Prayer and Invisible Geography

I’m in a place of knowing nothing at all this morning. I’m writing the blog just because I have said I’ll do it every week. It feels like building an invisible bridge over an invisible chasm, or maybe, more accurately, building an invisible bridge over a chasm that only comes into existence when I start building the bridge.


I’m very grounded in the phenomenal world. I tend not to see things, feel presences, converse with spirits. I have worked as an intuitive, but to a very significant extent I believe that my work has been sensory. I listen, and if one listens deeply enough to what another person is saying, and behind it, into their voice, and behind that into the soul that’s running the voice, all kinds of information is available. It’s not ‘psychic’. Famously, and perhaps apocryphally, Inuit people discern what, fifty, kinds of snow. It comes from keen attention. All kinds of information is there on the phenomenal level – you don’t have to go metaphysical to get it.


These days I think I know people who hear God’s voice, get direction, directly experience the presence of Jesus. I don’t doubt it for a minute. But it’s not my experience. I pray frequently, in formal and clearly defined times and ways, and also in bits and pieces all through the day. I am learning just to open up and speak. When I do this I don’t have a clear sense of a Listener. I have absolute faith and conviction that there is one, but He’s not talking back to me in any way my ear, inner or outer, can hear.


I hear all kinds of things. All kinds of thoughts and impressions flow through my consciousness all day, like fish swimming through deep water. How can I say which ones are God? As far as I can see, they all must be, or none are. All kinds of events (well, not so many, really – my life is deeply, sometimes appallingly uneventful) make themselves know to me. How can I judge which events are God speaking to me, which are not. Either they all are, or none is. Who am I to name what is and what is not God?


I’ve offered God my dreams, to use as a platform. I don’t expect always to be able to translate the dreams, and I don’t pick up every one. But I feel the dream landscape changing, redefining itself.


I feel like I’m working in an invisible world with invisible tools. It’s interesting in its won way because my blindness is coming on pretty strongly, and more and more of my normal diurnal world is becoming invisible. More and more I have, even in my ‘basic’ physical life, to trust that the knife I increasingly can’t see will cut the bread I increasingly can’t see.


Lord, You prune me to the bone. It hurts, sometimes so much I can hardly think. My life becomes tiny, all the breadth of me focussed (like a burning glass?) into one single point. I don’t know if I can stand it. I don’t know if I have the courage,


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