The following barely scratches the surface of those years described.
Hundreds of breakthroughs, mostly unnoticeable, littered my path to distract me toward lessons deeper than life itself. Dozens of breakthroughs, all unique and seemingly independent, left me to wonder if this was/is the one! Then more and more and deeper and darker, the lights become useless, and the rays of darkness with immense, mysterious beauty engulfed my entire comprehension. Every brand of the holy-water tear was tasted and tested, recognized, and labeled like Adam un-naming animals and plants. Who would have guessed that tears are spiritual with various tastes for each brand of grief? Only trust and choice remained as I floated downward in the dark river of death.
Dark River
Death
'Now' was darkness as day and daylight could no longer require of its captive slave mud and straw, for the sacred rains dissolved all meaninglessness of this illusory world. The hibernation lasted until the oceans dried up, but the living waters served up spiritual oxygen.
Some years ago, I was traveling the Dark Night of the Soul. Had you ever made this journey yourself, the above-stated 'Musings" would be second-nature and ironically indescribable with logical vocabulary, a sacred space where poetry alone eclipses the sun of reason, giving birth to the Rumi's and Hafiz beyond life & death.
What started my journey was twofold: first, divorce from my narcissistic ex opened the door, and second, a later relationship with a practicing alcoholic herself kept that same door wedged open, ultimately herself ultimately being found dead by her daughter—cause of death: drinking.
A book that had been recommended by a public speaker (and friend) from Hazelden who presented his Story at “The Recovery Church” in St. Paul, Minnesota. Immediately following his speech, I drove to The Mecca of All Bookstores (Barnes & Noble) looking for the recommended book he mentioned, titled "Addiction & Grace," written by Gerald May.
I found it on a bottom shelf, but next to it stood another book that enchanted my soul with moonlit trees barely discernable on its’ cover, titled "The Dark Night of the Soul, penned by the same author. The "Spirit in my Chest" verified I was to have this book, so I carried it and the other book to the clerk and made my purchase. One might easily read the book “The Dark Night of the Soul” in a day, but it took me three & one-half years to read, not because I was a slow reader, but because I was LIVING and experiencing every word I read. That last year lapsed before I had reason to believe I had come through to the other side, returning to marginally 'normal' living; proverbially, I returned 'in' the world but no longer 'of' the world. It reminds me of prison, in a way. Prison was my monastery, of sorts, but monastery or not, no one comes out the way they went in.
Making the mystical journey is not strongly suggested for the strong, for the strong will collapse and perhaps fail at the Herculean Vulnerability required to pass this test. Age and the Dark Night of the Soul are not for sissies...just like poetry. As Poe pointed out, if poetry has not torn your soul asunder, you've not written any yet.
Thank you for feeling these words.