Not infrequently one meets people who have spent years in dryness, in inner suffering, in darkness. Their meditation is sleepy and uncomfortable and seems like a waste of time: they think they are doing nothing. But the tiny flame of love is burning quietly in the depths of their being; the loving knowledge is there in secret; their experience is profoundly mystical. This will seem less strange if we reflect that human love is often just the same. It grows secretly at night when no one is watching like the seed scattered upon the ground. Then one morning we wake up - and there it is! Quite often it is only in moments of separation and death that we advert to the depth of our own love. Or again human love may at first be filled with rapturous love; but the lean and fallow years have to come.
The Inner Eye of Love
William Johnston
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