I’m with you. And when I say “see” I mean in any sense “see” can mean literally or figuratively.
Have you ever heard of the Dark Night of the Soul, by St. John of the Cross?
It explains the Stanzas of the Soul which depict the journey of a soul which dares to travel to find its lover, the soul preferring to travel under cover of darkness because when it leaves its house it knows everything there is safe and secure, and thereby is able to free itself of its worldly concerns and let itself be drawn by the call of the lover. I’m highly paraphrasing this, btw, so if it isn’t what others see in it I’d like to hear other takes on it.
Eventually the soul finds its lover, and relaxes truly and profoundly.
Have you ever heard of contemplative prayer? If not you’re in for a huge treat, as the Catechism tells us that this type of prayer, being the most deep and profound among the three forms vocal, meditative, and contemplative, achieves true union with Christ and allows us to share in His mystery. (
see CCC 2700-2724) Another term for Contemplative Prayer is “resting in God.” If I hadn’t found out about contemplative prayer, I would still be psychotic.
Anyway, here are the Stanzas of the Soul, from the Dark Night of the Soul by St. John of the Cross:
One dark night,
fired with love’s urgent longings
—ah, the sheer grace!—
I went out unseen,
my house being now all stilled.
In darkness, and secure,
by the secret ladder, disguised,
—ah, the sheer grace!—
in darkness and concealment,
my house being now all stilled.
On that glad night,
in secret, for no one saw me,
nor did I look at anything,
with no other light or guide
than the one that burned in my heart.
This guided me
more surely than the light of noon
to where he was awaiting me
—him I knew so well—
there in a place where no one appeared.
O guiding night!
O night more lovely than the dawn!
O night that has united
the Lover with his beloved,
transforming the beloved in her Lover.
Upon my flowering breast
which I kept wholly for him alone,
there he lay sleeping,
and I caressing him
there in a breeze from the fanning cedars.
When the breeze blew from the turret,
as I parted his hair,
it wounded my neck
with its gentle hand,
suspending all my senses.
I abandoned and forgot myself,
laying my face on my Beloved;
all things ceased; I went out from myself,
leaving my cares
forgotten among the lilies.
Peace and joy,
Alan