The unknowable rupture
between the Divine and me
comes unbidden,
often suddenly.
It is the recognition
that there is no God,
that all is empty inside.
Like a sword driven through the heart,
it carves out a space
that reverberates through my whole being.
What remains
is deep, unfathomable emptiness
opening in every direction.
Nothing can touch it.
Nothing soothes.
When Grace leaves,
there is no bandage.
The temple bells of mystical life stop.
When there is no God,
there is no breath.
Into the empty space
where Grace once abided,
the rest of me comes crashing in.
All the spiritual reading,
the meditations,
the clean food,
the spartan life—
none of it can mitigate this
or change it.
This aloneness comes
when it comes.
There is no antidote.
I want to lie on the ground,
kick my feet,
clench my hands,
and sob.
I am totally,
effortlessly,
alone.
I become the gladiator
of my own existence,
until the empty crevasse I have become
is once again graced by Love.
I hold
and wait,
silently surrendering
to the pain.
Though temporary,
time stops.
It feels as if I have been waiting forever
to be reunited.
I search in vain
for the path back—
the path that will make me whole again.
There is no such path.
Grace comes
when Grace comes.
I know this to be true.
And, as before,
I am reunited.
Slowly, timidly,
I find the thread
that leads me back
to the tender embrace.
When it returns,
it is as if
I never lost it.
