The gate of the temple, where I was seated, was narrow, the upper part was higher, as if in a triangle. People were gathering on the stony road. They looked dark, as if light didn't reflect on them, they wore black clothes. They were preparing a big, dark-brown cross, made of beams. They were getting ready for The Way of the Cross? This city - was this Jerusalem?
Jerusalem
Gray-blue dawn
Quiet voices of Arab and Jewish prayers
Extended, weeping, like laments of souls in distress
I am sitting at the gate of a temple
A beggar, wrapped up in a frock, tightly
Holding out a worn-out tin bowl for alms
Like hope for survival
The feet of the faithful are passing by
Clinking of small coins sounds like an exotic bird's singing
And brings hope for the evening meal
More and more feet are coming, I can't see people's eyes
When I stoop in obedience
People are kneeling before God
I readily kneel and pray for little gifts
Suddenly a loud sound is deafening the rustle of the morning
A golden coin lightens the surrounding in the bowl of copper coins
Silhouettes of people are heading for the altar
I am looking for the donor's eyes
He is the only one who stared directly at me
I caught his intent eyes, just for a moment
The quality coin outshines the copper coins like Grace
Do You always hide in a crowd, Lord?
The sounds of prayers, like birds, drift in the sky
Nearby, among the bazaar stands, along the stony road
Another group begins their Way of the Cross on Golgotha Hill
Souls of the pilgrims, like my beggar's bowl
Desire Your Gift
Will a copper coin shine there... or gold?
January 2005. I had been participating in the prayers of the Way of the Cross every week, for many Years and I realized a strong inner impulse to write about my own feelings concerning the Stations. I called it a conversation of my heart with Jesus during the Way of the Cross. Also, quite accidentally, I found a following message: Consider the depth of His sorrowful Passion, consider it as if it were taken up exclusively for you.
The conversation of the heart with Jesus during the Way of the Cross.
Station I
Lord Jesus condemned by Pilatus' court
In people' hearts
Hatred sprouted already
It built up the Cross
Pilatus washed his hands off it
You were standing in silence
The King of Humanity without the crown, scepter
Your heart, Your thoughts, Your Love
Didn't call for mercy
It wasn't the time for words
It was the time for suffering
God has foreseen it and showed You all in the Olive Garden
Put this cup aside from Me
Your hope was shouting that maybe man
Can be as merciful as God
Thy will, not mine be done
And it has been done
For the salvation of man
You must resurrect
Station II
Lord Jesus takes the cross on His shoulders.
You are silent, in pain, with the cross on Your shoulders
You watch when we take crosses off the walls
Take them off our backs, our consciences
We cover our hearts with soft silk
So that suffering wouldn't hurt them
We leave the memory of Your Passion in churches
On the fourteen tables
But
Sometimes, on our way, pain looks at us
It touches us
Its eyes are like Yours
The silky cover on our hearts gets split
This is the moment when we see
Our own crosses on Your shoulders
And You are not just one of the Stations of the Cross
Or a lifeless picture of the 21st century
You Are our suffering
Our tears
Our silence when we lack understanding
You said:
Let everyone take up his cross
And follow Me
Station III
First fall of Lord Jesus
At the Stations of the Cross, You Are a human being
Like me or them
Being whipped, wounded, You have no strength
Like our body, touched with illness, with life
With sin
You stumble over a stone and fall
The stone may have my name written on it?
Or maybe yours, my companion from work
From a meeting, from a pilgrimage?
The stone is silent, mysterious
Jesus knows its name
He gets up and gives hope for forgiveness
He is kicked by His ruffians
Cruelty of strength over Silence of Love
He is getting up, all by Himself
I, human being didn't help You
I was afraid to come up
Out of fear, terror
I close my eyes
Is it better not to see? Not to hear?
But God works in my heart already
He reveals the power of Love
The Cross of Jesus - it's not a lifeless wood
It is alive, it pulsates with millions of human beings
Waiting for salvation
And I am within this Cross, too
Station IV
Lord Jesus meets His Mother
The moment of two lonely hearts
The moment of looking at mutual pain
The pain that is carried
The pain, pierced with a spear of grief
Where are your companions, Jesus?
Where are your defenders?
Where am I?
Just the Cross and Mother
God appointed Them for our Salvation
We are not alone in our pain, anymore
Mother's eyes are vigilant, Jesus' eyes are vigilant
The world around is noisy, like it always is on Calvary
Shouting and pushing, stepping on those who can't make it
The glance that lasts one second is enough
One second of pouring Love
And we already have His power
We reshuffle our cross of destiny on our backs
The cross of vocation
You looked at us the same way as at Your Mother
You pierced Your Cross with the lance of our grief
We follow You
To Calvary of our own lives
Station V
Simon of Cyrene helps Lord Jesus carry the Cross
I am in the crowd, I - Simon of Cyrene
I am looking at a man with a cross who suffers
He will pass near me
It is his suffering, his destiny
I will return home
Somebody is dragging me, pulling out of the crowd
Give help - he shouts
Why me?
For hundreds of years, Cyrene-like people
Have been asking themselves this question
The cross for me?
Rebellion breaks the heart
Fists are clenched...
The bent gaunt figure of Jesus
The eyes full of understanding, love
Looking just at me
I am not a common passerby in life, anymore
He is asking... like man, not like God
My heart softens, tight fists relax
Two pairs of hands carry the cross
The grace of suffering in silence...
He has chosen me
He has trusted...
I don't ask... why me?
The burden of love...
I will fall with it many times
Please, be with me when I carry my cross.
Station VI
Veronica wipes Lord Jesus' face
In the heat and dust
On the way to Golgotha
Veronica is making her way through the crowd
It is her mercy and courage
That wipe Your face
You reward her with Your Countenance Reflection
On an ordinary veil
On an ordinary life
You leave a trace
It is enough to pull out our hands to You
And they will never be empty
You say: don't hide in the crowd
Let your heart act
Devote it to love
To courage...
To the power of vocation
A frock of a monk, a cassock
Like Veronica's veil
A wedding ring
Like Veronica's veil
Loneliness
Like Veronica's veil
Permit God to write on it
Your name.
Station VII
Second fall of Jesus
Mocking, pushing, hostile shouting
This is Your music on the way to Golgotha
Singing of birds is deafened, just stones under the feet
Nature is silent, it knows the mysteries of Your Passion
The earth is getting ready to quake
It is wounded by Your blood
Only people are deaf
Stranger's suffering hurts only wise hearts
Falling the second time, You give time to the executioners
For the silence of mercy, at least
You fall, oppressed with the Cross
You do it for us, who cast away the grace of Salvation
We throw our sin-laden crosses upon Your emboldened Cross
We don't want them
You embrace and hug this over-burden with Your heart
You don't leave any...
On the Calvary road
Your blood will bless them
Love will speak
You hope until the very end, while rising from the fall
To see more Simons and Veronicas around.
Station VIII
Lord Jesus consoles the weeping women
The women take pity on Your Passion
They are weeping
What are tears for, when life dries them up so quickly
Mercy will pass away, time will forget all about it
So much suffering around
The hearts harden when seeing it
They are protected with fences of everyday life
So that our neighbors' sufferings wouldn't hurt us
We have mercy for the victims
Tender words, vain, with no meaning
Although sometimes beautiful
Cry over your children - says Jesus
Tears of mercy don't soothe pain
We must hold it in warm hands
Even if it belongs to a stranger
We must warm it, going along together
Until we encounter
The first smile
The first hope
The first prayer together...
Is this what You asked for, Jesus?
Station IX
Third fall of Lord Jesus
God was deep in thoughts when creating man
To look like Him and be similar to Him
He inscribed free will into man's rebellious heart
With His Holy finger
Man took God's plan in his hands
He cast sin at it with impunity and smashed God's hopes
Throwing God's Son down onto the rocks, the third time
The Son who was sent to save the world
Man gave vinegar to the thirsty
But the Redeemer gets up, although insulted
He gives away the Gift of Mercy
Like treasure underestimated
Oh, Jesus so humiliated, how many falls
Do You raise us from?
You raise our bodies, our souls, distressed with sin
God has given the time of life to me, the pilgrim of the world
So that I could count my falls
And look for my Brother
The One Who carried the Cross to Golgotha Hill
He asks for just one thing
The Cross that is put into the ice of the world
Should remind you of God's thoughtfulness
When He created you to look like Him
And be similar to Him...
Station X
Taking off Lord Jesus' clothes
It is not enough for the executioners to have hurt You,
The robe that Your Mother gave You
Is taken off You, so that Your wounds could be seen
To humiliate Your human dignity
Some day, on Judgment Day
God will unveil our souls
He will take off our shiny clothes of the sin of pride
He will unveil our injuries, our scars
We treated them with our human ways
With forgetfulness, with going away from the cross, from God
With giving up prayers
We wanted to be nice to the world
Human medicine doesn't heal, it only suspends pain
It often kills human dignity
The executioners tore off Jesus' clothes and opened up His wounds
Look for salvation in My wounds
Not in the herbs of this world, nor in its clothing
Your silent consent for humility is crying
Oh, the Robe of Jesus, so blessed
Woven by the hands of the Sorrowful Mother
Stepped on by the executioners
Those from the past and from our times
Please cleanse our eyes...
Station XI
Nailing Lord Jesus to the Cross
Why are the hangmen pushing You?
You will lie on the Cross by Yourself
As if it were a moment of rest for Your sore legs
For your whipped and beaten-up back
But there is no rest for you
The hammer and the nails are poised
Why is there so much uproar around?
You will not escape from the Cross
You did not choose it, You just submitted
Thy will, not Mine, Lord
The sound of hammering, the legs are nailed
The left hand is nailed
You are watching when the executioners are nailing
Your right hand
You will not bless with it again
There is no salvation, no hope
Besides the Cross...
We must, like Jesus, take up our own crosses on the backs
Life itself will give us the nails
The executioners with hammers will appear out of nowhere
The Cross is the only key to Heaven
Look for the cross, man, that you once cast away
Maybe out of fear?
Maybe out of convenience?
Maybe you lacked prayer? Love?
You still have time, you - the Passerby in the streets of this world
God has chosen your cross for you, with love
He matched it to your potential
He had given the heaviest one to His Son.
Station XII
Lord Jesus is dying on the Cross
The sorrow of the whole world hang on the Cross
Suffering tore up the screen
Between Heaven and Earth
God held out His arms for His Son
But the Son was still saving a rascal on the cross
The earth quaked, the blood, sweat and tears of Christ
Mixed with bitter vinegar, the last gift of man
Poured down the Holy Body
John was silent
The Sorrowful Mother was silent
Even the executioners were silent
This was the blessed silence
The silence of death that we are so afraid of
Jesus died on the Cross
Our loved ones also die
We can't say - I love you - to anyone, anymore
We suffer when we see, how many nails
We have hammered into their crosses
In their lifetimes
How many times we have nailed their hands
When they only wanted... to bless, to advice
Jesus, mother, father, brother, sister, my friend
Intercede with God for us
At the moment of silence of death
We beseech the Saving Love of Passion
Please forgive us...
Station XIII
Lord Jesus is taken off the Cross
The body of Jesus is taken off the Cross
As a man, He is dead
The Cross is driven into the ground
Stained with His blood
With His tormented body
The Cross is still standing
It is holding out its wooden arms
The Savior has given in His place, for your cross
Now He is standing in front of your cross
He always waits for you
He supports your mutilated body and soul
He gives the drink of the Holy Spirit, not sour vinegar
No cursing, nor mocking
He gives Love
This is the salvation Cross...
Stand by this Cross, let yourself be crucified for sins
With your offering of prayer, of suffering, of silence
Are you afraid of people's scoffing, pain, loneliness?
These are the thorns of life
And if you escape from Jesus' cross, as high as a bird
People will nail you to other crosses
There will always be people who carve
The crosses of war, violence, evil
On them, there is only pain without consolation
These are the crosses set by people
And Jesus didn't hang on them
They were carved by evil, by indifference
Only one Cross is holding out its arms
The Cross of Merciful Jesus
So pray, man, and don't confuse the human cross
With the Cross of Jesus.
Station XIV
Lord Jesus is laid in the tomb
You have been laid in the tomb\
The silence of the grotto
The despair of Your followers
Before, You were lying in Your Mother's arms
Departure - a painful, silent pieta
Suffering is always silent
It speaks to the heart, soul
Eyes and words don't understand it
Mother of God with Jesus on Her lap
This is the symbol of grief of millions of mothers
They gave birth to life
The world of violence gave them back the dead children
For how many human beings
The wombs of their mothers were their graves?
Oh, Jesus, why must man breathe evil in and out so long?
Why must man kill the body, the soul?
We hold out our fists to God - and ask, why?
But it's not God, it's people who dig graves
Your grave, Jesus, will be empty
The cold sepulcher will not absorb You
You will resurrect and approach man
Here I Am - You will say
I Am still alive
God didn't create man for the grave
He created him... for eternity.
24.01.2005 Dream. I was in a large attic, full of hay. The roof had cracks and missing boards so I could see the beautiful sun beyond, and a giant ball glittering, with bright rays emitting out. At one moment, human hands began to
come out of the hay. Many hands. On some arms, there were blooming bright flowers, other hands were empty. My hands were empty, too and I felt sorry. Why didn't I get the present? There was silence and I had an impression that somebody was installing a cassette with a recording of a lecture in my body. I only remember one important part of this lecture, 'I give rewards to people, don't envy them, some people receive presents for their live,' deeds while others are so important to Me (I know how strongly they are attached to Me) that I don't have to give them any gifts - they are those that I can count on - without material rewards.
Child's prayer
I would like you Jesus, so tired
Rest for a while
At the door of our farm's cottage
In the warm, morning sunshine
Grandma will give You a loaf
Of warm bread out of the oven
You will drink spring water
Kids will wash your clothes
Grandpa will clean Your sandals
A lark' song will make You sleep
Although tired, You will sleep with no fear
We will see that Your sleep is sound
The cross that You carry with fatigue
Will be hidden in a safe place
And when You finally wake up
Grandma will serve You dinner
Aunt will pick red apples for You
For further travel over the world
Dressed in clean and perfumed clothes
You will move on like a humble needy pilgrim
There are still so many cottages and thresholds to pass by
Maybe some will be Your hosts?
04.02.2005 My local church in Nobla St. Warsaw
After the prayers of the Stations of the Cross, I had Adoration of the Most Holy Sacrament
for some time. Suddenly I saw the Pope in my mind. I felt that I am hugging Him, embracing Him. This feeling was so physical that I saw Him spreading His arms around me. It all lasted seconds. And then a quiet voice in my heart demanded: write a poem about Him, but make it simple.
The Pope
He was made out of divine Wisdom, out of the Creator's joy
Out of His Mercy
And like grace sent down to earth
To be the Great Custodian
This holy gift fell on the ground so hard
The world filled His eyes with pain
Tormented His heart with thorns
The Man-Pope was getting aged for us
He feeds people with hope
Don't be afraid, He repeats
He, the High Priest of this world knows the Truth
Which makes souls blossom
He fell from a bullet, helplessly
The world was shaken, touched with trepidation
Cried sinners and saints in common:
Please rise, You, who are the Guard of Hope!
He did rise with the helping hand of Mary
Not so strong anymore but an old weary man
Suffering, gray-haired, patient, wary
Keeping on His pilgrimage...
What message do You give us; Lord
Through this old man, so hurt and ailing
Is our soul, like His, crucified
Within our earthly infirmity?
On His back, there is the cross of the world's sins
His step like Jesus', falls down with the effort
His spirit is defiant, people's sins are heavy
God waits and gives endurance
You gave us, Lord; the Sign of Reconciliation
It came in the person of the Pope
So little does His heart demand, as well as His teaching:
You have been gifted with Love, so you also give It free.
06.02.2005 Sunday Mass near Warsaw.
This Sunday's Gospel spoke about Christians as a pillar of the earth. I was trying to imagine what our Community has become.
I saw a picture of a large Rosary with red. living fruits of Guilder-rose strung on it (instead of regular heads).
Looking closer, I saw that some fruits were red and juicy but among them were also dried, faded, blackened fruits. I was wondering if all the fruits end up-with dying?
I "heard" an answer for every fruit which passes away (it withers due to spiritual or mortal death) gets reborn. The Cross of Christ keeps feeding the Rosary, therefore, it gives the power for the rebirth of the Rosary. With my human mind, I understood that even if time comes when some people abandon their Christianity, others will be born (through the power of the Cross) and they will reinforce it with their power. (Like saints, priests and even common faithful).
A little chapel
The mist of humility has made it
God Almighty touched it with light
He sent the Immaculate to the world
The blessed One, full of grace
The chapel is standing now
With the carved statue of the Holy Mary
She is waiting for prayers, sung in May
By common people, not saints
They will kneel before Her and pray fervently
They will decorate the chapel with flowers and ribbons
Tired of life, they will sigh silently
Someone will whisper: come with us, Mary
It will be warmer, more comfortable for You
In our house, in the chamber, by the flowered window
Rain won't reach Your arms, nor will storm
And the evil man will not reach You, either
The Holy Lady will say: Thank you, with love
For your hospitality and feeling
This statue was built for the Glory, by someone with faith
Who was grateful for his healing
I stand here, scoped with stone with a chisel
To protect what is holy with people
I remind you that there is someone on earth
Who doesn't despise your requests
Oh, Holy Mary from a roadside sanctuary
Who fortifies conscience and shows clemency
Sometimes You are so alone at this road
When we pass by You... indifferent and ungracious.
11.02.2005 Feast of the Holy Mother of Lourdes in Siekierki, Warsaw.
The Mass was very solemn, beautiful. I didn't feel impatient although the third hour passes. During a long ceremony of the blessing of the sick, I tried to meditate. I recommended all persons that I know - to the Holy Mother of Siekierki. I apologized to Her for the sins and downfalls. At one moment, I noticed in my heart, the symbol of human sin, in a form of a black stone that looks like coal. My inner voice, I called him "an interpreter", explained to me that the Holy Spirit burns this coal of ours, provided that we act through genuine repentance.
But still being unsure, I kept wondering what happens to the ashes after burning our "sins". And I heard, 'it still glows in our hearts, and when it loses the glow, the Holy Communion lights up our inner "hearth" again. People, who keep inside the hard stone that is not lit up by the grace of the Holy Spirit, don't feel this peculiar praying glow.' The Holy Spirit doesn't act, I suppose. They are indifferent when they put the Holy Sacrament into their hearts, into this stone (sins); there is no sorrow, repentance and guilt in them but only coldness.
My "interpreter" presented this complicated analogy of human spirit in such a simple way that it seemed to me too simplified. But after some consideration, I thought that it contains an important idea: sins are being incinerated inside us, all the time, but the memory of them is like ashes.
The stone
The burden of life, I felt.
It rested on my shoulders
Like a stone that makes you stop
At a place that I haven't chosen
I recall with nostalgia those who are gone
Their faces filled my heart
Life around was beating to its own rhythm
And I sat down on a stone
Even the wind was quiet
No tune
Just me and the stone
Like the examination of conscience
We were silent
Should I drum it with my head or my heart?
Can a stone grant absolution?
Once, Your cross, Jesus, was driven into a stone
You had strength and power of God
I - have only weakness of man
My stone says: - you won't make it
Unless you lift me
Otherwise, you will become a blooming weed in its shadow
Once, on Golgotha, the sacrifice of your God
Poured down on your stone, too
On your life
And God gave you strength... through prayer.
14.02.2005 I was deeply touched by the death of Sister Lucy (13.02, one of the children of Fatima). I had an impression that she was the person who protected this world against God's justice, but she passed away. In prayer, I devoted her to God and I asked for grace through her intercession. And then, while looking at the picture of the Holy Mary of Medugorje, I started hearing words cascading down on me. First I wanted to keep them to myself but I felt sorry that the dirge might be forgotten, so I put them down instantly, giving the title: The gift.
The gift
I am pulling my arms out to You, Lord
Asking for consolation
And You order me to close my eyes
And stay in humility
So I keep silent
Feeding myself with silence like with bread
Time penetrates the body
There is no word, no gesture, whatsoever
Only the blessed silence
And being in Adoration so deeplyFull of peaceful hope
I count on Your sign
On Your consolation
On relief in my pain
Time passes, minutes move slowly
On the clock of silence
I exist like that in hope
With empty hands
Will You fill them with gifts, Lord?
I open my eyes when You give me a sign
I seek consolation on my hands
What do I see?
A little, wooden cross …
A reminder of the penance.
25.02.2005 I woke up this Friday morning feeling strange; spiritual love surrounds me. It seemed as if "somebody" wanted to convey to me that I was special. It lasted for a few seconds but it was blissful and beautiful. In my mind, I saw a beautiful flower, looking like a red rose. Some kind, inner voice "explained" to me that people's faith is contained in this beautiful bud. The flower looks fresh and beautifully scented. This is an encouragement sent from Heaven so that we love God. But the flower becomes faded, loses scent, gets drier, I imagined. But faith still exists in it, although there were no flakes, leaves any longer. This faith exists somehow in the "memory" of this flower, it hovers; nothing supports it any longer, no scent, no moisture. But it still exists. It is very hard to understand. This is the faith which gets stronger, everlasting, thanks to grace. It is not strengthened from the outside; it is strong thanks to will. This faith believes that it found its place already, although there was nothing around to support it. It is the strong conviction that in spite of lack of "consolation" (like scent, green, water) we are at the right place. I thought that it was a picture of faith of such people who have strong ties with God already. They hover like birds, feeding on grace that is flowing right into their souls.
Wait
There are such days when you call for Love
But She is silent
There are such days when you call for Hope
But She does not come
There are such days when you light a candle for Faith
But She goes out
There are such days...
When Jesus' face is shrouded on the cross
With a violet veil
He is looking for Love, Hope, Faith for you
Through your fast, prayer, suffering
And don't say that Faith, Hope, Love, have left you
They are shaped like a cross
In the daunting desert, in torment
On the cross there are visible
Hope for your life
Love that you look for
Faith, so that you don't lose Hope and Love
Keep waiting in quiet patience
In successive Mass
In the Eucharist in your heart
It will resurrect in you
Despite your sadness of being left in solitude
It will light up, at the given time
According to the Divine Clock
Wait, even if your eyes were blind
And your ears deaf
For Jesus, the miracle of
Hope, Faith and Love
Is a daily bread.
01.03.2005 I wake up having an impression that I was falling down very fast; as if somebody dropped me with full force from a high altitude. I had a strange feeling of rhythmic breathing, beautiful, overwhelming me profoundly. Suddenly I understood what I was going through in my dreamlike vision. Somebody tried to explain the feeling to me which, if described with words that wouldn't depict what I really meant. It is as if you were at a beautiful ballet concert and then you wanted to imitate those intricate steps clumsily, but try nevertheless.
I know that God is there. He is in this wonderful, rich, colorful nature. His presence encumbers every bit of earth and man. We are in Him. He "feels" us. He sees us in every second. We "breathe"; we live together with Him, as if we were on His body. He can notice everything that is important in our tiny bits. We breathe in the same rhythm as God does. Great Love joins all this. By destroying nature, ourselves - spiritually and morally - we offend Him, and we cause pain. He feels it in His rhythm of breathing. He is the Spirit, penetrating the universe.
He is in the beauty of mountains and oceans. It is as if they were part of His body. God is not an old Man with a beard, that we often have a vision of, He is the breathing, rhythm, feelings, and even pain, because of man who destroys.
My feelings lasted only seconds, but they were inspiring. They gave me faith and trust in the Great, Divine Plan of Life. We can not hide from God. Our breathing is in Him.
Memory
Memory bears time beautifully
Like a living flower
Like grace which life gives
In the silence when we are mature
I remember a meadow, full of meadow flowers
And a small brook
Crossed by a little wooden bridge
Clean among the green, decorated with sunshine
Not very far from my grandparents' hut
It seemed to me like the way
To another fine world
There, I was looking for You, Lord
Unknown to me then
Being wiser after all these years
A little girl, alone, among the flowers
With eyes full of sweet memories of painted colors
Not knowing words of prayer by heart
I waited quietly
Feeding myself with precious air
For the time when I get to know You, Lord
You were singing for the child, Sweet Lord
With the voices of birds
And the silence of the morning
Here, at the stream
Full of splashing creatures
You used to take my soul into Your heart
And I thought that the stream was calling
To dip my hands in it and clean them
But it was You, God, Who took care of it
And You poured Your mystery
Into the pure soul of the child
There are no more flowers blossoming
The stream got dry, as well
And the grandparents' cottage crumbled with age and disrepair
But the memory lingers on
Like a picture of a great painter
I didn't leave it in the museum of life
I look at it; focused on my prayer
Looking for the signs and pure colors
I know the Name of the One Who painted it
It is You
God - the Most High.
02.03.2005 I was to give testimony in church. Two days earlier I felt bad and experienced a terrible weakness. Therefore, I decided to give up and stay home. On top of that, one hour before the Mass, my husband was attacked and bitten from behind by a dog, when he was on his way home.
All this influenced my decision, I wasn't going. I tried to pray to Jesus. There was silence around me and I felt despondent. Suddenly I saw a picture - a road in perspective, a long one, and at the end of it - a little picture of Merciful, Jesus. Then I understood - this road means my free-will. What to do? Either I overcome my weakness of nerves, concerning my testimony before the public in church (it's about my book), or I will use my free will and get away. Finally, I overcame my tendency to resign, I gave testimony and the whole bad feeling disappeared. Amen.
In the darkness...
Give me Your hand, Lord
Because I am standing on a narrow road
I am afraid to put my foot down
When The Red Sea of Faith gets separated
I am standing alone
And Your words are deafened by the howling blizzard
I see darkness in front of me
The angels are busy, talking
They discuss important matters of the world
I am defenseless in my human abandonment
Someone is whispering: - more courage
Someone else: be careful
I also hear another voice:
God won't perform a miracle for you
There are saints, God is merciful to them
The crashing of the waves, emptiness, darkness
And I...
If there were just one bright ray of the moonlight
Just one word...
Just one man...
A priest - assigned to me...
The stormy wind engulfed my entire frame
And my safe, little track...
There is little time for a decision
I feel like Peter in a boat, tossed by the storm
And Jesus is fast asleep, quiet...
I wake Him up, like Peter, in distress
Lord, I am drowning...
Why is your faith, Peter, so weak?
You said...
But Peter didn't know it
Although he was near Your arms
In the darkness of fear, in the crashing of the waves
Which deafen your words
Do You check up our faith?
06.03.2005 Sunday Mass.
I kept wondering why I saw a picture of a dry leaf before my eyes. The leaf flew up, fell down, it was fragile and light. I tried to eliminate this picture from my mind, it disturbed my concentration. Then I saw a picture of an old horse-drawn wagon, actually I saw just a metal wheel rolling towards the leaf. It will roll over it any time now I thought. But a light blow of wind lifted up the leaf, and moved it aside. I still didn't understand the meaning of this vista and I tried to give up the thoughts that disturbed me. But I heard - just think, what is the leaf and what is the blow of wind about?
My "inner interpreter" explained to me that the dry leaf means a symbol of a person susceptible to the activity of the Holy Spirit. Such a dry leaf means people who are very close to God. They soar lightly when the Holy Spirit shows them the right paths, and even protects them, like in the case of the metal wheel which could crash the leaf. Lightness (there was the picture of the dry leaf) is necessary, it gives man freedom from the emotions of the world, it lets him soar high (without the baggage of "attachments") for the Holy Spirit has access to such a ready soul. I thought that there were not many such people. Why must we be fragile, light (not burdened with the attachments to the world), so that the Holy Spirit could act on us?
And then the ceremony of the Holy Communion Giving started. This light, Holy Wafer - but what incredible power! The Holy Spirit does not act like a thunder from the sky. It is quiet, as light and gentle as a breeze. And maybe that is why it is hard to be noticed.
The vocation
There is such a road
Lonely
There are some trees that grow on the side
Sometimes there are some field flowers
A roadside cross bends forward graciously
Laughter and dialogue are quiet there
No shouting, crying, nor any quarrels
Only silence sings the psalm of Adoration
On this road, there is only
God and man
Between them, there is Great Silence
And the light that does not blind
But it penetrates soothingly and is bright
Who will speak first?
I don't know
I know the people from this road
They wear habits now, frocks
And in their hearts...
They nurse
The silence of God
07.03.2005 While praying I saw two glasses filled with crystal-clean water. I decided it to be a subject for consideration. Somebody's hand was pouring the water around, out of one glass and the glass got filled with clean water again. The other glass was standing still, and after some time, the water in it got chucky. Why? I have asked myself this question in prayer many times. After many prayers I understood that the two glasses are like symbols of two Christian souls filled with the Holy Spirit - the crystal water.
The glass with poured-out water means the Christian who shares his faith and knowledge about Jesus with others. His life shows an unending tendency to know God better. The Holy Spirit keeps filling such a soul with new, crystal water. Such a Christian who shares his love for God, and teaches others - receives new gifts, new water. Prayer is grace for him. The glass with milky water is a mediocre, lukewarm Christian, who learned about God in school once, but he "stored" this knowledge, didn't share it, he didn't look for new facts which would direct him toward the Burning Love. This milky Water does not give him any strength or power. It is still the same food - and prayer becomes a boring duty. He does get bored with this drink. It is enough for him to celebrate national festivals and holidays. He doesn't desire any new teachings. The water in his glass, instead of living with new gifts and flowing on - is like still water in a pond.
Christianity is the way, is the continuous moving on, but not a comfortable stopover. Man becomes a Christian all his life; it is a development of soul and mind and constant improving and perfecting of our soul.
In the cradle of the Lord
Hanging between Heaven and Earth
In the cradle of our Creator
We get closer to Earth
Pulled by the sin of Adam
Hanging between Heaven and Earth
In the cradle of our Creator
We send our souls toward Heaven
They remember their Father
Hanging between Heaven and Earth
We sow seeds of our lives on Earth
Father weighs crops in Heaven
Using His own, divine scales
Our scales indicates only kilos of pride and iniquity
Or suffering
God's scales is controlled by Mercy
Where is the golden point?
Where do God's and man's hands make contact
Hanging in the cradle of our Creator
We are looking for Him, sowing and harvesting
Planting the talents and multiplying
We are watching for a visible sign
Between Heaven and Earth
Hanging in the cradle
There is such a sign, it's like a ladder
Between Heaven and Earth
God set it on Golgotha
This is the Cross with His Son
Between Heaven and Earth
01.04.2005 There is no alarming news on TV, about the Pope's illness yet. One night I had a dream that I was in near empty, sunny room and I took care of the Pope who was lying in bed. I fixed the coverlet, gave Him something to drink. I become very happy. I was worried that a nun will come in a moment and replace me with another nurse. The dream was very explicit, my joy was so great that I was happy all day.
A few days later I tried to meditate over one Station of the Cross - Jesus was dying on the Cross. My attention was completely focused on the Cross and Christ's head. Suddenly it looked as if someone "put on" another film tape - the silhouette, of the Pope appeared (dressed in white). He was lying in bed and He did not look like a sick person but rather He was resting blissfully He sat up three times and blessed me. I was surprised to see how firmly he moved.
On another day, just after the Pope's death, during Adoration, I "complain" to Jesus that He took the Pope away from us and so many people are in despair after His death. Deep in my heart I heard a beautiful voice: 'I have taken a sick person away from you, but I give you a strong, wise Apostle.'
The next day, during Adoration I tried to find out in meditation why the Pope felt so forced, spiritually, to participate in so numerous, arduous pilgrimages. Then I received a "vision" of the Pope pontificating across the world. His every step left a trace that looked like a hole. This trace was filled with water. This water - is the source of the Holy Spirit, I heard so. Every step of the Pope, His pilgrimage's traces - it was filling up the earth with the Holy Spirit, His physical, tangible presence.
The sign of God
He sat on Peter's throne
With the bright face and the word that is wise
He lifted His head straight, spreading the Divine word
He searched for a barnyards around the world
Like a shepherd with medicine of redemption
He trusted that man is great
And should be believed
His eyes, like Jesus' eyes
Penetrated everyone's soul
Millions of hands wanted to touch Him
Like a holy relic in church
He wanted to be strong, like all people do
But God didn't give Him strength
He proclaimed the mystery of love
With a vulnerable fragility of man
He pointed to the miracle, where to find it in man
Not in the voice that disappears
But in the cross that is like a holy walking stick in life
It gives support in silence when pain crosses up
He became silent, for ever in this world
The prophet of this inclement millennium
He was the visible sign of God
So difficult to believe that He is gone
Oh, death, granted to everyone
To pass the threshold of hope
Please, keep praying for us, Pope
Please, resurrect for our Hope.
07.04.2005 Dream. I was on a very busy street, like a bazaar - shouts, cacophony of soliciting market noise and customarily acceptable mayhem. I have an impression that the place and the people look unfamiliar. At one moment I see a short procession. A convent nun is carrying the Monstrance which shined with a blue shade. I was the only one who knelt down and it looked as if the others were oblivious of this procession.
I asked in my heart why the nun was carrying the Most Holy Sacrament. Immediately I got the reply: 'Because there weren't enough priests.'
Meditation
The lights went out in the church after the last Mass
Darkness resumed in this emptiness
Only the red light near the Tabernacle was on
The Angels have started the night vigil already
The saints on the pictures fell asleep
The Holy Mother is putting the Infant to sleep
Jesus laid His head on the prayers of His Faithful
He is contemplating the graces that they asked for
I am the only one on my knees in this empty church
Is it a dream or reality? - my thoughts flutter like birds
Suddenly I hear a voice at the confessional:
I am not afraid of the cross...
Some shadows, like angels in the dark
Keep talking like in the holy Confession
I am not afraid of the cross... I repeat the sentence
And I meditate it in my heart, like a Divine message
I am not afraid of the cross... but I am afraid, Lord
How much faith do we need, Almighty God?
How much of Your grace, how much of my will?
So that I, in dignity, could carry the cross that I was granted in grace
So that I didn't stain it with salty tears and bitter words
How to get up fast when you fall with it?
How to carry it on, once you've been assigned?
So many questions circulate in this quiet meditation
The worried heart waits for the answer
Sing for me, Angel, the beseeching song
For my cross that stands against the pew
Teach me how to carry it when the legs hurt
When fear surrounds
The Angel fixed His wings at the Main Altar
He commended silence to my words and my heart
He pointed with His hand to the beautiful cross with Jesus
Your fear?
It is nothing - He said
When compared with God’s Mercy
19.04.2005 Before the Mass I asked Jesus to give me a priest who would be of some help to me in my confessions. After a while I heard in my heart, a simple answer that made me a little surprised: yes, I understand you, you want a priest to help you notice the "dust" that you don't see in your soul. I got fascinated with this sentence. Indeed, even in a very well-cleaned apartment, someone else will notice more, in this case, the "dust" that I didn't see, while concentrating on my spiritual development. This "dust" sometimes covers such spheres of human spirit and heart that we don't notice when this precious jewel is coated or covered with it.
Request to my Guardian Angel
Oh, my Guardian Angel
Please wander with me
Across the fields of my life
Show me the good trail
Don't rest
Hold my hand when I lose my way
Between truth and doubt
Lay Your hand on my wounds
Don't let them fester
Cover the scars with Angelic fluff
So that I don't think of what caused them
And don't stumble over in despair
Give me a rope if a high rock covers the light
Show me the abyss of iniquity
And hold me tight
So that a devil's gust don't knock me down there in
Wander along with me, arm in arm
Open my ears to Your soothing whisper
Wake me up with a bang if I oversleep the blessed gifts of God
Don't turn away if I am to blame
Don't complain to the Archangels: I lost her
Keep searching, always, everywhere
Every day
Put a good man on my way
Cover me against evil eyes and tongues
Don't let me get lost,
I beseech You, my Guardian Angel
You are the One whom God entrusted...
20.04.2005 Margaret, the authoress, "The Message of Merciful Love" from Belgium, was inspired in instituting "The Legion of Little Souls" located in Chevremont. Jesus was leading the way for her; she commanded with Him.
On Margaret's death
I remember your eyes
Your last glance
Like blue bits of bright sky
We looked at each other with no words
It was a long look
Words couldn't express our feelings
You spoke a different language, not mine
But we had the same Lord
The best interpreter of Love
And He stood between us
Understood without words
With His heart that desires only
Beautiful, great things
Merciful
There was joy in your eyes
A little ray of mystery
Your eyes were saying:
Take this mystery
And carry it on
Because my time is turned to other worlds now
I felt that it was the farewell
But I couldn't believe
People like you should live forever
And they do
The Eternal Rest rocked your soul
I was left with the mystery of your glance
Of your blessing
With the sign of the cross on my forehead
Like grace that can't be wasted
And the radiance offered you as a gift
Showing you the way
May the Lord grant Margaret Eternal Rest.
21.04.2005 I was in the church before Mass. I had time for meditation. I thought about my coming pilgrimage to the Holy Land. I felt tears in my eyes. Oh, Jesus, I would like so much for the pilgrimages to the Holy Land to give people the rebirth of their souls.
I hear a voice in my heart say: I saw all pilgrims during my passage through the Stations of the Cross. I blessed everyone. I saw those from a hundred years ago and those who are now passing through.
I poured grace onto you. Though, not everybody received it the way I wished.
I couldn't understand this message. Then, like in a film, I saw people at a bazaar, crowded along the Calvary Road. They received books, the same for every one of them. Some just looked at the title, the cover - but didn't look inside. Others randomly read some of its content yet; some others began to read carefully, paying no attention to the bazaar noises. There were also people who threw the books into garbage. Suddenly I heard: do you understand now?
The Holy Land
My hands had a dream, my mouth had a wish
To touch Your Land, Jesus
The Holy Land
My hands touched the stones only
My mouth kissed the smears of other kisses
Of the pilgrims from hundreds of years gone-by
And those who are now traveling
I followed the traces of Your journeys
Joyous, with my heart abiding carefully
So that it does not fly out
I collected Your signs like antique gold coins
For times of future meditation
Over Your Love
I was looking for food
In the wind blowing over the Judea wilderness
For the time of fast
I was looking for Water of Life
In the Dead Sea and in Galilee Lake
For the time of spiritual mortification
I touched the stones, trees - which maybe
Remind me of Your tears, blood and sweat
I wanted to feed on them, like man famished
I wanted to find remedy for my troubled soul
Oh, Jerusalem that You cried over
You were the hope for the heart of mine
The city of safety and the witness
Thank You, God, that You sheltered Your Son
In grottos and mountains
Thank You for their power of survival
Little chapels, statues, a small trace on the wall
Mark the Road to Calvary today
This road full of shopping stands reminds of Your road
And I felt it, like You, two thousand years ago
The turmoil of everyday life
It pierced the ears with bazaar clam and noise
It deafened the Passion of Your heart
You were dying among the blind against the miracle
Which was near
I wanted to touch Your blessed traces, Jesus
But I touched only the stones, the water, the air
The dust of present-day streets
The bells of churches and Mosques chanting
But my soul, with no hands, no mouth, no eyes
Was filled with joy
Of Your existence on earth
When You imprint the trace in the immortal soul
Oh, the Holy Land
You give the soul the memory...
That is eternal.
06.05.2005 The Most Holy Sacrament is placed in the chapel. Adoration. The nun is locking the bars.
I ask: Why must You, Jesus, be protected from people and be behind the locked bars? And I hear a beautiful answer: I Am Love and Love is defenseless.
A few days later, just before the Mass, I received a strange message, connected with my poem about unborn children. God in His plans sends down to earth the souls blessed with a "special" kiss. Their task is to lead some groups of people to God. But what if abortion takes place? Who will substitute these souls?
I hear: every conception should be prayed for (by mother, father). It should be the prayer for the blessed soul. When a child is born - it's not just an act of nature - it's a great action of God and man. It's a creative act. Every case of birth without love is a tragedy for this soul, her great fight in sorrow. This sorrow is like baggage for life; hence we should always beseech God for His will to send us the longed-for child. The qualification is already contained in the very act of marriage, in the readiness to receive the soul, not only the body of the child.
Abortion, divine birth as a result of a momentary carnal passion which quickly passes - were not in God's plans, I think. Family accounts for "God's core", but if there are people in the family who harm the other members or are ill-wishers (anger, jealousy, curses) - then it affects the whole core and not some particular persons, toward whom these evil thoughts were directed. Then, this core begins to shake and break. We usually say then: such a good family, why is something bad going on there?
The mystery of forgiveness
I experienced a penetrating joy
The one that life can't carry
It flowed down from Sinai with the Decalogue
In dazzling that makes darkness surrender
It lasted for seconds...
My soul received and computed it
Like sanctity given to a sinner
In time of sorrow
Like food in stock when hope was hungry
I already know how great God's Love is
Saints learned It
And they stored It in their hearts
Brightness became their Mother ever since
My heart trembled, the conscience of a sinner
It got rolled like and uneven ball of tumbleweed
In pain
Like an ungrateful child against his patient Parent
It shouted: forgive me
The longer it shouted
The longer this miracle of inconceivable joy lasted
And a bright, human thought, dawned on me
In the mystery of forgiveness...
Is Your Love, Lord, the most complete?
12.05.2005 It's a quarter before the Mass starts and I concentrate on the Most Holy Sacrament, I submit myself to the Holy Spirit, and I cleanse myself so that no other thoughts disturb my meditation. I see a vision after a while. Somebody is unfolding a colorful roll, a kind of a map covered with Hebrew letters, I think. I know that I can't read them but at the same time I have no regret that some mystery will be hidden for me. The roll is unfolding in a shape of a triangle. I can see some trails, red flowers, forests, which are marked green. The roll has brownish edges, like an old scroll, it feels soft, more silk-like than paper.
Somewhere in my heart I hear a voice: this is the way of your life's destiny. I wonder why there is only one, small part of the roll uncovered, and the rest remains folded. Does it mean that God knows my life's destiny but I don't know my life's choices yet? What role does my free will play in this case?
Somebody continues to interpret to me the sense of this man. Flowers, forest - this is what my ancestors have sowed. It is they who sowed the seeds of flowers, trees through their good life, prayers, although they went on in their lives and didn't see the harvests of their goodness. I am the one who uses all this and because of that, my destiny road is sowed with seeds of grace which had been sowed by them, with bountiful expectations.
Will I take advantage of them? While thinking this way, I asked myself what happens with people whose ancestors' sowing is somehow "barbed" or mutated where there is desert instead of flowers of paradise?
So we must remember how important our current activity is for the future of our off-spring!
The Rosary of life
Shouting or lamenting sincerely wakes a new life
The angel fastens a rope with pearls to Heaven
People's fate, like on the Rosary, moves along the rope
God writes mysterious signs on it
There are joys and sorrows on the Rosary of life
Mourning, an empty road, sometimes a stone that sticks out
God grants people with different pearls
And with different length, from Earth to Heaven
There are Rosaries of life with one sign only
Just one little cross and the Rosary is gone
One little blow and life decays
The memory afterwards remains in the heart for long
There are Rosaries of life, longer than your endurance can tackle
In the end, there are just crosses of painful disease
And though your hands hold it with confidence
There must be many prayers and other hands helping along
How amazingly, You, Lord, entangle the great mysteries
Into this human Rosary, which is like a trace of soul on earth
Will man recognize them on his way?
Will he find Love, Faith and Hope?
We are like the blind searching for divine pearls
We confuse Your Gifts with the earthly gifts
We look for Love according to human recipes
And we find... the cross
And the cross stands up like a signpost when we get lost
We read Your signs, Lord, hidden in the Rosary
Too fast and not carefully enough
We don't know the length of its mysteries...
But there is the Sorrowful one which God disclosed to us
Like the truth that we abandon and pretend not to remember
The Rosary of life is the gift of a lifetime
So beautiful and unique, that it can't be offered again.
18.05.2005 I participate in the Mass conducted by a priest, Jan Szymborski - the famous exorcist in Warsaw. It's a regular weekly ceremony devoted to Divine Healing. My spine hurts and I feel impatient. The woman in front of me knelt down and took up most of the space to herself so I felt very uncomfortable in this position to pray the Rosary. How will I endure this long ceremony? - I complained to myself. I asked the Holy Mother to grant me some inner comfort.
I started feeling dizzy, as if, the surrounding became distant. Suddenly I find myself in the meadow, near my Grandparents' house. I was about eight years old. I was picking red apples and putting them into my dress and carry them to my Grandpa. I felt happy and quiet, surrounded by so much greenery. When I got to my Grandpa, he pointed with his stick to the meadow in front of him. I was disappointed that he didn't want my apples. But I looked at the scene that he showed me. I could see the meadow full of flowers (it's the authentic meadow at my Grandparents' house). In this meadow, by the stream, the Holy Mother and Lord Jesus were sitting. They were talking. The Holy Mother was bending Her head toward Jesus as if She were trying to convince Him about something (maybe about the intentions of our Rosary prayers).
There was a golden crown beside The Holy Mother, near Lord Jesus, there was a cross. I had an impression that They both were resting, dipping Their legs in the spring. I didn't come close but I absorbed this scene in detail. I wanted to give some apples to Them (I was aware that in this scene I was a child with some kind of wholly innocence). I was waiting when They finished Their conversation and looked at me. My apples in the dress were so pretty and red. I saw the crystal-clear water in the stream. I was a little surprised to see so many details in this vision: the flowers, aromas, colors, flakes. All these were shivering in peculiar light. It would make a beautiful picture but would I accept it, remembering all those awesome details? Suddenly I came to my senses after a while, repeating Hail Mary, full of Grace, The whole Rosary prayer ended ... Where was I at that time?
The Grotto
I would like so much
To come back to my youth, innocent
So that I could witness with my heart
The Miracle in the Nativity Grotto
I want to know the thoughts of Joseph
The longing of Holy Mary
I want to see those stars
Which once lit up the sky
I dream about the Grotto's silence
Meditating over the Miracle
And dream about the silence
That suddenly descended as if alarmed
Were you there in the Grotto, Lord?
Hidden on this very day of Nativity
You must have been there and like Your Father
You dropped not one but many tears
Your tears fell down on earth
With the Holy Blessing
Your Son became embodied as an Infant
In Bethlehem, the distant Grotto
How great is the Gift that God offered
Into Mary's hands, for her "Fiat"
She will carry it in Her heart
As the sign of Salvation of this earth
Immaculate, without sin
Pure, with no blemish
Her heart is like every woman's
Not free from sorrow's touch
What did you think about, Mary
Staring at the cradle with Jesus?
Were they the prophecies of the prophets?
Or was it the fate of Your Child?
God poured the Mystery of Salvation
Into the heart of Holy Mary
With this Mystery, like with the Cross
She will meditate what Love is
How It brings salvation in hardship and pain
How It speaks to the ears that are deaf
How It heals the blind eyes
How It has been teaching still new people
About the Truth ever since
When Heaven touches the Earth
Thank You, my Dearest Mother
For holy places on earth
For Your feet printed on a tree
For the pictures that are blessed
For Your requests to pray the Rosary
For the springs that You showed with Your hand
For Heaven that touched the earth .
The trace that You left
Is decorating chapels and churches today
And though nobody can see a miracle with his eyes now
It is still in the hearts of the pilgrims
It shines with the pearls of the Rosary
With a prayer that was sent, like a soul
For the grace of being healed
Because Heaven touched the earth there .
You appear there, Mary,
In the holy places, like God's Guardian
You bow Your head with love
And You don't forget our requests
You imprint Your kiss
On the pilgrim's words of prayer
You take the soul in Your possession
And mark . the holy places there
Your heart, Mary, is great and mysterious
When You choose holy places
In common fields or on mountain tops
You convey Your messages to simple people, children
Wiseman's mind will not comprehend Your beseech
In a wooden chapel, somewhere in a green field
In pouring rain, but how sweet
Where a simple man recognized You, Mother
I also felt Your warm touch
Then I understood, in this rain, downpour
While praying among the wax figures
You wander, Mother, along with Your folk
And never leave it alone
Like a human mother in a common cottage
You make a miracle of revelation
When Your child kneels with a Rosary
Looking for fulfillment in the holy Mass
Then Heaven touches the Earth
Although the eyes don't see it
Because God Himself marked out the holy place
In the soul that is . immortal.
25.05.2005 During my morning meditation and prayer, I had a vision of a huge
hornet which was hanging in the sky. Little particles were pouring out of
this hornet and when they were getting closer to earth, they turned into .
people. There were millions of them. It occurred to me that we - people
created by God in a single act of creation, like seed, are dropped on earth.
We are born and grow up at the time determined by God.
Child's curiosity
A little brat asked me in the forest once:
What does it mean that soul is in the body?
And what color is it?
Blue, pink or maybe white?
I looked up at the sky
Searching for inspiration there
The trees became strangely silent
The birds stopped chirping
The child looked in trustfully
As if not hearing the silence
The bright sky was quiet .
What did it wait for, in this silence?
Only the white, little clouds
Like smiles of happy angels
Encouraged my words to get out
Of the depth of my heart
Soul . I started, feeling shy
And anxious with this question
Is . like a little slice of bread
Covered with honey
It feeds us with sweetness
It wakes us to life in the morning
It shows us fables on the screen at night
About saints who wish us well
It teaches what is good
For your brother and sister
How to earn a smile of your mother and father
How to change tears of sorrow into tears of joy
What words to sing in a song
So that people were happy
What colors to paint on a greeting card
Which we send to those that we love
I wanted to give the brat
More and more examples
But he interrupted suddenly:
I know how to recognize the soul - he said
How? - I asked, being curious
Because I didn't know much myself
Soul - the little brat began
Is like the Teacher in the body .
If we want to listen to Him
Then He will teach us everything
And what if we are deaf to His words? - I asked:
He removes us from His school
Because we know . too little
The Angels laughed about this brat's simple knowledge
The trees started humming again
The birds chirped their songs
Only the soul that the brat asked about
Being curious a moment ago
Began . to cry in me
Were they the tears of happiness?
Or strange . fear?
27.05.2005 Maybe because of the social changes in our country, I was
thinking about our fate. Suddenly I saw a highway . leading to nowhere. The
highway was new, just built. On the roadside, there were clumps of grass,
trees.
They were green, useful, still able to live, but destined for . putting
aside, dying . I have an impression that it refers to a big number of people
in Poland who are still at the working age, who could still create something
for their country, but they were "annihilated" (unemployment). This highway
was for the new generation. It seemed that it was constructed for the people
who want immediate success, career and it was leading . to nowhere.
Pain
There is such pain in man
That no medicine can fight
Surgeons won't stop
Herbs won't soften
It surprises man himself
It appears like a cuckoo in a stranger's nest
It foists the pain
And disappears
And you do whatever you can
With this pain of yours
Goodness? Evil?
Joy? Hatred?
Throw it away or think it over
Ask God for medicine
Or ask the snake
Or maybe an idol from our world?
The pain, foisted like a cuckoo's egg
Is calling to our soul
And you, look for the Truth about it
You will get hurt among the thorny bushes of life
Searching for its cause
The crowd will hurt you when you stand in line
To get some anesthetics
Until, in the end .
Being hurt and beaten
You experience peace
Standing in front of Jesus nailed to the cross
You will put your pain at His feet
And you will carry it on, throughout your life
You already know that this pain is . medicine-resistant
God has assigned it to us
With love, hope and faith
As the great mystery.
Begging around
I've seen the old age walking along the streets
Propped with a stick
I've seen the old age sneaking around the house
Not to disturb
I've seen the old age on a church pew
Begging for a little more hope
I've seen the old age in a wheelchair
Being pushed impatiently
I've seen the old age that wanted to advise
And was looked upon unkindly
I've seen the old age bent over the graves of the close ones
And talking to dry leaves
I've seen the old age with bitter eyes
Life has mocked at her
I've seen the old age that wanted to be strong
But nobody believed
I've seen the old age that nobody loved
But it wasn't dying
It still existed
The old age that I met on my way
Is still striding all over the world
Like God "mutilated" by man
Who knocks on our hearts
Asking for love that is the last one .
29.05.2005 Meditation. I am thinking about life at the old age. Old people
complain about too long life but despite that, why do they desperately cling
to their lives and last on and on . I heard: because of shame. This answer
surprised me. I started to analyze the elderly persons that I know. Many of
them are far from God, they are nervous, quite often they behave childishly.
Does their age justify them? And maybe the age is a test of humanity? Of
spiritual growth?
Old man should recognize his mistakes and have a tendency to achieve the
ideal. He doesn't have to fight for love any more, he can pass it out, be
neutral and put off his own impatience, anger. Old wounds are already
healed, old age should know the remedy for achieving peace and should have
distance against problems that irritate the young. That's why, maybe, the
shame that people feel, comes from the fact that in spite of their age, they
are still not ready to stand in front of God?
Jobless Angel
There is too much crying in the world
And depressed faces
Too many hungry children, mothers that are left
Too much cold and indifference
Too few friendly hands, too little love
Too little praying, too much violence
Too many fears, sleepless nights
Evil grins openly, enjoying his victory
People say that God . forgot about us
But there are moments, like flashes in the sky
When Angel sends a golden rope down to earth
And an old man and a depressed mother catch it
Looking for hope in the Angel's arms
And then the Angel, God's sender
Finds people who want to give away
Man stands beside man, enchanted
Indifference disappears in the warmth of joined hands
And the Angel, surprised with this miracle
Can't understand this beautiful change
He wonders how fast fears and bitter tears disappear
When a common man starts fighting evil
Just a few cordial words, sometimes a little money
Prayer, Rosary, pearls of Divine Chaplet .
If the world had these miracles in its standards
Then the Jobless Angel would sleep soundly today.
Medicine for the soul
The clay vessel of my soul
Lifetime broke into pieces
You ordered to put it together, Lord
During a beseeching-requesting Mass
I took the Rosary into my hand
A few prayers to the Holy Spirit
The Masses that were offered for the dead
And my longing for God Almighty
I was sticking the jug of my soul drudgingly
With fear and uncertainty
Strengthening it with the Stations of the Cross
And with casual daily care
And when the sticking was over
And the clay jug of my soul was ready
I saw many scars on it
Out of old wounds that were still hurting
How can I bring it to You, Lord
This jug which is so crippled?
How will You pour Your gifts into it?
They can evaporate through the scars .
A quiet whisper reached me
Like a blow of a summer breeze:
I speak through My Son's wounds
I heal your soul . with these wounds.
05.06.2005 I was thinking about the difficulty with understanding the idea
of the Trinity. I wanted to know this mystery better, in a simple, human
way. During meditation I heard an inner voice: I will explain it to you, it
will be a present for your birthday. Indeed, my birthday comes on June 5th.
You are a person-I, but as a person-I, you are also a mother and a daughter.
As a person-mother you give your children devotion, but you don't stop being
a person-I, having your secrets, your individuality. Out of your person-I,
you somehow radiate a person-mother, having definite features and tasks. You
do the same as a person-daughter. You are a person-I, a person-mother, a
person-daughter.
God is One in three persons. He sent His Son-Jesus down to earth, He
radiated Himself out and took on the person of his Son. They form unity,
although Jesus becomes a common human being, but still He is the Son of God.
Jesus teaches: who will get to know Me - he will get to know My Father. God
suffers the same way as humiliated Jesus. You also suffer as a person-I, and
a person-mother, when you experience sufferings from your children.
There are a few persons within us, although on the outside, we have one
face. We suffer when we are offended as a person-I, but don't we suffer more
when the children offend a person-mother? The worst sin is to offend the
Holy Spirit (New Testament).
The Holy Spirit is the sublimation of the feelings of Father and Son. It is
the Great Love. In the Old Testament, God of Justice punishes, in the New
Testament, God offers Himself, personified as Jesus. He dies for our sins on
earth and comes back to His Father. He leaves the Holy Spirit on earth. The
Gift for the world - the Love of Father and Son. This Love, Father - Son
isn’t only a mutual adoration. It is active, It creates, directs, offers (seven
Gifts of the Holy Spirit), influences human life. Hence It is the Person,
and not the feeling itself. It looks as if the Holy Spirit were the most
beautiful gift of God for people, it is His unlimited Love - personified to
act. One God but in three persons: God-the Creator, God-the Offering,
God-the Holy Spirit.
The mystery of beauty
Man reaches for stars today
He looks for their secrets to know
But I got a strange message
From an Angel, on an ordinary day:
Leave stars, planets for others
Let them count them in the sky
You look for mysteries in man
Without telescopes, maps and diagrams
Don't assess the face and the clothes
But how many holy feelings he has
How many renunciations and offerings taken up
How he changes pain and wounds afflicted into humbleness crystal
Notice how he, with his gratitude and faith
Reaches for God in prayer
Look for Jesus in man
Even if Judas sheltered His cross
Find the key into the soul's beauty
The world wants to hide it from us
How to find this key, my Angel?
Where to look for it? Beyond the sea or the mountains?
Stick it together yourself with your tears
Out of the thorny crown, afflicted
Put loneliness upon your hand
Ask Jesus for mercy
Holy light will be lit up
Over the key that was formed this way
Place it at the heart of man
Then you will know . the beauty of soul
Like sesame that was opened with a magic spell
It will show the splendor of secret treasures
It is worth knowing the soul of your fellow man
The Artist has created it . The Greatest.
29.06.2005 During prayer (my eyes were closed), I had a vision of Jesus
sitting on a big, flat stone. The picture was changing like in a
kaleidoscope: now He was in royal dress and then He was maltreated,
bleeding. Around Jesus was a large area of grass, intensively green. I had
an impression that Jesus was very lonely and waiting . There was a town and
people in a distance, but this picture was blurred. Jesus was waiting . I
was sure of that. I tried to concentrate to understand this message and hear
a voice in my heart, about the "truth" of this vision. I received the
following interpretation. Jesus is waiting for people, He is waiting for me,
too. We are afraid to come up close to Him, across this lawn. If someone is
courageous enough to come up, even halfway, to awaiting Jesus - he has no
return. He must come closer and closer. This "approaching" Lonely Jesus
occurs in great silence, peace accompanies man then, but also great fear
whether he succeeds in casting away all that is around this green lawn -
cities, people.
On this way to Jesus is loneliness, but it doesn't have a dimension of
suffering but only self-knowledge of your soul. We must stand in front of
ourselves, without any help from others. Courage is necessary on this way,
and free will, so that our "approaching" Jesus was complete, without looking
behind . This is the very stone where God gives grace. I was informed that
it is very difficult to enter this lawn. Saints have done it already.
It's so difficult .
It's so difficult to follow You, Jesus
Although You repeat - I Am Love
But we bow toward man
Looking for consolation
And receiving indifference, hatred
Gestures of patience only, a sneering laughter
Sometimes even love
For the seconds of life
It's so difficult to follow You, Jesus
You ask for our presence at the cross
You don't require us to dress Your wounds
But we are afraid to look at them
And to look at our sins as well
It's so difficult to follow You, Jesus
Although You asked the women at the cross
Just to whisper prayers quietly
You asked for a little tear, not for noisy weeping
But we prefer loud scream
About our harm
It's so difficult to follow You, Jesus
Although You just want mercy from us
And not the offering
For our hearts, human justice
Is more important
For this cause, we wage wars, break families, kill
It's so difficult to follow You, Jesus
We still don't believe that Divine Love
Is . for man.
It's no use
Once the world seemed to me to be the truth
Once, the might of the rulers - the power
And science - the strength
Once I looked for the truth with philosophers
The minds of the famous meant authority for me
But I didn't find the place .
For my own happiness
Once I stood at the cross
A man was suffering on it
Alone
He was hanging out of the power of court, authority, science, crowd
He was looking at me, petrified in wood
One cross in the church aisle
And I - one person
One leaf in the tree, but how important
A little tear, as worthy as great despair
One hand held out, but how precious
It's no use having thousands of hands extended
It's no use having a big fire against a flame of a candle
It's no use having a big crowd against one man
It's no use having huge waves against one drop
It's no use having big cemeteries against one grave
Once I stood at the cross
And then, You, Jesus spoke to me:
It's no use knowing all the truth about people and the world
Against the truth . about you, yourself!
05.08.2005 Exposing of the Most Holy Sacrament at the altar of the Heart of
Jesus in my local church in Saska Kepa in Warsaw.
After a few minutes, a nun came and took out the faded bouquets. Adoration
was going on and there were dozens of people. At one moment I heard an inner
voice: Always put fresh bouquets of flowers near Me, and not the faded ones.
What does it mean? - I thought while adoring the Most Holy Sacrament. I
understood it after a while. Bouquets of flowers are like our prayers, they
must be always fresh - it means - living, sincere, spoken with love. The
faded bouquets - these are our faded prayers, spoken with routine, in a
hurry, out of duty. We often pray, looking around at the same time, being
inattentive about what is essential in church. Lord Jesus "receives" these
faded bouquets of our prayers, bur actually He is waiting for us to bring to
the altar - the fresh, beautifully smelling bouquet of flowers - sincere
prayers, full of love and good deeds.
Church
There are such safe places on earth
Where evil stops at the threshold
Of your soul
Maybe it waits but it doesn't touch
In the brightness of the candles
In the breathing of the incense
Jesus is sitting beside you
Close your eyes, listen to His words
He enters the altar along with the priest
And the miracle of Transformation occurs
There, even your tears feed you
And your afflicted soul finds relaxation
There, you kneel down at the cross
And it lifts you up, out of the ashes
Toward the Most Holy Heart
There, nobody falls down, nor loses hope
Nobody experiences hunger, fear
Jesus Himself feeds him
He heals the heart and the body
It's enough to pass the threshold
And leave the door open
The thief of your humility will not follow you
He might only
Wait .
Close your eyes, send your soul to the altar
Your Guardian Angel will carry it
And you - just wait for the miracle
It will be born out of faith, love and hope
Sometimes on one cloudy day
And sometimes it takes many years
Sometimes the hands of one priest are enough
With the Holy Host
But sometimes it takes dozens of hands
But you, keep on going
Until you reach the only safe place
For you, man
Mark it with your tears, leave your traces there
They will not disappear
The Angels mark it with a luminous circle
There are such beautiful places on earth .
There, God Himself is on His Holy Duty
Offering Himself to us, humans.
A human icon
You said goodbye to me, Jesus, after the Mass
With a human icon
As if there were too few holy pictures in the church
This human icon, like a living picture
Fell deeply into my heart
There was a gray-haired woman, deep in her prayer
Beside her - her son
People call them "downs"
Disabled .
He was holding his hand on her head
As if he were protecting her
He was waiting with patient love, with pride
Until she finishes her conversation with God
They lasted .
Indifferent toward the people flowing out
Like a stream, after the blessing
He, the son, seemed to be like Jesus
Who has the command over the Truth
The living icon moved
The son helped his mother to stand up
They walked out together
The Humility followed them, jumping happily
Thank You, Jesus, for the gift of eyes
Thank You for the gift of the Holy Mass.
12.08.2005 Holy Mass. During the prayer, suddenly I saw a vision of an Angel
in white robes, who was dragging a man behind Him. The Angel was holding the
man's head under His arm and it looked as if the man were resisting. The
Angel passed by the pews, heading for the altar. This vision had some funny
element in it, in spite of the seriousness of the Mass. It looked as if the
Angel were wrestling with His inferior .
The sinner's prayer
Forgive me, God, for my sin
Although I struck on my chest with faith
Forgive me, God, for I trusted
My memory more than my heart
Forgive me, God, sins and stumbles
Dip my eyes in Your Mercy
Grant my ears with the grace of Absolution
Teach me how to count Your forgiving
Show me how You wait patiently
For those who look for treasures on earth
Hand me the cross
Which is the hope for my stones
And give the holy time
So that I could grasp it in my hands .
Questions
How to stand before You, Lord?
What to do to be more dignified?
Should I hide behind the Sorrowful Mother
Or behind Suffering Jesus?
Or run up crying, with no fear
Or with the beseeching prayer?
Should I look for You at the holy places
Or at a roadside chapel?
Maybe I will try to hide in the crowd of pilgrims
Or shall I kneel alone in prayer?
Should I carry my own cross with no complaint
Or help the others carry it?
How to stand before You, Lord
So that I didn't offend You?
As long as you ask, the Angel said
Your heart is not dressed in pride
You ask questions loudly
God . gives answers in silence
Discover this Silence in you
And protect It like the holy place
God is a frequent visitor there
And there He leaves . the answer.
18.08.2005 Adoration. In ecstasy, I send to Christ, the words of my prayer,
and my readiness to be in adoration at His Throne. I feel the beauty of this
"vision", the light, the pure colors, joy. I become down-to-earth when I
hear some words in my heart, which I must reconsider later: you want to be
with Me at the beautiful Throne, but when I come down to earth, people cover
Me with their mud. Will you be with Me then? - I thought over these words
trying to grasp the right meaning. Jesus wants to be adored as the Son of
God but also He wants to be recognized on earth, when He, being subdued,
offended, despised (covered with mud) - asks for love.
How often - I understood - it happens that we have no courage to defend
Jesus here on earth .
Hope
God has sent Hope into the wooden cradle
It was the innocent Child
He gave Him into the hands of Joseph and the Holy Virgin
So that they could cuddle Him
Human weakness was no stranger to Hope
And crying in the wooden cradle was born, like man
And It came to man for glory
It has moved along Its paths for many years
It has touched many people with Its word
And in the end, with despair and pain
It could rest Its head on the wooden cradle again
This cradle wasn't the Nativity manger
But the big cross, built for Hope
Your Mother's quiet singing didn't lullaby You
But the human voice, loud and revengeful
There were two cradles in Your life, Hope, sent by God
The little manger hidden in the grotto
And the big cross .
Driven into the rock, on Golgotha
First the hay, next the stone cold
It was Your bedding, Hope
But God, like Love, hidden behind the cloud
He sends . New Hope to the world every year
Merciful, Just, Patient
He is still waiting for people who are ready
To give their hearts to Hope
And will not crucify It with sin.
24.08.05. Banneux. Belgium. The first day, before the picture of the Most Blessed Mother. I am here for the fourth time but I have never had such a feeling before. How can I describe it? I fall into a kind of lethargy, an immense peace. I thank the Holy Mother that She invited me here. I feel a touch on the left side of my body but I don’t want to turn around, I am far from everything. I just want to be only with Mary. I “see” a gray dress, there are folds on this working dress-apron. I ask in my heart: why do You, Holy Mother, wear such an ordinary gown, like a woman-servant? I “hear” the answer: I am the Holy Mother - the Nurse. I dress the wounds of the heart, soul and body.
In Banneux there is a Nursing Home for the sick people. They come, using their wheelchairs, to the Holy Picture and the Holy Spring. Many pilgrims who are ill, put their petitions before Mary. How can we not believe that the Holy Mother of Banneux is still alive, still listening to our requests, still caring!
Santa Maria of Banneux
When the night turns off the last lights
Silence spreads over the alleys and chapels
The candles, lit up with the hope of the pilgrims, go out
The Holy Spring is murmuring quietly
It rests after people’s hands touch
The tall trees tell stories that they heard
Mary sits down by the Spring when the night is silent
She sends prayers to Her Son
In a carefully arranged Rosary
Saying the mysteries of man’s tears, thanksgiving, love
She won’t miss any bead
Then as the Great Nurse
She will hug the sick in the nearby hospital
She will count wheelchairs, crutches and will bless the sticks
Which were put aside for the night, like crosses
In the morning, people will take them again
She will cuddle those who must keep their heads
On the hard pillow of Loneliness every day
She will sing a beautiful psalm to them
The gown that Mary wears is ordinary, not royal
A gray apron of a nurse, common sandals
The Mother of the Poor …
She passes by the pilgrims with no rustle
Making miracles of healing
Please touch me, Mother, the pilgrims whisper in the chapel
And She … touches
With the hands of the devoted caretakers
With a compassionate glance of man
With a smile that unites
With a prayer or a sign of a cross
She sits modestly beside a priest during a Mass
And listens …
Holy Mother of the Poor of Banneux
You pray the Rosary of human hearts and requests every day
Please take our tears and thanksgivings, our souls
With our sincere gratitude and …
Pray for us.
Hard answer
I took bunches of flowers from You, Lord
When I was a child
Like a bride that is spoilt
I waited for them like for a gift
That I deserved …
I thought - God works for me
In my youth I loved my independence
And worked for myself …
God looked at my efforts
He smiled like a tolerant Father
But time has come for spiritual maturity
Gifts and tolerance have disappeared
Now I hold out my hands to Your bouquets, Lord
Through the thorny wires of life
Sometimes groping in the darkness
And it’s hard to reach them
I hurt my knees, hands, and my soul
And the light shines like a flashlight’s poor light
The bouquets of flowers of spiritual joy
Are like illusion in the hand
The further I go, the further they seem to be
And I ask You, Lord
Why?
You answer …
It’s high time you worked … for Me
25.08.2005 Banneux. Holy Mass, Adoration.
I turn to my Lord, Jesus, saying: I envy the saints and the blessed all
graces that You send upon them and I feel so imperfect. At this moment ,
deep in my heart, I "hear" a joyous voice, so to speak. This voice is . so
human: I Am also "jealous" because of you, when you don't remember about Me,
when you don't care about Me.
I felt so enormously happy because a person like me may be worth . Jesus'
jealousy! How could I dare not love Him? How could I dare favor things not
connected with God when Jesus provides so much happiness!
The key
I was looking for the key to the heart of mine
Giving love that is imperfect
I was looking for beauty in man
And the scars I got must be treated until now
I expected happiness from my life
But I gathered a few cups of tears
I tried to cure with my words
But they were too impaired
I calmed quarrels with silence
But they came back like hard stones
Living my life in different rhythms
I didn't find . the blessing
I was looking for the key to the heart .
And the little white Holy Wafer made the miracle
It clung strongly as the sign of Divine Love
The heart opened fearfully
I received the blessing
For the life of mine .
My soul adores my Lord
My soul adores my Lord
For the life .
It is the gift given with hope
That I will appreciate it
And I will not lose my soul
At the corners of the world
My soul adores my Lord
For the faith .
That I will carry the given cross
Even with moaning
My soul adores my Lord
For the love .
Given in my falls
For the eyes of God, thoughtful and trustful
While I fight with evil
My soul adores my Lord
For the life .
While living, I can speak to You, Lord
And experience the miracle .
Of Your messages.
I heard from my friends that somebody in their family, probably their great
grandfather cast an anathema on this family and very strange and unpleasant
things began to occur. Then I started to pray for the soul of this person in
the context of so-called "inter-generation" healing. In addition, my other
friend asked me to pray for her evil-possessed brother and for other close
relatives. At night I had a very unpleasant experience. At one moment I felt
that something very heavy like concrete covered me and started to strangle
me. I couldn't move. I felt like during the earthquake when one is blocked
and jammed. I knew that there were seconds left and in a moment I would be
pressed to the wall and strangled. I felt that my life was threatened.
Suddenly I heard: push your leg out of the bed. I managed to put my leg
outside as if it were in a burrow. But before I prayed: Hail Mary . Next I
brought some exorcised salt and water and I spread it around all over the
place.
Fear
I put my feet on fear
On a regular day, neither sunny nor rainy
It took me by surprise
It grasped my heart and paralyzed with fear
Loneliness
Guilt
Sin
Cried loudly
I felt the power of evil
The power over the weakness of those
Who make the world their God
And allow to be misled
And put aside the exorcism of prayer
The Archangel threw a golden rope from Heaven
And I caught it
Saint Michael Archangel
Please protect us in our fight .
Devilish laughter stopped
But not for ever
I know it will return
I got to know it in my Getsemani
I can't pretend it doesn't exist.
26.08.2005 Adoration of the Cross in Tetremont.
I am reading aloud the Prayer to the Five Wounds of Jesus. Next comes the
prayer of the priest. I am not in the mood of ecstasy, I am even a little
deconcentrated. After a while I feel such an enormous, irrational state of
happiness that I have never felt before. It would be difficult to express it
with words. My heart wants to move out, it can not hold inside .Enormous
cleansing sob overpowers my body. I have an impression that in a moment I
will start crying and weeping loudly because I am too happy to bear it. I am
anxious because I don't know what the reaction of my fellow pilgrims will be
like, since I am in front of the Cross, everything is within their sight,
and what is important, I don't like hysterical behaviour which is too
emotional. This feeling resembled boiling water in a vessel while the lid
was moving and the hot feelings were flowing over. What a beautiful,
cleansing feeling! I will never forget this gift .
Adoration
I am in a real need
To kneel before You, Jesus
In an empty, closed church
And linger in the holy concentration
Among the blown-off candles and silent organs
Pictures that are asleep and cleaned-up benches
I would stand alone against the truth of my life
With hope and fear, before the altar of Yours
I don't know how much silence there would be
In this lonely Adoration
How many begging, thanksgiving words
How many tears would flow and purify
I would kneel under the cross
Like an exhausted pilgrim
In the silence of the church that is asleep
I would wait for Your voice anxiously
I would give my silence full of admiration
And the crosses of my life, arranged in a strange bouquet
And You would teach me love
To God whom people hurt so much
I am in a real need .
And my longing soul can feel
The need to meet Your merciful eyes
And touch the arms turned toward me.
If .
If love had arms
You would feel its warm touch
If love had eyes
It would look at us tenderly
If love had the body
It would embrace you all over
But you are standing at the crossroads
Full of fear, you are looking for the eyes, arms
Still waiting for the touch of love
Once God sent such Love
Upon the world
He had arms that were blessing
Eyes that were healing
Words that were bringing hope
Man has put Him on the cross!
He did not believe in the grace of Love!
But Love never died
He has resurrected
His eyes see you through
His hands bless you
His lips speak to you with Love
Don't crucify Him, man
Before you show your soul to Him
He will touch you
Embrace you
He will gaze at you.
27.08.2005 Last day in Banneux
I thank the Holy Mother for this pilgrimage. How can I repay my gratitude? -
I ask this simple, human question, adding - it is obvious that everything
that is beautiful, belongs to You, Mary . And then I "hear" in my heart:
Pray for the people of Belgium, they are good people .
29.08.2005 Rosary prayer for the souls in Purgatory (still during the
pilgrimage).
One of the pilgrims takes up the initiative to pray on the coach - for the
souls in Purgatory. We are all tired, another hour of our coach journey is
passing, another part of Rosary.
Suddenly my soul is overwhelmed with great despair. I see strange faces and
the faces of my late close relatives. There are bags looking like purses on
their chests. These bags are made from strange, eastern - like cloth. Their
silhouettes are bowed as in great humility, like beggars who beg just by
their posture, without words. I can feel the weight of their request, their
immense hope as if this prayer meant a lot to them. My heart experiences
great sobbing, the despair can not be stopped. Their suffering becomes mine.
I feel that I have been given this experience so that I could better realize
how important the prayer for the Purgatory souls is!
Oh, Mother of Grief
You wander around the world, hurt and sorrowful
As if Your life has not experienced
Enough suffering
The Holy Mother among sorrowful mothers
Immaculate
You gather souls for Your Son
Injured and diseased
You warm dead souls with Your hands
You wipe off tears with Your Holy Gown
You give drink of hope from the springs
The beads of Rosary that are faded from prayers
You change into roses
And decorate them with aroma
And put them on wounds that can not be healed
You bless pictures with a kiss
In sanctuaries that are built for Your Glory
And leave marks of miracles of healing soul and body
Your Heart travels around the world, tied with thorns
You manifest Your pain in the pain of earthly mothers
They pull out their hands to You, Mother of Grief
And You hold them and like in a holy dance
You lead to Your Son, for the blessing
For receiving pain, for thorns of life
For humility in love .
Faces
I don't know the face of God, nor the angel
I don't know the faces of my relatives who had passed away
I know the beautiful faces of children
And mysterious faces of youth
But .
Only the old faces speak clearly
With furrows, hollowed out by tears
With frowns of laughter and suffering
They are like a map
Of a mysterious land
Of life
They are like a country without borders
For the army of Good and Evil
On the old faces
I see the marked fields
Of victories and defeats
Of the soul .
Over the body.
The excuse
I would like you, my soul
To place in a beautiful garden
And surround you with the noble smell of scents
I would like you, my soul
To protect you from the world, like a powerful man
But I can only be your host at the cross of life
I will follow you as a bride
Along the way which is too difficult for me
Lead me along the traces of the words of Christ
Let me stop when I can't follow you
Let me keep my repentance when I forget the words of Jesus
Let me rest in the blessed consolation
I will carry you, my soul depressed
To the altar of our Lord
I will say: give Your blessing, Jesus
Hold the soul in Your hands
Dip my soul's impatience in Your Mercy
Tell her please, tell her, my Dear God:
You have the wings, you - the pretty soul
But she has - only two tired legs.
Loneliness
Plunged in daily life
Melted into the city's indifference
Of passing-by people
We feel loneliness
Running behind us
Like a gazelle running after its young one
Even when they confuse her tracks with thousands of jobs
And fill her time
With earthly love, still new
It follows the old ones like an injured hind
It gives a sign of living with a sound of the cane
It needn't run
Its step is the same as the step of the old age
It is like a veil, transparent, invisible
But painful, when touched
Even if you surround yourself with noise like oblivion
She, the loneliness keeps whispering:
What are you on this earth for?
Maybe it is worthy to stop and tame this stubborn loneliness
Transform it into an Angel
Let it change into a Guardian, and not an escape
I will offer you, my loneliness, the prayer
The offering of Holy Mass, hope and faith
I will give you my hand
Maybe then, you will become a smiling friend.
13.09.2005 I can't fall asleep, which is not typical for me. I pray for the
dead and I ask my Guardian Angel to talk with me. Suddenly I hear a
beautiful poem: A fairy tale about man.
Then I hear: get up and write it down, otherwise you will forget. The next
day I write it down and "smoothen" it. While continuing talking with my
soul, I receive a picture of man who lives in this world. We live not only
the inner life but also we live our physicality. We have senses in order to
survive. But . too many of us get rooted too strongly in this world. We
become its slaves. We succumb to passions, pictures, we get attached to this
world. I saw a root in a shape of a spiral sticking in the ground. These
strong physical attachments deprive us of the Freedom of action toward our
spiritual needs. In order to know God, we must free ourselves from these
"spirals". We can use them, but we mustn't get rooted in them. God wants to
lift us, to displace us, to teach us. How can He teach anybody who is a
slave already?
A fairy tale about man
Once there was a man, an Angel stood by him
The Angel guarded him, the man listened to his teachings
A lonely devil watched this friendship with envy
He thought: how to spoil it?
How to kill this friendship?
He spat with weeds when they planted Goodness
The man took pains while harvesting
When the Angel was teaching the man about happiness
The devil mocked at them, he suggested crying and malice
When the Angel showed something beautiful on earth
The devil spoiled it with colors of evil
The Angel whispered about love, secretly
So that the devil didn't hear about its power
The man, educated by his Angel
Hid love in his heart, like a jewel too precious
The devil that was hiding along the man's paths
Tempted him and begged: show me your great treasure
When the man yielded to the curious devil
He forgot a lot about the teachings on love
Shall I love, but whom?
He couldn't remember .
The man played with love, attracted by its glare
And so they walk together - he and his self-love
She consoles him, they often get lost .
The devil looks at the Angel from a distance
Feeling happy that he confused the memory of man
And out of this forgetfulness, a strange world was created
There are too many devils who laugh joyously
And too many Angels who, instead of laughing .
Cry in sorrow.
Don't say
Don't say that God has left you
And you carry your cross alone
Don't say that He hasn't listened to your prayers
Do you know how to pray to Him?
Don't say that your heart got cold
Because Jesus has died for your heart
Don't say that you don't know God anymore
Because He has just sat by your side
Don't say that He has forgotten your crying
He knows your desperate sobbing
Don't say that you are alone in this world
The living God is beside you, in the Holy Host
Don't say: I've lost my rosary
I can't pray with it
You are at the Heart of Mary
She will make it out of your tears
Don't you say .
Don't say: I've been praying for years
For God - years mean nothing
He acts in a split of a second
And your cross - He changes into prolific graces.
02.10.2005 During the Holy Mass I saw a vision of a quiet surface of water.
Suddenly a small stone disturbed it, next, a large boulder did the same.
First I couldn't understand this message. Once more I saw in my mind a
picture of a calm surface. During this second vision, the water surface
moved a little but it quickly regained its calm and flowed on smoothly. Two
pictures, but so different - what do they mean? Somewhere in my soul, a
voice explained to me that in one type of water, even a small stone can make
a big mess while in the other type - the water moves but it still flows
along at its own pace. This is a picture of man's soul, his heart.
Obstacles, tragedies destroy our peace, our smooth water surface, they can
even distract man's faith in God and his trust. They confuse the soul. It is
too weak, it yields to the whirling of the stones that life has provided.
The soul, full of trust in God, even when touched with a boulder, keeps
staring at God, its waters are flowing quietly. Although the stones,
boulders are on the bottom, they don't confuse the soul, they might trouble
it, but they don't take away the strength. It is a wonderful grace.
The other side of the mirror
I went through to the other side of the mirror
The Angel was leading me through
I didn't look at myself anymore
I didn't think how to please the world
In my mirror, other people began to see themselves
They were setting their hairdos, and I saw
How they were suffering
They were changing clothes
I felt their fear
They were making up faces, making serious grimaces
But their hearts were begging
And then they were locking their houses and leaving
Being decorated
So that they could see themselves in other mirrors
Like in their own .
The transfer to the other side of the mirror hurts
My Guardian Angel
It is not an enchanted trip into a fairy tale
You can't see faces on the other side of the mirror
Neither old ones nor young ones
Neither pretty ones nor ugly ones
You can't hear words
On the other side of the mirror is . the truth
I send my "faces" from the mirror a prayer
Please
Go and see yourself .
In God's Mercy.
The wall
I know such a wall in Jerusalem
The weeping wall .
It is filled with begging sheets
It gets feed from prayers
Which support old walls
There is such a wall that everyone stops by
It is in life, not in Jerusalem
You are holding out your hand with a sheet of wishes
But it falls off the wall
And lies on the ground
You pick it up, all crumpled, and you're not sure
Of your own requests anymore
Sometimes a gust of wind lifts it up
It's hard to catch up with it then
You drop your hands, like defenseless wings
You can neither soar nor fly
There is such a wall in life
Not in Jerusalem
Not on the traces of Jesus, but on your own
When you have to bend down in prayer
With your hands ready to receive God's wishes
Sometimes it is . the weeping wall.
The tent
You have put up Your tent between
Faith and doubt
Between hope and fear
You have put up Your tent between
I and they
Somebody and something
The mind and the heart
You have put up Your tent between
A child and the Father
Life and death
You have marked it with a high cross, Jesus
Your Father has given us a present
Noble, difficult
Free will
It ticks like a clock, wound by the hand of God
It shows the time according to His Hope
We mix up the tents
When we get lost, or doubt, or love
We are hurt with our minds, with our own crosses
We carry our own free will
Like the responsibility for God's Hope
You have put up Your tent, Jesus
Between God and man
Between me and my soul
And You are still waiting patiently
For Your guests .
03.11.2005 I wake up at dawn and I still hear the words but I don't know
whose. I am awakened, but at the same time, I feel as if I were in another
world. I hear: in this tragic world, the only safe place for a soul is - the
convent. You also go through spiritual storms there but you are very close
to the source of Truth. It protects you. Lay people enjoy life only
seemingly. Just look around . Are they really cheerful? They are entangled
in the cult of money, passions - they are rather like slaves of this world.
Quite often, they are passed by in the family and easy to be replaced in the
office. When you give away your day to this world - you are worried about
tomorrow . Of course it takes time to make up your mind and enter the holy
order. For some, it is out of the question, their cross is the outside
world. One is lucky when he has a genuine vocation, although it's a pity
that it is quite rare. The world tempts with colored lights, which,
strangely enough, get pale when touched with our life. In my opinion, we try
to get back the illusion of the worldly color - when we reach for the
virtual world: cinema, TV, music, Internet, frequent social meetings. Then
we are left with the sediment in our souls, of wasted time, of grudge that
it wasn't the way we dreamed of. And finally we have serious doubts and
concerns as for the sense of our existence.
The ant
You want me, Lord, to build my sanctity
Out of non-holy pieces of the world
You want me, Lord, to add sweets to my daily life
With a handful of tar
You want me, Lord, to build holiness
In the world which lost its Paradise
You want me, Lord .
I ask my uneasy heart these questions
Going along my daily way
Strange silence fell down
The wind hid behind the trees
Only a black ant ran across the path
And although .
It carried an overweighing treasure on its back
I didn't hear that it asked the Creator
The question like mine:
Am I going along the holy way?
Or maybe . the common one?
The phone of the soul
There is a golden "mobile" phone
That is registered in everybody's life
It plays beautiful songs
For consolation, warning, getting lost
Of the soul
God has recorded the signal of these songs
When He calls us to ask for a prayer-like talk
We jam God's songs on the golden mobile
With human mobiles, screens
We record our own world on it
We fill it with substandard food
Of news, information, picture
Do they console, rescue, favor with friendship?
Offer unselfish love?
Or maybe they only put to sleep?
For a few days, months or even years?
The signal of the golden mobile is getting lower .
But there is somebody who still believes
In a moment of silence in man's life
Then the tune of the golden mobile
Starts to sound like a bell .
The window
I think that God looks into a soul
Like a man, through the window
I think that God wants to send a soul
The glance of Merciful Jesus
How can God look into a soul
Being curious of its interior?
When the soul has no window
Like the house, locked by people
What are you, the window of my soul?
How can I let the holy ray inside?
So that God could warm you with His glance
And light you up with gifts .
Hot prayer, patient - my Guardian Angel said
Builds windows in souls
It sweeps terrible darkness away
When you build the prayer's window
Into your worried soul
Then God will look into it, like sunshine
And will leave His divine ray there.
08.11.2005 There were days when I felt very bad, as if my Angels left me. I
felt as if I were on a desert, all alone. Maybe it was this November mood
and some problems with the family? A psychologist would explain it this way.
During my praying meditation, a poem was born, entitled: "On the way". I
thought that maybe God provides us with such a desert - that is, being with
yourself. It is a kind of freedom to choose your own way, the way without
consolation. Doesn't He verify us through our "desert-like" status? Doesn't
He check our strength? Our soul? Our love for Him? The love that is
non-profit, that is without the golden toys of fun.
On the way
On my way to You, Lord
I came across beautiful gardens
You treated me with sweet drinks
You cared about me like about Your favorite child
I got used to this Paradise
My prayers were like birds
Grateful and swift
One day I wake up on a desert
No flowers but just darkness
I am holding out my hands blindly
I am strolling along carefully
I am listening for any voices
Now I know, I am all alone
I see Jesus in Gethsemane
When He is crying, because God is silent
You expelled me, Lord, from the Paradise of gentleness
Now I am wreathing the Rosary made of thorns
I am nailing my sins into them
I am praying the Divine Mercy Chaplet
I am wearing Your silence, like a robe
The echo from the lost Paradise disappears
Even the Guardian Angel has flown away
There was an inscription on his wings
Like a motto for a man:
Everyone has his lonely desert
Free will .
My eyes are blind, my ears are deaf
I tell my soul:
Please, go on
Show me the way
I trust you . because you belong to God.
The world and the cross
I touched you, my world, with my child's hands
You seemed to be sunny, safe
My parents' warm hands warmed you up
They removed your cold fear
But .
My parents' hands also taught me the sign of the cross
As if they predicted that you would blow with cold
And the cross of Jesus would give me courage
I touched you, my world, with my adult hands
You seemed to be indifferent, freezing
You drew stony tracks
And marked the roads with crosses
My hands were still looking for warm childhood years
I touched you, my world
As if you were the Doric column
You were haughty, enormous, absolute
My hands were freezing from your cold
I heard my Guardian Angel say:
Touch the world with the cross of Christ
Warm up your heart with His Love
Your hands will get frozen without this sign
Thank You, my Parents, for Your teaching about the cross
Thank You for this holy dowry .
December 2005
The Mass is over. We are having Adoration now. I try to calm down in
meditation. Suddenly I see, in my imagination, a bouquet of small, colored
balloons. What does it mean? - I ask. And I hear a voice in my heart, that
explains to me the sense of this vision. - These balloons are like
individual families. In these small balloons, we are like in our families,
concentrated on our own problems, troubles. The family has been created not
to isolate themselves in their balloons. Within the family, we learn love,
the rules how to treat other people, and surely not to be such a balloon
which functions separately. In the family, we must learn to go beyond our
egotistical love toward the members of our own family. The family is only an
introduction to the knowledge about love toward other people who are not our
relatives. This is only the first stage, as important as knowing how to read
and write. We have learned the letters of love, now we have to write
beautiful essays about . what's going on around us. We must learn how to
break balloons of family egotism, in order to get to know the Merciful Love
toward your fellow human beings. It's very difficult. Lord Jesus sent His
beloved apostles to people, to pagans, He didn't keep them for Himself. He
gave His Mother to the humanity, so that She brought love and care to
others. The saints and the missionaries act the same way. They extend the
meaning of love. It radiates to all, it doesn't choose good ones or evil
ones, strangers or your kin ones. We get irritated with the faults of
others, but aren't ours irritating? To know how to look at your fellow man
from a perspective, from a distance, to look for the cause of his bad
behavior, to help with friendship - this is the great task for a Christian.
To offer Love . is also difficult, but . it gives you freedom. When we love
beyond human attachments, like Jesus does, then we look at our fellow men
differently, their faults don't touch us so strongly, we don't lower
ourselves to the level of their bad deeds, when we criticize with
indignation. In fact they exist, but we, through our own distance, a soft
look, we ourselves become free.
Faults of other people don't stick to us, they don't touch us with evil. We
try, in our freedom, to offer our peace, our friendship, a word of
encouragement. With our attitude, we try to educate cordially, and not sting
with a needle of moralizing. It is also very difficult, but it is worth
making an effort to challenge this difficulty.
A city scene
A red cap, a violet jacket
Green trousers
Worn-out tennis shoes
That mark footsteps in the snow
Bent down like a pocket knife
Which will get folded in a moment
A man is on his way
A moment ago, he closed the door of hope
With the inscription: social care center
He stops, smiles
He looks at the treasures put in funny-colored bags
Maybe he got a new cap?
Rice, bread?
He takes whatever people offer
Some give out of their hearts
Some others give out of their wardrobes
For him, it's enough, he lives on leftovers
The homeless child of social care
Where is his Grotto of Nativity?
Where is the place where he will lay down
The gifts . for survival?
"Small money change"
I knock on the door like a Pilgrim
Sometimes somebody opens it ajar
He doesn't even ask
But pushes some "small change" into my hand
It happens that he shouts with hatred
He can't recognize the Pilgrim with his proud heart
With the "small change", collected like in church
I try to come back many times again
But people don't want to meet me
They think: a beggar, I've given enough
Sometimes when I knock, I look into somebody's eyes
I stand in the door so that he can't close it
My suffering face looks at the man
And he holds out his hand with a gesture of love
There is no "small change" pushed in carelessly
No words like: I've given already, what else do you want?
He opens the door wider, invites like a brother
And says good-bye with words: come back more often
How can the Pilgrim knocking on the door, explain
That he doesn't want "the small change", pushed in reluctantly
He just wants to come back to the threshold of your heart
And not wait, like a beggar, at the door of your house.
The armor
Don't be afraid of anger
Which is weak against the armor of Love
Don't be afraid of hatred
It falls at the foot of Love
Don't be afraid of evil
Which hurts Love
But it doesn't kill it
Rather be afraid of your armor of Love
You have been dressed in it by God
Who sent you to this world
To wage a war with the tempter
And when the armor of Love gets cracked
When it exposes the heart, so easy to be hurt
Then go with your prayer
To the Divine Craftsman
Kneel down and beseech:
Please repair my armor of Love, Lord
So that I could fight again
With anger, hatred, evil
Your armor, Lord, is my shelter
The imploration
Hold out Your hand, Lord, for the peoples' world
Wake up the Knights of Good, asleep in the mountains
Let them come to protect the grain
That was sowed by the rocky roads
They will help to grow the wholesome crops
I know that You have sent Love, Good Lord
The world crucified Him on Golgotha Hill
You have given saint martyrs to help people
Now they are on the pictures, hanging and locked in churches
Give Your hand, Lord, to this ungrateful world
Where evil blossoms abundantly and good disappears
Where there are more tears than dew on the ground
And more injured hearts than stones
I dream of the world, my Lord
That is as beautiful as the angels choirs
Where man hungry for daily bread
Shares it lovingly with his fellow
In the world like this, weapons don't destroy people
And defenseless hands lift others and cure them
There are no lonely hearts, no old, sad people in such world
No abandoned children, with empty faces
When I send my imploration to God Almighty
Then my soul speaks to me, in a light breeze:
God is holding out His hand to this world
It's enough to catch it in a daily prayer
God will never let us down if we send Him our hope
He will not put your human love on the cross
He will not give you stones when you ask for bread
Don't ask God, my soul, why
This world is so quarrelsome and thorny
But ask your fellow men, who live in this world
Why, in spite of so many gifts, bestowed upon us
They still cast away the miracle of God's Love.