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CONTEXTS & CULTURES







              arise not from our soul, but our ego.          in the finiteness of our life and of our self. But, to quote
                I have found truth in the saying “God’s ways are not   Annie Dillard again, the way is more often a “blackened
              our ways.” Our ways, or at least my way, has to do with   vagabondage” and a “feckless prospecting in the dark”
              moving in a straight line from point A to point B. My   (Dillard, 70). In our dealings with seekers, spiritual
              ways do not allow for detours or wrong turns, and cer-  directors must be patient companions, for the journey
              tainly not for getting lost. But because our life is God’s   itself yields the treasure that is sought. We must also be
              business, the lessons we really need to learn, humility for   radically compassionate since there will always be what
              instance, usually come as a result of what may feel like   appear to us as setbacks: times when a person feels more
              failure. This is why spiritual directors need to invite those   in the dark than when she or he began the search. And
              they serve to have a sense of humor about the many ways   because there is healing in humor and lightheartedness,
              we can get in own way, and to practice the art of detach-  it is important to embody both, as intensity can get in
              ment—holding gently their goals and ideals.    the way of recognizing the presence of the Presence we
                And because, in the spiritual life, what’s in the way   seek. ■
              is the way, it is essential that we encourage our spiri-
              tual directees to be lighthearted enough to honor the   References
              unexpected and unwanted. Our greatest teachers are the   Dillard, Annie. For the Time Being. New York: Vintage
              people and the circumstances that we wish were not a   Books, 1999.
              part of our life. Many seekers are convinced that they   Nouwen, Henri.  The Wounded  Healer. Garden City,
              would move farther and faster on their way if some things   NY: Doubleday, 1972.
              and people would get out of their way. When encoun-  Rilke, Rainer Maria. Letters to a Young Poet. Translated
              tering this attitude, spiritual directors would do well to   by Stephen Mitchell. New  York: Modern Library,
              embody and to communicate the wisdom of Sufi mystic   2001.
              Jalaluddin Rumi who, in his poem “The Guest House,”   Rumi,  Jalaluddin.  The  Essential  Rumi.  Translated  by
              encourages us to welcome uninvited guests and to “meet   Coleman Barks, with John Moyne. New  York:
              them at the door laughing” (Rumi, 109).          Harper Collins, 1996.
                                                             Teilhard de Chardin, Pierre.  The Divine Milieu: An
              Conclusion                                       Essay on the Interior Life, New York: Harper & Row,
                The spiritual journey can be exhilarating, especially   1960.
              when we sense that the infinite Truth we seek is incarnate



                                     Why did you think that only whiteness was pure?
                  Do you remember the night you floated backwards   Black as your closed mouth.
                Down the dark river? The stars floated at your arm-  Friend, you know this place.
                pits,                                        It is that most familiar place, hidden from you
                Pooled at the corners of your eyes.          Except in dreams.
                  Every night you float backwards down this river.   It is the underside of your childhood quilt
                Friend, the way back is the way in           Turned down for sleep, the sweet dark crease
                And the way in is the secret to cheating death.  In your white, just-laundered soul.
                  The Buddha asks, Show me your face           Why did you think that only whiteness was pure?
                Before you were born.                        This place is the dark of one million light bulbs
                At the edge of your river, there is a door.  All gone out at once, one million memories of light.
                  When you enter,
                The room is the black of a night wet with rain,   Alexandra Martin



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