too feels torturous, and very difficult to endure.
I’ve used the metaphor of a civil war in writing about this before – it is really experienced that way. This process tears a person apart completely, and the pain and the light (and the experiences of being burned by the elements) seem to come from above and from below. The fire feels as if it’s rising from the bowels of the earth itself. Wind and light and lava… all of it consuming parts of you at the same time. It is torture; psychologically, physically, emotionally. Were it not for the greater spiritual purpose, it would not be possible to bear. Even knowing the greater purpose at times doesn’t help to bear it. The descent into this hell is horrendous. And the ascension is very slow, very complicated, taxing and extremely painful.
The hell is a hybrid of both light and darkness because in this state dualistic morality collapses – and a truth is revealed that good and evil are not distinct things, but that they are intertwined together. Both inside the person, and abstractly so, in the world at large. It is one and the same. Nietzsche tried to explain this, somewhat unsuccessfully. It’s not really something that can be intellectually explained or understood. (You know me – I’m gonna try anyway). Essentially, the understanding of good and evil arises from the same emptiness – it’s all an illusion. There is a divine realization that human morality is ultimately meaningless, spiritually speaking. What we call moral rules are really only the rules of the game here. They are important for soul development at this level, but the spiritual planes operate by a different set of rules all-together. From the correct height of perspective earthly good and evil are equal – two ends of a spectrum, different only in degrees. The metaphor of a chess board seems appropriate here. Light and darkness exist in a kind of balance, each a necessary part of a singular whole. Seeing this and having the realization of it are the actual experiences of mystical oneness. But seeing this and realizing it in the midst of pain and suffering, in the depths of victimhood, is devastatingly painful.
A few words about the unbridled madness: The mysteries of the universe (small tiny fragments of them) come as revelations, often in the middle of the night. I think I’ve written about this before. It feels much like a spontaneous opening of some kind of portal that allows everything to suddenly come in. These openings are so massive that it’s not possible to grasp everything they reveal. It is like standing in a house of infinite mirrors, trying to grab hold of all the reflections at once. The mind is not capable of handling that kind of experience. It is a kind of ungrounded madness when that happens.
I think the words here, of madness, echo a second and deeper meaning, which is that these experiences cannot be explained nor understood by any of the normal academic disciplines. It’s a philosophical Catch 22 – if you experience these things, then technically you are mad. But the only way to prove you are not mad, but rather completely sane, is for the other person to experience it himself too. It’s very annoying that way. These experiences do not conform to our world, and generally they never have. It is not in their nature to conform. They are unique, personal, and highly idiosyncratic.
In truth, there is a powerful and divine intelligence at work directing and orchestrating this process. To see this, to experience it, to understand it is to then immediately be defined as mad. The things that mystics see pose such a fundamental challenge to so many philosophical underpinnings of “civilized” organized society, that calling it madness is the easiest and most expedient resolution to an otherwise overwhelming dilemma. (It’s not a modern faith versus science problem – it’s an ancient problem that not that’s ever going to change).
Those that go through this particular darkness are “sinful angels entering hell,” because they are humans (naturally flawed) who are something like saints-in-training. Despite being good and decent people, and despite all of their spiritual cleansing work, they still remain flawed and imperfect. Heading into this hell, they still carry their sins (of ego), which is the stuff that is going to be purified. They enter this hell in order for the soul to be cleansed fully and completely – which appears to be possible only through the digestion of this pain in a human body. The Catholic tradition calls this the “way of perfection” for this very reason. And I think the basis of the Buddhist belief in reincarnation is grounded in this idea as well – that liberation can only be attained via the human experience.
And the regeneration and resurrection (the healing, the emerging, the shedding of this hellish darkness) is only at the attainment of “i love you.” This is the love of God within. It is the unconditional forgiveness of God. The unconditional love He gives, despite the sins, and flaws, and human frailties. The resurrection happens only when we attain real self-acceptance and self-forgiveness completely; when we have healed and released all of our pain and shame; when we have truly forgiven ourselves in the depth of the ugly truths, rather than in the avoidance of denial. We are all innocent really, even when we are not. And God loves us that way, and asks us to love ourselves, and one another, humbly and honestly, that way too. These principles are true at the surface, and they are true in the depths of this hell. They are the keys to all the healing imaginable, and the foundations of all the spiritual ascensions as well.
I could continue on about these subjects for pages and pages, but I’ll conclude with this final idea. It is understood (and believed) in many mystical traditions that the energy directing this purification process is the female aspect of God, Sophia. She appears to always be present in these dark night experiences, pulling all the levers behind the scenes. She lets her presence be known in myriad ways, but generally she stays veiled in the shadows. (This is intentional; part of the wrestling with doubt and the genuine cultivation of faith). It is Sophia’s wisdom, her intelligence, and her ruthless sort of love that guides the soul through this excruciating process.
Once cleansed of ego/sin/impurity, and re-calibrated to virtue, Sophia takes her expression through the human and unites with the Christ energy (that we know of in the Christian tradition as Jesus, the Prince of the light). This is the removal of the veil – the divine marriage – the ultimate unitive state or goal of the entire mystical process. After this spiritual inner war is over, the marriage takes place energetically. Union with God is attained as these two energies merge together. And all that remains on the outside is a humble human, wise and war-torn, full of love and compassion for others, often found crying and singing (perhaps dancing or whirling or writing poetry) in a state of ecstatic and pious bliss, dedicated to service of God.
I’m done with my pseudo-scholarly commentary for now. But back to the purpose of this post – Henry has managed to capture all of this (and much much more) in his few short incredible sentences. I continue to read his poem again and again, with awe and reverence and a great deal of excitement. I hope you love it as much as I do.
PS. Bernini’s sculpture of St. Teresa of Avila, which is the image above, is derived from her description of an episode of this specific experience of mystical darkness. Here’s what she wrote about it:
It pleased the Lord that I should see this angel in the following way. He was not tall, but short, and very beautiful, his face so aflame that he appeared to be one of the highest types of angel who seem to be all afire. … In his hands I saw a long golden spear and at the end of the iron tip I seemed to see a point of fire. With this he seemed to pierce my heart several times so that it penetrated to my entrails. When he drew it out, I thought he was drawing them out with it and he left me completely afire with a great love for God. The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than God. It is not bodily pain, but spiritual, though the body has a share in it — indeed, a great share. So sweet are the colloquies of love which pass between the soul and God that if anyone thinks I am lying I beseech God, in His goodness, to give him the same experience. During the days that this continued, I went about as if in a stupor. I had no wish to see or speak with anyone, but only to hug my pain, which caused me greater bliss than any that can come from the whole of creation.