I mistrust the feelings themselves; I mistrust my own perceptions. Of myself. Of life. Of God.
It’s autumn now; the candles have come out. At least, the holders on the mantelpiece and around the fireplace now contain recently burnt wicks – as the evenings grow darker, I am drawn to candlelight. I am drawn to the softness of the flame.
And that trivial love of candlelight opens the way for something more profound. Releasing expectation, no longer over thinking it, I embrace the soft moment. And a door is opened in my soul. I hardly notice it swinging ajar, but that which was closed off – by cynicism, coldness and doubt – allows something ‘other’ to come in.
And an inner flame awakens as I take the time to notice it; as I lay aside the clutter that I cling to, the excuses I make, the fears and doubt that so often dog my steps.
I breathe, and I breathe not just air but spirit, and not just spirit but Holy Spirit, and what was a soft moment paves the way for divine encounter. I am stilled, and sense God surrounding me.
The cold, cynical doubter tuts at this, but the soft moment has stolen her power. I revert from the panic-ridden, over-busy, over-analysing to a simple acceptance that I am loved. She squalls at me, that doubter, but her pokes and prods have lost their power and I am granted respite; I embrace trust.
I begin to seek the soft moments, driven initially by need but then desire, because the more I draw near, the healthier my soul feels, the gentle flame burning, melting the sharp ice, returning me to something I felt I’d lost.
Sometimes a simple thing opens the way to a soft moment. A candle flame, a song that winds its way inside you, a vista of such beauty that your soul skips a beat.
Let me pause. Let me pause in your presence, O Spirit of God, and fill me. Give me a heart that seeks the soft moments, the door that swings wide, the surrender.
Breathe on me, breath of God.