holy darkness, pt. 1

 

 

darkness.

 

smoke, 

the burning sweetness of incense, 

stifling heat,

the single candlestick, 

tiny flickering shadows. 

deeper, deeper, 

into darkness.

no more light now. 

silence. 

darkness. 

only a rustling,

like wind.  

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For months now, I have been pondering my own recognition that for the Israelites, their first ritualistic experience of God was in their tabernacle. The tabernacle was a thick tent used as a temple. There would have been animal sacrifices and incense, and in the main room of the tabernacle was a special candlestick, the only source of light. At the end of the tabernacle was the "Holy of Holies," where they believed God's presence rested. This room would have been pitch black. 

I have been feeling that thought in my head. I'm not sure why it is so profound to me. I can't stop thinking about how generations of these people experienced God as a holy darkness.

We are so used to associating God and truth and goodness with light. But darkness may be the place of God as well. Perhaps that is why St. John of the Cross wrote of the "Dark Night of the Soul" as the path to the deepest knowing, the most intimate being. Perhaps there is holiness in that kind of darkness.  

And if God could be found in the very blackness of the darkness, then perhaps God could be in so many other places I never thought to look.

 I think this is just part 1 of the poem.