a poem by Father Ian Vanheusen

Among the hidden roads of desolate, interior landscapes,
I have found my thirsting and it has discovered me,
An encounter on the dusty, deserted byways of the heart,
That place where the potential of the human mind
is stretched from one horizon to the next,
seemingly without end,

A deep fright awakens, shaking the chains of compulsion,
Fear builds walls anywhere the sand will listen,
Sand castles that evaporate
under the whispers of midnight’s motions,
The lying winds; those imageless seductions,

So I was left naked,
and in my nakedness the desert overwhelmed me,
I could not hold back its boundless expanse,
its tombs and monuments,

I cried out, I have had enough of seeing,
but yet seeing is the only option,
I have had enough of hearing,
but yet the silence of the desert cannot be crowded out,
Such is the bitter divorce
when the matrimony between the body
and the pleasures of this world is broken,
When we fail to make covenant
with the endless illusions of a fallen reality,

And yet, in the thirsting of the desert,
a new peace awakens in the heart,
Someone communicates a world
that lies buried beneath the surface,

I have grown blind with my seeing,
but now my eyes have been renewed,
So I see without seeing,
and in this there is greater satisfaction,
I have grown dumb with my knowing,
but yet my mind has been renewed,
So I know by unknowing,
and in this I have found a new peace,

I sleep, but still my heart heart ponders,
I am awake,
and yet there is a part of me resting
in the embrace of the night,
I have forgotten the world,
and yet now I am truly a citizen of the world,

I have died only to find that now I am truly living.

Come forth thee prisoner from the shadows of your captivity,
From the remote recesses of the human heart,
a light has emerged,
From the hollow echoes of dungeons,
a song has broken forth
and in the weeping of frozen winter gasps
the circulation of a beating heart
has poured a river of blood
on the desolate landscape,

The crimson victory of martyrs
has given new life to the desert,

A procession of the saints of old erupts in the weeping city

The tambourine interrupts the stale speech of the megaphone,
The haughty promises and empty lies
advertised generation after generation
have been stripped of their false messiah,

and daughter Zion rejoices for her hour
has arrived,

With the sweet smell of incense
the mingling of heaven and earth,
has made all things new
in the dazzling light of the transfigured moment,

Oh thee captives of Babylon,
leave the ruined fortress of your fear,
For the walls have been shattered,
Leave the tired excuses of borrowed ideologies;
a living truth has taken flesh
and proclaimed an end to your slavery,

Come forth thee prisoner
from the shadows of your wounded heart,
Break out into singing!
Rejoice for your victory has arrived.

for the Monastic Family of Bethlehem
Livingston Manor, NY 2016

A poem by Father Ian Vanhuesen