Touched by God

A Secret Space

What would I do without you, my journal? What would I do without you, my pen? To have all these feelings within me at the break or the end of day, and have no one to share them with—what would I do?

The piles of journals in my closet—big ones, pocket size ones, diaries from long ago. They are the story of my life, the life of my heart and my soul.

When did I start writing? What was the catalyst? What did it mean, and how did I change because of my soul opening up like this? What did I do before when these parts of my soul slept? And whom did I learn to share this with or not? Mostly, did wandering into these sacred realms make me lonelier or link me more with others? 

It probably began in the novitiate when I went into the seminary. Or perhaps the year before, when I left home to work at Sikorsky Aircraft after graduating as a Civil Engineer. I was by myself then, alone more than I had ever been before. Perhaps it was then that I began to hear this voice, and in its ramblings to discover the tender voice of God. 

Ever since then, the time to go here is as necessary as food or sleep or relationships for me. In the quiet of early morning, in the laziness of a walk on a sunny afternoon, even in the tiredness before I retire—my soul, this inner voice, God, calls out to me: “Stop! Come aside! Rest with me! Let me hold you and your day against my heart!” It’s a space that searches for meaning, “Who am I? What am I on earth for?”

Of course, I do not always write down what I notice, hear or feel. Sometimes I just look at the trees or lay on the prayer room rug. And of course, I don’t always feel the sweet presence of the Holy One—the Father, the Spirit, or Jesus whom I call by his Jewish name, Jeshua.  There are few people I can share this space and relationship with. My spiritual directors through the years and my good friends. Mostly though, this soul-space is a realm that doesn’t seem possible to completely share, and perhaps it can’t be. 

It is a secret. The secret at the heart of each living person. A secret place waiting, begging to be found. Nothing and no one can compare with this place. And no one can find it for us. It is holy. It desires you and gives back all of you to yourself. It is a vast loneliness—a solitude even more—and at the same time it comprehends everything and everyone[PM1]  in the world. All persons—friend or foe, living or dead—are present there. It is where God dwells. Holy Communion. The[MOU2]  Great Communion.

One time—I wish I could remember when—I took a pen and copy book. With hardly a thought about where I was going, I wandered through these portals of eternity with a simple stroke of my hand. I am forever grateful that I did. 

What I have written here is an attempt to share this secret place so that others might discover theirs.

Fr. Paul Morrissey, OSA

Spirhealth@aol.com

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 [PM1]Put a footnote at least here on Teilhard Chardin’s sense of “The Great Communion” with Jesus Christ when we die.

 [MOU2]Teilhard de Chardin