The poem of the Spiritual Canticle begins with a cry of intense unfulfilled longing and desire (C. v.1) and ends with the bride proclaiming that she has found what she has been seeking and desiring (C. v.38). The commentary begins with the bride who “with desires and sighs pouring from her heart, wounded with love for God” (C. 1.1) calls out to her unseen Beloved. It ends beyond spiritual marriage when the bride pleads “with the desire that he transfer her from spiritual marriage . . . to the glorious marriage of the Triumphant” (C. 40.7). The Spiritual Canticle is a poem of lovesick desire, wounded desire, and love-filled desire. Both poem and commentary pulsate with intense desire, draw us into this profound yearning for fulfillment, and leave us, too, inflamed with desire for God. In the first twelve verses the bridegroom never speaks, we hear only the bride’s cries of anxious search; nothing really exists of importance except her desire to find her Lover.
The initial advice for the bride is quite simple: “your desired Beloved lives hidden in your heart . . . strive to be really hidden with him, and you will embrace him within you and experience him with loving affection” (C. 1.10). She soon finds it is not that simple, for the Beloved comes and goes with the swiftness of a stag, showing himself and then hiding (C. 1.15). His visits are moments of loving encounter, wounds of love, that increase the bride’s desire to be with her Beloved, but he departs and she suffers pain and sorrow in his absence (C. 1.16). He leaves her suffering with love, incomplete and dying with desire for a more perfect loving union. “So extreme is this torment that love seems to be unbearably rigorous with the soul” (C. 1.18). She cries “but you were gone” and feels abandoned, suspended with no supports, and in need of the healing presence of her Lover. She appreciates the tastes of love he gives her, but rather than satisfy her desire they intensify her suffering and increase her longing (C. 1.22). “The loving soul lives in constant suffering at the absence of her Beloved, for she is already surrendered to him and hopes for the reward of that surrender: the surrender of the Beloved to her. Yet he does not do so” (C. 1.21).
The bride turns to creation and there finds traces of the beauty of her Beloved (C. 6.1), but seeing her Beloved in the beauty of the world only leads to greater desire to be in his presence; it is a sickness only union can heal. She has this same response to revelations of her Beloved through other rational beings. Eventually her desire leads her to insist: “You have communicated by means of others, as if joking with me; now may you do so truly, communicating yourself by yourself” (C 6.6). Her desire remains unsatisfied, in fact intensifies; “she is dying of love” “wounded with vehement love,” and feels so restrained in this bodily life (C. 8.2). This is because she realizes that “the soul lives where she loves more than in the body she animates,” and as a result she “never stops seeking remedies for her sorrow,” claiming “why since you wounded this heart, don’t you heal it?” (C. 9.1).