Into the Cloud of the Unknowing
"This week marks the beginning of your dialectic journey. There is a mix of music, readings, writings and video, all designed to help you prepare for this long and often difficult adventure. There is some particularly emotional material this week, material designed to help us feel something of the heartbeat out of which the critique of theology arises." PR
It seems that most of my inspiration, lately, comes from my time in the hot tub. Last night, as I ceremoniously said good bye to "God", I noticed that there was a very grey sky. No poofy clouds as such... just one big cloud cover of dismal grey. There I was, awaiting some sort of symbolic entrance into the "Dark Night of the Soul" and not even a dark night was there. Just some smokey like substance I couldn't even participate in.
Then I had a thought. When the darkness is there, when the blackness is visible from my earthly vantage point... No clouds, no smoke screen... just the vastness of space... I see light. I seen the stars or the moon. The darkness in its purest form invites me back to light, and yet still lets me rest in the shadows of the night. How beautiful is that.
So I am not scared of the night. It is just this dusty cloud that separates me from the darkness that I am longing for. For then I can participate in the dance between the dark and the light. For that only happens in the truly dark night.
In the introduction today, Peter Rollins talked about the foothills before the mountains. This journey we are on in Atheism for Lent starts a winding through the foothills. The climbing isn't as treacherous and the view is something beautiful, but as the journey continues on... the climbing is more intense, but the beauty of the mountains is something to take in and behold in its awesomeness. That view on this journey is what I am looking for. It is that dance with darkness and light.
