Seeing things from the outside in,
Opposed to reality, a sidewinder slithers,
Seeing Things From the Inside Out,
Always being where you’re not, stalking,
A prisoner with delusions of a king,
Rather than a brother in need, lonely,
A gypsy Caravan too much settling down, isolation,
Wandering amidst wanderers, uneasy,
A dream with reflections upon a screen, images and noise,
The subconscious battling itself, a soundtrack for the voyage,
Worldly life and experiences a consequence, constructing a poor sheltering,
Always on the move wounded, hiding behind lies,
From one point observing, peering out from a manhole,
Amongst the world to within, something transformed,
Centered upon another, higher in being, a Mother,
Now within the church to without,
She was a rare thing, living pure.

poem by Christina Roaaetti

THE FLESH

“Sweet, thou art pale.”
“More pale to see,
Christ hung upon the cruel tree
And bore His Father’s wrath for me.”

“Sweet, thou art sad.”
“Beneath a rod
More heavy, Christ for my sake trod
The winepress of the wrath of God.”

“Sweet, thou art weary.”
“Not so Christ:
Whose mighty love of me suffic’d
For Strength, Salvation, Eucharist.”

“Sweet, thou art footsore.”
“If I bleed,
His feet have bled; yea in my need
His Heart once bled for mine indeed.”

THE WORLD

“Sweet, thou art young.”
“So He was young
Who for my sake in silence hung
Upon the Cross with Passion wrung.”

“Look, thou art fair.”
“He was more fair
Than men, Who deign’d for me to wear
A visage marr’d beyond compare.”

“And thou hast riches.”
“Daily bread:
All else is His: Who, living, dead,
For me lack’d where to lay His Head.”

“And life is sweet.”
“It was not so
To Him, Whose Cup did overflow
With mine unutterable woe.”

THE DEVIL

“Thou drinkest deep.”
“When Christ would sup
He drain’d the dregs from out my cup:
So how should I be lifted up?”

“Thou shalt win Glory.”
“In the skies,
Lord Jesus, cover up mine eyes
Lest they should look on vanities.”

“Thou shalt have Knowledge.”
“Helpless dust!
In Thee, O Lord, I put my trust:
Answer Thou for me, Wise and Just.”

“And Might.”—
“Get thee behind me. Lord,
Who hast redeem’d and not abhorr’d
My soul, oh keep it by Thy Word.”

a poem by Wendell Berry

Like the water
of a deep stream,
love is always too much.
We did not make it.
Though we drink till we burst,
we cannot have it all,
or want it all.
In its abundance
it survives our thirst.

In the evening we come down to the shore
to drink our fill,
and sleep,
while it flows
through the regions of the dark.
It does not hold us,
except we keep returning to its rich waters
thirsty.

We enter,
willing to die,
into the commonwealth of its joy.

a poem by Wendell Berry

I dream of a quiet man
who explains nothing and defends
nothing, but only knows
where the rarest wild flowers
are blooming, and who goes,
and finds that he is smiling
not by his own will.

With respect to the soul,
Be gentle, kind, and clean,
Subtle with the awareness of dreams.
Do not pierce your love,
With things that should never be seen.