Spiritual suggestiveness, a term I take from the late Zen teacher Susan Moon, is a trait of all spiritual experience. To have a sacred encounter, sensing ourselves faced by something we might call holy, sacred, otherworldly, or enlightened is poetic. Poetry hides meaning to allow meaning to reveal itself when it reveals itself, and that relies on the poem encountering you and your receptivity - so with the wide array of what we refer to as spiritual experience. The suggestiveness points to something not contained in the contours of the experience, so pointing to a non-experience.
In Wonders of Spiritual Unfoldment, John Butler answers the request: Tell more of your meeting with Jesus.
I was deeply depressed and alone in the Californian desert. Nothing was heard or visible, but suddenly I knew. He stood beside me, absolutely sure. But there wasn't really anything to describe. The descent into something to speak about hasn't happened to this day. Why not? I suppose because it happened and lives spiritually, in heart. Now, as I think how to answer, it seems that pivotal events of life are often like this - discreet and humble, almost unnoticed in origin, yet developing with time. Some weeks after the event, I stopped at a small town in Arizona, where an evangelist preacher was loudly proclaiming how Jesus had saved him from his sins. God bless the man - that's how it was for him. He invited his audience to come forward and witness. Being one of the few left behind, I made myself go up but found no words to say. I could only embrace him and return to my seat.
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We have deeply felt experiences of the Sacred, and we cannot speak well of them, if at all. We hold these moments dear, and over the years, like hidden yeast, they enlarge our lives and unfold ever-deeper meanings of what happened then. The past lives on in the present.
Wisdom paths introduce us to the potential of these sacred realizations. We could call this a "God experience," if we are of theistic faith. Robert Aitken, a late Zen Buddhist teacher, in Encouraging Words, speaks of these visitations, saying, "In the course of ardent practice, a student will sometimes experience the sacred in a most personal way with makyō, the 'uncanny realm.'"
Aitken acknowledges their value: "Makyō are often dismissed by teachers as mere dreams, but they can be profoundly encouraging, for when they have passed, the ongoing practice is intimately personal and meaningful." This "sacred realm," as he calls it, is the same for every wisdom path, only clothed differently, even as dreams appear differently for different persons and cultures.
There are times we wisely remain quiet about these visitations. Most people are not prepared to honor them. Often, persons close to us have as little receptivity to such openings as others. Persons may reply with befuddlement, doubt, rebuttal, or even contempt, thus trying to befoul what we hold dear to our hearts. So, we need to guard these sacred visitations with care; there is no reason to feel it imperative to share them with persons who cannot respect them.
Jesus instructs us not to speak too easily of sacred visitations. He utilizes the images "dogs" and "pigs," both ritually unclean to his fellow Jews. Gospel of Matthew 7.6 (GNT), "Don't give what is holy to dogs or throw your pearls to pigs. Otherwise, they will trample them and then tear you to pieces."
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Truly, the hallowed epiphanies we meet along the Way deserve the utmost respect. And, as John Butler speaks, they live within us and develop over time. In fact, later, we may interpret these experiences differently, from a more mature perspective.
Moreover, we may later see that our sacred realizations are not contradictory to those of persons on other wisdom paths - this has been true for me. We can meet many people in a day, all dressed differently, but each person is a person, so with spiritual experience. My first breakthrough was when age 9. While it happened in a little Baptist church, I came to see how it is akin to sacred encounters in other wisdom paths much different from that Christian and Baptist context.
These epiphanies remain our teachers long after they happened. They are present tense, for they are incursions from a tense-less domain. They also furnish inspiration and anchoring. My first opening 56 years ago has been an anchor to help me keep walking the Way - I have returned to that night in memory and gratitude many times, including when staying true to the Way had become quite challenging and when I felt alone and unsupported by others.
What encountered me that night, a visitation of powerful, pure love, has never left me. And the more I come to know the source of that meeting, the less I feel able to speak of it - in fact, I rarely have over the years. Yet, to say it is a mystery does not lessen its truthfulness or the validity of the encounter. What is most important cannot be talked about, it can only be known in its silence.
