Pilgrim’s prayer
Prayer sometimes has a color of juicy greenery
When it is born in the mountains, with the pilgrims
It soars over the tops with the elevation of the heart
And sinks in the clouds, under the blue sky
It falls down to the rapid streams from the peaks and hills
So that it could flow along the living brook of Mary’s songs
The pilgrim’s prayer rests in meditation
In old Orthodox churches, with the eyes stuck in the pictures
It entrusts its tears, joys and sorrows to the saints
It gets more beautiful, meditating the saints’ communion
In Litmanowa, the prayer kneels down with respect
Before the miracle of Mary’s Apparitions that lasted quite long
Gifted with hope of Her perpetual protection
It is heading toward Mount Mary, to Her statue with the Rosary
It whispers: “Under Your Protection”, enchanted by the beauty of the temple
It sets the pearls of the Rosary, like flowers, at the foot of Her statue
Like the noble diamonds of the soul
For the glory of Her Son, for the miracle of Holy Mass …
In the Sanctuary of the Divine Mercy in Cracow
The prayer started its pilgrimage
Being blessed with the hands of Jesus, it became delicate, sensitive
For the beauty of temples, the testimony of faith of man
For the beauty of mountainous landscapes, like the reflection of Heaven
Prayer sometimes has a color of juicy greenery
Of a spring renewal of love toward God.
The desert spring
There is time of penance when we fight for faith
Being cast into a barren desert
In distress, we look for the eyes of God
When tried with the darkness of the night
The words of prayer, once life-giving
Change into the alphabet of a foreign language
In this deadly silence of the desert's retreat
We fight for faith, for God
In the desert heat, Satan tempts the body
With an illusion of an oasis that quenches the thirst
In this desert is also a spring of pure water
It flows from under the rock, out of longing for man
God cast His glance into the brilliance of this spring
Waiting patiently for the man wrapped in darkness
The humming of this spring carries the echo of the words of Love
This water current leads you toward the light
Straight into the arms of God.
Getting closer
I am getting closer to Love
With my own love, given to me
In the Offering of the Lord
As if the Holy Spirit stood between us
And locked me in a luminous corridor
No longer are there any emergency exits for fears and doubts
The loving tenderness that radiates from God
Draws me in like a stream, like a blow of a hot breeze
I am standing there just a few steps back
Holding out my hands with my heart on them
My body is still touching the earthly spaces
The heart and soul plunge in the spring of the Divine tenderness
The One that I have never experienced before
I am floating away in a mystical meditation
Over the miracle of Love, unknown so far
I feel as if a warm ocean of non-stormy water
Allowed me to float gently
Although I am a poor swimmer
But the Divine Mercy watches over my breathing
And over my tired legs and arms
That are so anxious to be touched by the arms of God
I am approaching Love.
With my own love, given to me
In the Offering of the Lord.
Feast of the Priesthood and establishment of the Eucharist
Joy of Holy Thursday
I experienced undeserved Love
A joyous gift for the heart
It didn't sound with the shout of happiness
Nor did it use beautiful words
It tasted like fresh bread .
On Holy Thursday I was squeezed
In the crowd of the faithful
Still being locked in my evening fatigue
Suddenly I saw the silhouette of the Lord
In luminous garments
Passing by
As if He were a breeze of a light, crystal figure
Giving a sign: I Am, I touch you
I still couldn't believe this feeling
But my wise heart ran out in front of Him
Leaving the body in surprise
Then the heart came back with a childlike joy
Making my maturity ashamed.
Hot tears flowed over my face
I was penetrated by gentleness, patience, tenderness
I felt the touch of Love, silent and generous
The Love that joined the crowd of the faithful
With the Rosary heads of grace
Forming the great Rosary of the hearts that desire Salvation
And is laid at the foot of the Altar
I experienced undeserved Love
It tasted like fresh bread.
Like the still living Eucharist.
A Queue of Life
I stood in a Queue of Life.
It was winding like a colorful rope
Made up of human beings
Cast among the days and years of our existence
The murmur of human voices announced great gifts
The first in the queue will get them
Peculiar was this queue
Made up of patient people, with the Rosary, Bible, prayer
And those unquiet, running out, seeking their own ways
Bored with waiting
Days and years were passing
Full of movements in the Queue of Life
The Rosary and Bible fell out of the hands of those waiting
Hope got weaker in the Queue of Life
Some departed, being tired of carrying the cross
That fell down from the clouds unexpectedly
They felt disappointed with such a burden
Others held the cross tight and embraced it.
I was rising and falling in my hope
Taking turns while entering the light or the darkness
The darkness shouted: there will be no gifts left for the last ones
The light increased my faith.
My Angel was standing by, like a mighty Guardian
Stand, He shouted, when my legs got weaker
And I keep standing in this strange Queue of Life
Like the biblical workers who came last for their pay
Believing that God, in His Treasury of Mercy
Has a golden coin of Love, too - for the last ones.
Tears
What can I offer You, Holy Mother
That would be a holy gift, pure and worthy?
I am man, a besmearer of earthly dust
Infected with sin and constant penance
But there are peculiar moments in my life
Born out of a desire to encouter God
They are adorned with angelic silence, hope penetrates the heart
And it flows down my face with the gift of tears
Oh, Mary, Holy Mother of Jesus
I want to offer You these tears, for there is no bitterness in them
They are like flowers, the gift for my immortal soul
And they bloom under the dew from the Cross of Love
And You will not despise, my Lady, this gift of man
In Your hands, the tears will change into pure pearls
Put them into the hearts of the depressed sinners
May they hide "Under Your Protection" forever.
Waves of graces
I would like just to thank You, Lord
In a simple prayer, on a gray day
For the graces, bestowed from You
But You granted the enchantment of the heart on me
As if Somebody broke a dam on a heavenly river
Showing the abundance of graces flowing on
I was standing in surprise over the current of this river
Over the power of the Divine Mercy …
Step into this river, I heard, let its waters carry you
That was the Offering of Jesus that broke this dam!
I plunge my feet, not being without fear
And I hold on to my baggage of life, it’s my last resort
I swim along this river’s current fearfully
Merciful waves get my baggage of life drowned
Only I … and the waves of graces, benevolent, purifying
In the middle of the river, I feel the hardship of swimming
The waves of graces are beautiful, but require much effort
They whisper about pure love, about trust in God
About faith, forgiveness to those hurting you, about suffering
The river that I swim along … becomes an endless ocean
I fear my weakness, I fear being cast out on the shore
With a painful cry, I call for the white Host
A sign of power, flowing over the waves
Be with me, I shout, I trust in You, Lord!
26.05.2013. During the Holy Mass (Solemnity of Trinity), a beautiful vision appeared in front of my eyes (or rather in front of “the eyes of my soul”). During the Eucharistic Prayer, when the priest raises the Holy Host and the Chalice, I saw a white Dove over the priest’s head. While the Host and the Chalice were being raised, the Dove moved down and embraced the silhouette of the priest so that his hands became Her wings. The priest looked as if he “sank” in Her hug. He was completely wrapped up in Her. I felt an enormous warmth of Love in this act, too difficult to describe with words. It was penetrating and bringing joy. It reminded of the miracle that occurs on the Altar at every Mass.
Dates
Our life consists of days
It’s a banal truth
But the dates in our life aren’t that banal
There is a day when happiness comes
Filling the body with sweetness
And another one that hurts unexpectedly
Leaving an unhealed scar on us forever
We keep these dates in memory
As if other days were gone with a passing time
And we have no cure
Especially for the painful ones
And though days and years still bloom with new flowers
We don’t feel any flavor …
Give us, oh Lord, many dates of happiness
And for those whose scars can’t be healed
Make, please, such a holiday
Out of the dates when they got injured
So that the new date could be an encounter with You
May Your merciful hands collect their tears
So that they were not in vain, absorbed into the ground.
A grievance
You experience adoration, Lord
Through beautiful songs and sublime hymns
They rise up toward You with the incense smoke
For Your glory, as a song of gratitude
Making a holiday on earth, with our faith in God-Creator
When songs calm down and incense smoke goes out
And the hymn, soaring up high, gets lost somewhere in the clouds
When the church gets empty, last footsteps are heard faintly
Jesus in the golden Tabernacle, is meditating
Whether our hearts carry this memory of gratitude into daily life
There are places on earth where human pain sings out silent hymns
In the silence of the heart
There is suffering Jesus who comes out of the golden Tabernacle
And collects tears of despair as if they were notes cast away by a musician
Then He, Himself sings them songs of hope and Love of God
Beautiful are the hymns, full of harmony, adorned with incense fragrance
There are other hymns, lifted up with a cry, toward the sky
Sung by poverty, suffering and hunger, just outside the church
And You, Lord ask us to hear them, too
To hear the grievance in Your song that is sung here on earth.
On the paths of faith
We are cast on the road of life
Dressed in child’s helplessness
The world is for us like a feeling of warmth, cold, taste
Like a need for safety for a tiny body
Years pass, the anxious mind asks questions
About our way of faith and the sense of our existence
About the encounter with the light, leading to the Truth
The anxious heart looks for this light …
And when we find such a path
Where our love comes across the Love of light
Then we leave the way of impressions and senses
And step into the path of faith …
This path is not covered with flowers
Though beautiful angels sing songs nearby
There are small grottos waiting in this pilgrimage of faith
And painful darkness, often filled with crosses
The light is going down, the crosses of sin hurt the body
Like sharp nails, stuck into the smooth wall of the grotto
We can’t lift up the hands, fear heaves over the heads
And a hostile whisper is coming out: turn away from this way
And you need the power of prayer for the miracle of faith in God
So that you could still see the light in your blind eyes
Kneeling with trust and going on in humility
May the cross of Christ in our hands lead on toward the light
There are no comfortable paths of faith to You, Lord
You examine our faith in the day and at night
But Your Mercy knows our human weakness
And Your hand supports and protects the pilgrim of faith.
Choices
Richness of events penetrates a life of man
Like a winding thread that weaves an unknown picture
We often think that we are the artists of this fabric
Until suddenly good or bad fate breaks the thread
That was used to weave a pattern of life with a sure hand
And a large question mark shines before the eyes
Strange emptiness, doubt surrounds man
This emptiness can not deal with moral dilemmas
It just lasts and waits patiently
For what man’s freedom will choose …
This seeming emptiness is a gift for life of man
As good fate, he will share with others
Or as an egotist, he will get chocked himself
Or carrying his hardship he will drop his hands without fight
Flooding over the pattern of his life with the tears of despair
Oh, emptiness, you shine with a white spot on the picture of life
You are the time of reflection, like a sower in the field
Your master will sow the seed of a life-giving plant
Or out of despair, he will pick cockle from the field
This is the time of reflection, of making choices …
If you sow a prayer in this emptiness
And adorn it with dew of the songs to Holy Mary
Then the Almighty Artist will come with help
He will tie the broken threads into the holy knots
When you give away your picture of life to Him.
Countenance of love
Man desires love like a flower needs water
Without it, flakes of hope fall down
And the bud of new life gets dry
Human love is always thirsty
It loves … to be loved
It is born with a glare … and fades
It suffers when is driven to the desert of indifference
Not resistant to injuries
Changeable feelings rock the human love
Like a wind does with the branches
Human love, even the most beautiful
Is defeated by death, wrapping it up with a black shroud
There is Love which does not die, does not cast away
It is royal, noble, eternal
It is dressed in a beggar’s garment, with a cross
It is begging with a longing in the eyes:
Trust me and you will never feel a hunger for love
I will offer you love that gives birth to love
Then you will become a patient love-giver
And not a wanderer, looking for feelings
I will sow longing in your heart and will strew gifts on you
And will sanctify your days with the power of My Love
Then we will go through life together in sorrow and joy
I Am the Spouse who is faithful … for ever and ever.
Chalice of bitterness
In Gethsemane, You drank for me, Jesus
A chalice of bitterness to the bottom
The will of Your Father was holy for You
I drink my chalice of bitterness with gulps
And often put it aside with fear
As if I were afraid to see
The truth about myself on the bottom
The truth about sins rattling like stones
Which give away a painful melody
About the weakness of my human nature
Every time the chalice is raised
I can see Your chalice, Lord
Raised with the hands of a priest at every Mass
You drink the bitterness of our sins from it
But Your Love dissolves
Even the hard stones of human hearts
You forgive in the sincere confession
And with a grace of the Communion, You heal our weakness
I know, You say, the bottom of your chalice of bitterness
I Am with you when you drink from it
With every gulp, you come closer toward the Will of the Father
In Gethsemane of your life, it is the gift of Eternal Salvation.
The temple
Life is like a holy gift if you appreciate it
Build a temple in the center of your life
The steadfast rock as the Offering Altar
Fixed with the Cross of Christ, blessed with His blood
I get closer to the Lord’s Tomb in Jerusalem
Along the stony floor, warmed by the feet of the pilgrims
The cool of the stony walls surrounds me
Like a grotto, filled with life-giving air
The entrance to the temple makes the body tremble
Before touching this unique mystery
You may get lost in the clatter of voices
And yield to a wave of daily routine and lose the mystery
Oh, Lord, I shout, You Were here and You still Are
Guide me with the prayer of the heart
Remove the humming, fill with silence …
I touch the uneven stones with my hands
Like a blind-man, free from temptations of the eyes
I fill the time of waiting with prayer
To get to the Tomb and I look for a space in my heart
To plant white lilies, like a tender gardener
For the encounter with You, in this holy place
For these holy moments when I touch Your Tomb
And see the cool, stony plate and a few candles
And feel the grace of being with You, dead and resurrected
I left a few tears there, strangely sweet
And forgot about beautiful words …
As if the body, heart and soul suddenly got silent …
Oh, the Mystery of the Holy Tomb of the Lord
The Rock of Christ’s Passion
Whenever I look for the lost mystery in myself
I move over the threshold of that Temple with the eyes of my soul
Oh, the Temple of Jerusalem, the Offering Altar for the world
The Mystery of Love, vigilant at the threshold of every temple
The Mystery that wants to be known by every man.
20.08.2013. I know that every Holy Mass is an encounter with the living Jesus. But why am I, during some Masses, celebrated by priests, a little dispersed, while with others, I am concentrated, free from unnecessary thoughts? Does the voice of a priest make a difference? But voice is only a physical sound of man and it doesn’t have to be beautiful. Then I heard in my heart that it is the soul of a priest that makes the words powerful. Our heart, our soul “hear” the truth of the spoken words and yield to them. The strong faith of a priest penetrates the mystery of the Mass. The faithful can feel it, they yield to the power of the priest’s faith. And these words don’t have to be spoken with an actor-like beauty. It is the Holy Spirit Who ”joins” the Altar and the faithful through the well-felt love toward God by the priest who celebrates the Mass. May God grant charismatic gifts upon priests and may the faithful have a gift of a “loving” participation in the Mass.
A dream
I had a dream but strangely real
I was hovering over a rich city
It smelled with artificial aroma
It surprised with the silence of empty streets
As if someone forbade the birds to sing
And made people speechless
I knew this city, I thought, in the past
Did I cross the time barrier?
I was looking for the churches, statues that I used to know
A strange force was leading me
To the place where a big storehouse was standing
There were stony angels lying there in piles
They were dead, with helplessly spread wings
They didn’t fit into this city
Did the angels disturb the silence?
I wanted to raise one statue, enliven it
And straighten the dead wings with my prayer
The face of the angel was mute, and looking at me
Teardrops were flowing down his face or maybe raindrops?
There was some commotion among the statues
A tiny angel gave a sign of life with quiet breathing
Like a baby, born out of a dying mother
I embraced this little, stony statue
And raised it high over the city
And put my little angel down
On an empty base, covered with grass
As the hope for life, for prayer in this silent city
There was a metal, rusty cross lying near the base
I put it into the angel’s hands
And he … was growing and becoming a great angel.
A mirror
I saw a blind man
With the face twisted from deformity
As if the sculptor of human features
Forged a petrified pain there
With sharp cuttings of a chisel
It is a grace, Lord, I thought
That this man doesn’t see himself in the mirror
Suddenly I clearly heard a severe voice:
What is the ugliness of the face, reflected in the mirror
Against the ugliness of sins, invisible there?
Thank You Lord, for this teaching, given for my eyes
They look at man through a lifeless mirror
There is pride reflected there and the blindness of the heart
It doesn’t know the truth about the soul of man
And about the essence of his destiny
Suddenly I saw the face of Jesus
Spat over, injured, bleeding
It would be reflected with ugliness in a human mirror
But on Veronica’s veil, on her tender heart
It shone with beauty, with the Holy Offering
You have carried the ugliness of our sins, Jesus
As far as Golgotha, to redeem us with Your Passion
You who didn’t know the sin, became a sin Yourself
So that man looking into the mirror of Your Offering
Could break up the false mirrors which hide the sin
And could recognize his sin in the wounds of Your Body
Beseeching: grant me Lord, the grace of forgiveness …
The miracle of Holy Mass
When you want miracles to see with your own eyes
The angel does not open the gate to the palace of wonders
He is the Guardian of the miracles of Heaven
Against the eyes of those who look for a proof of their faith
If you don’t see the miracles of grace around
If your heart doesn’t burn with love
How can you visually recognize a God’s miracle?
How not to mistake it for a common delusion?
God is not stingy for the miracles out of His Grace treasury
He determines the time according to His Own Will
During the Holy Mass, there are such moments
When the prayer of the heart is united with the breath of God
In this holy moment, the sense of vision is gone
The human soul, set free from the bodily cover
Runs toward the Altar, to the palace of wonders
The angel takes her in his arms …
And the soul sees the miracle when the Holy Spirit
With the white wings of awesome brilliance
Embraces the priest in a loving hug
While he is raising the Host and the Chalice
Another day the soul sees a golden rope, woven like a braid
And hears the sound of loud bells ringing
And the angel says: every Holy Mass on earth
Is the victory of Love, proclaimed in Heaven, with the echo of the bell
And when the soul kneels in a loving enchantment
Jesus bestows the blood flowing from the cross upon her
He washes off the sins, heals with His wounds, saves with His Passion
And sanctifies with the miracle of Holy Mass
And the soul sees a wreath of flowing blood in the air
Over the head of the priest
It is pulsating, living, like Love without protection
Ready to satiate everyone who is thirsty
When the priest gives the blessing, the soul returns to the body
And anoints the heart with the miracle that she just experienced
The heart trembles, unworthy of this grace
And cuddles these miracles like relicts, like a pearl from the Lord’s treasury.
The unique poem
Each of us is an author of a poem
We do not write it with a pen but with our own life
And though its pages are invisible
Time fixes its signs, like a devoted printer
Then the Angel of Transition, carries it to eternity
The careful reader is – Jesus Himself
Sometimes we would like time to shift back
And we want to make some corrections in our poem
And erase with tears, the words written with pride and anger
We can not catch up on time, it is faster than man
We hold on to hope, creating new stanzas
And cuddle time in our hands, like a precious pearl
We beseech the Creator, the Poet of Eternity, for a talent
Grant us Lord that we can describe our life with good words
Grant that we can recognize in our heart, the beauty of man’s fate
Grant that we have noble thoughts, deeds and will
May they adorn the gray pages with a colorful rainbow
And grant us, Creator, Poet of Love
With the awareness of Truth, for Whom we write this poem
For the eternal life or for the passing time?
And when the moments come, of doubts and sorrows
Which cover the written pages with darkness
Please write on them, Good Lord, the stanzas about Your Mercy
May they enlighten all darkness with Your light
May our soul, bathing in the hope of Love
Remember the song when You descended us to this world
The song about Parental Love and the Holy Mother of Perpetual Help
About the Holy Cross where Your Son died for us
And don’t leave us alone, Good Lord, with our writing
And be the Author of many stanzas
So that we could recognize Your Will in them.
The Cross of Salvation
Oh, Lord, I asked, grant that I could see
The beauty, the miracle of the Holy Eucharist
Our eyes are covered with material thread
But the thirsty heart runs ahead, before the eyes …
When you trust your heart, I heard the words
You will spot the beauty but the pain will come along
The Heart of My Son, hurt by the people
Wants to share His pain with you …
For a moment, I was hesitant
Like a sinner, unable to give the offering
Shall I go along the way that I know
Or shall I meet the Lord with my heart, during His Passion?
I called to the Holy Mother, the Co-helper of the doubting
Asking for protection in my spiritual events
Oh, Mother, defend me against the pain beyond my understanding
And let me know the pain of the Lord that will strengthen me
Then I saw a high, dark cross, standing over the Altar
Made of strong wood, full of deep, small clefts
Like a field, full of river beds
They were filled with Blood, flowing into the Chalice
My heart was amazed with its abundance
It was flowing along the winding bends, like a rapid stream
I heard in my heart: as long as My Blood is flowing
In this Cross of Salvation …
You are protected with My Mercy.
Human time
Like sand in the hourglass, the ancient clock of the ancestors
Days of our life are sifting through
The Watch-maker of Time turns them over patiently
They flow on in a slow rhythm
The tiny bits of sand, the moments of our life
Sometimes this monotonous rhythm
Is disturbed by a strange delay
In the hourglass, the motion stops, anxiety wakes up
In the narrow opening … we see a little pebble
And time is stopped …
Being hungry for the monotony of the days already known
And being familiar with sadness, hoping for joy
We look at this stone, and shake up the hourglass
What does it mean?
We ask the Watch-maker of Time
Rocks were formed, beautiful monuments
Out of these bits of sand, through centuries
Out of our tiny moments – a little pebble was formed
As small as the few years of human life
But beauty is contained there, too
In the rocks and in our pebble alike
Time has stopped to learn the sense of it
It is like a holy gift that does not pass away
And is dedicated to the glory of the Lord
It turns into a diamond, like a prayer, locked in a crystal
For Immortality …
Grace of forgiveness
When Your boat, Lord, arrived
At the shore of my life
It was You, Lord, who came out toward me
And the light, focused in a mysterious mirror
Touched me with a luminous ray
It penetrated my body and reached the nooks of the heart
It lit up the teardrops before they flowed down
And lit up the thoughts that were unfinished and the beauty still unknown
And Your words, half-forgotten, half-rejected
I was standing at the shore of my life
Being x-rayed with this light, but I felt no fear
Like a child who was forgiven
As if the love, deeply hidden in my weakness
Got united and wanted to be on fire
And to purify what is forgotten and unknown
I was standing still, being pushed by other lives on the shore
Surprised, I was staring at the gentle waves
I dipped my feet in the warm water
And wanted to sail with You, toward love and goodness
But You ordered me to stay
With Your hand, raised up high, like for the blessing …
Your eyes seemed to say: at the shore of your life
There are still storms that you must go through
There are My words that you must get to know
There are deeds that you must perform
There is beauty that you must proclaim
Don’t be afraid of abandonment, of Calvary, of Mount Olive
During the Holy Communion, I will sail to you in My boat …
Garden
Submerged in contemplation, looking for the beauty
That I wanted to adorn my soul with
I saw a garden, like Eden in a spring blossom
It fascinated with the details of awakening nature
The coniferous trees, proud and lofty
Boasting of greenery and throwing down the leftovers of snow
Apple and pear-trees were holding out their branches
In a begging gesture to feel the warmth of the sunrays
For the being born buds of new life
I held an apple-tree branch, to feel the scent of life’s hope
It shone with green buds that were in a hurry to bear fruits
New greenery of grass was growing out of the ground
Deafening the old, dried-up shoots
Like a memory that one wants to forget
And discover new wishes and desires in himself
The spring sun was seeing itself in the snow-melted puddles
It was breaking down the stubborn clouds with its glare
Chasing them in a childlike game
A bird began to practice chirps shyly
Being surprised with this early stimulus
The wind was blowing slightly through the garden
Like a conductor, looking for the musicians for his concert
So much beauty was there in this garden, painted with God’s imagination
So much happiness penetrated through my heart, like a gratitude prayer
Oh, God, I thought, why do we look for miracles in cosmos
And break the space with rockets to feed up our knowledge?
Man needs a miracle of the signs of Your Love, to feel happy
In the beautiful gardens of Eden, of the human heart.
24.10.2013. I was thinking over the sentence that I heard in my heart: you are looking for a spiritual life, digging in the ground like moles, and not looking for this life higher … Indeed, a contemporary man is strongly tied to what is earthly. The contemporary culture deals with physical emotions and calls to cultivate them and apply a philosophy of living the happy life above all. Emotional, scream-like songs, art, literature full of erotic scenes. Is all this a pattern for a spiritual development? It is rather for a cult of impulses. Man, being pushed to the work that is often enslaving, has no time for reflections. But if some anxiety appears in his life, he protects himself by using drugs or the like. Family traditions are ridiculed by enabling a free choice of sexual life. And all this is in the name of modernity and in the name of stopping man from thinking about his own destiny. We search and dig in the ground so that we could find some easy prey, something that justifies our carnal nature. We sink in the temporary things which are like an SMS, short, ungrammatical, informative. And so, days and nights are passing. Life is passing. Somewhere, next to us, some elderly people are going to church. What are they looking for, over there? – we ask quickly, sending another SMS to our so-called friends. Man is not a mole digging in the darkness. He received the light from the Gospel. He received the Savior. Man must raise up his head higher, above the molehills made by the culture of consumption and must start thinking about himself like an unusual person who is able to have beautiful thoughts and experiences. He simply must look up at the sky … so that he wouldn’t be lonely in the deceptive culture of noise and shouting of those who create the culture of darkness for us.
Horizon
I was staring at the horizon
The mysterious line where the longing gets fulfilled
The line got further with every step toward it
But the horizon remained and encouraged to go on
It became remote when I was running
When I stopped over, it was awaiting
It was for me like the Eyes of God
Looking down at the pilgrim’s effort
I was walking toward it over the green meadows
Full of spiritual nourishment
Juicy fruits of faith
I entered the empty, stony fields, full of thorns
Being thirsty, I looked for Moses with a stick
And for the rock where the enlivening water will spout
I suffered from the hunger of faith and the cold of feelings
The horizon was leading me toward the gardens
Which were feeding me and protecting with their shadow
I stood by the dangerous ocean
Inaccessible to cross over, in human terms
The setting sun of God’s grace was leading me
It removed fear, the waves were yielding
I was in the cities where tall houses
Covered the horizon and their noise
Deafened the call of the Eyes of God
I opened the pilgrim’s bag with the prayers
And looked for the Houses of the Lord with high towers
Kneeling before Him, I asked for His power
He was leading me toward the spaces
Of the contemplation of His Love
And being armed with His Love now
I am going toward the Eyes of God, toward the horizon
Where the longing will come to pass.
Superhighway
The world lures us with illusion of great spaces of action
With a wide superhighway, full of precious stones
It shouts: catch a stone of success in science
Then you will become a famous discoverer
Bend down for a shining stone of talent
Then the world will adore you
Pick up a rock, even a heavy one
Then you will have a privilege of authority
And being lured with the cries of the world
We pick up the stones from this highway of conceit
We run proudly with a stone of talent
The noisy crowd doesn’t listen to us
The new generation creates their own science
When we carry the rock of authority painstakingly
The stronger removes it from our hand with a trick
Then feeling disappointed and sad
Fighting for our talents
We see the end of our efforts
Still hugging our stone to our chest
But its glare is gone, covered with a shadow
There is such a picture, given to people of our age
When you kneel before it, under the feet of the Lord
You will see the highway … toward the Heart of Merciful Jesus
There are two rays around, red and pale
They are marked with the blood of the Lord and the stream of the Sacraments
They show the way toward His Heart, with the light of Love
Please enter this superhighway with the psalm of adoration
Give away your life and will to the Heart of Jesus
May His blessing multiply your talents
For the glory of God, for the joy and hope of your brethrens.
Hope and the cross
How easy it is to say: I am not afraid of the cross …
While singing songs with the faithful, when the organs play
How hard it is to receive the cross, in despair
When the music is the painful tears of loneliness
How hard it is to overcome the weakness of human heart
That is hungry for the reciprocity after every gesture of love
And tries to receive the cross of life with trust
Feeding on hope coming from the cross of Christ
These moments of deep despair
Are like a challenge for our faith
And the encounter with Jesus on the cross
It is the holy time of being with the Lord face to face
In His waiting presence … …
Will this time be a downfall or an uplift of faith?
His cross is bending down toward us with love
Somewhere in the soul, a gentle question sounds …
Will you give away your despair, your cross, to My wounds
Or will you run away from Me with a loud cry?
And where will you go, you, human despair?
Will you disappear in the crowd shouting: put Him on the cross?
Or will you trust in MY Merciful Love
Like the Good Villain, with his heart black from sins?
Give us, Jesus, Your saving blood from the cross
So that It can become the power and the grace for our faith
And Your words: you will be in Heaven with Me today
Will transform our cross into hope.
Quiet joy
Quiet and mysterious was the joy that I discovered in myself
She didn’t erupt with a geyser of laughing
She didn’t lift up the body in joyous leaps
She didn’t sound with the echo of a bronze bell
Patently she waited in me until I recognize her
During common and gray days
If it weren’t for God’s grace, during one of the Masses
Perhaps I wouldn’t discover her
When she was seated so quietly and modestly
On the bench of my soul
Waiting until I spot her
Maybe for many years …
She had gentle eyes, shy was her smile
Her gray garment of a nun did not glitter
But an awesome gift of love was in her
The love that provides safety and hope
She wasn’t the joy of temporary emotions and feelings
She was like a friend … forever
She guided me through a narrow gate, into a garden
Its fragrance was like music, its colors, like singing
The garden itself was a reminder of the beauty of the Creator
And of the miracles of the Holy Mass, so quiet that hardly recognizable
Like the joy that I discovered, quiet and gentle
The joy … of the Communion with the Lord.
Teaching about Love
Thank you, Prodigal Son
And you, who is called Good Son
For the teaching that comes from the Gospel
Thanks for your trust, Prodigal Son
In penance and your Father’s forgiveness
Even for your wrath I thank you, Good Son
That the gifts were bestowed on the one who doesn’t deserve them
You are like a mirror for the heart of mine
Where there is light on the one side, but darkness, on the other
We want to see a beautiful image in the light
The dark side absorbs what we want to hide
How much light is there in our heart, and how much darkness?
How much do we see with our eyes, and how much with merciful love?
The lonely Father on His way knows the truth …
You, Good Son had your share in your Father’s riches
But the bitterness of a slave sounded in your mouth
Your obedience toward your Father was an honest service
But it was … without love
And His forgiveness, you considered ungrateful …
How much of a slave’s service is there in our heart, and in our faith?
And how much love for the Love Itself?
We desire privileges for Your Love, Lord
We want the pay, like the soldiers’ pay
And You want to share the richness of Your Love with us
For the sheer joy of being in Your arms
How often do we see the Good Son in the mirror of our heart?
How often does the darkness of egotism … stop us
Against going out on the road with our Lonely Father
And waiting with Him for Prodigal Sons
And sharing with Him the joy of their return.
Two worlds
Our world is painted with the richness of colors
With the green of grass, the yellow of the desert, the blue of the sea and the sky
The light of the sun and the moon mixes the colors
And shows the shades, so important for the ingenious painters
The seasons, with their power of nature, interfere with the world of colors
They add juicy shades or humble gray
It is the world of our eyes …
Above this visible world of colors
There is another mysterious world of human thoughts and feelings
The world unrecognizable for the eyes …
It spreads out like fog over the world of colors
The fog, created out of words, smiles, tears and dreams
Sometimes it takes a shape of poetry, prose, music, picture
It is like a photo, taken with a shutter of a camera of talent
And though the creator of words and pictures dies, the fog remains
It came to being in the invisible space of feelings and thoughts
There are also millions of mysteries of the heart, not described with words, sounds, pictures
The mysteries that were created by beautiful, daily acts
They gathered tears, changing them into a stream of smiles and fulfilled dreams
The mysteries of millions of hearts, quiet, not described with human words
They are like colors, taken from the palette of God Himself and they color with the light
The world of invisible thoughts and feelings.
The window of the Altar
My heart got spliced with Yours, Lord
In the Communion of Love
With an invisible knot, tied with God’s grace
Two hearts, imprisoned
Joined together with a string of love
Yours, immortal, created out of Love Itself
And mine, fearful by weakness
We look at each other through the window of the Altar
Widely opened with the merciful hand of God
There are days when I feel You in full light
And nothing separates my heart
There are other days so dark that my heart
Overflowed with tears, is covered with thick fog
And Your picture, Lord, is gone
My heart, struggling with its own thoughts
Gets imprisoned in a cage of egotism
Then I stubbornly look for …
The new eyes, the new heart
The new light, Your light
The light which will cleanse my earthly eyes
From the raindrops of anxiety and frigidity
I believe that You, in the window of the Altar
Hold in Your strong hand
The string of love that joined us together
And the power will flow out of Your hand
And will change my darkness into the light of Your Spirit
Then I will lay my weakness under Your feet
So that the flame of Your Heart could burn it.
Message from a picture
Oh, Holy Mother, with Jesus in Your hands
I’ve been staring at You for many years
And though my mind knew the truth
About Your mission
A transparent screen separated us
The screen of the heart that didn’t love enough
And a peculiar day came along with a daily Mass
On the Feast of the Holy Mother of the Rosary
The screen fell down, pulled with an angel’s hand
And my heart was touched with a mysterious flame
It was like a gift and grace …
The Holy Mother from the picture came to life
Gone was the border between Heaven and Earth
Mary was carrying God the Savior in Her hands
And He wasn’t the God from unknown spaces
He was close as if daily life was His life
And a thought came to me like a luminous spark
Mary is carrying Jesus in Her arms
So that we could take Him in our hands from Her
And the Patient Mother is waiting on the holy pictures
For somebody to hold out his hands to God bravely
So that She could give away Her Son into our hands and hearts
That are hungry for His Love.
20.11.2013. In the morning, before the Mass, I was thinking over human faith and I wondered if it does not become a routine, not moving our heart. During the Mass, I forgot about these thoughts, and I focused on the liturgy. After the Communion, I saw the face of Jesus during His Passion. His body and the cross were covered with white fog. In my heart, I only saw – the face of the Lord, covered with blood. The crown of thorns slid a little down His head on one side and it pressed on His eye and cheek. Then I heard in my heart: you are right - for many, I am only a picture from the past and even those who come to Me, have dried-up hearts. Then I remembered my strange, morning thoughts. Strange but in this vision of my heart, I ran over to Jesus, climbed up the nearby ladder and I wanted to shift up the sliding crown of thorns. At the same time I lifted the crown a little higher so that the thorns didn’t pierce His head so strongly. There was a soldier standing by (I didn’t see his figure) who noticed it and yelled at me to stop it. At this moment I felt a strange pain in my heart, as if someone hit me … I understood that Jesus suffers more when those who come to Him regularly, have dried-up hearts. They get into the routine of … love. But our love to God requires our constant “falling in love” and it can not be just a habit because such habits lead us toward the dried-up feelings.
Searching for Her Son
There are many ways that man must pass
Sometimes blindly, without the Decalogue
Until he finds the way of Hope …
There is such a way, sanctified with Mary’s feet
The way from Nazareth to the Jerusalem’s temple
And the return one, for Her lost Son
The mystery of this way is woven into the beads of the Rosary
And though Mary experienced painful feelings
We meditate over them in the Joyful Mysteries
We lose the Countenance of Jesus, just like Holy Mary
And the fear of life without hope, and many doubts
Pushes us on the return way …
We come back to the temple for the faithful prayer
For the childlike, joyous trust in God’s Mercy
For Jesus, the Lord of Love and Hope
And I see the purpose of Mary’s return way
It is the time when She, the Mother of Perpetual Help
Walking along in great pain, gathers human defeats
She picks up our hopes and loves that we abandoned
And betrayed on our way of life
She carries them like stones to the temple, to Her lost Son
And though Mary does not understand
Why Jesus stayed in the temple with the preachers
Yet to Him She also carries our pains and fears in Her arms
She carries our search for Jesus.
The flower
I walked barefoot over a colorful meadow
It was like a picture from a child’s dream
The dream that was pure with a flowers’ fragrance
The dream that adults don’t have any more
The plants got nourished with rain, soil and air
The green grass was leading me to a field
It was barren …
Full of withered flowers, dried-up soil
I felt the crying of this soil, begging for water
It ran out of nourishment …
There is such a flower, I heard, which never withers
Go and look for it …
I was searching, bent down toward the ground, like an old woman
Being tired, I lifted up mu face toward the sky
The sunrays were playing on my face
Like unruly, joyous children
I was embraced by a tide of a hot wind
Which penetrated me with a mystery of an unknown love
And made my body feel an elevated contemplation
And a warm voice that was more like music than words
Spoke to me and explained …
There is such a flower, the flower of the soul, with a beautiful scent
That is nourished only … with love
Go and look for it, in the meadow of your heart.
Time of talking
I talk with You, Lord, because only You
Don’t lose my words
You know my feelings and intimate intentions
I talk with You, Lord, because only You
Surround it with holy meditation
Like the Wise Father
Sometimes in silence, I lift my eyes toward You
Feeling joyful because I know that You Are here
And with no words, You get to know my human love
I talk with You, Lord, when I feel happy or sad
Full of humility and being lost
And You always wait for me patiently
You sit at the table loaded with gifts
As if I were a welcomed guest
And You graciously watch which gift I choose
In our talks, You are the Merciful Father
Who opens the confessional’s window
When I, ashamed of sin, kneel down with contrition
You are, Lord, like the Home, safe and generous in love
I go inside and get nourished with its power
Which strengthens me for my life’s journey
And when Your justice must touch me
You send Holy Mary like a pure dove
May She collect the tears of penance and surround me with hope
I talk with You, Lord, at Holy Mass, and on the Way of the Cross
And listen to the words of Your tormented Son
I feed my soul and body with His Blood and His Flesh
I talk with You, Lord, with the prayers of my heart
And of my soul, saved by Your Son
I talk with You, Lord, for I want to listen to Your Voice
And Your Answers …
Prayer for the dead
I received You, Lord, during the Remembrance for the Dead
I offered the Mass and Communion for my mother
The taste of the Eucharist evoked a tender prayer in me
Maybe it was a prayer of her grateful angel?
There was no pathos in this prayer
No great and sublime words
Its words were arranged in a string of sweet tears
Like the pictures of memories from my childhood
This prayer tasted like strawberries and apples
That my mother used to pick
It had a fragrance of bread and blooming flowers
It was like the food that she prepared
With her hands that were always busy
The prayer had a fragrance of tomatoes
That were ripening on the window sill
In the morning sun, warming up her garden
It was like the dress that she put on before going to church
Or like a prayer-book, worn-out by her fingers
This prayer had a fragrance of her poor, human life …
But the Communion that I received in her intention
Has poured out with richness in my soul
With richness of Your, Jesus, and her maternal love.
Between pain and joy
Between human pain and joy of life
There is a space for … Purgatory
For understanding the feelings that pain has imprinted
For being nourished with hope that joy has provided
Human Purgatory on earth is a field given to us
To grow … life
And though pain seems to be like hell
Time covers it with dust but scars remain
The memory about them, we put in the field of Purgatory
They are an experience of … growing up
When we plant this field with the weeds of fear and anger
It becomes barren, like Purgatory of ever-lasting torment
Human Purgatory can be like a growth of noble plants
Like farming of charity, love and forgiveness
When we put the cross of the Savior on it
And sow with prayers like with life-giving dew
Though the human pain is pulsating under the scars of the wounds
We keep sowing despite hardship and sweat on the face …
We call to the Lord of Life and He appears
In this field of our human Purgatory
He strides over with His injured feet
And unites His pain with ours
He picks the flowers of hope, charity and love that we had planted
And transforms our human Purgatory into the hope of joy in Heaven.
Hard vocation
There is pain that is so annoying
Piercing with the arrows of spiritual struggle
Invisible for the eyes of the world
The pain that doesn’t make the face wry with suffering
But, like a bird, it sits in the nest of the heart
Reminding of its existence
The pain that doesn’t cry … but it perseveres and waits
It allows the face to smile
It allows to live, though it is more painful than bodily torments
The pain of spiritual struggles is like a bird
Waiting to fulfill … the vocation
To recognize the way assigned by God
The pain, like an empty cross, mute
Waiting for the will of man, free will
To accept … or discard God’s plans
Toward the world, we turn our face, to appease this pain
But the empty, mute cross is waiting, patient, sacrificial
For the time when we hold out our hand, to Christ.
A necklace
Old age is like a broken necklace
With little pearls, scattered around
Old age bends down to pick the passed time
The time of old years, fragrances, flavors
Old sins and joys
Old age can be like collecting memories
But also it can be the wisdom of … cleansing
Of body lust, of pride, of vanity
Old age teaches transition
Of what is volatile and passing
The scattered pearls of the necklace are covered with dust
New youth strings the pearls now
In their own necklace of life
Old age watches how they do it joyfully
The young hearts, desiring hope to come to pass
In the necklaces of new youth
Old age sees a passing glare
Of her own scattered pearls of hope
Scattered in the dust, like worthless tinsels
Old age wants to tell them about the pearls of faith, hope and love
The young hearts listen carelessly
To the whispering voice of wise old age
Then old age reaches into the pocket of her coat
And caresses in her hands, the only necklace that never breaks
The Rosary … and she prays for the young hearts.
Mountain of faith
Man’s faith in God
Is like man’s pilgrimage through life
It gets nourished on the green pastures
It starves in the fields infertile
It is a constant climb-up higher and higher
And falling off the sharp edges of the rocks
It often needs a helping hand
And the hooks, stuck in the rock
By the guides who lead us
So that we could rise up painstakingly
Or sometimes sit down alone
Among the unfavorable high winds
And listen to your heart where God speaks
Trust in providence, and not in your own strength
Man’s faith in God is like a climb-up with a cross
Bestowed upon us to fight the weakness of the body
On the empty rocks when hunger threatens
We lift up our heads to get the Eucharistic manna
There are moments of bright joy when we reach the top
And other moments when we are suspended over the abyss
The moments when we hug the cross, like the last resort
And other moments when it slips out of our hands …
There are no easy paths up this mountain of faith
But there are some who did reach the top
They are witnesses for us with their lives and they say:
The pain of this climbing is the sense of our existence
The reward is the hands of God, reached out to those …
Who took up the hardship … and persevered.
04.12.2013. During the peregrination of the statue of the Holy Mother of Loreto in my parish, there were many solemn Masses and Services. I yielded a little to this outer atmosphere and sometimes I wasn’t even concentrated enough.
On the third day, when the Mass was beginning, I wanted to tell the Holy Mother how grateful I was for Her “visit” in our parish. Then, in my heart, I saw the Holy Mother on the throne. The throne was made of transparent crystal, shining with a variety of shades of colors. The blue shades of Her dress were reflected there. The crystal of this throne seemed to live a strange life, as if it were in a constant motion. The faces of people were reflected there, too. I had an impression that there were thousands of people stuck in there and marching in a solemn pilgrimage … As if the throne of the Holy Mother were absorbing human life.
A miracle of conversion
Like a child that desired charity and beauty
So did I, when I was seeking You, Lord
You were like my father’s hands and my mother’s smile
But I didn’t know that it was You …
My love was blooming with their love
When I was dipped in my childhood and youth
You were for me, Lord, like a Sunday Mass
Like singing of a choir and playing of the organs
You were the symbol of the faithful, praying
Even the Communion was only a solemn event
And a day came over, like a false note in the psalm of life
I lost my father’s hands and my mother’s smile
When I buried them at a nearby cemetery
Then I also buried You, Lord …
And I put on loneliness … and anger
Then I got silent and turned away from the cross
Even when a grace came to me
Through the eyes of a loving woman, I still doubted
Only my heart was shaking strangely when I heard songs
While passing by a temple
I wasn’t seeking You, Lord, but it was You who found me
Through the joyous eyes of my daughter during her first Communion
She said: Dad, Jesus wants to talk to you …
Then the crowd of the faithful disappeared from my eyes
I saw a cross with the Lord, bleeding
And a great sadness on His face
And the words that I heard in my heart, strong and severe:
I am waiting for you, My son …
I knelt down, lonely, before His loneliness
Then I saw my mother’s smile and my father’s hands
I became a child, desiring charity and love.
Between the world and the cross
I can’t promise You, Jesus, that I won’t go astray
For I don’t trust my weakness
I can’t promise You, Jesus
That I won’t fall down when surrounded by doubts
Looking at the world of immoral events
In this world, false lights irritate my eyes
And the words about love, illusive though beautiful
Deceiving the sensitive hearts
But I do promise You, Jesus
That in my every downfall
I won’t lie with my face turned to the dirty stones
But I will look up at the sky
Even if I feel the weakest
And if I am stepped over
With a mocking smile of triumph
Your face will always shine with hope for me
Along the Calvary road
And the cross, carried by You, with love
Will become a living tree, full of life-giving juices
And will lift me up with its branches
From my every human downfall.
Anticipation
In the darkness of December mornings
And the streets still asleep and motionless
The faithful are heading to churches, to the Rorate prayers
The church greets them with turned-off lights
And with a peculiar mystery of meditation
Over the miracle that is about to happen
These days are like the pearls of the Rosary prayer
Shifted slowly to rejoice the moment
They are like a lace, slowly woven out of the thread of hope
While waiting for the masterpiece of God, the Birth of His Son
During these days of the holy pilgrimage, step by step
The pilgrims of the Rorates are heading to Bethlehem
Together with us, Mary is going to Bethlehem, too
With Her Infant in the womb
She asks to hold the lamps of faith in our hands
And share the olive of love with all
This time of anticipation is a great feast in Heaven
God Himself blesses us, sending the Savior to earth.
A peculiar experience
When I received You, Jesus, in the Holy Communion
A peculiar flavor spread out in my heart
As if together with Your body and blood
I also received the Countenance of Your Holy Mother
In this very Host that became the peculiar mystery
That lasted just a few seconds
I felt the salt of Her sorrowful tears
And also their wonderful sweetness
At this very moment, I felt
Your closeness with Mary, joined so tightly
Like a loving gasp of air
Cleansing the soul from bodily vapors
These tears of Mary, sour from our sins
And the sweetness of forgiving the earthly child
Were like a gift, though very mysterious
My heart is still pondering upon them …
The Countenance of the Mother, painfully experienced
Beside Your Countenance, Jesus, in the white Host
Seemed to me like the petals of a beautiful flower
The flower of grace from the garden of God
In my Communion with God
This tiny Host embraced
The Communion of the Mother, the Co-redeemer
With Her Son, the Redeemer.
Candles of hope
I thought that only people pass away
But their houses and places
Keep on living …
And perhaps it is like this, in the real world
But there is also the invisible world of the heart
The world of feelings
Splashing over the real world
Showing the traces of human feet, talks
Sounds of laughter and crying
In the places where we stayed and lived
With those who passed away …
When I am passing by such places
They seem to be strange, dead, abandoned
As if petrified in the passing time
I avoid them for there is no life in them
Of those whom I loved
There are the walls of their houses, the new life, resounding there
But it is strange to my heart, unknown
Only the church is for me
Like a tender place of an encounter of life and death
There are still lit-up sparks of prayers of my beloved ones
Like the candles of hope for the encounter in eternity.
Advent prayer
Guide me, Jesus
When I swim in the warm waves of Your grace
So that I didn’t forget about Your pain
Guide me, Jesus
Among the stormy waves, where even the courageous die
And don’t move away Your helping hand
Guide me, Jesus
Along the high mountains of faith, when Heaven seems near
And don’t let me fall into the abyss
Guide me, Jesus
Across the sad plains of infertile fields
Give me extra strength in this melancholy of life
Guide me, Jesus
Through my dark days, when the light doesn’t get through
May Your hand be like a flame
Guide me, Jesus
When I pray and my heart isn’t on fire
But just a complaint of loneliness
Guide me, Jesus
Through the solemn holidays which shouldn’t be like a greeting card
Or a wooden cradle or a lamp on a Christmas tree
Guide me, Jesus, along the way of Your grace
Where I can see Your living Countenance
And please, hold my hand so tight that I can even feel pain.
So far, yet so near
When Christmas hustle fills the houses
And colored papers rustle
And Christmas trees are lit up with little lights
Then our world changes into a holiday procession
Of colors and flavors of Christmas dishes
Then I think about the modest with poverty
But rich with the Spirit – the Nativity of Jesus
I also think about those who passed away …
For them, I light a lamp on a cold stone
Let it light with a memory of our past Christmas, spent together
And a strange picture comes to my mind
A narrow corridor, with the doors on both sides
We, standing there, with the keys to open the doors of our lives
Though unable to open the doors of those who passed away
But they are there, quite near, yet so far …
Their prayer stays with us and shares the Host
And though their plates and chairs are empty
They still adorn our Christmas table with love
Reminding us that we together have one key to their world and ours
It is the Love, being born in the Bethlehem manger.
The Infant in the snow
On a certain Advent morning
I found a strange gift
On a bench, full of snowy fluff
Somebody left the little Infant in the cradle
He was lying lonely in the white
As tiny as a child’s finger
Did You slip out of the angel’s pocket?
Or were You a problem for somebody at the Christmas table?
Your solitude in this poor cradle
Was so painful but also holy
It reached my heart with a maternal warmth
You became an awesome gift for me
Though someone abandoned You, like a plaster puppet
You were the gift, whispering silently
About the sense of Your Nativity …
You whispered to me that nothing frightens You
Neither the street noise, nor frost, nor rejection
Left alone in the cradle, without Mother or angels
Painfully but patiently, You wait for our love
And maybe for my prayer, too?
For those who cast You away from their hearts
And they are stuck in the icy cave of their life
You have been waiting patiently for ages
In the wooden cradle and on the holy cross
With the message of God’s Love, so great that incomprehensible.