Feb 14 2025
Teresa of Avila – I am for My Beloved
On Those Words “I am for My Beloved”
by Teresa of Avila
English version by Megan Don
Already I gave myself completely,
and have changed in such a way
That my Beloved is for me
and I am for my Beloved.
When the gentle hunter shot me
and left me in all my weakness,
in the arms of love
my soul fell
and being charged with new life
I have changed in such a way
That My Beloved is for me
and I am for my Beloved.
He pierced me with an arrow
laced with the herbs of love
and my soul became one
with her Creator;
I no longer want another love,
since I have given myself to my God,
That My Beloved is for me
and I am for my Beloved.
— from The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology), Edited by Ivan M. Granger
/ Image by stevekc /
Happy Valentine’s Day! I thought this meditation on love and the soul’s yielding to the Beloved was just right.
I was sent this poem directly by the translator, Megan Don. She is the author of Meditations with Teresa of Avila — a truly beautiful collection of contemplations inspired by the writings of Teresa of Avila.
According to Megan Don, this poem by Teresa of Avila was written about her well-known mystical experience of feeling her heart being pierced with a rapturous love by an angel. This sacred moment inspired Bernini to craft his spiritually erotic sculpture, The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa.
A few of my own thoughts:
Saints and mystics the world over speak of the heart being touched, pierced, opened. They speak of being surprised by love. The problem is, we hear the world “love” and “heart” and we think of the simple sweetness of Valentine’s Day cards. We aren’t encouraged to develop a real concept of what these great souls are attempting to communicate.
When the mind settles and the soul waits in vulnerable readiness, the most amazing thing happens: the heart blooms. The heart opens and expands. Effortlessly, the heart reaches out, with a wider span than we imagined possible, embracing all of creation. We become flooded with something beyond feeling or emotion; there is a sense of finally recognizing our full nature within the heart. We immediately know that we have returned home, that we have rediscovered the seat of our being.
Within this awareness, when we focus inward, we are enraptured, filled with bliss, a sense of wholeness and joy that is beyond words. When focused outward, we have become an embodiment of love. Love pours through us and fills everything we perceive.
Amidst this love, the barriers to our empathy collapse and we also begin to feel all the world’s struggling hopes and suffering and surging life — yet it is all somehow part of a larger tapestry of beauty.
Think about these things. Consider what it means to have one’s heart “pierced” by the Divine. How can we, in full honesty, say, “I gave myself completely,” and “I am for my Beloved”? What is the weakness or vulnerability that the “gentle hunter” leaves us in? What does it mean to be “changed with new life”? The big question: What is the real experience that allows us to say, “my soul became one / with her Creator”?
Have a beautiful Valentine’s Day, at home within the heart.
Recommended Books: Teresa of Avila
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Teresa of Avila |
Teresa de Jesus, more popularly known as Teresa of Avila, lived in a time of turmoil and religious reform. She was a nun in Catholic Spain during the immediate aftermath of the Protestant Reformation, when Spain saw itself as the most secure bastion of traditional Catholic faith and practice.
She was a strong and inspired leader in a time and place when women were relegated to more passive roles. And she was a deep mystic, who was said to sometimes levitate off the ground, with her face illuminated.
Teresa entered the Carmelite order of nuns against the wishes of her father. She formed and headed the “discalced” movement within the Carmelite order, a movement that advocated simplicity, humility, and the spiritual life over the increasingly worldly and sometimes corrupt practices that dominated many other communities of monks and nuns. Through the Discalced Carmelite movement, she founded several monasteries. These activities led her into a world of politics, legal battles, letter campaigns, and long periods of exhausting travel.
Like Francis of Assisi, Teresa also suffered from a series of debilitating illnesses and injuries, often made even worse by the treatments of the time. Later in life, for example, she fell down a flight of stairs and broke her arm. It was poorly set and limited her movement. Someone had to re-break her arm in order to reset it, but an even worse job was done, leaving her essentially crippled and needing aid for such simple things as dressing herself.
Obedience was one of the virtues Teresa particularly extolled. Politically, this was significant at a time when the Catholic world was being challenged by the Protestant reformation, and when many mystical movements within the Catholic church narrowly escaped the label of heresy. Yet obedience, for her and for monastics throughout the centuries, has the spiritual value of freeing the individual from self-will and the trap of ego. In other words, when practiced with intelligent caution, obedience can be understood as a technique that opens the heart and the awareness.
Despite her physical sufferings and the challenges of her foundational work within the Catholic church, she remained supremely dedicated to the mystical life. She shared a close spiritual connection with John of the Cross, her younger contemporary, and was in many ways a mentor to that great poet and mystic.
Teresa of Avila wrote poetry, many letters, histories of her work in establishing monastic foundations, but it is her book on the path of prayer, The Way of Perfection, and her spiritual autobiography, The Interior Castle, that are most widely read and considered her masterpieces.
Thank You Ivan for Teresa’s poem and especially for your commentary. In these
days of upheaval in many parts of our lives, the assurance of our beloved is a blessing.
I recently came across a quote from Thich Nhat Hahn that said ‘The longest journey
a man can take is 18 inches, from his head to his heart. Would that we all could make
that journey.
So love-ly 🙂 In my experience it also helps to be in the “right” environment – like a monastery or convent, as the early Christian Mystics were, to be able to have the space and time to settle into the deep Silence of The Beloved, and not be distracted by the circumstances of ones’s life, or the stresses of living…. (such as illness). Where one can completely let go into “God”/The Beloved, The Divine, the Silence, etc. – and allow themselves to be touched by “The Mystery.” I haven’t had this kind of “space” in 2 years and really miss it.
Thanks Ivan 🙂 _/\_
It’s all still alive, even now.
Here’s something of mine, echoing the very same eternal essence – through different words, from different corner, but…
Yes, I do know that’s rather unacceptable – just to come and unload here like this. I am sincerely sorry: I just cannot find any appropriate way to get in touch, but believe deeply it belongs here – more than anywhere on the entire internet, I’d say.
Then I’m sorry again, somehow, for the length of the piece presented. But it is some kind of a journey, and some journeys require oh not so short an extention.
And then there’s something more: it’s bold, edgy and almost provocative, meant not to lull, but to unsettle and wake up.
So, here it is – with all my apologies and all my hopes:
GOD IS LOVE
(Advaita-bhakti-darshana)
God is love – this abides through the ages, like wine and bread.
So, at last, I do know, precisely, how
It holds true – being me, being here and now,
Being just as you wanted me: sad and wet.
Sad, because I’m still here all alone, as yet.
Wet because – you can touch me, you know – I’m ready.
You can ask me, of course – and you certainly will – how steady,
How straightforward am I? How determined, and how mature
Is my mind? So to say, am I really sure?
You do like some maturity. Sorry, alas, my dear,
That I lack. Though, it seems, there is a shortcut here.
So I’ll go, if I may, decisively all the way,
Just from here, where I happen for now to stay.
Please, don’t stop me. You can’t, by the way. Don’t say
This u-word of yours, rather dismissively: underage.
Don’t you dare to tell me I should undergo some change.
That will end here in me in nothing but some more rage.
Now, you see, still a novice am I. So, a little shy.
Should I say? No, confess. Yes, it is my first time. Oh, my.
You were hiding from me, until now, on my behalf.
You’ve been found. No more hide-and-seek. Enough.
Something old, something new. Mostly borrowed. Pretty blue.
Now all this I’m about to shed for you.
There’s a coin in my shoe. Well, in both of them – just in case.
Eases the passage – they say, in the good old days.
Let’s go slow, my love. Don’t you rush. Can you match my pace?
Here we are, anyway, already. At such a place,
Where there’s no way out. No exits. No more escapes.
May I ask – if at all – can you somehow embrace
What you see? Tell me, please: am I, in a way, enough?
If asked, I should say – I’m sure – I am rather not.
I just hope – in a way – this won’t be your only thought.
So, just watch me, my love, undressing for you. Don’t laugh.
Oh, by the way, you’ve been found… Guess, where? Let’s play!
Right in between, from the head to… mm, let’s just say,
Here you’ve dwelled: as my own, my very heart.
We weren’t, won’t be, we never can be apart.
I’ve nothing to add -I’m rather about to start
Removing all that, stockpiled there in the past.
Sweetheart, I’m sorry, if this won’t be that fast.
Watch me, peeling myself, stripping naked myself, for you.
Oh, I wish I could say there were earlier just a few
Of those who’ve seen this, have tasted, have touched and had
What I have now to offer. Right here, on this very bed.
It was fun. It was filth. Well, it was in a good way bad.
What am I? Just attention, in essence, and nothing more.
I would go with a stranger, first one, like a hungry whore.
It is here, in your presence, I seem to be rather shy.
Wasn’t always like this – rather, wild. There was urge to lie
With anything, claiming me. Sweetheart, don’t ask me why.
I was easily, eagerly giving myself away,
To whatever, whomever came. I should even say,
They were just for a single night, never meant to stay.
I was always compliant, yielding and soft like clay.
I just wanted to play. Here I am now, for you to play,
As I am. Neither precious nor pure. All yours.
You can do with me here whatever you want, of course.
You will not be the last, as you weren’t, alas, my first.
You – beyond all that counts, too special – matter most.
You – beyond and above – be, I beg you, my Only One.
Like some Highlander… Sorry, forgive me this bloody pun.
It is getting too heavy, too serious, oh, can’t you see?
A little piece of ice nicely prays to the peaceful sea.
You are still standing still. As for now, you didn’t make
A move – not the slightest. I’m here, all yours to take.
What’s meant to be drowned, I assure you, that won’t break.
So, no need to be overly careful. Just touch me, love,
While I’m here getting off with my dirty stuff.
You’re still waiting – so delicate, tender, gentle.
Not so easy, I’d say, to shed now this heavy mantle.
All these layers upon layers… I wrestle and fight.
There I am underneath – always naked, you see, inside.
Almost done. What is left – can it still veil and hide?
Oh, I know what I want. If I may. If that be your will.
Now, that makes it all easy, like this – you’re standing still.
Us bad girls on our knees? Oh, rarely just to pray.
Let’s play now, let’s see, who’s the hunter, and who’s the prey.
I’m surely about to give you, my Heart, a head.
Anyway, in your presence it should be, like, humbly bent.
This is what, so I’ve heard, it was made for. Well, that’s my stand.
Oh, what a relief, when it serves just for what it’s meant…
It’s not empty, as yet, but a mess, like a cluttered maze.
But there is – so you’ll see, so I will have you feel – some space.
Let me touch you, my love, very gently, with all I have.
Don’t you tell me, oh, please – never ever – I should behave.
Here we are. Now, for you, I’m all lips and tongue,
Gently wrapping myself around you, my precious one.
Moving slowly, gracefully, tenderly up and down.
Down and down and down and down… I sink and melt.
The deeper, the wetter. My hope this is clearly felt.
Love, you’re making me silent, filling me here full.
At this depth I am almost still, yet I feel the pull:
An alluring, enticing, welcoming, teasing call,
Where there’s no more me. No more you. No more us, at all.
Not much distance. Eleven inches. No more, no less.
Never made. It’s a shame, it’s a pity, I should confess.
You were here — as my I. Oh, my – as my own heart.
Always here. What took me so long to start?
How could I, me, myself, this way – so to say – to rob?
What is there to compare to giving a blowjob
To my God, to my very own heart, to the inner core?
Why I never – don’t ask me, darling – did so before?
Sliding, gliding – so tenderly, gracefully – up and down…
There can be only one, well, the only game in town.
The Way, as it is – as it is, by itself, the Aim.
Didn’t know. Didn’t care. Didn’t do. Now – who’s to blame?
Oh, so chatty, you see. So scattered I am, my love.
Make me silent — or else endure all this helpless stuff.
It’s my very first time — don’t forget, if I may so ask.
Should be moving — not talking, failing the whole task.
Into the deepest, the inner heartcave of mine.
After all, who is blown here, you or my own mind?
Aren’t they — aren’t we — in essence, one and the same,
Wrapped around each other, merging together nicely?
That is how I feel. That is how we are, precisely.
Now and always. No less. That’s my rightful claim.
Do you feel what I do, with my head, with my tongue and lips?
I’m caressing you tenderly, fondling you with my words,
Kissing, touching, embracing you here with my dirty thoughts.
I have nothing to offer – except this. But this. Just this.
They are what I consist of, made of, how I do exist.
They’re all I’ve ever had. They’re everything that I’ve brought
In your presence, my love – the Holy of Holies, Lord.
Now, it seems, apparently, someone weeps.
Sorry, sweetheart. So sloppy. So clumsy. I melt and flow.
Blown away, I’m still trying – somehow – to blow.
I know. Not full-blown, not quite. So, that’s why so slow.
I am dripping. I’m lighter and lesser with every drop.
You are soaking me in. You whisper me: don’t you stop.
Well, I know what you’re doing—replacing me, with yourself.
There are only eleven inches. Not even twelve.
Here it ends. Here it is. Here it quietly always stays,
Abiding as stillness and silence and peace and grace.
Just beneath all that is — a secret and sacred place.
Just beneath all that matters, that moves, that has name and form.
Here I am. Here I’m home — making myself at home.
Just one touch of ours, love. Everything’s done—almost.
What is found cannot be lost, as it never was.
It’s the end of the way. There’s nowhere to go from here.
There is nothing to do: there’s no lack. So—no need, no fear.
Nothing special. Home is a place to dwell.
Very special place. All is well there. Simply well.
Just one touch of ours, love. Not much. Just a broken spell.
Just one touch of ours, love. Not much. Just a fallen veil.
Just one touch of ours, love. Not much. Just an open cell.
Just one touch of ours, love. Not much. Just an empty jail.
I was touching myself, here and there, from time to time.
It was fine. It was good. It was pleasure, you know, of mine.
It was all going on, and so on, for a while, until
I was touched. That was different. Oh, certainly. That was real.
I don’t know, can’t remember exactly, can’t tell the day.
It just happened, somewhere along the way.
There was balance at first. Some proportion as before.
Then there was less of me, more of you—more and more and more.
Then you won me, hands down, sweetheart. All odds were thine.
Just one touch. Short-circuit in sixty-nine.
I remember myself: on a threshold, unable to cross,
On the Path—and I knew, where it led me and what’s the course.
I was helplessly praying—oh, please show me how to pass
To the other side—to become one with you—at last.
Then you answered—I heard you first time that day—
Hush! I’ll take it from here. I Am. I will walk the way.
I’ll trespass this threshold, to be—at last—one with you.
So you did as you said. Hard to miss. Thus I knew… I knew…
It’s forever—you said—there’s nothing more here to gain.
Since that day you’ve been never lost, anymore again.
Now I’m seeing myself like a bridge. I’m between two shores.
There are sorrows and hardships and failures and troubles and chores.
But I know—on the other hand, on the other end
I am always already home. That’s how I stand.
I meet anything, thinking: well… actually, come what may.
There was a burden, once. Now it’s cast away.
I live both shores, alternately or side-by-side.
One to think, to relate, to deal with what comes, to write.
One to be. Just to be—as I am—in a flashing glimpse.
In the end, there can be only one—it seems.
One of them. One of us. So, darling, exactly which?
Who am I to decide? How can I divide with spee
ch,
Define and confine the Divine? Where to draw the line?
I don’t know. That’s a secret delight of mine.
Shores. Chores. Of course. Oh, stories. I’ve had enough.
Dance me, sweetheart, again and again, to the end of love.
This is what I was going to say, just before the end.
I can’t wait. So I’ll say straight away to you what I meant.
You do love hide-and-seek. Sure, my love, it’s your favorite game.
Now go find me, the shy tiny spark, in Thy shining flame.