I had an idea for an image of the Holy Spirit, knowing that the very idea of an image of the Holy Spirit was foolish. Of the three persons of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit seems most resistant to description, both in words and images. A dove. A flame. But what else? When we try to describe our experience of it, we can only talk about the enlightened feeling that comes upon a group of people when they’re together and helps to guide their decisions. Beyond that, words seem inadequate.

I went looking for prayers to the Holy Spirit, but couldn’t find any. Then I read that we don’t pray to the spirit because the spirit is prayer itself. The spirit is the spark of divinity in us, and it speaks, and listens to, the bonfire of divinity in everything around us. Yet we do pray to the Holy Spirit, at least in song. “Come, Holy Spirit,” we plead, and while we’re singing it’s not unusual for the spirit to descend, or, at least, for us to notice that it’s been there all along.

I know the spirit, and yet my capacity to depict or describe it is limited. Others have done it better. Here’s what Meister Eckhart had to say about the spirit:

“The Father laughs with the Son; the Son laughs with the Father.
The Father likes the Son; the Son likes the Father.
The Father delights in the Son; the Son delights in the Father.
The Father loves the Son; the Son loves the Father.
This laughter, liking, delighting, loving is the Holy Spirit!”

And here’s what Rilke said about the spirit:

“If I don’t manage to fly, someone else will. The spirit wants only that there be flying. As to who happens to do it, She has only a passing interest.”

So maybe it doesn’t matter if I can’t perfectly depict or describe the spirit. It’s action in me helps to depict and describe me, and its action in other people will bring about the necessary work, even if I have only a marginal role in it.

Since I started thinking about the Holy Spirit I find references to it everywhere. Take, for instance, this quote from Richard Rohr, which I read yesterday:

The Holy Spirit is that aspect of God that works largely from within and “secretly,” at “the deepest levels of our desiring,” as so many of the mystics have said. That’s why the mystical tradition could only resort to subtle metaphors like wind, fire, descending doves, and flowing water to describe the Spirit. More than anything else, the Spirit keeps us connected and safely inside an already existing flow, if we but allow it. We never “create” or earn the Spirit; we discover this inner abiding as we learn to draw upon our deepest inner life…Home is another word for the Spirit that we are, our True Self in God. The self-same moment that we find God in ourselves, we also find ourselves inside God, and this is the full homecoming, according to Teresa of Avila. (1)

That helpful, sighing spirit is, in effect, us, ‘Our True Self in God,’ at least according to Rohr. It feels vainglorious somehow. I’m uncomfortable with equating myself with the Trinity, even my best and truest self. But I suppose that he means that my True Self is only a fragment of the spirit, and that everybody else has a fragment, too. Or maybe fragment is the wrong word, maybe it’s like a fractal, where the smallest part contains all of the whole. Regardless, the realization that everyone has this True Self, this fractal spirit, means that no one person can claim any kind of spiritual supremacy over any other person. If I participate in the Trinity, so do you, and we do so equally.

It’s comforting to think that our True Self in God is active and working on our behalf, even when the rest of us seems dead as a stone, mute with grief and confusion, unable to think beyond the bare exigencies of existence. I think that’s why I always want to give Paul’s words to people who are suffering. As a reminder that they have a true home inside of them, and that it’s as mute as they are, but still acting, still sighing. Participating in their grief but also still reaching out from it to the rest of the Trinity, and to the fractal spirit in other people.

(1)Rohr, Richard (2011-02-11). Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life (p. 90). Wiley. Kindle Edition.

The Song of Songs is about longing and passion, and rarely about consummation.  It’s about being fully present to the beloved, and if it’s carnal, it’s a carnality that includes all of the senses.  The lovers’ kisses are better than wine, more intoxicating, because they don’t deaden the senses, but bring them to life.  Often, when we are beginners at love, we are frightened by the intensity of our bodies, particularly when we’re young and our hormones hold sway.  The passions that come upon us are terrifying and uncontrollable.  So we drink to excess, because we want to experience passion, but we also want to deaden its intensity.  But by deadening our senses we only allow ourselves to experience a muted version of love.

The Shulamite, the female character who narrates much of the Song of Songs, has all of her senses open.  She loses herself in the scent of her lover, a scent of myrrh and aloes.  She doesn’t see passion as bad, but as a means of opening herself to the fullness of experience – it’s olfactory essence, its tactile nature, its sounds and sights.

Somewhere along the line, most of us learn to close ourselves off from the world, but not the Shulamite.  Evelyn Underhill talks about this closing off when she describes two men, “Eyes” and “No Eyes,” who both decide to take a walk:

“No-Eyes” has fixed his attention on the fact that he is obliged to take a walk. For him the chief factor of existence is his own movement along the road; a movement which he intends to accomplish as efficiently and comfortably as he can. He asks not to know what may be on either side of the hedges. He ignores the caress of the wind until it threatens to remove his hat. He trudges along, steadily, diligently; avoiding the muddy pools, but oblivious of the light which they reflect.  “Eyes” takes the walk too: and for him it is a perpetual revelation of beauty and wonder. The sunlight inebriates him, the winds delight him, the very effort of the journey is a joy. Magic presences throng the roadside, or cry salutations to him from the hidden fields. The rich world through which he moves lies in the fore-ground of his consciousness; and it gives up new secrets to him at every step. “No-Eyes,” when told of his adventures, usually refuses to believe that both have gone by the same road. He fancies that his companion has been floating about in the air, or beset by agreeable hallucinations. We shall never persuade him to the contrary unless we persuade him to look for himself.(1)

The Shulamite’s passionate longing teaches her to look for herself, and surely this is one of the great gifts of passion.  Her longing is egoless – it’s a deep, enraptured love of the beloved and an intense desire to use every one of her senses when encountering the beloved.  She doesn’t want anything to get in the way of her senses – no intoxication, no wine.  What would life be like if we could follow her example and open our perceptions to the one we love?  If our primary love is for God and God’s world, our experience of it will become magnificent if we can be as fearless as the Shulamite.

(1)Underhill, Evelyn (2011-03-30). Practical Mysticism A Little Book for Normal People (Kindle Locations 148-151).  . Kindle Edition.

Spiritual Direction is a way of offering companionship to people who are seeking God and a greater sense of themselves.  It is non-judgmental and generous, and always trusts that the seeker knows more about their own life, thoughts, and longings than the director does.  The director’s role is to listen carefully, invite the presence of the Holy Spirit, practice compassion, and ask questions that will help the directee grow in wisdom and grace.

I am called to be both a spiritual director and an artist, and to bring these two callings together whenever I can.  The pieces of art and the meditations you’ll find on this site were created in the process of my own spiritual journey, and I hope that they’ll be helpful to others.  I love prayer books of all kinds, and I consider each of these meditations to be a page of my own personal prayerbook.  Some of them I’ve made for directees, some for myself, and some for anyone who might find them useful.

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