SPIRIT OF THE LIVING GOD, FALL AFRESH ON ME…
MELT ME, MOLD ME, FILL ME, USE ME
SPIRIT OF THE LIVING GOD, FALL AFRESH ON ME.
It is with some frequency that I become aware of the felt-sense essence of this age-old hymn as it softly sings its self in me. It has long been a friend, and the profundity of the simple message is as a comforter on a chilly winter’s night. I notice the religious sounding context, and yet it does not detract from the intimate prayer that this song has become. Perhaps an edit here or there brings it even closer; SPIRIT IS THE LIVING SOURCE, FALL AFRESH IN ME. And there are certainly times, such as is this juncture in my emergence, where only a few of the lyrics seem necessary; MELT ME…
Though I was not reared in a denomination of Christianity that observes the full Lenten season, it has become a precious and personal practice for me since I was introduced to it through the expansive teachings of Charles and Myrtle Fillmore. While it is presented and maintained in very non-traditional ways, I relish devoting forty days and Sundays to a more microscopic introspection of my inner world. There have times in my life when this turning within would have been in service of a prolonged ego-lashing of all that I find wrong with me. I would have symbolically seen myself and my entire life through the smudge of ashes obscuring any type of true vision through the lens of the third eye. I have certainly gone that route, and have found it painful and equally lacking in terms of any true transformational power. I do, however, recognize the elements of my perceptual story that can still torment me when I believe the thoughts and identify with the subsequent emotions. It is to these emotional wounds that I place my unwavering attention during these days of Lent. I ask deeply to be relieved of the bondage of the story of me. I ask that the inner fire of my mystical passion melt the self that seems so separate and distinct from the “Spirit of the Living Source.” I dedicate time and attention to the going within, the only practice I know that creates the space internally to witness the story as it spins and weaves its captivating spell. I am much like the caterpillar, one of the cherished symbols of this Lenten season, that creates a cocoon around itself in order to morph into what it instinctually knows is its destined Beingness. Like that caterpillar, I allow the self to melt into the Essence ooze that may only be tasted in the depths of silent stillness. In a way that humanity and science has yet to ascertain, that melted ooze of the once caterpillar body somehow gives way to a quantum mystery of epic proportion. Within and yet not from that ooze, imaginal cells begin to appear that will collect, gather, coalesce, and eventually differentiate into the form of a winged creature quite different from its multi-legged ancestor. The how of this process is a great secret of nature. The why an even bigger mystery. And yet it occurs thousands upon thousands of times around the globe, generation after generation. And it all begins with a retreating to the within, and a quiet and purposeful melting.
I do not know what it is I am to become in this earthly realm. I only know that something continues to call to me to return repeatedly to the withinness of my Soulful Self. I welcome the surrender that once terrified me, and I celebrate the melting that is the undoing of what I actually never was. I do not have to control this process. In fact, I can’t. I trust that in the ooze of my former self, the imaginal cells of my transcendent Self are creating a Being that will soar above the appearances of my historical story. That is my resurrection. And resurrection requires a death. Only what is not real can die. Only what does not serve will melt. And I allow this work to be done in me as I faithfully wait in the cocoon of my awakened heart.
SPIRIT OF THE LIVING SOURCE, FALL AFRESH IN ME.
MELT ME.
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