Focus My Flickering

Recently I was doing some work with the poetry of Thomas Merton, my favorite monk of the twentieth century.  Merton wrote a huge amount of poetry and, in fact, saw himself first and foremost as a poet.  Many people who like Merton a great deal do not know anything about his poetry.  I am told his poetry is not great, but that is ok with me.  I am not a poetry expert.           

One of my regrets is not paying attention more in those high school English classes when the teacher was trying to develop an appreciation for poetry.  I am not sure what kind of stupid reason I would have given for my lackadaisical engagement, but love of poetry did not happen.  Clearly the problem was not with poetry; it was with me!  I have been playing catch-up ever since.           

I was working with one of Merton’s most famous poems, entitled Hagia Sophia.  Since I know Greek, I knew that translated “Holy Wisdom.”  The biblical image of Wisdom plays a key role in the spirituality of Thomas Merton.  In biblical understanding, Wisdom is the Divine.  Wisdom is one of the ways God is present in our world.  Wisdom is creative and inspiring.  In many ways Wisdom is almost Christ-like.           

I was sharing this with a group to whom I was speaking.  It turned out a woman in the group is very much into poetry.  It was fun to watch her become so engaged.  For her poetry was virtually a medium of revelation.  To her poetry sometimes spoke the very words of Wisdom.  I knew I had much to learn from her.  Then I laughed.  In Greek, Sophia (Wisdom) is feminine.  You would appropriately talk about “her.”  Perhaps Divine Wisdom was using this woman I had just met to teach me.  I simply said thanks to her---to the woman and to Wisdom!           

Later that same night I had a note from the woman.  She talked about how she was connecting Merton’s poetry to another Catholic poet of the nineteenth century, Gerard Manley Hopkins.  I don’t know too much about Hopkins.  I know he converted to Catholicism, became a Jesuit, was ordained and was one of the leading Victorian poets.          

My new friend also talked about the poet, Denise Levertov.  I don’t know much about her except some sense of her long, agonizing entry into the Catholic Church.  My new friend shared a piece of Levertov’s poem, to which she gave the title, “Flickering Mind.”  I was grabbed by this poem, as if Hagia Sophia (Holy Wisdom) were speaking to me.           

At one point Levertov writes, “Not for one second will me self hold still, but wanders anywhere, everywhere it can turn.”  That resonated deeply with how it sometimes seems to be with my self---my soul.  Then to God, she confesses, “Not you, it is I am absent.”  Mea culpa, I want to say---my fault.  Even when I intend to attend to Wisdom who is within us, I fail.  My mind will wander.  I will chase any distraction that comes my way.  Vowing stability, I choose to be instable in attention and in action.           

I can agree with Levertov when she writes about God: “You the unchanging presence, in whom all moves and changes.”  This affirms God to be the creative Source of the universe, of you and of me.  Without Holy Wisdom, we die.  Without Holy Wisdom, we go mad and are insane.             

Finally, I came to a passage in Levertov’s poem that has become key for me in my pilgrimage in faith.  Delightfully she asks a question, rather than make a pronouncement.  I think much spiritual growth comes from questions, rather than pronouncements.  Levertov asks, “How can I focus my flickering, perceive at the fountain’s heart the sapphire I know is there?”  As I ponder this question, two things hit me.            

The first thing is the conviction Levertov has that we each possess a sapphire.  To me this means that we each have at our core something incredible, valuable and beautiful.  That sapphire might well be our deep soul, the true self, the child of God in whose image we have been created.  Merton uses the image of a diamond.  It seems to me they both are one in the same thing.  We are beautiful at our core.           

Secondly and sadly, we cannot stay there at the core and live from it.  We do move away and chart our own agenda.  That is why I am arrested by Levertov’s serious query: how can I focus my flickering?  I love the image of “flickering.”  We think of the perilous candle flickering in the wind.  Will it go out?  Or will it bear the light for which it is intended?  That is a soulful question.           

Flickering suggests both peril and promise.  On our own, the flickering probably will end in extinction.  But if we can focus that flickering, we have a chance.  We have a chance to know and be known by Holy Wisdom.  Teach me, O Wisdom.  Teach me to focus my flickering.