What is a spiritual experience after all?  Sometimes we can have a sense of what it ought to be and that can get in the way. I find that this poem, Veni Creator, by Czeslaw Milosz, a Lithuanian-Polish poet, from the book, Collected Poems, 1931-1987, speaks to me.

Come, Holy Spirit,

bending or not bending the grasses,

appearing or not above our heads in a tongue of flame,

at hay harvest or when they plough in the orchards,

or when snow covers crippled firs in the Sierra Nevada.


I am only a human being: I need visible signs.

I tire easily, building the stairway of abstraction.

Many a time I asked, you know it well,

that the statue in church lift its hand, only once, just once, for me.

But I understand that signs must be human,

therefore, call one person, anywhere on earth,

not me-after all I have some decency-

and allow me, when I look at that person,

to marvel at you.