04.01.2012. Before the end of the Holy Mass, I saw a vision of an enormous orchard, full of blooming trees and also dry ones. There were many paths in this orchard, like in a labyrinth. There were people moving along them, sometimes they came back to the paths they had already used. I had an impression that they got lost and are looking for a way out. During this vision of the orchard, I rose up high over it, like a bird. Then I saw the ways of exit and heard in my heart: it is so simple. In order to see the sense of your wandering in life, one must rise higher and look around, from the perspective of an immortal soul that is heading toward God, toward the purpose of our fate. On the wings of faith and trust in His Love, we rise higher and see more clearly, the right ways out of this orchard, this labyrinth.


Wanderers

Deep in meditation was my soul
Seeing a rich variety of ways to God
Some were winding, full of doubts and breakdowns
Others were full of Love that leads with light
I saw meadows, full of joyous pilgrims
Walking among the flowers, born out of prayers
Beside, there were hard paths, stony
Rocks hurt the wanderers, they fell down …
I saw a highway, people rushing in their cars
Time for them looked so precious
That it was hard for them
To see Jesus walking along
I saw wise-men, bent over the books
With passing age, they put on new glasses
Their minds were full of knowledge, theory
But the hearts … without love
There were also others who looked for the depth of knowing God
In a frail boat of their body, floating on the ocean of conceit
With a fishing rod too short to catch the truth
I saw those imprisoned in the swamp
Sins chained their legs
They raised hands , as the last resort
Looking for help, for rescue for them
On all of these roads, You, Lord put the holy sign
The Cross of Your Son …
He protects us from Your Justice
With Veronica’s veil and the courage of the martyrs
He beseeches for extra time for those lost on the way
For the Light of Love for them.

14.01.2012. Every Holy Mass is a miracle, hidden from our eyes, but not from our faith and love that lead us to the Feast with Jesus. It happens that our personal engagement during the Holy Mass, and the awareness that Jesus is real at the altar, all this makes us close our physical perception and we begin to see with our heart. This desire for the encounter, this longing for the Savior makes that we can be touched with the grace of an unusually close encounter with God, that I wrote about, in my poem: “Eyes of the heart”. I received this image with great humility and gratitude. It gives me a direction how to meditate over the Word of God more deeply and rejoice when I experience the living miracle of Holy Mass. And indeed, it is not so important to see something with our eyes in order to believe but what’s most important is that we should keep Jesus in our heart and talk with Him at any moment. There is no greater love for man on earth than the Love of God.


Eyes of the heart

There was such a day and my daily Mass
When my heart became a painter
It got petrified for a while, liberated from time
And I saw wonderful colors over the altar
Red was pulsating with a living flame
In its background, angel’s white looked like a colored spot
Just beside, a blue garment, maybe of the Holy Mother?
It glittered as if sewn out of crystal water
Hundreds of tiny hands were lifting a large loaf of bread
Over the white tablecloth, during the Consecration
I didn’t see the persons, entangled into the color
They whirled with colored spots, fading and lighting up
The large loaf drew my eyes
It was shining with light and pulsating with life
The Chalice that was raised with the hands of the priest
Bowed down a little, and the drops of red blood
Poured down on the bread …
I was motionless, amazed with the vision
Like a humble painter, unable to reproduce
The beauty of this vision on the canvas
Then silence prevailed and time began to flow
I saw the priest in a beseeching bow
Over a common tablecloth, decorated with embroidery
The great miracle occurs … of the Transfiguration
Jesus, I thought, is it a grace or an illusion?
Indeed, my eyes were wide-open
Then I heard a quiet whisper, somewhere deep in my soul:
When the eyes of the heart look with trustful love
They see much more … and reach much further.


Running after the angel

Sometimes you run ahead of me, my Guardian Angel
A few steps ahead, impatient with my weakness
And look, dissatisfied, like a teacher, disappointed with a student
You have so many plans for me, so many holy ways
But I … slow down in my running
Sometimes I see you on the way full of light
You look back at me
And I am asleep, covered with a night of weakness
But you come back and wait for me
And take dreams out of your traveler’s rucksack
Beautiful dreams, about mountainous lands, pure springs
And sometimes they are dark
As if you wanted to pull me out of my dream
I see you rejoiced when we head to a Mass
You jump happily then, with childlike trust
When you go to meet your world
When I don’t hear your words, busy with myself
You lead me to the confessional
So that I cleansed my soul, filled with false tones of sin
And made her listen to pure sounds
During Adoration, you are like a chirping bird
Singing Heavenly arias that you still remember
You give me more strength with holy inspirations
To make me catch up with you on my run
With faith that you know the ways where I don’t go astray.


The dream-production world

The world that surrounds me, is full of pictures and sounds
They disturb the silence, with their importunate noise
Of strange thoughts, stuck in film pictures
Which often show evil in attractive colors
Music, instead of sounds of beauty and harmony
Evokes aggression, and destroys the rhythm of the heart

Fashion becomes a slavery command
Defining the look and value of man
And a young man gets drowned in this mass production
Before he learns that he is fooled
He is just a customer of consumption advertisement
A paper bill for a purchased gadget

Tears, love, suffering, man’s intimate beauty
They are attraction for a mass viewer
The more you see them on the screen, the more the profit
There are others that fell behind the consumption market
They seek an illusive stop, to fill the vacuum
By taking drugs to have narcotic visions of illusive world

This dream-production world has its own message
You can become a “god”, a master of world’s bargains
It’s enough to hold out a hand and gather extra cream
And luck will touch you, suffering will be gone
And only those who look for a penny in an old wallet
Know the truth about the dream world, with their empty pockets

I do have some hope, strangely trustful belief
That man, lured with the ideas of false prophets
Will recognize the lie of their shining silver coins
And will look for the Love that does not lie
The Love that is injured and nailed to the cross
And It calls to man: believe in the sanctity of your life.


Teaching of an angel

When faith gets silent in your heart
Dust covers the words of holy prayers
You fall asleep in sad indifference
And the Lord seems far away
Then you are exposed to a trial of a night of darkness
Of your own Gethsemane …
Remember, Jesus is also there, on vigil
Sharing your suffering and fright with you
Lonely, among His sleeping friends
Like a bird that fell out of a flock of cranes
So that, here, on earth, He could light a light
In the darkness of the night
Along the trail toward eternity
When faith gets silent in your heart
The faith, that ancestors gave you for deposit, as tradition
Then stand fast at the cross of Christ
May His Love flow down into your heart
And light you up when It touches you
Because faith is born out of love
And though you might get into the darkness of the night
Love will always defend you …
It was just a trial of the strength of your faith
The grace of the vigil, with Jesus in Gethsemane.


Contemplation

We send to God our requests and prayers
Litanies, chaplets and psalms
There are days when our hearts
Want His Love so much
That all words sink in a peculiar longing
And silence becomes our prayer
The mouth is closed to all thoughts
The heart experiences the harmony of breathing
The ears get deaf to any rustles around
The body is congealed in contemplation
Senses, free from pictures and sounds
Absorb silence, while adoring God
And we can go on like this, as if time didn’t exist
With a granted grace of this unusual encounter
When even the angels get silent
Paying homage to this holy moment
The moment of the loving encounter of man and God
Oh, the blessed time of this great contemplation
When we give away our soul to the Lord
May Your hand, Merciful Lord
Pour the drops of Your Will
Out of the Cup of Your Son’s Passion
Into the lives of ours
And may this prayer of the heart, poured in, with Your grace
Become the Glory, for the Holy Spirit
In this Adoration enchantment and contemplation.


Offering of the heart

Make my heart larger, Lord
With the memory of Your Passion
Let it not be only the rhythmically beating part
Let it be the place for Your Cross
Living along the Stations of Your Passion
Be silent, my heart, when the Pilates accuse you
Move your eyes down, as low as Jesus’ eyes in His fall
Look through them, for your way of salvation
Don’t be afraid of the cross, given to you with God’s Will
Carry it bravely, stepping by Your Lord
And His Mother and Simon will give you help
Give Veronica, my heart, the veil of sanctity’s desire
May the Lord’s Countenance protect you
Don’t have mercy, my heart, over your destiny
But lament over the sins that brought downfall
May your nakedness be your cleansing
From earthly attachments that still tempt
Offer Jesus the nails of life’s pain, piercing the body
For the sinners
And the offering of pain will not be wasted
May the cross given you by the just hand of God
Fill you, my heart, up and down
Saving space for God’s word
For His Love toward the world and people
Be, my heart, like crucified Lazarus
Who trusts in the grace of mercy
Not for deeds but for faith in God
Die, my heart, not for the death
But for the eternal salvation
In the arms of the Holy Mother.


Song about St. Faustina

Wearing a habit, a veil of purity and humility
With the Countenance of the Lord, the sign of Truth, Way and Life
You have taken up the holy mission for the world, Faustina
To proclaim divine works about God’s Mercy

In the golden cup of your soul
God found the infancy of pure heart
And filled it with the grace of holy inspirations
And showed you faithful love

Your heart trembled, hurt with uncertainty
If you, so little, are worthy of the mission
That Heaven sent down on you
Jesus from the Way of the Cross was your support

You put your will down at His feet
Giving away your life for the salvation of sinners
The light of hope sparkled out with power
For those plunged in fear of God’s Justice

You are a flame out of fire of eternal Love
That was lit up in the world to save souls
For those who forgot about God’s greatness
About Mercy that brought His Son as far as the cross

God has built the Temple of the Spirit of Mercy on earth
Out of stones of your suffering and those of the priests
With the patience worthy of eternal Love
So different from this distrustful world of ours

As a sunray penetrates a crystal
So Mercy went through the Heart of Jesus
With the promise for the souls plunged in the darkness
Who render their trust to God’s Mercy

And the enlivening power of hope for the sinners
Has poured over the world, like living water
For those who, in faith, want to trust the Lord
And cleanse themselves from sins, for eternal salvation

Jesus, the barefoot wanderer, came to you, Faustina
With the blessing hand, and wound-prints, not healed yet
With the heart, pierced with a lance once
Out of which, the rays of graces flow down to earth

You still have time, man - so say His eyes
My Mercy still lives on
As long as the beads of the Chaplet move on
And the words: “For the sake of His Sorrowful Passion”, fly up to Heaven.    


08.04.2012. Easter is a beautiful holiday. At this time I feel this peculiar presence of Jesus. Crowded church and some running children “disturb” me just out of human point of view. But I try to focus on the Solemnity. In my imagination, I “come out” or rather take my soul to the waters of the Galilean Sea. It’s night time and I hear a splash of the waves, delicate, rhythmical. Over the water, I see a large, red ball in a distance. It is not the time for the sunset. The red ball approaches the shore and becomes enormous, like the Holy Host, filled with blood of Christ. It embraces the space around and absorbs it. I feel as if it absorbed the whole world and blessed it. On Sunday’s Holiday morning, I adore Jesus in my body, I just received the Holy Communion. Some thoughts come to me as if somebody were teaching me … All human feelings, the evil ones toward other people and also the ones that cause passions (human love) must be “cleansed” in Jesus’ Love. Otherwise, they restrain our freedom and make that human love also evokes jealousy, a tendency to “possess” completely the loved person. The surrounding evil also confines the space of our pure freedom and takes our time for unnecessary angers. The Holy Mother, who loves Her Son, shares Her own Beautiful Love toward Him, with us. Jesus, I pray, grant me such love which I can share with others, free from human defects … My eyes are closed, my heart is hungry for the Beautiful Love. Suddenly I hear a knock as if someone dropped a heavy object. I open my eyes .. it was the Host that fell on the floor during the Communion. How come such a tiny, delicate Holy Wafer could cause such an echo? Was it just I who heard it? I still hear this echo in my ears, as if it were directed to me, to everyone who wants to receive Your pure, merciful Love, Lord.


Lenten meditation

There are such days in the life of man of faith
When  a question stands before us
Who am I? And Whom is God for me?
This question goes around like a bird asking for grains
And you feel as if you struck against a rock in the darkness
It is the Truth that wants to reach you …
Memory rises up over the past life
You look  for excuses in human nature
Lives of the saints come to your mind
Their humble life, sacrificial suffering

Don’t cast away these moments, which are the grace of meditation
Over the essence of faith and our humanity
Don’t look for accusations which want to judge you
Plunge yourself in God’s Mercy with hope
This is the time of Mount Tabor, your meeting with Jesus
The time of your heart’s transfiguration, and rising up higher
Beautiful are the hands in a praying gesture
They are full of beauty when they lead your brethrens to God
You adore the Cross of the Lord in a humble bow
Yours is also precious when you carry it with love

Look for Truth in the Bible, maybe covered with dust
Just like faith which is often poor, if locked within customs
And when we hear the words: convert yourselves …
Don’t we fight for love in our faith?
For the merciful hands and legs, and the language of love for others?
Faith is not a refuge from pain of any kind
It breaks down at the moments of hardship unless there is love
Let’s beseech for such Love that flows down from the cross
Its power is in the Savior’s cry: “I desire”
And it occurs at this very holy moment of our eternal salvation.


The old cross

Once I was kneeling before an old cross
Christ was on it, He must have seen a few generations already
The cross was hanging in the church vestibule
And stopped many pilgrims with its mystery

The artist painted the wounds of the body with pietism
The open eyes of Jesus stared at those praying
His hands and legs were pierced with powerful nails
The wooden cross with Christ was speaking …

I raised my head toward the injured feet
They were smoothened by the hands of the pilgrims
I fixed my eyes on Jesus’ wounds
And kissed them with my heart full of pain

And a thought came to me, like an angel’s inspiration
Where will Your eyes, Jesus, and mine, meet together
Within the space of pain radiating from the cross? 
Will it be on the feet, hands or will I look into Your eyes?

Will I touch Your feet softly, with fear?
Will I kiss a part of the cross shyly?
Will I be a humble passer-by or a hundredth pilgrim?
Does my love have enough courage to look into Your eyes?

Minutes of meditation were passing, the pilgrims were gone
The cross embraced the words of their prayers
I felt Jesus’ eyes looking at me
Waiting, alive, in the dark vestibule of the church

I didn’t say a prayer, but just listened to my soul
And she said: they killed Your body, Lord
Your heart got silent from the lance, the parts of body were dead from nails
But Your eyes, Jesus, have been still open for ages

I cast away my fear that sin forces upon
Trust has won, so hungry for love
I stuck my eyes in Yours, Lord
I learned the Mercy of God’s Love.


The Word of God

There are Masses and recollections in the life of a Christian
Received like daily bread
Words, the same for years, flow from the Holy Bible
Feeding us from the source of Revelation
They often escape from our memory
Behind the cover of daily life
And this what should be a drink of holiday wine
Flows away somewhere in oblivion …
But there are also the holy moments
They are like flashes of gift of God’s Spirit
They capture the soul in a loving embrace
And lift her up over our every-day existence
And the words that we hear
Penetrated with the inspiring light
Take on the taste of the Eucharistic Bread
As if we heard them for the first time …
And they live in us like young, enlivening wine
Carved in our soul with a lasting sign
We have an impression that the stony sculpture of the person
That we used to pass by in our ritual, daily walk
Becomes alive and the eyes are looking at us now
The hands are holding out to us
In amazement we stop, touched with this experience
We just entered into an awesome mystery
The mystery of the encounter with the living Word of God.


Our Gethsemane

I have experienced a deep heart transformation
Meditating over Your pain, Jesus, in Gethsemane
You asked the Apostles to stay with You
But they, so tired, fell asleep
A dead rock was Your companion
A cup of bitterness, lightening in the darkness
Your sister was solitude, at this moment of distress
Nobody wiped the bloody sweat off Your body
Your destiny was to save man

What does man understand out of Gethsemane
This pilgrim who follows the traces of Jesus’ Passion
When he touches the time of Your Gethsemane with his heart
And  recognizes, in his life, his own Gethsemane
These lonely nights, full of tormenting hesitation
Whether to yield to the Will of God, or cast away, out of fear?
Or drink the bitterness of life, or change it into penance?
Or offer God our own suffering?
Or go through life in accord with our own will?

There are also such holy moments, granted upon man
When he stands face-to-face before God
God asks a question and waits silently …
And you, in your Gethsemane, must make a decision
Whether you follow His Love or the world’s comfort?
In this struggle of conscience, what can be our consolation
In our human, contemporary Gethsemane?
There is no dead rock and lonely night any more
Resurrected Jesus stands there, to surround us with  courage of Love.


Uneasy longing

I long for a touch that can hold my hand
And for a merciful look, I long for words
Which fill with purifying hope, like summer rain
I long for Father, coming out toward me
He prepared a feast for my longing

This longing can not be filled with human words, with a touch and look
It works invisibly and comes as a gift from the Creator
It is put into the heart and it sings about pure love
Uneasy love, until it rests at God’s feet
In eternity, where its desire for love will come to pass

And the wandering longing looks in its world
For thoughts and brothers created out of God’s Love
It passes by the ways where waters are treacherous
They lure with beauty and cheat a careless traveler
Who mistakes human longing for the longing for God

At the cross, the longing beseeches for a gift of merciful deeds
For a prayer for brothers whom the world seduced
For forgiveness it beseeches with the words of contrition and says:
I haven’t appeased all their crying and haven’t cured many wounds
I give over my longing to the Mercy of God.


Lourdes

You welcomed me, Holy Mother, in Lourdes
With raindrops, and mountains shrouded with fog
With warm rays of spring sun
Filling up with shy courage and hope
That I will experience a miracle of meeting You

I thought that rain would be like music of silence
And prayer would become a lonely experience of the encounter
But Lourdes pulled me into a big swarm
Of people’s faces, talks and loud prayers
I became a bee in this great swarm of hope

I felt communion with those who suffered
While going round the wheelchairs with the sick and disabled
This suffering was hungry for the consoling hand of the Mother
At every wheelchair, was a volunteer like a Guardian Angel
And was dressed in human garment, in human compassion

In this beautiful place of conversions and healings
Adorned with processions and a peculiar dance of lights
The time was filled with the incense of prayers
With a mystery of individual, thirsty hearts
Rising up toward Mary, with every lit-up candle

There is no room, in Lourdes, for separation
You must look at human suffering
You must hurt your heart with love for human pain
Lourdes teaches you to become a grotto of hope for others 
Just like the holy grotto of the Apparitions

I fell in love with Lourdes for this teaching
For resurrecting the feeling of love toward the suffering
Who carry the cross, maybe for me?
The holy water of Lourdes filled me with faith in man
The man who is able to share free love

The stones around the grotto are smoothened with human hands
Hungry for  the comforting touch of the Holy Mother
Water flows down over them, like hope for the suffering
Millions of prayers rise in the grotto
Stones become alive, stony hearts crumble

Oh, holy Lourdes, filled with a human swarm of hope
I felt like a bee in this crowd of desires
The bee that experienced the grace of the healing power of prayer
For my fellow human being, hungry for consolation in suffering
For those who carry heavier crosses than mine.

26.05.12. I have gone on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land for the third time already. The time of this pilgrimage included the period from the Feast of the Descent of the Holy Spirit until the Feast of the Holy Trinity. And it wasn’t accidental. I dedicated this pilgrimage in the intention of spiritual transformation and greater growth of my faith. I wasn’t concentrating on the outer sights, walls, stones but I desired to be strongly touched by the spirit of the Word of God. And I wanted the outside rustle and bustle of the pilgrims (there were many) not to deprive me of my inner silence. I wanted these short moments of these holy encounters to yield some spiritual fruit. I desired to feel the inner dazzle resulting from the bestowed grace of being in these holy places. I accepted the scorching heat, crowded places as a necessary gift in order to learn how to share my experiences with others, and how to just learn to love my companions from our pilgrimage trail.


Pilgrim’s joy

I have touched you three times, Holy Land
Your beauty remained in my eyes, your love, in my heart
Overfilled with longing to seek the pure source
On the Day of  Descent of the Holy Spirit, I felt you once more
I have already known your temples, street noise, rustle of pilgrims
This time I sent my soul on a pilgrim’s trail
Let her gather spiritual treasures while hovering over the holy signs
The treasures of faith, strengthened with the Word of God
I made my soul free, following her with my thoughts
But my body was stuck in the surrounding reality
My thoughts were rising up toward God …

I was looking for the Countenance of Jesus in the humming waves of the Genesareth
And also in that storm, in Peter’s boat, thrown by the waves
I wished to hear Jesus’ breathing in Cafarnaum
Resting like a tired man after the hardship of traveling
I penetrated into the depth of stony plates with my imagination
The Lord with the cross was moving along the way among the Jerusalem’s bazaar stands
My soul was dead-stiff in sorrow, stumbling over the pain
The pain was still stuck there, adorned with His blood
The pain that penetrated through the air like an incurable wound
Lots of fervently praying and fast-moving people in basilicas
Contemporary times piercing into the history of Salvation …

Everyone wants to touch the talisman-like holy traces
A long procession of people surrounds the Lord’s Tomb, the Bethlehem Cradle
I have just a while, Jesus, to feel the warmth of these places
And to hold them in my hand, to give them to my heart to keep
We keep on our pilgrimage with my soul to Sinai Mountain
Toward the sun rising up from behind the mountain at dawn
Moses and God, the stony boards of the Commandments
The Voice of God sounded from this place
The miracle of the encounter of the power of Love and Justice
Man on this mountain, like a grain of sand
The grain that wants to be close to God to become the tree of faith

I plunge in beautiful joy, as pure as mountain air
And find the space that lifts me toward courage
The courage of faith, despite storms and hostile waves
The courage of Veronica with her loving gesture and Simon discovering God
I desire the prayer that will bring over the Countenance of Jesus
I look for the words deep in my heart, even those hidden, unknown
The silhouettes of praying Jews at the Weeping Wall
Look to me like eternal signs that survived through ages
Because human longing for God, for prayer does not pass away
I adorn myself with this longing, like with beautiful flowers of Israel in the sun
And I return to my own Tabor Mountain, the mountain of grace of transfiguration of man’s heart.

14.06.2012. During the Holy Mass, I thought about how great and unlimited God’s Love is. It occurred to me in a form of intellectual consideration. I saw a beautiful, golden treasury, filled with the richness of colors and brilliance. Great love, hard to make out with human senses. The richness of God’s Love … I saw myself and other people with golden coins going into this treasury. It looked as if we wanted to “exchange” them for God’s Love with our deeds, or “buy” graces with prayers because we think that we “deserve” them by living a good life, in our opinion. How poor did our coins look against  the immensity of the treasury of God’s Love. I asked in my heart: What do You want, Lord? And I heard: I want your complete trust in accord with My Will. I don’t need your “alms” … I visualized blessed Michael Kozel whom we prayed to, that day. He gave away his life as a priest, to God, and died being tortured in Dachau. He didn’t “bargain” for his life with God. He “paid” God with his trust and love. Man is concerned about his life, health. He is afraid to enter the “treasury of God’s Love” with complete trust to yield to God (a parable about a youth whom Jesus told to sell everything and follow Him). There is a conviction in us that God rewards us here on earth and suffering is like punishment. But our faith teaches us that the “treasury of unlimited Love of God” opens up with the human cross. With the cross that is carried patiently, with humility. And it can’t be exchanged for the golden coins of our egotistic desires. And we should keep being grateful for the graces and miracles in our lives. They are like gifts from the pharmacy of God’s Love. 


Gift of love

If you received the grace of filling your heart
With love that surpasses all other senses
And doesn’t want reciprocity, paying back, devotion
Then you  got  a gift from the Holy Spirit, the most expensive one
The freedom of bestowing love …
Being freed from the chains of the body
You experience hovering over human faults, sins
You don’t judge, but leave the judgment to God
Your love, plunged in freedom
Doesn’t feel touched or thirsty
It is like life-giving, clear air
Ready to share breath and give away pearls
Out of the inexhaustible source of this Love
You are like a bird, bestowed with space
Released from the prison of the cage of the body
Constraining you and waiting for gratitude
Oh, beautiful gift of Love of the Holy Spirit  
Given to the soul like a singing prayer
If you hear its sounds once
It will last inside you with a never-ending flame.


I look for happiness

I look for happiness in my life
Not elusive, tears will not drown it
Suffering will not break it
And in spite of many obstacles
It can rise above momentary experiences
Of a fulfilled dream, or a grace of fate
I look for happiness that is difficult but renewing
Giving hope through the mystery of life

I go along my way, the pilgrim, dressed in my carnal senses
Which demand a state of happiness
False ideas and world’s pictures lure
Giving a moment’s sweetness of oblivion
And then they crack up like soap bubbles
The desire for happiness cries, feeling deceived
Out of sorrow, you raise your eyes toward Heaven and beseech:
Teach me, Lord, Your happiness

I hear an angel, running to me
He knows more about happiness than I do
I wrap myself in silence, suppressing my senses
It leads me into the mysterious space of the soul
I hear the words: “the Son of God died for you
Look for eternal happiness in His arms
And when you understand how great His Love is
Then you will find the happiness that you are looking for”.


You are for me, Lord …

You are for me, Lord …
Like the hand that rescues me from the abyss
Like the prayer that raises me from my fall
You are the cross that I climb up to You
The meadow of love, full of white daisies
The fragrance of hope when disappointment surrounds me
The young wine, inflaming faith
You are for me, Lord …
Like the psalm, creating words of love
The music of harmony, appeasing anxiety
You are the Father who is not frugal with gifts
The hand that dresses wounds with caress
You are the thought that brings sense to our daily life
The mystery of Heaven that You want me to know
You are for me, Lord …
Like the Merciful Love, the purest of all
Which gives the most beautiful gift
The Eucharist, the Body and Blood of Your Son
The Miracle, ascending straight from Heaven
With this Miracle, You want to lift me up toward You
Through His Offering, You want to make me a child of Yours
You are for me, Lord …
The Light that leads me toward Your Love.



The rescue

If you don’t hear the birds, singing outside the window
The sunrise and sunset don’t fascinate you any more
If the passersby’ faces look strange to you
Flowers don’t enchant you with their colors and appeal
If you wear anger like an old, worn-out sweater
Love seems to be too expensive
And life resembles a hard rock to step over roughly
Then you look as if you went dead in your essence, man
And what is beautiful in you, fell asleep soundly

Be aware that nobody can squeeze a tear out of a rock
There isn’t any life-giving blood in it, either
The smile is covered with conceit and will not light up your face
And anger frightens everyone away, even the very kind one
The sun over your head will be just an illusion of light
Flowers and people will turn into an obstacle
You will become a stone, hurting and deaf
And your heart will get mute for the world and people

But there is a rescue for you, the man of steel
Someone on the cross was once stuck into a rock, like yours
The merciful prayer was poured out over the world
For the hearts that got petrified in sin
It was Jesus, rid off clothes, naked, dressed only in the garment of loving pain
He, the sculptor of Love, wanted to carve in you
The sign of Divine Love, with the cross and not with a hurting chisel
The sign that opens the heart to the beauty of life in Heaven and on Earth.

28.06.2012. I know people who are so devoted to their passions, hobbies, they adore an actor, a sportsman so much that they use a lot of time for that. This is my love - they say. Although they declare themselves as Catholics but they prefer to give themselves away to their pleasures more than going to Holy Mass. It seems to me that they don’t  even realize that they sin against the First Commandment: you will not have any other gods but Me. In spite of fatigue, lack of time, they rush to a concert or a match as if it were their great love. They give away themselves, their feelings, being unaware that they become slaves of their passions. Holy Mass, God - it is only a duty. Their love gets exhausted due to their passion. They don’t notice other values. They give away their adoration to various interests, idols. They forget WHO blesses our life. To give away yourself, your personality, your humanity is a tremendous waste of time. And time runs out mercilessly. You may get bored with an idol, its place will be taken up by another singer, sportsman - we yield to our passion. The time we could devote to our own spiritual development or emotional maturity, passes with no return. We become like empty boxes that look for “treasures” in the outside world, to fill them up. We just get infantile and run out of our love that we could devote to God, to the family, to our fellow human beings. The world of mass production (films, games, sports, idols) helps us to get more infantile and deprives us of individual thinking, criticism and introduces other patterns to follow. Being weak, not strengthened with the teaching of God, we fall into these “booby” traps. Do we feel free then? Happy? So why are there so many people around us who require a psychologist’s advice?


Contemporary crucifixion

A man is going along the street, full of people
He is looking for friendship on the faces of passersby
Loneliness has driven him out of the four walls
Of his dwelling, early in the morning
She didn’t want to talk with him any longer, she got mute
And so she’s been silent for many years now
The man went out to seek voices, smiles
He went out to nourish his loneliness with another man
He is old and tired of his own freedom from responsibility
From time, from the passing seconds
In his hand there is a shopping bag
Like a traveler’s rucksack for a hard pilgrimage
The pilgrimage through the streets full of unknown people
He sees anxiety on their faces, and impatience
When he tries to talk
He doesn’t understand that time for those faces is too precious
They rush by him, as silently as his solitude
The man is moving on, and is carrying his invisible cross
But he feels its weight
He, the contemporary man, crucified…
Crucified with indifference, loneliness
I will send him my prayer, short but cordial:
Oh, Jesus, please stand close to him, with Your own cross
Maybe he will see You…
And then you will both come back together
To the place where his loneliness has been silent for so long
But now she will start to smile and talk.


Give me, Lord, the words …

What strange power human words have
You can utter them but don’t believe in them
You can proclaim them with faith to people
But very few will accept them
Like little clouds in the sky, beautiful words are flowing
The wind is pushing them, nobody knows where to
Emptiness  is spreading, even the sounds get lost somewhere

There are other words which take over the heart with their power
They become a rock, a milestone
They put up a wall in the heart, turning it into a stronghold
Sometimes they may hurt with the weight of their Truth
But this is the rock that we can build our house on
The foundation of trust and faith
Because the Words of Truth are like the Countenance of the Almighty

Give me, Lord, the words like the stones everlasting
May they become deaf against those which lure with deceit
May I utter them, even when in pain
Like a mute who, by miracle, regained speech
Give me, Lord, Your words, the words of Love
So that I could build a spacious chapel out of them, in my heart
And in there, I will adore You with my humble prayer.


Precious gift

You are God of the universe, Lord
We, people, are just an earthly flame that is going out
You, Lord, know the mystery of eternity
We, don’t even know our future
The sunrise of our hope often turns into the sunset
We are like a child’s money-box
Where you may find a copper coin or a golden one
The hungry wants some bread, the satiated looks for diamonds
There are others who step over the rose petals
Still others get hurt with thorns piercing their feet
But You gave us, Good Lord, free will, in Your Justice
The gift of Your royal generosity
And although chances are unequal on this earth
It is we who choose whether to serve evil or love

And even if we just have a copper coin in our money-box of life
We may give it to other people
God has given us the hands, heart, to fill them with His graces
Each out of billions of beings carries this grace of His
And when we do believe in His Eternal Love
Our life then, will become a precious gift
Behold, we were created with the breath of the Eternal Father
And for the eternity we have been called
Evil keeps whispering: you are nobody, man
But the Spirit of the Son of God cries with power from the cross:
You are, like I Am, the Sons of Almighty God
It is He Who has given you, with hope, the richness of the world
It is He Who entrusted you with life to make a miracle out of it
And waits patiently for you, who believed in His Love.


In my paradise

In my paradise, even beautiful flowers wither
And leaves fall down from the trees
Adams and Eves get older
In my paradise, the sun sets down
And darkness is all over
In my paradise, people work hard
And although they wear clothes
They stand naked in the face of suffering
In my paradise, I buy apples at the fruit stand
And I don’t know if they are from the tree of Good or evil
In my paradise, there are concrete pavements
Noise from the machines deafens birds’ singing
And Adams and Eves lock their doors
Sometimes they cry, sometimes they laugh
In my paradise, Lord
That is so unlike Yours
A tree is growing, planted with Your hand
It has a shape of a powerful cross
And underneath there is aroma of the lily flowers
The leaves are evergreen
Storms and winds haven’t broken it yet
I stand under this tree every day
And draw my strength from Its eternal power and embrace It
And listen to the whisper of its leaves, Its wise words
So that I didn’t lose hope and could learn love
During my wandering through my paradise.


17.07.2012 I consider the words of Jesus, written in the Gospel of St. Mathew: Shame on the not repenting cities, shame on you, Corozain, shame on you, Bethsaida! Because if in Tyr and Sidon miracles had occurred, which had occurred in your place, they would have been converted a long time ago… Then I thought how many miracles do occur in our present time and we don’t even notice them. A priest is a miracle for us, indeed, because he continues the mission of Jesus on earth, not to mention the miracle of the Eucharist. All the holy orders, contemplative orders are miracles as well. Despite hundreds of years of passing time since the Son of God appeared, the miracle of conveying His words has been still going on … The miracle of healing souls by the people of vocation who serve God, has been going on, too. Those people contemporary to Jesus saw the miracles that He made but they quickly forgot about them, as it is typical for the human mentality. Maybe it is worthwhile to think over or “renew” our daily life and look for the miracles that happen near us, and then we will discover that what seems to us to be a common, regular event of the day, is a miracle that occurs in front of our eyes.
May our blessings and prayers for the priests and monks be a sign of gratitude to God for the miracles that He is still making.
One day, while adoring the Most Holy Sacrament, I heard in my heart some peculiar words and I saw a silhouette of Jesus holding a little white dove in His hands. At first I didn’t know what this vision meant. Later I understood that these words could be … a request of a priest.


A request of a priest

Hold me Jesus, in Your hands
Like a dove which folded its wings
And doesn’t try to fly
Although the nature shouts: fly, you’ve got the wings

Hold me Jesus, in Your hands
So that I could breathe with the rhythm of Your heart
And filled my body with peace
And didn’t want to fly to unknown lands

Hold me Jesus, in Your hands
May I live in the warmth of Your word
With no desire of the food from this world
Feeling safe in Your hands

Hold me Jesus, in Your hands
And just give me a beautiful song to sing
For Your Glory, Your Truth
And for the salvation of people

Hold me Jesus as long as my wings
Become Your hands
Then I can bless the others with my priesthood
And grant them the miracle of Your existence.


The Eucharistic Miracle

There are miracles so invisible
As if they wanted to hide before the eyes
Designed for the hearts filled with love
For those who recognize the glare of the miracle
But there are also miracles performed for the eyes
Flowing out of God’s Mercy
As the signs of the eternal presence of God
I have seen the miracle of the bleeding Host in Sokolka
A tiny stain of blood
Placed on the whiteness in the Monstrance
In its very center
It looked to me like the face of a clock, without hands
Waiting for the watch-maker
Who will attach beautiful clock-hands
To this red sign
Then the clock will start working
The essence of this blood stain will bring life
And will activate the clock of our human existence
The sign of the blood of Christ will give a new meaning
For the passing minutes of life
Through this Eucharistic Miracle
God speaks to those who trust Him
And to those who are still in doubt
He says: I Am … it is up to your will
To make such clock-hands that can be moved
With the blood of My Son
And they will become the wings leading to the eternity
I have made this miracle
So that you could also make miracles with your lives.


Recovered hope

You sit down on the threshold of a temple to rest
And look at your injured feet
You doubt the sense of the further journey
The stony threshold cools down your injuries and broken heart
You have walked along many roads, but haven’t reached the goal
Sorrow has remained and you feed on it
Feeling like a beggar without hope, without faith, without fortune
Behind your back, in the Tabernacle
There is Somebody waiting with bread, faith, hope and love
But your eyes are still looking toward the world
Although it’s enough to turn around and open the door of the temple …
But you yield to your suffering
Minutes and hours are passing, the night is coming
The usual one, after the day, and the one in your soul
Homeless suffering and homeless night …
And you are still stuck with your back turned to hope

When the night painted all with dark paint
And your eyes could see nothing of this world
There came a little light from a lamp and showed you the direction
Toward the cross by the church…
How precious it looked to you, in this gloomy night
At dawn you walk into the temple and see
The four walls around - looking like home
You’re homeless, but you’re at home
You recall your mother coming here with you
Singing of the faithful, the organs, light, memories
You hear her voice: remember, this Mother never dies
There is a priest in the confessional
Somebody is leading you to him, you kneel down and speak
And then you are given the white Host, covered with your tears
You are on your knees, facing the Lord, your Hope
This time, you have turned your back to the world…


Our Mount Tabor

Our human sins are like rocks
Arranged in a pile
They often form a mountain so big
That Heaven is hidden behind
And we, so little, under this mountain
Capable of doing evil with our nature
And powerless to reach the top
To rise up, above sin...

There are courageous, daring men among us
Who want to conquer this mountain
The Holy Spirit, bestowed upon them through faith
Leads them and helps to reach the top
Every step upward brings sweat and tears
Strength is running out
How hard it is to conquer this mountain
How easy it was to build it with the rocks of sin!

The hands are bleeding, the body, mortified
With heat and lack of water
With voices that cry: what is this hardship for?
The legs slip over, we are falling down
The holy effort goes on, sometimes all life long
The most important is to climb up again
To put the hands against the rocks
To fill the dried-up mouth with prayer and look upward

Maybe we can see the light already?
Maybe the stars are twinkling already?
Maybe the saints will give us more strength?
Up there, on top, the cross is standing, the Savior
Up there, on top, He will make the Transfiguration of the heart
He will sanctify the hardship of our will
Up there, on top, the shadow of the mountain of our sins
Will not put Heaven out of sight.


21.08.2012 I was listening to an opinion of a well known writer about faith and God. He said that in spite of his mature age, he still has some doubts and still is waging a struggle with God. He tries to reach faith by means of
his mind. His way to God is also a valuable way and it also refers to the educated theologians, but . it occurred to me that on our way to God it is extremely important to be granted with the grace of . falling in love with God, with His words. Without this "falling in love", we face our constant
doubts. This "falling in love" provides us, through grace, with many arguments that are unknown to those who want to use their minds exclusively, especially when they consider the matters of faith.

During the Mass I saw a gray sphere - our Earth, and our human life. In the western part of this sphere, life was beginning to exist, as if it were after the sunset, in some darkness. The life was growing up and was moving
further . toward the sunrise. At first I didn't understand this image. What is this east that we are moving toward? East may suggest creating something new, new hope. We are heading toward east, toward living in God . Human
death is only a transition to new east, to new life that is lit up with Eternal Truth. This vision showed me a sign that man's death is not the end of his life, not his sunset, but it is his east, his sunrise, the beginning of the mystery of his true destiny.


The image of the soul

You have sent down my soul, Lord, to the Earth
Painted with Your colors, the shades of hope
Her beauty was shining with the beauty of the Creator
In His likeness

On earth, she became grey, whitened from tears
From worries, struggles and suffering
From doubts, pain and fighting with evil
She looked like a picture covered with fog

I search for the primordial colors for her, Lord
Pure, bright, and sparkling with light
I try to wipe off the grey fog with Mary's dress
And give her more courage with the Scapular

I see my soul as an old picture
The dried-up paint comes off, the lines fade away
But it is still the work of an artist
The Artist of the eternal glory

I place my soul, Lord, before You
On the easels of my body
In Adoration of Your Merciful Beauty
And I beseech: restore her colors with Your hand

Please enlighten the pale image with the Holy Spirit
I give away my will to Your creative intentions
Not to admire the image of my own soul
But for the glory and hope of the Creator of souls.


Our homes

I see life as a constant running
In searching for safe homes
These which provide spiritual peace
And others, made of wood, cement and bricks
There was a house from my childhood, full of voices
I can still hear those fairy tales
The aroma of those dreams hasn't evaporated yet
But the wind of maturity closed the door behind

We begin to build our own homes
They are often like unfinished constructions
Incapable, we make mistakes, building them
They lack a table with nourishment of love
And a place where prayer reigns
Goodness comes out of the leaky windows
Vanity opens the door widely
The apartment turns into a prison for a weeping soul

But there comes the day, granted with grace from Heaven
When we hear of the house, built on a rock
We turn our glance to the cross nailed to the wall
It wandered with us through many homes
The patient Lord, with His head against His arm
And we hear a whisper: My Heart is your home.
Kneeling before Him, tired of our running
We build out last, new home, out of His Abundant Love.


Repentance song of a soul

I didn't ask You, Lord, for graces
I took them from the world in bunches
I didn't ask You, Lord, for graces
Though You sent them for me

With my head raised up proudly
I strode on, stepping over them
And picked fruits from high branches
Those on the ground were not good enough

I didn't take love from Your hands
But demanded it from people
Until the day came over, like a black bird of penance
And pierced my pride with a sharp beak

I stood in front of an iron gate
Behind the bars, I heard groans and crying
Of people just like me
They beseeched for prayers and for graces that they stepped over

They ordered me to kneel down, with my eyes turned down to earth
And look for the lost graces and sing a repentance song
I turned my face to Humility, the unknown lady for me so far
And I looked for the signs of Your graces, Lord, in the past

Since then, I've been looking at the world, on my knees
This pose brings me closer to Your graces, Lord
I gather even tiny gifts like precious pearls
So that I could generously share them with my fellow men.


Love is the greatest

If I had the voice of an opera singer
I would sing You, Lord, the most beautiful aria
If I had the talent of a famous painters
I would paint Your picture with awesome colors
If I knew the most precious words
I would write a poem that adores You
If I knew Your profound love
I would devote my life to Your adoration
But I am just a tiny common man
And I often lack beautiful words, pictures look gray to me
I carry daily burden in my hands
Although my soul wants to rise up high

While I was thinking over my desires
My Angel brought me a hymn of love on His wings
The hymn was once written by Saint Paul in the Gospel
The hymn was about the essence of true love
Love is patient, gracious, doesn't need any applause
Doesn't burst with anger, doesn't look for profits
Love never stops.
And I understood, my Guardian Angel
That God doesn't demand any great arias, pictures from us
And talents that are often like a loud dulcimer
God wants the love that sets hope on Him
Without this love, there is no salvation for us.


Tower

There is a high tower on my soul
Like an antenna, turned toward Heaven
Made up of the holy sacraments
Of Baptism, Confirmation, Eucharist
Pictures, music, beautiful words, flow out into the soul
The soul does not always understand them
But the warmth of love of the Holy Sender penetrates her
And creates joyous peace

From my tower, I send to God
Prayers and pictures from my life
They run like an arrow, when they are pure and sincere
Sin disturbs them, like a storm on the joints
Then the picture is distorted and out of contact
Night appears, the soul loses the brightness of the screen
Heaven is waiting patiently, and the Holy Sender
Repairs the broken agreement, with His Merciful hand

And I hear the angels flying down from the tower
They warn: your tower is shaking.
Sin means a betrayal of the Beloved One
It hurts the heart with thorns, it pierces with pain
Thank You, Lord, for this pain
It is like Your memory, about my soul
I cleanse our holy agreement with a confession
And I hold Your hand that is the wing of the Holy Spirit
And I beseech: give my soul, Lord, Your pictures, words and music.


The open window of Heaven

I believe that in man is a registered
Idea of goodness, love and beauty
The Creator has put her into the heart of man
And the heart will not rest until man reaches her
I believe that we carry a longing for her
Hidden somewhere deeply
It’s like a pearl, hidden in a shell
The longing for goodness, for love
Free from sin, ready for offering
But here on earth, being dressed in our carnality
Too often we serve the shell… not the pearl
But this pearl, hidden in hard crust
Desires purity of our spirit

But sometimes, being cleansed with sincere prayer
We experience a grace of a peculiar state
And a saint in Heaven opens a window ajar
And for a moment … we hold a pearl in our hands
With no talent for singing, for music and painting
Suddenly, a beautiful hymn is coming out of our mouth
Our hands are painting fabulous pictures
And we become ingenious musicians
At this wonderful moment, our heart is filled with amazement
Though our return to earth is so painful
Still, we experienced a miracle … of touching Heaven
Then a desire comes how to retain this pearl in the heart
And not lose the memory of goodness, love and beauty.


Wood and stone

There are days in our life
That are wrapped in gray sadness
We look at the clouded sky
That is indifferent to our mood
Under our feet is greenery
Changing into dying leaves
And thoughts are coming about the loneliness of existence

Then I look at huge trees
Strong and full of hope for endurance
I look at the cross, made of wood, for Jesus
For His loneliness on the cross…
The very last touch of the living God-man
This is the touch of wood…
That was changed into the cross, by man

Jesus, exalted high and dying
United with the wood, blood, sweat and tears
He is far from the human touch
Already dead, protected only by a stony grotto
Stone and wood, this is the power of this world’s perseverance
The stony grotto persevered, heated with the warmth of the faithful
The cross survived, too, its wood gets green as the hope for next generations.


Nazareth

Oh, Nazareth, the city of Mary’s FIAT
Blessed with the sign of God
The mystical city…
Today, full of clatter of dwellers and pilgrims
Today, you live your daily life
You are also the city of meditation
Over our faith, our fiat
The Blessed Virgin Mary
Imprinted on you, that is still living
And burning light of faith
We, deeply in prayer in the Grotto of Annunciation
Meditate over our own life in the light of Mary’s FIAT
We take our pilgrim’s fiat in our hands
And weigh its power
And its weight that fills our hearts
In prayer, we turn over the pages of our life
We read out our own fiat
In the history of our own days
Sometimes it is out of reach
Because of the sin of mistrust
Sometimes it is our victory over evil
Oh, Mary of Nazareth
Be with us in the Nazareth of our life
Stand by the blind without hope
Who are deaf against the annunciation of good news
And don’t let us rise from our knees
While we beseech for the holy faith
Please find our fiat that was cast away
When we went astray in mistrust and vanity
Take it in Your hands and bless it
Put it into our hearts and may it shine with Your faith
In the Nazareth of our life.


Master

When we run along the ways of life blindly
We can’t see the borders, our eyes can not reach out there
When we follow the crowd along the paths
We see the backs of people, but not the destination
Our world is such a difficult place to wander around
So many paths, so many cross-roads
Where the sun sometimes blinds our eyes
Or darkness takes us by surprise
While hunting for easy prey, or for comfort
We move around in life like a hunter in the forest
Without a guide who knows the right ways
We get lost, wasting the precious moments of life

Disappointed, we stop at another cross-road
And look at our booty sadly
With regret that we were running with the crowds
Behind the backs of those who didn’t know their destination
It was like a blind-folded running
And our booty was like miserable crust that other’s dreams left over
Our own dreams got dissolved somewhere
Only the heart still demands something precious
We start looking for our own way and the Wise Master
He, stretched on the cross, like an eagle ready to fly
Points to the way into the happy, boundless eternity
And with His Love, He lights up the place where genuine treasures are hidden.


Rosary of hope

We look for the sense of life, sometimes until death
We think over the darkness of our days
As if we lived without light
We weave paper wreaths of defeat
Out of tragic events
When joy embraces our hearts suddenly
We are afraid, thinking it will soon fly away
But it is like a flower seed
It will grow, spreading around the aroma of scent

How to nurse this joy that starts blooming shyly?
Take the Rosary in your hands
It is the source of mysteries of life
And saying every word of “Hail Mary”…
Give your life to Her
With the Rosary, your thoughts will find rest
Against evil that torments you
And you will weave a wreath of joyous hope
Your wreath of defeat will turn to ashes

There is holy power in the pearls of the mysteries
Love flows down from them into the vessel of the soul
And a bright ray pierces our heart
No longer are you alone with your own mystery
The Holy Mother has interwoven it into the life of Jesus
And a flower starts blooming in you like a fruit
Out of which you draw the nectar of joy
Then love fills you up with peace
And love is where you look for the sense of life.


24.10.2012 I was listening to a “spiritual preaching” of a certain priest some time ago. His words penetrated me very deeply and forced to meditate over them. He talked about the sense of existence of every man in this world, about seeking God in ourselves, in our own sanctuary of the soul. God has left His own seal in us, we must find it within us, and find our individual purpose of our existence. Consequently, I had my own considerations connected with this. Each of us has his own way to Salvation, according to God’s plans. Every newly born child, even the handicapped one (that the abortion enthusiasts are so “worried about”) is included in God’s plan. We may cast away this plan of God, with our human will. Accepting God’s will leads us along the way of His plans, toward our Salvation. The mother who raises an ill child, is gifted with a peculiar grace of God. She builds up in herself heroic feelings of love and grows spiritually in maturity as a human being. It is an unusually difficult task, it is a fight for a dignity of human life, for a dignity of man in this world. If she hadn’t been “gifted” with such a “task”, whom would she be? We should value and respect such attitudes. They make sense as for the moral value of man. The contemporary world “teaches” us to remove all the inconveniences of life and aim at pleasures. Isn’t our interior emptiness an effect of such attitudes? We cancel God’s plan concerning us, with our “convenient act of will”, we cancel His graces, hunting for the illusive “graces” of the world. I recall some accounts of the people who took up the challenge, the task of hard life, who accepted the cross. It’s strange but they smile sincerely. There is love and gentleness in them. There is a smile, and not a momentary chuckle.
From the Gospel of St. John, about the healing of a blind.: Jesus, passing by, saw a man who has been blind since his birth. Jesus’ disciples asked Him a question: Rabbi, who committed a sin that caused that he was born blind - he or his parents? Jesus answered: neither he nor his parents committed a sin but so it happened so that God’s intentions could come to pass through him.


Sanctuary of the soul

Please hurt the heart of mine, Lord
With a ray of Your Love
May it reach the sanctuary of my soul
That God has gifted me
May it burn down my sins
Making our union holy
May Your blood, Lord, fall like hot tears
And may the memory of Your Passion be like an obstacle
For the thoughts of temptation
Allow me, Lord, to build with You
The sanctuary of the Divine Spirit in me
That shouts loud in my conscience
Against conceit, egotism, sinfulness
I desire to build the House within me
For the Host of Your body
And not to make You feel abandoned and hurt, in there
I desire to be in this House together with You
And hear the whisper about God’s will, out of Your mouth
I desire a consolation, with childlike trust
And I want to learn a sincere prayer
That is laid on the white cloth of the Altar
And will be cleansed with Your Mercy
Please keep knocking with love, Lord, day and night
On the door of the sanctuary of my soul
May she recognize Your voice, the voice of the Holy Chaplain
Who makes the Offering, for my Salvation.


God’s Hope

Oh, God, You Are the sunshine of the day
And the moon, dispersing the dusk of the night
But we, people often see darkness around
Where Your light is shining…
We yield to our weak nature
Blinded… in the light
What is filled with the spirit of holiness
Seems dead to our eyes
Just a color in a golden frame
We honor body pains, or autumn-like moods
Forgetting about the Creator…
There are such cold moments in our faith
Our soul loses her joyous breath
Shouting out of pain…

A gentle touch of Fatherly Love suddenly flows down
Unexpected, like a rescue of grace
Out of darkness, the cross appears
We lay our weakness there
It’s our repentance offering, for the blindness of the heart
For the autumn clouds of our mood of doubt
For our faith which yields to the night of darkness
For the heart that is cold, without prayer
And the soul wakes up, warmed with the ray of the Holy Spirit
His voice sounds like a bell within us
I, the Lord, have bestowed the grace of faith upon you
Trusting that you will not fail Me, my children
And will recognize My Love in the Holy Host
For this Fatherly Hope, I have created you…


Reflections on the Feast of the Dead

Death is asking…

Death asked Life what is precious that He sees in Himself?
Life covered His face with the hands with fear
So that He couldn’t see the countenance of Death
He decided to hide in the crowd
Of people who don’t want to hear Her questions
They carry a banner, like an advertisement of a product
With an inscription: life is a joy, comfort, fun and happiness
And so, going with them for some time
Life has forgotten about Death’s question
And all together they shouted their joyous slogans
Until He fell down on the ground
The crowd stepped over Him with a loud laughter
Nobody has bent down over Life
Nobody has given Him a helping hand
Life disturbed their march, with His unfortunate fall

There was a big oak tree on the roadside
It covered Life with shadow, against the heat
Its leaves stubbornly whispered:
What is so precious in You, Life?
And Death appeared again, in a duet with a rustle of the leaves:
Some day, I will hold You in My hands, Life
And will pull Your roots out of this earth
I will put You before the throne of the One who had breathed a spirit in You
You will stand all alone before Him, when He asks You:
What do You have for Me that is precious?
Life looked at His empty hands sadly
And wiped dust and dry, autumn leaves off His clothes
Then He set off along His own way, granted with the light
Today, He stands under the oak, as strong as the arms of the cross
He raises from the fall those whom others didn’t give a helping hand.


Power of Love

I want to hide in Your arms, Jesus
The arms of Love
May they protect me like a grotto on the desert
From the heat of the day, and the cold of the night
May the desert wind disperse my fears
And may fog cover Temptation Mountain
May my faith be the lasting rock of the grotto
That withstands the desert winds
I look for such a holy place in me, Lord
That would join us together forever
I ask my spirit to recognize Your Holy Spirit
I recognize Your footsteps, Lord
I also recognize my sin, when the echo of Your footsteps gets silent
Though I still see Your arms, held out toward me
As if time stopped existing
Because time does not touch Your Love
We just stand opposite to each other
You, with Your Power, and I, with my weakness
But between us, there is Your Divine Cross of Salvation
And mine, that is human and tiny
And I hear the voice: reach for My Cross
It will be the desired grotto for you
And the arms of My Love
You will find the sanctity of your spirit there
On this cross, the encounter of My Spirit and yours will come to pass
And no storm, no heat, no cold, dark night
Will defeat the Power of My Love for you.


The time of struggle and the time of waiting

We are like boats on the waters of life
Sometimes we float along a gentle current
And quite often, waves of a hurricane overflow us
Being strong with youth, and the desire to reach the shore
We fight with the waves for survival of life and dreams
While submerged in the waters of life, we don’t count time
So many waves ahead, to conquer…
And the sky and ocean keep flowing together
Creating a mirage that the shore of dreams is near

Suddenly weakness overpowers the body, advanced with age
But we still imitate the gestures of the young
And fight with the weakness of our hands
Merciless waves make us get back to the shore
From which we set off one day
There are water drops on our faces, or maybe tears?
On the beach sand, there are so many treasures under our feet
Colorful shells, quiet humming of the waves
Comforting the castaway of the old-age

We take the sand in our hands and strew it over
The particles fall down like the memories of by-gone moments
Peace fills up the heart, and the thoughts, satiated with maturity
We spot the red ball of the setting sun
It sinks in the waters, somewhere in remote space
We are still afraid to look into the face of the unknown for us, future
We are still contemplating the beauty of life, focusing on the moments
Being freed from the fight for survival, we wait for the time of coming of Love
For Her warm hand that will lead us to the shore of the ocean of eternity.


Jesus in His Mother’s arms

Once You hugged the Infant, the Treasure of God
In the cradle of Your arms, Holy Mother
You could embrace the Little One and hid Him at Your heart
But it was different on Golgotha Hill
Up there You were holding
The dead body of Your Son, in Your arms
Silence of God came upon the world
When suffering was carving the pieta
Out of Mother’s tears and Her Son’s blood…
You cuddled grown-up Jesus then
Like a little baby long ago
New Eve, Mary, chosen by God
The Holy Mother, crying over the sinful world
Crying over the man who kills God in himself
Though Your body is dead already, Jesus
Mother still feels the warmth of Your pain
Indeed, Jesus’ pain is immortal
As long as sin reigns over the world
God laid Jesus into the womb of His Mother
In the tenderness of His Mercy
The dead body feels the caress of Her hands
At the last moments on earth
Her eyes are staring at Her Son with dedication
Her tears are flowing down into His wounds
And Jesus’ redeeming blood is mixed
With the tears of the Holy Mother
And though there is sadness in this pieta
Like in every last farewell
This pieta is not a dead stone
It enlivens with hope for the redeeming death of the Lord
With Mary’s Love, ready to embrace every man.


Dawn on Mount Sinai

I am looking at dawn that disperses darkness
Still sleeping lazily, on the bed of the mountains
Darkness is still finishing its dreams
When dawn with its childlike joy
Sweeps it away with its sharp glare
After the night’s climb up Mount Sinai
I am waiting for the sunrise…
Leaning against a rock
And staring into the power of the mountains
I am the witness of an awesome miracle
A huge, red, burning sphere suddenly emerges
Out of the rocky tops that proudly pierce the sky
As if they possessed the knowledge of sunrises and sunsets
I have a feeling that I am in a large concert hall
With a great, mystical virtuoso
My body is submitted to the sounds, unknown so far
And to the feelings, deeply hidden
But it is this silence that trembles and sings its own song
I experience the beauty of silence…
That was the moment when Moses fell upon his knees
Before the power of God
The redness of the burning sphere of the sun
Is like the Eucharist for the world
That is filled with the blood of the Son of God
Surrounded with dawn that announces Salvation
With the power, being revealed on Sinai…
I am getting filled with joy, gathered through many generations
Look, my soul, I whisper
I am giving you the treasure of the encounter of God and man
Don’t lose it and hug the stony boards of Moses
Don’t allow their weight to suppress you…
Oh, Sinai, your mountain imprinted a picture in me
I am still pondering on it while climbing down
Among the sharp rocks
And I have a desire to carry on this joy
Which is so great that the heart can not contain
In the warm morning sunshine, passing by the rocks
I leave behind the flakes of this joy, as a mystery
For those who are following me
This is the love that overflowed through me, with a mystical wave
Granting the abundance of joy and the grace of sharing it with others
This is the gift of power of Mount Sinai.


Holy moments

There are mortal moments, dying through time
Their death passes away along with memory
Like daily jobs, forced by daily routine
The impact of experiences, even the tragic ones, gets weaker
It’s like a stain in the heart, spreading with gray pain

There are also holy moments, existing above mortality
The moments, when between the hand of a priest
And the mouths of the faithful, the white Host rises
The sign of existence of the mystery of immortality
The moment of mystical veneration of life

Two mortalities, that of the priest and ours
And in between, raised within the space of the prayer
There is Jesus, the Lord of Eternal Love, His Body and Blood
The Miracle so great that even beyond understanding
By the fragile love of man

For this one holy moment of the touch of God
You are standing alone, before the Countenance of the Lord
Heaven is looking at you and filling with grace
Your soul feeds with the Eucharist, the Lord’s Blood and yours are mixed
The color of eternity reflects on your mortality

Humbled, with humility, you submit yourself to the Will of the Lord
And though it is beyond your mind to understand this miracle
You only hear the sounds, filling the temple, and see the faces
But the miracle of the encounter with God has occurred…
Overflowing your heart with unknown peace

There are mortal moments, dying down in the routine of life
There are also the immortal moments, the holy ones, the gift of God
When the Offering of the Passion of His Son, calls in the soul, with the white Host:
I am your food, your Salvation, for eternity
Give me your mouth and I will touch you with the kiss of beautiful Love

For such moments, God created you…


Please open my eyes, Lord

If our heart is filled with pride and selfish love
It becomes blind for daily miracles
Like a horse in harness or an errant knight
We look for unusual, unknown diamonds
While God sows His gifts around us, with His Holy hand

Sometimes it takes time, years of roaming
After a made-up treasure that does not exist
And one day when our hair is gray
We discover the signs of God’s Love
That we used to pass by shortsightedly

There were days of great worry
But someone cast a smile to us and a shy hand gesture
Still, we were like a clouded sky during a dark storm
With a thunder of wrath, we cast away this gift of an angel
Sinking in the rain of our own distress

With the passing time we recall the sweet days of youth
Warm milk, our parents, as a gift of God’s Providence
The sun in those days seemed much warmer
Sunday Mass had a fragrance of incense and flowers
Parents’ prayer books tempted with a holy mystery

The aroma of daily life was so safe
It still exists somewhere, hidden in our memory
Wasn’t it a gift of God’s Love for our heart?
A little miracle, magically made for a little child
Out of a smile of the Creator, the generous Provider

We, adults, full of pride, who fight for love with swords, not hearts
As if we wanted to force Heaven to grant us great gifts
Stepping over little flowers of miracles, we don’t know their taste
And we get blind for the graces that God bestowed upon us
Little, daily miracles, but great, because it was Him Who did it

Then we must kneel before the Altar of the Lord
And plunge ourselves in a thanksgiving-beseeching prayer
And ask God: please open my eyes, Lord
Allow me to see Your abundant gifts and miracles
That flow out of Your Love, every day and every night.


Testimony

In the crowd of the faithful, I used to stand before the Altar of the Lord
Out of the custom of my ancestors more than of the need of my spirit
Hidden among the praying people
I didn’t feel Your presence, Lord
The Mass used to be a Sunday duty for me
The words of the priest got lost in the dispersion of thoughts
But, somewhere deeply hidden, under the cover of indifference
There was a vibrating string of unknown longing
For the encounter with You, Jesus, in the lonely space

I entered a church on a common day
The church was empty, voiceless pictures, silence like silky veil
Was wrapping up the pews, walls and the ornamental chandelier
I spotted the Altar and the Monstrance with Jesus on It
He was standing alone, as if He were waiting long for me…
Hoping that I will console this loneliness of His
I fell on my knees, afraid to raise up my eyes
Then my heart was beating with strange love
I wanted to hug this Monstrance with the Lord

Oh, Jesus, You have been carrying my cross so many years
You’ve been standing by me for so long, hoping for an encounter
Wishing to grant love and holy words upon me
You’ve been lonely, abandoned, by my empty heart
But now I experience the miracle of faith, oh, Merciful Lord!
This Altar with the Monstrance became like Mount Tabor for me
The silence of the church vibrated with the cry of the conversed soul
Like Simon, I wanted to catch my cross, that was cast on Your shoulders
And staring into Your eyes, Jesus, I want to carry it as far as Golgotha.


Where are you from, my soul?

My angel granted a beautiful memory picture upon me
The memory of a soul that hasn't touched the body yet
Somewhere in the unknown space, being still embraced by God
In the beauty of love and colors, she waited to be embodied into man

In a glass house, shining with rainbow colors
Filled with twinkling light
Every wall was decorated with nature's landscapes
Every wall was like a stained glass of every season

Splitting bouquets of flowers were peeping through one wall
The grass was shooting up in a lively, spring dance
Sleeping leaves of trees and bushes were waking up to come to life
Their pink and white flowers were feeding with dew

The second wall was a stained glass of summer season
Warmth like a press was squeezing nectar out of juicy fruits
Their juice was falling on the life-giving soil
The sunrays were getting through the abundant branches

The third wall was decorated with red and yellow leaves
Autumn gave birth to the richness of colors with its painter's passion
The fourth wall was sparking with whiteness, fluff covered the trees
Falling asleep lazily, listening to a quiet lullaby

In the glass house was a waiting silence
The soul was waiting for an angel, for his tender voice
It's time for you, my soul, to leave the Heavenly salons
And descend to the Earth, into the womb of an unknown mother

What will you encounter there, my soul, loving hands or a cold look
Swallowing a gasp of air, a baby shouted out loud: I am!
He was still feeling the touch of Heavenly angels
He still remembered that house that he had seen

But now new life, new seasons were teaching the newly born child
About the earthly laws of love, pain and fear, unknown so far
Everyone knows the history of his life, turning over the pages of his memory
Remember that in every history of life, there is written-in, with the hand of God

Your own page, too, the pedigree of your soul.


Encounter in prayer

You appear in our life, Jesus
So alive that the heart stops beating for a moment
It becomes unbelievable for our mind
When the light of this mystery penetrates the body
The prayer in our mouth hasn’t ended yet
The thought about daily life hasn’t gone out yet
But a peculiar love starts flowing in with a hot wave
And you have a feeling of a perfect care…

Unusual joy lifts you up, above the worries of life
You are like a bird in unknown space
Tears of joy flow in a salty stream
And what has been a holy ritual in your heart so far
Changes into a love union with Jesus
Then you see a crystal spring and a few drops of blood of the Lord
A white flake is floating there, the Eucharist
You desire to dip your heart and soul in this spring

You want to keep on in this holy enchantment
It seems that a shroud came off your eyes
It separated the Altar from your soul, that was asleep so far
You hear a beautiful song although silence is all over the temple
Words of thanksgiving flow straight out of your mouth
With the echo of angelic prayers
You want to shout: hold me Lord, in Your arms
I want to be Yours, forever…

You appear unexpectedly near us, Jesus, when we pray
You are so alive then that all our senses can feel it
At this beautiful moment, the pictures look empty
Because Jesus alive is coming toward us, out of their frames
The Pilgrim, Who is on His never-ending journey to human souls
With the same cross that He was carrying to Golgotha
With the same merciful look
With the same resurrecting Love, for which He died for us.


Courage of love

How to get on the road that You went along, Jesus
And not to stop and seek rest halfway?
Whom to become to help You carry Your cross
And not to leave You alone?
How not to just stand at the waters of the Jordan
And watch Your Baptism from the safe bank?
How, being nourished and satiated with bread and fish
Not to return to another sin?
How to adore Your Mother
To make our hands bake bread for others with Her?
How to be by Your side, flooded with blood and tears
And not to run away from Gethsemane in terror?
How to recognize the Grotto, this passage from Earth to Heaven?
How to avoid fear when Herod tries to kill the Child?
How to keep going with the Three Kings, along their pilgrims’ way
And not to go astray on the desert of doubt?
I have so many questions to You, Lord
While kneeling at the manger in Bethlehem
And You order me the silence, putting the finger on Your lips
And pointing with Your eyes, to the beating heart of the Infant
Then the questions that are infected by weak nature, get silent
And I want to hold the Infant in my arms
May He teach me the courage of love…
May He teach man the courage and trust in Love
The Love that always gives a helping hand when you fall
And It stops and waits along the way of your life…
Until we shake off the dust of our weak nature.


17.12.2012 We enjoy holidays and talk about family meetings. But we forget that next to us, there are also lonely people who will spend these holidays alone. And although there are some institutions that try to arrange for suitable holidays for them, yet loneliness will not disappear… It will only cover them up with charity…


There are such holidays…

A tiny present under a small Christmas tree
Wrapped up by yourself with last year’s paper
Also, there is a package with coffee and cakes
The nuns prepared it for the lonely
Clatter of children’s voices got silent long ago
In this house, silence was made royal
Looking with surprise at holiday changes
And at the man who just sat at the Christmas table
As if he waited for the silence to speak…

The white candle is lighting out with sparks
There is an empty plate for a pilgrim from nowhere
With a wafer with Jesus, lying on a piece of hay
The man is staring at the colorful Infant
Like at the cradle of his own children, long ago
Christmas carols are heard from behind the walls
The world is waiting for the first star
The lonely man is nourished with thoughts only
And gets more satiated with them than with red borsch

And words are flowing to the Infant with the wafer
All, brightening in the manger, on the white plate:
I will take You in my arms, Your Mother will agree
I will hug You with my old age that nobody wants now
My kids are grown-up now, somewhere overseas
They fight for better life for my grandchildren
I am still well enough not to be a burden
Also, I have enough love for You, my Infant
So I will not cry over my loneliness

Please give thanks to Your God Father, for Your Birth
For His Gift of Christmas Eve Hope.


25.12.2012 Christmas Holidays made me strangely sad this year. Praying the Novena to the Holy Infant, I was feeling anxiety, as if the Infant wanted to convey something about us, people. On the very day of Christmas, during the Mass, I “saw in my heart” the Infant at the Tabernacle, next I saw Him at the Altar. I received it as a gift for my soul and in my prayer, I recommended all my close ones to Him. Then I was deep in prayer, forgetting about my “vision of the heart”, feeling interior peace. All of a sudden, I “saw” as if a high wind were “dropping” something from above onto the Infant. I shivered, being moved with this sight. The Infant, with an unusually fast movement, caught a small, falling arrow… and pierced His heart with it! The blood poured out of the Infant and down on the Altar. I stopped breathing for a moment because of sudden pain. Then I heard the words: How can you worship Me as long as you kill the unborn!
I was embraced by immense sadness then. I thought about millions of conceived children that we didn’t allow to be born and those who will not be born in future because we introduced the law that favors killing of the innocent unborn. For our own convenience, we forgot about the holiness of every human life.


Without answer

When something ends and something new begins
Thoughts come about grain that was sowed
In the field of life and didn’t grow
But some wheat has bloomed as daily bread

I started thinking over the life of people
Those who passed away long ago and these who just died
I look over their cards of fate carefully
For me, they are written with mysterious style

Why did some of them leave us halfway
With the card of life that had empty spaces?
Why do others who have the card filled with hardship
Carry their life like a camel with heavy humps?

And even if I tried to think hard day and night
No answer would I find, only God knows it
When I study the cards of life of those departed already
I can see their dreams fading away like a flame of a grave-lamp

And a strange thought comes to me that maybe we are
Flowers in the garden of our Lord, Creator?
Though some flowers are just buds but they spread fragrance
For the fragrance of others we must wait until their flakes are open

And none of us here on earth knows the code of life
God, the Lord of Life and Death, covered it with mystery
But He revealed one mystery to us
That the value of life is measured on the scale of love

And the length of life is not important by the years
Nor the number of built houses, bridges, written books
Important is love that we share with God and other people
The memory of this love adorns the cards of life of those

Who haven’t passed away yet.


31.12.2012 In our climbing up the top of faith, we received precious signposts. The Seven Holy Sacraments are such guideposts: Baptism, Confirmation, Most Holy Sacrament, Penance, Anointing of the Sick, Priesthood, Marriage. The seven miracles which give power to persevere in faith.


The Mountain of Seven Sacraments

I saw two mountains, full of human beings
And though they were sinking in darkness
There were some lights blinking on them
The signposts, showing to the top
On one, there were seven bright lamps shining
On the other, hundreds of little lights were vibrating
Carried by climbing people
I was tempted by the mountain with twinkling lights
It looked like a colored, Christmas tree

But the warm glare of the seven lights attracted the sight
It had the power of promise and unknown hope
Who are you, the light of this mountain? - I asked
Then I saw an inscription for a moment: Baptism… Confirmation
I entered the mountain of seven sacraments
And though the darkness separated
The light of every next lamp with  black space
I could see the wanderers climbing up bravely
As if someone bestowed courage upon them

I saw the silhouettes of priests under the living light of PRIESTHOOD
They were blessing, anointing the sick, listening to confessions
In the glare of the lamp of the Sacrament of Marriage
There were couples of young and elderly people
Warming up at the life-giving fire
Their faces were adorned with a mysterious smile
As if their hearts were touched with the sanctity of a gift…
The top of the mountain is just ahead, dawn is waking up
Through the hopeful prayers of the pilgrims of this mountain

On top, the light of the Eucharist is waiting
The pilgrims quench their thirst with It
Up there, God Himself embraces us
With the grace of the Holy Sacraments, we can reach the top
For a moment we look at the other mountain with merciful eyes
There are blinking little lamps with feeble, little lights
Of those who believed in the power of their own light
Finding emptiness on top, they descend into darkness
Oh, God, we beseech, show them the Mountain of Seven Sacraments
The Holy Mountain of the Divine Grace.


A beseeching prayer

I beseech You, Holy Spirit, Spirit of Love
To touch with Your Merciful Love, the blindness of my eyes
For the invisible beauty and break the curtain of carnality
May the power of Merciful Love reign in my heart
And the pieces of ice break up with a crash
The ice that freezes, hurts with anger and sin

Give me, Holy Spirit, Spirit of Love
One teardrop of Jesus of Gethsemane, salty and sour
One drop of His bloody sweat
May I wipe my blind eyes with the power of their holiness
May the egotism of the heart and body sink in them
Like a black bird of evil that hunts for the soul

Give me, Holy Spirit, Spirit of Love
Such a rebellion which kills evil thoughts and deeds
And such a prayer which rescues the sinners
Such faith that when being under the cross of Jesus
I will not turn away from His wounds
And will not seek consolation in the world

Oh, Spirit of Love, pour over onto me, Your Spirit
So that I could submit my will to His will
While receiving Jesus in the Eucharist
And did not react with silence to His pain
And did not become the image of faith, dusty and rid of light
By which Jesus is passing with sadness

Give me, Holy Spirit, the hard gift of Merciful Love
So that I didn’t assess my neighbors by what my eyes see
Grant that I had the will of fight to heal the souls through prayer and deed
Take the image of my faith, hanging awry with my imperfection
And with Your grace, put the pure colors of Your light on it
And be by my side when I sail out in a frail boat of my will
Over the ocean of Your will.


Waterfall

The pure, spring water of Divine Graces
Flows down over the rocks and stones, into the world
Like from a waterfall, rich with a variety of sounds
Forming a watery depth at the foot
The depth of Love, Goodness and Beauty
No one knows the real depth of these waters
It evokes fear with many people
They prefer to hold on to the rocks of the waterfall
And only wash up their feet safely
Every stone is like a sin of man
There are piles of sins, known for generations
The petrified sins in the sharp shapes of the rocks
Aggressive, hurting, the same for centuries
And those smoothened ones, seemingly gentle in touch
Deceiving, hiding evil, deeply rooted
The pure water of graces flows down over them
Still patiently, mercifully
Sometimes it gets stormy with the white foam of God’s wrath
For the thirsty, it is warm with Love and Hope
The angels soar over the pure depth
They whisper to the castaways clinging to the rocks of the world:
Plunge in this water, tear your hands and feet off the stones
Free your will from fears, distrust, hatred
Nobody will drown…
In this water of God’s graces
Where you receive the cleansing Baptism of God’s Love.


Whom are You for me, Holy Host?

In my life, so attached to people, places and events
You are the awesome Power
Supporting my frail health, involved in the history of life
The Power that fills with courage to fight on
And does not allow to bend the knees out of fear of evil

You are the Light
For my soul, engulfed in the darkness of distress
The Light that reminds of the joy of Resurrection
The life-giving medicine for the withered hearts
The scorching flame that burns out all wounds

You are the Love
Above all words and beautiful songs
That man can create, even with the most tender heart
You are the balm that makes our scars gone
And man rises from a fall with trust

You are the Helping Hand
When my own cross seems to be too heavy
And the eyes look for a place where to cast it away
You become the bread in my mouth
The bread that offers the holy moments of hope

You are the Prayer
Silently filling my heart with forgiveness
When I, on my knees, repent for my sins
And the breath of my Lord, coming from the pure Host
Fills up my soul

You are the Joy
That spreads at the foot of the priest and is surprised with this miracle
Of the encounter with the living, blessing God
The Joy that fills up the body, heart and soul
Oh, God, I think, this is the Love that loves me…

Whom are You for me, Holy Host?
The Power, the Light, the Love, the Prayer
You are my Savior


What did You want to tell me, Lord?

When my soul sank into a silent Adoration
I saw pictures, as if from a children's fairy tale
There was a small insect, climbing upward
Over a hill full of spring greenery
Toward a bright spot of hot sunrays
Raindrops started to fall down heavily
And the little insect slid down the hill
And dried up the little wings when the rain was over
And again resumed the climb toward the sunrays
But still there was a new hardship
This time the snow covered him with white flakes
Yet the insect survived in this snowy fluff
Stubbornly heading toward the sunrays.

What did You want to tell me, Lord, with this children's fairy tale
About our human way toward You, about our struggle for faith?
About our fight with "snow and rain" of our sins
In the world covered with the rubbish of evil, like the insect under the snow?
How many efforts we need ourselves to fight with ourselves
So that we could follow Your light, and not the lantern's reflection
And did not dip our feet in the grass of joy
But look for the traces of blood of our Lord
Leading to Golgotha where our Salvation is waiting
How to survive under the raindrops of doubts
And draw power out of the words of Hope of the Lord, out of the Eucharist?
When you know the hardship of this road - I heard in my heart -
Then the power will bloom in you, and evil will never defeat it
And no rain or snow of the world will pull out My Love for
you.


The spark of Love

During a Holy Mass
My heart has been touched with the spark of Love
As unexpectedly as an undeserving grace
I experienced sheer joy
Elevating the body over its carnality
As if the soul jumped out toward an unknown beauty
And the Love was saying: I remember about you…
Our loves got together halfway
Mine, still imperfect
And the One that is perfect
I wanted to reach out and shout: exalt me, Lord
Toward You…
Take me out of this world of hardship and sin
Grant that I could just touch Your robe…
For Your Love is blessed so much…
Like a gift that a feeble heart can’t embrace
Like a spring of water, flowing eternally
Bestowed upon us, for the everlasting joy
You have touched me, Lord, only with a spark of Your Love
And I could have been burned out from the glow of Your Love
Being frightened with the mystery of Your Mercy
Grant that this spark keeps burning within me, Lord
May it burn out all evil thoughts and sin
May it keep burning despite all pain and suffering
Give me, Lord
The courage to carry on the joy that I have experienced
To those who look for the sparks of Love in the ashes of their life.