The Pleasing Beloved

Photo Credit: Ryan Roth-Klinck

By Andrea Lingle

“Just as His Majesty has a room of his own in heaven, so he has a special place inside the soul where he alone dwells. Let’s call it another heaven.”
-St. Teresa of Avila, Interior Castle, p. 261

And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
Matthew 3:17

Above you the light looks green. Below you is bottomless black depth. The sound of the water cascading into the pool ahead of you surrounds you. The echo and echoed meeting around you in a droning pounding. You are suspended two body lengths below the surface, observing the chaos beneath the falls, insulated from their ferocity by the unimaginable depths beneath you. 

Above you at the edge of the pool lies your sheet, the folded towel, your nightshirt, and your basket. Once you reached the edge of the pool, there was only a moment spent calculating before your ankles and knees then elbows and shoulders slipped into the water. Down and down. The water was warm and alive, it embraced you, pulling you deeper in. Immediately, you panicked and kicked back to the surface, eyes protesting in the glare of the sunlight. Floating easily you turned back to the shore. By now you were several strokes away from the edge of the pool nearing the ruffles of the waterfall’s outer edge.

Lying on the surface of the water, you let yourself bask in the cacophony of sound and light. The water supported you easily, reassuring you. Even in the midst of the chaos of the pool, you found something utterly still just beneath your breath.

Time passed. The sound of the water lessened. The light receded.

Suddenly, it became imperative that you dive deeper. You arched down into the water, kicking and pulling your way down. Now, two body lengths down, you pause to consider. 

Which way is forward?

Where does the water lead? Deeper in or back?

While the depths beckon beneath you, the towel lies folded on top of the basket and your garments lie on the edge of the pool. Your lungs are voicing a corporeal concern—to go on seems impossible. Into the dark depths or back to edge. Toward the chaotic tumble or away? 

Outside, the sun has ambled across the sky. A woman bends to stake a bent sunflower. Deep in the woods a man whistles as he clears the spring of a tangle of branches and leaves. The sound of the water gurgling west toward the house is sweet and gentle. Just behind him is a small shed with a tumble of needful things: baskets, rakes, pruning shears, and a stack of rough towels. The man lifts two baskets from a high shelf and returns to the edge of the spring. The wet leaves go into one basket, twigs and sticks are piled in another. Compost and mulch, nourishment and protection. Grace and Love.

A head pops up in the small pool. The man grins and says, “So, you chose deeper in!”

You grin and jump from the pool, receiving the proffered towel with joy. The two of you finish the clearing out. As you return home, you are bearing a new basket, filled to the brim and dripping.