The Inner Companions: Recognizing the Movements Toward Hope and Despair
- Kimi Nettuno
- 3 hours ago
- 5 min read
The Voices Within: Noticing the Direction of the Heart
As we begin to listen to the voices within us, something subtle starts to emerge. It is not only that different voices are speaking, but that each voice is quietly leading somewhere. Over time, we begin to recognize that our interior life is always in motion, always inviting us in a particular direction, even in the smallest moments of our day.
In Ignatian spirituality, these movements are often named consolation and desolation. But rather than holding tightly to those terms, we can begin more simply, more personally, by asking a quieter question: Where is this leading me?
Not, is this good or bad?
But, am I moving toward hope… or away from it?
Because discernment is not about naming the feeling, it is about noticing the direction of the heart.
Hope and Despair: A Lived Language of Discernment
There are moments in our day, often small and easily overlooked, where we can sense a movement toward openness, connection, and life. Even if something is difficult, there remains a thread of possibility, a sense that we are not alone, a quiet openness to God. This is what we might call a movement toward hope.
Then there are moments that feel heavier, more closed. We may find ourselves pulling back, isolating, tightening, or turning inward in ways that disconnect us. Not dramatically, not all at once, but slowly. These are movements toward despair.
This does not mean we are “in despair” as a fixed state. Rather, we are noticing the direction we are being drawn in, moment by moment, throughout the day. We can move toward hope in one moment and begin drifting away from it in the next. This is the rhythm of the interior life.
Discernment, then, becomes the practice of recognizing these movements as they happen, gently, honestly, without judgment.
A Poem, A Moment, A Return
This morning, I prayed with a poem that stayed with me:
At the end of a long day, a father realizes that although he has been physically present, his mind has been somewhere else. His daughter reaches for him and says, “You were gone just now… and I didn’t know where you were.”
He pauses, recognizing something he had not noticed. He had left. Not physically… but interiorly.
So he gathers her close and says, “I’m back now.”
There is no shame in the moment. No explanation. Just a return. This return is what we begin to recognize within ourselves. There are moments when we are here, present, connected, and open, and moments when we are not. We drift. We leave. We move away from the place where God is meeting us.
The invitation is not to judge that movement. The invitation is to notice… and return.
When the Heart Moves Away: Tears of Despair and Tears of Hope
In a reflection by Margaret Farley, writing on Mary Magdalene meeting the Risen Christ in the Gospel of John, there is a striking image of tears that speaks to this interior movement. Some tears come from a kind of dryness, a disconnection, a longing that feels empty, almost hollow. And some tears come from encounter, from recognition, from love that has been restored.
Both are tears. But they are not the same.
One reflects a movement away from connection, a kind of interior desolation. The other reflects a movement toward relationship, toward life, toward hope. This is the subtlety of the interior life. The outward expression may look similar, but the direction of the heart is different.
And so, we begin to ask not only, what am I feeling? But more importantly, where is this leading me?
A Personal Noticing: When the Mind Leaves the Present
I have come to recognize this movement within myself in very ordinary ways. When my mind is disturbed, it does not stay where I am; it moves ahead, longing for a future moment when the stress will be over. It begins to reach for relief that does not yet exist, quietly pulling me out of what is in front of me.
Over time, I have come to see this not as a failure, but as a pattern, something my nervous system learned long ago when the present moment felt like too much. This response manifests itself in the now, when I am doing work I love, that same movement can return, drawing me away from what is here.
So my prayer has become simple: Lord, help me not to long for when this is over, but to delight in the work You have called me into. Help me remain here… with You… in what is now.
Often, that prayer becomes a return.
The Practice of Discernment: Noticing and Returning
Discernment is not about getting it right. It is about becoming aware. Throughout your day, you might begin to notice gently:
Where do I feel open… and where do I feel closed?
Where do I sense connection… and where do I sense disconnection?
Where am I moving toward hope… and where am I drifting from it?
You may notice that these movements happen more frequently than you expected. This is not something to be discouraged by. It is something to become aware of.
Because awareness is the place where God meets you.
Companions Along the Way: God’s Gentle Return
Let us pause and remember one of the graces we have already been given: we are not left alone in this movement. Again and again, God places companions along our path, sometimes through the presence of others, sometimes through a moment, a word, or a quiet stirring within, that gently draws us back.
Like a small hand reaching for yours.
“You were gone just now…”
And in that moment, you are given the invitation to return. Not perfectly or permanently, but intimately.
An Invitation: Notice the Direction This Week
As you move through your days, do not try to change what you feel. Instead, begin by noticing where it is leading you. When you feel overwhelmed, pause and ask:
Where is this taking me?
When you feel drawn in, notice: Is this opening me… or closing me?
And when you become aware that you have drifted, return. You might even say quietly:
“I’m back.”
With those words, trust that Christ is already there, meeting you in that moment, gently drawing you toward hope.
From the garden within me to the garden with you where God awaits,
Kimi
A Note on Companionship: Voices That Have Walked with Me
As I continue to pray, reflect, and listen to the movements within, I am deeply aware that I do not walk this path alone. There are voices that have accompanied me… through Scripture, through poetry, through the reflections of others… voices that have helped me recognize both the woundedness and the healing within. If you feel drawn to linger a little longer with these companions, I offer them here:
Margaret Farley, “Easter Sunday: The Women Who Did Not Lose Hope,” in Catholic Women Preach
John 20:1–9, The Gospel account of Mary Magdalene at the tomb
John Mundahl, “I’m Back Now,” in Soul to Soul: Poems, Prayers, and Stories from a Yoga Class
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