Naked Wisdom

NAKED WISDOM

So, you entered the wisdom of divine love?

I did.

What did it look like?

Look like? The wisdom of love came naked. It was not dressed in the clothes of any physical image. It bore no content. None. It bypassed my intellect, transcended my senses, overrode my will, and penetrated me directly. How could I possibly report on the color of its garment? It shed every scrap on my threshold and threw itself into my arms and entered me.

How can you be so sure the wisdom of divine love was inside you? It sounds so vague, like a cloud, like a dream, like an error.

I have never been more certain of anything in my life. There is nothing vague about it. Just because it was naked does not make it anything less than perfectly beautiful and perfectly clear. Its flavor lingers on my tongue, changing the way I taste everything. The language of love has no words.

Please try.

Listen. It would be as if you saw something no one had ever seen before. In fact, no one had ever seen anything remotely similar. It was the most marvelous thing you had ever encountered, a thing that changed you forever. And yet, even in the midst of fully experiencing it, utterly enjoying it, and completely understanding it, how could you ever begin to describe it? Mere metaphor does not come close. All you could do would be to stammer, like Moses: "Ah, ah, ah. . . ."

No words?

The wisdom of divine love silences the soul.

    A selection from Saint John of the Cross by Mirabai Starr
(as shared in Caroline Myss's ezine)