Principle and Foundation

The First Week.

The Retreat in Daily Life (RIDL or Ignatian retreat) takes place over at least thirty weeks, each being a day of the Spiritual Exercises by Ignatius of Loyola, founder of the Jesuits. The first four or five weeks were called Disposition Days, where we built ourselves up to ready for the gruelling course ahead. Our book, Draw Me Into Your Friendship, has the original style language on the left and a modern rendering on the right, which is intended to be more palatable to today's reader. I am not intimidated by 1600s style thought and sometimes find the modern rendering a bit fluffy.

I met with my spiritual advisor a week late because of a schedule conflict. I felt uncomfortable, like a student who hasn't done his homework. In a way, I hadn't. I felt guilty that I wasn't spending enough time with the work. It is supposed to be an hour a day, with one day off for good behavior. Twenty minutes reading, twenty minutes praying, twenty minutes journalling. The reading took more like ten--I was reading for content rather than for deeper meaning. I would either do Centering prayer (read the Cloud of Unknowing for more detail) or just journal. That went well and would sometimes go on for a bit more than twenty minutes. Turns out I am not supposed to do Centering Prayer, but Colloquy (which, if you remember from last week, is trying to let God speak through your writing).

Turns out it's very difficult. I spend pages feeling like I'm talking to myself. I say as much in as many words. Then out of nowhere comes the thought: God wants my heart. I resume resisting. Remember what happens when a wire resists--it gets hotter and eventually glows. Electrical resistance creates heat and is "caused" by properties of the medium that "resist" electrical flow. Poetic, ain't it? I am not supposed to judge the content--not supposed to filter. Just keep the pen moving, like a freewriting exercise.

Occasionally disturbing content, ancient memories, arise. I won't go into excruciating detail. That's what it would be for the reader, learning of my hidden bugaboos. Memories of abuse, basically. Stuff I've processed before and am surprised to keep seeing arise. This time, the memory is almost physical. I remember how it feels. The emotions/sensations I felt. The answer to my question, where was God at the time of the abuse, is that He was present, but suffering. It's all free will's fault. My abuser, whom I forgave--a liberating event--was free to act as well. Now rationally, I realize that he had issues of his own and probably thought he was acting in good will. So perhaps the fault, if there is such, lies with me. Maybe I am/was too sensitive. The victim trap, I call it. 

I keep at it. I am supposed to look "through" the Scripture passage, like it's a window. A lens, perhaps. I try staring at the page (well, it's a smart phone screen, but Dear Reader understands). Sort of zone out, disassociate. The text: Philippians 3: 7-16. I write:

For his sake I have accepted the loss of all things...to know him and the power of his resurrection & the sharing of his sufferings by being conformed to his death. What are you trying to say to me here? I am supposed to put words in God's mouth.

"You think you have lost all things? You still have your son."

I could be filtering, but I don't think that was God, as He is supposed to be gentle and not sarcastic. I am not hurt, exactly, but my bogometer registers. God seems hard to hear, sometimes I am not aware of words, exactly. Dialogue with the blank page is difficult. I have a sense of warmth in my chest. Then the cat manifests, out of nowhere, the way they do. He wants in the window but is baulked by my bedside dresser clutter. He is momentarily bipedal.

Seems like a good time to take a break, both then and now.