Without vanishing
Today, I felt a void that could only be filled with these words:
Let me not seek so fiercely, nor desire to be fiercely sought; to be named before I have named, to be found before I have found, to be loved before I have loved with all my being. May I give without receiving, leave without vanishing, and carry a light into the unlit places— not to say, I made the dawn, but to remember it when the world forgets the light.
A passage from the Third Leaf of the Vigil of Fire and Ash.
I found this prayer tucked away in one of my older journals. I hadn’t been searching for it specifically, but I was in need of it. The words I had vaguely remembered from years ago when I had stumbled upon them and hastily jotted them down in the quiet corner of the Seattle Central Library. Sadly, it was demolished in 2001, and the book I found it in remains missing.
The book was a dingy, single, heavy, hardbound volume whose publisher and origins I paid no attention to at the time, so I failed to make any note of it. Given my predisposition against spirituality at the time, it’s surprising I even noted the prayer at all. But something about it spoke to me back then. A certain timeless beauty in it that speaks to the human condition beyond religion and philosophy.
Looking back now, I can see that preserving it in my journal was my own dumb luck.
I find it soothing now as it speaks to the burden of those who have been exiled, materially or non-materially. And I think, for that reason, its meaning is easily misunderstood. It does not seem to ask for anyone to accept abandonment, nor that care be given until the giver disappears. This prayer seems to concern the fierce human hunger to be recognized in a world where all things quickly fade from memory; to beware of seeking vain attention, for it is folly; and to beware of expecting unconditional love when it cannot first be given. It does not forbid comfort. It simply warns against withholding comfort until one has first given it.
“Leave without vanishing” is one of my favorite parts of this prayer. Because it is so open to interpretation, I can see why it might be the most difficult of instructions. To me, departure is not always betrayal. Nor does a person cease to exist merely because a road has taken them somewhere esle. What has been given faithfully may remain in another life, another room, another reality, another remembered gesture.
The last lines, I think, belong to an ancient and powerful argument. A testament to the potential goodness in humankind. It tells us that the world changes by forces larger than ourselves, but we are not powerless. We ourselves hold the power to keep the lamp lit — the flame alive, for ourselves and others. This is smaller work, but not easier. To bring light where there is only darkness and to remember what the world easily forgets is no small feat.
Today, I’m feeling the melancholy—the Grey—and I find the prayer very comforting. And if that volume is truly lost to time, then maybe my repeating its words here may bring some comfort to another.
By D. Bowman Nomina Numina is a journal of reflections, moments, and meaning-making between worlds. Reply by email.