The Cloud of Unknowing

As I look across the foggy Marston Vale this morning, I reflect on the metaphors this gives me for spiritual life.

For are not the hazy yellow shapes of street lamps we saw last night like the Bible, the writings of the ancients, and the spirit within us, giving us indications of where the road is, and a limited view of the true lie of the land? But in this modern so-called "morning" all the lights have gone out.

And the sounds of baffled Beaker People, falling into the brook after walking the wrong way back from Pouring Out of Beakers, are as the lost souls that wander in the darkness, without any true light. While I, who have the Community 1 million candlepower torch, will be ready to assist them just as soon as I've finished charging up the dustbin-sized battery it contains. It may take some time, but I will be ready to help them one day. Probably just as soon as they are drowned. Surely I am like the foolish bridesmaid, who left the charger at home.

And for those thrashing Beaker Folk, the small light that we have lit in the attic to show them the way home will compete with the electric lighting that Drayton, ever conscious of his limited budget, has lit in Bogwulf Baptist Chapel. Will our lost people follow my light or Drayton's? Or, confused between the two, will they just fall in the brook again?

In the fog the sounds are muffled. Even the M1 sounds kind of comforting on a day like this. I tried crying out  to Hnaef (a specialist in falling unexpectedly into rivers) to let him know which direction. But I think that my cry of "over here" may have been heard as "never fear" - as they just shouted back "that's easy for you to say," followed by more splashing.

Ah me. Well, when they find their way home I'll be ready for them. A fire glows in the grate. I have prepared for them warm soup, hot toast. Of course, if they keep getting lost like that, I'll have to eat it all myself.