Who is this coming up from the desert like a column of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and incense made from all the spices of the merchant? Look! It is Solomon's carriage, escorted by sixty warriors, the noblest of Israel, all of them wearing the sword, all experienced in battle, each with his sword at his side, prepared for the terrors of the night. (Song of Songs 3:6-8)

We may look for love through the lens of power.

How will my lover protect me? How will my lover advance me?

What sort of power does my lover project? What does my lover tell others of me?

This sort of love is a king's carriage, it can carry the lovers far.

But this love is mostly a conveyance. To where?

Daughters of Jerusalem, I charge you by the gazelles and by the does of the field: Do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires. (Song of Songs 3:5)

The Beloved sings: do not force love.

As with the wild of the forest, love will come in its time.

As with the morning deer, love will appear suddenly.

And just as suddenly love may depart.

Wait until love chooses and then rejoice in the pleasures of love.

Scarcely had I passed them when I found the one my heart loves. I held him and would not let him go till I had brought him to my mother's house, to the room of the one who conceived me. (Song of Songs 3:4)

Love can transform our origins.

From our mother's womb we emerge with predispositions, both weakness and strength.

Our predispostions include the ability to reason and the power to choose.

In our mother's house we learn many lessons, both good and bad.

The lessons may constrain or enflame our predispositions, but we retain both reason and choice.

If we will hold tight, the transcendent power of Love can enrich our reasoning and choosing.

We can choose to make room for Love's fullness.

Above is from the Rothschild Canticles. Rather than hold tight, we often flee from Love. Description of the image: In the upper half, Christ descends from the clouds of Heaven, gesturing to a half naked Sponsa who throws her hands into the air. In the lower half, Christ holds a pruning knife and makes a gesture of reproach towards the fully naked Sponsa raises her arms in surprise and despair.

All night long on my bed I looked for the one my heart loves; I looked for him but did not find him. I will get up now and go about the city, through its streets and squares; I will search for the one my heart loves. So I looked for him but did not find him. The watchmen found me as they made their rounds in the city. "Have you seen the one my heart loves?" (Song of Songs 3: 1-3)

I expect most have experienced a night such as this, especially when we were young and love was new.

The absence of the other awakes and compels us. We feel torn in two by our separation. It is too painful and we run into the night seeking him or her.

It was - for me - always at night. In the quiet darkness I would go to the other, wondering and worried by the strength of my emotion.

There are those for whom this emotion defines love, even when no longer young. I question their maturity and intention.

But I also question a so-called love that is no longer seeking, suppresses emotion, and fails to ask, "Have you seen the one my heart loves?"

My lover is mine and I am his; he browses among the lilies. Until the day breaks and the shadows flee, turn, my lover, and be like a gazelle or like a young stag on the rugged hills. (Song of Songs 2:16-17)

The Beloved sings. Once again she compares her Lover to a gazelle or young stag.

My wife and I live next to a mountain meadow. In early morning deer - usually does and an occasional faun - will appear sliding gracefully through the grass.

When they emerge from the woods or over the hill we give our full attention. Even after twenty years here their appearance compels.

A few weeks ago - for the first time we can recall - a young stag approached. It was cautious and quickly continued on its way.

The appearance of the deer is unpredictable. The stag was a real surprise. This is much of what captures our attention and appreciation.

Yet when we encounter love - human or divine - we are so often tempted to domesticate it.

Catch for us the foxes, the little foxes that ruin the vineyards, our vineyards that are in bloom. (Song of Songs 2: 15)

The Lover asks his "dove" to catch the "little foxes."

In the 16th Century St. John of the Cross wrote a poem that often parallels the Song of Songs. The poem's purpose is to explore how the soul finds its way to reunion with God.

In John's commentary on his poem he explains, "As foxes pretend to be asleep when they are out to catch their prey, so all our appetites and sensory powers are tranquil and asleep until these flowers of virtues rise and blossom in the soul in an exercise of love. At that moment, then, it seems that the sensual flowers of the appetites and sense powers awaken and arise in the sensory part of the soul in an effort to contradict the spirit and to reign."

We can be contradictory creatures. Just as love draws us to self-giving - at that same and very moment - we may also experience a compulsion for self-assertion.

Above is from the Rothschild Canticles. In the upper half, a youth center points to foxes running wild in the garden while addressing two ladies standing at the entrance of a church. In the lower half, the two ladies catch the foxes and a third fox runs between them with fruit in its mouth.

My dove in the clefts of the rock, in the hiding places on the mountainside, show me your face,let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely. (Song of Songs 2:14)

The Lover responds.

If we seek a spiritual reading, the Lover - our God - speaks of us much as we often speak of God.

Where are you hiding? Show me your face. Let me hear your voice.

Might the absence we sometimes feel be from our own hiding?

We cannot successfully hide from God. But we can try to hide even while in plain sight.

Similarly we seek to conceal much from our earthly lovers, seldom with more success.

Love - true love - requires being open, which requires courage.

My lover spoke and said to me, "Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me. See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance. Arise, come, my darling; my beautiful one, come with me." (Song of Songs 2:10-13)

The Beloved continues.

Winter - the Hebrew is cethav - is ended. Cethav was the season of hiding. The cold and rain took us inside.

The Lover invites us to enjoy the exterior world in all is sights, scents, and sound.

It is a fertile world. The vines blossom with the promise of grapes. From the grapes we might make wine and raisins.

Of the wine and raisins we may partake in the winters yet to come as the seasons turn in their cycle.

But today the Lover offers, "come with me" into the warmth and delight of this bright day.

His left arm is under my head, and his right arm embraces me. Daughters of Jerusalem, I charge you by the gazelles and by the does of the field: Do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires. Listen! My lover! Look! Here he comes, leaping across the mountains, bounding over the hills. My lover is like a gazelle or a young stag. Look! There he stands behind our wall, gazing through the windows, peering through the lattice. (Song of Songs 2:6-9)

The Beloved continues.

Do not be aroused. Do not open your eyes to love.

Until love is a source of delight and pleasure; until love bends down to you.

Too often what we call love is anxiety, anguish, and disappointment

Because we have tried to claim what cannot be claimed.

Love is a wild thing. Love will come in its own time.

Above is from the Rothschild Canticles. Click on the image for a larger view. In the top register, Christ reaches through a window towards the Sponsa who sits indoors. In the second register, Christ leads the Sponsa out of the building towards an area with a lattice window. In the bottom register, Christ and the Sponsa pick fruits and flowers in a garden.

Like an apple tree among the trees of the forest is my lover among the young men. I delight to sit in his shade, and his fruit is sweet to my taste. He has taken me to the banquet hall, and his banner over me is love. Strengthen me with raisins, refresh me with apples, for I am faint with love. (Song of Songs 3: 3-5)

The Beloved sings of her Lover.

She is ecstatic. She is outside herself. She is transfixed by her Lover.

In John Dryden's final tragedy the hero, Cleomenes, encounters his lost Beloved and pronounces,

Thus let me grow again to thee,
Too close for fate to sever!
Or let death find me in these dear, dear arms;
And, looking on thee, spare my better part,
And take me willing hence.

To which his mother responds, "What! are you dreaming, son, with eyes cast upwards, Like a mad prophet in an ecstasy?"

The source of ecstacy - human or divine - can be difficult to know.

I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valleys. Like a lily among thorns is my darling among the maidens. (Song of Songs 2: 1-2)

The Beloved speaks, the Lover responds.

The translation rose may mislead us. We think of the rose as a majestic flower.

This rose of Sharon was probably a crocus.

I am, the Beloved says, a small and insignificant thing.

The Lover does not protest, but he does redirect.

Whether it is false modesty or truly felt modesty, the Lover offers a clarification of the Beloved's value.

To listen, to respond honestly, to confirm value... this is loving.

How beautiful you are, my darling! Oh, how beautiful! Your eyes are doves. How handsome you are, my lover! Oh, how charming! And our bed is verdant. The beams of our house are cedars; our rafters are firs. (Song of Songs 1: 15-17)

The Lover and Beloved exchange sweet nothings.

They are delighted with each other and with their situation.

They are in a garden, reclining together on the grass, in the shade of a cedar.

It is in the other - not in ourselves - that we find fulfillment.

This is a recurring surprise: in losing ourselves we find.

Above Christ and the Sponda enter the garden from the Rothschild Canticles. Please click on the graphic to see a larger version.

While the king was at his table, my perfume spread its fragrance. My lover is to me a sachet of myrrh resting between my breasts. My lover is to me a cluster of henna blossoms from the vineyards of En Gedi. (Song of Songs 1:12-14)

The Beloved responds to the Lover.

The word translated as perfume is actually the proper name for spikenard or nard. In the gospels of Mark and John a woman, perhaps Mary Magdalene, anoints Jesus with this perfume.

Myrrh is another perfume, often used in burial. According to Matthew it was a gift from the East at the birth of Jesus.

Rather than henna, many translations refer to camphor blossoms, but we are very uncertain of the specific flora referenced in scripture.

Whatever the source, the Lover and Beloved encounter one another aromatically, sensually, erotically.

The Lover and Beloved attend to one another with all their senses, fully engaged in the moment and one another.

I liken you, my darling, to a mare harnessed to one of the chariots of Pharaoh. Your cheeks are beautiful with earrings, your neck with strings of jewels. We will make you earrings of gold, studded with silver. (Song of Songs 1: 9-11)

The Lover joins the song.

The lover perceives bridled energy and strength.

Another translation offers, "like My mare among the chariots of Pharaoh." Does the lover also perceive some fear?

In either case the mare is possessed, adorned, and admired.

I resist being possessed.

Tell me, you whom I love, where you graze your flock and where you rest your sheep at midday. Why should I be like a veiled woman beside the flocks of your friends? If you do not know, most beautiful of women, follow the tracks of the sheep and graze your young goats by the tents of the shepherds. (Song of Songs 1:7-8)

The Dark Lady asks her friends where their shepherds rest at mid-day.

It is unanswerable. None can know where the sheep and shepherds might be on any particular day. She is told to follow the tracks.

The reference to being as a veiled woman - or rather to be unveiled - is especially enigmatic. The Hebrew 'atah appears seventeen times in scripture. Only here is it translated as veiled.

The more common translation is to be wrapped or covered. In Psalm 104 we read, "Covering yourself with light as with a cloak, Stretching out heaven like a tent curtain."

In Isaiah we read, "The Lord is about to hurl you headlong, O man. And he is about to grasp you firmly and roll you tightly like a ball." (Isaiah 22: 17) 'Atah is "grasp you firmly."

The Beloved seeks to be unveiled, uncovered, unencumbered not only with her friends but even with the servants of her friends.

Above in the center is the Crucified Christ with a wise Virgin climbing up the Cross and the Virgin and Child at the foot of the Cross. On the left, the Child Christ passes a wreath to one of the three Wise Virgins who hold lamps. In the upper left, a Wise Virgin is helped up to Heaven by a figure of Christ leaning down from the clouds. On the right, the Foolish Virgins hold their lamps upside down and fall into the mouth of Hell. From the Rothschild Canticles (Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University).

How right they are to adore you! Dark am I, yet lovely, O daughters of Jerusalem, dark like the tents of Kedar, like the tent curtains of Solomon. Do not stare at me because I am dark, because I am darkened by the sun. My mother's sons were angry with me and made me take care of the vineyards; my own vineyard I have neglected. (Song of Songs 1:5-6)

The Beloved responds to her friends. The tents of Kedar, a Bedouin federation in Northwest Arabia, were made of black goat hair, very dark indeed. According to Psalm 120 "to dwell in the tents of Kedar" was to be war-like and separated from God.

The Dark Lady perceives herself as an outsider. She is embarrassed by her difference. But she is also aware of - proud of - her beauty.

In Sonnet 132 Shakespeare seems to seek the pity of his Dark Lady:

As those two mourning eyes become thy face:
O, let it then as well beseem thy heart
To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace,
And suit thy pity like in every part.
Then will I swear beauty herself is black
And all they foul that thy complexion lack.

I approach my Lover aware of my many flaws, perhaps preoccupied with my failures. But even in critique, apology, self-pity, and apprehension I assert my loveliness, my own claim to be loved.

Listen to Dark Am I Yet Lovely by Sinead O'Connor on YouTube.

We rejoice and delight in you, we will praise your love more than wine. (Song of Songs 1:4)

There are friends with the beloved - daughters of Jerusalem - who occasionally join in the song. Here they encourage the lovers.

This love is דֶיךָ or dowd. In every other Hebrew scripture - but one - it is translated as uncle. In the Song of Songs it is rendered as love this one time and as beloved every other time. Once in Proverbs it is also used for love: "Come, let us drink our fill of love until morning; Let us delight ourselves with caresses." (Proverbs 7:18)

Dowd is derived from a word meaning to boil. This is a very hot love.

Solomon's Song of Songs.

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth— for your love is more delightful than wine. Pleasing is the fragrance of your perfumes; your name is like perfume poured out. No wonder the maidens love you! Take me away with you—let us hurry! Let the king bring me into his chambers. (Song of Songs 1-3)

The Beloved addresses her Lover. Is this a courtly love song or a spiritual allegory or both?

Am I the Lover of the woman or am I the Beloved of God or both?

Is the Lover's kiss spiritual or sensual or both?

Bernard of Clairvaux offered, "O happy kiss, and wonder of amazing self-humbling which is not a mere meeting of lips, but the union of God with man. The touching of lips signifies the bringing together of souls. But this conjoining of natures unites the human with the divine and makes peace between earth and heaven. For he himself is our peace, who made the two one."

Above is from the Rothschild Canticles.