Tag: Walter Hilton

• Walter Hilton: The Scale of Perfection

  The Scale of Perfection, widely considered to be one of the great masterpieces of English medieval mystical writing, was authored by an Augustinian friar named Walter Hilton. Hilton lived at the same time as Julian of Norwich and the anonymous author of The Cloud of Unknowing; he was born probably in the 1340s and died in 1396 — compare that to Julian, who was born in 1342 and died sometime around 1412. He wrote a number of books and treatises, including The Goad of Love, The Mixed Life, and Eight Chapters on Perfection. But his most important book remains The Scale of Perfection (also published as The Stairway of Perfection or The Ladder of Perfection).

  The title of the book isn’t important — it was likely added at a later date by a scribe or editor — and the book actually consists of two books, that appear to have been written at different times and possibly with different readers in mind, although the first book was written specifically for a woman recluse (hermit), and the second book claims to have been written in response to some further questions from that original reader. In this sense the book is similar to The Cloud of Unknowing — it is, in essence, a book of spiritual guidance or direction, written by an elder contemplative for a younger reader.

  But unlike The Cloud, Hilton’s book seems to be much more basic and foundational in the material it covers and the directions it gives to its readers. For this reason, Evelyn Underhill had this to say:

  The Scale of Perfection, although commonly described as a mystical classic, is really — like many of the works of the mystics — concerned as much with the moral and ascetic as it is with the contemplative life. It is not a storehouse of esoteric wisdom, but a way-book for the soul travelling in spirit to Jerusalem, “the which betokeneth contemplation in the perfect love of God”; and has more to tell us of the difficulties of the road than of the consummation at the journey’s end.

  This book — like Mary Margaret Funk’s Thoughts Matter or St. Francis de Sales’ Introduction to the Devout Life — is meant for beginners on the contemplative path. The Cloud of Unknowing is famous for a “warning” in the book’s prologue, that no one should read it unless they are fully committed to the contemplative life. In other words, it’s not for beginners. But The Scale of Perfection is. And that makes it simultaneously more useful than many other mystical books, but also more challenging.

  A Book for Beginners (Like All of Us)

  Elsewhere I have written about how the classical formulation of the Christian mystical life includes three “stages” or “phases” — Purification, Illumination, and Union. As beginners we embrace a path of purgation or purification, turning away from sin and self-absorption to ready ourselves for the cleaning action of the Holy Spirit in our hearts.

  A sustained commitment to the spiritual life invites us into the path of illumination, where we discover the light of Christ shining in our lives, beckoning us ever forward into the heart of God, while continuing to call us to ever-greater surrender and repentance. The mature life in the spirit reveals the union that is given to us in baptism, but that we often do not fully embrace or realize until we have truly become at home in silence, solitude, and self-forgetful love.

  Look at the three great English mystics, all from the fourteenth century: Walter Hilton, Julian of Norwich, and the anonymous author of The Cloud of Unknowing.

  • Walter Hilton, with his emphasis on the reformation of life as the preliminary practice for a contemplative practice, is a companion for the path of purification.
  • Julian of Norwich, whose visions of Divine Love are luminous and inspiring, is the natural companion for the path of illumination.
  • The Cloud of Unknowing, with its radical program of nondual prayer and trust in God beyond all words and concepts, is the perfect companion for the unitive life.

  
  So — wouldn’t it make sense for anyone serious about learning the contemplative life, to begin with Hilton? I should say so. Yet I must confess: I myself read Hilton far less than Julian or The Cloud. Not because Hilton is difficult to read: on the contrary, his writing is down to earth and accessible.

  No, I’m afraid for many of us, Hilton is not a “preferred” mystic because his language is stern — lots of talk about seeing the self and all our works as “nothing” — and because, frankly, we post-moderns don’t like being told that we need to radically re-calibrate our lives in order to meaningfully embrace the contemplative path.

  We have a tendency to want to skip all the talk about the hard work of spiritual discipline, and go straight to the “goodies” of visionary spirituality (like Julian) or radical transformation of consciousness (like The Cloud).

  But that’s too bad. I firmly believe that we are always beginners in the spiritual life — so no matter how “advanced” or “mystical” your spiritual practice might be, a good old fashioned book on virtue, repentance, and reformation of one’s heart is always worth a read.

  And that’s what you’ll get with The Scale of Perfection.

  Integrity, Humility, and Other Contemplative Virtues

  The book begins with a clarion call for spiritual integrity: that a person’s inner life should be like their outer life. In other words,

  … wretched is the man or woman who abandons the inward guarding of the heart to concentrate on cultivating only the outward appearance of virtue — the form and image of holiness in habits or clothing, speech, or physical actions.

  Ouch.

  As I’ve heard more than one monk say, “The habit does not a monk make.” In other words, if we are serious about the spiritual life, we need a basic alignment between an inner commitment to virtue and an outer simplicity of life.

  Hilton goes on from there to offer a survey of the different elements of a contemplative life, the necessity of discernment, the cultivation of virtue, the necessity of humility, the importance of intention… and only then does he get around to talking about the practice of prayer.

  And as you might expect, he begins at the beginning: with vocal prayer.

  Don’t get me wrong: I still maintain that anyone who is serious about contemplative spirituality needs to get to know the wisdom of Julian of Norwich and The Cloud of Unknowing. Julian gives you a grounding in healthy theology, while The Cloud offers detailed instruction and advice in the prayer of silence.

  But don’t forget about Walter Hilton. What he has to say may not be as exciting or inspiring — but his teaching is like learning how to play scales when you first are taking piano lessons. What it lacks in pizzazz it more than makes up for in solid grounding — a foundation that will serve you well for years to come.

  To  learn more about Walter Hilton — and his more-famous contemporaries, Julian of Norwich and the author of The Cloud of Unknowing — please check out Christian Mystics: 108 Seers, Saints and Sages.

  August 9, 2021

  14th Century, Books, English, Mysticism, Walter Hilton

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• Walter Hilton: A Contemplative Guide Who Will Take You Back to the Basics

  

  Twice this month, the lesser-known English mystic Walter Hilton has shown up on this blog. First I wrote about a dream I had, and how I think Hilton inspired me to dream about a “Hilton Hotel.” Then I wrote about some of my favorite “mystical book covers” and one of the books I featured on that post was the old Image Books edition of Walter Hilton’s classic, The Stairway of Perfection (also called The Scale of Perfection).

  So it only seemed right to give Walter Hilton his own blog post. And here it is.

  Who is Walter Hilton? He was born probably in the 1340s and died in 1396 — compare that to Julian of Norwich, who was born in 1342 and died sometime around 1412. He wrote a number of books and treatises, including The Goad of Love, The Mixed Life, and Eight Chapters on Perfection. But his most important book remains The Scale (Ladder, Staircase) of Perfection.

  The title of the book isn’t important — it was likely added at a later date by a scribe or editor — and the book actually consists of two books, that appear to have been written at different times and possibly with different readers in mind — although the first book was written specifically for a woman recluse (hermit), and the second book claims to have been written in response to some further questions from that original reader. In this sense the book is similar to The Cloud of Unknowing — it is, in essence, a book of spiritual guidance or direction, written by an elder contemplative for a younger reader.

  But unlike The Cloud, Hilton’s book seems to be much more basic and foundational in the material it covers and the directions it gives to its readers. For this reason, Evelyn Underhill had this to say:

  The Scale of Perfection, although commonly described as a mystical classic, is really — like many of the works of the mystics — concerned as much with the moral and ascetic as it is with the contemplative life. It is not a storehouse of esoteric wisdom, but a way-book for the soul travelling in spirit to Jerusalem, “the which betokeneth contemplation in the perfect love of God”; and has more to tell us of the difficulties of the road than of the consummation at the journey’s end.

  This book — like Mary Margaret Funk’s Thoughts Matter or St. Francis de Sales’ Introduction to the Devout Life — is meant for beginners on the contemplative path. The Cloud of Unknowing is famous for a “warning” in the book’s prologue, that no one should read it unless they are fully committed to the contemplative life. In other words, it’s not for beginners. But The Scale of Perfection is. And that makes it simultaneously more useful than many other mystical books, but also more challenging.

  A Book for Beginners (Like All of Us)

  Elsewhere I have written about how the classical formulation of the Christian mystical life includes three “stages” or “phases” — Purification, Illumination, and Union. As beginners we embrace a path of purgation or purification, turning away from sin and self-absorption to ready ourselves for the cleaning action of the Holy Spirit in our hearts.

  A sustained commitment to the spiritual life invites us into the path of illumination, where we discover the light of Christ shining in our lives, beckoning us ever forward into the heart of God, while continuing to call us to ever-greater surrender and repentance. The mature life in the spirit reveals the union that is given to us in baptism, but that we often do not fully embrace or realize until we have truly become at home in silence, solitude, and self-forgetful love.

  Look at the three great English mystics, all from the fourteenth century: Walter Hilton, Julian of Norwich, and the anonymous author of The Cloud of Unknowing.

  • Walter Hilton, with his emphasis on the reformation of life as the preliminary practice for a contemplative practice, is a companion for the path of purification.
  • Julian of Norwich, whose visions of Divine Love are luminous and inspiring, is the natural companion for the path of illumination.
  • The Cloud of Unknowing, with its radical program of nondual prayer and trust in God beyond all words and concepts, is the perfect companion for the unitive life.

  
  So — wouldn’t it make sense for anyone serious about learning the contemplative life, to begin with Hilton? I should say so. Yet I must confess: I myself read Hilton far less than Julian or The Cloud. Not because Hilton is difficult to read: on the contrary, his writing is down to earth and accessible.

  No, I’m afraid for many of us, Hilton is not a “preferred” mystic because his language is stern — lots of talk about seeing the self and all our works as “nothing” — and because, frankly, we post-moderns don’t like being told that we need to radically re-calibrate our lives in order to meaningfully embrace the contemplative path.

  We have a tendency to want to skip all the talk about the hard work of spiritual discipline, and go straight to the “goodies” of visionary spirituality (like Julian) or radical transformation of consciousness (like The Cloud).

  But that’s too bad (as I write these words, I realize I’m writing for myself. Guess what I just decided is going to be my Lenten book for this year?). I firmly believe that we are always beginners in the spiritual life — so no matter how “advanced” or “mystical” your spiritual practice might be, a good old fashioned book on virtue, repentance, and reformation of one’s heart is always worth a read.

  And that’s what you’ll get with The Scale of Perfection.

  Integrity, Humility, and Other Contemplative Virtues

  The book begins with a clarion call for spiritual integrity: that a person’s inner life should be like their outer life. In other words,

  … wretched is the man or woman who abandons the inward guarding of the heart to concentrate on cultivating only the outward appearance of virtue — the form and image of holiness in habits or clothing, speech, or physical actions.

  Ouch.

  As I’ve heard more than one monk say, “The habit does not a monk make.” In other words, if we are serious about the spiritual life, we need a basic alignment between an inner commitment to virtue and an outer simplicity of life.

  Hilton goes on from there to offer a survey of the different elements of a contemplative life, the necessity of discernment, the cultivation of virtue, the necessity of humility, the importance of intention… and only then does he get around to talking about the practice of prayer.

  And as you might expect, he begins at the beginning: with vocal prayer.

  Don’t get me wrong: I still maintain that anyone who is serious about contemplative spirituality needs to get to know the wisdom of Julian of Norwich and The Cloud of Unknowing. Julian gives you a grounding in healthy theology, while The Cloud offers detailed instruction and advice in the prayer of silence.

  But don’t forget about Walter Hilton. What he has to say may not be as exciting or inspiring — but his teaching is like learning how to play scales when you first are taking piano lessons. What it lacks in pizzazz it more than makes up for in solid grounding — a foundation that will serve you well for years to come.

  To  learn more about Walter Hilton — and his more-famous contemporaries, Julian of Norwich and the author of The Cloud of Unknowing — please check out Christian Mystics: 108 Seers, Saints and Sages.

  February 23, 2019

  Christian mysticism, The Scale of Perfection, Walter Hilton

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• How to Find God in Your Dreams

  One night in a dream I found myself near the Ballston Metro station in Arlington, Virginia (I lived close by there at the time). But as is so often in dreamscapes, the neighborhood in my dreams was radically different than in real life. For one thing, there was a large hill, covered with lush vegetation — almost like a rain forest. I decided to climb up the hill, and made my way through the vines and trees to the crest of the hill.

  There, another surprise awaited me — a gleaming white building, fronted by a long row of shining glass doors. It was a hotel — the Hilton. I walked up to the doors, and was surprised to notice that, despite this being such a huge, urban hotel, there was no one else outside and maybe only a few folks inside. The entire place felt serene and peaceful. I entered through the glass doors into a vestibule that ran the entire length of the front of the building, with another row of glass doors leading into the lobby. I passed through those doors and into the spacious, carpeted lobby. The lighting in the room was mellow, not dim but definitely not bright. It was quiet — although a few people were milling about, no one was making much noise. The check-in counter stretched along the wall to my right, but what actually caught my eye was a couple of retail spaces, ahead and just to my left.

  They were open spaces — no walls, just a few counters and tables in the middle with the merchandise artfully displayed. Closest to me was a toy shop — but not filled with plastic action figures or electronic gadgets. Rather, these toys were old-fashioned playthings, made of wood and brightly colored.

  Beyond the toy store was another shop filled with house plants. Almost buzzing with vibrancy and life, all the plants were beautiful, verdant, appealing. A lovely peperomia particularly caught my eye.

  It was at that point that I had the most profound emotional reaction. I realized that I felt entirely safe. As a fairly strong introvert who has struggled with a measure of anxiety my entire life, this seemed truly significant. Normally in a new setting like this, I just naturally am “on guard.” It’s not debilitating — it’s just how I make my way through life. But here, surrounded by these beautiful plants and colorful toys in a silent, peaceful hotel lobby (of all places), I felt utterly, completely, in-my-bones safe. It was just about the best possible feeling I could ever imagine having.

  I realized I felt so safe because I was totally immersed in the presence of God. “In him we live and move and have our being.”

  And then I woke up.

  

  Where Do Our Dreams Come From?

  I had the Hilton dream in the 1980s, when I lived and worked in Northern Virginia. The Ballston neighborhood at that time was rather run-down, but there was an old Catholic bookshop that I used to frequent, because they had inexpensive paperback editions of writings of the mystics — the Image Books editions of classics like The Cloud of Unknowing and The Dark Night of the Soul. Trust me: there is no hill in the Ballston area, no jungle-like vegetation, and certainly no gleaming white Hilton Hotel with a toy and houseplant shop in its lobby.

  What is a dream? Walt Disney’s Cinderella sang that “a dream is a wish that your heart makes” and perhaps that’s not too far from the truth. But not all dreams are wishes. As a child, I had a recurring nightmare of a terrifying monster made of iron with spikes on his head and gleaming red eyes who chased after me — I still get a chill when I think of it. Perhaps a better way to describe a dream is simply a story our subconscious mind tells us.

  The subconscious is truly an artist, and the stories it tells are profoundly immersive. Just the night before last I had a dream about visiting the apartment of a recently deceased or disappeared friend (in the dream I wasn’t sure) who left behind a magical but slightly unsettling living space filled with flickering candles — almost like an old Catholic church — but these candles came in all shapes, sizes and colors, and mounds of old candle wax covered the floor. In the dream I could feel the warmth of the candles, the pressure of the piles of wax beneath my feet, and marveled at the colors and flickering light in each of the apartment’s rooms.

  Why do we dream? Psychologists theorize that our subconscious mind might just be letting off a bit of steam, or working through conflicts, or even — following Cinderella — engaging in a little bit of vicarious wish fulfillment, from sex to flying. Meanwhile, beginning with the Bible, we have a long tradition in the west of seeing dreams as the couriers of spiritual messages, whether prophetic (as in the Pharoah’s dreams of the coming famine) or simply instructive (as in the warning to Joseph and Mary to take baby Jesus to Egypt).

  Is it far-fetched to assume that God can speak to us in our dreams? I don’t think so. After all, if the Holy Spirit has been poured into our hearts (Romans 5:5), why wouldn’t God use the stories of our subconscious mind to communicate with us? Of course, here as in all areas of spiritual practice, discernment is essential. I don’t think God was trying to tell me anything special when the iron monster was pursuing me (except maybe to be careful when talking to strangers). But perhaps my Hilton dream did, in fact, include a message from God: You are safe. You are loved. You can find places of peace and refuge — even within your own heart.

  By the way, did you notice how my dream featured a delicious three-way pun? The hotel was called the Hilton, just like the famous hotel chain in real life. Perhaps this “Hilton” hotel got its name from being at the top of a hill (duh!) — but even more subtly, perhaps its name came from one of the great English mystics, Walter Hilton, author of The Scale of Perfection. After all, I had to “scale” the hill to reach the summit where the Hilton stood — and where I found this deep sense of peace and safety.

  Since a dream is a story our subconscious mind tells us, it only stands to reason that puns and plays on words (or plays on images, or significant songs) all get thrown into the mix.

  How to Find God in Our Dreams

  Jesuit spirituality invites us to “find God in all things.” It only stands to reason, therefore, that our dreams might be one place where we can find God — whether or not God is actually trying to speak to us through any one particular dream.

  I could find God in the iron monster nightmare by focusing on the lesson it contained (be careful around strangers) or how it showcased my own instinct for preservation — I knew enough to run for my life. More happily and more directly, I could find God in the Hilton dream in all sorts of ways: in the brilliant sunlight and the beautiful jungle on the hill, in the sense of safety and adventure I felt as the dream progressed, and most especially in the palpable sense of Divine presence within the lobby.

  Was that truly a message from God, or just a reassuring note from my subconscious? Who can say — and does it really matter, anyway?

  I think the way we find God in our dreams is simple: like any other aspect of life, we find God by seeking God. We look for evidence of God’s fingerprints. Evidence of love. Evidence of mercy. Evidence of promise and possibility. Evidence of hope. We listen for the rumors of angels, for the whispered stories that salvation is coming or indeed is already here. And then we look for ways that we can give all this God-goodness away. For I think it’s when we share it with others that God’s presence most fully reveals itself. Even in our dreams.

  N.B. At the time I wrote this blog post, it had slipped my mind that, almost 12 years to the date earlier, I had written another blog post in which I told the story of my “Hilton Dream.” Read that earlier post by clicking here: My Loveliest Dream.

  February 14, 2019

  Arlington, Ballston, dreams, Peperomia Plant, spirituality, Walter Hilton

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• Three Mystics You May Have Missed

  Walk into a Catholic bookstore — or a general bookstore large enough to have a “Christian mysticism” section — and you will see books by or about Thomas Merton, Julian of Norwich, John of the Cross, and Teresa of Avila, along with anonymous works like The Cloud of Unknowing or The Way of a Pilgrim.  These are the “A-List” mystics: figures who are renowned for their sanctity, their wisdom, and their contemplative teaching.

  Anyone who is interested in discovering the wisdom of the mystics ought to read the writings of the “A-Listers.” Other A-Listers include Evelyn Underhill, Meister Eckhart, Francis of Assisi, Bernard of Clairvaux, and Hildegard of Bingen.

  But there are many Christian contemplatives and visionaries who aren’t nearly as well known as these “rock star” mystics. Not everyone gets to be a celebrity — not every musician is as famous as the Beatles; not every actress is as famous as Meryl Streep. But countless musicians, actors, and other types of artists create work that is world-class, even if they themselves are not  household names.

  The same dynamic is at work among Christian mystics. Some of the greatest mystics are not well-known at all, even among people who are interested in mysticism (okay, let’s be real: mysticism itself is hardly a mainstream phenomenon, so even the greatest mystics — with the possible exception of Francis of Assisi — are relatively unknown figures). Yes, even among “mysticism geeks,” there are many contemplatives whose work is woefully unknown — who deserve to be read, and studied, and talked about, far more than they currently are.

  So for today’s post I’d like to introduce you to three such “underrated” contemplatives. Perhaps you’ve run across their names here and there (especially if you’ve been reading my blog for a while). But I want to formally introduce you to these figures in the hopes that you’ll take a look at their wonderful writings.

  Walter Hilton

  Walter Hilton is to Julian of Norwich and the author of The Cloud of Unknowing what George Harrison of the Beatles was to John Lennon and Paul McCartney. In other words, just as Harrison was an excellent songwriter in his own right but almost totally overshadowed by the two legends who were his bandmates, so too Walter Hilton sadly gets overlooked because of the two mystical geniuses who were his contemporaries in late fourteenth century England.

  And that’s a shame, because in some ways Hilton’s writings, especially his masterpiece The Scale of Perfection, are more accessible and user-friendly than the visionary poetry of Julian or the monastic austerity of The Cloud.

  Hilton was born probably in the 1340s and died in 1396; little is known about his life, although it is likely he studied law at Cambridge before becoming an Augustinian priest. His writings, mostly in Middle English, were popular during his lifetime and the following century. Hilton reveals a keen understanding of the psychology of contemplative life, and (like The Cloud) reveals considerable talent as a spiritual directer in his work.

  The Scale of Perfection concerns the ongoing process of inner transfiguration that marks perseverance in contemplation. Hilton follows the longstanding mystical tradition that understands the human soul as created in the image and likeness of God, and the contemplative life consisting of a gradual reformation of the soul, to restore the image that has been defaced by sin.

  Book to read: The Scale of Perfection

  

  John Ruusbroec

  Evelyn Underhill, the renowned British scholar of Christian mysticism, held John Ruusbroec in the highest esteem. She referred to  him as “great,” “mighty,” “supreme,” “the most transcendental of all mystics.” In The Mystics of the Church, she notes that Ruusbroec “seems often to use [Meister] Eckhart’s ideas as a means of expressing his own experiences, but the ardour and realism with which he invests them are his own.” Who
  was this relatively obscure figure who won Underhill’s admiration?

  Unlike the Meister, Ruusbroec was never formally charged with heresy. In fact, Ruusbroec has been beatified by the Catholic Church — one step short of being declared a saint. So while institutional Christianity accepts him as orthodox, his work is arguably every bit as radical as that of the more notorious Eckhart.

  Born in the village of Ruisbroek (in modern-day Belgium) in 1293, young John began studying for the priesthood with his uncle when only 11 years old. After his ordination in 1318 he served as a parish priest until 1343, when he and two other priests retired to the forest of Groenendal, near Brussels, to become hermit contemplatives. Eventually, though, their small community became an Augustinian friary, with Ruusbroec serving as the community leader until his death in 1381.

  He was a prolific writer, usually composing his works in Flemish rather than Latin, in order to reach a wider audience. Today his best known work is The Spiritual Espousals, a luminous meditation on how Christ, the Bridegroom, unites human nature with his own, in a sacred marriage officiated by the Holy Spirit.

  Book to read: The Spiritual Espousals and Other Works

  Caryll Houselander

  If you are looking for a devotional book to read in Advent, consider The Reed of God, one of the better known works by Caryll Houselander, and English poet, artist, writer and mystic. Not a particularly pious woman (she smoked cigarettes and was known to swear), Houselander suffered from panic attacks and poor health; she succumbed to breast cancer at age 53. Baptized a Catholic at age 6 (she called herself a “Rocking-Horse Catholic” rather than a “Cradle Catholic”), she made the faith her own as a young adult and became a popular spiritual writer in her lifetime.

  She was also a mystic, having had several visions of Christ, including one where she saw Christ like he might be depicted on a Russian Orthodox icon, spread across the sky and watching over the world. Another time, in a vision reminiscent of Thomas Merton’s epiphany on a street corner in Louisville, she was riding the London Underground when she saw Christ within everyone on the train. From this, Houselander developed a truly mystical ability to see Christ in all persons, even in “sinners” — those who, on the surface, may seem to be the most alienated from Christ or from spirituality.

  The author of over a dozen books, her output included poetry (and even her prose writings have a decidedly poetic “voice”). But no work is as enduring as The Reed of God, her meditation on Mary, emphasizing how real, how human, how down to earth the Mother of God was.

  The book shimmers with contemplative insight. She calls Advent (the season of preparation before Christmas, symbolically linked to Mary’s season of pregnancy) “the season of the secret, the secret of the growth of Christ, of Divine Love growing in silence. It is the season of humility, silence, and growth.” (Reed, 28).

  She speaks of the importance of praying in silence, of waiting, and of seeking Christ, “because in the search we become aware of the wonder and mystery that contentment blinds us to.” (Reed, 119).

  Book to read: The Reed of God

  Are there other “underrated” mystics whose teachings have been important to you? If so, please let me know — either through social media or by leaving a comment here.

   

  September 2, 2015

  Caryll Houselander, Christian Mystics, Jan Van Ruysbroeck, John Ruusbroec, John Ruysbroeck, Mysticism, Walter Hilton

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• My Loveliest Dream

  It must have been sometime in the early 1980s. I was either still working on my Master’s or had just recently graduated, and my spiritual life was nurtured mostly by reading books by the Anglican mystic Evelyn Underhill and the Christian Jungian Morton Kelsey.

  And then one night, I had a dream.

  In it I was climbing up a hill near the Ballston Metro station in Arlington, Virginia. The hill was lush, covered with trees and vegetation that provided comforting shade in the midst of the bright noonday sun. It wasn’t a steep hill, I reached the top without unduly exerting myself (or course, I was a young thing in my 20s at the time). Coming to the crest of the hill, I saw a long, white building across the street. It was a hotel: the “Hilton.”

  The front of the building sported a long row of clear glass doors. I walked up to one, and entered; inside I found a vestibule as long as the building itself, with another row of glass doors directly in front of me, leading into the lobby proper. I walked confidently into the building. Once inside, I found a space that was tastefully and beautifully decorated, but not at all ostentatious or even particularly luxurious.

  Ahead of me and to my right was the lounge area, while to the left was a store. I walked into the store; it was divided into two departments. No walls separated the store from the lounge, or the departments within the store; the entire space felt open, airy, unenclosed.

  The first department was a toy store, filled with old-style wooden toys that seemed to hearken back to a folksier time, before electronic gadgets and pop-culture tie-ins came to dominate the world of children’s playthings. The toys were simple, brightly colored, and all seemed inviting and fun.

  Beyond that was a little nursery, filled with houseplants: peperomias and African violets and other such indoor varieties. All were luscious, verdant, healthy; none were priced although small tags identified the species of each plant on display.

  I’m not sure if it was while I was browsing the toy store or once I had wandered over into the nursery, but at some point I came to realize that I felt utterly, totally, and incontestably safe. Not just in an “I’m relaxed” sort of way, but in an “I’m immersed in the loving presence of God” sort of way. I did not have to question anything, or achieve anything, or make anything happen. It was probably the second most beautiful emotional tone I’ve ever experienced, the loveliest being the sense of Divine Presence that I encountered in 1977 at the Lutheran youth retreat.

  Then I woke up.

  

  It’s fun to look at this dream now, almost a quarter century later. I think it’s the loveliest dream I’ve ever had. How is it that a dream filled with such mundane imagery be given that distinction? Hey, I’ve had some splendid dreams, filled with majestic waterfalls, lush English and Irish countrysides, gorgeous women (!), and, of course, flying (both in human form and as a bird). Yet this unremarkable sequence of climbing a hill, strolling into a hotel, and browsing a store wins the prize. As I dreamt this dream, the fullness of heaven infused my consciousness. And that what’s makes this the loveliest of dreams.

  Reflecting on the dream, I’m struck by how utterly alone I was: I don’t believe another human being was present in the dream at all. Maybe there was somebody with me at the bottom of the hill, but if so, that person was inconsequential and did not walk with me to the top of the hill or accompany me into the hotel. I’ve always been a loner, and in recent times that has bothered me somewhat: I wonder if I have burned too many bridges, allowed too many friendships to lapse, and held myself back both professionally and spiritually by my social anxiety and tendency to refrain from connecting with others.

  And then I think about this dream, and I remember that I am simply a deep introvert and that’s the way God made me. Maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s better to be a naturally imperfect introvert than an unnatural, conflicted extravert-wannabe.

  That the hotel was the “Hilton” I’ve long taken to be a pun on Walter Hilton, the fourteenth century English mystic who has suffered the same fate as George Harrison (just as Harrison was an accomplished musician and songwriter who had the misfortune of being in the same band as two genuises — Lennon and McCartney — so was Hilton a fine mystic who unfortunately lived in the same country and at the same time as, and thus will always be grouped with and compared to, Julian of Norwich and the author of The Cloud of Unknowing). In many ways, I rather think I’m more of a “Walter Hilton” than a “Julian of Norwich,” — it seems that whatever I do in my life, I’m more of a Salieri than a Mozart, I can achieve competence but greatness always seems to elude me. Perhaps for many of my readers this may seem an obvious and normal dimension of experience, but I have the curse of the writer’s ego, which means that I am haunted by the desire to be great. Maybe finding existential safety in a hotel punderfully named after a lesser mystic can help me to find peace in my ever-present humility rather than in a chimerical grandeur.

  Speaking of that which is unreal, I should also note that the hill, and the Hilton atop it, are not to be found anywhere near the Ballston Metro station in the “real” (i.e. gross physical) world. They exist only within my dreamspace. Isn’t that the way with dreams? My Hilton dream may be my loveliest dream, but it’s not my only truly memorable (or deeply emotionally satisfying) dream — and it seems that all my most wonderful dreams without exception ushered me into places that are “real” only within the dreamscapes themselves (the realm that Ken Wilber, following the metaphysics of the east, labels the “subtle”).

  I don’t begrudge that my subtle paradise has no direct correlation in the gross world. Finding a glimpse of heaven on the subtle plane is good enough for me — it gives me two hopes: first, that I can somehow be a portal through which the experiential loveliness of heaven might find a beachhead here in the physical realm, and second, that no matter how icky things get here “in the flesh,” I can always trust in the veracity of a heavenly refuge that exists in reality on another plane, a refuge to which I will someday return — not only when I die, but perhaps as soon as my very next dream.

  Note: In February 2019 I wrote a blog post about finding God in dreams. Having forgotten that I had written this post nearly 12 years earlier, I told the story of the same dream. You can read that post by clicking here.

  February 19, 2007

  Arlington Virginia, Divine Presence, Dream, dreams, heavenly consciousness, Hilton, safety, Walter Hilton

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