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Transcendent Experiences

I am in my office during Break, undisturbed as I work and able to crank up my music without fear of disturbing others. I have a recording that I don't listen to very often because it is powerful and during much of my waking hours I want to be able to focus on others.

The recording is of professionals performing a meditation on Saint John of the Cross's Dark Night of the Soul by Ola Gjeilo. I was blessed in being able to sing this, in eight-part harmony, some years ago as an amateur during the Easter Season. It touches, in me and in others I have spoken to who have heard it, deep reserves of unworthiness, despair, hope, and grace.  It marked me for having been a part of the performance.

I can not remember much of the tune, or the lyrics, or the actual experience of singing the piece. That is not how it marked me. I remember how it made me feel.

I believe that is the mark of transcendent experiences, at least in my experience. The details fade but the intensity of feeling stays undiminished.  Many of my other transcendent experiences are deeply personal and not appropriate for sharing in public. I will mention one other.

Our first child was born prematurely, the result of an emergency C-section to save the life of our child and potentially that of my wife, his mother. I had a role to play; I was outwardly hopeful, cheerful, and uplifting. It was a lie as I was terrified of losing my new family in a single day.

His birth was meaningful but I do remember the details, standing by my wife and holding her hand as she was cut open, swiftly enough to cause a long recuperation of her abdominal muscles, and our son was helped out to meet us.

That was not the transcendent experience; I remember the details still quite vividly, the smell of the room, the glare of the lighting, the sound of the monitors, I carry that all with me.  The transcendent experience happened a day later, when I was driving alone to fetch something for the hospital room after my son and wife were stable. I was listening to some lovely music, classical guitar, on my car stereo and I just had to pull over to the side of the road and weep for a time.

I could not tell you where I pulled over out of traffic, or for how long, but the depth of my fears and sorrows giving way to the hope that I had only been pretending to feel was overwhelming, transcendent.  It has marked me.

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