Harmonics

There are windbag clerics. There are smarty-pants traditon-ists. There are walking-encyclopedia scriptur-ists. But it is not possible to be a snob of any sort and to be infusedly contemplative, because the dynamic of love does not allow for it.

Contemplation is not some sort of more profound approach to faith, although scripture scholars, theologians, and those drawn to magisterium-ism will define it as such. In fact, to even speak about it from any of these compulsions reflects any number of psychological illnesses.

Genuine contemplation is simply a response to a call.

It is a call from the Word

to which we as words

are simply set to resonate.

More than an echo, it is a harmonic.

And unlike the clerical or theological or literal, there is nothing static about it.

It is a gift, not something that can be attained by effort, intent, resolution, or industry.

In this way, love gains certitude through no limits to any clear notion of God, and it becomes simply held wonderfully captive there. And the only way that it is forced to leave this anointed prison is by unlocking the door by reaching through to the outside and using the corroded key of the delusion of one's own omnipotence.