Sudden Bliss: On Love, Surrender and Access to the Room
Love Letter #4--A Response
“First chill, then stupor, then the letting go…”—Emily Dickerson
The same Pen that inspires your words
Have taken hold of my hand
And like yours, now moves at His bidding…
How else would I explain
This first main course
Of what is commonly called bliss?
Though I suspect that bliss
Is not that common, else this would
Not have been my first encounter
My Dear, it is as though
Each letter of each word You wrote
Was crafted to evoke
A response in my being
For nothing prior to these words
Had resulted in my knowing…
My knowing the extent of my Father’s love
And all that He will do
To cheer my heart, to gladden my bosom
To allow me a taste of what heaven
Must be like in that alternative
World of the Spirit.
Last week when we spoke and I told you
Of your Father’s trickery
How he would stoop so low
As to bring my best friend
(in all of Columbia on Macon Street)
To the Reflections Gathering
To lure me deeper into the net
Told you how he wanted more than my time
Was surely after some grander design.
My heart--I had surmised!
And now He brings me this –
Letter…
Lest you wonder at the delayed response
Please know that I had attempted to write you back
Immediately after receiving this flame-red fire that sped
Countless miles over the Internet
No doubt shutting weaker circuits down.
But instead I fell into a deep sleep—
And in retrospect I sense that
That altered state served me well and proved
The quickest way to connect to the world
Of the invisible, which is where, I think
Your message originated.
Then too, the delay might have stemmed
From my heart’s attempt to shut down the brain
As it sometimes does when it knows
Knows a feat is not possible--
Like a built in defense mechanism
It chooses to experience its own ecstasy
And share it not with the mind or the pen
Much like that first sip of water
After 4.7 biblical days in the desert
The moisture must be used
To refresh the parts
Which are most vital
To the sustaining of a dying life.
Have I lost you yet?
If so, it is only because I will no doubt
Not be able to adequately express
What God has wrought
On this day, on this soul--
A feeling unlike any ever known.
The Blue Room
So let me instead leave any attempt at half baked analogies
And tell you a story, which you may or may not have heard before,
Begging your indulgence, if the former.
While serving in Ghana I had a dream.
And though I cannot recollect all the details now,
I do remember the symbolism.
I had entered a large house, a nice house
With rooms everywhere I turned.
And a few of the Counsellors were there
And some of their ABMs and assistants
And even some common folk—like me.
They were scattered about and I could sense
Their happiness, smiles
And hear their laughter.
One of these souls came up to me as I wandered around
The place--this mansion-- and as my eyes
Surveyed the particular room I was in,
She asked somewhat jovially:
“What color would you like the room to be?”
And I immediately went into a defensive mode – thinking:
‘How dare you assume
That I even want a room.’
And to boldly ask me
What color I preferred the room to be
Which also implied that she had already presumed
I would choose to live in a home
That I was--was just --VISITING.
So in response I said, in no uncertain terms,
‘You can paint the room whatever color you like .. it is not my room.’
And though I felt some dis-ease after the words left my tongue,
my mind quickly jumped in to soothe me with its logic.
‘Lo, you have just stumbled upon this house so you
are right to decline a room here. Even though it is a
VERY NICE HOUSE.”
And subconsciously I must also have been thinking,
“A room as nice as this… can you imagine the rent
for just one night of bliss?”
At that moment I must have concluded that though
I was in another country and feeling
Closer and closer to my Lord,
More and more each day, I wasn’t really sure
I wanted to be “held down”
Toiling in the fields, non stop, day by day
For a room, I hadn’t even decided
That I could afford.
Documenting the Miracle
Everyday I began my morning listening to prayers and meditations,
Holy words from three or four of the religious traditions—
You know, Words from Muhammad, the Bhagavad-Gita,
the Bible and
Even some of those Bahá'í Teachings
For I had concluded I needed such words to calm my spirit
Which of late seemed reluctant
To accept its own demise
In my self imposed spiritual exile.
My spirit now dying to be fed
As it thirsted relentlessly for the sustaining bread.
On the CD, in one of the Psalms meditations, there
Was a woman who spoke with a stern and forceful voice
Who obviously was trying to “leave the room” like me
And she eventually comes to recognize
That it is fruitless to try to get away,
As she finds that “the room” is everywhere.
“Whither shall I go from Thy Spirit? And from Thy presence
whither shall I flee? If I go up into heaven, Thou art there;
if I go down into hades, Thou art present there. If I take
up my wings toward the dawn, and make mine abode
in the uttermost parts of the sea, Even there shall Thy hand
guide me, and Thy right hand shall hold me. … For darkness
will not be darkness with Thee, and night shall be bright
as the day…”
Realizing myself that the agony I felt
From the separation from my Father
Was greater than the price
I would have to pay for
Any room He placed me in…
I surrendered – and prayed.
Not the “on your knees” kind of prayer
Cause when your bed is literally
A three inch foam mattress on the floor, you just sit
And chat when you seek communion with your Lord.
(Yeah, I got it like that.)
Instead it was the kind of meditation
One pursues like Brother Lawrence does
In “The Practice of the Presence of God”
As I sought peace in a life of turmoil.
A Letter to the Counsellors
As my heart never left the Continent
Or the work I left there
Or the remembrance of the final
Luncheon I had with Auntie Bea (alias C. Asare)…
I pressed on--
And so, I telephoned you on my cell, and you steered
Me to the Internet to check out the Virgin Islands, and as I did
I found an NGO in, of all places, the capital city of Ghana.
It seemed they may have a need for a caseworker and they
Have promised to contact me in a fortnight.
What the heck is a fortnight?
And The Release Came…
The funny thing about surrender is
That you let go of all attachments—
Though my heart still says Ghana
I have to admit that for the first time
I am no longer fixated on it –
My wants subjugated finally
To the beckoning of my Father
And to this new peace I say “Hallelujah!”
and Glory Be to God!
The Raleigh (NC) Center needs someone to create
and coordinate getting books and brochures and other
teaching materials into the hands of the believers.
And as an “A Cluster” community, there is an array of
core activities that a servant might get involved in.
So As my mind shifts from the erroneous belief that
I h I have to be out of the country to summon His presence,
I n I now realize He will let me know when, where,
and and how I am to serve if only I will open the door
to TO MY heart and allow
His refreshing breezes
to waft over my every effort
in His path –
I fe I fear my dear this letter must be tiring you,
and so I shall end it soon for where the time has gone
God only knows.
But, before I go, I want to tell you
That your Father has earned His Title as Master Schemer
For it would take a Master to pull off this one
To bring this maidservant into the fold --
And you can be very proud that He trusts
You enough to be the conduit
Of His electrifying presence
In my life
In your own.
And I And I feel equally blessed that
I will not have to point you to the “imbedded message”
In my last correspondence
As the words expressed in your
Letter has reached more than
The eyes of this would be
Handmaiden.
Has pierced the opening in my
Lifelong wound
And healed it in an instant--
Such phenomena—as you know—
Being a characteristic
Of the spiritual state of bliss.
(And does this mean I owe you?)
For finally I know
His love through
The letter He wrote me
Through you--
And I am grateful you are
At His bidding
Else at this moment
I would still be guessing
That He loved me
And not really know.
And the kicker, still, is that I did not know that I didn’t know.
The last thing I want to say is that
If I could be assured that the bliss of this day
Would be with me throughout all eternity
Then I would know my Father would
Never be disappointed in me, not ever again
As my heart soars on the wings of His remembrance.
But nonetheless, because it is so new,
Might I request this one thing of you---
It is a thing that you and Carol and Dor have done
throughout my ups and my downs,
Throughout my successes and failures,
when I was well enough to answer your emails
And even when I could not bring myself to…
(Please don’t mind the stains on the page, it’s just a part of letting go)
As I was saying…
You’ve done it when the treads of my life
Almost ran bare, and barely able to
Support the dead weight of a
Soul disconnected –
And lest I forget any of this—
I am hereby appointing each of you
Coordinatrixes—and your only duty
Should you accept this task,
Is to remind me of this day.
(And of course to take care of the infamous June celebrations)
This “Thank you” from the bottom of my heart
Is surpassed only by
My love for the gift God gave to me
when he placed the three of you in my Path
-- a path of bonified, unconsecrated, but loving resistance.
God is Most Glorious!
Always,
Lo
P.S. I. If you could remember also to mention to Him in your
next conversation – maybe you could say just in passing:
“By the way Father, Lo has just informed me that she wants
her room painted sky blue.”
P.S. II. And if my Father flinches in the least or acts as though
he does not recognize the name -–tell him instead that I am just
a beggar you noticed kneeling outside the door, with a sign in
the left hand that read:
Will work for a glance
Will toil for a chance
Will forgo all love, pleasure, hate
To be allowed to kiss the dust
Not atop, but beneath His feet.
Copyright 2005 Loretta Crosby. All Rights Reserved.
| 
