Dawn

 

On The Crocus Prayer

With Christian (over the iphone),

... I know I know... I know exactly what you're thinking... 

"what's up now???"... with your hand on your forehead, the other on your phone, and thinking "O no, here we go again!,  What have I done to deserve this?" :(  -  I know, I know... If you're standing, please sit down and fast your seat belt ... just kidding! Now, only after getting your permission to interrupt for a brief moment whatever you were doing, I'll talk: 

Last night  I couldn't stop thinking..... about the horrific experience of being under the land mower blades........ We agree that she was spared... She could have been shred to pieces... (I like to call it "she")

What you beautifully (difficult to read too) described about the little mermaid "endurings", made me go back to the crocus and spend some more time there. What a story/photograph of love and hope... You can't find a trace of terror on her all giving being... 

From there it was very easy to end up at Slayed Humanity Boulevard... whether by blades or other means, bloody or not exactly, there are a lot of people breathing terror (in all its varieties),  despair and loneliness, all across the world. As I go through my daily duties, your photograph, carefully saved in my heart, masterfully illustrates my prayer for today,

"Slayed Humanity" - (oppressed, killed and the kind), with God's beautiful promise that every trace of terror, horror, wound or hurt will disappear, it will not be possible even to remember any of it. 

One more thing: One of the things I did today was to look for undetected holes in my pocket, I don't want to lose the moon you so kindly and unexpectedly put inside it. I'll never forgive myself if I do that!

Bye now :)

PS:  Christian if I "bug" you with my thoughts/comments/talk/interruptions/unauthorized scriblings on your work/etc ... please - I beg you!!!  let me know. It looks like the system's firewalls are not working properly!

Somewhere at Google+ Square, 2014

From Joseph Pearce's "Summer Theologiae"

Deep in the dark night of the soul

something stirs;

And bleary eyes,

depart from dream's dreary hole

as morning stars

in summer skies.

And ere sun rises

from sleep to slumber

and dawning of dawn, 

alone one rises

in Lazarene lumber

to meet the morn.

And the world sleeps .  .  .

As gloaming fades 

to stray and wander 

in gladdening glades

to pray and ponder;

a voyeur visitor,

impertinent impostor,

inquisitive inquisitor,

mumbling Pater Noster.

In stillness to stare

at solitary hare

that accompanies the prayer.

Does it know?

Is it waiting?

Is it, as I,

anticipating?

It knows,

though what it knows,

it knows not:

distinctive

but instinctive,

and oblivious 

of oblivion.

Subconscious friar

in Franciscan fraternity;

the hare's breath

is the hair's breadth

from here to eternity.

And the world sleeps . . .

And as the hare 

grassward grazes,

without a care

for heavenward gazes,

something stirs . . .

. . .

From "Flowers of Heaven - 1000 Years of Christian Verse", compiled by Joseph Pearce - Hodder & Stoughton 1999

Joseph Pearce

St Austin Review (StAR)

 

From Walt Whitman's "Miracles"

Why, who makes much of a miracle?

As to me I know of nothing else but miracles.

Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,

Or dart my sight over the roof of houses toward the sky,

Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,

Or stand under trees in the woods,

Or talk by day with anyone I love, or sleep in the bed at night with anyone I love

Or sit at table with the rest,

Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car

Or watch honey bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,

Or animals feeding in the fields,

Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,

Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of the stars shining so quiet and bright,

Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;

These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles

The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place ...

Project Gutenberg - Walt Whitman

The Walt Whitman Archive

George Santayana (1863-1952) : "O World Thou Choosest Not The Better Part"

O world, thou choosest not the better part!

It is not wisdom to be only wise,

And on the inward vision close the eyes,

But it is wisdom to believe the heart.

Columbus found a world, and had no chart,

Save one that faith deciphered in the skies;

To trust the soul's invincible surmise

Was all his science and his only art.

Our knowledge is a torch of smoky pine

That lights the pathway but one step ahead

Across a void of mystery and dread.

Bid, then, the tender light of faith to shine

By which alone the mortal heart is led

Unto the thinking of the thought divine.