Theoria

This is a poem in the tradition of St. John of the Cross and others who embrace things like The Dark Night of the Soul and the Cloud of Unknowing. "Theoria" is a technical term meaning the contemplation of God. I likely have no right to even try to deal with it in words, but this poem came, so here it is, for whatever it may be worth in the end.

Theoria

There is a thing unthought, unfelt, unguessed,

A gift in guise of deepest grief,

A weeping wound hiding a holy joy

As midnight masks the dawning of the day,

Though still it waits its rightful time to rise.

It sings through sighs and tells itself in tears

As beads are told with whispered words of longing and of love,

Its mystery manifested in melancholy,

Though minted in unmingled mirth

And founded at the fountainhead of mercy and of peace.

Its beauty lends brightness to its darkened dress,

Lacing loss with love, fining it with wondrous filigree,

Chasing sorrow with wisdom as a chalice is chased with silver,

Twining tragedy and truth in a timeless tapestry,

Spinning spirit into soul and out again,

Divinity drowning it at last in unending ecstasy!