There is a most compelling need in me to see how I lack intimacy, and how specifically I am separated from the Lord.
I come to my inner question hoping for a connection to the Lord; but I come bringing everything that I am, which is not enough. It specifically what I bring of my own that is not a sufficient offering; and I see that I am not capable of a sufficient offering. This, in point of fact, has been precisely the point on which my inner work has turned for the last five years.
The soul is a perfect vessel in which to receive the Lord; but it is attached to an imperfect being which is already formed in willfulness and does not know how to offer itself. Only an anguish borne of the separation between the soul and God can turn my inner life back towards the light that it needs to see; and yet I'm incapable, it seems, of even that, even though I know the taste of this anguish and it often hovers on the edge of my being.
Sometimes I seek to feed this anguish with temporal concerns that, to be sure, produce their own kind of distress and anguish; but none of them are strong enough to affect the conditions of the soul. So I come to the Lord in confusion, unable to see, unable to hear, and even, it seems, unable to receive the stillness which is His gift and is already born within, in places I cannot touch.
In the midst of this, I'm consistently surrounded by a world filled with lies, confusion, and cruelty, a condition in which I participate. We all do. We have lost our way; and there is no health in us. Yet we presume — even those of us who are religious, and have had a taste of the Lord within our souls — that we are good, when in fact, there is none of the good in us, and the only good that there can be comes from the Lord Himself, who is rarely heard within this life.
If I understood how specifically separated I was, and I could truly participate in, engage in, intensify the intimacy that is needed in order to submit to the Lord and surrender, perhaps things inside could change; but I am too attached, and I want too much to be of this world, even though to be of this world is to do nothing but suffer.
Perhaps this is what Kierkegaard was alluding to when he spoke of the sickness unto death; I don't know. There are times when I feel that this life is a sickness, and that the only way to be within the Grace of the Lord would be to utterly and absolutely die to it; yet my responsibility is to be here and to suffer this life, without trying to turn my face away from what has been given.
I get up every morning struggling with these questions, and seeing that despite my intelligence and effort, I don't know or understand anything.
But I do sense that there must be a path through this suffering and confusion to a much greater light, which I have known and wish for, despite my unworthiness.