A large silence
It started with something we were going to do. An intense, intent leaning forward, a silence we were trying to hold. All to induce a movement, an appearance or at least not to be a distraction or an obstacle. It ended with being held by a larger silence and arms that were wider than our own. Something was being done to and in us. We try to still our bodies and attain the optimal posture – to settle. Gradually we drifted into a hushed silence. We were held, together, by the silence of the wood, of the gently swaying bush and the dark holes. We step into its own patience, it own waiting, and we relax. Muscles untensed, gazes took in a greater sweep and breathing became easier and more measured. What was this sense of being purifed, of being washed, of bathing?
Waiting for badgers
I knew little of badgers. A few of my companions it appeared had hidden a long standing fascination since childhood for these elusive creatures. We had crept into this city centre wild park as darkness threatened to descend in the hope of catching sight of a badger set at domestic chores or letting its hair down in play. As we sat perched atop our hard and cold rocks strategically dotted around this small natural amphitheatre what gradually dawned on me was that what we waited for was other. Not really known, different, yes other. There was no reason for the badgers to appear bar their own volition and desire. We did coax by dint of nuts, a tempting bribe we hoped. We’re here, now, we say! Thirty minutes passed by, of shifting and balancing our weight considerately between buttocks. Thirty minutes of apparent nothing, yet at the same time of everything. It’s said that the true self, the soul is a shy animal. To face our own restlessness, to feel our own target fever is best avoided perhaps? To stop and to wait. Offensive four letter words. To attend and be attended to. And after a while it had felt that it mattered little whether a flash of a black and white streak was caught. I was ready, alert and sated. And oddly cleansed.
Shyness
Clearly this had taken on not merely a description or illustration of prayer but an experience of prayer too. Ignatian spirituality lays significant weight on noticing the movement of the heart, the point where the hearts quickens. It has detected or rather responded to something deep and recognises its own – deep calls to deep, spirit to Spirit. God is about and the heart has noticed it and stirs from its slumber. The welsh poet priest RS Thomas would suggest, I think, that our only resource is (our) emptiness. Put another way evacuation, of the din of inner and outer voices, for the Other. We sat in that clearing. Waited respectfully, humbly for a God who like the badger may prove to be shy. That night nine badgers, young and old, emerged to nuzzle root and twig. Maybe not so shy then.
Andrew Hook