"Living Flame of Love"


Flame, alive, compelling,
yet tender past all telling,
reaching the secret center of my soul!
Since now evasion's over,
finish your work, my Lover,
break the last thread,
wound me and make me whole!

Burn that is for my healing!
Wound of delight past feeling!
Ah, gentle hand whose touch is a caress,
fortaste of heaven conveying
and every debt repaying:
slaying, you give me life for death's distress.

O lamps of fire bright-burning
with splendid brilliance, turning
deep caverns of my soul to pools of light!
Once shadowed, dim, unknowing,
now their strange new-found glowing
gives warmth and radiance for my Love's delight.

Ah, gentle and so loving
you wake within me, proving
that you are there in secret, all alone;
your fragrant breathing stills me
your grace, your glory fills me
so tenderly your love becomes my own.

Marvelous, isn't it?

And yet I recall the first time I read this and wondered what in the world he was talking about. The elaboration in his works was helpful to establish at least some conceptual framework. Now, however, I much prefer the poems.

quote:

Flame, alive, compelling,
yet tender past all telling,
reaching the secret center of my soul!
Since now evasion's over,
finish your work, my Lover,
break the last thread,
wound me and make me whole!

Has there ever been anything more succinctly written that so explains the transformation process? Recently in a moment of spontaneous and foolhardy braveness, I wrote on a little slip of paper: Put me in the fire, Lord, and set my life ablaze. I very much have the feeling that there are things that need to be cut out of me. Or that's how I always envisioned it. But I�m coming to the conclusion that if there are any threads to be broken or severed, it is the threads we have attached to things outside of us that figuratively suspend the husk of our skins off of the inner core of our being. This provides a degree of separation. We cling and pull and suspend ourselves on outside ideas of ourselves so that we don't have to experience our true selves as much or as deeply. And this also is an attempt by us to protect that fragile inner core and keep it from any more battering. And this visual works for me because I believe we are all deep-down good. Nothing needs to be cut out, per se. But we are very often tied to so many false things, much like the strings that suspend a marionette. It doesn't appear that we could walk on our own two feet with such wobbly joints, but we can. But those strings are darn scary to cut. But we need those wounds as I think John of the Cross so eloquently said.

And the whole metaphor of the wounding I think clearly points to the need to look inside ourselves, mentally, psychologically, and particularly spiritually. We must go within to find the answers to ourselves. Perhaps, as John said, something needs to reach to the center of our soul. There is no talk in that poem about going out and conquering the world in order to find God, and to perhaps find ourselves.

Beautiful!

Whoever translated the poem has done a fabulous job with the rhyme scheme. I love the gentle force in the rhyme of the first two lines of each stanza.

As an aside, could anyone recommend a good translation of "Dark night . . ." I have been trying to dip into a modern translation by a woman outside the Catholic church. I quite like the modernity of it but am totally put off by her politically correct rendering of what we, and John, would call "sin" and "the devil", for example. "Gross error" just doen't have the same impact! Other aspects of the translation don't appeal to me either.

Stephen:

Those who've made a study of this saint say we're still waiting on these better translations into English. The author above is Iain Matthew, from his book "The Impact of God," which I recommend.

Thank you w.c. for posting this...

leaves one speechless, doesn't it...

Yep.

The City of Glasgow is blessed and honoured to have in its possession Salvador Dali's magnificent painting - "Christ of St John of the Cross":

http://www.revilo-oliver.com/K...hn_of_the_Cross.html

It's a piece of art that impacted on me greatly as a child, and I still do it homage with regular visits.

Stephen, I used to have that picture in my apartment when I was in grad school. It was quite large and very well done by a local artist.

-----

What follows is the direct translation of "Living Flame" from the original Spanish. I copied it from carmelite.com

1. O living flame of love
that tenderly wounds my soul
in its deepest center! Since
now you are not oppressive,
now consummate! if it be your will:
tear through the veil of this sweet encounter!

2. O sweet cautery,
O delightful wound!
O gentle hand! O delicate touch
that tastes of eternal life
and pays every debt!
In killing you changed death to life.

3. O lamps of fire!
in whose splendors
the deep caverns of feeling,
once obscure and blind,
now give forth, so rarely, so exquisitely,
both warmth and light to their Beloved.

4. How gently and lovingly
you wake in my heart,
where in secret you dwell alone;
and in your sweet breathing,
filled with good and glory,
how tenderly you swell my heart with love.

"The Dark Night"

So dark the night! At rest
And hushed my house, I went with no one knowing
upon a lover's quest
-Ah the sheer grace! - so blest,
my eager heart with love aflame and glowing.

In darkness, hid from sight
I went by secret ladder safe and sure
- Ah grace of sheer delight -
so softly veiled by night,
hushed now my house, in darkness and secure.

Hidden in that glad night,
regarding nothing as I stole away,
no one to see my flight,
no other guide or light
save one that in my heart burned bright as day.

Surer than noonday sun,
guiding me from the start this radiant light
led me to that dear One
waiting for me, well-known,
somewhere apart where no one came in sight.

Dark of the night, my guide,
fairer by far than dawn when stars grow dim!
Night that has unifed
the Lover and the Bride,
transforming the Beloved into him.

There on my flowered breast
that none but he might ever own or keep,
he stayed, sinking to rest,
and softly I caressed
my Love while cedars gently fanned his sleep.

Breeze from the turret blew
ruffling his hair. Then with his tranquil hand
wounding my neck, I knew
nothing: my senses flew
at touch of peace too deep to understand.

Forgetting all, my quest
ended, I stayed lost to myself at last.
All ceased: my face was pressed
upon my Love, at rest,
with all my cares among the lillies cast.

The two poems I've posted are translations by Marjorie Flower, OCD. Her book "The Poems of St. John of the Cross," is available at


http://www.carmelite.org.uk/ac...JOHN__POETRY_23.html


Notice the cover has the saint's drawing which Dali rendered . . .

"What more do you want, o soul! And what else do you search for outside, when within yourself you possess your riches, delights, satisfaction and kingdom -- your beloved whom you desire and seek? Desire him there, adore him there. Do not go in pursuit of him outside yourself. You will only become distracted and you won't find him, or enjoy him more than by seeking him within you."

What a beautiful quote, w.c. I think you cited John of the Cross. I'm very touched by it. You know why? Not much long ago I was led to not find Christ outside myself. Not in any forms including Bible.

Can you say more re: the way you experience Him interiorly?

I can't go in detail into that mystical expereince. In different from my previous mystical expereincies now my soul can see a glimpse of her Lord in the form of luminious light moving all over my soul and give me healing and guidance.