Days of the dark night of the soul

I recall first poring through St John of the Cross’ work, Dark Night of the Soul.  It was 2004, and it was as if the author saw right through me and had written it all for me to consume.  I read it and re-read it and read anything I could on it.  Since then, I’ve been captivated by this phenomenon about the spiritual purpose of human suffering that draws us ever deeper into God, not pushing us away.

Back then I so needed literature, film, mentors who understood the suffering of grief I was enduring.  Somehow my suffering could be withstood when I had models of how others did it.  These models were a salvation to me.  Some of those days seemed ten times worse than I’d previously imagined suffering possibly could be.  Absolutely shocking.

Crises of spirit where the soul is cast alone, estranged from even itself, we languish.

There are seasons of the dark night of the soul that seem never to end, but there are also whole days that seem as though they were hand-picked for us by the devil himself.

Nothing goes right, our confidence is down, we doubt everything, we get self-conscious, we’re full of fear, dread claws away at our hope.  We feel irritable at the slightest thing.  Depression lurks at the doorway of our heart.  Whole days of spiritual attack.

My worst days have taken me to many forms of the brink.  From intense and uncontrollable sobbing, to a dread that lingers amongst other varietals of anxiety, to a state of being where meaning and purpose plummet into the abyss, to a loneliness that cannot be shaken.  And I still don’t feel I’ve described it that well.

These days truly are mental health days, where it’s wise to withdraw from life if we can.

Days like this, even as they start in a fashion where waking was the worst news ever, or as they creep up suddenly at 9.45 in the morning, feel crushing, as if a 10-ton truck was lodged there on our chest squeezing all the air out of our lungs and all the hope out of our hearts.

Then there are the evenings when, due a certain news or revelation, we ponder the rise of a panic for the aspirations of the morning.  Tears flow, or we just can’t get to sleep.  Anxiety is palpable but bizarrely we cannot analyse the thinking for why it seems so bad — or perhaps there are just too many things to reconcile and we don’t really know what to panic about most.

Days of the dark night of the soul can only be endured.  Victory is in the endurance.  To get through, and certainly when the dark night is lifted, we can be thankful as much as be relieved.

Days of the dark night of the soul are probably a pattern.  I know they are for me.

Over the years, as we explore the pattern, we feel less vulnerable overall, because we come to accept that ‘This, too, shall pass’, just as we also see that being kept in touch with suffering has enhanced our humility, empathy, wisdom, courage and faith.

It has also deepened our contact with hope, and our peace seemed more accessible and gave us incredible comfort.

As you face your days of spiritual attack, plunged into darkest night so suddenly, go placidly, remain in touch with the simplicities of life, try not to think too much, and fix your eyes on something (anything) to be grateful for.

This, too, shall pass.  The day passes one moment at a time.  Peace is on the horizon.

There’s no shame in being dogged by these triggering moments of life.  There’s no room for guilt, either, although we too easily feel guilty for feeling guilty.  There’s only room for acceptance as we allow the dark night moment to be and then let it go.

Just know that there are people thinking about you and praying for you as you read these words.  You’re loved and much is there intercession for your healing.

One thing is for sure, we cannot heal it unless we feel it.  It’s better by far to face our days of the dark night of the soul than to deny them, which many people unfortunately do, and we’re all tempted to do.

Photo by Breno Machado on Unsplash