©Jason I. Stutz 2019
Il Purgatorio
Dante: Beatrice, show me the night in which the toxic fumes of hell are far below us.
Thus, we lifted, upon my heart’s wish, and met the stone, grey world where jurisprudence reigned- the constant face of God at zero degrees of expression. Enormous stoney boulders rolled, as over mental processes, and had their positions automatically corrected by Him as though moved by the arms of an all-knowing and dispassionate clock.
Thank God hell’s fumes are far below, but this world almost makes me long for any kind of stimulation- no scent, no noise, everything obscenely moderate. Grey/brown landscape, no cold nor heat, no pleasure, no pain.
All a tireless waiting for a transformation that has not guaranteed its coming. These boulders speak of the general laws that we are under, moving reflections of our thoughts, making obvious our passionless spirit. Even longing feels absent here- I am not even chilled by this lack of feeling. Everything is an omen of moderation. Why? When will Christ come? Is this He, who now takes me by the hand guiding my ascenscion? Already? I climb with him to a starry realm. He leaves me at the pivot point of my ascension. I have risen as far as my current body can stand. I kneel. “Christ, transform me, that I may rise with you to be where you are.”
“You can not be where I am, but I can descend to you. I will continue to descend and lead you as high as you can go. For now, your transformation is possible, and you have plenty to accomplish. Remember God?”
“I found Him, once, but he was in my heart and I could hardly withstand even an instant of His presence there.”
“Yes, that was God. Good, good. Build in your heart an apartment where He may live and your heart will become a mansion where He stalks the halls night and day. Have courage.” And he left me gasping for words, dumb, to exist in that world between Grace and torment, too scared of God to call God near, and too bored of hell for it to change me. I reached for a boulder and sat. My hand rest upon my chin. I sat and waited.
After some time, it occurred to me to (“Why not?”) pick up a rock- a simple, small, ordinary rock- and place that upon the ground for God to rest His foot upon. As I was not scheming and strategizing but, rather experimenting and curious, to my amazement, a crack opened in the sky through which a tiny but substantive ray of cognizant light entered and reached to softly embraced it. Thus I began my relationship with God, alternately moving away from that rock upon which God stayed, out of fear, and nearer to it from desire.
Now, I ignore it while I think of other things- like a coy girl. And, now, I turn the full face of my heart toward it, raging a fire of insane love, demanding truth! And now, the fire slowly reposes to a grace I could only sometimes withstand. I am existing between Grace and torment in a dance choreographed not by Him, and not by me, but by something between Him and me. This rock and my vicinity to it mirror my desire for God.
Stutz's Fairy Tales and Poems 