The Rhythm Beneath All Rhythms

Transformation is not a conquest but a surrender. It does not arrive with trumpets, nor unfold in rigid lines. It moves in spirals—like the breath, like the tides, like the turning of the liturgical hours. As the psalmist sings: “Evening, morning, and at noon, I cry aloud and He hears my voice.” (Ps. 55:17). We return again and again, not to the same place, but to deeper layers of knowing.

If you imagine a destination, a finality, you have misunderstood. The Church reminds us: the journey is not a march, but a pilgrimage— a ceaseless, tender procession that teaches us to walk with grace, even when weary.

The first taste of bliss is not an achievement but an invitation: a call to awaken, not in triumph, but in the humblest acts of living.

Awakening vs. Abiding — A Sacred Distinction

Awakening is the gentle dawn—a fleeting illumination, like Lauds breaking into night. Abiding is the steady sun—constant, unwavering, the Nunc Dimittis whispered at Compline. It seeks no applause; it simply is.

The truly awakened soul does not flee from life but embraces it fully. Before enlightenment: chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment: chop wood, carry water. Or as the Church sings each morning: “O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will proclaim Your praise.” (Ps. 51:15). Bliss does not remove us from life’s rhythms; it sanctifies them, deepening our presence within.

Bliss Seems to Fade — And Why That’s Perfectly Natural

Bliss cannot be possessed. It is not a treasure to hoard, but a current to dwell within. When ego demands permanence, bliss appears to vanish. Yet this forgetting is no failure—it is part of the return.

Each return is sacred. Each remembrance renews us. Falling away and coming back—this rhythm itself is the path, echoing the Psalms’ refrain: “His mercies are new every morning.” (Lam. 3:23).

The Gentle Art of Abiding

1. Cease Striving — Bliss cannot be chased; it reveals itself in stillness. “Be still and know that I am God.” (Ps. 46:10).
2. Honor the Ordinary — Bliss dwells in simplicity: setting a table with care, answering gently, noticing sunlight on the glass.
3. Witness Without Wrestling — Let thoughts drift like clouds. Observe without resistance, as one who prays the Psalms allows lament and praise alike before God.
4. Surrender Daily — “Not my will, but Yours be done.” True strength is born in surrender, and surrender births peace.
5. Return Again — Forgetting is inevitable; returning is divine. Each return deepens presence and strengthens the soul, as the Hours draw us back to prayer.

The Hidden Truth

There is no mountaintop to reach; there is no “there.” Bliss is not postponed to the end of the road—it breathes within each moment now.

The kitchen becomes holy ground. A child’s question becomes sacred. Even unfinished tasks weave into a divine tapestry, as the psalmist prays: “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” (Ps. 90:12).

Bliss is not a prize at life’s conclusion—it is participation in the life of God. Those who truly abide do so quietly, their hearts radiant with knowing:

The wave does not need to reach the ocean— it has always been part of it.

Be still. Be present. And when you forget—as you surely will— return not to a passing feeling, but to the One who is ever faithful.

For bliss is not a mood that comes and goes; it is the abiding joy of the Spirit, the very breath of God animating all things.

As the psalmist sings: “In Your light we see light.” (Ps. 36:9). This light does not abandon; it abides. The rhythm of prayer, the turning of the Hours, the Eucharist breaking into time— all whisper the same truth:

“I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” (Mt. 28:20)

So return gently. Not because bliss has departed, but because Christ has never left you. Every breath you take is already held in Him.