i arise today and soon was hearing that this was a dark day in the life of the United States, a day we knew was coming but still a shock to the nervous system personally and collectively when the Supremes’ overturning of Roe v Wade became the law of the land… some of us are celebrating today but more of us are outraged to have freedom of choice overturned real-eye-sing the implications of this decision are about much more than abortion…

the next thing that comes to me is that today is the 480th birthday of St John of the Cross, patron saint of contemplatives, mystics and poets… centuries ahead of the modern discovery of the unconscious, st john spoke of darkness, inner journeys, and the shadow self… his genius, his gift for the good of the whole was in living and speaking about the imperative of transformation of embracing the dark night of the soul and holding steadfast trusting in benevolent great mystery to lovingly bring forth the light… it seems such a synchronicity, such a meaningful coincidence, such a sign from the implicate order to re- member the father of the dark night and here is that signature poem of his:

I.

In a dark night,
With anxious love inflamed,
O, happy lot!
Forth unobserved I went,
My house being now at rest.

II.

In darkness and in safety,
By the secret ladder, disguised,
O, happy lot!
In darkness and concealment,
My house being now at rest.

III.

In that happy night,
In secret, seen of none,
Seeing nought myself,
Without other light or guide
Save that which in my heart was burning.

IV.

That light guided me
More surely than the noonday sun
To the place where He was waiting for me,
Whom I knew well,
And where none appeared.

V.

O, guiding night;
O, night more lovely than the dawn;
O, night that hast united
The lover with His beloved,
And changed her into her love.

VI.

On my flowery bosom,
Kept whole for Him alone,
There He reposed and slept;
And I cherished Him, and the waving
Of the cedars fanned Him.

VII.

As His hair floated in the breeze
That from the turret blew,
He struck me on the neck
With His gentle hand,
And all sensation left me.

VIII.

I continued in oblivion lost,
My head was resting on my love;
Lost to all things and myself,
And, amid the lilies forgotten,
Threw all my cares away.

this poem boils down the spiritual journey into 40 lines, a journey where for many years st john spent in darkness, in the cloud of unknowing with only his trust in a loving universe to sustain him… may all who see freedom of choice with our body temple as a human right continue to stand in solidarity, in direct action day after day and week after week to voice the will of the people to live free according to the imperative of right action… and, may we all re-member that when all seems lost, new life is right around the corner…