Three mysteries of the Rosary for the conversion of the world at five in the morning at Tilma is a refreshing way once a month to invigorate the spirit.  A Mary statue recovered and renovated, recalling glory days as the Highway Mary of Cleveland, a devotional prayed to in post-WWII days before traveling the highways in automobiles, a nation hitting its strongest stride.  Prayer groups allow the losing of one’s self amidst others of faith, the sharing of infusion. Dropping one’s defenses, desires, demands and delusions in the vulnerability of the moment before the most holiest of mothers is a sacred way, unification being embraced. Nothing more needs to be said. The quieting of the soul, allowing God to fill, can truly only be accomplished through prayer.  A poem, fifteenth century Middle English lyrics, praising Mary and her Divine Son.

I Sing of a Maiden

I sing of a maiden
That is matchless,
King of all kings
For her son she chose.

He came as still
Where his mother was
As dew in April
That falls on the grass.

He came as still
To his mother’s bower
As dew in April
That falls on the flower

He came as still
Where his mother lay
As dew in April
That falls on the spray.

Mother and maiden
There was never, ever one but she;
Well may such a lady
God’s mother be.