Imagine a sheer, steep crag, with a projecting edge at the top. Now imagine what a person would probably feel if he put his foot on the edge of this precipice and, looking down into the chasm below, saw no solid footing nor anything to hold on to. This is what I think the soul experiences when it goes beyond its footing in material things, in its quest for that which has no dimension and which exists from all eternity. For here there is nothing it can take hold of, neither place nor time, neither measure nor anything else; our minds cannot approach it. And thus the soul, slipping at every point from what cannot be grasped, becomes dizzy and perplexed and returns once again to what is connatural to it, content now to know merely this about the Transcendent, that it is complerely different from the nature of the things that the soul knows.
St. Gregory of Nyssa
I remember the very night I was brought to Christ, and just thinking about it brings forth many emotions and physical reactions. I shake; my stomach begins to churn; it's harder to breathe.
However there were many times before when I was slowly brought into belief in Christ, and each time, with each baby step, I would recoil from it and return to where I was comfortable, all the while having this newest revelation whispering to me from the back of my mind.
For me, my journey to Christ was indeed a rocky one. One step forward, 3 steps back was my general pattern. It was definitely hard to accept, and I must admit that even once I was convinced and I believed, I still didn't want to. But I could no longer deny it.
I know this is incredibly vague, but I really don't wish to go into too much detail as this is very personal for me. When I read St. Gregory's quote, it was like I was experiencing my own transformation all over again.
Think of a man standing at night inside of his house, with all the doors closed; and then suppose that he opens a window just at the moment when there is a sudden flash of lightning. Unable to bear its brightness, at once he protects himself by closing his eyes and drawing back from the window. So it is with the soul that is enclosed in the realm of the senses; if ever she peeps out through the window of the intellect, she is overwhelmed by the brightness, like lightning, of the pledge of the Holy Spirit that is within her. Unable to bear the splendour of unveiled light, at once she is bewildered in her intellect and she draws back entirely upon herself, taking refuge, as in a house, among sensory and human things.
St. Symeon the New Theologian
I'm not sure that I could possibly add anything more of value to these descriptions. As I read these over and over, I can picture the exact metaphor that each saint describes. I can feel what they are feeling. My heart is pounding, my stomach is aching, and my soul is reaching. I can almost feel within me a physical transformation as I begin to recognize the Holy Spirit working within me.
It doesn't feel much different from a panic attack, except there is a great deal of peace within me as well. This peace is from the acceptance of God, and my belief in Christ. I wonder if this is the feeling many of those who do not believe feel when they first come face-to-face with Christ. Without that acceptance, and without that belief, all that is felt is sheer panic and outrage. Perhaps that is why so many react so strongly and negatively, to the point that some actually become violently hostile when they first have this experience.
I wonder...
For me, it's pure excitement, intense fear, joy, and peace - all in one. I feel like I need to catch my breath. My mind starts racing, and my heart starts beating uncontrollably, and I need deep breaths to help slow me down. It's not unlike an adrenaline rush, but I am still. I keep taking deep breaths, and I realize that now is the time to sit and read and pray.
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