I love spiritual direction. A couple of times a month. Less or more if needed. I meet with a priest. We were in the seminary together. A road sometimes traveled together. Sometimes not. He knows my core. Spiritual direction is like therapy (I’m assuming from film. I’ve never been) but it’s completely from a spiritual point of view. We begin with a sign of The Cross and a prayer. We discuss things like prayer and my relationship to God and sins and service and striving toward holiness. Because my buddy and I’ve known each other for so long, it’s now a dialogue. It’s nice to have someone to share such intimacies. But I also like the confines of the relationship. We occasionally associate outside that upper room but it’s rare. The distance is at my insistence. I don’t need someone to sit beside; I want someone to kneel alongside. That’s one of the aspects I truly miss about the seminary: the communal prayer. Sharing the intimacies of one’s immortal soul is a lot to give; it’s a lot to ask from someone who lacks the same thirst. I’m parched.
Two sentences he said this week that surprised me.
We talked about my spiritual journey. The arc. And he said he enjoyed “watching you become you.” At 57 I rarely consider metamorphosis.
I told him how lonely I feel not having a partner. Aside from the obvious pleasure of sex, my favorite was the post coital conversations. I miss those intimate talks about all the weighty issues. “Few couples talk like you think they do. You often idealize relationships.” I think that’s true. Maybe that’s why I write. I don’t know.