The numinous is usually understood through experiences that reveal the presence of the divine mystery. It is an awareness of human nothingness when faced with that which is beyond our understanding.
A few weeks ago I promised that I would write a few words on one of my numinous experiences that has taught me that human life survives the death of the flesh.
About sixteen years ago on a very pleasant late September evening I was settling down to watch a televised football match in our local village tavern with an audience of like minded football fans providing the atmosphere necessary to make the evening worthwhile.
Apart from war time service in the Royal Navy my mother's youngest brother, William had spent his entire life living in Swansea, South Wales. Uncle Willy had been a heavy smoker and at 77 years of age had developed a terminal cancer. Moved into a hospice Willy received around the clock care and visits from family and friends.
A very bright orb of light with gold flashes radiating from its circumference appeared out of no where and hovered in my line of sight blocking my view of the football game.
In that instance it was as if two messages had been seeded into my conscious awareness that Willy had just died, and I received an apology for an incident some years earlier when I had been denied entry into his home.
I telephone one of my sisters with no answer. Likewise next morning, again without reply. The following evening my sister telephoned me to advise me that our uncle William had died at 8 UK time (10 Greece time) the previous evening. This was the precise time that the orb appeared evidenced by the start of the football game.
During the numinous experience I remained calm and relaxed totally at peace, without any sense of discomfort or fear. For me it was a natural event that needed no further explanation, other than recognising that life is filled with surprises, teaching us there is more to life than the rational self can easily explain.
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Sometimes it comes in a daydream
Posted by Faz on July 31, 2019, 7:06 am, in reply to "The numinous"
The light came through the window Straight from the sun above And so inside my little room There plunged the rays of love
In streams of light I clearly saw The dust you seldom see, Out of which the nameless makes A name for one like me
I'll try to say a little more Love went on and on Until it reached an open door Then love itself Love itself was gone
All busy in the sunlight The flecks did float and dance And I was tumbled up with them In formless circumstance
I'll try to say a little more Love went on and on Until it reached an open door Then love itself Love itself was gone
Then I came back from where I'd been My room, it looked the same But there was nothing left between The nameless and the name
All busy in the sunlight The flecks did float and dance And I was tumbled up with them In formless circumstance
I'll try to say a little more Love went on and on Until it reached an open door Then love itself Love itself was gone Love itself Love itself was gone
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Men's curiosity searches past and future and clings to that dimension.
But to apprehend the point of intersection of the timeless with time is an occupation for the saint
No occupation either, but something given and taken, in a lifetime's death in love, ardour and selflessness and self-surrender.
For most of us, there is only the unattended moment the moment in and out of time the distraction fit lost in a shaft of sunlight the wild thyme unseen
Or the winter lightning or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply that it is not heard at all, but you are the music while the music lasts.
These are only hints and guesses, hints followed by guesses and the rest is prayer, observance, discipline, thought and action.
The hint half guessed, the gift half understood is incarnation Here the impossible union of spheres of existence is actual, Here the past and future are conquered, and reconciled.
from The Dry Salvages (No. 3 of 'Four Quartets'), T S Eliot
Well, Faz, I'm a big fan of Leonard Cohen's works particularly his "Alleluia" (1) with T. S. Eliot's poems a distant reminder of my school days when out of the blue hints, and nudges would guide me out of trouble onto a road filled with better days provided by my loving companion also known as the infinite maker of dreams come true.
This brief newspaper article (patience with the adverts) references the life, and death of an Australian physician and his dedication to maintaining the clock at his village church.
Dr Farrer said: 'The clock stopped literally to the minute of dad's death. As a family doctor I'm used to looking at my watch because sometimes it can be critical for the death certificate.
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Synchronising or?
Posted by Faz on August 2, 2019, 7:16 am, in reply to "Synchronising"
Lovely article, Alex, but I'm tempted to think ... maybe ... there was a little Aussie larrakin left in the good doctor and he somehow arranged the cessation.
For whom the bell tolls
Posted by Alex Caughey on August 2, 2019, 2:30 pm, in reply to "Synchronising or?"
Well, Faz, that thought is fair dinkum for those who believe that synchronising ones departure is a matter of winding down.