A Day of Rest

When I am at my worst,
Holy Mother, you are at your best,
Unbridled in love, unfathomable,
Sweet eternal kindness,
Salvific maternal compassion,

Dazed and staring, I cling,
Every fiber being undone,
Destructive, determined,
Hurtful, I dared to be someone,
An identity of my desperate doing,
Inferior and overly complex,
Submerged within sin,
Wounded, searching about the world,,
For years and years, I roamed,

Holy Mother, you never faltered,
When I curled up crying,
Saturated with tears, sweat and blood,
Fearful of my tendency toward filth,
You strengthened your presence,
A vision presenting,
Never judging, nor scolding,
Holding your mantle above,
Sheltering, allowing a refuge, a hideout,
Panting, I recognized,
What is love, and what is not,
What nurtures, and what does not,
Mother of Wisdom, patient teacher Divine,

A dream, I dream,
The hopeful moment in heaven,
I will be blessed to hear you sing,
Your melodious voice praising your Son,
To hear the Queen of Heaven glorify in song,
Overwhelming the angels,
Sounding out through eternity,
Saving souls.

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Once Upon A Time

Their is a story,
A tale of woe,
I try to follow,
Deciphering a plot,
Indistinctly viewing characters,
Foreshadowing, overshadowing,
Conflict unresolved ,
Internal, external, eternal,
Subterfuge and grace,
Lift up your hearts,
Rejoice,
Enduring and short,
My life and an end.

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Monday morning

Tiredly dragging myself to an early Monday morning Mass, barely making it on time, inspiration appeared. The Mass is conducted in a side chapel. In the main darkened church, an elderly man was finishing his walk of the Stations of the Cross. Another sat silent in a pew. An elderly woman, seated in a secluded space, prayed a Rosary. The magnificence of the Church, the ability to inspire prayer, hope, and the glorification of God overwhelmed my lethargic stupor. God is good and all giving. Do all good people go to heaven? I am not sure. I know some bad ones make it. Today is the feast day of Mary Magdalene, and let’s not forget the thief on the Cross.

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Empty Tomb Prayer

Anonymous

My God,
My internal anguish will not cease.
My sorrowful memories press into my head like a crown of thorns,
Woven by the mockery and scourging
From a cohort of authorities and coworkers,
Within schools and neighborhoods,
At the mouths and hands of enemies and self.
Amidst family and church as well
There is not always a haven,
A stable place to rest my head.

I long for solace hoping to see Your face,
To hear Your voice.
Still, I remain in tears.

Often I become angry when I look upon my own image,
Even doubting if You Yourself wish me goodness.
Despondent and wandering, I drink vinegar alone,
Wanting relief, yet I merely become thirstier.

Where can my aching heart turn to fill its void?
May I find a merciful balm in Your Son Jesus’ turmoil and torment.
As He first did on Golgotha,
As His father tended to His needs,

Place me under Your Mother Mary’s peaceful care.
So, too, Saint Joseph, I plead,
Build me into a strong, secure shelter where I can dwell.
Prospering and fruitful,
Hold me within the loving arms of Jesus’ real friends.

May Your Son gently rest His wounded Hands upon my broken confidence,
And command my mind’s anxious sea and sky to be calm.
The Specters of Fear who perpetually discourage,
May the despair be overcome through His risen light.
In the grace-filled rays which reveal Your path,
Mature my soul by becoming content.
For truly You made no mistake in creating me.

Lastly, by Your Magnificent Spirit,
Warm my life,
Resurrecting me from the dank pit.
Receive these humble requests,
O Lord God, in Jesus the Christ.

Through His absolution,
May my soul be as white as snow.
By feasting upon His Flesh,
The Eucharist,
A holy stream will burst forth in my resentful desert
Whereby I will forgive those who have hurt me.
And with my blood flowing through His
I will no longer simply know You only as my God
But also trust in You as my Father.

Amen.

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Sound inducing peace

I have been listening to Joshua Messick, a musician accomplished with the dulcimer, a medieval stringed instrument.

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A Purposeful Life

I was thinking about a poem from an influential oriental book from my youth: the Tao Te Ching.

Do you want to improve the world?
I don’t think it can be done. The world is sacred.

It can’t be improved.
If you tamper with it, you’ll ruin it.
If you treat it like an object, you’ll lose it.

There is a time for being ahead,
a time for being behind;
a time for being in motion,
a time for being at rest;
a time for being vigorous,
a time for being exhausted;
a time for being safe,
a time for being in danger.

The Master sees things as they are,
without trying to control them.
She lets them go their own way,
and resides at the center of the circle.

Which sent me to Ecclesiastes chapter 4.

I turned myself to other things, and I saw the oppressions that are done under the sun, and the tears of the innocent, and they had no comforter; and they were not able to resist their violence, being destitute of help from any. And I praised the dead rather than the living: And I judged him happier than them both, that is not yet born, nor hath seen the evils that are done under the sun. Again I considered all the labours of men, and I remarked that their industries are exposed to the envy of their neighhour: so in this also there is vanity, and fruitless care. The fool foldeth his hands together, and eateth his own flesh, saying:

Better is a handful with rest, than both hands full with labour, and vexation of mind. Considering I found also another vanity under the sun: There is but one, and he hath not a second, no child, no brother, and yet he ceaseth not to labour, neither are his eyes satisfied with riches, neither doth he reflect, saying: For whom do I labour, and defraud my soul of good things? in this also is vanity, and a grievous vexation. It is better therefore that two should be together, than one: for they have the advantage of their society: If one fall he shall be supported by the other: woe to him that is alone, for when he falleth, he hath none to lift him up.

And if two lie together, they shall warm one another: how shall one alone be warmed? And if a man prevail against one, two shall withstand him: a threefold cord is not easily broken. Better is a child that is poor and wise, than a king that is old and foolish, who knoweth not to foresee for hereafter. Because out of prison and chains sometimes a man cometh forth to a kingdom: and another born king is consumed with poverty. I saw all men living, that walk under the sun with the second young man, who shall rise up in his place.

The number of the people, of all that were before him is infinite: and they that shall come afterwards, shall not rejoice in him: but this also is vanity, and vexation of spirit. Keep thy foot, when thou goest into the house of God, and draw nigh to hear. For much better is obedience, than the victims of fools, who know not what evil they do.

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Compromise

Self-propulsion, kicking against the pricks,
Driving the prick further into the skin,
An ox yoked and burdened,
A master prods and demands,
Rebellion inflicts greater suffering,
A dog feasts upon its own vomit,
Beyond satisfaction, satiated by filth,
That of its own doing is wretchedly consumed,
Lesser than Intent, lesser than deserved.

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