"know, just know..."

"Be still, and know that I'm with you.
Be still, and know that I am here.
Be still, be still, and know..."

In the darkness, peace felt fragile. Every mistake I'd ever made seemed to parade itself across the backdrop of my closed eyes. Sleep evaded me.

I had been lying there for hours, rehashing decisions that seemed so much clearer in hindsight. I was so tired of being haunted by all the ways I could have done things differently: gone to the right -- instead of the left, paused for one minute longer, held my peace -- instead of speaking. I was exhausted from thinking and re-thinking.

I lay there awash in regret while the house breathed its winter sounds. I'd been praying -- without ceasing -- when a simple scripture from the Psalms -- and one that is central in this beautiful lyric from The Fray's, "Be Still." broke through.

Be still. And know. I am. It was the perfect reminder. I needed to get off the hamster wheel of human thinking. I needed to be still, and know. Not think, but know. I stilled, not just my thrashing, sheet-twined body, but my unsettled heart. I lay on my back, folded my hands, and took long deep breaths until I felt the sweetness of a quiet mind.

Then I asked myself: what do you know to be true? Not, what do you think is true? But what do you absolutely know to be true -- right now. Then I listened. Within moments it came. "I know I am." It was simple and pure. I know that I am conscious. I know that I am aware of loving my husband, my children. I know that I am capable of gratitude -- right now. I know that I still [always, persistently, nevertheless] love God, good. I know that I am able to be truthful, quiet, humble, loving.

It may not seem like a profound insight -- but in the dark, when the demons of regret are circling and thoughts rush around like wild creatures in an approaching storm -- it is like having the gentling hand of a divine Parent rest upon your heart.

I didn't fall asleep immediately that night. But the darkness changed from foreboding to comforting. I felt swaddled in the stillness like an infant -- it's closeness calming my heart and mind. Thinking gave way to knowing, and in that knowing there was a sweet peace.

In Scripture, John tell us:

"Yes shall know the Truth,
and the Truth shall make you free." 

He didn't say, "ye shall think the truth, and the truth shall make you free," but know. The different between thinking and knowing is a profound one for me. There is a peace in knowing what I know vs. thinking about something.

I didn't have to do battle with those demons -- Mind, God, had asserted Its divine authority. Knowing, overwhelmed human thought-taking. Gratitude for what I absolutely knew to be true, swept away the cobwebs of speculation, regret, memory, and imagination. The final chapter of Mary Baker Eddy's textbook, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, titled "Fruitage," includes testimonies of healing. C.B.G. of Hudson, Massachusetts shares this experience - and it so perfectly describes what I felt that night -- and continue to feel, each time thinking yields to knowing:

"I closed the book and with head bowed in prayer
I waited with longing intensity for some answer.
How long I waited I do not know, but suddenly,
like a wonderful burst of sunlight after a storm,
came clearly this thought,

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

I held my breath — deep into my hungering thought
sank the infinite meaning of that “I.”
All self-conceit, egotism, selfishness, everything
that constitutes the mortal “I,” sank abashed
out of sight. I trod, as it were, on holy ground.
Words are inadequate to convey the fulness of that
spiritual uplifting, but others who have had similar
experiences will understand. From that hour I have had
an intelligent consciousness of the ever-presence
of an infinite God who is only good." 

For me, this knowing space, is a place of such profound peace that I never want to leave it. I find myself looking for ways to return to it throughout each day. I seek the quiet spaces, the covert places, where I can curl myself into the knowing - the I am of being.  I curl into the consciousness that "Love alone as Life."  And it is in this place of stillness --  this nevertheless-ness that I remember what I know. It is the place I love.

offered with Love,

Kate

"be still, be still, and know..."

"Be still, and know that I'm with you.
Be still, and know that I am here.
Be still, be still, and know..."

In the darkness, peace felt fragile. Every mistake I'd ever made seemed to parade itself across the backdrop of my closed eyes. Sleep evaded me.

I had been lying there for hours, rehashing decisions that seemed so much clearer in hindsight. I was so tired of being haunted by all the ways I could have done things differently: gone to the right -- instead of the left, paused for one minute longer, held my peace -- instead of speaking. I was exhausted from thinking and re-thinking.

I lay there awash in regret while the house breathed its winter sounds. I'd been praying -- without ceasing -- when a simple scripture from the Psalms -- and one that is central in this beautiful lyric from The Fray's, "Be Still." broke through.

Be still. And know. I am. It was the perfect reminder. I needed to get off the hamster wheel of human thinking. I needed to be still, and know. Not think, but know. I stilled, not just my thrashing, sheet-twined body, but my unsettled heart. I lay on my back, folded my hands, and took long deep breaths until I felt the sweetness of a quiet mind.

Then I asked myself: what do you know to be true? Not, what do you think is true? But what do you absolutely know to be true -- right now. Then I listened. Within moments it came. "I know I am." It was simple and pure. I know that I am conscious. I know that I am aware of loving my husband, my children. I know that I am capable of gratitude -- right now. I know that I still [always, persistently, nevertheless] love God, good. I know that I am able to be truthful, quiet, humble, loving.

It may not seem like a profound insight -- but in the dark, when the demons of regret are circling and thoughts rush around like wild creatures in an approaching storm -- it is like having the gentling hand of a divine Parent rest upon your heart.

I didn't fall asleep immediately that night. But the darkness changed from foreboding to comforting. I felt swaddled in the stillness like an infant -- it's closeness calming my heart and mind. Thinking gave way to knowing, and in that knowing there was a sweet peace.

In Scripture, John tell us:

"Yes shall know the Truth,
and the Truth shall make you free." 

He didn't say, "ye shall think the truth, and the truth shall make you free," but know. The different between thinking and knowing is a profound one for me. There is a peace in knowing what I know vs. thinking about something.

I didn't have to do battle with those demons -- Mind, God, had asserted Its divine authority. Knowing, overwhelmed human thought-taking. Gratitude for what I absolutely knew to be true, swept away the cobwebs of speculation, regret, memory, and imagination. The final chapter of Mary Baker Eddy's textbook, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, titled "Fruitage," includes testimonies of healing. C.B.G. of Hudson, Massachusetts shares this experience - and it so perfectly describes what I felt that night -- and continue to feel, each time thinking yields to knowing:

"I closed the book and with head bowed in prayer
I waited with longing intensity for some answer.
How long I waited I do not know, but suddenly,
like a wonderful burst of sunlight after a storm,
came clearly this thought,

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

I held my breath — deep into my hungering thought
sank the infinite meaning of that “I.”
All self-conceit, egotism, selfishness, everything
that constitutes the mortal “I,” sank abashed
out of sight. I trod, as it were, on holy ground.
Words are inadequate to convey the fulness of that
spiritual uplifting, but others who have had similar
experiences will understand. From that hour I have had
an intelligent consciousness of the ever-presence
of an infinite God who is only good." 

For me, this knowing space, is a place of such profound peace that I never want to leave it. I find myself looking for ways to return to it throughout each day. I seek the quiet spaces, the covert places, where I can curl myself into the knowing -- the I am of being, the consciousness of Love alone as Life. It is the place of stillness -- nevertheless-ness. It is the place I love.

offered with Love,

Kate

"Be still, be still, and know..."

"When darkness comes upon you,
and sleep no longer finds your bed,
remember all the words I said,
Be still, be still, and know..."

Oh my goodness.  

The Fray's "Be Still" took me by surprise. 

As much as I love this scripture, it was the wholeness of the song itself that stopped me in my tracks tonight. Beautiful, haunting, and honest.  It reaches the place in me that identifies with the Psalmist, weeps with "the woman," and begs for another chance to prove my devotion with a contrite Peter.

This message, to "be still, and know," is simple, and profound. It asks me to just show up, and trust. To be consistent, and sincere. To be be quiet, and listen with every molecule of my being.  To wait and watch -- without imagining or remembering -- and simply to know.

Last night I was hurting...physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I know, I know, in Truth, you can't hurt spiritually. But sometimes it feels otherwise. It can feel as if you have given everything to what you believe is God's purpose for you, and you are spent. 

It's a feeling of surrender that goes beyond what you could ever imagine possible, without collapsing in on yourself and imploding.  You think you just may have found the point of "thus far and no father," and that there is truly nothing left.    

But, it's not true. It's never true.  There is always more.  There is always infinitely more.  The spiritual resources  needed to serve our Father faithfully come from a fathomless spiritual well.  They can never be depleted.  You have them by reflection, not possession.  They are the gifts of grace...unearned and inexhaustible.  

But I digress.  I do that sometimes.  

Anyway, back to the song.   I don't know The Fray. I don't know anything about the band, their genesis, their music, or the story of how this song came about. I don't need to. What I do know, is that whoever is responsible for this song, knows me. 

 The Psalmist knows me, the composer knows me, the vocalist knows me. They have to...I can feel it.  Every note feels like a friend who's "been there."  This feeling of "being known" washed over me in ways that are inexplicable, the first time I heard this song.

As poets, composers, and fellow beings they've come together  and reached into the darkness with their music. They've stretched themselves into the chasm of my vulnerability and found my hand. Then reaching, reaching, reaching -- as far down as needed -- they've pulled me up and out of the ego's dank well, into the warm light of God's profound love.  By the end of the song I am in the company of angels.

The other day a friend and I were talking. She was telling me how much she longed to "be known." I completely understood. I have been there. And I've always cherished the experience -- as she has -- of feeling known by another person.  In some ways, there is nothing so beautiful.  There is something quite extraordinary about not having to explain yourself, or apologize for your human idiosyncrasies.

But as wonderful as it is to be in the presence of someone who "gets" you, it's never really going to be enough to satisfy our deepest longings in the middle of the night.  

That personal kind of "being known," is dependent on someone else -- an "other." It lives in the warm space of a relationship. It thrives "between" two people.

But, in the middle of the night -- when I most need to know that there is never, ever, going to be a place, a time, or a circumstance that I am truly alone -- I am often by myself.  This is when a song, a poem, a scripture or a winged thought can be "a friend of the friendless", "a guardian in the gloom."         

For me, there is something almost transcendent about hearing a song that reminds me that there is a deeper sense of being known.  A knowing that goes beyond familiarity with the peculiarities of someone's human history, preferences, and personality.    

To read a Psalm written by an errant, repentant King and have it drive you to your knees, because you've shared those timeless feelings of regret and penitent hope. To discover that a disciple of "our Lord," was as hungry for mercy as you have been. To feel spiritual sisterhood with a woman whose tears fell in such abundance that they washed her Master's feet. 

Tonight, just when I yearned to feel "not so alone" in the darkness, and longing for light, this song reached me. I feel so blessed, and known -- by a Psalmist, a songwriter, a singer, and especially by the Source of their creativity and grace...my Father- Mother God. 

And in the knowing and being known,  the hurt dissolved -- entirely.

shared with Love...always,  

Kate