A Journey with San Juan de la Cruz

 by Michael Mallory,Spring 2005 (San Francisco State University)

Following closely behind the guided tour in a monastery in Madrid, Spain, I entered into a voluminous room with a crucifix in the center and handmade tapestries hanging on the walls. I am not certain if it was the room itself, or just the fact that by this point of the tour I had finally become present. All of a sudden an intense emotion grabbed me and brought me close to tears. An inexplicable sensation overwhelmed me and it was if I could “feel” the dedication, pain and love of a people that were present in this place many years before me. The architecture, art and lifestyle of the Spaniards throughout the years are a testament to a rich and diverse culture of Christians, Muslims and Jews. In the course of historical time, these people left behind an emotional, or spiritual footprint that is infused into the culture and can be felt even in this present time. The saint and poet, San Juan de la Cruz, understood completely this sensation while in prison in Toledo, Spain.

Like a familiar melody, San Juan de la Cruz’s poetry entices my imagination and from a deep source inside me the mystery in his poetry touches me. This mystery, full of love, is the inspiration that enraptures San Juan and transports him to a transcendental reality. This esoteric reality is like a rapid current beneath the quiet surface of a river. Once discovered, the transformation of this higher truth into historical time is evident in the Gothic architecture, the pyramids of Egypt, and the poetry of San Juan de la Cruz.

I Entered Not Knowing Where (Entréme donde no supe) describes that inexpressible sensation that has been popularly termed as “altered states of consciousness” that is experienced by mystics, shamans and even everyday people in the course of their lives. There is a popular suggestion that what we call the real world is nothing more than a series of hypnotic suggestions and we roam mindlessly in this world as if sleep walking. This suggestion gives credence to the fact that many popular spiritual teachings speak of a “waking,” “rebirth” or “initiation” into a higher understanding. In the following stanza, San Juan, while in a ecstatic state and in prison, describes a moment of waking clarity:

The courage to accept this sensation and then to explore it is the first step towards the esoteric. He repeats in every stanza that this “space” is a place that transcends science, or empirical knowledge. What is this intelligence?

Peace and love are not just emotions. They are also actions that elicit the harmonizing effect of societies and are ideals worthy of aspiration. The love and peace that San Juan comes to realize is something more than our common perception. It is something deeper, secret and overwhelming in its presence. In the following stanzas, San Juan de la Cruz states that “The higher he climbs, / The less he understands” and “That the arguments of the wise / Are unable to grasp it” (Nicolas 137).

For San Juan the journey is an ascent into darkness and the light that you gravitate towards is the light of not knowing. In fact, San Juan de la Cruz suggests that you must disregard the concept of the individual in order to reach this summit.

The Buddha says that in order to reach nirvana you must detach from the desires and attachments that imprison you in the world of repetition and suffering. The Buddha said that we must transcend our attachments to become awakened. Jesus tells us that only the few that have given up all worldly attachment can enter into the narrow gate to the kingdom of God. San Juan de la Cruz says that we must allow ourselves to be lost in the mystery in order to see beyond our selves. It is through the satiation of our appetites that we define ourselves, and we must be able to enter into a “dark night” separate from these appetites to see with clear perspective.

San Juan de la Cruz, in his poem I Entered Not Knowing Where, experiences the journey as a pilgrimage through a dark night, stupefying all previous knowledge and transcending the soul above all profane science to the realm of the esoteric. This veil of darkness is an important symbol in his poetry and meditation, for the true light that guides us upward is enclosed by darkness. The migration of the soul into this dark night requires the denial of the self and courage to detach from our worldly appetites. His poem, Dark Night, describes further this ascension to higher knowledge.

En una noche oscura, On a dark night.

con ansias, en amores inflamada, Anxious, by loved inflamed,

¡oh dichosa ventura!, --O joyous chance!--

salí sin ser notada, I left not seen or discovered,

estando ya mi casa sosegada. My house at last completely quiet.

(Nicolas 102)

San Juan de la Cruz states that you must have entered into the dark night in order to proceed further to the true light of pure wisdom.

This first stanza describes the anxiety and burning desires that is experienced as the traveler takes the first opportunity to leave behind all his worldly attachments and “when God introduces them to the state of contemplation” (Nicolas 165). This movement for detachment of worldly things reverberates through time in the voices of all the great masters. Jesus of Nazareth told his followers that they must leave all they had in order to follow him. Siddhartha, the Enlightened One, told those who wished to become awake that they, too, must detach from the desires that bind them to samsara, the cycle of rebirth. San Juan de la Cruz describes this event as a solitary and personal awakening that results in the house, the self, becoming finally quiet. In darkness, without expectation, the soul is ready to move on to the second night.

A escuras, y segura, In the darkness, with light,

por la secreta escala, disfrazada, By the secret ladder, disguised,

¡oh dichosa ventura! --O joyous chance!—

a escuras y en celada, I left in the darkness, covered,

estando ya mi casa sosegada. My house at last completely quiet.

(Nicolas 102)

San Juan explains this stanza as a “second night or purification [that] belongs to those already advanced in contemplation, at the time when God introduces them to the state of divine union” (Nicolas 165). The secret ladder is a metaphor that describes the gradual ascension to divine union. It is secret because there are no sensual connotations that can give this sensation meaning. It is disguised because there can be no image, or metaphor, from the purely spiritual, God, that the intellect could possibly discern. St. John elucidates, “The interior wisdom is so simple… that it could not reach the intellect with any image or concept derived from the senses” (Nicolas 178).

We could also consider the “secret ladder” as a bridge between higher knowledge and the soul. Without this ladder we may sink into ideas of individualism and humanism, denying the metaphysical reality of our lives. Since the ladder could represent, also, our connection to what lies beyond nature, it becomes clear that without an image of transcendental connection, we sink into the isolation of individualism. Rene Guénon explains this when he states, “individualism inevitably implies naturalism, since all that lies beyond nature is, for that very reason, out of reach of the individual as such” (57). From naturalism comes relativism and then, consequently, rationalism. Without the divine union of the esoteric, the “disguised ladder” separates from profane knowledge all real knowledge.

En la noche dichosa On that joyous night,

en secreto, que nadie me veía, In secret, seen by no one,

ni yo miraba cosa, Nor with anything in sight,

sin otra luz y guía, I had no other light or mark,

sino la que en el corazón ardía. Than the one burning in my heart.

(Nicolas 102)

Many years ago, I went spelunking in an ice cave in Colorado with my church’s youth group. After reaching an inner cavern, we sat around in a circle and turned off our flashlights. The result was such an immense darkness that no matter how much you wanted to, you could not see anything. A candle was lit and the contours of the cavern and the outline of my friends’ faces became clear. This exercise was to demonstrate to us that the light of God could penetrate the immense darkness that surrounded us. It also served to demonstrate the power of darkness and the vulnerability of the soul. With nothing to set your eyes upon, the soul turns inward and is guided by the light that is burning in your heart.

The light in the heart is different than that in the mind, or brain. The light that proceeds from the heart is the light that leads to universal principles, as opposed to exclusive thought that leads to division and multiplicity. This polemic can also be seen as that between matter and spirituality.

Aquésta me guiaba This light guided me

más cierto que la luz del mediodía More directly than the midday sun,

adonde me esperaba Where waiting for me

quien yo bien me sabía Was the One I knew so well, my delight,

en parte donde naide parescía In a place with no one in sight.

(Nicolas 102)

The light is there waiting, in a place of eternity, waiting to be discovered. Guénon refers to this eternal truth as remnants of tradition that have been lost in the Western world because of humanism and rationalism. As if the western mind has separated itself from this higher knowledge and looks upon the idea of its existence as suspicious and void of any “real” intellectuality. Guénon writes that “men were indeed concerned to reduce everything to purely human proportions, to eliminate every principle of a higher order, and, one might say, symbolically to turn away from the heavens under pretext of conquering the earth” (17). St. John of the Cross says that the truth he experiences is more certain than the sunshine during the day.

In the rest of the poem, St. John of the Cross delights in the presence of this new found light and rejoices in the night “that joined lover with beloved” (Nicolas 103). All of a sudden, the clarity of life has taken a whole new perspective. This illumination is no doubt similar to the brightness of the sky as experienced by the person living in the cave as described by Plato. Slowly, the overwhelming presence of this new light gives way to a whole new world, and the shadows in the cave lose all significant meaning.

The final stanza describes the final detachment from the self and the sublime union with the Divine, the Beloved. In the end, as death approaches, the cares and concerns of the worldly appetites no longer matter. In the presence of the Divine it is possible to understand what Guénon meant when he said that “’nature’ and ‘becoming’… are in reality synonymous” (58). The ascension upward is a journey in the direction towards a person’s true nature..

Quedéme y olvidéme, I lose myself and remain,

el rostro recliné sobre el Amado With my face on the Beloved reclined;

cesó todo y dejéme, All has come to rest,

dejando mi cuidado I abandon all my cares

entre las azucenas olvidado. There, among the lilies, to die.

Works Cited

Guénon, René. The Crisis of the Modern World. Hillsdale, NY: Sophia Perennis, 1946.

de Nicolás, Antonio T. St. John of the Cross. Alchemist of the Soul. York Beach, Maine: Samuel Weiser, 1989.