Love Poems

So I am taking a class called "Eucharist as Mystical Body" this summer. One of the themes that we are discussing in the class is how mystical theology (the writings of the mystics) ought to be considered a more serious source for doing theology. In the past, mysticism was seen as esoteric, sometimes even dangerous, and mainstream theology stuck to looking at Scholastic manuals as the only sources for doing theology.

Our professor gave us a sampling of some poetry by St. John of the Cross and discussed how it can deeply lead us to contemplate the mystery of the Eucharist. One such poem has been translated under the name "Although by Night."

How well I know the spring that brims and flows,

Although by night.

This eternal spring is hidden deep,

How well I know the course its waters keep,

Although by night.

Its source I do not know because it has none

and yet from this, I know, all sources come,

Although by night.

I know that no created thing could be so fair

and that both earth and heaven drink from there,

Although by night.

I know its depths possess no bed to fathom

and that none may ford across or sound them

Although by night.

Its radiance is never clouded and in this

I know that all light has its genesis,

Although by night.

I know its currents carry such abundance

They water hell and heaven and all nations,

Although by night.

The current welling from this fountain's source

I know to be as mighty in its force

Although by night.

And from these two preceeds another stream.

I know that neither over this one reigns supreme,

Although by night.

This eternal fountain is conceiled from sight

Within this living bread to give us life,

Although by night.

And here is calling out to all the creatures,

these waters quench their thirst, although by darkness,

because they lie in night.

I long for this, the living-fountain-head,

I see it here within the living bread,

Although by night.

  

Our professor went on to explain how this poem situates the Eucharist within the life of the Trinity. The Trinity is the source from whom all life and all blessings flow. God is the uncreated source of all that is - and the Son proceeds from the Father, and the Spirit from them both ("And from these two proceeds another stream...") The repetition of "Although by night" reminds us that these things we know in faith - not by sight. What he is trying to speak of here is a great and beautiful Mystery.

Anyway, so our professor mentioned that we all ought to go and read more poetry - that poetry has an ability to communicate deep truths in a way that prose cannot. It has dawned on me recently that I rarely read poetry or literature. Most of what I read is for school or for personal growth. It dawned on me that my humanity is being stifled by my limited exposure to great literature.

That being said, despite my self-imposed ban on browsing Amazon.com, the other day I went to Barnes and Noble and I bought this book called "Love Poems From God" by Daniel Ladinsky. In it, he "records" the spiritual poetry of [primarily] Christian and Muslim mystics - taking some grand [and I mean, GRAND]artistic liberties with them. That being said, the poetry that fills these pages are still beautiful and deeply inspiring. In many ways, so many of these poems hint at beautiful themes- that God loves us with an immeasurable love, the goodness of creation, and growth and expansion of the human heart, the call to love. Reading them, my heart feels like it grows wings!

Here's a selection of some of my favorites:

THE SKY GAVE ME ITS HEART
Rabia, 8th C. Woman Sufi Mystic

The sky gave me its heart
because it knew mine was not large enough to care
for the earth the way
it did.

Why is it we think of God so much?
Why is there so much talk
about love?

When an animal is wounded
no one has to tell it, "You need to heal"; so naturally it will nurse
itself the best it can.

My eye kept telling me, "Something is missing from
all I see." So it went in search of the cure.

The cure for me was His beauty, the remedy --
for me was to
love.


JEALOUS OF A POND
Rabia, 8th C. Woman Sufi Mystic

When God said, "My hands are yours," I saw that I could heal any
creature in this world;

I saw that the divine beauty in each heart
is the root of all time
and space.

I was once a sleeping ocean
and in a dream became
jealous of a
pond.

A penny can be eyed in the street
and a war can break out
over it amongst
the poor.

Until we know that God lives in us
and we can see Him
there,

a great poverty
we suffer.

IT ACTS LIKE LOVE
Rabia, 8th C. Woman Sufi Mystic

It acts like love -- music,
it reaches toward the face, touches it, and tries to let you know
His promise; that all will be okay.

It acts like love -- music, and
tells the feet, "You do not have to be so burdened."

My body is covered with wounds
this world made,

but I still longed to kiss Him, even when God said,

"Could you also kiss the hand that caused each scar,

for you will not find me until
you do."

It does that -- music -- helps us
to forgive.

ALWAYS FROM THE CHILD'S HAND
Francis of Assisi

Always from the child's hand the sword
should be removed.

I think every nation is
an infant.

IN ALL THINGS
Francis of Assisi

It was easy to love God in all that
was beautiful.

The lessons of deeper knowledge, though, instructed me
to embrace God in all
things.

THE WIND WILL SHOW ITS KINDNESS
Meister Eckhart

A man
born blind can easily
deny the magnificience of a vast landscape.

He can easily deny all the wonders that he cannot touch,
smell, taste, or hear.

But one day the wind will show its kindness
and remove the tiny patches that
cover your eyes,

and you will see God more clearly
than you have ever seen
yourself.

BUT HE WANTED ME
Meister Eckhart

I could not bear to touch God with my own hand
when He came within
my reach,

but He wanted me
to hold
Him.

How God solved my blessed agony,
who can understand?

he turned my
body into
His.