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PREFACE
The Scriptorium
IN THE CAVERNS OF GOD’S HEART, I am sent in prayer.
Am I willing to go deep into wisdom and grace?
Here is a cavern, holy and light.
Surrounded by a curtain of water, the roar of his waterfalls.
The water is infinite, it is living water, it does not need to flow to anywhere or return, it just flows down in blessing.
The ground is earthy and hard and covered in eggs, incubated by the warmth that rises from below. They are large, like those of an ostrich.
There are flakes falling gently. They are not ash, but snow—they fizzle away when they touch the ground, releasing steam which is cleansing.
All the elements are present. It feels incredibly holy. I have sandaled feet which are comfortably warm, and the frosty touch of snowflakes now and again on my toes is refreshing.
I sit on a high-backed stool. Before me is a book. It is sacred, it crackles, it feels alive. I am not here to read it, but to write in it. A book of wisdom. It is put together piece by piece and page by page. It is a recitation of love.
Love from the beginning, into the middle, perfected at the end. It is the story of stories, of why everything has the form that it does. It is given into the hands of the mortal for understanding and for the triumph of God’s holy grace.
All newness and oldness are here to assist you.
My hands are held out, they are blessed with the kiss of the Christ-King. They will never let you down.
I turn them over to receive a pot of ink, which is everlasting. It will never run out. It is living ink, and it will never betray God’s thoughts, meaning, it will not stray from the thoughts of his heart.
A pen also will be given to me. It is made from the feather of an archangel. It will be faithful to its master, the Holy One.
The kiss, the ink, and the quill shall be your guarantee that this mission is from God, and that it cannot be corrupted.
I pray for help, for quiet, space, energy, and freedom from distraction. I am the Lord’s humble servant—this all feels so huge, what can I do but say, “Yes, if you help me,” and then humanly, knuckle down?
Holy, holy, holy day, this beginning! There is much to say and I do not know where to start. How to fill pages with the love of God?! He will lead me. All is in his hands.
INTRODUCTION
PEOPLE SOMETIMES REACT AS IF IT WERE strange that God still speaks to us. But why should one Beloved not speak to another? For what could be more natural than that my Creator should speak to my heart, or yours to your own? What could be more expected than that the Word might continue to express himself, as he has done since time dawned by his command?
Do not be alarmed, dear reader, for I do not claim any special relationship with God, nor do I insist that what is contained in this tiny offering plate of a book are locutions, for they were not given dramatically, but softly in the heart of silent prayer. Nor are the words set down here holy; this is not in any way Scripture, and where there is anything that you feel detours from that dear and beloved book, please stick with the Bible.
I am simply receiving and putting wordy flesh on the bones of thoughts that come unbidden in that place of prayerful openness, as mystics are wont to do. I believe all of this is given by God for sharing, but I acknowledge my own capacity for error and foolishness at the same time. Discernment is vital and must be driven by the Holy Spirit.
After each offering, I have placed the Hebrew word selah, which is found mostly in the book of Psalms. It is traditionally held to mean an instruction to pause and reflect, and I feel that it is good to do just this—to stop and savour what we have just read before carrying on—exactly as we might take a moment between mouthfuls of rich food.
Sometimes I refer to God using traditional terms such as Lord, Father, or using male pronouns, sometimes with a female image such as a mother. These are just a matter of convenience, as, of course, the Trinity both encompasses and exceeds all our ideas and definitions of gender and relationship. Please do not let my narrow use of these terms make you feel excluded from hearing that beloved voice.
Likewise, be assured that God never shows us things to condemn us, but rather to help us see more clearly how we might love him, ourselves, and others better. If he speaks to us of hardness of heart, for instance, it is to gift us with an opportunity to come to him and soften.
I give you this small book then, as a voice calling in the wilderness that few visit, and my only claim for it is that these words are dear to my heart as from my Beloved, and kept like love letters to remind me of what love speaks, and to keep that desire aflame.
Light
EVERY SPARK OF LIGHT, every small particle that illuminates, this is the love, the very heart of God, speaking light and joy over the world. The shining of water reveals the true nature of creation, to reflect. We reflect for his glory, both the light that is contained in every piece of air and sky, and the love of the heart that turns to its maker every minute of every day. How such a heart, given to God, will flutter and warm with turning, constant turning, back to him and away from the mire of the world!
For every turning is a manifestation of Grace and is holy and pure. Purity is misunderstood, but it fires like a dart at God’s heart. Whenever a glance, a thought, a longing, aims itself towards God and towards the will and intentions of God’s heart, there is purity, there is holiness. This holiness attracts and receives of itself, like a magnet retrieves metal. Holiness draws the holy and sacred, the good and the glorious, into itself, all returning to the place of its birth. And light is the same, reflecting back to itself over and over again so that it exists in waves as well as particles, always and ever showing the way to God and coming home to him. Let the world fall away.
Selah
Silence
WHEN THE HAILSTONES COME, hot and heavy, the silence falls too, between each orb. The silence of falling air is louder to my ears than the clattering of ice. The silence is white and deep and broad. It covers everything in an avalanche of purity. All is covered, mantled in the glory of silence. Noise especially. For where noise is, there is a covering surround of silence, or the noise would not sound. Where the dark is, the light waits to engulf it. Where the chaos is, the order waits to redeem it. Where the sound is, the silence waits also, patiently to cascade and descend, to flow into every corner and around every obstacle.
Just as there is more air in a jar of marbles than there is glass, or more space in a handful of sand than there is silicon, so there is more silence in a cacophony than there is noise. Listen for it, look for it, let it become the language of your heart: not a strange other tongue, but as natural to you as any speech.
For silence and space is what gives my universe her shape, what defines her, and it would be well for my prophets and people to become acquainted with these things, the building
