05.01.2009 While observing people, especially the elderly ones, it occurred to me that many of them look back into the past, consider past problems, return to their life’s tragedies and think about them.

 
Life, I thought, is like existence in a large, lit up room, and we, while getting closer to old age, should slowly “turn off” the lights. We can’t pretend to be young and remain in the “light” (problems that the young ones wrestle with).

Depending on one’s age and experience, everyone has his “light” to bear. What has passed, still exists in the darkness, and looking to the darkness, we often experience a feeling of loss (hard experiences of the Poles). Sometimes we retrogress to the time of our youth (nice moments) and we act awkwardly, pretending to be young. Our life’s path is lit up “in front of us”; we must accept our failing, our ageing and even the feeling of rejection by the younger generation. The old, the young, the children - they all have their individual paths. It’s good to have the awareness of the “turned off light” of the past,  so that we could move toward the light that is still on for us and shows the way. Otherwise, we could get lost in life.

Those who “give away” their advanced maturity to God, will not miss their way because they realize that they do not have to cry over spilt milk. They don’t despair over their lost youth because you only live it once. There are people who dwell melancholy of tragic moments instead of giving their experiences to God and go ahead. I remember the opinion of one elderly actress; “old age is not for the soft-hearted”. We can see that the awareness of man, who is “coming to his road-end”, requires a lot of wisdom and courage. Hiding in the past (darkness) could make us overlook the light that is still turned on for us.

Help me

Enmeshed in sadness, like a spider in its own net
I ask You, Jesus, please disentangle me
And you show me Your sad face

I carry the cross with daily problems unwillingly
Please cover it, just for a moment, I beseech Thee
Yet, You show me the bruise of Your fall

I miss love - I complain
My heart turns icy, strange enough
But You point at the thorny crown

I look for joy, like dried-up grass crave for moisture
And the sun of life scorches me mercilessly
But You show me a sponge with vinegar

What do You want to tell me, my Savior?
When You are fed by us with ingratitude
With sadness and pain

I hear a quiet voice, being muted by the organ chords
Help Me, like a sister, close to My heart 
And not like a chance visitor, invited to a feast.

 
13.01.2009. During Adoration, I tried to “talk” with Lord Jesus about matters that bring reflection and moments of depression. Suddenly I heard in my heart: ’I am here as long as you suffer, and your suffering is not justified.’ I understood that the people who suffer are those who “keep” Jesus on earth as their guardian. I thought that unjustified suffering occurs when it affects the innocent; it is like a burden which they carry (like illness or failure). I was  thinking about the essence of prayer, what it is, how it gets us closer to God and what it should be like. Then I heard in my heart, ‘one tear of penance is more precious than hundreds of words.’

  Next I heard in my heart, ‘You spend donkey years to gather treasures on earth but it takes a thief a minute to steal them. Spiritual treasures, your 
prayers, good deeds, and your mercy toward other people - these are the treasures that I am the guardian of; this is the gold that I keep in My treasury and I protect, and no thief can steal it.’

 

The Picture

Among the leaning towers of this world’s values
Lies evil, smartly dressed 
And also, good is covered with rags 
There I look patiently for the truth for my soul

I surround myself with silence, like with hope
And throw my smart clothes off false concepts
I set my heart and mind free 
And let them straighten up the leaning towers of values

I turn my eyes to the picture of Jesus
And look at His hand where the rays are flowing out 
Jesus’ robe is a simple convent garment
His bare feet, with nothing to cover

I bow to Your feet, Lord
The feet that are ever ready to follow man
Bearing a message of God’s Mercy
Even when there are thorns and rugged stones

You are not standing, Merciful Jesus, like a pretty icon
Mounted on a temple wall ready to be honored and adored
The painter painted Your feet in everlasting motion
As if You were running out of the frames, to people

I can feel Your holy haste
To bless our human time with grace
Like a farmer, in the midst of a gloomy fallow
To give people the manna of Mercy, out of Your  seeds

 I bow to Your feet, Lord
You lift me to Your heart, on the rays of Love
And bless me with Your hand, like a priest at the Mass
And adorn me with Mercy, of Your holy seal.

 

Like a spark

On an ordinary day, carved with daily life
A thought came to me, like a holiday fragrance
What is the prayer that you transmit up to God?
Is it like words, thrown to Heaven as token of wishes?
Or thanksgiving, stringed into pearls of the Rosary?
Or the grace, given to the heart, not out of deeds?
And maybe it is a spark of a soul, burning with love?
Or maybe it is the great silence for meeting with God?
If you are the word, my prayer, so please become the living word
And don’t dissolve in my mouth
If you are thanksgiving, don’t let complaints intercede
If you are the spark, please light up the fire of my soul
If you are the silence of expectation, please tarry with trust
If you are just one tear of penance
Let me taste these tears every day
Your mystery, my prayer, I will not penetrate
You are amazing when I touch you with my heart
And my heart opens up for the voice and will of God
The silence becomes the encounter
The word becomes love
The tear becomes food
Thanksgiving becomes happiness
And The Holy Spirit lifts up my soul to God.

 
22.01.2009. We meet people that they are non-practicing Catholics, although they believe in God. They say that they can pray anywhere, not necessarily in church.
While thinking about such concept, I had a vision of a dark field, overgrown with various plants; there were beautiful flowers surrounded with weeds. This field is like our world around us, full of different ideologies, and values, thriving evil and good trying to fight evil. Literature, film, mass media etc, have significant roles in this dark field. They teach but also demoralize. Little children get to know the world of adults through the screen and Internet. It is not the learning about good aspects of human nature but rather more about the bad ones. Through the screen, we learn about many ambiguous problems that we would never encounter in our average lives. Today, parents have a difficult educational task because there is so much insistence on tolerance around and on compromising values. Everyone who tries to fight for moral standards of life is criticized and tagged as intolerant and living in the dark ages. Weeds outgrow beautiful flowers and demand that they, (weeds) deserve equal right to co-exist. More and more people fight for the right for abortion, euthanasia, artificial insemination, proclaiming beautiful slogans about everyone’s right to happiness whatever it means. Even at the cost of others. People who exclusively rely on ‘truths’ that are popularized in our world, become lost. The noise of the world’s truths makes people dizzy. By attending the Holy Masses, by reading the Bible, by praying, we receive a ray of light from The Holy Spirit. It falls onto the dark field of the values of this world, which are mixed up and inconsistent, and gives us the light to see the values which are essential for our own salvation; for living in accord with our conscience that is shaped by the authority of the teachings of Christ. When people pray just anywhere and avoid The Mass, confession, penance and testifying, then it is like “wishful praying” to God of our own wishes. Then we liken it to a “shop”, where we want to buy something good for us. The Mass is - the holy food that makes us choose the good things from this “worldly field”, we endure by it (often with difficulties) and we cast away the poison which disturbs the world of God’s values. There is no such field, even beautifully flowered, where we can get to know God’s will and the message that He has for our lives - without the light of The Holy Spirit that flows from the altar, from the confessional.

 

Flowers on the paved road

Every day I lay the flag-stones
Of my own way of life
I learn from my mistakes
We were given one chance
To build our way of life
And we are the authors of just one book

Sometimes I look behind
At the rough road
Paved out of feelings that life brought over
I can see its uneven corners
As if the constructor didn’t have patience
I can also see the mosaic so beautiful
It amazes with its craftsmanship of laid-on flag-stones
This is the part of the road, built in sober silence
With prayer in the heart for peace for my soul
But the greatest enchantment is evoked
By the mysterious flowers that grow magnificently
Among the leaky flag-stones  
I haven’t sowed you, and I haven’t watered you
Who is the cultivator of this beautiful adornment?

   They flowed down, I hear, from the seeds of God’s grace
Your tears and love lifted them towards the sun
They are the gift for those who patiently
Build their roads out of the offered flag-stones
How many flag-stones will You give me, Lord, and how many blooming flowers
You surround these human questions with a mystery, Lord
Giving hope instead, to the builders of ways of life.

 
The Gate of Faith

Once I went through the Gate of Faith
The Eyes of Love were leading me
I stared at them, hope-bound
I followed them like a pilgrim, unaware of hardship ahead

Behind the Gate of Faith, there are diverse paths, mountains, deserts
Sometimes I got lost in the stony grottos
And thick fog, like a smart enemy
Was beclouding the eyes of Love

I strained my sight, when veiled in darkness
I looked for consolation, like the rising sun
With the wind from the desert, singing a beseeching song  
I found the Eyes of Love on Temptation Mountain high

The loneliness of these Eyes, full of Mercy
Was like diamonds of Heaven, in the darkness
And although I felt scared, I was learning the truth
Our Lord, on Temptation Mountain, was redeeming  people from evil

I will be with You, I whispered with humility 
I shall change my human fear into penance
Then His Eyes, covered with sadness
Filled me with strange joy that I didn’t lose Them

Then my soul was speaking to the Lord
About the Olive Garden suffering, and the road to Calvary
About how many hard paths there are behind the Gate of Faith
And how many mountains of temptation and lack of faith we must face

 
The desert wind was throwing up sand into my eyes
And I heard voices say: there are easier ways
But even in the great darkness and lonely grottos
I will never forget Your Eyes, my Jesus

Once I went through the Gate of Faith
And though I am weak and hungry for the world
I feel that a hand is leading me, stronger than the world’s temptations
And the most faithful Eyes of Love watch over me.

 
03.02.2009. ‘What can you offer Me that you haven’t received from Me before?’ These were the words that I heard in my heart during Adoration. It made me think more deeply about its meaning. Jesus offered Himself on Golgotha for us, He redeemed us or colloquially speaking, He paid off for us. He redeemed us because for God, we are the value as people who have immortal soul that is granted with many graces through Baptism. God, The Absolute Creator, sends us down to earth, within the stream of His graces and gifts. We make the value for God: for us, He sent His Son to suffer. We can’t offer God any gifts or graces because we are not their providers; they come from God. It would be as if we returned a present to its donor. We were offered gifts and graces to be generous with. This is our godly deposit. We can offer God our gratitude and joy for this deposit and be contented. How are we going to avail it, being gifted?  It all depends on our free will. We received wealth in the form of our talents. What do we do with it? How do we transform this wealth for the benefit of others, with our own hands (with our own free will)?

The Holy Mass is the Offering of Jesus to God, our gratitude and joy for redeeming us against evil, for the gift of immortal soul. Many of us use God’s gifts as if we were their donors or owners, who use them for our own pride. People’s pride often “kills” God’s gifts. The gift of talent, wealth, may become a curse to an egotist. If we receive a complex talent of suffering and give it away to God, then we could be gifted with new graces, like the grace of bravery. The Holy Spirit is unusually generous to those who accept God’s will. And the gift of free will, given to us by God, obliges man to make choices - either we choose our own free will, which often leads to sin, or God’s will - which saves our soul. Saints and those who suffer in silence, without a protest - are a good example of this. They receive many graces that remain a mystery. They couldn’t do much by themselves. What can you offer Me, man that you haven’t received from Me before?

 
What can I offer you?

 
What can I offer You, Jesus
That I haven’t received from You?
I can look into my soul with the eyes of faith
To see with my heart, the talents You poured in there

I want to grasp every gift of Yours, like a priceless treasure
And surround it with ardent meditation, so beautiful and sublime
And decide with prudence
How to make use of it

Shall I dig it into a barren soil, out of fear of a loss
Or multiply it,  out of love, and offer to others?
You gave us free will, Almighty God
And strew graces upon us, with the hand of Love

We, people, are so weak, blind, hard of hearing
Only appreciate Your gift only after we’ve lost it
We buy counterfeit love with it
Joyous in pride and glitters of this world

We buy ornaments that lose their glamour and decay
And then, hungry and homeless, we seek rescue
Not with You, at the offering table
But in the earthly bank of ruthless accounts

With quavering hands, from lack of hope
We look for the coins to liberate us
What can a poor man buy with this money?
A chunk of the world, a tomb – but not his salvation.

 
The scales

Do you know how much a tear weighs?
The one in despair and the one in joy
How much does love weigh and offering and devotion?
Can a word be weighed?
Such as love, faith, hope
How to recognize a sincere smile
And an ordinary grimace of the face?
How to distinguish a helping hand
From the one that gives nothing?

There are such scales
Where we put what is the most attractive
That man can weigh  
But no earthly scales can weigh …
It is the cross of The Savior
Where God estimates with infinity wisdom
Human mercy and justice
According to the Mercy of God.

15.02.2009. Exposition of The Most Holy Sacrament for Adoration at the side altar. Most people kneel down in reverence but there are some who pass by or make careless gesture of a cross sign and don’t care to venerate or kneel down for a moment. It is very painful for me and I apologize to Jesus in my heart and I hear, ‘I Am not a photo that is put in an album, as a token of remembrance of rigid religious practices. I AM still alive, but many of you forget about that and they show me their honor, as if I were a photo or a relic while My wounds flow with living blood on the altar. Your eyes don’t see what My Heart feels.’

 
I will come to you

I ask You, Jesus, help me
And You point to Your hands, nailed to the cross
I ask You, Jesus, come with me
And You point to Your legs nailed to the cross

I ask You, Jesus, give me Your Love
And You point to Your heart, pierced with a lance
I ask You Jesus, pray for me
And You point to the thorny crown, stuck to Your head

Take out the nails, hammered with your sins, man
And I will come to you
Purify your heart, polluted with mistrust like with a lance 
And you will feel My Love

Stop the time under the cross on Golgotha
And grasp my wounds’ essence every day
Until your pain joins Mine
Then the dew of My Love will bring you rest.

 

 
Return

We ask You for graces, Lord
And You crucify our plans
We feel rebellion, like a prodigal son 
And choose our way, out of free will

When we fill our purse with silver
And decorate our walls with diplomas and ambition
Then we feel strange loneliness in the heart
And often return to the empty house

On the way that we’ve chosen ourselves
There are no crosses with Christ and holy pictures
Only people, always rushing and indifferent
Counting mechanically, bent down at the screens

On the way that we’ve chosen ourselves
Our tears mean weakness, with no value
The station that we are heading to
Has the word “success”, written on the platform

We see people somewhere on the roadside
They kneel at the cross, in humility
A thought comes to us, like a vending angel
Maybe we ought to stop by them and think?

Why are their faces beaming blissful smiles?
And their knees, bent in obeisance?
Why aren’t they ashamed of their own tears and others?
How much power does Christ give them from the cross?

It’s an illusion that there are roads without crosses and sharp stones
Overgrown with flowers only
Where God Himself puts a cross into our life
And also sends down Mercy and heals

If we chose the way, like the prodigal son did
We are sure to meet human executioners on it
And their crosses and nails, prepared for us
Are like killers, if without the grace of Resurrection

What sense does the human way make 
That the prodigal son followed?
There is hunger, loneliness, animal food on it
And longing for Father … in his heart

There is clear light that illuminates  
On every trail, even the darkest one
God Himself comes out and lights up the lamp  
So that His prodigal and lost children could see their way back.

 
22.02.2009. Adoration of the picture of Merciful Jesus in the cathedral in Plock, on the 78th anniversary of its revelation to St. Faustina. During this beautiful ceremony, I was plunged into inner silence.

The Silence of Adoration

Silence is like drops of God’s rainbow
Made up of colorful images inside the soul
Still unfinished, imperfect  
Like a painter’s brush strokes
Creating a great work but still dissatisfies
In silence we paint the image of God 
In the soul that is unquiet, immature 
Longing for God’s absolute 
As long as we live 
We band together drops of the rainbow colors
We paint God’s eyes to look at us 
The ears, to listen to our soul
In the Silence of Adoration, invisible God
Becomes The Person – Father
We paint Him with colors of love, despair, martyrdom
We efface the already made contours 
And look for the right colors again
For the new, beautiful feelings 
The Silence of Adoration resurrects the soul
Out of the body
The soul is like fabric and it waits 
For an artists 
Oh, Silence, adoring God 
Ever being deafened with unnecessary words  
Or with ignoble acts
Please protect the soul from the noise of evil
So that God Himself, The Master, could help
Create His own portrait
On the fabric of the soul.

I promise

Cover me, Lord, with the wings of Your angels
And with the sword of Archangel Michael
Let my heart be devoid of dark fears
In the cradle of the angelic wings

Let me hold on, with my hands 
To the joyous angels and beautiful
And let me leave the sorrows of this earth 
Even for a tiny, little moment

Let the Heavenly hosts lift me up
Toward the world without pain and tears
So that I could know the love of all of Your saints
And then, I promise to come back to earth much stronger, Lord.

 
03.03.2009. One day when I was saying the Chaplet for the Divine Mercy, it occurred to me that it is the most beautiful prayer that God offered us. We shouldn’t say the Chaplet fast, just uttering separate words. In this prayer, God waits for our beautiful, human gratitude for His Son’s Passion. God already offered people everything for their conversion. He offered His final gift - His Son. He doesn’t have any other gift for us. He speaks to us with His final gift ‘I gave you My Love - My Son, to suffer terribly.’ How great God’s Love for people is!

When we say ‘I offer You the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Your Beloved Son, our Lord, Jesus Christ; then we speak to God, asking for Mercy for us, for our sins. How difficult it is for us to be merciful for our oppressors. God gives us a great gift - the words of the Chaplet for the Divine Mercy. I think that it is a great beseeching prayer. Priests know its power or value when it is offered for a person who is dying. So it is important to meditate deeply whenever we say it. Every word is God’s gift with great significance. When we say this Chaplet slowly, with love, we should think about Jesus’ Passion, about the miracle of God’s Mercy which forgives us when we offer His Son’s Passion to Him.

When we say the prayer of the Chaplet, we should feel union with God in our heart, like a child who beseeches Father to forgive trespasses and he strongly believes in His unconditional Love. The Chaplet is a great hymn of covenant of Merciful God with a weak man, it is the adoration of the gift of Mercy.

The next day, I was having Adoration in front of The Most Holy Sacrament in my local church in Warsaw. It was nearly 3 o’clock p.m. the hour of saying the Chaplet for the Divine Mercy. There were a few people in the church. It occurred to me that there were so few people at this particular hour. Maybe very few people pray the Chaplet, too? Then I heard in my heart, ‘At this hour, I Am ready to pour My Mercy over millions of you but only a few wait for My Mercy. Time will come when millions will be waiting for My Mercy and only a handful will receive It from Me.’ How important the Chaplet is - I thought. We excuse ourselves with lack of time but those who have time, also neglect this prayer although they could pray for God’s Mercy for other people.

The pearl

I write my rhymes with fair words
They are like little coral gems close to my heart
I paint Your face, Jesus, with my eyes closed
I can see the old-fashioned robes and the beautiful hands

How can I describe with words, my desire of Your closeness?
What eyes shall I paint for You
So that I could sink into them?
How can I get closer to Your anguish?

Is there a poet in this world  
Who could contain Your beauty in words?
Is there such a talent
That could really paint Your face?

Human works of art are short-lived and mortal.
Sometimes in dreams, a good angel will show us  
And open the Heavenly world for a moment
And a gentle breeze will touch the soul and move the heart

Then the beautiful words flow onto the heart 
Like man’s prayer, in great ecstasy 
But it lasts a moment, like a flash of light in a storm
We come back to daily life on earth, but with a Heavenly gift

In the heart, we have a shining pearl so precious
It came out of the most beautiful words of spiritual prayer
And the image of God, carved with the chisel of Love
With the Heaven’s hope that I will never forget It

I want to keep feeling these euphoric moments so gracious
And discover again, the gift of the pearl for my soul
And see Your image, Jesus, so bright and so pure
And feed myself with Your closeness, in the gift of the Eucharist.

My Eden

When You come to me, Jesus
In the Eucharist
My church changes into a little Eden
It becomes a garden, on a beautiful hill
And is adorned with light and beautiful colors
I think my soul paints in my heart
This Eden, so unusual …
I stand on the hill, among the living flowers
The morning welcomes the waking birds with dew
The fragrant air is full of my happy childhood
I stand at the door of a lonely cottage
Like a soul, ready for a visit
You come up to me, in white robes 
A golden belt adorns Your gown
And though I can’t see the endless sea but just a little brook
You, Jesus, whisper: ‘Don’t be afraid to walk on the sea

There are days when I try to lift my soul
Up to the hill of my Eden
But she, washed in the earthly, gray morning
Climbs up the hill, painfully and wearily
I look for You, Lord, up there in my Eden
Dressed in a pretty gown, with a golden belt
But You stride, tired, with the cross in Your hands
You make haste, for there are so many stations ahead
I kneel at the threshold of my cottage — soul
And You, in spite of Your distress
Feed me with faith, the nectar of love
Then I feel stronger, coming back from my Eden
Down to earth, to my life of hope
And I hear Your whisper, like a precious last will:
More courage and trust, I Am at the shore 
Be brave and stride towards Me, over your sea.


14.03.2009. During meditation after the communion, it occurred to me that faith is an immense grace and we shouldn’t waste it. Faith can’t exist only within the sphere of our feelings or sentiments — because our feelings are inter-changeable.  Different events in our life can transform our feelings, from great ecstasy to abject despair. We also can’t “learn” our faith through own mind — we can’t just sit and study scriptures and holy books, accept by mutually debating    it to become … a believer in God. Faith is the grace and we should pray for other people … to assume the of grace of faith. When somebody is granted such a grace ( I often see people going through transition or conversion), they become faithful to Jesus eventually, although there are still many impediments ahead of them which can erode their faith, especially during the period of post-conversions . In such situations, the Eucharist, confession, encourage or provide strength. This is the power which is above all rational or sentimental arguments.

                                            
We can’t react with impatience, anger, or criticize people who are non-believers. Our, practical life should be a good example for them to follow. God has His plan for them, too. Our prayer for them — is our ordained Christian duty. We don’t know their souls. When we base our faith only on feelings or sentiments, it may not become durable. We should keep learning about God, about saints and understand the teachings of the Pope and the Holy Scripture. As Catholics, we must be enlightened, have argumentative discussions with non-believers, and more importantly, we must have courage to proclaim our faith. Jesus was healing the body in order to heal the soul. The soul can’t see God unless it is healed … healed with the grace of faith.

Great Miracle

We demand new miracles from You, Lord
As if the cross of The Savior
Were not the great miracle

Prisoners of death, we beseech for the miracle of healing the body
And the soul, defiled with sins, despairs
And fades slowly, without love

We wait for signs and gifts on the spot
Uniformed in conceit, with petitions in our hands 
Why is it so difficult to kneel down?

Jesus left the holy words in the Gospel
Dust covered the Book, its letters faded
Yet we — write our own books

Oh, people, so deaf and blind, hungry for miracles so much
Every day, near us, a great miracle occurs
In the offering of the Holy Mass, in the Eucharist, for all to gain.

 

Stopover of Silence

There are so many sounds, pictures and noisy words
That surrounds every man
So many enslaving ideas and thoughts
Which make the world amused, hurt, rejected and attracted
Like a thread of yarn, pulled into its texture
It evaluates us, criticizes, lures, makes us pay dearly
And we, often defenseless and willing, yield to this game

Sometimes, to know the world better
And cast away false playing dies
It’s good to go to the Stopover of Silence
And get to know ourselves better
Frozen in silence, like in a protective shell
And repelling the acts and ideas of others
We listen to the heart that beats stronger

At the Stopover of Silence, engulfed in our own silence
We can hear our thoughts and the eyes can see more
The words of others are no more luring to us
Our conscience is not beclouded by the crowd’s mutters
At the Stopover of Silence, loneliness does not cry
It teaches us courage
For the wise friendship with this world of ours.

30.03.2009. Many people, even the practicing Catholics often frown upon the “cross” that touches their lives. While thinking about it, I “saw in my heart” a Rosary ... and its consecutive mysteries. But this is the life of Jesus. If Jesus didn’t leave us but still lives among us, it means that He “repeats” His life in our XXI century, He suffers, transfigures on Tabor Mountain etc. He touches our lives with His life, each of us, separately. So we have the period of joy because of Jesus’ birth, His getting lost ... just as it is in the Mysteries of the Rosary. There comes time in our lives, when Jesus appears in the Sorrowful Mysteries. He “visits” us in our lives, sometimes when we are not prepared and a tragedy occurs , just like with Jesus going along the Stations of the Cross. If we “accept” Jesus’ visit in the Joyous Mysteries, then why do we protest when Jesus wants our “company” also in His suffering? He offers us His trust that we will be together with Him. From the human point of view, it is difficult because doubts arise, but when we are to be believers of Jesus, we must also follow His life along the Stations of the Cross. We shouldn’t reject Jesus in our lives, when His face is sad, when He suffers, when He enters our houses with the cross.

 
In the arms of the Cross

Once I approached God like a child
I looked for consolation, signs
He was listening, I was talking …
But the day came when the shadow of the cross of Christ
Came closer to me
And marked my life with a cross
Words sank to the bottom of silence
The cross of Christ and mine embraced each other
In a merciful hug
Now God was speaking and I was listening
I didn’t shout out of pain
Embraced by the arms of the Savior’s cross
I was listening in stony silence
I didn’t want to deafen His words
My shouting would knock my cross down to earth
The cry would pull it out of His merciful arms
I would become a grave full of sorrow
Bereft of hope and love

I stand in the shadow of the cross of Christ
Sometimes I raise my head high toward Him
And ask, like a jilted person: why?
He points to His blood and wounds
And answers my question with a question:
Why?
Once I was speaking to God and He was listening
Now, in the shadow of His cross, I am standing with mine
God is speaking and I am listening
Sometimes we have a  dialogue
I hear words  of wisdom in my heart, I see beautiful pictures
He feeds me with the Eucharist, and His reverend Gospel
So that I could prevail in the shadow of His Cross
In Adoration of His pain, His suffering 
In faith and awareness that He is the Savior of the world
He is the answer to every human question
The healer of people’s wounds
The Mercy that co-suffers with us.

The Miracle of human life


Although I am sinful and not humble
And so humanly … human
My days don’t flow along with a melancholic current
And no miracle comes out of them
There are the days or perhaps just moments
Which transform our daily life
And the scenes so strongly entangled in our life
Become so immensely great
 
Well a stranger passes by with no grumble
With God’s smile on his face
A sparrow lands on the head
Mary’s statue by the church wall
The sparrow chirps loudly as if it wanted to chat with Her
Some old women, with passion debate their pressing plight
Of their secret family squabbles
A nun by the altar moves silently, like an angel
 
And common gestures like a daily meal
At some moments, they become so sublime
A talk, like others, as ordinary as can be
Suddenly becomes a mutual confession, with no confessional
There are days when such moments appear
As if a great artist painted them
They flow down with grace of seeing the beauty
In man’s common daily life
 
There is Great Love, somewhere under the clouds
Like Father, It watches over its children
We just have to raise our heads  toward Him
And listen to what He whispers to me, to you, to everyone
And while listening to His words, we will spot the beauty
Locked in daily life
A smile, an ordinary conversation, a pleasant gesture
Even a bird on a stony statue
Oh, just a miracle of human life.

Birthday

I wanted to send you a whole basket of roses
But I thought they would fade away and nothing would be left
Therefore, I send you good words, they don’t wither so fast
But as long as we live and celebrate our next birthday
I wish you many happy years
Like the ones that ordinary human life provides
The days that you will appreciate
Because of simple gestures, friendly smiles
A helping touch of a hand, dinner ready on the table
For friendly words of people that remove sorrow
For your close friends and well-wishers
Whom you always can hug tight

You must know that there are many roses in our life
But we, often in a hurry 
Catch the flowers by the thorns
And when irritated with pain, we overlook their heavenly beauty
In daily common morning
In a boring hustle of the streets and even in cat’s meowing
In a coffee-cup, a little battered
Which loving hands put in front of us
How beautiful a journey with no destination can be
And the memory of the ones who are in love
And the look at the sky, and the sun
The touch of a tricky rain that just started
When you have no umbrella with you

Let life lead you with respect
For the beauty that it offers    
Invite God to this life of yours
Thank Him for His Mercy 
Through a simple, daily prayer
And repeat it in the morning and evening
Whenever you notice its beauty...
Be always with me, Lord  
Because I am Your child.

02.04.2009. During Thursday exorcising Mass, performed by Rev. Szymborski, for healing, I felt a childlike, happy joy, as if I were at a wedding party. I saw in my heart a vision of people in the church, dressed in long, white robes. The atmosphere was light and solemn. The gray robes were gone “This is strange,’ I thought. Why? — I heard in my heart,-‘Indeed, you are the guests at My Feast, at the Tabernacle. I dress your misery in a wedding gown.

I understood that by coming to the Mass, we become the wedding guests. Jesus is the Bridegroom. Our robes (I mean the spiritual robe) should be solemn, light and we, the guests, should be full of love, sharing with Jesus our holiday joy of participating in this unusual encounter that the Holy Mass is. The experience that I had, was, as if it were a continuation of the previous day when after the Holy Mass, during Adoration, I “conceived” a poem: “Like a bridesmaid”.

Like a bridesmaid

I would like to follow You, Jesus
Like a bridesmaid after her Lord, The Chosen Bridegroom
And see the hem of Your gown just before my eyes
The sign of Your holy way

Human eyes and legs, so weak from transgressions
Must rest for the night to envelope them 
At night the way is hard and dreams make sanctity sleep
It is easy to get lost

Human voices fierce and bold, wake me up
They point to the way, marked by the world
They flash bills and tempt with affluence
The holy road disappears beyond the fog

 
But the heart is vigilant, joined to the soul
It awakes longing and hurts with memory
And demands to be watchful and sends the prayer
And points to the way of The Bridegroom again

 
And you wait, Lord, for those asleep by the world’s night
Not in the wedding gown, anymore, not glowing with light
But with the cross on the back, bleeding with our sins
On our human roads

 
How many times do I fall asleep, Lord, because of the night of weakness?
How many times do I lose the hem of Your wedding gown?
How many times do You wait for me so that I never get lost
With the cross on my way? 

 
I would like to follow You, Jesus
Like a bridesmaid after her Chosen One , The Vibrant Bridegroom
Give me, Lord, the patience of vigil in prayer, on my knees
So that I never by-pass Your holy way.

Grain of Love

I passionately kissed the cross one Good Friday
And rubbed the olive skin on the feet of The Savior
How alive and warm the wood of the cross was
Like fresh baked bread in the hands of a starving pauper

 
The rustle of feet of the faithful, clambering to the cross
Sounded like a beautiful symphony to my ears
I couldn’t turn my gaze away from the wondrous cross
And I heard in my heart … I crave for your love

Calm in meditation, I stood, like a tree after a storm, quiet
Unknown love covered my soul
Tears were flowing down my face, I felt no despair
With this gift, God wanted to move my heart

I received Your gift, Almighty God
And wrapped It up with prayer not to get frozen on the way
I tender it every day, in the offering of the Holy Mass
So that You could see, Lord, that I never lost it 

You sowed the grain of love in me
Give me the grace of growth to blossom and be fragrant
And when I wrestle with the Goliath of temptation and sorrow
Please, abide with me and don’t let me get separated from Your love. 

20.04.2009. Before the daily Mass I was thinking why I felt so lazy, so weak that I intended to skip the Holy Mass on Monday. But I resolved myself. After the Holy Communion, I perceived in my heart the answer to my doubts. The body succumbs to different weaknesses — old age, pressure, health limitations ,etc. but God’s Spirit in man is ever fresh,  free from these limitations, independent of age. At a young age, when our bodies are physicality more active, we are often conveyed by the “spirit of physicality” we do what is convenient for the body and what it expects us. So there is a lot of activity. We succumb to the “laws” of the body. We devote so much attention to the body. We don’t listen to the inner voice of our spirit. There may occur a lack of balance .between the development of body and spirit. The “limitation” of our physicality caused by natural short-comings makes us reach deeper into our human inner self – into this beautiful gift from God, that is still young, skillful, providing beautiful thoughts and reflections over the sense of life. We are surprised to see the ill, disa1bled persons having so much inner strength and joyous spirit — they turned to the gifts of The Holy Spirit. They are always reviving us. So when we yield to the laziness of the body and mind which excuses our unwillingness to do good deeds, and maintain pious thoughts — then we should refer to our beautiful, young spirit inside us and trust in His power. We should give away our “ailments” to him and he will lead us to these areas of our humanity which, through prayer, the Eucharist, will show complete value; and bring peace to our turbulent, at certain stages of life, disabled or disorganized body. Then we will be rewarded with inner balance and our physicality will not dictate to us what to do.

 
To a conceited man

You think that you don’t need God
You are strong and well-educated
You defeated so many giants in your life
And surmounted barriers that fate blocked you with
You are surrounded with luxury, your account is significant
You give gifts to many foundations and charities
Sometimes you even throw a coin or two arrogantly
Into a beggar’s pan of pittance
People adulate and lick your boot
Good man, noble — you hear all around
Pleasing smiling faces gracing your banquet table
And life is serene, worth living to you

But when love touches your heart
And a good person takes possession of it
Then your self-conceit, strangely ashamed, goes away
Your strength becomes little and defenseless
And you a know that no fat bank account can buy it
Nor can your renown opulence and command
This love is beautiful but demanding and non-corruptible
Either you accept it as such, or cast it away
You may want to acquire or covet it desperately
Or entice it with gold and bouquets of flowers
Until love itself tells you:
You must carry the cross along with me, too!

 

You, Who Are In Humility

It’s so easy to say: I love You, Holy Mary
And so difficult to put together, in the prayer of life
The pearls of all its mysteries, the gift from God
So easy it is to agree with God’s will
When the warmth of gifts enliven the heart
So difficult it is to hold the Rosary in the hands
In the Sorrowful Mysteries 
Our Rosary of trust and fidelity gets broken
We keep repeating: Hail Mary; we lose words
We shift on, with impatient hands, the pearls of events
Where despair, infidelity and illness reign 
Blessed are You among women
You, who, in humility meditated over the mysteries of Your life

You, who stood at the cross and followed the Mysteries of Your Rosary of life
Help us say patiently, with dignity
The whole Rosary of our lives
All of Its mysteries  
And when It gets broken in our hands
Shaken with pain, It will fall out of our hand
Please give It to us, re-link the pearls, cover it with the coat of Your graces
And be with us until the very end
And repeat for us: Lord be with you.

 
Where shall I look for love?

I thought that love is like beauty
Just by its very look
It sows goodness
I thought that love is visible
Like the sun in the artist’s landscape
But it is not like that….
The sun and beauty glitter but love is missing
My heart began to look for love fervently
Not in the glare that makes you dizzy, not in deceptive words
It happened, like a adept detective, seeking the truth
In man
I discovered love in a sermon of a country parson
Tormented with a chronic affliction
He knelt with difficulty, as if pressed down with a hefty cross
I saw a desire to pour love on 
In a gesture of a handshake as a sign of peace
In the eyes of almost a hundred-year-old woman
I saw the poor sharing love with each other
I heard love in prayer
I felt love being transmitted from the healthy hands to the sick ones
In hospitals, hospices
This love didn’t shine with the beauty of the world
It wasn’t dressed in colorful clothes
It was the grace in man’s heart
Like a gift from God that no currency can buy
Often nailed to the cross of illness, of devotion, of humility
If you want to touch, to know the truth about love
You must get closer to the cross of Jesus
Because without the Truth of His cross
The beauty of the world glitters.. but love is missing.

04.05.2009. Medjugorje. My most successive pilgrimage destination place of prayer in the world, where the Holy Mother appears before the seers and passes on Her messages.
There were debates concerning the authenticity of apparitions envisaged here and millions of pilgrims regardless, still head to Medjugorje, seeking direct contact between Heaven and Earth.
Adoration of The Most Holy Sacrament - it is the most solemn moment in Medjugorje. In the church, pilgrims densely converged, shoulder to shoulder, muttering in different languages, different cultures of behavior, color of skin, various life experiences — just a piece of the world that is tightly woven in the church of St. Jacob; it was hard to turn around and there was an overwhelming mood of peace,  prayer, we had so many problems to convey to Jesus. But man is only human; he suffers from various pains, inconveniences. Jesus, I say, ’How beautiful and difficult Adoration is in these conditions.’ And then my heart, I perceived the answer. I heard, you adore Me with your love, but at the same time, you learn how to “adore” man beside you, as a beautiful person. Without this love toward your neighbor next to you, without respect and tolerance for his “difficult” presence in this dense crowd, what value would your love for Me have?
I looked around and experienced a feeling of unity, nobody was irritated, and everybody smiled despite inconvenient motions of kneeling worshipers that were tightly squeezed. I felt joy of being among these people that I would probably never meet again. No complaints, no irritation. The Holy Host on the altar joined all who were hungry for Jesus’ Love... but also for each other’s presence, as people who have respect for the mystery of the value of each man.

During Adoration, it occurred to me that The Holy Mother wants us to love Jesus as someone who is like a beloved close relative. May women and men love Him with the love of mother, father, brother, sister. May they think about Him constantly and want to offer Him beautiful thoughts and behavior. Indeed, we are ready to devote a lot, for someone that we love in the family ... Jesus is as close to us as our own child or brother. Jesus is invited  to our human family. We shouldn’t leave Him behind at the altar in church, but let Him live with us; in our poor or rich house. What is most important is that He shouldn’t cry because of us, and shouldn’t suffer, so that we could apologize to Him four wrongdoings, the same way as we apologize to our beloved ones. In Medjugorje, near the church, there was a figure of Resurrected Christ and for the last few years, pilgrims have been touching and wiping the liquid that is leaking out of the statue, with their handkerchiefs or tissues. I pray to Jesus and, like others, I want to touch these spots. Pilgrims take these wet tissues to their afflicted ones in their countries. It is one of the marvels of Medjugorje that is not explained by the local church. When I approached the statue, like others, I heard, this handkerchief will touch His body but not His heart.’

Mary of Medjugorje

There is such a place on earth
Chosen by Heaven, sanctified with the feet of Mary
Enriched with the words of good messages
The place of graces, conversions, longing — Medjugorje

The place where once goats roamed
Today people stubbornly go on to pilgrimages
To the crosses that mark the places of the Apparitions
To the hope of touching holiness

On these hills, they leave letters, photos
Their tell-tale traces, messages for The Mother
About their lives, desires, sorrows
Oh, Mother, they ask, please come and read ..

Hope that is walking by, lifts up the ill
Higher and higher, over the stones and pieces of earth
The body that is anxious to experience the miracle of healing
Believes in the power of the place where Mother was standing

You came down, Mary, on a little cloud, on Podbrdo
And look anxious from Krizewac Mountain
You bless and collect our “Hail Mary” in Your hands
Like a ransom for our sins

You take all this to Your Son, so that His merciful hand
Don’t strike  this world with justice
Look, Son, You ask, at these pilgrims
Wait, there is so much love in You

Medjugorje, stepped upon by millions of feet
Filled with daily life, songs and prayers
Be the field of hope for the doubtful, thanks to Mary’s graciousness
Be the blessed peace for those who believed.

Pilgrimages with my angel

You have been trailing after me, my guardian angel
For many years gone by
And being a gentleman from the Heavenly world
You don’t reproach me with my age
Maybe you thought, she will repose at last and will sleep a bit more
And I will take a little nap of tranquility
And will clean up my wings more carefully and rest

But I, a few times a year
Take you on my pilgrimage venture
And harken you to get up at dawn
And let you slumber deep late at night
We have visited many sanctuaries together
In the crowd, in the heat, tired or hungry sometimes
On our knees, we worshiped the Lord and His Holy Mother

You had to carry me on your wings
To Podbrdo Mountain and high Krizevac
Because my bones wearily succumb to fatigue
On the desert, in Bethlehem and Jerusalem
We worshipped the traces and words of Jesus
We drank water from miraculous holy springs
Knowing that it would strengthen the body and spirit

I still have the memory of the holy relics, on my mouth arid hands
In Kafarnaum, I felt Jesus so close  
As if time forgot the passing years
In San Giovanni Rotondo, Father Pio
Constantly receives letters, prayers and requests
And He sends back the answers
With the miracles of conversions and healings

You were with me, my angel, in the Grotto of Archangel Michael
You had time to talk with Him
While I was fervently praying
He must have given you some advice, on how to lead my soul
Along the holy paths, towards God
I can feel it now, whenever I turn to a wrong direction
And you  lead me to the cross of salvation

We have passed along so many sacred places together
You, my faithful companion, my dear guardian angel 
You learned how to listen to me, and I, how to listen to you
And now I can hear your voice, too, when you cordially ask:
Let us kneel in Adoration, let us plunge into silence
During our human pilgrimage to our Savior
And may your soul worship this holy moment.

09.05.2009. Recollections in Olsza (near Lodz), Center of Love of Martha Robin.

There are many beautiful and difficult subjects that we discuss in the group - the value of prayer, our own nothingness; trust in the loving arms of Jesus, spread wide open for everyone

We were finishing our recollections; our heads were full of thoughts, meditations. I heard in my heart,’ Yes, My arms are wide open for you … but I also expect that when I come up to you with the cross, full of pain … then you will also hug Me with your heart and console Me …,’

Whom would I be?

Whom would I be
If it weren’t for Your Love, Jesus?
Would I be a creature, craving for food, sleep, fun?
What would  the cross?
It would be mere wood made of pine, ash or acacia trees
What would my prayer be like?
Just the words that are gone with the wind
What would the world be like?
Just chirping of birds, a storm, a frost-bite climate or fear
Who would another man be for me?
An indifferent companion on the way
Or just another face with a smile or tears
Whom would I be?
If it weren’t  for your Love, Jesus

Your Redeeming Death out of Love
Opened the Way with the flames of Your Heart on it
I set my heart on fire with it and light up my soul
I move toward the light …
It alleviates human pain and man’s transgressions
I see life and the world as Gift
I kneel by the living cross, not  before an acacia tree
My eyes reflect my sins
My ears echo Your  cry
Your Love touches my heart
My life desires Your Word, Your nourishment
Whom would I be?
If not for Your Death, Your Resurrection
Whom would I be, Jesus, without Your Love, without the Eucharist?
Whom would I be?

When I see

When I see frost in somebody’s eyes
I don’t think, you are a bad man
Once, someone changed your tears into icicles
And now you see the world in a distorted mirror
 
When I see indifference in somebody’s eyes
I don’t think, you are a bad man
Once, someone hurt your heart painfully
And this wound still bleeds much
 
When I see anger in somebody’s eyes
I think, who taught you this anger?
Wasn’t there anybody near you, man
Who could hug you with love?
 
We rush blindly and deal wounds
And evil like cockle, litters our lives
Broken families, aggressive children
Nobody thinks about prayer
 
But there is the Doctor, greatly Merciful
He changes the frost in your eyes into hot tears
He cures indifference with plasters of love
And appeases anger, even the great one
 
You, the hurt man, just remember
When once, on a beautiful day in May
You received Him, dressed in white
He still watches over you
 
It is evil that makes you forget about Him
And gives birth to a friendship of man and sin
It is evil that whispers to you stubbornly, every day
You are lonely, man
 
Come out of the crowd of those who hurt others
You stop, let them rush on
Look for a lost Rosary of your Grandma
And believe, in prayer – no one is lonely.

 

25.05.2009. Before the Feast of the Pentecost

.

The Light of Love

 

Who are You, Holy Spirit?
You appear like a flash of light in my life
You revive from unknown eternity, like morning dew
And light up the mysterious longing in ordinary, daily life
My soul soars up towards Your light
And recognizes the seal of God’s Love
And gets pulled out of this mortal world, like a prisoner
With the little light towards Heaven
Up there, in the Heavenly space of His Majesty
In the world of His holy laws
The soul enjoys reprieve and absolution
And is engulfed in boundless love
And the Holy Spirit rocks her like an innocent child
Pure, beautiful music is all around
The angels’ wings  lift her up
I hold out my hands that desire this beauty and grace

The Holy Mother catches them with grace
The hands clasp them like hungry birds
For the final food that feeds the famished
She cures wounds with the balm of Her hands
She writes down in the heart, the longing for God
I return to earth at this unusual moment
Protected by a light breeze
I can still hear singing of a sonorous choir
Surpassing any rendition, no musician could perform on earth
I hold my soul in my hands not to fly away
Desiring to ever last in this loving embrace
Like in a dream that came to pass
We still have time here on earth, my soul - I explain
You experienced consolation in the Holy Spirit
Please sing His praise with human hymn of gratitude.

 

30.05.2009. Day of concentration in Derdy (St. Faustina lived there), near Warsaw. I took part in Adoration and I was not very focused. I thought about the beautiful park in Derdy and the statue of Merciful Jesus. When I was approaching the statue  ... I saw a beautiful smile of Jesus from the statue, full of warmth and love. I had an impression that He wants to offer everyone some grace. And indeed, it happened so. I received a grace during Adoration ... the grace of a peculiar confession without words.

Confession without words

 
In a little chapel in Derdy
Where Faustina’s spirit is still alive
In Holy Adoration
I experienced a strange confession, without words
As if my soul flowed on to the altar
Recognizing the blessed place there
The body was left behind in the pew, slumped
Like a statue, ashamed of its nakedness

Hot fire went through my whole body
Started by a strange breeze
It came back to the altar, seeking power
The cross with Jesus, penetrated my body
A strange surge of pain it up in my heart
My soul yelled  like a wounded man
Great atonement for my sins burned in this fire
I was just  like a speechless statue …

My heart was filled with gray ashes
Sincere penance engulfed my memory
Tears cascaded down my cheeks like a mountain rapid
I and my soul craved the indulgence of Jesus
I was all engulfed  in this mystical moment
And let out my soul of embrace of my body
Go, I whispered, and rest in the arms of Jesus
May His Love … ever bless you.

 

Letter About love

I love You, Jesus, on days that are gray and dull
Or when the sun shines and I feel the joy of life
In suffering, I also love You, Jesus
You Are the dearest Doctor of my life

 
I love You, Jesus, when my soul is tormented with solitude
So intense that I fade away in my own Olive Garden
Perverse Satan evades my heart with bad thoughts and fear
I wage war with him, for death or eternal life

I love You, Jesus, when I see the beauty of nature
I feel safe in Your all-welcoming embrace
Also when there is nothing but emptiness in me
When uncertainty plagues my soul … if You are near me

I love You, Jesus, when I look at the cross
I want to relieve Your hands with my painful sigh
And support Your wounded legs with my anxious heart
And take the thorny crown off Your holy head

I love You, Jesus, when I hear people’s blasphemies
I want to shout out loud: have mercy on us
They are so miserable and don’t want Your Love
Please don’t cry, Jesus, I am beside you

I love you, Jesus, when I sink into the darkness of deceit
When I see immorality and sin in their sharp frames
And people around explain that it is a sign of our times
Then I feel Your sorrow and want to beseech You with prayer

I love You, Jesus, when You wait in the monstrance
For Adoration of the faithful, for their sincere prayer
So many people have no time for You, today
And You, the Prisoner of the Tabernacle, are here every day

I love You, Jesus, when I meet beautiful people
Dedicated, faithful priests and monks
My heart is filled with loving sweetness
At these moments, my soul rests in Paradise

I love You, Jesus, when I kneel in front of You
Surrounded with the fragrance of wonderful bouquets
Do I hear Your voice, or just the humming of angels’ wings?
And the words: I desire more love ... and not the withering flowers.

08.06.2009. After the Feast of the Holy Trinity. Before the Mass, I thought about the people of success who distant themselves from God, church and prayer. About those who “use life” thanks to their own creativity or talent. And those who feed on the “fruits” of this world and they themselves assume they are insurmountable… owing it exclusively to their personal genius.
I saw a vivid picture in my spiritual imagination. The space was filled with colorful circles, like children’s balloons. Some were soaring high and flying lightly and freely in space. Others were drifting close to earth; they clustered to it as if they lacked power to rise up higher, or rather didn’t want to, and they bounced off against one another, searching for something.
Suddenly, somebody entered into this space. The balloons near the ground started to pop, others leapt a little higher. There was a handful of scrap rubber left, out of the popped balloons. Those that were flying high were still spacing higher, thanks to a strange force that was protecting them from danger. I tried to interpret this strange vision. The balloons near the ground - were like those people of success, looking for fruits of life to consume here on earth; the collectors of everything good that could be benefited out of this earth, thanks to their own enterprise and strength. This strength could be impeded by bad luck, accident, illness - and this earthly idol becomes…a handful of scrap, it put trust only in himself …Those who put trust in higher power, in God, are soaring up toward Him, high into the space; they receive strength from Him, (thanks to this strength) they can tear themselves away from the danger of being “trampled”. Even if they happen to be touched by evil fate, they don’t lose hope (thanks.to their trust in God).They soar higher and they don’t become this defeated handful of scrap devoid of air, that is egotism of conceit.

On the Day of  The Holy Trinity

I asked You, Lord, to speak to me inside my heart
On the Day of The Holy Trinity
And You, on this day invited a group of children
Painfully experienced  by fate

Blind, helpless without their caretakers’ hands
They read the Holy Script, one boy sang a psalm
At the end of the Mass; they said good-bye to the faithful with songs
Joyous, about love for You

Although I didn’t hear You voice inside me
My heart was as talkative as an excited teacher
Beautiful love, I heard, is when you are ready to carry the cross
Along the way that God Himself chose for our salvation

Love is like these blind, it doesn’t see a smile
You can’t cheat it with superfluous gestures
Love evaluates actions, not man’s words
Love is humility, the quiet lady, gentle and patient

I thought about graces that God gave us
About our oblivion to thank for them
Somewhere here, there are disabled people, children
Maybe they carry a heavier cross for us?

There were the blind children, standing at the altar
A testimony of humility of their Way of the Cross
They were like an icon, painted by the hand of God
For our memory, to assess with love, not with our eyes.

Diamonds

You want to win a lucky number in life
And brag about power, wealth and strength
And when, at last, fate sends you such a diamond
You watch over it every day and protect from a thief

It becomes your lord, and you are its slave
You make sure there is protection, safes, locks, codes
But when a thief wants to steel it
Will get smarter than your locks and codes

And you have no power, wealth, splendors any more
The safe of your life becomes empty
Don’t be afraid to lose such a diamond
It was just a stone, hard and insensitive

Look for more precious treasures
The diamond for eternity, not for a life’s moment 
It is the one that pours peace into your soul, and lives in the safe of your heart
It is The Merciful Lord, Jesus, in the Holy Eucharist

You will be rich with goodness, like a royal child
Not like a slave of earthly diamonds
He will take care of your common, daily bread
He is the food of power, and not a hard stone.

12.06.2009. Day after the Feast of Corpus Christi.

Before the Holy Mass I was thinking about the strength of our faith. In my imagination, I saw a house with beautiful roof, with deftly arranged tiles that stuck to each other tightly. The roof (faith), protected us, provided confidence and security against the outside world. So what - I heard in my heart, it takes one broken tile and the roof starts leaking; so one broken tile is enough to make our house get flooded by rain … with just one transgression – induced by evil – our abode could get flooded by a deluge of rainfall and all our meticulously built life could come crumbling down.

How much vigilance we do need for our faith in God to survive as a safe roof! It requires constant  care and watching over our hearts and the tendency to overlook our faults, even the smallest ones.

Desert

 
You took me out, Jesus, to a desert
To the freedom of meditation of my heart and soul
I stood frightened against this freedom
The heat of the desert’s day tormented me, cold nights chilled
Hot prayer intertwined with shakes of cold
My heart was set afire early in the morning
At night, it was put out with ice and loneliness
Spiritual wind, like a desert sand- storm
Swept out emotions and thoughts without strong roots
A light breeze set new layers of thoughts
I saw a beautiful landscape of undulated dunes
I looked for a grotto, the oasis of tranquility
Absolute silence chanted a  strange song, a hymn of the dessert 
I kept on my pilgrimage in great hardship
Holding out my hands towards the warm wind
My soul and heart striding in great silence
The laws of this desert were no strangers to them
I heard no human voices, no consolations
Only the rustle of the moving sand
A strange struggle was going on within me
My soul and heart were like guides  in this fight
Thoughts and old problems seemed to be futile
Like the ballast or obstacle in this hard pilgrimage
And then sleep came, like a grace in distress
For the soul and heart, so tired of this way
It lasted just a moment when I was on the desert of my heart
And You showed me the treasure … of the union with Your Heart
And although my strength was still very poor
To cover this spiritual pilgrimage, with no grotto to protect
My heart remembers it and asks every day:
Where to draw the source of strength from?
Which are the sources of life that we shouldn’t drink from?
So that we, pure and strong, could return to our pilgrims’ way
To the desert of our own heart.

Prayer After The Communion

I received You in the communion, Jesus
And still feel the physical taste of the Host in my mouth
I received You, Jesus, with my heart
Which became calm, gentle and merciful
I received You, Jesus, in the communion, with my soul
And have become quiet in Your arms
And remained kindled with love
You lit up my body, heart and soul
With the candle of Your eternal life
Little flames are still burning in me
I ask my body, spirit and soul
Please, stoke and spark in one high flame again
And keep it burning on
With the memory of the Eucharist in my mouth
With blissful peace, with Love
And keep burning with the memory of You   
May this Gift fill up my daily life
May it awaken my senses when I transgress
May it warm up hope when I do good
Oh, Lord, give my whole body, heart and soul
The eternal memory ..
Of Your presence in me!

 

15.06.2009. I was missing the Holy Mother of Gietrzwald (the only sanctuary where Holy Mary appeared, and was acknowledged by the church authorities) and this wonderful sanctuary of peace has so much greens around it. During my first stay in Gietrzwald, I had an impression that The Holy Mother was like the supreme landlady here — like the Mother who cares for Her children with spiritual food, but also with the security of daily life. In this sanctuary, I clearly felt the caring hands of The Heavenly and earthly Mother my first visit, two years earlier. My sagacious husband suggested going to this sanctuary, but I didn’t know why I wasn’t very enthusiastic. I felt some anxiety about that. And what happened next on the Day of the Feast of Lord Jesus’ Heart, an acquaintance called, reminding me that there was a pilgrimage to … Gietrzwald! How strange! The Holy Mother of Gietrzwald invited again! And it fell on the Day of The Feast of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. Well, it was a sign I had to respond … We are in the sanctuary, just before the Holy Mass. I talked with The Holy Mother in my heart, I apologized to Her for my spiritual “laziness”. I heard in my heart,’ but you responded to My call’ I had a strange impression that I was invited to a feast, a strange feast.   
There was a table covered with a white tablecloth, white empty plates … I heard in my heart, ’I invite only those that I have chosen’. ‘But Holy Mother’, I said ‘All children are Yours; You would like to invite all of them. ’Yes,’ she answered,’ But there are these, whose hunger is satiated by the world; they don’t feel the need for My Food. They are satisfied with what they receive from the world. My food of graces is peculiar food ... it feeds, but in the heart, it brings about a constant need of … getting more and more spiritual food. It is the spiritual hunger that can’t be satisfied’. I understood that Mary feeds us with the Love of Her Son. If we experience it deeply in the heart and soul, even for once, then we will be anxious to consume it, digest it, feed the soul with this Love, all of the time, but the soul will be still not satiated.

Mother Mary’s food arouses great longing in spirit; it desires to be close and safeguarded. The world may satisfy hunger of the body, of feelings, but does it evoke spiritual longing? Well, it evokes shallow desire and shallow satisfaction which leads to oblivion.

I heard a prayer

There are days without holy signs that excite our hearts
Only ordinary ones, like a tillage behind a plough in the field
We must fill them with drudging work
Even a prayer becomes just empty words

Sometimes a common day sends a miracle to us
A sign, so holy, that it bends our knees with joy
We stretch out our hands to Heaven, like a lonely tree
The prayer flows out of the heart and the mouth can’t catch up

I saw an a venerable aged man on his knees
In front of the holy picture of Mary
In an empty church, praying eagerly and fervently
And was sobbing like an abandoned, defenseless child

And it would be nothing strange
If it were a woman with emotional outburst
So rarely do we witness praying aged man in tears
They want to be tough, even before God Himself

Oh, Mother, he whispered, my Only One, the Holy One
And his voice was re-vibrating all over the empty church
Be with me, I live only for You
Oh, Pure Lady, Honorable …

How much grief he must have been afflicted with, be fate
How many disappointments he must have experienced in his days
How much man’s pride, life must have smashed in his life
Before he knelt down at last, and cried before Mary’s picture

It may be useless, I thought, to fight for survival
It may be useless, to have gracious intentions
It may be useless, to work hard and be tough
When, in life, we lack the blessing of The Holy Mother.

 

20.06.2009. How great God’s love for man is and what actions are undertaken to bring man to this love — this is what we don’t know. It’s God’s mystery. We, people, know only our own hearts, often selfish and trying to do our best to mass profits. There are good people among us, we say, who have angelic hearts. But man occasionally falls down as a sinner, makes mistakes and gives up. If he happens to know how to love, this love is always being connected with human nature. The nature of God is different. What connects God and human love is what I was thinking about, before the Holy Mass. I looked at the image of Merciful Jesus. Yes; it is He, The Merciful who is the connector. Mercy joins God with man, like the pearls of a Rosary. Merciful Love of God is a gift; it justifies the sinfulness nature of man. If he beseeches, it forgives him his trespasses. Human love, even the near-perfect one, thinks and feels within human capacity. God’s Mercy is a golden chain joining man. It is God’s Mercy we depend on; we want to excuse ourselves of our sins and imperfections. It is thanks to God’s Mercy that we can reach for God’s Love. He is always ready to respond to our call. We, like children, must trust that He will not reject us. God’s Mercy wants only our trust. Without this wonderful mediation of the grace of God’s Mercy, we will not know God’s Love. I think that God’s Mercy is like a beautiful palace chamber, where God Himself invites us through His mysterious Love.

Litany about life

I pray to You, Lord
With my sorrow, joy, despair and hope
With my daily life and solemn days
I pray to You, Lord
With my thoughts, love, my poems
With my cross, hope and faith
I pray to You, Lord
With falling raindrops and rays of the sun
They testify to sounds, harmony and the light
That are more beautiful than words
I pray to You, Lord
With humming of the gentle breeze on the leaves
Sounding like an angelic choir, whispering: praise The Lord
I pray to You, Lord
With the year’s seasons, with time gone by, with my ups and downs
They taught me how to die, to pass on, and to be born again
I pray to You, Lord
With the litany of my life that You invited me into
The life, arranged with the mysteries of annunciation:
Of  faith, hope and love
Lord, You are the author of this litany
The composer of its music
Give me good hearing, eye-sight sensitive heart
So that I could understand and interpret the words of this prayer
According to Your will, not mine.

Journey

We are sent on a mysterious journey
Devoid of passports, visas and stamps
We crash down to Earth in crying pain of our birth
Straight into the hands of our conceivers

It’s high noon of life when we set out on our journey
Like travelers with a baggage of faith the promise land
We learn to surmount crossroads, bends
And confuse directions of the travel plans

We withdraw in fear when face the crosses
Somebody put them there once like boundary-posts
This is the route for courageous pilgrims through life
Not all of us have courage enough to start this journey

We look for busy places and good, old routes, well known
Where pilgrims of life have piled for years
We build a house on sandy soil
Although there stands a high and beautiful rock nearby

 
Life’s afternoon casts long shadows
And they shroud colors that we liked so much
And what seemed to be a treasure in the garden of life
Looks now like a dwarf, with faded paint on

And though the legs are weak, the heart uneasy 
We gather prayers for storage a new journey of life
Somewhere on a narrow path, a lonely Pilgrim passes by
Wearing a smile full of love, He invites us to a new land

It is not a journey to an unknown direction
It seems strangely safe and joyful
This Pilgrim carries the cross and marks the trail with the beam
He pauses and helps, He cures and nourishes us along the way.

25.06.2009. After every Holy Communion, I ask Jesus with my personal prayer: ‘Body of Christ, be the food for my soul, Blood of Christ, be the drink for my soul’. I have been praying with these words for many years. Today, after the Holy Communion, I heard very clearly in my heart: ’My Blood circulates in your blood, in your heart? These words had a strong effect on me. We, Catholics know very well about the spiritual significance of the Holy Communion, but when I heard these words, I was deeply touched. I felt almost physically, the power, and significance of the Holy Communion. I saw the image of the drops of Christ’s Blood in me. I felt very explicitly, that it obliges a Christian to behave with dignity. Whenever we feel the temptation to commit evil, we must realize that we are the carriers of The Blood. Of Christ –the precious gift. This message was so strong and pungent that the tears of repentance flowed out of my eyes.

Storm

Like Genezaret, our life gets stormy
The heart becomes faint from fear
Sleep doesn’t bring any rest
Help doesn’t come 
Dark clouds of mistrust make blurred
The horizon of God’s Love 
We scream like frightened children:
Wake up, Jesus, save us
And He sleeps soundly
The rumble of thunders doesn’t wake Him
His face is calm
He sleeps like a man, tired from a journey
But stays beside us, and doesn’t run away
Lord, how great our faith must be
How fearless — our hope should remain
How trusting — our love should bloom
When we travel with Jesus
In our boat of life, during the storm
So that we allowed Him to rest on His way with us
In spite of our human fear
And just trusting in His ever-holy presence
Give us, Lord, such love  
That raging thunders of fear of losing our lives
Will not take Jesus’ caring presence
Away from our hearts.

27.06.2009. Feast of the Holy Mother of the Perpetual Help.

Before the Mass, I expressed myself with a prayer: ’I am here as a beggar, beseeching You, Mother, for help.’  Then I heard in my heart.’ You are My child, and not a beggar. I offer gifts of grace out of love and not a beggar’s alms. My Son offered His life for you. A beggar asks someone for something and gets a penny or indifference or anger sometimes. People are such donors. I and My Son don’t offer beggarly pittance but abundant grace of love.

 

To The Holy Mother Of The Perpetual Help

You are popular from the holy pictures and motherly care
Constantly vigilant, You have no sleep, no rest
Listening to our requests and calls for help
You wipe tears off the weeping and You console the lonely
You drive a vehicle of love, along the route between Heaven and earth
You lay at the feet of Jesus, the baggage of distress of the faithful
And the sorrows of little children, like white handkerchiefs
You give to Your angels to paint upon
The joyous smiles, with Heavenly color paints
Then they fly down with white petals of roses 
Straight on the children’s faces, sad and anxious
You are the lantern, lighting day and night
For those who are roaming in the sea of torment
You are the joy for the saints, the hope of  the sinners
And never-ending fire for Your earthly children 
And Mother for the orphans, caring and tender
Collecting for the dowry in God’s garden of love
The abandoned, You bring shelter to, and protect with the Rosary
So that they do not fall into despair and doubt
For the needy, You provide with Your pearls of glory
Made out of Your tears, in a long string that saints collected
Each pearl laced with Mother's pain, and Her help
It’s enough to say: Under Your protection …
Once You sewed for Jesus, His earthly robes
Now You offer the priests, the sons, ordained to You
Priestly ornate, church regalia
And pray for their sanctity and blessed hands
Oh, Mother of the Perpetual Help
Vigilant in the nights of our suffering
And in the days of our triumphant exaltations
We thank God, and the Son, and the Holy Sprit
For the Holy Mother, Her Love and Her Perpetual Help.

 

26.07.2009. Whom is Jesus to you? - I heard such a question. It seems simple, if we want to answer it in the context of the catechesis; but.... what does the heart say? How did we get to know Jesus in our own lives? Who was He to us? In our childhood, in youth, in adult life? When did we love Him?

 

Who Are You to me, Jesus?

In my childhood, You were the Holy Mass, in a language I didn’t know
You were the first Communion, The Confirmation, the procession on Corpus Christi Day
A path in the flowered meadows, covered with dew
When, early in the morning, I was heading to a country church
You were a warm color, a holiday event
 
When I was growing up, You were the question about evil, contempt and wars
A prayer, often careless, a request.... for something
In my adult years, the world shaded You from me
With worries about what the next day would bring
I left you in the temple while coming out into my life
 
Striding over the ground, I looked for dreams in the clouds
Sometimes I stumbled over a stone of human ingratitude
And sometimes I gathered crosses on my way
Not sure if I could carry them
But my heart made me come up to You with every cross
 
The day came, ordinary, clouds - one of many in the calendar
When our eyes met each other at last
You, at the altar, nailed to the cross, and I, lost in life
There were no tears in this encounter, but just pressured silence
My soul, tired of me, flew up to you
 
Images came back from my life, like a boomerang thrown into the past
I saw you at every moment of my eventful life
You accompanied me to every Mass, and held me with the hands of my parents
You condoled me, over the graves departed of my beloved ones
And waited patiently when I resume loving you
 
Who is Jesus to you? - I heard this question incessantly
The Holy script answers with crystal - clear beautiful words
For me, Jesus, You are the way the truth, the light and the life
The desire for love of a sincere, innocent child
You are my trust that Your hand will always guide me

 

20.08.2009, before the morning mass, during my prayer, I saw a vision of a vessel filled with not very clean water - next to it, some hands were raising the cup towards the alter. 'What does it mean?'  - I asked my heart. In reply, I heard: These are two human kinds of loneliness.... one is filled with bitterness, the other.... with hope...

 

Two kinds of loneliness

 
There is such loneliness that despairs only
Filled with tears, like a dumped vessel, with rain
There is another loneliness that lays out
Like an empty cup, to be filled with God's love
The despairing loneliness can corrupt the soul, the heart
But when filled with love ... it can do away with its own loneliness
 
We stand before God as a lonely tree, not as a forest
Only God estimates, not people
How many there are living leafs on it, and seeds of enlivening good
Oh, loneliness, being filled up with the cup of God's love
Remember those who have their hearts flooded with tears of bitterness
Surround them with prayer and pour the rain of despair out of them
 

A pilgrimage with a soul

 

I set out on trying pilgrimage
My impatient soul nominated it in a whisper
It is a lonely route, a winding path uphill
On one side, the forest's friendly humming
On the other, the valleys of corn and flowers
Bird's singing breaks the silence
There are clear colors around, sparkling with light
My soul, like a little boy, moves upward briskly
Pain and discouragement hail me with every step
I can see how they fall off me with little mossy stones
And tumble towards the nearby stream
I experience a felling of great love and freedom as well
From the bitterness of importunate thoughts
My will crumble and fall into fragments
And fall down...
I catch up with my soul and hear beautiful singing
Raindrops cleanse my body and sprit
I cup them in my hands and drink greedily
The beauty of this trail elicit a wondrous streak of rainbow
The warmth of the air penetrate my spirit with heart - felt love
How marvelous it is here - I concurred to my soul....
Let's come back - I hear the voice...
Then the soul obliged my revamped and grateful body
We are going down to your human homestead
We hear voices of those concerned about tomorrow
I take with me, my longing which still looks back
The pleasant memory of freedom and love is stuck in me
As if somebody nested an old picture in a new Oakwood frame 
I am back from a strange pilgrimage with my soul.....
I can still hear that singing....
I can still see that beauty....
I can still feel that love.....
There are such pilgrimages that we never return from.... completely.

 

01.09.2009. Banneux, Chevremont, Belgium. This is the eighth time that I have been in Belgium on a pilgrimage to this very special place of worship.

Every year I watch the statue of the Holy Mother at the Holy Spring with healing water.

This year I was surprised to see the dark hands of the Holy Mother. I prayed at the statue; I use water from the spring and tried to talk with the Holy Mother in my heart. I asked Her why She has such dark, freezing hands.

I hear an answer in my heart: "I put My hands in your cold hearts, colder than this water in the spring..."

I thought about human indifference toward Lord Jesus; about my sins; about multitude of our sins committed against Mary of Immaculate Conception and about lack of love.

Mary puts Her hands into our hearts and tries to 'warm them up' with Her own love towards Jesus. Perhaps here, just at the spring in Banneux, such miracles of heart transformation occur.

We have recollections and we discuss the very nature of the prayer through the heart. The pilgrims give interesting examples. An idea occurs to me concerning the situation of how man exists as a Christian in everyday life.

God does not require heroic acts from us, nor great victories. It is enough when we perform acts of love toward our fellow human beings in small or trivial ways.

When we are in a state of rage we should overcome it with our inner spirit, this is the task for our mind and will for Christ’s sake.

While living our own lives we should acknowledge other people’s presence, their needs and feelings, but not to ''sink' into our cocoon of worries. Somebody might say that it is too little. But it is quite a lot, it is like taming of our own selfish nature.    

It has been said in the Gospel: He who is faithful in small things...?

Adoration in the chapel, beautiful words from the priest. I look at the cross. It was strange - it was a big, wooden cross, and Christ was outstretched on it; the body.... He looks like a victim of a Second World War concentration camp. Was this a purposeful act of an artist? Maybe it was incidental?

I asked in my heart: "Jesus, why are You so skinny and miserable, like a starving person?"

I heard my heart: "I am hungry for your love; I want you to feed Me with your love. I live thanks to your love. I desire...

I tried to think about the purpose of this pilgrimage and about what we have gained, as a result.

I saw in my mind a beautiful cup, full of water, full of graces. Out of this cup, graces flow over into our hearts, enlivening our sprit and faith, which are often lying passive.

The pilgrimage that is full of sincere prayers and touching the holy places is a source of graces. The pilgrims support each other with prayers and share their love. There is time for daily Mass, meditation about oneself and for Adoration; all in silence. During each pilgrimage I observe a transformation of hearts with the people who began the pilgrimage .... as tourist, but they return to their homes completely converted.

 

A strange dance

 

I experienced a great moment of bliss
My soul wanted to dance the dance of joy
Out of love for God
She felt too constricted in my body
A hot feeling embraced me
Only loud singing and dancing
Could calm it down
I was whispering gently
There were so many pilgrims around, all asleep
But you - dance and sing to throbbing joys
To the quiet rhythm of my heart
It is too little to contain your joy
I will hide this joy deeply
In my memory
Like a noble stock preserved for hard times
I will draw rhythms and sonorous singing out of it
When I am out of strength
And when the sound of my prayer gets faint
Then I will take your joy, my soul
Like a grain or a bud, blooming anew
With a beautiful flower of love to God's glory
That enlivens my faith in this gray reality.

 

03.09.2009. I participated in the healing Holy Mass, celebrated by Rev. Jan Szymborski, the famous exorcist. Before the Mass, the faithful prayed the Rosary. I looked at the beautiful cross with Lord Jesus, stretched out high on it. There are always many intentions connected with human suffering at such Masses. I looked at Jesus and tried to calm down.... then I hear in my heart: Human suffering, and the cross that is put on our shoulders - if born with patience and submission to God's will - then it lifts man up high, toward the cross of Christ. Up there, the eyes of suffering Christ and suffering man will meet. Jesus gives endurance to human suffering and ennobles it. Being close to Jesus, suffering man looks at life that is going around him, with a peculiar value, and not just as living through yet another day. Although he suffers from pain, from illness, from being abandoned that is when he reaches this special love of Jesus. This love gives him the power of a gentle and patient outlook of the world and its people. Such man is close to the eyes of Jesus, nailed to the cross. The eyes of the sufferer and the eyes of Jesus are staring at each other, they are close to each other.

 

On a straight way

I saw a man falling down
On a highway as smooth as asphalt
He stumbled over his own legs
Because there wasn't any other obstacle
 
Lord, he said, I wander towards You with a song
I know very well, what You want of me
Your rules are embedded deeply in my memory
And I am free from all life's attachments
 
The sun was shining with a bright glare
There was no darkness, not even a shadow
The man was going proudly; his head was raised up high
And suddenly a fall, like a bird’s flight, too low
 
Why did I fall, Lord, in spite of the light and singing?
I passed by rocky trails and dark paths
Why did I fall, Lord, when I sang my song of praise for You?
Why did I have to fall, even though I knew the way to You?
 
I don't know how God answered so many questions that were asked
I saw this man years later, on a road full of stones
He was stepping carefully, in strange and silent humility
And was carrying a heavy cross on his back and posed no questions to Heaven.

 

 

The canvas painting

 
Once there was a piece of tapestry hanging
Over a child's bed of sweet repose
There was a forest on it, the sun, animals and grass
Just a simple daub, of no high value.
 
The child's heart poured some life in it
It enlivened the landscape, added some depth
The picture spoke out every day....
With a living sight of the warm sun, with motion
 
Many years passed
The tapestry was cast in the attic, like an  unwanted item
It seemed to be just plain fabric
Nothing mysterious, nothing marvelous
 
I thought about our faith in God
About our maturity that lacks the childlike trust
About the heart that is frozen with daily life of the adults
And about imagination for the beauty, that dies down with the passing years
 
Whom is God for us?
Is He only like the flat fabric, seen with adult's eyes?
Where did we lose the enchantment of a child?
How can we return to the old world of trust?
 
Give us, Lord, in prayer, in the Holy Mass
The enlivening, mysterious enchantment of a child
And the childlike trust in the beauty of the Eucharist
Give us the holy joy of a child in loving You.

 

14.09.2009. Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross

Before the Mass, it occurs to me that the "world of faith", the world of God can be "seen" only with the heart, with the soul. The soul is the mirror in which we can see God's values. The world that we live in now, appreciates only what it sees with the eyes, only tangible things.

The soul "sends" to us, beautiful images explaining or passing to us the values of faith. Thanks to the power of and our participation in the Mass, and contemplating - the beautiful images of the world of God reflect in the "mirror" or our soul. We can not see them with our naked eyes. When we carefully listen to the "meditations" of our soul, we receive many beautiful thoughts or teachings that we absorb deeply. The mirror of our soul must be clear and we must be free from mortal sins and ready to receive God's image and be sensitive to the world of faith. Unfortunately, the outside world damages the mirror of the soul and current events pollute it. It often happens that when some beautiful image is created within us, we consider it to be a negligible occurrence then we drop it spiritually and return to the reality that we see with our eyes.

Faith in God - it is a profound, mystical experience; it is the reflection of the world of God's values in the soul, not through our eyes. Let our soul "see" the miracle of the Offering during prayer, during the Holy Mass, let God's world of values be painted in our soul. The Holy Sprit paints beautiful images and communicates with world in our soul, and the proof or testimony of this is when our faith is strengthened and we have courage to practice it and have more and more sensitivity of conscience against sin.

 

Gift of joy of life

 

When you wake up in the morning, with a prayer in your mouth
When you rejoice seeing light, trees and the sun outside the window
When your hearts is filled with strange joy
It is a great gift, although you sometimes forget ... .from whom
 
When you see beauty in people's eyes
When your ears are filled with good words
You hear beautiful songs, a bouquet of flowers elicits your smile
It is a great gift, although you sometimes forget ... from whom
 
Give us plenty of such gifts, Lord
May Your will touch our hearts
May the gift of life be our thanksgiving?
And may the prayers be - our joyous adoration of You.

 

Words of love

 

I search in my heart
For my own words of love for You, Lord
Like the ripe fruits
In the tree of my faith
I raise my eyes toward the free birds flying
Maybe they can find the lost words of love
While flying Heaven - bound
I look at the holy pictures, faces lost in thoughts
Silent pietas, carved with a chisel of an adept sculptor
I listen to music of great masters
Although they are dead, they still live through their notes
Works of love never die....
How beautiful the silence of the sorrowful pieta is
The faces of saints on the pictures
The flight of birds with no rustle
The quiet glare of the sun, the silence of the night
Yet words still want to describe the beauty
Of this silence of love
You gave us a gift, Lord, the language of love
You use it to answer us, You listen
And wait patiently ... gracious and merciful
Until we understand the prudence of this language
Until we adore you with the right words
You patiently wait, Lord
For the works of love of each of us
For the pietas of life, for the concerts of the soul and heart
Unique, individual, beautiful
You wait for the psalms
Written in the language of love, Your language
Depicting our own lives, day by day.

 

17.09.2009. Before the Holy Mass, I pray for forgiveness of sins, I ask for the power of the Holy Spirit for my soul, heart, and then I hear in my heart: You are a royal child, the child of God, redeemed with the blood of Jesus, your Brother...

I was surprised at these words and tried to meditate deeply. How great was the dignity and love that we received from God? We often forget it, yielding to our own weaknesses and rules of the world that we live in. We pacify ourselves, saying: We are only sinners. But actually, we are not only sinners - we are children of God who is the king of universe. When we take up some life's tasks, we should remember about the dignity as God's children, about the requirements we are faced with, when fighting with our sins. We must remember who created us and whose children we are. The world shows us values that are far from our pre-ordained vocations. We succumb to such material values as money, vanity and ...... impressing other people. We become servants of these values and our awareness of being a child of God, slowly dies out. We must overcome all these follies; how strongly we must fight evil in order to keep our human dignity. I understand  that our life on earth is not a comfortable passing through the years of our lives, but it is the struggle with our faults, sins that the world often dresses in colorful clothes, thus justifying our human nature. Help us, Lord, always remember Who our Father is and Who redeemed us with His blood!

 

Confession

Once I roamed around, with an angel
In the strange, misty space
With dried-up grass and carelessly scattered stones around
I wanted to side-step them and look for easier ways
But the angel told me to bend down 
And read the message engraved in the stones
He, himself got lost somewhere in a thick cloud
While I was going around, reading the inscriptions
Like a bent plough - man, in his penance clothes
One every stone, there was a sin, engraved sharply
Nearby, there was a weather - beaten cross, stuck in the grass

I sprinkled every stone with tears
Seeing my own faults there
Those that I forgot long ago 
And those that I didn't want to recall
I was cuddling to my chest, like a priceless treasure
The cross standing by the stones
I saw Jesus' eyes, suffering
At every cross, where He fell down for me
It was a holy moment, so clear and transparent
Purifying my soul, in my sins’ self-examination
Like the way of the cross of my life

 

Somewhere high in the distance, in the sunny space
I saw a lonely confessional
The angel carried me up there, like towards the source of hope
There I knelt down and cried, like pressured Peter
At the denial of his Lord three times
In the confessional, Jesus sat, looking like a priest that I knew
I put down the stones of sins there, in humility
And closed my eyes, in this unusual confession
I heard a quiet voice, or rather a whisper of love
Don't scatter your moments of life, recklessly
You are My sister, for whom I died on the cross
God conceived you for My Love, and not ... for sin.

 

02.10.2009. I went on an angelic pilgrimage to Italy for the third time to pray in the sanctuaries of Rome, Padua, Assisi, Manoppello, Monte Casino (St. Benedict’s cloister), Gargano, Lanciano and San Giovanni Rotondo. I dedicated this pilgrimage in the intention of priests. In spite of my good physical condition, I was surprised that I felt so much strain without any special reason. I had no worries but felt as if I carried some strange burden, which was hard to define. There were days when, without any reason, I felt great discouragement and disappointment, despite seeing so much beauty around and many friendly faces. Every day, while thinking about priests, some fragments of their ordeal experiences came to me. I realized that they are people who originated from us; lay people, they react in  similar ways to all that is going on around them in the society. They are not the “heroes of psyche”, that they feel and suffer just like we do. Maybe more severely - they fight against Satan for souls. So therefore, they are exposed to his wrath, and temptations (we know the biographies of holy priests). We expect priests to have “angelic attitude”, especially in the confessional. They need peculiar prayers to The Holy Spirit, coupled with patience so that they do not fall into routine but approach every confessed with apostolic love and understanding. Many hours of confession (especially before holidays), is a great trial for a priest. There are charismatic priests to whom hundreds of people come because they feel their strength and their power of faith. Others are on spiritual guard in small parishes. People observe priests and evaluate them, demanding exemplary behavior from them and don’t tolerate any weakness. During this pilgrimage, I felt immense loneliness; I know that this sort a feeling is not rare with priests. They are the people hungry for the good word, for being listened to, for consolation.
They often live far from their families. We, lay people, demand that they listen to us, console us, while they are not quite free from distress and doubts. I think they go through their dark nights that John of the Cross wrote about. They struggle with their human nature, they suffer more severely because of their sins and mistakes. There are e priests who are, by nature, gifted with inner joy. It is a great gift of vocation but there are also others, who struggle with themselves in order to show people patience and a smile.  Once, during my pilgrimage to Israel, I critically assessed one priest and I heard in my heart: love all the priests — they are My children. The very fact that they are in My Service, gives them My special love and protection.

The Angelic Grotto

Our soul is like an abandoned house, without windows and doors
When there is no prayer of love
Untamed wind and shower hurt it
Worthless trash squeezes into the empty windows
And though  the walls still resist, the house slowly decays

There was such a pilgrimage in my life, they called it, angelic 
In the Grotto of Archangel Michael in Gargano
The Angel’s sword that was raised high
Carved the grotto for my own soul
He cut the spare stones with His sword

Like the ballast that enslaves
The windows of your soul’s grotto, He said:
”Cover with Jesus’ Countenance of Manoppello
So that His beautiful, merciful eyes could protect you from evil
Keep in heart the Eucharistic Miracle of Lanciano

May It be the visible sign of the presence of God
May the touch of the holy relics be the light in your grotto
You gave me, Archangel Michael, the gift of the grotto
And You let me free to fight all my life, for the home for my soul
And now Jesus’ eyes look through its windows
While I fight for the door of this house
That is opened only with the prayer of love
Please St. Michael, be my protection against the traps of evil.

13.10.2009 During Adoration, I was thinking why I felt sadness and inner pain for so long, after this beautiful pilgrimage to Italy. I dedicated it in the intentions of priests. I thought, like other ordinary people, that my intentions are “hardly noticeable,” my sinfulness “deprives” these intentions of importance. ’Maybe You didn’t receive my intentions, Lord? I asked, kneeling in front of The Most Holy Sacrament.’ Then I heard in my heart ,Your intentions, rid of egotistic feelings, are unusually important, and your acceptance of pain and sorrow, connected this, is the price that you pay for the sanctity of these intentions. You can’t even imagine how much you gain for those that you pray for,,. Oh, Lord, I thought, give me the courage of prayer. Oh, Holy Spirit, give thoughts, full of light, with intentions that God receives with love, looking at our endeavors with great Mercy.

On the trails of faith

There are trails of faith in people’s lives
Adorned with the smell and color of flowers warned with the sun of God’s grace
Safe, like the arms of a beloved man
Like a child’s cradle, filled with the down of trust

These trails are painstaking, up the mountain whose top can’t be seen
The sun is unkind and doesn’t warm, the cold wind makes you freeze
We hold on to the stones, our last resorts
And the cross of life, hanging on the back, falls off .. with lack of faith

There are the roads of faith, over the valley, which lure with the lights of the world
Singing is heard and voices calling for a care-free rest
We turn our eyes toward the valley, blinded by its glare
And the mountain of faith that we wanted to reach, seems far away

There are also trails of faith over the abyss
Where chuckling Satan points to our old sins, gathered in a pile
And although merciful God holds out His hands with love
Satan lures us with the memory of sin, taking away our hope

           
The journey along the way of faith is not a march of the satiated and relaxed pilgrims
It’s the journey of the barefooted and hungry, for whom the sun’s warmth is not enough
A loaf of bread doesn’t tempt with satiety
And the stones that Jesus stumbled over, are often the only bedding 

Give us, Lord, the grace of understanding how to be pilgrims in faith
And when we stand over the abyss, on our mountain
Show the cross with the suffering Son, move It over toward us
So that we, being in His arms, could stand before You,

                                      Barefooted and hungry for Your Love.

 

Follow Me

You watch me, Jesus, every day
And look into my soul
Through the windows of the house where I live in my small world
There is so much going on, good and evil  
Outside these windows
It’s hard to get the house bolted against evil that is strong
Dressed up fraudulently in fashionable clothes
It’s hard for the eyes and heart to recognize good
That is unattractively dressed in weakness
Both of them knock on the door of the house of my small world
I look out the windows of my house
At the sad fog outside  
At the melancholic, indifferent rain
It darkens Your image, Lord
I clean the windows of my house every day
With love, prayer, empathy
So that You could look into it
Sometimes I feel like a lonely cross on the country road
That is pulled by wind, rain, snow 
I feel enlivened when somebody puts a little flower of grace there
And I bend down to pick it up, to hug it and to thank for it
My soul is weak without Your flowers, Lord
When she is pressed with the world of bad weather
Among the humming of the world and storms, deafening the godly tune of the soul
In spite of that, I still hear Your voice, Lord: follow Me
In spite of bad weather and fear
In spite of loneliness, indifference, pain
I keep hearing: follow Me
I AM the Truth, the Way and the Life.

Corridor

The corridor, full of doors, is like our life
That we often wander along blindly
On the doors we pass, we read inscriptions 
These, with rich, golden handles, tempt us

We press down a handle and inside, there sit specialists
To make dreams, ambitions and wishes come true
We entered there, full of hope for fulfillment
As  leave as paupers— with deficiency on the whole life’s account

There are such counselors out there to fulfill dreams
They compel us to pay with the credit card of human dignity 
They demolish your conscience for a moment of joy
They don’t charge you with money but with slave-like submission

How many of such golden handles in forlorn corridors
Have we pressed down in life, through vanity, conceit and egotism?
How many deluding, golden handles are there still waiting
Ahead of us, in the corridor of life that we move along?

We should thank The Most High God
For His grace that, like a miracle, sometimes touches us
When we wander blindly, often empty-hearted, and stumble
Over the Beggar of Love, Jesus, at the door with the sign reading: The Truth.

24.11.2009. As believers of God we realize that life on earth is like a peculiar pilgrimage, whose final mission is to return to our Father. This ideology is embedded somewhere in our consciousness, more often as an experience of our mind than of our soul. We are used to living on earth and we treat it as our only world. We know its rules; we stride across this world, learning its rules as early as in our childhood. We get used to routine “practices” of our earthly world. And it happens that these “practices” absorb our lives so much that we forget about the higher purpose of life, about our final destiny. And one day, a dream or a whisper (maybe by our Guardian Angel) alerts us that we were sent here with the “holy memory”. This memory is a reminder of …. where we come from, who placed us here and what for. We should nurse this “holy memory” as the highest value and knowledge of our existence.

One day, I experienced such “holy memory”. I saw in my dream that somebody placed me in a family, giving me an Angel, who reminds me where I come from. This experience portrayed more on my soul than my body. I experienced perpetual happiness and a feeling of re-assurance that differed from the one on earth. I thought that due to this ”holy memory”, there are beautiful works of art, like architecture, music, painting —created out of the magnificence  of the world that we are heading to. This dazzling attribute allows us to see the beauty of nature as a gift of God; reminding us where we are going, while striving with resolve and dignity on our earthly pilgrimage, nursing the “holy memory” of the world that we are sent from. We are sent to fulfill our mission which has a deep  sense in God’s plans. So we should earnestly pray, that this holy memory should  not escape from our lives due to our life’s pragmatism that only gears toward
our survival. Let us be artists of life because we come from the world of Beauty, Goodness and Mercy. We are not just left here only to suffer or to fulfill our material needs and struggle for survival.

 

A sigh

Protect the candle of my life, Lord
With Your Divine Mercy
Take it in Your Holy Hands
And don’t allow the winds of this world to put it out
With doubt, sadness and iniquity

Put it near You, for Adoration of the altar
Let the radiance of the candles that were lit for You
Embrace it strong with the warmth of Your flames of love 
And let the life-giving olive of the Eucharist  
Strengthen the holy memory in me

That I received Your blood and body, Oh Lord
That our Father lit up my candle of life 
That You shared Hope with me
Allowing Your blood to circulate in me                                                                                             In spite of my human sins  

Hold my candle of life, Oh Lord
In Your merciful hands 
Kindle its flame with Your breath 
Oh, holy memory, the gift of the Heavenly Fatherland
Please keep reminding me where I came from and to Whom I will return.

 

Our garments

Sinners’ garments are like a mendicant’s robe
They are miserably patched to hide our hideous sins
They are stitched with prayer, often absent- mindedly  
And decorated with flowers of our deeds and thoughts
They look like classy  adornment but they wither so fast

We remember our good mother after many years
She made miracles out of our old garments
And decorated them with patches, like artists do with poverty
So that others didn’t laugh at our poverty
And didn’t humiliate us with cruel laughter

Our mother is gone now, so is our laconic childhood
Maybe, these earthly garments don’t demote mortal poverty anymore
God dress us in garments adorned with The Holy Spirit
He sees holes in them, threadbare spots and misery
Sin ravaging it, hurting God’s craftsmanship

He sends us the most tender Mother from Heaven
The same who carefully patched Jesus’ flimsy robes
She will help to patch our garments, torn by sin
With the angelic thread and needle
Give it to her, and she will change it into a regal garment.

 

 

Angel of Prayers

I met an Angel of Prayers
Between sleeping and waking
His wings were made of steel
I thought, the sculptor didn’t finish his work
I carry your prayers up to Heaven, He whispered
Difficult, full of strain and agony
Words come tolling out , yet the heart remains asleep
God absorbs the words, devised  out of love
As charming as the begging eyes of a child
I want your days to be turned to me
May they be in constant prayer
I felt pain, hearing the Angel’s sorrow
And recalled my own passionate prayers
That were sowed in many words
I whispered: forgive me my every over-bearing prayer
That flowed within my mouth, and without my heart
I was grateful for the Angel’s teaching of devotion
With His image in front of my eyes and spirit
He attempted to raise His steely wings to accelerate to Heaven
But those cumbersome and selfish prayers, devoid of piety
Wouldn’t enable Him to ascend to Heaven

Two kinds of love

When love is just a beautiful dream
It becomes a property of poets and passing stanzas
Such love demands beauty, grace, generous gifts
Suffering eyes make it ugly, tears make stains 
It perishes from fear when its dress is touched  
By the mutilated hearts and hands
What is such love for, man?
Meet Love that wears a thorny crown  
It carries the cross, yours too, It dies, It saves
The eyes of this Love are not afraid of your heart
That is torn with the sin of stained hands
Love that carries the cross of the world, with its pain
And yours
It gives hope for your beauty
It bestows longing upon you
Which becomes a guest in your heart
Like a generous host
And provides abundant gifts in response to your prayers
And never forsakes your fears and tears
My faithful comrade in holy arms against the devil
Oh, Sacrificial Love, You come into our life
With the Promise of Salvation and devotion  
You pour the longing for pure love into us
And wander around the world with the cross of our humanity
Please stop in front of me, in front of all mankind
And wait patiently, until we bow to You 
Sometimes with the shame of sin
And sometimes with the grace .. of Your Love
That was poured into us.

 

28.11.2009. I woke up early in the morning to some strange words, as if somebody was finishing speech. ‘You are sometimes worse than a herd of animals’. I felt sad to hear that but I started to muse over these words. Man, contrary to animals, has a gift of special heart or advanced immortal soul, besides that, he has intrinsic intellectuality. Do we have a sense of belonging to this so-called human herd? Do we have a sense of safety among the strangers? I don’t mention family conflicts that sometimes result in tragedies. People in the streets non–chillingly deeply absorbed in our own problems. There is too much boorishness; too many harsh words that hurts feelings and the spirit. An ordinary “good morning” without looking into other person’s eyes is commonplace without heart-felt well-wishing, even in the church; the exchange of the sign of peace should be formal or necessary. It all looks as we weren’t joined together with the thread of humanity; as if we don’t need to console each other while there is so much despair around us. We experience all this ourselves. And maybe, sometimes, it is worth showing another man of a complete stranger, a sweet smile and good wished get “infected” with this and like if one’s smile might rapidly infect people contagiously in the streets.

 

The invisible

Can you stop the wind with your hand?
Switch over the sunrays from day to night
Delay the fragrance of living flowers to make it last
Plead to the leaves not to wither
Trap joy forever, like a bird in its flight
Force love to be yours
Forge friendship in a stony statue to be everlasting
Conjure beautiful music and poetry from thin air
Arouse hope in yourself when tragedy comes?

Your can already build so many things, man
Count stars in cosmos, transform nature
But you can not stop in your hand

What can’t be seized but makes sense in our lives
These moments of longing which feed your soul
And become mystery of the depth of our existence
And no genius can replicate your soul  
To appease the rightful owner, your God
It is His gift and grace for your body and spirit

And when you understand, at last, that your hands will not stop
What is passing and invisible to your eyes
Then your heart will open up like beautiful fabric
Where God writes mysterious formulas
You will discover faith, love, and hope will flourish
You will catch joy in mid-light, like a beautiful bird
You will hear angelic songs of God’s love 
Then you will know the mystery of … the invisible
Being housed and dignified by God–given body and spirit

Courage

You were so lonely, Son of God
At the Stations of the Cross, in spite of the crowd of people
I think that today, You also go along these Stations
Like hundreds of years ago, in Jerusalem
You fall with the burden of our enormous sins
And console those who raise their wailing voices
Over Your cruel suffering
You, alone, keep going along these Stations
Also in my times of the XXI century

The people of today are still seeking You, but not at the Stations of the Cross
They look for You under the glare of lights and sublime songs
Albeit, they sing Hosanna out loud
They are defenseless when they suffer, just like You, Jesus
Then You wait for them, Lord, on Your lonely way
Staring intensely at any man  
Who courageously and trustfully comes up to You
In spite of the crucifiers chasing with hammers and nails
And those who are ready to merge Your suffering with theirs

At such a beautiful moment, the eyes of suffering Jesus
Will meet the eyes of the persecuted man
And God Himself will paint this sorrowful icon
Where the Son of God is in loving embrace
With the man who is also afflicted with pain
Jesus waits for such encounters, on His way
Lonely at the Stations, with a heavy beam in His hands
Up there, when He is about to die on the cross
He will show His Father, your human suffering.

Beauty

I saw gigantic mountain ranges shrouded in thick fog 
In the winter; they were shrouded white in snow
Seas were severely stirred or peacefully waving
Sunrises and sunsets full of colors
Mysterious grottos, silent deserts 
The sky, covered with clouds or shining with thousands of stars
I was enchanted with the perfection of nature
Adorned with the generous Love of God
I felt so little against this space of richness
I thank The Creator for the grace of the gift of my vision

I cannot cuddle these mountains with my hands
Nor can I touch the sun and the stars in the sky
I can only dip my hands in the sea-shore waters
And feel the touch of beach-sand under my feet
I stand overwhelmed against the immensity of this beauty
And store my enchantment in the archive of my memory’s visions
I will re-assemble them, while in nostalgia on melancholic nights
They may fade with passing time …
What do you want to tell my soul, Lord
By showing the beauty, created with Your Love?

I kneel before the Beauty of the whole world, Your Son
Modestly glided in the golden cup of the Tabernacle
In front of the guiltless Infant in the manger
In front of the cross where He was hanging
And all around me, the nature, so silent, so full of beauty
I may not be able to hug the sea, the mountains, the desert 
But I can hug Your Son, Lord, in the Eucharist
For me, He became so tiny, like a daisy in the meadow
As defenseless as I am, against the power of nature
And so much desirous of love, of my love

Was that what You wanted to tell me, Lord
That genuine beauty is contained in love for Your Son?

29.12.2009. Having summoned words of the Gospel of the day, the priest asked the faithful if they contacted Jesus during this holiday, like Simeon did. I met Him; but not during the holiday hustle and bustle and not while being in emotions over the manger. He spoke to me through a vision of a blind child, during the holiday Holy Mass. When we were exchanging the sign “peace be with you”, I turned back. Usually, on Sunday Masses, there were blind children from a nearby center; sitting in the front pews. I caught sight of one  girl. I saw a delicate smile in her very pale face, she was holding out her hand shyly, waiting for somebody to greet her. Time seemed to stop for a moment ... the sight of people around me got fuzzy. I had an impression that it was Jesus Himself, pale and so unusually humble, He was asking for this gesture of peace, like a beggar, beseeching for a bit of pittance. Then I heard in my heart: among the colorful lamps, and the holiday hustle, I AM ... so modest and humble and waiting ... I Am not lit up with the glare of your holiday lights. Don’t look for Me in beautiful cribs, in shops full of goods, Christmas presents. I Am near you, very often imperceptible, because your eyes are turned to the dazzle of this world, people are blinded by this dazzle ; ...I was staring at this child who was so weak that she would not survive in dignity, without other people’s help. This child was holding out her hand shyly ... none of the nearby people touched it … I didn’t, either because I was too far away. After the Holy Mass, everybody ran to the crib. I couldn’t look at the plaster figures without pain. I prayed at the picture of the Holy Mother of Czestochowa, “carrying” in my heart, the image of this humble Jesus — child, who was revealed to me during this awesome encounter.

Prayer of trust

Can we love You, Lord, just a little?
And bestow our love upon You only in steadfast prayers
At the moments when our hands are full of Your gifts and graces
With our weeping hearts in gratitude

Can we love You, Lord, just a little?
And pardon our blasphemy when in trial and tribulation
And have no courage to proclaim Your truths
When others attack our faith with hostility

How fragile our human love is, Lord
It escapes from the cross, and prefers singing, banners’ flapping
And when suffering blithers our lives
We become infidel partners of Love

Teach us, my Lord, the prayer of courageous trust
Which does not ask for miracles, does not demand any proofs
Teach us the prayer for souls’ salvation
Because only the soul can recognize the touch of Your merciful hands
 
When we relinquish our souls and lives to God
And trust in the Love of the Bethlehem manager
And follow It as far as to the Calvary of suffering
Then God Himself will sanctify our human love

                         And it will change from a weak dwarf … 
                         To a magnificent statue.

 

 

A traveler

I received You, Jesus, into my life
As a traveler with Good News
And You became my guest
Although the house of my soul is poor
And I don’t have royal garments for You
You are within me, like a prisoner of Merciful Love
Not for my merits
I thought that joy would come along with You
Ordinary, human
And my days would be like autumn calm
Like a reward for a painful heart
I received You, Jesus, into my life
And I am surprised to see compassion in Your eyes
And hear this simple question:
Do you know Whom you receive?
My eyes, my mouth, my heart shouted — I know ….
You sat at the table, in the house of my soul, with some baggage
And took out the thorny crown and nails
And let out the words that offend You, into the space
And darkness embraced my soul
The words were so insensitive and hostile
Your bleeding tears were falling on the table
And You asked again: Do you know Whom your guest is?
I received You, Jesus, into my life
The homeless guest of Merciful Love
I cuddle You every day, in the Eucharistic Offering
I feel strange peace in my heart, although it hurts
And I try to take the thorny crown off Your head
So that You could rest for a while in the house of my soul
I call our Mother for Your consolation
And invite the saints to collect Your tears
I feed You with my own suffering
And have no regret that the world hurts me
I try to change the words that offend You
Into the words of beseeching prayer
I learn love from You, the Guest in the house of my soul
And every day, I search for the answer to Your question:
Do you know Whom you receive?