Easing away the fears.
Tender, mild.
Born was an innocent Child.
May212017
Poetry
May052017
Grace
From the muddied depths,
Dust and tears commingle,
You retrieve a pearl.
May032017
Absolute Solitude
Every day at nightfall she goes out with her lantern to light a road in the middle of nowhere.
It is a road nobody ever crosses, lost in the darkness of night, and lost, too, in the light of day. It is a road that comes from nowhere and goes nowhere.
The neighboring forest gnaws at the margins of the road, the trees grip it from below with their roots, and weeds grow in between the cracks in the rock.
But every night she comes out with the first star and hangs a lantern above this solitary road. Nobody will ever come this way. It is a difficult journey and there is no reason to come. Some roads have shade and other roads cover longer distances in half the time. And there are still other roads that make a straight line through an endless maze of streets. There are many other roads in this world and people will travel them all. But there is not one person who will set foot on hers.
Why then does she light the road for a wayfarer who doesn’t exist? And why this constant show of obstinacy every single night?
And why on earth does she smile when she lights the lantern?
Dulce Maria Loynaz ‘Absolute Solitude’
Apr212017
Practical splendor
Establishing an outline of a St John of the Cross pilgrimage, I have been detailing locales to visit, viewing the country of my mother’s upbringing. Of course, there is an underlying irony to seeking an earthly connection to the Saint of Nada. The subtly propels forward, illuminating the land of ancestors, pointing toward St Teresa of Avila, St Peter of Alcantara, Our Lady of Pilar, Monastery of Monteserrat, the original Our Lady of Guadalupe, and more, while pointing whole heartedly to God.
St John the Cross born in Fontiveros. Attended school in nearby Salamanca. First reformed Carmelite religious home Duruelo. Imprisoned in Toledo. Later years settling in Bielsa near the Pyrennes. He dies in Ubeda. His corpse resides in Segovia.
St John of the Cross poetry.
On the Communion of the Three Persons (from Romance on the Gospel)
Out of the vast love
Born of them both,
The Father spoke to the Son
With words of celebration,
With words of such full delight
That none can know;
Only the Son, only he took joy,
Since they were breathed in his ear alone.
But here is what
Can be understood:
–“Nothing, my Son, pleases me,
But your company.
“If something is sweet,
Through you alone do I taste it.
The more of you I see in its reflection,
The wider my smile;
“What is unlike you,
Has nothing of me.
In you alone is my delight,
Life of my life!
“You are the fire of my fire,
My knowing;
The form of my substance,
In you am I well pleased.
“Whoever gives his love to you, my Son,
To him I give myself,
And him I fill
With the love I feel for you
Just for making you beloved,
My Beloved.”
Apr192017
Culmination
Walking to Emmaus,
I, the adorer,
You, the Restorer,
Make way into proper passion,
A negation of worldly desires,
The complexity of ambition perplexed,
Redeemed within dissipation,
Humiliation employed,
Senses deceived,
Darkness enveloping,
Unity in time, coalescing,
The breaking of Bread,
Head bowed,
Hands silent in prayer,
Mind still,
Heart humble,
Understanding infused,
In procession witnessing,
A Savior received.
Apr172017
Following Easter
Wayward winds blowing, centrifugal,
Within the sense of detachment, distance and proximity,
A heart becomes penetrable, a companion in flight,
Simple sitting upon a rooftop, noontime napping,
A fox unaware, sleepy and lazy, unburdened by the world,
Seizing upon the essence of a multitude of experiences,
Centripetal, unbiased and loving, releasing foul air,
Objects becoming that for which they were created,
Through time and patience, the variety of seasons and weather,
Nostalgic reflections upon moments anticipating grandeur,
Splendid innocence amidst squalor and violence, children petting a wolf,
The beauty of slow moving black and white images, shadows and light,
Candles wasting away illuminating, two in number,
The effervescence of shared experiences accumulating,
Unguarded moments of eternity within uncloistered lives.
Apr172017
A lover of Christ residing as a poet, a saint
At last we can watch, even in these poems of the Dark, the Saint (St John of the Cross), holding in one hand the supreme substantial vision, and in the other created loveliness, and friends with both, since neither was held by him for his own worship:
On the flowers of my bosom
Kept whole for Him alone,
There He repose and slept;
And I caressed Him, and the waving
Of the cedars fanned Him.
As His hair floated in the breeze
That blew from the turret;
He struck me on the neck
With His gentle hand,
And all my senses left me.
I continued in oblivion lost—
My head was resting on my Love—
Lost to all things and myself,
And, amid the lilies forgotten,
Threw all my cares away.
‘Upon God’s Holy Hills; the Guides St Anthony of Egypt, St Bruno of Cologne, St John of the Cross’ by C.C. Martindale
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