Awash in the dark of night, Ioniana leaves the warm bed, garmentless, gentle tips of pale toes glide out from the safe cottage, shoreward. The cold of night, the cold of sea, erect goosebumps, impart a smile, deliver a craved aliveness. She carries questions in her chest, questions that beat against the back of the forehead when in line at the market, that drip blood as she walks a woodland trail in the late afternoon, questions that gnaw as she nods and smiles all the low-lit day through wearisome dialogues, listening to the profane but cocksure assert their truths.
Tonight, in humility and surrender, she ambles into the black and thundering sea, this murmuration of questions having woken her: Is there anyone I can recognize myself in?! Anyone who doesn't know, yet, opposite of growing apathetic, desperately desires the knowing?! Has anyone spent years studying, listening, reading, praying to God... yet the questions go on unanswered, and they allow this without needing to fill that void with Answers That Will Do?!
What is Ioniana to do, what are any of us to do, when we long for that highest of wisdom, access to the most crucial of truths, but remain unconvinced? We move closer to God- in prayer, in guided sleep, in devotion, in transformation of forces, in goodness and love, at least as much as we know of it. And yet...
1 comment:
That is such a cool photo.
I think in the end, the basic truths are what get affirmed. We're given all we need on day 1. 'The signature of the hermetist', says Tomberg, 'is depth', not having the right opinions.
Greetings from a fellow traveler.
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