14.02.2006 Dream. I am in a church. Maybe it is the night Adoration, because the church is dark, and there are bowed down heads in the rows of pews. There is a big cross with Christ at the altar. I kneel down, pray and after a while, I see that Christ becomes alive and comes off the cross. I begin an inner dialogue with Jesus. He is smiling while we, in church, are sad, with bent down heads. I ask: why did You come off the cross, Jesus? Because you are sad - He answers. I have an impression that Jesus is sorry that people in church are sad. It is like going to a party (Mass) and feeling no joy at the presence of the One who invites. Then He leaves the church (the faithful don’t even notice it). I follow Him like a hypnotized person. I know that He speaks directly to my soul, teaches me but I don’t remember what. I only feel physical warmth in my heart. I closely watch His silhouette; I know every detail of His clothes. He wears a long shirt - light, typical for the Arab gear, the trousers are cocoa-colored, His hair - dark-blond. Strange but I don’t remember the features of His face, as if His eyes hypnotized me. I follow Jesus around the city, cacophony of noise is all around the place. We get to a building on a busy street and there is a school nearby. Jesus unlocks the door with a key, and I ask, surprised: Jesus, do You have to use a key to open the door? He replies: I don’t have to; I can enter any place without a key. But then, what shall I do with you? His face hag a countenance of a friendly jester. When I woke up the next morning, I remembered the building because of the nearby school. Yes, it was the convent of the Sisters of Mercy where we attend the “Faustinum” formation; where they teach us about Divine Mercy.
The next night the dream was carried on. I ask Jesus why He comes off the cross and why I see it. He answers: Many people treat me like an embalmed mummy, frozen on the cross. Yet I Am alive, I move among you. When you leave the church, I go with you, I Am not left there like an inanimate edifice. I remain dead in your hearts only when you don’t remember about me.

The rock

I can see You, Jesus, in the Olive Garden
You leaned your back against the rock
The Angel is standing by and consoling
Your Companions are asleep

Many years or ages have passed
And God has chosen the earth for me
We live among the street clatter
Like You once did in Jerusalem

History hasn’t wiped out those numerous rocks
And man hasn’t changed much
The world hasn’t powdered the rock
Of treason, illness, hostility

There are the happy ones who believe
In a painless flight over the rocks
Youth gives them the wings
And pride lifts them up in the air

Like a bird with wings
It must come back to the earth, somehow.
And man, even the confident one
Loses his parachute of carelessness

And he falls down, not like a bird would softly
Onto a rock or a roadside tree
But violently, painfully with fractured ego
He crushes against the stone that is his destiny

This is the grace, Jesus, to see You, leaning against the rock
And to know the place, where and by which specific rock
Your merciful hands will catch and …
Protect the one who is falling down.

01.03.2006 I have a vision - there are three inscriptions (from the bottom): word, music, silence. I don’t know what it means and I hear: This is the way man adores God. The highest step is silence. Man, filled with words, music and his adoration for God (but probably only the saints) moves up the ladder to silence. In this silence - God speaks, being not deafened.
It reminds me of my vacations at my Grandparents, many years ago. It was warm and sunny, abeautiful nature, a feeling of safety. And suddenly I hear a voice: this is the way that we must fill our hearts with Jesus, with good, and still extend the sphere of our hearts with this filling. Then we become better, more mature in God. When good covers only a small part of our hearts, then we take a risk of being penetrated by evil. This evil convinces us that suffering, praying make no sense, we should live only for ourselves. Evil is contagious and affects this small piece of good that is within us. Maybe when the heart is filled with good (the power of grace), then it is not so easy to corrupted?

Reverend John

Bent down at the altar
With love
For God and people
He looks carefully
At the faithful
Like a father, anxious to redeem all his helpless children
He blesses
He orders to adore Lord with songs of praise
Laying his hands on our eager heads
He asks through his intercession
And the power of his priesthood privilege
For our salvation
The heads are bowing
Being depressed, longing for care
They give themselves away to his prayer
With a childlike loyalty
They submit their whole burden of life
So that he could transform them
From the daily water
Into the bountiful wine of God’s feast
He - the priest and the exorcist
Who drives away evil with the power of the Church
Teaches the poor the words of hope
So that they become the blessed rich
He - the great priest, the soldier of Christ.

15.03.2006 I woke up with a strange, “vision”. A glass house, and inside - a child, turning around. I could see the outside world, other glass houses, people doing their jobs. Seemingly, there is order and purpose, but the child is a symbol who doesn’t go out of the glass house. He uses “apparatuses” to make contact with the outside world. In the glass house, there is no exit door that you can open and go out and meet other people. Have we lost interest in communicating directly with each other, looking into each other’s eyes without the glass walls? The society in my “house” acted correctly, created works, communicated, produced things, generated ideas. But it was somehow defective. It lacked the horizontal beam on the cross of life - it lacked a touch of man through another man. Being protected by the glass of the house - it didn’t experience interaction or communication, not to mention the feeling of suffering. In my vision it was the world of the anticipated in their action … robots.

The Station

You have left me, Jesus, at the Station
Of the Third fall
Without a ticket
Being weighed down under my own cross
I’m waiting for your sign
Where to go
You went on forward, toward death …
If it were the Station of the weeping women
I would find consolation with people
While being pressed down with the cross
At this lonely Station
Of my considerations about life
And about Yours
I’ve been waiting for forty days of Lent
For Your return to me
Please come back to my soul
Pick up my cross
I’ll be waiting for You in fidelity
At my lonely Station of the third fall
Until You Resurrect

Prayer of the sufferer

 
The day put on the torrent of rain
And it weeps like my soul
Lord, You are the hope
For my distress
Like raindrops for a dry ground
Like water for a withered flower
I want You to be my soul’s nourish
Please allow drop of the Holy Blood into it
Let me stand at the cross of Jesus
I will hang my fear on this cross
I will wrap myself up in ‘ silent prayers
With no superfluous words or gestures
And I’ll stay like that, with the Rosary in hand
Listening to the Lon soling raindrops
Replenishing to the soul in starvation
The holy words of the Chaplet:
“For His Sorrowful Passion”
And trust, only trust
Like a child staring at his Father
That fear and pain
Which the soul was afflicted with
Will be protected with Mercy
By God Himself.

 
20.03.2006 During the Holy Mass, I see a sphere rotating non-stop. I am outside, motionless. It all resembles a model of the Sun and the Earth. Various events, places appear in front of my eyes, but I am still the same, with my “interior” child. I think (maybe I am wrong) that man is stable in his essence; he is still a child - sincere, returning to his early feelings despite the age. It is the world which rotates and shows the variety, new events, places. We “choose” good, beautiful things out of this sphere, but we also look at evil, cruelty. We feed our souls with current events. Quite other events shaped the people a hundred or five hundred years ago. Didn’t the man that lived five hundred years ago, have dreams? Didn’t he love? But yes, of course he was still a child-man inside. In our XXI century, our sphere rotates with the “multitude” of events, but does it “enrich” us more, does it get rid of evil, doesn’t it make it more attractive? Isn’t our “interior child” deluded more than the people living a few hundred years ago? Deluded with the multitude of choices which pass by and go on rotating? Maybe it’s wiser to look within us, for the values given us by God, in the immortal soul. Maybe we are this stable Sun? And the other things pass away like on the revolving sphere. They call: “look at me” (social events, history) - they change man, but they shouldn’t kill his essence - the child of God, the Sun that exists motionlessly. The Sun (man) is very important here. Without it, the revolving sphere - the Earth would freeze.

A little grain

 
You walked by my side, Jesus
But I couldn’t see You
For I was squeezed in a crowd, on my life’s way
Like a grain with other grains
The grace divine, like a holy hand
Pulled me out of these marching grains
It lifted me to a grotto on the side
It pushed me a cross of suffering into my hand
And a flying-by bird sang:
Wait for your Lord here
He wants to meet you
I am standing near the altar, during the Mass
And I still feel like a little grain
A tiny one
I fold my hands and wait patiently
With love
For You to come to me, Jesus
And …
We will get to know each other.

Contemporary Magdalene

 
You are still in Ephraim
I can still, like Mary, pour the scented oil
On Your legs
There is time yet to leave my tears
On Your feet
And watch them dry
Because of Your blessing
And then
In Jerusalem, Hosanna will sound
The donkey, palm leaves
But You already see the cross on Golgotha
The Last Supper is ahead
And the Way of the Cross
The hand of God-Man
Will not bless my head anymore
Like it did with that Magdalene
And my tears will not wipe off the holy feet
I am like Magdalene when I am in despair
The contemporary one
Who kisses the crosses that man carved
Who looks for Your Face in the pictures
And wipes off her tears
With her own hand
Not Yours
Magdalene of the XXI century
Like the one that You had protected
She still beseeches for the grace of seeing You
When staring at Your Sign
The Holy Eucharist.

22.03.2006 “Somebody” inside me tried to force me not to go to the morning Mass. My “laziness” gave excuses: it’s cold, you attended Mass yesterday, why today again? I decided to go, although it was very late. I didn’t hurry but I made it just in time which was surprising. At the end of the Mass I heard: you helped a dying person. Whom? I asked. The answer was short: The name is not important I think that it didn’t necessarily have to be a person who was dying physically. Maybe my Mass saved someone from making a wrong decision, or from sin. We still don’t know how powerful the Mass is, and how effective, our intentions that we leave at the altar, are.

The old age

 
She always walks along the roadside
So that nobody pushed her
She can’t follow the rhythm of strong footsteps
She was born too early
She can’t tell the difference between pop and rap
She doesn’t know what the hard disc is
She knows a lot about war but nobody cares
She sits on a bench in the park and feeds hungry birds
They gather close to her
More than her own grandchildren
She hides her love under the aged fur-coat
So that nobody could make fun of her
Sometimes she feeds this love with memories
With the Rosary or sorrowful prayers
She cries over the Stations of the Cross of Jesus
As if they were her own stations
She is rather worried about her old shoes
Much more than politics
Her trophy is a doctor’s prescription
And her old-age pension coupon
Occasionally  there is a phone call from her children
They are busy – she would proudly boast to another old one
She slowly returns back home
She looks at the window, TV
Sometimes in the mirror
She asks her own refection a question:
Who are you?
You, in my mirror?
But the mirror is silent
It has no voice nor feelings

04.04.2006 I was thinking about strange, loneliness” of people standing close to one another at some Masses. We are at the altar with Jesus and we should be happy, but during the exchange of “peace be with you” sign, people don’t smile. They seem to be  “far”, no eye-to-eye contact, the peace sign gesture is formal and artificial. Jesus walked with the Apostles, He needed people. During the Mass, people shouldn’t be “singled” out. Even being strangers to each other, they should show cordiality through their gesture of the hand. I remember a Mass session when I felt very sad. The woman standing beside me, passed on her peace gesture so gibingly, with a cordial smile, that my all sadness disappeared. It is so important!
I also wondered why people yield to bad emotions like aggression. In fact, they form themselves their own world of freedom, they themselves decree boundaries. Morality, Decalogue stop being the norm. These days we can do almost anything we want to; we are forced to look at the world in a tolerant way. If we are so free then why are we so aggressive toward  more moral opinions? Modesty, honesty are not valued. Pride or conceit yes. Satan likes to sit on human conceit and freedom. The glamour of the “more beautiful and the stronger” wins on the screen, in sports and  in life. Such are the times - the rat race goes on until the final material success. The weak who can’t step on others to progress, drop off. Self-assurance wins but not the talent. We create values for today, for here, for now, we cast away the Decalogue because it forbids momentary pleasures. On the contrary, the Decalogue doesn’t constrain, it has been given to sustain human dignity, and it protects man … against man, his pride and egotism. I deeply believe that the Decalogue will be rediscovered again some day and people will abide by it. But the rat race goes on; so far, they have been on the run, but do they know where the finishing line is? And will they get prize at all? And Satan is chuckling. His giggle is deafened by music and noisy voices of the conceited and carnal people.

 
Difficult questions

Lord, it is so hard to understand        
The Love that you sent down to earth
Why does man desire It
But doesn’t want to cuddle it?
Why is he so afraid
To yield to its noble laws?
Why does he prefer to suffer
And live with sin every day?
Why does he walk into darkness
Passing by the light and the truth?
Why does he cry alone
And trust his own power?
Why does he believe in idols and kings
Who reign over him?
And he constrains his soul’s freedom
Although God anointed it with miracle?
Why does he feed himself
With the deceiving world
And doesn’t want to recognize its illusory glare?
Why does he think that material power is his hope
And the cross is his hideous obstacle?
Why doesn’t he trust Your Love, Lord
When he feels the pain?
I ask too many questions today
And Love listens patiently
Somebody whispered; maybe it was an Angel
He gave a simple but complex answer:
God wants the love from man, but not … from a slave.

Purgatory

It is like hands held out toward Love
That is passing by
It is like a beloved tree
Which we cut off
Because it hasn’t yielded fruit for years
It is like an unmarked grave that people walk on by
While lighting lamps for their beloved ones
Purgatory is like a man with luggage
That was left behind by the departing bus
It is like a sleepless night
Like an empty confessional
Like a bird which doesn’t sing
Purgatory is the silence
When we need words
Like sin which haunts our memory
Like mother’s love
Swept under the carpet of daily life
So that she doesn’t bother us with her expectant eyes

 
You also know this world’s Purgatory …
You can send a letter from there
With prayer and a stamp of Hope
To God
My Lord, please write back directly …
To the address of my Purgatory
I’ll be waiting
At the beloved, cut-out tree
At the empty confessional
In the sleepless night
In silence
With the memory of sin
At the forgotten grave
With a bird that can not sing

17.04.2006 During the Mass (Easter Monday), I saw a vision of a golden cross hanging on a man’s neck. Next, the man was dressed in beautiful clothes and the cross couldn’t be seen. Then I saw this man dressed in rags and the golden cross could be seen clearly. I didn’t understand this “message”. But little by little, I began to make it out. It was Easter Monday, the priest reminded us about the Holy Baptism. This cross is the symbol of our Baptism. During our lifetime we forget about its importance, we “cover” it with our jobs, busy life, worries about our possessions, etc. The time comes when these fine clothes drop off and become “rags”. What we cared for - wasn’t always important or essential. Life slowly “rips us off” these “fine clothes” and we are left with “rags” or even worse, we become naked - the confrontation: we - and God. And the most important thing - the golden cross on the neck - the symbol of the Baptism which is still going on. It should remind us Who we really belong to. We can see it very clearly when the “fine clothes” are stripped off.

 
Give me Lord

Lord, give me the heart that doesn’t remember
Sadness and grudges
Received from people
Give me the heart, through which, like through a grotto
A sunray will wipe all that looks like powder
Give the windstorm which makes the stones of pain
Move out of the heart like light crumbs
And give me, my Lord
The soul made of such beautiful matter
That Your graces couldn’t leak out of it
Give me, Lord, the heart with no memory
Of the pain that the spear of life has caused
Give my soul, Lord, the power so great
That it could carry Your graces.

 
21.04.2006 During the Stations of the Cross prayers, I “saw” a sphere and a little cross on it. The cross was attached loosely and was sliding to the sides although the sphere was stable like lead. I was thinking what it meant. At the Station: Jesus dies on the Cross - the vision of the sphere and the cross changed. The cross was standing on its top, motionless. Then I understood that the Stations of the Cross - is my divine service. Through these prayers, we recommend the souls of the dead to God. These souls are together with me during our prayers and they beseech for the holy time to get closer to God.

A conversation with an Angel

I have an impression, my Angel
That You walk in front of me
Just a few steps further ahead
And I can’t catch up with You
I stumble over the hours, years of life
Like in a sandy dune
I stop, being often tired
And You leave me behind
Sometimes I can’t see You
Through the fog that appears like an enemy
Who attacks without any cause
I stumble over my own thoughts
I hold out my hand - and beseech
Lift me up
You are standing just a few steps away
And waiting for my effort
To get myself up from the knees
Of my weakness
I hear: I am your Guardian Angel
And not your Savior.

My Angel’s birthday

You’ve been with me so many years, my Angel
You’ve fought many battles with me
You’ve been my consolation in many sorrows
In many joys, you’ve been my companion

How many times I’ve wandered off Your wings’ span
To follow my own devised paths
How many times I’ve turned away from You
And didn’t listen or trail after you

Many times you have cried with me
Over the recollection of past sins
Many times you have led me to the altar
And you asked: please, Lord, help her

I hope that you got much stronger
In the sanctuaries that we visited together
You rested on my knees
During Masses and the Rosary Mysteries

I was leading you, my Angel
Along the winding paths
And You, with God’s map, prepared for me
Often got lost, while running after me

We’ve been together so many years
My dear Friend, my beloved Guardian
I recognize Your Heavenly voice
Among the humming of other voices that I hear

I would like to thank you, so much, sincerely
On this consecutive birthday of Yours
I would like to reward you so much
For Your unnecessary tears

I would like, so much, to sew the wings for You
Out of my prayers and deeds
I would like, so much, to thank God for You
My faithful Guardian Angel.

 

My Angel’s wishes

You thanked God for the gift of your Angel
Your faithful Guardian; on His next birthday
What shall I give you, in turn, as a present?
The Angel asked me, gracefully

I have no gold, no diamonds
Nothing that is of value on this earth
I can offer you pure tears
Which do no harm to your heart

I can wipe them off with my robe
And your eyes will see again
People’s faces, joyous and beautiful
Without grimaces, wry faces, hostile and stubborn

I can touch your ears with a whisper
So quiet, gentle and nice
Then prayers will reach them
And not quarrels and words of ingratitude

I can shelter you under my wings
Against the world
That man himself creates
Paying no attention to God

What else can I offer you?
I can make, if you let me
That daily life will be a little feast for you
And Jesus will be the king of your heart

I can hang on your soul
The bell tolled for you in Heaven
So that it echoed for the Rosary and Masses
And for the people who call for deliverance

I can, although you won’t feel it
Hug you tightly
Embrace you with my wings, like a nestling
I hope that you aren’t allergic to feathers

But if you sneeze loudly, all the same
I will shout out loud: God bless you! With joy!
This is your Guardian Angel in your world
I always remember about you.

22.04.2006. In my dream, I saw a bluish glow and a column of figures moving toward it. I was standing in the back and heard a voice: these are the Purgatory souls that were saved thanks to the intercession prayers. You also have your share in this.
Suddenly, a silhouette of a very tall man appeared out of these figures. With a very penetrating eye-sight, he looked extremely elegant. His long, leather coat was shining. I also remembered his perfectly short-cut hairstyle. He was perfect in his appearance. He looked at me threateningly and said: you will be sorry some day, because of these souls. Strange, but I didn’t feel any trepidation. These persons were moving toward the radiant light which gave me more strength and elation than the fear of the manacling “smart-looking guy”. We might add a reflection here that evil often looks extremely elegant, spotless in its outer looks.

 
The Day of Divine Mercy

How many times I wanted to feed you
With the food of My Mercy
But My hand touched emptiness
How many times I wanted to quench your thirst
With the drink of My Mercy
But you didn’t crave with thirst
I knocked at your door but you never awoke
I was waiting for you but you never came
How many years?
Why do you want Me today
To feed you and give a drink?
Is it because your world has disappointed you?
Yes, Jesus
I was drinking and feeding myself with my own worldly banquet
I was dying of starvation … 
I was mounting locks on my soul
And the soul suffered in slavery
Today I unlock the door of my soul with the key
Of Your Grace, Jesus
I put my pride out of the door for emancipation
And I come where You feed
With Your Mercy, Lord
And I bless the moment when You knocked
On my heart’s door
Just in time when it wasn’t completely deaf yet.

 

Conversation

You are looking at me from the painting
Merciful Jesus, my Lord
You ask me about trust every day
My days flow on like a brook of melancholy
Washing around my heart, leaving the stone
But I feel. in the gesture of Your soothing hands, oh, Jesus
In the rays that come down to earth
Though l am nothing, yet You want to
Speak to me …
And You wait patiently when I answer You
With trust
In Your Mercy

I already know that You don’t want the words of love
That adore You like a lifeless statue
The painter contained the question in Your eyes
That ask for the courage of faith in the valley of darkness
When singing of solemn psalms is mellowing down
And suffering puts out the candles at the altar
Then You come out to people, with Hope in abundance
And embrace them with Your Mercy

When I close my eyes, I hear the words of supplication:
Help Me carry My cross
Wipe away My sweat with anointed veil
Don’t escape in terror from My Olive Garden
Suffering … has power
I will help, when you fall
Only give Me your heart, agree to trust and obey
And let Me touch you with My Mercy Divine.

28.04.2006 I “saw” large surface of water in a beautiful, light-blue shade. I “heard”: this is the source of the Holy Spirit. Whoever drinks from it - will never be thirsty and will be strong enough to fight the obstacles and the attacks of evil. But he must constantly fetch from this source.
A few days later, just before the Hoy Mass, in my local church in Warsaw, I complain to Jesus that I feel left alone, I don’t feel His presence. Then I “see” a little elevation; something like a stair and Jesus standing on it. I “hear”: I don’t leave you alone. I am moving ahead of you and I am showing you the way, so that you could follow me and never stand still.
Next, I “see myself” kneeling down, Jesus is standing over me on a very high staircase. He is beckoning to me to follow Him. I complain that the step is too steep and high for me. Then Jesus holds out His hand and says: I will help you. I complain again, saying that it’s too high and I won’t be able to climb up to Him. Then Jesus smiles and holds out both hands. I feel extremely moved and a little amused with my naivety. I thought that this “vision” indicates that Jesus is always ready if we trust in him to help, we should ask Him like little a little child, without reservations.

Little love

 
My love is little
Like the heart in my body
As little as an ear of corn
In a corn-field
My love is little
Like a field-flower in a meadow
Like a bird in a fully-grown tree
I lock my love within myself
So that I could teach it who to serve
I put it under the cross on Golgotha
Let it blossom with hope, like a flower-bud
I am giving my love to You
Let it wait patiently for the moment
When Your redeeming tears, Jesus
Change it from little … into the great love.

10.05.2006. During Adoration in my local church in Warsaw, I am concentrated. No external thoughts to disturb me. Suddenly I saw a colorful scene. Jesus is walking across a green meadow; I couldn’t see His face directly. The meadow and the common road were separated by a beautiful, narrow stream. How can I get across this stream? - I thought and what does this “vision” mean? Then, the inscription “death” appeared. Yes, Jesus was on the beautiful side, in the green meadow, while we, people, were moving along our road. I saw that some people were turning toward Jesus and walking over the narrow foot-bridges to Him. Some others went forward as if these foot-bridges were not for them. I thought that these foot-bridges meant “the time of death”, the hour of turning off of our worldly roads. Everyone had his footbridge from Jesus’ side. I also thought that God gives man a chance and sometimes we can “pass by” our foot-bridge (sudden recovery) through the grace of Mercy People who are influenced by disease or psychic problems and commit suicide, they themselves put the foot-bridges of death from the side of their human road. Sometimes God saves them and their foot-bridge breaks down. Then they return to their road. Everything happens according to some purpose. I think that God in His infinite Love gives man many chances and waits for his acceptance of death.

The Holy Complaint

I am trying to break the noise around me
Get rid of the unnecessary ill words
And reach the silence of Golgotha
And hearken  the words of the Holy Complaint:
Oh God, my Lord, why did You leave me? …
I hurt my heart
I feed my soul with hollow silence
This silence hurts
The Angel orders me to stand under the cross
And not to fall down, with my eyes
Staring down at the ground
But look …
At the last glance of Christ
And nip my ears with the Holy Complaint
“Oh God, my Lord ...”
God - the Holy Love
He was silent and left His Son at the moment of His … death
And then
The Holy Love and forgiveness bestowed upon mankind
In order to touch
You and me.

14.05.2006 At dawn, after a short prayer, I “saw” a peculiar scene: a man was walking along a road. He looked as if he was being supported by a cross. He was walking upright ahead and it seemed that the cross wasn’t of any burden to him but on the contrary, it looked rather like a strong construction that supported his body. Other people, in other places didn’t have such a cross support except for their frail bodies and they did different tasks, having fun. Seemingly they looked “free”. I heard a question: How can God raise a man to Him? He can do it easily when there is the strong fortification of the cross. The people who are not supported by this humble structure are plodding on within the power of their material bodies and can easily “slip” out of God’s path. This is strange but the symbol of the cross is like belonging to, or rather our readiness to meet God. This cross symbolizes our suffering this erroneous world has afflicted upon us, but at the same time, it provides power - leaning on it gives strength, it gets you closer to “the eyes of God”. What will God lift the people onto when they rely only on the strength of their own earthly bodies (often virtual) for their own pleasures? Where will they find support if they are disappointed by their worldly mortal bodies, lives? Will they roll up in a bundle of weakness? I understood that the cross doesn’t mean suffering but also it is the gift of God’s trust. It is often hard to understand when we only rely on people’s logics which “imposes” upon us to love and cherish wealth and fame!

The Cross of Christ

I catch the wood of the cross with my hands
It is cracked with storms and rains
It’s been standing over twenty ages
And people’s love has been sprinkled around it
Millions of human beings supplicated before this cross
Wetting it with their tears and sorrow
And warmed it in their tender, eager hands
So that it became as strong as a rock, for next generations
When evil, like a typhoon, wants to devastate
And kill with hunger, those who adore You
You feed, like birds, the hungry ones you revive
With drops of divine blood, dried on the cross
You quench the thirst of the rushing pilgrims
With water of sweat and tears that gushes out of Your being
And those who fell painfully on the way
You pour hope in, with Your gentle word

I hold myself to the cross like a ship to its anchor
Millions of people have survived there
Common people and sinners
And with them - the saint-martyrs
The ground is battered under the cross
With hard trust for centuries
That Your arm, Jesus, stretching from the cross
Will always pull us higher … to our Lord.

The image

I want to paint out of pieces of life
The picture of truth about man’s life
I am arranging the pearls of the Rosary, like flowers
Let them decorate with the grace of color
I’m not afraid to join them with the cross
All that is daily and gray
Or so mysterious in life
I’m painting white birds
They are like prayer in this image of truth
When I run out of paint
I don t go to the shop to buy it
I kneel before You, Jesus, in Adoration
And I ask You for inspiration
Then I see flowers, like people’s souls
In Your hands
When they are picked in the morning dew
And the sun begins to shine
You lift them up to Your heart
They don’t wither in the warmth of Your hands
I’m painting them the way I see them
In my picture of true testimony
And I beseech You, Jesus
Be the master of a clumsy painter
Correct the distorted lines, enhance the pure colors
And above all, Lord
I have an earnest request
Please, bless my work of creativity 
Of the difficult picture about … the Truth.

26.05.2006. Mother’s Day

Mother’s return

You are no longer with me
You’re dancing with the angels
And although they tell me:
She doesn’t cry anymore
I don’t feel assured, wise angels
What do you know about mothers?
Only God understands them
And although they wear wreaths
Like songs sung in the spring
They don’t take off their earthly spectacles
They can see the earth, through them, and their children
Whom they can’t recognize, sometimes 
Because they grew old so much 
They whisper: my beloved son, my darling daughter
Why are you so sad and worried?
She cuddles them to her heart with her warm embrace
She tries to possess her treasure on this earth
But she is from Paradise
And they are from this earth ...
Although sometimes a miracle occurs
A little, tiny one it might be
The son hears somewhere the words of his Mom’s song
The daughter dreams about a meadow
Her Mom is calling her from yonder
Earthly time touches the Heavenly time
In a silent memory 
Mother, as if she were standing by …
Is rushing by, along the way
This is a little moment but somehow a holy one
Then the words of the song get more inaudible
And the dream is gone …
And Mother is taken by the angels … to Heaven.

30.05.2006. Pope’s visit in Auschwitz.

He walks over the place of torture in silence. Where was God when the German infidels were slaughtering? -  people asked. I keep wondering … God was present when the Savior, the Son of God was dying at the Calvary.
The Germans contributed to us a great culture but they also gave us tyrant Hitler. Maybe God wanted to show people that all they created - music, poetry, civilization should tend to “kill” evil, otherwise, it’s of no importance, although it seems important to man. Man’s “creations” are valuable as long as they spurn evil. And evil is vanquished through the redeeming pain, not through wonderful music or platitude. Satan can also create beauty  but not the beauty of the soul. The beauty of German culture wasn’t opposed to evil. Once, two thousand years ago, the Son of God “redeemed” the world - with His immense suffering. Auschwitz - the cradle of torture was like the dungeon where Christ suffered through the millions of people. The redeeming power of suffering - this is the mystery of God. The world without suffering, without Christ’s Passion, without people’s anguish, wouldn’t have been saved, and wouldn’t save itself much longer. The redeeming power of Christ’s torment is still going on. We can see it in the history of the world. The Polish who were particularly experienced by suffering might be “the chosen” ones. Maybe, God trusted them? Poland was likened to Christ of all modern nations - by one famous Polish poet. Over there in Jerusalem, the Son of God was suffering, He was saving the world, and around Him was sin and unrighteous killers. In Poland, there is suffering, pain (People experience injustice), there is the Cross, but also, like in Jerusalem, two thousand years ago, there is sin, evil overwhelming intensely. People say that “God was silent”, but maybe then He was shouting loudly “Only the Truth will redeem you, man. Look for its Divine interpretation for mankind, such as the mankind of Jesus, and not in your false truth which you create out of fear of the Truth, or out of lack of knowledge about this Truth, although your truth, man, would be as beautiful as the classic music of German maestros or its beautiful poetry or its advanced scientific achievements. God demands so much from us. He demands our souls to be like His Son’s soul. Between the ideal that God desires and our imperfection, there is God’s Mercy. There is the welcoming arm of God, held out to man whom He loves so much. God gives free will to every man, to every nation, to the world so that we like His Son, can endure and ask for his absolutory redemption.

Bouquets of life

We offer You bouquets, Lord
Made out of flowers of our sanctity
They are like passing scents
Temporary, shy and delicate

We lay our bouquets of life at the altar
With despair, imploration, request
Wheat and brambles mixed together
Tears and shame wet them …

With love, we put our bouquets of sanctity
With fear, we put those with brambles
We must cross many fields in life
We want to harvest so many crops at once
Greedy and far from perfection

Mark out the paths in the fields for us, without weeds 
Send us an Angel who will thunder resonantly
And warn us, with power, with trumpets
Not to enter the fields with brambles
That attract us.

02.06.2006. During Adoration, at the meeting of the “Faustinum” formation, I heard that participation in a religious formation is very important. The prayers in the intentions of other members of the formation have a redeeming power, much greater than our own singular prayers for salvation. I thought that Lord Jesus Himself came to this world and was saving through other people; He was in the family and then, in a group of apostles. Sometimes it may seem that such a group isn’t very united with the members who are rather indifferent. Then, don’t wait for good reactions to beam a smile, but apply it heartily yourself. For example, you have three children and you are having a birthday and only one of them wishes you all the best. Don’t you think more about those who forgot? As long as you live, your salvation lives as well, because after death, there is only justice, but still, through the prayers of the living - the dead are being saved.

It looks as if our prayers excused them against justice. You are saved through the prayers of others. It is like that with the rest of the children who didn’t come to express their  wishes and they are justified through our love. And hence there are such sudden conversions. This is a real miracle, but doesn’t this miracle result from the prayers for the unbelievers? Jesus needed people to create great things, but He also needed the man who made the cross for Him … In other words, people who make crosses for us are also necessary for our salvation.

Like a child

I want to love You, Jesus, like a lost child
Who, in a crowd of hands, looks for this only one
And although the world lures us with illusions
I want, like a trusting child
To follow You, hiding behind You, among the surging crowd
I want to feel Your hand on my shoulder
And have my ears deaf to any temptation
And my eyes covered with Your hand, Lord
And my will submitted to Your gracious will, Jesus
I know …
It won’t protect me from any suffering
I don’t want to look for gifts which
When touched
Become like dust, lifted up with the wind
I’d rather hold Your pierced hand in my hand
And not carry the colors of this world in my arms
I want to love You, Jesus, like a lost child
Who found the hand that he chose, indeed  
And prefers to wander with it along the desert route
Than to wait, being lost in a beautiful oasis.

21.06.2006 Adoration at the Most Holy Sacrament in my local church in Warsaw.

There were only two people in the church. I was on my knees, alone, in front of the Most Holy Sacrament. I was trying to convey to Christ my problems, and concerns. Suddenly I “hear”: you talk too much, let Me say something. I became silent and felt ashamed. I closed my eyes. After a while I saw a picture with brilliant awesome light, like a photo taken with a very good camera. The colors were hard to interpret. One could say, they were “shining”. I saw a stream in the green landscape ahead and a thick tree, lying nearby. I was sitting on it as a child, beside me on the branch, was Jesus dressed in white clothes. I asked Him to cuddle me. I had a feeling of immense relief and safety, great silence was all around. I hear a voice; you can see that the stream flows like the time in your life. You are motionless, you just observe what the water is carrying along. Sometimes there are dry leaves, sometimes broken branches, some dirt. All these flow on. This is your life experiences, troubles, failures and joys. Sometimes you catch sight of drifting gifts like petals of roses dropped by the Most Holy Mother. Watch out for them and don’t let them pass you by. Try your best to catch sight of them.Years pass by like floating leaves, branches in the stream. Don’t rush after them. You have missed some already. Wait for new ones and learn how to cast away all that have no relevance to you. Don’t lose yourself in bad memories or in the past. The stream will sometimes show you new challenges and new aims. The most important thing is to perceive them. Don’t run after the things that the stream carried past and don’t overlook the grace that is floating by you. You can’t influence time. The past time is like learning to find where tragedies occurred. Look for the gifts - the petals of roses of The Holy Mother. Sometimes they float together with the dry leaves among them. The prayer that is patient will open your eyes. It is not good to see only the things floating in the stream. We should also see its clear current. It is like My Mercy which is lasting and forgives all that has passed by in time, so, you persist with Me and look around as if you had My eyes. Life’s stream is flowing on; it will bring on many beautiful things but also not so beautiful ones. They will be carried with the current of the stream. Endeavour to opt for what is beautiful.

Life is moving

Life is moving along a road; sometimes it stumbles over a stone
A passing man can push Him painfully
It hangs dark thoughts on the trees like Christmas balls
Life would like to forget about them for ever

Life is moving along a road which is so difficult
The sun set long time ago, darkness came round
Without a candle, a torch, on a strange road
Life is searching for light so that it doesn’t get lost

The Rosary in the pocket shines with artificial light
Once  Life bought it in a sanctuary 
The seller encouraged saying: it glows in the dark
But Life didn’t pray on it for long

At dark, starless night, Life is searching for purpose
My Dearest Mother, the Queen of my heart
I am lost in this empty road 
I will sit under a tree and wait out this hostile night

With the Rosary shining like a glow-worm in the marshes
Life sits down and waits for the miracle of a guiding signpost
It whispers: Hail Mary, It touches the pearls
The Rosary started with the cross … and the cross finishes it

And Life fell asleep, tired of Its despair
Only the Holy Mother didn’t sleep, watching over It
How could She leave Life that called into Her?
Why wouldn’t she show the way, so that Life might not get lost?

Life will smile on many roads
On many, It will cry, fall in love, escape
On many roads, illusion will lure
It will whisper: Hail Mary, get Me out of darkness.

09.07.2006. During Holy Mass in the suburb. The value of the prayer doesn’t depend on the place where you say it. God receives our prayers that are sent from any place. For some people, it will be in a comfortable armchair, for some others, it will be a green meadow. We must accept it as a natural praying environment. Unfortunately people sometimes are not satisfied with their place of praying. They assume that in more charming places they will get more inspiration. When they are in a common armchair, they dream of beautiful places. At other times, a common meadow may not be enough and they want a special palace. Man should understand that the most important factor is the essence of prayer; its authenticity, eagerness.
During the Holy Mass I had a vision of a man as a vessel made of glass. There were two openings over this vessel. Black stuff was pouring into a hole and got stuck to the walls. The vessel was filled with evil and dark thoughts. It was an answer to my bad feeling that my mind had been burdened with in recent days. And second opening? What does it mean? - I wondered. Drops of blood were slowly dropping through the second hole. “Somebody” was explaining to me the meaning of this vision. Free will and the mind rule over the vessel. It is us who decide what to fill our hole with. Lack of will, lack of positive thoughts “open up” the hole with black stuff. This opening with black stuff could be opened by bad, insincere people, and we, weakened by their “negative power”, allow them to do it. Every decision, action, resolution should stem from our free will. With the help of prayer, the Holy Spirit and Holy Mass, we receive strength to open up to the “drops of blood of Christ”. They fill us with this power. The decision depends on us; this is the most difficult task for man to shut the opening with the black stuff. Not always can we succeed. Our habits, comfort, convictions, laziness, lack of courage - all this opens the access to the “darkness” of the outside world. And then we live with what is conceived inside us. We tolerate “darkness” inside us because … it is much easier to bear and we don’t have to fight for the purity of the “vessel” of our humanity.

Suffering

It is like a bird that sits on green grass
Oblivious of its beautiful greenery
And suffers from hunger nevertheless
Suffering is like a blind, thirsty pilgrim
Who gave up at the clear running stream
He is at the source …
But he doesn’t see nor hear the humming of the stream
He forgot the words of his prayer
Or maybe he doubts in its power?
Suffering is blind and deaf too
Wrapped in golden paper
Produced in my world of  success
Tied with a colorful ribbon of the mind
Suffering is silent, it doesn’t bellow with pain
A saint should cry over suffering
One teardrop falls …
Then suffering begins to see and hear
It is praying
And Jesus dressed in shining garment, like a High Priest
Gives the water of life in His hands
The Holy Food of the Eucharist
Suffering gets up and goes on in his pilgrimage
Toward the green pastures yonder
Towards the reflection of the sun’s radiance on the  streams.

01.08.2006 I had an unusual dream or vision, requiring a deep reflection. I saw wide alley and people were moving on in droves pilgrims. Some were chanting a chorus. This wide alley, like a tree with branches had many narrow paths on all sides.
I could see a signpost with my name on it. I followed this new path and suddenly. I was surrounded by high, green vines which formed kind of wall on both sides. At the end of this narrow alley, saw a door which was high and narrow. There was inscription on it: The way to God your marker.
I thought about this vision: We converged together again all the faithful followers along the wide alley, like those on a pilgrimage with one purpose and destination. We were a part of and faith. In our faith, however, there is a place for an individual path of or a “Conversation with God”. We receive tasks of salvation from God on this individual path. I thought that going on such a great pilgrimage is an honorable blessing. But we must have the knowledge that we will stand before God alone. Recognizable as individuals. Everyone has his own, mysterious, “Godly” path, because God Himself puts the signpost with our names on it. When and how do we find it? Some people will find it earlier, some others - later. This is the happy path that gives freedom and confidence that God “took pains” only for us when He chose this narrow path, as a branch coming off the main tree.

The name

We come to this world following the traces and essence
Of our parents and ancestors
We wander together with the history of events
We step over the traces of the nation
We make mistakes like others made mistakes
Believing in false truths
We often hide in the crowd
Not sure of where they are going

Eventually the day of maturity or realization comes
When strangers’ footprints don’t lure or match anymore
Then we look for the Way to reach Love
We want to kneel in front of God
How many paths we have passed along carelessly
Following strangers traces
And adopting others tears and dreams as our own
But the heart is still anxious uncertain

God in His Love mysteriously
Assigned a path to us by name
There are no footprints of others
There are only mine and His
On this path, so pure and defined
The beautiful encounter occurs
God tells you about Love
He wants love from you, too

And hugging this truth like a delicious food
You keep wandering through your life
You know already, God calls you by name
You are not … just a footprint on earth.

 

The house of dreams

I dream of the house on a green mountain
With the windows made of clouds
And the door shaped like a mouth
Ready for a kiss
The cloud-like windows protect from the evil wind
Of people’s thoughts and words
The door will not open for the hostile
Guest-comers
My house is overlooking the sun and the stars
It will be guarded by the cherubs in the stork nests
The colored birds will bring the letters
Only the hearty and the happy ones
The colorful flowers will give shadow
The gentle breeze will whisper beautiful stories
In the dream house, I will drink clean water
From the spring of the holy prayers
My heart won’t be squeezed with fear after waking up
The Angel with the silky wings will act as an alarm-clock
The picture of a genius-master will serve as a table
And it will speak through the poetry of the psalms
The dream …
I dream that I climb the stones, shining with the morning dew
I want to get to my house
The silence gives strength to hold on to the protruding rocks
I go through the successive Stations of the Cross of my life
Like in Medjugorje
I stop, I feel tired, I think over the crowning of thorns
My house is high up there, waiting
There are the windows made of the clouds
Which don’t let the evil come through
The door is like the kiss for the tired pilgrim
And along the way, there are the next Stations of the Cross of life.

13.08.2006. During Meditation I felt as if somebody was conveying some thoughts to me. The Eyes of God created the world which is good and beautiful. So, why is there so much evil? From the original sin. Disobedience of the first parents against God. God didn’t want man to “know” the fruit of the forbidden tree. Why? It was not that He wanted to limit the free will of man. He -  God didn’t want man, tempted by Satan, to see the world through the “eyes of Satan”. Satan showed man his nakedness, his defenselessness against the world and the hardship of work. Sin was born. Man gets confused between good, when the world is perceived with the Eyes of God, and evil, when the world is seen through the glasses which Satan put on. Saints know the world of good, but we - sinners are still stumbling over our choices. Sometimes Satan shows us the “beauty” of the world and advices us: do this; make these choices and you will be happy. He cheats and we fall down when we see that such “beauty” was not what was meant for us.
The next day, during the Mass, I saw a man surrounded by space. The text of the liturgy spoke about love. “Somebody” was explaining to me that this space is the space of love. This is your attitude toward man. You meet somebody who is malicious, bad, you look at him and you are protected from him with the “space of love”. Then you try to look through him, get to know him. You don’t pay attention to his words or his attitude, yet you try to understand him. The “space of love” is a gift. It allows you to have distance, but not indifference. Jesus talked with people this way. Paradoxically, this space “protects” you from your own reaction, which is often similar to the behavior of that malicious man. Smile, gentle words flow out of you thanks to this “space of love”. You don’t feel offended; your ego doesn’t show off, no feeling of revenge. You know that you are rich because of the gift of the “space of love”. Is this gift for the whole life? I don’t know, but it is worth asking for it in prayer.

15.08.2006 Feast of the Assumption of the Most Holy Virgin Mary.

Mary’s Child

I am holding out my hands to You, Holy Mother
I put my requests like into the Weeping Wall
I look for Your eyes in so many icons
You are our Consolation, Mary, our Healer of the Sick
Every day I send tens of best regards
From the beads of the Rosary, to protect close ones
And I deeply believe in that heart of Yours
Oh, Immaculate Mother of Perpetual Help
I beseech You for Your Motherly care like a child
I give You all my pains and worries
Because I forget that You are also the mother from this world
And You know every day of our daily life

One day while looking at Your statue
Carved in stone, in a posture so humble
Wet from the rain, like from people’s tears
I heard a quiet whisper; maybe an echo of the raindrops:
I Am holding out My arms to you, with this Little Child
And I am asking, please, don’t do any harm to His Godly limbs
I am His Mother like you are the mothers of this earth
I ask for love for Him, like you do for your children
For prayer, for hugging in the cradle that is made of love
For defending The Little One against a scoffing sin
For the haughty and faithful heart for Him
For the words that bless and don’t hurt Him
And I, The Mother …
Will always help and protect from Evil.

25.08.2006. Adoration in the chapel in Banneux

There was a big lit candle on the altar, next to it; there was a little Holy Host (without a monstrance). There was very little light in the chapel. Only the candle was visible. This candle was prevalent over the modest “dwelling’ of Jesus. Suddenly I “hear” in my heart: this candle was like a beautiful, large apartment in which we “lose” its essence - the place where Jesus is present. The candle attracts our eyes (like great cathedrals), but the most essential in the church is Jesus in Eucharist. Sometimes I watch people in a church. Very few kneel in front of the red little lamp indicating there is Jesus in the Tabernacle.  Being “deafened” by splendid interiors of cathedrals, we forget who is the most important! We just watch paintings, icons, motifs, ceilings sculptures and ornaments of majesty …

Child’s dream

When a child is asleep, a beautiful angel
Sits at his bedside
And covers him with wings like a caring mother
He sends colored dreams, like a peacock’s tail
And puts into the child’s hand
A piece of the sky in a balloon on a string
He fills his dream with the world of fairy tales
Where good is smiling
And evil is wiped off by an elf with a magic wand
When dawn ends the dream like a frost
To a hardly grown plant in spring morning
The child wakes up with a piece of the sky
Recalling the fables, with hope and smile …
The world outside the dream is just an echo of footsteps
Of adults and children
Of those who dream and those in a hurry
Haste and dreams are mixing 
Along the way that is marked with thousands of feet
With many words, good and bad
A big man leads a little one
The angel follows them
The one from the dream
Both the child and the angel smile
They recognize each other …
They both believe that dreams come true
But which ones … they don’t know yet.

26.08.2006 Praying before the Holy Mother in Banneux.

I “hear” in my heart: you ask for graces, gifts. Very often you have already received them (like good health, children, etc.), but you don’t appreciate them. You want such  graces and gifts but you don’t necessarily need them, it is only your “imagination” of happiness. Ask for the grace of love for fulfillment of God’s Will in your life. When you beg for a gift, it may be granted, but will it be important to your life? Will it influence your spiritual development? Will it answer all your questions?

One thing that I fear …

One thing that I fear, Jesus
That I pass by You sadly
When You Are joyously standing on my way
One thing that I fear, Jesus
Is that I could be indifferent, when passing by
While You, suffering, are holding our Your hand
One thing that I fear, Jesus
Is that I could confuse Your wishes
With my dreams
One thing that I fear, Jesus
Is that I may glorify my tears
While Yours flow in vain
One thing that I fear, Jesus
Is that I may stare at my cross
While You, standing near, are falling down in agony
One thing that I fear, Jesus
Is that I may drop down Your Truth
And lose It … and go away
Please stop me, with Your Mercy
Whenever I do it
So that, on my knees, I could grovel
And be searching …
For Your joy, sadness, cross and tears 
And Your Truth.

28.08.2006. The night after returning from Banneux.

This night was full of beautiful dreams, colorful pictures, much telling in their symbolism. The most awesome picture: I saw the face of Christ. The face was so beautiful that one could hardly describe it with words. I have seen many painted faces of Christ. And even the faces painted by genius painters reflect only in a small percentage of what I have seen. The face that I saw was on tulle-like cloth and had a three-dimensioned shape. It was a “living” face, in motion. On the head, there was a kind of cordon (worn by nuns) in green. The green of this cloth covered the forehead of Christ, His cheeks and went down as far as His shoulders. His face was yellow-orange; I had an impression that it was lit by the setting sun. I wanted to look at Christ’s face much longer but it disappeared then I woke up from this unusual dream. I sat up in bed and tried to contemplate the beauty of the face. Earlier in my dream I asked: Jesus, why do you have this green cloth covering Your Head? I heard the answer: to hide My Crown of Thorns. Did Jesus want to show me only His beauty and hide His “symbol” of Passion - His Crown of Thorns? It is strange because I participate in the Stations of the Cross route every week and this divine service is still a great mystery to my soul. The face of Christ in my dream was so beautiful that if I wanted to describe it in a simple way, I would have to say that everything in this face was sheer proportion. The eyes, the mouth the nose were arranged in wholesomeness. I wanted to look on and on, but I heard: you won’t be able to endure this gaze. I was only left with a twinkle of God’s Countenance, in order to remember and reflect upon the Beauty of our Savior.

I search for You, Lord

There are days when I lose You among my daily chores
As if I stood on a desert dune
I felt my way around like in a dense fog
And in my hand … only the fingers
I turned around, searching for Your eyes
This little warmth, joyous in my soul
But next to me - the indifference of human glance
And the usual everyday noise
I try to put out my hands to You
Looking for You in strangers’ faces
In the early morning, when birds sing somewhere out the window
In a slice of bread, being cut for breakfast
In the clouds high in the sky
Remembering the dead, as if they stood in vigil nearby
In the setting sun like a fireball
In the flower that arrogantly sprang up by the road
Hoping that it won’t be trampled on by passersby’ shoes
In a cup of coffee, a casual conversation, a sincere smile
Amid faces that are sad and worried
I call You with my prayer, like with an open window
In summer imploring fresh air to come in
Come to me, God, in my daily chores
And don’t let me lose Your Sight
So that I could be like a ticking clock
Or an hourglass filled with sand
Marking monotonous, mechanical moments
I do want to carry You, my living Jesus
In my soul, in my life
Even if everyday chores weigh on me like a burden.

29.08.2006. On our way back from Belgium to Poland, we visited the sanctuary in Kawnice (famous for its many graces), near Poznan (Poland). At night I had a dream. In this dream I asked my soul what “Mary’s consolation” means. I know it’s a difficult question. Does consolation mean fulfilling our requests? Our dreams? Our healings? Then I am “transferred” to a high mountain near the Sanctuary. On this mountain, The Holy Mother shows me how small the world is from this perspective, how small our problems are. But, Holy Mother-I say - down there on earth, they are important. Then I was banged with the meaning of the word “consolation”. Not all of us leave the Sanctuary with the concrete gift in our hands, like healing, fulfillment of our requests although there are such lucky exceptional ones. Majority of us receive the consolation of the soul, something like power, strength, faith, hoping that we will overcome our difficulties. We still suffer illness but it is the suffering that “doesn’t complain” every day it doesn’t accuse the world but submits itself to God. This “consolation’ is like a transfer from an old, horse-driven cart, where we carry our worries, pain - to a beautiful stage-coach. It carries our soul, which is strengthened with the grace of Mary of Consolation. We must strongly believe and look for this “healing” within ourselves, in order not to overlook the grace. The Holy Mother “gives” us, surrounds us with “the space of love”. We draw life’s strength from it to fight our imperfections, pain, and illnesses.

Searching

Why do you believe when this world is full of disbelief?
Why do you kneel when others run?
Why do you love what is invisible
When others shred the visible world
Into small pieces?
Why do you fold your hands in prayer
And don’t stand in a queue to fulfill your dreams?
Why?
This question sounds in this world
And echoes along like a lost bird in a cavern
Why do some people love God more than themselves
While some others put their lives above God?
When some people search for the truth in silence
Others try to use the noise to deafen
What, in each of us
Is invisible 
And doesn’t let us forget, whether in silence or noise
The question - still painfully stuck inside:
Why can’t you believe, man
That you are a droplet and not an ocean?

The harvest

You say to me, my soul:
I sent my prayers to God
But God was silent
You whisper to me, my soul:
I called to God loudly
But God was silent
You cry, my soul and say:
God doesn’t hear me
And my prayers are hanging somewhere
Between the Earth and Heaven
Maybe the wind dispersed them over the fields?
I answer you, my soul
God blessed your prayers
He sowed your every word on earth
They fell like fructifying seeds
They will grow, will blossom and give fruits
In the place where God wants
Prayer is not a check by name
Sometimes it doesn’t return to a given address
It is like a priceless gift
Out of human mercy
It sows poor fields of people’s souls
It makes a miracle in the fallow
It feeds
God is silent because He is listening
He keeps listening to our prayers.

 
04.09.2006. Before the Holy Mass. During Meditation before the Mass, I asked why it is me who experiences these visions, dreams. Why do I have to write these verses? Then I heard in my heart: it is a beautiful gift, though very painful. The person who experiences such things is somehow removed from a protective layer. Such a person feels everything more deeply than other people, has higher sensitivity. This may be a cause of painful spiritual injuries.

The book

A little package wrapped in colored paper
Is like hope for a quiet evening
Lonely but happy one
Someone has written his thoughts in it
Or maybe has described the life that he dreamed of?
I thumb through the pages, many words, sentences
Will I find myself inside
In other people’s thoughts and longings?
Will I get to know their world?

Poems

They come to me
Like swallows with stalks in their beaks
In order to weave a nest
Why do they swirl around me?
I have no time to jot down all the inspiration
a scroll of records
Move on, please, with the wailing wind
With the rustle of the woods
Further on, to other people
Or just sit on the flowers 
Maybe someone will find you
And will pick you up tenderly
And will love you
You will bring happiness to him
But they buzz like wasps
Just beside my ears 
They accost me and beg:
Please, cuddle us
We are only yours …

 
10.09.2006. Sunday Mass in my local church in Nobla St. in Warsaw.

 During The Offering, being concentrated, I saw the figure of Christ as if He were there instead of the priest. He had light-ginger hair that was shining but was dressed in tattered clothes resembling a beggar from the medieval times. I ask:  Jesus, why are you dressed like a beggar. I heard the answer: because I implore your affection and concern endlessly.

 
Silent love

My love for You, Lord
Isn’t so loud as the singing of The Angelic Choirs
It is timid and withdrawn
Just a few notes that sound with my heart – beat

My love for You, Lord
Isn’t as deep as a ravine
It is quite shallow, like a stagnant puddle.
Only a few beseeching sighs of adoration at Holy Mass

My love for You, Lord
Isn’t so devout as the priests of Your tabernacle
It is quite tiny, yet so grateful
For their hands, in which You put the Holy Host

My love for You, Lord
Isn’t like Sonorous music of a maestro
It is only like a resounding echo
Of the noble sounds in a thirsty soul

My love for You, Lord
Isn’t like Jesus’ despair in the Olive Garden
I just wipe a few tears off my face
In memory of His Passion, during the Eucharist

My love for You, Lord
Isn’t like an apple tree, plentiful of fruit
It is just a little green apple 
Waiting for merciful sunrays

 
My love for You, Lord
Isn’t like the cross on Golgotha, redeeming
It is just a little cross, carved painstakingly
For You - in our daily stone-field …

15.09.2006 Holy Mass, before the altar of The Sorrowful Mother in Riga, Latvia, on the Eve of the Feast of The Sorrowful Mother.

The picture of pieta is beautiful. I contemplate it as the work of art. But the hanging arm of Jesus, out of the Holy Mother’s lap, draws my attention annoyingly. It looks alive, inviting. I feel an overpowering need to touch it and move it up to the Holy Mother. The hanging arm of Jesus is defenseless in its gesture. I hear in my heart: Who will give me a hand? Who will have enough courage to come up to My Sorrowful, Suffering Mother? She is so lonely in Her pain, in this picture. I have an impression that Jesus is waiting. He is still waiting for those who want to participate in His Mother’s grief. Then I hear a quiet voice: giving a hand is not a one-time act of utter compassion. Although. I am dead as a man lying on My Mother’s lap, I will hold  the given unaffected hand, I will pull it and will handle it as a help in salvation. Consider in your heart whether you have the courage? Are you ready to trust me completely yet?
I felt greatly alarmed and ashamed and I reflected upon my own faith. What is it like?

Pieta

I won’t understand Your pain, Sorrowful Mother
I only know the beautiful pietas
I won’t count the tears that You shed on earth
I know only my own tears, sorrowful
I won’t recognize the touch of Your hands
Like Jesus did, Your Only Son
I hold out my hand, to the stony hands
In the chapels where pietas stand
Although the stone is cold
I feel surprised by its warmth
That You radiate to those
Who ask for care, in trust, with love
You look alive indeed
In these pietas
I close my eyes in this silent confrontation
Whispering: oh, Sorrowful Mother
I don’t have to use many words
You are close to me when we are silent
I am giving You, Mother, all my own worries
And You, please, share Your pain with me
And the miracle occurs
In front of the stony pieta
My tears and Yours, flow down to Jesus in unison
I pray silently, not to wake Him up
Oh, Maria, my Mother, the only rock!
And I know, this is Your voice that I hear in my weeping heart:
I’ve been waiting for You so long
My dear child …

The difficult gift

Wandering through life, the pilgrim of this world
Gathers treasures, shining on the way
He pins them to his heart, like precious diamond broaches
Protecting them from thieves who could steal them
And when this careless pilgrim
Loses the short-lived treasures unexpectedly
Shocked, he sits under a tree like a dejected pauper
And will search his empty heart, with empty hands
Sometimes the Angel will send a lullaby known from childhood
To the fearful pilgrim in distress
Then the pilgrim will jump up, kneel down at a small roadside chapel
He will hang his empty heart on an unknown cross 
He will look at Christ who is hanging high 
He will ask Him for a priceless gift of love 
Then Christ … will point to the cross suggestively
And the pilgrim will go on, carrying the cross in his heavy heart
He will ask Mary for strength and courage
So that he could carry it on regardless of mocking and laughing
Of those who look for glittering treasures on earth
And despondent Jesus stayed at the chapel in solitude
With the pilgrim’s empty heart, hanging on the cross
He ponders over the pilgrim’s fate
Does the pilgrim know?
That the cross, being a magnificent gift, though …
Is not the ultimate wing that protects you from pain.

16.09.2006 Holy Mass in front of the picture of The Holy Mother of Ostrobrama in Vilno, Lithuania. During the Mass, I heard my heart: The Holy Mother is like the gate. What does it mean? Gates are usually opened, it was my first association. In front of my eyes, I saw picture of a country cottage. There was a women standing at the door. She spread out her arms, protecting the door of her house, like a guard protecting the house from an evil intruder. Do you understand? - My heart asked. Yes, I understand now. The Holy Mother of Ostrobrama is like the woman who closes, protects the gate of our soul from evil. Indeed, we ask Her in our prayers: Into Your protection we rush … When evil, our passions, evil thoughts, open the gate of our soul, then She stands by and like the woman from the “county cottage picture”, with the power of our prayers, and our requests, She locks our “gates” that we opened to sin. The Holy Mother of Ostrobrama is our defender, the guardian of our hearts and souls. It is the gate against evil.

 
Little, great miracle

Give me peace in my heart, Holy Mother
Give patience for the hours that clocks strike
And let me not make prisoners out of my days
While waiting for a miracle which could change my life
I am just a common man
I don’t know the star where God placed my sanctity
Sometimes when the fog of my doubts drops
I see this star, and run toward it, although it’s so far off
Beside me, life wanders in gray
As if it asked me to find the color
But I still raise my eyes toward Heaven
Waiting for a miracle, like for a holy sign
There are days when it occurs
So tiny that almost hard to notice
I hear singing, joyous, angelic
And these words:
“She was silent and beautiful like spring
She lived modestly, as commonly as we did
She brought God to this world, to us“ …
I already know what to say to my heart
When days are gray, shrouded like a cloud
Look at The One that God made a miracle
She became The Offering for us …
As if we were
The miracle for God.

04.10.2006 Holy Mass. Remembrance of St. Francis.

During the Offering, I had a beautiful vision: a man was surrounded by darkness, a navy-blue fog. Over this fog, arose a great light, shimmering in different shades. Then I thought how lonely and overwhelmed with darkness man seems to be. Suddenly, through this dark fog, a gold-yellow cross, like a star, moved toward  man. This cross resembles the Cross of Jerusalem with its shooting - off rays … Then I heard: ‘this is the only way that man can see the true light - that is God’. The dark, navy- blue space was being filled with golden dots – symbols, I thought. This must be the symbol of the Eucharist. The golden-yellow symbol means the monstrance. I thought man also has his own light in this dark, navy- blue space. This light is like the light of a torch, it lights up only the “close surrounding” of man’s life and it resembles the moves of a mole. The true light is given to man from “above”, from God, through communion with Him in prayer, in Mass. The picture that I saw was not like a poster that spreads out in front of your eyes. I had an impression that I was part of this picture. It was alive, it was breathing. The light in this “symbol” penetrated into every single person, sometimes this dark, navy-blue field was filled with golden symbols, and sometimes its fragments were only like dark space, the golden symbols were missing. Does this mean lack of faith?

Man-made chapels

The soul’s way to God
Isn’t as simple as traveling though the rays of light
We often travel by night
Getting lost in mundane lanterns reflections
When we are desperately looking for some joy
The little chapels beckon to us, but they are … man made
There are no crosses in them, nor Jesus’ Countenance
There is clatter of arrogant people having fun
The shining screens that lure the eyes
The noise that deafens the conscience
Music, flowers, lit up candles
All this makes you believe in man’s vane accomplishment
There, pride sits at the main table
Ambition is ready to rank you
In these youthful exuberance, power and stardom reign
There, everybody is talking in glee …
But nobody hears anybody

In a man’s chapel
Like in a roadside hotel
People, believing in their rights, stop
And instead of love … they get a cash bill
For the candles, the flowers, the fun  
How many man-made chapels
Will the lost soul encounter on the way?
How many bills will it pay with bounced checks
Until its bank account is empty?

In how many man-made chapels
Will the soul leave its hopes?
In how many chapels, will it pray to common people?   
Seeing a beautiful idol in them?
Oh, Heavenly Angel, throw down to them 
The Rosary and the cross while they are on their way
Maybe they will bend down, pick them up and think …
So that they may set off on their journey to Your kingdom, Lord.

05.10.2006 Dream. I am among the very friendly, nice people. Everyone is well-wishing to each other. Somebody says: we are going to the Holy Mass. We are entering a clean, sunny big room; there are no pictures, no candles, and no altar. There is a table in the middle. A priest comes up to the table. I am bemused with the color of the priest’s robe - raspberry-pink! Two other men sit at the table which is covered in white tablecloth and is empty. One man holds loose sheets of paper in his hand. There is some text on the papers. The people at the table look like lecturers. Nothing happens. The people sitting further in the room are muttering something and the priest is answering. This seems to be rather a kind of discussion. I wait a few minutes longer. The man with the papers is giving one to me but the writing is illegible and I can’t read it. I still wait for the Mass. At last I am so irritated that I raise my hand and ask angrily: where is the nearest church around here? The priest, a little confused says; you will go straight ahead ‘there are the ruins of the old town. There used to be a church there.’ Then I woke up.
I was apprehensive about this dream. There were friendly, nice people but it all lacked the Mass, the Offering. There was a nice atmosphere but the people were lacking the Holy Adoration Rite of the Mass!

 
Touch my heart

Touch my heart, Lord
Awaken the treasure there, that time has stunned
Change the thoughts that are corrupted into decay
Revamp them, maybe they will hurt, enliven
How can I find out what is precious in me?
How can I know Your ultimate plans, Lord?
You are the Only One Who can touch my heart
Take it, please, in Your possession
Place me with my heart ready
Be in the Olive Garden, beneath The Holy Cross
So that Your tear could drop onto my being
And not onto the ground beside
Redeem the treasure that You gave me once as a gift
Shake off the mud that time caked it with
Take it in Your Holy Hands
I implore You - clean it, oh, Lord.

 
07.10.2006 During the Holy Mass I saw a picture of The Holy Mother and golden rays around Her. The picture resembled The Holy Mother of Guadeloupe. The rays around The Holy Mother were shining like the Sun. Suddenly The Holy Mother withdrew into the back of the picture. An oval hole, like a door, opened up. Some bent-down people dressed in black clothes, climbing upwards, were moving toward this door. They were carrying crosses in their hands, big and small ones. Some had small, wooden crosses in their hands and they were carrying them like bouquets of flowers, lifting them up. At the end of this procession, a person with a big cross on the back was going. This person was pulling it with some difficulty. I asked: what does it mean? I heard a beautiful explanation in my heart.
These are the dead people who are heading for their world now. The Holy Mother welcomes them. Their crosses which are the gifts from their lives are being burnt in the fire of Mary’s love. These crosses are, at the same time, the protection against punishment for committed sins. Who hasn’t committed them? Their crosses are burnt in the fire of love of The Holy Mother. Maybe they will suffer less because of that? They haven’t cast away their earthly crosses. I asked: what about those who cast away their crosses and then wander empty-handed, with empty backs? I didn’t get any answer. Do they burn themselves and their souls suffer because they don’t have any gifts for Mary? October is Mary’s month, besides, there will be The Feast of the Souls soon. This vision came upon me as a reflection over our daily life. What we are left with is everyday sincere prayer for the dead.

The visit

Once You sent me an Angel, Lord
I thought he was a beggar
I offered him some pittance, a few pennies
And I closed the door behind him
My days passed by uneventfully as can be
And the Angel knocked at the door again
This time I left the door unclosed

He was holding a missive covered in black shroud
In place of a stamp, there was a shining cross on it
I just had one wish
I wished the address was wrong 
He said God sent him with a distressing message
And looking deeply into my eyes
He showed me a scroll with a signature
I believe it was Yours, Lord

God wrote my name and the exact address
As if He wanted my despair to remember
That His Son also suffered a lot of distress
For me, for those that passed away and those yet to come
The Angel embraced me with his wings for consolation
I flooded his feathers with tears of sorrow and joy so much
That he couldn’t fly back up to Heaven

He persevered with me in my sorrow
God’s Heavenly Postman how noble are thou
Teaching me how to live and pray today, tomorrow
For those who passed away too early  
One day, he flew back before the break of dawn
He left a few words on the sheet of paper:
Remember …
About Divine Mercy!

11.10.2006. During my prayer I saw an unusual vista. There were high mountain ranges and a few people climbing drudgingly. Each of them secured with the ropes. In spite of that, they kept falling down. Some bounced back dangling on the rope. In midair, hopeless and defenseless, on the supporting ropes. I saw some ropes breaking. I couldn’t comprehend this vision. Somewhere in my heart I heard the words: only God is holding the main, securing rope. Our ropes denote pride, self-confidence and belief in our own power. These are the “human” ropes that we hang on to, for life, but they eventually fail us. We bounce off the rocks because of illness or the loss of what we were fighting for. God is holding us on His rope - the most reliable one. When we refer to “God’s rope”, we retain the acquisition of salvation; in this case it is to climb to the top of our goal mountain. Not with conceit, over-indulgence and over-ambition. God saves through love, not the law that we would like to believe in, like the laws of physics, or social laws. When we rely on “the human rope”, then we lose our focus toward the most important target - God.

Like a bird

Sometimes You move me away from You, Lord
You watch me critically but with concern
You say,- I give you a day, a month and years
For your acting
For your will

I move around agitated like a bird with a broken wing  
I try to escape into open air only to fall down hard
The Angel protects me from the enemies
The wind is blowing up dry leaves
Like nostalgic feelings from the gloomy past
I can’t see any ray of light around me
Birds are flying up into the sky in exultation
I am waiting

In the darkness of the night I am trying to heal my broken wing
I am frantically groping for a remedy 
For the cross that will serve as a cast’s splint
The Angel or saint will dress the wound tenderly

I don’t want the bone to grow uneven
I hope to fly high again sometime 
And dance around Your Will, Lord …
For it doesn’t break birds’ wings

25.10.2006 During Adoration I saw Jesus in a blindfold. It lasted a fleeting moment. My inner sense prompted me, ‘what you see now is The Most Holy Sacrament.’ And then I heard a whisper: I Am blind when I go to people, I don’t choose the better ones or the worse ones, the saints or non-saints - Love goes to everybody equally… Then I felt a great pain. How defenseless Jesus is in His call for approaching Him, for receiving His Love.

Difficult choice

It was raining, the clouds covered the sun
I was standing at a crossroads
Without a map and no bearing
The roads look so similar
Neither tempting nor daunting
There was no vegetation that could indicate to me
To either go straight ahead
Or to fork right or to the left
But my will was silent
The Angel’s voice got silent
Satan was watching with curiosity
The lonely indifference
Silence without the humming of the trees
The eye of the cyclone of my choices
To go or to wait?
The eyes are blind to the signs
The ears are deaf to the holy songs
Which way did You go, Jesus?
Where did You fall for the first time?
So that You could wait for me
At how many crossroads will You leave me blind and deaf?
So that I wasn’t directed with my eyes, my ears and songs
But despite that I could sense the Stations of Your Falls
My will is silent, my mind is silent, my senses are silent
I hear; ‘follow love’
At the crossroads
In silence
Love has its divine voice

 
27.10.2006 Adoration in the chapel of Sisters of Mercy in Warsaw.

We are praying The Sorrowful Mysteries on the Rosary. I can’t feel the concentration that I usually feel. I just repeat the words of the prayer involuntarily. In the mystery – Jesus is carrying the cross – I see an unusually painful picture:
Jesus is lying in mud under the cross. Other people are passing by as if He was insignificant. For a few painful minutes I can “feel” His suffering. He suffers because of people’s indifference. Jesus is looking at every passerby as if asking for help. I have an impression that He doesn’t ask for help for Himself, although this is He who is being humiliated in this scene. I feel great emptiness and the appalling sadness of degraded Jesus. I have “experienced” this vision only for a few minutes. It pierced my heart with enormous sorrow, and I feel that if I participated in it longer, my psyche wouldn’t stand it and I could start crying out loud. I have kept this vision in the recess of my heart; it is reflected as the blessed seal.

Halfway

Why does man’s love
Stop at the foot of the altar?
Is it afraid of the offering?
It desires but it doesn’t reach
It stops halfway in its marathon to God
It says that it loves
But it kneels too early
Not at the feet of Jesus
But at the foot of its own desire or fear
Why does it believe in sin more
Than in forgiveness?
It doesn’t hold on to the outstretched arms of Jesus
Does it lack trust?
Oh, the soul of man
Dressed in the rebellious body
Give the wings of grace
Don’t begrudge the miracle of the union
Between the Creator and the created

12.11.2006 I had a very strange dream. I was in a strange place or country. I didn’t know anybody. A man came up to me and said that I was going to have a lecture in a moment and he warned that my students were a little strange. I entered the classroom. There were 15 or 16- year-old boys, dressed in black, leather jackets, Iroquois hair, long, black boots. It looked like in hell - I margined. What am I doing here? Oh, here is this woman from God - I heard acrimonious murmur of voices. Then I started this awkward dialogue. ‘We don’t need God,’- one boy shouted. ‘We have freedom, we do what we want, we have computers, cars, and everything is at our disposal. The special sponsor gives us all. Anything we demand is ours.’
I wanted to run away. At the same moment, a voice advised me to stay. I breathed in deeply. I still remember that moment; it was as if I inhaled some divine power of inspection. I said to them: you are slaves of your sponsor. He gives you whatever you want so that you don’t have freedom, so that you are constantly “busy”, having no time to think, and dependent on him. Your freedom is in his hands. He decides how you should live, he gives you his “toys” and you play with them. You are limited in your freedom, inventiveness and self reliance, you look alike and you think alike, like robots. You are like the uniformed androids of your sponsor.
Only God gives true freedom of freewill. He listens to your souls that are immortal. Each one of you is different and unique , has different needs of the heart. Your sponsor’s computers, cars are constructed for the whole masses and nobody thinks about you  as being a special person. You are the mass that is ruled by the sponsors. You are worth as much as your “toy”. And nothing more.
Strange silence followed and I turned around and left the room.

Golgotha of the XXI century

Two thousand years ago, with a cross on His back
Man-God was going
He was injured with stones thrown at him
So that He could die in pain

Two thousand years later
Man-God is still groveling with, the cross on His back
His wounds are bleeding profusely
People are passing by, even looking nice
They don’t pick up stones
They wear symbolic crosses on their chests for fancy and mockery
Sometimes they offer you a morsel of bread
And tell you where to find a hospital
They don’t know any Simon of Cyrene
They are in a hurry
Indifferent …
Sometimes they console, “wait for Christmas or Easter
We may praise You when Your time comes”

Jesus is going along the Stations of the Cross
Of the XXI century
Nobody beats Him nor puts the thorny crown on His head
He stands alone, being an obstacle
When the crowd is running by
People stumble over the cross and the cross bearer
Sometimes somebody shouts:
What are You waiting for? Get out of the way!
And He would solemnly ask
“Where is My Golgotha?
Where are my executioners?”

 

A devout woman in a moiré beret

Leaning on a stick, she is striding heavily
The Mass has just ended
It is her daily feast of joy
Very often - the only one
She was laughed at because of the moiré beret
The symbol of intolerance of simpletons
And she
Has no time for fashionable reflections
Even her own legs are a hindrance
She whispers her litany prayers
She shifts the pearls of the Rosary
She trips around the home
Of her children and grandchildren
She grumbles when they have a divorce
She covers her aching head with the moiré beret
She protects it from the wind of the new world
So that the faith of her ancestors doesn’t fly away
The faith’s glory that is so precious and unchangeable to her
At a daily Mass, there are bowed-down rows
Of the moiré berets who pray
For the scoffers …
She puts flowers at the holy figure
And lights candles under the cross
But there is one thing that worries her
Who will replace her when the time comes
When the moiré berets …
Are rejected by her grandchildren?
And thrown away into a dustbin!

21.11.2006 The Holy Mother’s Offering Day.

I received a very unusual, spiritual “lecture” after the Mass during Adoration in front of The Most Holy Sacrament. The human body together with its emotions, needs, passions, habits – is led by a peculiar egotism. We want to fulfill our needs. This is the physical part of human nature. Man also has soul - the gift of God. This is the soul that thrives as God’s Superior perfection. Common anger, jealousy - these are the physical emotions. When soul is “pulling us up” toward perfection, our body responds to its call through prayer, Eucharist. We become “oneness” with our soul’s intentions. When we are at the stage of higher spiritual development, then we look at anger, jealousy and other negative emotions from a distance. Soul, its beauty as the gift of God, moves us further from our physicality. We know that our body reacts with bad emotions but soul doesn’t permit them to act aggressively. We just don’t want to be angry or furious. We are ashamed of these feelings ourselves. But soul protects us. What is the cause of sudden transformations? One day man acts “bodily”, and on another day, he can’t recognize himself, from his earlier reaction. Now retrospectively, he reasons and acts differently. He is galvanized by the command of his soul, by the command of God. Now there is peace in man. The hymn of love of St. Paul is a perfect illustration of this state: love … is patient …  It is a long process for many of us. We should pray for the grace of acting according to the commands of the soul, the divine identity-code-bar of God.

 

You are strange, my soul

You are strange, my soul
You cry when others laugh
And tell me to wait patiently when others flee
You order me to be silent when people speak
And close my eyes so that I don’t see
What others look at, with interest?

You hear the words that people don’t hear
And order me to see the beauty that is not always visible
You show flaws in the beauty that people adulate
And tell me to pray when others have fun
You don’t prompt me with answers that that others know beforehand
You stop me halfway when I run with others
And show me the unrefined paths when the simple ones are beckoning
And you don’t let me step over the rugged ground

You show me boredom when the party is in full swing
And show euphoria when others feel fatigued
I have hard life with you, my strange soul
To go along through this common life …
And when in the dark I complain about you
That I lack courage and I am not strong enough  
Then, you, with a smile, like a faithful friend
Whisper into my ear:
I do it out of love!

04.12.2006 I was thinking about the process of making the human soul more and more perfect. Then I saw a picture of a regular letter with a postage  stamp. First I didn’t know what it meant. Next there was a reflection. Our soul is like a letter sent to God. The stamp means baptizing; it is like the blessing with Holy Sacrament. In order to make this letter “reach” God, we need holy teachers - priests. They are like postmen who “lift up” this letter higher and higher. Unfortunately, sometimes the soul (this letter) is lost somewhere and waits for … a word, an event which could “lift it up”. Sometimes when God waits patiently for the soul to turn to Him, He finds people or a tragic event that will help to hang this letter on the cross of Christ. Then we are rebellious, but after some time, many of us admit that this event “lifted” us closer to God. The letter - soul, pegged on the cross of Christ – is in the best place. In safe hands! From there, it will certainly reach God. Its final destination.

 
The dream of private Paradise

Woven out of eternal matter
Lit up by an ethereal glow without a source
Like a transparent tent, I could see its occupants
I peered at it closely, went round it curiously
There were angels inside, dressed in rayon clothes
They put beautiful rainbow colour tablecloths on the tables
They chanted  ‘supper is ready’
Mary was arranging flower-pots
With ever fertilized flowers  
The saints were giving Jesus multi colored folders
Probably containing requests from The Earth
Through the ethereal structure of this eternal tent
I could hear exaltation singing

I am not a housemate of this Paradise house
I attempt to sweep the dry leaves of my sins with a rake
I am like a guard that was given an order
To clean up the palace
I am waiting for the flame of prayer from The Earth to kindle
The flame that burns the heaps of dry leaves, redeeming sins
The impatient dwellers of Purgatory are waiting
Until their heaps are burnt to ashes
The flame will clear up their paths to my private Paradise
I am watching the flames of prayers
And even take care of a little candle-end which I blow up
I keep raking dry leaves into a heap in discomfort
There are so many of them in my dream, Lord
Between Purgatory and my private Paradise.

 
09.12.2006 It seems to me that we are all born as souls similar to each other and we  possess equal opportunities of development. During the mass I saw a picture of the same genus of trees in the field. Some of them have develop rich-deep roots with abundant height and foliage while others had shallow roots, but yet grew equally tall with rich foliage too. Still, some having deep roots, remained dwarflike. I believe that God only knows the ‘roots’ stature of individual human beings souls and what crop of spiritual development they produce. Therefore, we are incapable of judging or assessing rightly what other fellow human spirit-souls  bear. The social, economic, spiritual or dogmatic orientation, stature disposition do not practically denote what the ‘soul caliber’ of an individual is like. How ‘soul caliber” is grown during man’s passage through life may not show in the outlook! 
Maybe poor spiritual growth of a man with strong roots is assessed by God more severely? God gave man an immense variety of spiritual growth in this world. Some people waste these graces (strong roots), some others, in spite of weak roots, grow more than they are able to. This is the beautiful plan of God for our souls, free choice in growing, in perfecting ourselves to achieve our potential and beyond. Prayer, Mass give graces for the weak, and those who are strong (deep rooted) could be misfortunate in this world without growing towards God, because of their vice and a false feeling of power and freedom.

 
I ask for a helping hand

I ask the saints for a helping hand
On my winding way
Please steer me at the road bend
To the right direction
Please shield my eyes from distraction
Looking at the splendor
Which burns the heart without candor

I ask the saints for a helping hand
When I sit down, tired
When the fog covers the signpost of hope
Lift me then, oh, holy hands
Even with the use of force
Lead me, oh, holy hands, like a crippled child
Who sometimes gets blind
From day to day
Show me the holiness of such a day
In the corners of daily life
Please light just a small candle-end
It will become a glow-worm rife
On my pilgrimage way
And I ask the hands of  my all great saints
Please, abide with me, faithfully
Even when …
I don’t give you my own hand.

 

Good words

Why do I see more when I close my eyes?
Why do I feel Your Love strongly when I open my heart?
Why words are for me
Like stones in the field?
It’s so hard to express the true feeling with them
Mix up my words, Lord, with Your hand
Put a transparent veil on my eyes
Let my words be according to Your words
And let the veil protect me from iniquitous thoughts
Give me sometimes, Lord, a thought as pure as a diamond
So that I may gather only good words around it
Let them be my star-guide to adoration
Although a common sinner
Devised them.

27.12.2006. Just before the Holy Mass I see a picture: Cross-bearing people are heading to the altar. The icons of Christ are on these crosses, with the face and the silhouette of  every person approaching. Some silhouette icons on some of the crosses have thorny crowns on their heads while the others don’t. Some silhouettes have pierced hands, legs, sides, just like Jesus, the others have their bodies without any wounds. I think about this vision and try to interpret it. We are sinners and we constantly hurt Jesus on the cross. Jesus redeemed us for all our sins and took them on His body, as it can be seen on the Turin Shroud. Or maybe each of us receives a cross for his pilgrimage on this earth. And on this cross we mark our own sins, we whip and hurt Jesus. Not all of us have the same sins. There are people who don’t hurt Jesus with anger, blasphemies, and they don’t put on Him a “thorny crown” of their sins, thoughts and passions. Their Jesus on the cross is not so cruelly wounded. Maybe, as late as on the Judgment Day, we will see “our crosses” and what we did to Jesus with our lives.

A Dialogue with an angel statute

He was standing in a square in Rome
Carved by the hand of a great artist
His wings were darkened from smog
Rains have carved their own tracks on him
The angel’s eyes watched the bouncing pigeons
‘Look at me” I demanded
He looked …
His stony eyes spoke:
Angels don’t have luminous wings
Or white gowns
We pay visits to the hell of your souls, so often
Our gowns get ragged
From your lusts, sensualities and vices
Our wings are weighed down in sorrow
Angels hands are callous and strong
From wrestling with you righteous ones as a tag team
Against principalities of Hades  
The legs are wobbly from tediousness and pain of running
Along your thorny paths of transgression
Since we are united with this human world
We often wear faces of your fellow men
We speak about love through the hearts and mouths of men
We dress your wounds with their hands
Our wings, that are under a common coat
Have been hidden by God Himself.