Playing the Indian Card

Friday, April 08, 2011

The Dark Night of the Soul


My interpretation of the finest lyric in Spanish, St. John of the Cross's "Dark Night of the Soul.":

In blackest night, on fire with desperate longing—oh bliss of chance—
I escaped unseen; my household still and ignorant, like smoke suspended.

Safe in the covering darkness, by the secret ladder, disguised as someone else—oh bliss of chance—
Dark, unseen, unknown; my household sleeping still.

In the delirious night, unwhispered and unnoticed, troubling no beams
And stark with blindness, no light, no wayfinder but the torch burning down my heart.

This torch a truer guide than gaudy noon
To the place where I remembered he had always awaited me
A place where no one was, and none appeared.

Night itself led me—night lovelier than the dawn.
Brilliant night that interlaces lover and belovéd, both transformed.

Upon my scented breast, all his and his alone
He rested, sleeping; I caressed. The breath of distant cedars filled the room.

A wind swept in from high watchtower. My fingers parted hair;
His fingers brushed my neck: all senses left.

Someone remained, forgetting everything. My head was fallen, on his breast.
Everything ended, even me. All cares disappeared among lilies.


I disagree with St. John's theology, but he sure can write.

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