‘Tween the Dark Night and Depression
What is the difference between depression and “dark night of the soul”?
I could post academically minded words about St. John of the Cross (a Carmelite mystic of the 16th century) and his writing, “Dark Night of the Soul” and compare/contrast that with a clinical definition of depression, but that would not suffice. No, I dare to share the imagery from my own mind as means to express the spiritual dimensions of depression and the dark night of the soul. I have experienced both.
This is a blog of a spiritual director, a wandering woman in search of self and home. Then so be it that deeper spaces be publicly explored. Besides, St. John of the Cross’ feast day is soon: December 14th. Happy feast of St. John of the Cross…
You see, for me, December—even amidst all the beauty it beholds in wintertime festivities, the contemplative nature of Advent, and the tradition of Christmas time—sometimes brings with it transition, dark days, and depression. Three times in my life has it been so intense that I have written the visions that have come through meditation, prayer, and during my waking hours.
Eight years ago (December 2000), dragged down by the weight of failed college courses, I prayerfully imagined my depressive state, describing my soul in these words (condensed from my original…):
I am standing in an open meadow, alone an vulnerable. Thick fog surrounds me. I feel so distant and far away from reality; memories of times past are but a blur in my mind. Time seems to freeze as my life in this moment seems so surreal. My body continues with daily functions without the presence of the mind. I cannot find the way out of this place, though someone is standing beside me. I feel strangely comforted. Though the presence comforts my mind, my body cannot accept it, my heart will not listen—it hurts so much it drives me mad. The fog still covers me in my lonely meadow, my life again becomes a hopeless blur. But I leave my mind open and the whisper returns, this time for good…
The voice spoke to me through the fog and led me out. Though similar in some ways, the imagery contains more terror. Eight years later, I am again lost in thick fog. Here is a shortened version of what I saw this week (December 2008):
On a cold gray morning I walk through a deserted neighborhood. My senses slowed, vision dull; I notice little of my surroundings. One foot goes in front of the other, my body on automation, shuffling forward in slow motion. Left behind, I am missing life’s vitality and left vulnerable in the cold. Memories of times past are but a blur, as I settle in for a lengthy winter haze.
I glance up as I pass an empty park. Out of the sky streaks an orange fireball, its golden glow leaving me breathless and still. Caught by its dazzling display, I forget where I am. Suddenly I awake to the terror around me, the deafening noise of explosions cut into my ears like shrill screams. Terror and panic soon fade into numbness as a multitude of explosions continue chaotically around me. I in my cocoon of haze, hear nothing but a faint chorus of chants above the slow beat of an orchestra.
With one foot in front of the other, I move onto the open field. I know I cannot stay here. Through the haze, beyond the fire and smoke, I see a mirror. Peering beyond my horrid reflection, past the glow of exploding bombs, a distant world catches my eye. My eyes glazed, I sense something familiar, a life I once knew. Through the looking glass, the image grows sharper—a peaceful park bathed in sunlight, a city restored from the destruction behind me. Barely visible, I see faces, there are people gathered. Gazing toward me, I see fixated eyes, lovingly looking at me; yet accompanying ghostly glares haunt my soul and pierce my heart with broken shards of glass.
Unaffected by the chill, and unaware of my icy breath, I mutter inaudibly at first. I cannot stay here. I cannot stay here, I repeat. Little strength remains, my heart cold as ice; sister winter’s grip remains tight. If I cannot stay here, where shall I go? With a lengthy look back at the firestorm of Armageddon behind me, I resolve to move forward into the mirror. Thick and dangerous, the barrier is too great to pass through alone. Hands appear from the other side, but my grip too weak, and the piercing shadows of ghosts behind and before scare me away. There is nothing else to do here but try again…
This was quite vivid, and the basic vision came to me as I was walking to work. These both visually describe a more depressive state of being. Here, then, is the dark night of the soul from one year ago (a collection of writings from December 2007), a different state, one wrapped in God’s presence:
Still holding, still sifting through sadness. It’s all consuming, enveloping my soul with darkness. Only God can shine in this deep chasm, a pit of grief for myself. It is a safe place because I am helped by God and gentle with myself. I am not in despair, I am not hopeless. All around me the world goes on, I go through the motions of life, being able to be present when need be and then return to my dark night. I don’t know where I am going or when I’ll leave this place. The whole experience is a dark night of the soul, an intense time of sadness, soaked in the presence of God. This fog has brought me closer to God and closer to those around me.
I have enjoyed a quiet peace in these mornings of Advent. Coffee, quiet, candles are three elements of my sacred morning. After the end of the fall quarter, I was ready to relax. Ready to become empty. In that emptiness I have found the room for love, for a vibrant experience of love for myself and my friends. I am lost and I love it, this all encompassing love yet enduring tiredness. I long to cry and cry and cry. Somehow I will find the faucet…
Last week was a turning point, a low I wish not to experience again. There is hope that the mirror I stand before leads from depression to dark night on into a land of light. Many have gone before me on this journey, and many are there in darkness, too. Come what may, I hope to hear God’s whisper once more and the embrace of friends waiting on the other side.
Come what may, I have no choice but to continue walking…
Tags: dark night of the soul, depression, grief, meditation, spirituality, St. John of the Cross, vision
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