03.02.2014. We repeat very often: God is Love. And if we accept this Truth, we should consider it more deeply in the context of the Holy Trinity. For us, Catholics, God is the Father. The Father of Love. And if He is the Father of Love … then He bears this Love. He is not the “closed” God, but the “giving birth” God. He is not the Love for love itself. He creates Love through His unique Personality. He bore Jesus, His Son, out of His Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit of God  and Jesus are of one Spirit. So the Son of God is the God who reveals Himself to the people on earth. He has all Divine features and He fulfills the Will of His Father. Jesus’ Will is God’s Will. Thus only such great, perfect Love could be revealed on earth. The Love that is disinterested and cares for our Salvation. The Love that gives away Its Son.

Desire of my heart

You have given me, Lord, the cross for my size
First You had weighed it not to make it too heavy
You have also given me, Lord, the Love of Your Son
To enrich my pilgrim’s route
You had prepared the cross for me with Your own hands
And put it gently on my human back
Although I carry it, being bent down under its weight
I remember that it is You, Lord, who created this cross
And when the cross presses me down and I get weaker
I beg like a beggar, before Your Countenance:
Give me, Lord, Veronica’s veil to wipe off my sweat
Send Simon to me to help me carry my cross
And keep reminding me, Lord, that it was You
Who gave me this cross according to my size
So that I wouldn’t cast it away during my hardship
And wouldn’t hang my own complaints on it
I have a desire in my heart, beating like a living spring
That someday, halfway between Heaven and Earth
Our hands could meet, in a loving grasp
Then I could give this gift back to You …
Like a treasure, bestowed and not wasted.

Exaltation of the cross

When the hangmen lift You up, Jesus, on the cross
Clothed in the offering garment of Your blood
Then I see the perfect love
Not the one that lights up and goes out
But the eternal love …
I see the Truth about the Offering Love
And I see those who soar high
Together with You, Jesus, on the cross
The martyrs, priests, monks
Ready to offer themselves for the Eternal Love
Up there, high on the cross
They look for the Truth about love, the human and God’s love
I take the source of power from Your injured Heart
To give the testimony of faith
About love which is offering
About love which is given away like a rich-man
Who gives away from the palace of his inexhaustible treasures
The treasures that the world doesn’t know
For they are never-dying …
And one must have the courage of the Spirit of Love
To rise up together with the cross of Jesus
And to crucify the body and will
To sink in the essence of His suffering
And to proclaim to people that love
Is not a pleasure to enjoy feelings
But it’s a precious offering, the adornment of Jesus’ cross
It is a human gift of man for another man
Reciprocating for the Love of the Savior.

Christmas Lullaby

There is time when our soul and body
Exhausted with the running life
Looks for quiet havens and roadside chapels
Far from noisy crowds and loud singing

Out there, warm wind softly blows over a tired face
No voices of appraisal of criticism are heard
There is Mary with the Infant in the cradle
Waiting to talk with you, to listen to your story

Being engulfed in silence, like in friendly waters
Our eyes rest from the twinkling pictures
Our ears get rid of the sounds of penetrating thoughts
We seek truth about ourselves, while talking with the Mother

And though a painful sign of passing time
Has touched our faces
And suffering dwells in our body
Yet we kneel before the Holy Mother with childlike humility

And the impatient time disappears
In the heart, we find the child’s desire of Her Maternity
Lonely, jealously hidden in the mature body
The need for Maternal tenderness and the words: “my child”

There is time when man loses appetite
For the splendor of the world and its gifts
He leaves the running route of the human marathon
To hear a quiet, beautiful lullaby from Mary
                   About the Love of Her Son toward the earthly children.

Flight

I will not see You, Lord, with my eyes
I will not recognize the space of Your Kingdom with my sight
And even if I were an eagle of faith
Flying high under the sky
I would only experience a momentary freedom
But this moment is like a beautiful butterfly
That came down only for this peculiar time
And draws me toward the light of an awesome purity
This light shines with colors like a diamond
I plunge my memory there, without fear
To turn it into eternal life
Pulsating with joy of the presence of God
And though the wings of my flight are human and weak
And woven out of earthly matter
I come back to earth, with a gift of prayer
Painted with love, with the hands of the holy angels
My eyes didn’t see You, Lord
Up there, in this remote space
But my soul was enchanted
Being stroked with a diamond of Your Light, Lord
And she keeps picking me up from Earth to Heaven
Desiring to be nourished with Your Holy Love.

Signs of Love

Like a bird making a nest
For the new life
I look for words, holy places
That enliven my love for You, Jesus

I desire Your fire
That burns the frozen icicles of feelings
I want my hunger for love to be awakened
And to be ever-lasting

I pray for the gift of never-ending memory
Of the beautiful experiences in the encounters with You
On Mount Sinai, in the Holy Land
In the sanctuaries, blessed with the hand of Mary

I ask for Your voice that penetrates through my dark thoughts
And for the light to understand Your life on earth
And for the little signs of Your presence
Which I can recognize, thanks to Your grace

I will build a nest for my new life
Out of these little, holy signs
Like a bird, out of blades of grass
To get to know You in the Eucharist

Teach me how to talk with You during Adoration
With my heart pure, filled with Your peace
Give me the eyes that can see You in the day
And the ears that can hear You at night

Lead me from one station to another on Your Calvary
And may Your patient love wait
Until I pass through all the stations, with my life
So that our love could get together under the cross.

18.04.2014. Good Friday. Feast of the Passion. I feel quiet and contemplative. There is Suffering Jesus in front of my eyes. I say: Jesus, I am not suffering now but I am pondering over Your suffering, Your Passion. I am engulfed in a great silence and suddenly I feel severe pain in my left temple. It is so penetrating as if someone pierced my head with a sharp tool. I am not used to having any headaches or migraines but this pain is amazing, hard to bear. It penetrates into the brain deeply, I lose my breath … It lasts for a few minutes, gets stronger and slightly weaker. I say to Jesus: I have nothing to offer You, so, at least, please receive my pain … Next, there is the Communion and I approach the priest with this pain, standing in long line. When I receive the Holy Host, I feel the taste of bread in my mouth and I slowly begin to accept this pain but it … rapidly disappears. Then I hear in my heart: behold, just one little thorn and you are lamenting so much! I had all My head covered with thorns for your sins.

 

Journey with a longing

 

Staring at the depth of blue water

I looked for a haven for my longing

I wanted to lean her upon the warm sand

And let her experience a relief of fulfillment

 

Staring at the azure of the sky

I was lifting up my longing high

Beyond the space, inaccessible even for eagles

But she came back, insatiate …

 

I looked for a place for my longing

To have a rest, even for a moment or a day

I have been in such places, in the Holy Land

There my longing … rested happily

 

She clung to the signs of the presence of Jesus

Like a bird, tired of the flight

She sat on the rocks, in the desert, in Sinai

I felt her joy, as if she discovered the family home

 

I took my longing to my return trip home

But she cried and asked to wait just a moment

I wiped my Jerusalem souvenir cross with her tears

And promised that we would come back there …

 

Every day I send my longing to the Altar

I don’t know what she thinks and feels

But she comes back to me after the Mass, happy, joyous

I hear her whisper of gratitude: I have seen Jesus alive …

Silence of Golgotha

There is holy silence
Absorbing the pain of human words
And there is deadly silence, indifferent
That even the sound of drums will not break it
There is healing silence
Running out toward a man
Embracing and soothing our suffering
There is also silence that is infertile, fruitless
Like a barren land
I got to know the silence of Golgotha, the saving silence
Sanctified with the Passion of our Lord
The silence that opens up for eternity
The silence that absorbs all pain and suffering
And even sin
The silence that lasts minutes but it heals
I also met the silence of the world
When it touched me
I thought that it would hear me and would heal me
But it was deaf for my calls
Indifferent, with a smile of a conceited sphinx
Oh, holy silence, running out toward a man
May the sufferers recognize you
May the sinners recognize you
So that you could speak to them.

A dream on the sea

I kneel before You, Jesus, in Adoration
With the whole baggage of my worries
I tell You about my fears and sins
Flowing out of my body
I offer You my little devotions
And put before You, my weaknesses
And little victories
So that You could take them in Your hands
Because I only trust in You
I kneel before You, Jesus
Desiring the words of consolation
During the raging storm of my soul
On the Sea of Galilee of my life
And You answer me
With the silence of Your dream
Like the dream on the boat with the Apostles
I sink into the silence of Your dream
And my anxiety is calmed down
I look at God-Man with adoration
I look at His Holy silence
During all the storms of the world
The silence that prepares Him for His Passion
The Saving Passion on the cross
When His silence is fulfilled
With the Offering of blood, sweat and pain
For all the sins of the world.

House of light

My soul was touched
For this one peculiar moment
Like an architect, amazed with the vision of beauty
I try to build a house
That I saw in a twinkling of light
The house of prayers, psalms and implorations
Sanctified with the Eucharist, the miracle of the Lord’s Passion
The house with a big window overlooking Heaven
Through which the pure-colored blue is flowing in
The house with walls, painted with the colors of a rainbow
Music sounds there, delicate like the violin singing
It is adorned with little chapels of living trees
Covered with leaves and flowers
Inside there are the faces of Jesus, Mary and the saints
The night never comes to this house
And no crying is heard
Only the tears of happiness decorate the walls
The tears, changed into the crystals that reflect light
The walls look like made of fog
And are covered with the pictures without frames
Where living persons are moving
The soul that is enslaved with earthly attachments
Dreams of the blessed peace
That dwells in this house
God’s gifts of Love, I bring to this house
For the offering, being grateful for the beauty of this dazzle
And when the night hangs a veil on the day
When the eyes can not see the light
I conjure up this house, for my soul
And she whispers: keep on building it
Out of prayers, implorations and psalms
Out of merciful deeds …
This house should be built not with bricks but out of love.

Childlike prayer

 

I want to pray to You, Lord, like a child

Praying more in the rhythm of his tender heart

Than with words

May it be a prayer of the eyes and body

Admiring the image of the beloved Father

May it be a prayer of a child

Who can not read the texts of strangers nor the letters yet

But he speaks out with his own, simple language

The language of love and tender admiration

I want to pray to You, Lord

Like a naïve child that hasn’t learned yet

The logics of thinking and decorative phrases

I want to take off myself the worldly robes of the language

Even the most brilliant and impressive

And those that the world tore apart with doubts

I want to stand before You, Almighty Father

As naked as a newly born child

And wrap myself with the gift of Your Love

To feel Your touch and Your smile

To experience the closeness while meeting You

And pray with the words that You Yourself utter to me.

Grain of immortality

 

A clod of gold, shining in the sand

A diamond in a necklace, a worshipped idol

How much passion they arouse in people!

Though they are painted with man’s pride

They are only the matter that passes away

Like deadly pride that leaves tears and despair

When fate takes them away and feelings are gone

 

I have pondered over humility, the Pretty Lady

So rarely seen in my world

Silent is She while walking between poverty and disease

Where there are no cameras and human curiosity

Where gold doesn’t shine and diamonds don’t glitter

The Humble Lady seeks hearts full of devotion

For love itself, not paid with a twanging coin

 

Wandering in Her footsteps, along the winding roads

I got to the Altar where the Humble Lady knelt down

Before the white Host, as little as a wafer of bread

I prayed to God for those who have no faith

That God in His humility can humble Himself

And hide Himself in the Host, the defenseless crumb of bread

Offering His Love at the price of His own life

 

And only those who wander along with the Humble Lady

Those who thirst for love and are love-giving themselves

They recognize the mystery of the power of the Host

Which is like sowed seed that bears the Immortal Tree

It grows out of the seed, the living Body and Blood of our Lord

Oh, Holy Eucharist, the Fruit of the saving Passion of Jesus

It is You where the breath of God dwells and gives life forever.

27.04.2014. Feast of the Divine Mercy

In the religious life of the believers, there are words that are so evident that they are not embraced with personal, living experiences. We hear with our ears but we don’t experience it with our hearts although it is the heart that should react with pain and manifest it with a rapid motion.

On the Feast of the Divine Mercy I experienced such a “heartache”, which was like a grace and I am sure of that. After the Holy Communion I saw in my heart a clear space, like a white sheet of paper. On it, there was a silhouette of Jesus, whom I just received. I think that this is how Jesus dwells in us after the confession and after the Holy Communion. Suddenly this space was filled with small pieces of stones which … were hurting Him. These were our mortal and venial sins. Jesus … did not move out. He stayed on in this space … receiving Himself these injuries. I felt a real suffering because the image was so authentic that it caused a deep sorrow in me, for every sin, even for a slight offence against God.

Encounter  in the desert

 

Looking for consolation in Adoration

I hugged the silence of the church – like my good sister

Then I saw an image of a desert, satiated with sunshine

The desert got warmed up like a ripening fruit in the hot sunrays

A lonely wanderer was walking across this desert

Whispering words unknown to me

Maybe it was a prayer?

Being curious of the words, I waited for a blow of the wind

The words of the wanderer were falling down like small pebbles

On the hot sand …

I was picking them up in the basket of my heart

I tried to join them in sentences

I was like a child, learning a foreign language

That was so difficult to understand

And I experienced such a severe pain

That I couldn’t give away any sobbing nor tears

Also I felt joy so unexpectedly

That I even forgot to smile …

I was following the wanderer and my will

Was covered with sand of different shapes

The wanderer was moving with such confidence

As if he had known the destination for ages

I didn’t feel any fatigue

My desire to get closer filled me with more strength

The silence satiated me with sweetness

A peculiar love embraced me with an unknown feeling

Suddenly the wanderer turned around to me for a moment

I saw his beautiful eyes … and a smile

There was joy in them … and pain

As if he had known me and my whole life

Holy Mass

 

Beautiful are the moments of enchantment during the Mass

The sight of the flowered Altar, songs flowing from the choir

The words of the Gospel filling the soul with sweetness

The heart being embraced with love

There are such Masses in our life

As if the Heavenly light descended to the Earth …

 

There are also peculiar Masses, painfully experienced

The Masses where the cross is stuck into the Altar so strongly

That we suddenly feel the Passion of the Lord

And it touches our body like a piercing thorn

Then we see the bleeding wounds instead of flowers

And the suffering face of Jesus, His tears falling on the Altar …

 

The cross of the Lord speaks with the living power

Over the golden chalices of the Altar, over the white cloth

And asks our terrified heart:

Do you want to participate in My cross?

Do you want to be with Me on Calvary?

Or only to share the joy of Mount Tabor?

 

The questions of the Lord hollow the heart, disturb the soul

But it’s a grace for you, at this Holy Mass

There are such Masses, beautiful, adorned with emotions

But there are other Masses, demanding to answer the Lord on the cross

There are Masses of childlike emotions, beautiful but temporary

And other Masses when the cross with Jesus appears in front of us

Asking about the maturity of our faith

Mother of Beautiful Love

 

As a child, I looked at Your picture, Holy Mother

It was like a crystal, shining with wonderful light

Warm, colorful rays were blooming

In its gentle curves

And were sparkling with colorful flowers

From the meadows of my innocent childhood

Out of pure, joyous love, unblemished by the world

Longing for safety, trusting in the beauty of goodness

Without fear, I was cuddling to Your hands with my heart

I wasn’t afraid that the sparkling fires of the crystal would go out

I experienced an awesome miracle when I was near You

The miracle of charity that didn’t know the pain of Your face, yet

 

The world forced me to grow up, out of my child’s dress

It was sowing weeds in the meadow of my childhood

They were blinding the bright colors in the meadow of my innocence

The fate put crosses there, the memories of those passed away

The innocent, trustful child was learning what pain was

I found this pain in Your face, Holy Mother

And in the injured cheek of the Mother of Czestochowa

In the pietas that were carved with the sadness of suffering

In faded flowers, forgotten chapels

And a peculiar love touched me like an arrow

I discovered Your humility, ready for suffering

The humility of the Mother of Beautiful Love toward Her children

A Song about the Holy Mother

Eternal Love has created Her

Out of the beauty of Heaven, She was made

Streams of graces were poured upon Her

And the miracle was performed out of the hand of God

Mary was conceived without original sin

The earthly Mother of Her Divine Son

The Immaculate has come to this world

To our life, corrupted with sin

She was not born in a royal cradle

Poor was She, this Holy Virgin

God bestowed the richness of the heart, love and humility

Upon Her, the Mother of His Son

I see Her on a path in Nazareth, in deep prayer

When Archangel Gabriel comes up to Her

On a day like any, filled with daily things

And a miracle occurs, invisible for the human eyes

All Heaven stops breathing for a while

Will Mary send Her fiat up to the Heavenly spaces?

In a small, unknown village, Nazareth

Mary sent Her fiat toward Heaven

And though the world was asleep with their own life

God opened the gates of Heaven widely

And He poured Love that Jesus’ body was wrapped up with

And all Heaven with angels were singing a song about Salvation

Thank You, Lord, for Holy Mary, for Her humble fiat

For Her painfully pierced, young heart

For Her life I give thanks, the Co-Redeemer of people

I am sorry for the eyes of those who don’t need the holy cross

May the blood of Jesus and the tears of Mary over the suffering Jesus

Wipe clean their eyes and may a miracle occur suddenly …

                 When the hangmen change into the saints!

Broken rosary

During a Saturday morning Mass

In my heart, I saw the world wrapped up in a rosary

Mary, with tears on Her face

Was standing under the cross that reached the sky

The rosary was made from brown balls

And the balls were as if from rough matter

Each one had a differently carved drawing

The rosary was surrounding the earth like a ribbon

And got broken over some fragments

I saw wars there, death and human tears

There was a broken rosary and prayer was broken

Crosses were knocked down and temples were empty

Only human pride, in a mad rushing, like a hurricane

Was steering the tanks that shot at the sky maliciously

Suddenly I saw another rosary

It was plaited out of white Hosts, like a necklace

From the Hosts, blood was pouring down profusely

A reminder of our Lord’s Passion

Oh, broken rosary of Mary, abandoned in the world of pride

If people reject you and the saving blood of the Son of God

Then who will come to rescue us?

A man on the cross

I met a dirty man, a beggar

And when I was giving him a coin, out of pity

My heart strangely trembled

And the words came out of my mouth by themselves:

May the cross of Jesus bless you …

The day was sunny, I was occupied with my problems

When suddenly the beggar raised his head high

And he howled rather than used words:

I don’t need your blessing

And I don’t need His cross …

Suddenly I saw a crooked cross

As if it was made of deformed wood

And the beggar was hanging there, wreathing like an injured serpent

He himself was driving in the nails and hurting himself

And it wasn’t the cross of Christ

I heard a voice in my heart, extremely sad and suffering

It was saying:

This crazy man has cast away My cross

He himself whittled his own cross

The deformed cross of hatred

Oh, Jesus from the Way of the Cross

How many people build new crosses on earth

Empty, without You, without Your blood and hope

And on these empty crosses, they hang their lives

They wreathe on them in pain, accusing You

I sent a prayer to Mary for the poor beggar

For this fallen child of Hers

Please, Holy Mother, help him to get off this cross of hatred

And bring him to the cross of Love

To the cross of Your Son.

Journey through an unknown forest

The life of man is like a journey

Through an unknown forest, full of different paths

There is darkness there at night and the morning light

We hear voices around and callings

Of those who are lost and call for help

Those who are abandoned and scattered among the trees

Those who are deceived by their own ears and eyes

They were looking for a way without a compass, without rules

They didn’t appreciate the mystery of life of the forest

The mystery that has no regard for the vanity of man

Noisy groups are wandering through the forest of life

Their sight and hearing are focused on the guide

They follow him thoughtlessly along the paths

With an echo of drums and a song so loud

That they deafen the silence of the forest and its subtle mystery

They are like the trees that are rid of their colorful bark

They are all alike, dressed in gray uniforms

Blind and deaf for the beauty around

Until … they get to an abyss and stop there, scared

Their song gets silent and the guide disappears in the fog

Oh, human journey, through an unknown forest of life

There are so many holy signs there and crosses with the Vigilant Jesus

Over the dangerous roads for people

There are so many voices of the past and present saints

Pointing at the paths toward the bright light

Why can’t we raise our heads toward the eyes of Jesus

He will show us the way through the unknown forest of life

He will sing us a hymn about a beautiful Love

And the echo of His voice will lead us

And no fear shall we experience, nor shall we stop at the abyss.

31.05.2014. When we go on a pilgrimage so that we could find spiritual support or healing of the body and when we expect that our very presence will cause transformation in us – then we have a wrong expectation. The holy places of the Apparitions of the Holy Mother require from us, first of all, to “open up our hearts” widely. We should beseech for it in our prayers and Masses before the pilgrimage. And beseech for the grace of a personal “clinging” to the holy place. But it needs time and interior peace. Clatter of voices and rushing of the outside world disturb us to achieve it. We look with our eyes, we listen to what is going on around us but the heart remains “mute” although the lips whisper the prayers. The Holy Grotto, the statues will be only the “mute” signs. Then we just become tourists, plunged in the crowd, in a hurry to see everything. Sometimes a pilgrimage is bestowed with a miracle when there is even one sincere sigh toward Mary, coming from the heart, filled with pain of our life and a complete submission to God’s will. It may convert our whole life. The drops of the Holy Spring water of Lourdes which fall upon our “Mary-devoted hearts” mean more than litres of this water, drunk in a hurry, without a sign of a cross. The holy places require our holy clinging, our submission to God, then the “mute” outward signs will become the living Mary, the pictures of the saints will speak and Jesus will enter into the wide-open doors of our hearts. And He will perform miracles, sometimes great ones and sometimes tiny ones … but our soul will recognize them, better than our ears and eyes.


Silent calling of Love

In a little chapel in Lourdes

Without pictures and flowers

Only a cross with Jesus sanctified the Altar

And a lit-up lamp at the Tabernacle

There were invisible votes of pilgrims’ prayers

That adorned the white walls

I experienced an awesome encounter with the Lord

Suddenly His calling of Love, mute, without words

Reached my heart with a hot flame

It was like loud sounds of musical passion

And filled the cell of my heart, striking with power

Getting round the sight of the eyes, the hearing of the ears

It was mute for the senses, loud for the heart …

Calling for the love of man

It seemed to be a sign of a crumb of the Eucharist

Defenseless, speechless in its gentleness

But enlivening with a beautiful call of Love

When the priest touches our mouth with the white Host

Thank You, Jesus, thank You, Holy Mother of Lourdes

For this beautiful encounter of the hearts

Oh, Mother of ill hearts and bodies

Mother, washing us in the holy spring

I went on a pilgrimage to Lourdes in Your intentions, Mary

And I recognized the grace that You bestowed upon me

I understood the intention that You wanted me to accept

When You said: open your heart widely for My Son

Don’t hamper your thoughts, your eyes, your ears

Against His calling of Love.

Request for the gifts

 

You know me, Lord

You know the day of my birth and my life’s end

You know the darkness and light of my days

You give me a cross unexpectedly

And bestow a grace upon me, though I don’t deserve

You give me prayers, so beautiful that my heart rejoices

You surprise me with Your patient Love

When I don’t love myself

You walk in front of me, like a burning bush

And lead me to its fire, to the glow of Eternal Truth

Take off your sandals – You call like You did, to Moses

Because this ground is holy and the time is holy

When I want to talk with you …

But I am so afraid to hurt my feet

Against sharp stones and hot sand

I see the burning bush of Your Love

And feel too weak to reach it

Give me, my God, the gifts of Your Spirit

May they become Your hands that will lift me up

May Their power and Your blessing

Change my weakness into the courage of love

And if Your will is for me to conquer the hardship of this way

Hurting my feet against the stones of life

Grant me the courage of bravery, the will of victory   

Then I will take off my sandals that protect me from wounds

And I will stand before You, I, the non-saint person

Trusting that the Holy Love of Your Son has saved me

Burning my weakness in the fire of His Passion.

Closer to Heaven

 

When you want to feel the greatness of God

In this world of daily trifles

You should stand against the majesty of the mountains

And soar high, like a lonely bird

To the very top, to be closer to Heaven

And wrap up your solitude with the silence of meditation

And listen in silence, to what your heart says …

And though fear engulfs you and loneliness hurts

With trust, believe in the Eyes of God

Watching you in the hardship of this spiritual climbing

When you want to feel the greatness of God

In this world of daily, earthly trifles

You should stand alone by the seashore

And look at sunrise

As an announcer of spiritual hope

And don’t be afraid of these lonely moments

They will get silent in front of the beauty of this sight

Your heart will open up for the greatness of God

You will learn a prayer that was lonely in your heart so far

It was waiting for you to convey it to the Creator …

And then you will climb down this high mountain

After your spiritual climb to God

You will leave the seashore, at sunrise

And will look for Jesus, hidden in the monstrance

You will send Him the prayer that your heart discovered

In this mysterious closeness … with Heaven. 

Message from the cross

 

I was staring at Your cross, Jesus

I saw Your wounds and the pain of Your body

And the day has come, unusual, at the Holy Mass

As if the Holy Spirit enlightened my eyes

And I saw a cross, shining with the glare of golden fire

Like a key that God opens Heaven with

On the cross, there was God’s Love burning

It was so great in the outstretched arms of the Son

That no nails, no wounds

Could put out this flame with His tears

And the blood of Jesus and the streams of grace

Flowing from the pierced side of the Lord

Magnified the light coming from the cross …

 

I, the man, unable to receive such love

The man who wants to enslave this love in his arms

Suddenly I saw the Holy Love in the glare of golden brightness

And the face of Jesus and His injured body

Were teaching me Love

The Love that reaches Heaven

The cross was speaking to me with a delicate voice:

Stretch out your arms …

On your cross of life …

Bestow love even if others hurt you

I will heal your wounds with the light of My Love

And you will not be the pain only, laid on the cross

You will be a child … of My Love.  

Joy of a pilgrim

He looks for light to strengthen his faith

And carries atonement in his heart and gratitude for the graces

He looks for a way that lifts up his thoughts, lights up his heart

The way that makes his feet detached from the ground

With a peculiar desire to run toward holiness

And the body forgets about this painful hardship

And wants to run like a hind toward the spring

There are days of this wandering when your sore legs hurt

And the gasping heart can’t make it on the way

Toward the feeling of freedom from daily worries

And though the pilgrim feeds his body

He is still hungry but not for earthly fare

A happy angel wanders along the pilgrim’s way

He wipes off the withered leaves of old and new sins

The angel accompanies him, singing songs and giving power to the body

The angels of all the pilgrims

Perform a holy dance of joy for all

Pilgrimage is an act of Adoration of Jesus, on our way

Every day, every while, during a restless night

The Most Holy Sacrament is a signpost that leads the wanderers

Toward the Temple where Mary prepares the table with abundant graces

For the weary but happy pilgrims.

Intercession prayer

You know, Lord that the way to Your Countenance

For the human beings, entangled in the world

Is not a wide gate, beautifully flowered

Where an angelic choir calls to enter this holy road

The way to Your Countenance, Lord

Is broken sometimes at the abyss of sin

It goes through a quagmire of pride where evil lurks

And it gets lifted along the slippery stairs of suffering

There are years of darkness, like a pall wrapping up the dead

When a man looks for light for himself

And he yields to the will-o-the-wisps of the world

He stumbles over a stone of deceit and falls down

Being hurt, with his last efforts of will for survival

He beseeches for the Truth, for the Countenance of the Lord

And then, a little flame that was once lit up in the child’s heart

Leads him … to the fire of the Tabernacle

Dazzled by the light that touches him suddenly

He wants to devote himself to this new Love

Before the cross, he pours out his whole life

And gets overwhelmed by this newly-discerned Merciful Love

And he doesn’t know that his way to the Countenance of God

Was once beseeched for by someone in a long prayer on the knees

On the Way of the Cross of the Lord who was mutilated by men

He beseeched: oh, Lord, save the soul of a falling man.

Heavenly command

You have given us, Lord, beautiful nature

Decorated like the Paradise garden

The fragrance of fields and forests, the sun shining in the sky

And the earth to give nourishment for the body

Naked and mortal, expelled from the Paradise

We are not abandoned by You, Lord

You have given us a task, a Heavenly command

To enrich this bestowed world with our own existence

On our way, You have given us, Lord, Moses’ tablets

Every commandment is like a powerful, life-giving tree

It is to protect us against the enemy of man

That follows us to turn off Your light

The world that You have given us, out of Your grace

Is invaded by human pride, out of Satan’s whispers

It destroys the roots of the commandments’ tree, given to us

It pulls them out and plants its own, infertile cane

And man is surprised, lost in an empty fallow

That evil gets spread, sowing wars and despair

In the world of pride, the voice of prayer gets silent

Death is triumphant, hope is dying

But You, Lord, Creator of eternal beauty

Send the hosts of saints with the blessing of Yours

They fight against pride, with a noble weapon of love

They proclaim a message about Your Heavenly command:

I have given you the beautiful earth and the Love of the Holy Trinity

And I have put a cross with My tormented Son in a fallow of hearts

He is the way for those who want to sanctify the earth with works of love

So that sanctity could be restored where darkness reigns

                 Among the human beings that were sent to earth.

02.07.2014. Every man has been gifted with a unique gift since his birth, with a kind of out-breath of God. I would call it his own “native language” through which he will express his own thoughts, feelings about the surrounding world and also he will stress … his uniqueness in this world. If a child, while growing up, has a possibility for his “native language” of feelings and talents to come into effect – then he will enrich his surroundings. Children have such a “vivid” reaction for events, nature, other people.

But if a young child (as it happens at present) starts using his “native language”, he is also nourished with the language of standards of his society, he is taught from the very beginning what this society demands (knowledge, sports, languages). His “native language” of sensitivity fades away and he becomes a “machine” for recording other people’s ideas and values. As a youngster, he becomes an encyclopedia or a dictionary of a small or big format of scientific, cultural events or expertise. He starts to use this newly learned language and becomes a granary of knowledge and standard evaluations. He becomes a unit of a massive society in the massive production of ideas. Let us make it possible for the children to “breathe” a little against this standardization and enable them to enjoy their childhood and to develop their individual language of sensitivity. This current rush to absorb maximum knowledge is a common fact. If we want to make our children the “granary of knowledge and skills”, we shouldn’t be surprised that they will become specific auto-machines that “spit out” the content at the examinations. We are surprised that children and young people treat Internet like their god and their hiding place and they don’t want any social contacts. Something is dying out in them. Maybe this “something” it is this “native language” that they once wanted to use to communicate with us. But we disregarded it as useless in this world of facts.

Once little Johnny used to speak so beautifully about nature, about stars. Today, the well-educated John builds smoke-issuing factories in a beautiful landscape …

Once, little Johnny listened to his grandpa’s stories and loved him. Today John builds hospitals and nursing homes for grandparents because he “doesn’t hear” their voices anymore.

Empty heart

In the empty heart

The wind of strange thoughts and dreams runs wild

The empty heart is flung by storms

Of fashionable ideas, getting drowned in their rapid currents

The empty heart is like a nutshell

Cast out by the waves, on a sandy shore

And accidental tourists step over him

Burying him with their feet in the billions of sand particles

Like in a big human crowd

That carries him off to nowhere

The empty heart is a slave

Of high tides and low tides, storms and high winds

Of others’ ideas and thoughts

The empty heart is sometimes tired of his own vacuum

Cast away by those whom he served all his life

He starts feeling hungry to fill up his heart

He looks for the hand that will lift him up

Out of thousands of similar sand particles

And will hold him in a warm palm

Until a common particle changes into a diamond

Until the empty heart gets filled with feelings

About his destiny, unknown so far

And the empty heart starts to tremble, like a small bird

Before his first flight, the flight toward his own thoughts

Toward his own desires, toward a great love

And with this new courage to fly, he gets closer to the Lord.

God’s will

Sometimes life brings surprises to us

The fate that seems to be according to our will

And looks like a house wall safely erected

Ruins the plans of the building

And with a peculiar ordinance, it throws us

To a place unknown …

Then we must take off the clothes of comfortable habits

And fearfully look for spiritual garments for new tasks

In the wardrobe of our soul

Like from a pot full of human grains

That sounds with the same tune, the same notes

God picks out just one grain

To teach it new songs about Him

To talk to him face-to-face

About His divine plans for him

And though anxiety enters into our nature

And rebellion and doubts wrap up our heart with a gray dress

We must believe that God, in His Holy Will

Has for this little grain … spiritual spaces of the ocean

But the nature of the grain casts away the salty waters

It gets choked, being used to the sweetness of the spring

Still, God grants a gift upon him

So that his weakness in this salty ocean of hardship

Could be changed into strong arms like outstretched wings.

The Holy Mother of Czestochowa

  

You, Holy Mother of Czestochowa, were for me

Like an icon, so great in Your Holiness and our adoration

That I felt so little and sinful before You, Queen of Poland

And hidden somewhere among the people, with my humble prayer

Until the day has come of my pilgrimage to You

When I was stuck in the crowds of human bodies

And pushed toward You like a little grain

With the flowing waves of still coming people

I got stuck before Your picture, wearing a diamond dress

And though my weary body was irritated

I was overwhelmed by strange peace

And felt Your living presence …

The presence of the Mother who loves Her children

You came out of the picture toward the people

Like other mothers, in a common garment

This garment seemed to be like a child’s blanket

That mothers use to wrap up their children

To protect them with their warmth, against this world

You carried us like little children

I saw You with my heart, going along the roads, through the cities

The roads of our fatherland and our broken families

You walked bravely through the woods, like a gypsy mother

And didn’t get round the lonely households

Courageous despite the wounds dealt upon You

Marked with painful signs on Your cheek

You never stop while on a pilgrimage to human hearts

And on the way, You pick up the ill and the dying

Your coat is stretched widely over Poland 

This is the coat of Love, offered by Jesus

It protects everyone who runs to You

And those who just stand waiting for a miracle

I saw You, Mother of Jasna Gora, so alive and present

Like the faces of the pilgrims standing by …

And even though I couldn’t kneel down

In this crowd, pressing on me

But my heart did kneel down … 

 

 

The trace that does not disappear

 

A man is going along his ways

That are built by the potentates of mammon and power

He looks for happiness, abandoned by those

Who possess earthly wealth

He bows low to the ground

Digging out left-over fractions for himself

Of others’ happiness, others’ joys

 

A man is going along the ways, pointed to him

Stupefied by colorful commercials about happy life

Made up by the potentates of mammon and power

And he trusts that they have a recipe for life

And when he buys in the worldly apothecary

A wonderful medicine for happiness, that is money

He changes it for things, forgetting the values, once so important

 

He fills his life with things

As if it were a storeroom of joys

But a strange sadness doesn’t disappear

And the man looks for new ways, new trees

Where he could bury this harassing sadness

He bought love, but it betrayed him, friendship left him

A credit remained, unpaid …

 

He looks at the walls of his house

They answer back with a deadly silence

There is only one place on the wall, a left-over trace

It is marked out with a white spot, the sun and dust didn’t remove it

It is the trace of the cross that he cast away long ago

This is the only trace that isn’t silent

This trace endured for many years, waiting lovingly for the man.

The trust

 

I look at the gentle waters of a stream

Safe, warm, joyful

Encouraging to plunge without fear

Even the sea with the quiet surface

Lures those who want to cool down

Offering rest for your body

The threatening ocean with the multitude of waters

Throwing them far onto a sandy shore

Causes fear even with the perfect swimmers

 

Staring at the waters of the rivers, seas and oceans

I think about … trust, about human trust in God’s Truth

About the trust in God’s Mercy

Is the limit of my trust

Defined only by a safe, joyful river?

Am I ready to enter into this ocean of Mercy

With the complete trust in God?

While He watches over the poor swimmer, despite the dangerous waves of life

Am I harassed by a fear of uncertainty?

 

You give me time, Lord, to know myself

And the light of the cross, twinkling in the boat

That Jesus sailed into the ocean of Love

You show the way of the saints and the blessed

For them, the warm waters of the streams were not enough

Seeking Your Truth, they plunged into the ocean

Of deep, mystical experiences, with the loving trust in Your Will

I put my feet into Your ocean, Lord

And with my prayer of trust I ask You to help me reach the boat with Jesus

The seed of holiness

We are like billions of seeds, sowed in the ground

That bloom and whither, giving space for next generations

The newcomers seem to think

That they are born on a virgin soil

They don’t think how much suffering and blood was buried there

And how much human pride it absorbed

The pride that deluded that a “passer-by”

Can be made a ruler of the earth

And there is no piece of land in our world

That we can come into possession and use forever

Every centimeter of the ground

Is like a trace after another life

It’s a witness of transition of suffering and joy

If we believe that we are the seeds

Sowed by a loving hand of God and not accidental

Then we discover the true bridge … toward eternity

Every existence is like a colorful garden, full of fragrance

If holy flowers grow in this garden

The flowers of kindness toward our neighbors, white lilies of virtues

And this garden doesn’t disappear in the memory of generations

It becomes a chapel, the prayer-place to the saints

Those who discovered the bridge toward eternity

And possessed the earth with love, and not with a notary act

They left their fortune, the cross of the Lord, for the new generations

                 To become the bridge toward eternity.

Two windows

Staring at Your picture, Holy Mother

I silence the emotions of the day, the desires

I even close my mouth for the words of a prayer

Hiding them deep in my heart

I permit my heart to pray for me

Maybe it will do it better?

I just want to look at You, Mary

In the silence of this empty church

Like a child, anxious to see the Mother

You become a window for my soul

The window looking over the world of Your Son

Looking over the world of Your United Love

I contemplate Your life, Mary

In the pictures revealed to my eyes

And You say: open the window of your heart

I will pour the peace of My Son into it

These two windows, the huge one of Mary and mine, the tiny one

And between them, the drops of graces are flowing down …

They are like a spring rain, enlivening

In the silence of the church and in the silence of my body

I absorb them and salty tears fill up my eyes

I hear: don’t close the window of your heart

So that the drops of My graces didn’t become just like an echo

Resounded against the glass of the window of your heart.

01.10.2014. During the Holy Mass, I saw in my heart a dark-brown cross and Jesus on it. At one moment, His silhouette was the same color as the cross. It was becoming a unity. Why? – I asked. And I heard in reply in my heart: I and the cross, we are the one. If you receive Me, you also receive the cross... We can’t receive Jesus separately, forgetting about His Passion.
During the next day’s Mass, after the Eucharist, I apologized to Jesus: I tell You, Jesus that I love You but my love is imperfect, I hurt You with my sins. Then I heard in my heart: There is not such a love that doesn’t hurt. Ponder it carefully. Strange thoughts began to appear in my head, as if someone tried to explain the essence of this sentence to me. Those who really love, they know the taste of love, they know how much bitterness one must swallow, how much pride and egotism to conquer … in pain. Those who “run after” love, they constantly change the object of their feelings, they rather “seek” adoration of their own pride. They are unable to make a sacrifice for another person. Unfortunately, our contemporary world thinks that love is to satisfy their own needs. The Love that Jesus speaks about is a creative love, changing the egotism of man into a position of a giver and not a receiver of love. Such love :hurts: our pride, brings pain but it changes the man, improves his nature.
Why did they kill Jesus? Indeed, He proclaimed such Love, the sanctified love. The Love that He proclaimed, disturbed the proud of this world., the scribes who made the throne of power of themselves. On this “throne” they felt like lords. Their self-love gave them a secure happiness. They loved themselves. They didn’t want anybody to destroy their pride and upset their conscience and take them off their “throne of power”. They couldn’t even accept the idea of love which bears wounds, which hurts because it can love in a disinteresting way and forgive. Such Love “disturbs” in self-adoration, it demands that man take off the colorful protective clothes, it demands listening to one’s heart. And finally, it demands that we live out the Jesus’ commandment of Love.

Pride

Oh, pride of man, golden stone

Kept in the heart as an amulet

Seemingly giving power

How difficult it is to break you into dust

And send to nothingness

Neither suffering nor love

Are able to pull a stone of pride out of your heart

Oh, pride, you are walking with a proudly raised head

You are trampling over those who kneel

And close your eyes when passing by crosses and temples

Do you know the end of your way?

Something is waiting for you there

It is the pride that is stronger than yours

It is stronger by the power that destructs man

Its vicious singing is heard

The singing of a conqueror of soul

And you will stand lonely against this singing

Feeling scared with the powerlessness of your own pride

You will look for escape for your soul

The despaired slave of your pride

And then you turn your gaze at those

Whose pride you trampled yourself

You will repeat their prayers

Until the stone of pride that gave you power

Hurts your heart with pain that never ends

And you wish to cast it away

So that you don’t hear the song of the master of pride

The conqueror of your soul that rejoices

That he guided you along the way of deceit.

A night conversation with an angel

When your life completes a circle

And takes a seat to rest

Like a bird, tired of a long flight

Then contemplate the truth about yourself

For it doesn’t have time to wait

Look at the world with the gift of wisdom

The wisdom of your own experiences

Look at the young ones, who look like you did once

Careless in love

Fighting for mammon, elbowing their ways sharply

And you already see their way of disappointment

Rebellion and tears, fear about the future

Because you have known this way yourself

You have fallen down there, yourself …

And you keep wondering why man still makes the same mistakes

He doesn’t accept the experience of other generations

The background is only changing

As if somebody put a new wall-paper on an old one

Different music is playing now, rapid and loud

And the fashion is more stripped

Trying to cover the body with nakedness more than with ideas

Then beseech the Lord for a gift of wisdom

So that you didn’t become just an empty circle

That your life made of you

And when the young say: the world is different now

You know that there is no other world

The one that exist, is divided

And created by human pride

This is the world without God, without love …

Still, this very world is redeemed

With the Cross of Jesus and His Love

The world, fighting with evil

Fighting for the dignity of man

The world of God, blessing the human crosses of hardship

For the reward in eternity …

Leaves of memories

How beautiful the autumn landscape is

Luring the eyes with the colors of leaves

The yellow beside the red are shimmering

A still green leaf is sometimes between them

Forcefully dropped with a blow of wind

I am standing at the lake, full of these colors

It’s covered with them like a carpet of nature

So many memories are there, so many left-over leaves

Memories of spring or summer when awakened with sunshine

They blossomed on the branches, enlivened with the tree juice

And I think that this lake full of dried-up leaves

Will absorb their short histories

And will remind us that it’s like our life, full of old memories

That enslave us so much that we can’t see the depth

Which is separated by the dried-up leaves of memories

How hard it is for the human nature

To forget about beauty and pain of the memories of life

And forget about the lake that embraces our old history

And look in yourself for the pure deep of water

Where we will see, not the leaves but our face

                 Seeking new hope in the depth of this crystal lake.

Gift for the soul

Suffering has carved in my heart

An awesome shape

As if a tree full of young shoots

Was pulsating with its own life

Independent of physical heart beat

And blood is flowing through it

With a slow, tender, comforting stream

It brings peace to the heart

My tree in the heart has a spiritual dimension

Its shoots blossom when I nourish them

With the Blood and Body of the Lord

They fill the heart with beauty and good

With a desire of the union with the Divine Love

And though the earthly heart sometimes

Tries to whisper that it feels the evil of the world

Then the tree comes to life and even speaks out

In defense of the neighbors whose suffering

Hardened their hearts and blinded their eyes

And it insists on praying for them

In the offering of the Holy Mass

And then I see this tree in my heart

As a gift of Jesus’ cross

Not discarded by me, but embraced tenderly

And I hear His loud, painful voice: I desire …

I ponder His: “I desire” in my heart

Where suffering has carved

This beautiful, spiritual, living tree.

The smile of God

I look for the places where the smile of God

Enlightened the faces of people

The places and the people, beautiful with sanctity

I look for the places where the smile of God

Wiped the tears off the suffering and gave hope

The places and the people filled with trust

I look for the places where the smile of God

Built a house in the hearts of the people

With the window overlooking Heaven

When Heaven gets enlightened with the sky-blue

And the stars curiously look at the earth

Then I see the smile of God in this beauty

The smile that soothes disputes

And wraps up the sick and brings dreams to the distressed

And nourishes them with a prayer of God Himself

And then I think, oh, God, I’ve been blind so long

And the blind in this world are still so many

Those who don’t see Your smile

They can’t recognize it in their hardship

When they bow their heads low to the ground

Engulfed in their passing worries

And I seek, always seek and look around

For the places and the people that recognized the smile of God

Their faces light up with joyful love

                 They are the reflection of the smile of God.

The past and the future

The past and the future met together on a way, by chance

The past had a walking stick in the hand and a gray beard

And a sack full of old rules on the back

The future had a young face and empty hands

On her shoulders, there was a fashionable, colorful backpack

The past looked curiously at the future

But the future turned away the eyes with anger

As if she were afraid to be asked for alms

And that the frowns on her face

Could deprive her of hope and the charm of youth

They travelled on, each in a different direction

One was slow, as if time didn’t mean much

The other, like a marathon runner, was speeding up

Picking up the fruits of good looks and youth

And putting them into an empty, fashionable backpack

The past and the future are like the seasons

The future gets nourished with the power of spring and summer

The past, with the harvest of autumn and with cold wisdom of winter

And nobody will stop these laws of nature

And someday, the future will turn into the past …

The future runs along the paths of the “young futures”

Still full of vigor and unfulfilled longings

And she fears one thing only, not to run into the past

But those who boasted about their youth power, like she did, once

Now they put it into the cards of history

                 The past and the future met together

                 The hope of the youth with the truth of old wisdom.

New heart

It’s great to praise You, Lord

When the heart beats like a happy bird

Soaring in the space of a loving enchantment

He is granted a grace to get higher and higher

And the body is penetrated with great trust and faith

But there are days when the bird of joy

Folds his wings, unwilling to fly

Wrapped up with a heavy robe of sadness and pain

With a fixed gaze on his own weakness

He forgets how great it is to soar in faith

And a reflection comes, touched with an angel’s wing

That a bird of joy needs a different nourishment

The nourishment of grace of faith, stronger than feelings

Which are passing, like a leaf that soars up with a blow of wind

They come and go …

May God grant us a new heart, we beseech

The heart, pierced with His Love, in the Feast of the Eucharist

The spring that flows eternally and never ceases

The spring, filled with the words of the Gospel

Gushing with a still, patient rhythm

Please create a pure heart in me, Lord

Fighting for faith like a warrior in a battlefield of temptations

Give my heart, oh Lord, a shield with a light of Your grace

With the cross of Jesus, adorned with His blood

May my battle for strong faith that I wage with myself

                 Be sanctified with Your Divine blessing.

The time that doesn’t pass away

Time passes as if someone

Tore out the sheets of the calendar hastily

Dawn barely wipes our eyes

When the rising sun, with its glare

Calls us to work

And we keep running and running

The trace after our work becomes a leftover

Like the few houses that we built

Or the machines that we invented

Or the people that we cured …

And in the mirror we see a gray, tired man or woman

And a question: where is that running, young man?

In the faces of the children, grown-up now, we discover

The time that flew unnoticed

And we ponder whether there is the time

Which isn’t just a falling sheet of a calendar

But the time that is awaiting and stopped

Somewhere in the space between Heaven and Earth

Indeed, there is such a time, the time of prayer

When a moment becomes an hour

An hour becomes a day …

The time that doesn’t run but it lasts

In a peculiar state of rest

The time of prayer, of the Adoration of the Lord

Being sunk into eternity

The eternity without calendars, clocks and haste.

Holy signs

You Are in the Holy Communion, Jesus

Like the light of countless suns

But for those who receive You

You Are just a little sunny ray

So that they wouldn’t get blind from Your glory

You Are the Power, Lord, flowing from eternity

The Power of the Creator, unimaginable

But for those who receive You in the Communion

You Are a little Infant

So that they could take You in their longing arms

You Are the Fire, Jesus, burning and powerful

The Fire that can heat the whole universe

But for those who receive You in the Communion

You Are just a little flame of a candle, lit in the dark

For a soul that thirsts for the light of truth

You received Your Passion on the cross, Jesus

The Passion that was burning Your whole body

So that those who receive You in the Communion

Could draw the hope of salvation from Your cross

And were protected with the rays of water and blood of Your heart

You Are the omnipotent Love, Jesus

Like a waterfall, pouring out endless waters

But You just softly touch with Your hand

A man who stands before You, in the Communion

Nourishing him with a white Host

How holy is the Might of Your Love, Jesus

When It comes close, in little, humble signs

To human hearts, to human life

In the delicate touch of the Host, in the little Infant

In the flame that doesn’t blind us

                 In the cross that saves us.

Pearls and weeds

Rich is the man

Who doesn’t water the weeds of the land

With the bitter tears of his life

So that they couldn’t grow abundantly in anxiety

He gathers the tears of bitterness in his heart

And changes them into the pearls of a Rosary prayer

And lays them down at Mary’s feet as a noble gift

So that Her graces could bloom like roses

With a smile of a victory of love

Poor is he who lives abundantly

His heart is made of clay that breaks easily

His bitterness leaks through the cracks

Onto the hearts that live around him

The weeds of anxiety, nourished with his egotism

Grow up richly, polluting the area

Until his joy gets lost

Among the weeds of bitterness

And love passes away

Strange is the heart of man

Who reaches for the gifts of this world

One can even change bitter tears into the pearls of victory

The other is hurt with the gift of wealth

Some multiply the hard gifts

The others watch over their riches like slaves

Getting lost in the field of weeds

Oh, Holy Mother, take one pearl of a poor man

And bestow it on the rich man

                 May it turn into a blooming rose among the weeds

                 And may it transform his heart.

08.12.2014. During one of the Advent-Rorate Masses, after the Communion, I deeply felt a peculiar pain. It was flowing from a man who was a stranger and who was like a symbol of many souls who can not receive Jesus in the communion. Two large and hot teardrops were flowing down my face, so hot that they were burning my face. And it occurred to me that those who can receive the Lord, they also receive many graces. Do they appreciate this grace? Or do they treat it as an ordinary ritual? The tears that I experienced were like the tears of the Holy Mother of Sorrow over those who experience pain because they can not receive the Lord, and also over those who receive Him but they don’t feel the miracle of the joy of consolation. Their hearts also need to be opened wider so that the suffering due to their darkness could avoke in them the holy desire of the presence of the Lord and the awareness of these great graces they experience whenever they receive Him in the Communion.

Suffering and consolation

Sometimes the soul is wrapped up with such a great pain

That you wish you could envelope yourself in a dream and slow your breath

And fall asleep with no hurting thoughts

But a peculiar suffering weighs like lead

And an invisible chain surrounds the heart

And you ask: why do I experience it?

You try to cry but it dies down with a mute echo

And its silence makes you ponder

You look for the sins that weren’t uttered

You seek contrition that is covered with egotistic pride

And a question is born, like a sharp arrow piercing the heart

Can I betray the Lord in suffering?

Or should I open the door of my heart widely?

You meditate over the darkness covering the church

Before each Advent-Rorate Mass

This darkness hides your suffering for a while

So that it could suddenly glitter with a comforting light

Or maybe it is Jesus going along the Way of the Cross

In our contemporary world when the night is dark

He knocks on your heart with the cross of Golgotha

Like a grace that is lit up from the Advent candle

He asks for hospitality to share His suffering

Trusting that you are the Simon of the XXI century

And the Veronica who will wipe His sweat off His face

And will console Him in His suffering.

The throne

My King was laid down in a poor crib

While the children of the kings of this world

Slept in golden cradles

My King was nailed to the cross

It was His throne made of plain wood

When the kings of the world sat on the rich thrones

My King was adorned with nakedness and blood

The thrones and cradles of this world got rotten long ago

But the throne of my King has endured in this world for ages

Though there were and there are those who want to destroy it

But it is reborn, still immortal

For it reached the Heavens with Love, not with a sword

The mortal hands made His throne, out of wood

And He gave them eternal life with His saving blood

The bare feet of my King were nailed to the throne

So that they would never reach the earth

When resurrected, they wandered among the people

Giving hope to those who believed in Him

He rose from the throne proclaiming the immortality of love

To those who believe only in earthly thrones and cradles

And to those who look for thrones-crosses in eternity.

The time of hope

I don’t know Your thoughts, Holy Mary

When You waited for the Son of God

I know the joy that You experienced

When You felt the Infant moving in Your womb

The pain was not a stranger for Your heart

When You saw Joseph’s uncertainty and concern

And though You were chosen by Heaven

But Your feet, like with other women, touched the wounds of the earth

I see when You are lost in thoughts, Your sight is fixed in Heaven

When You bustled about Elizabeth’s homestead

You put the ferment of prayer into the bread that You baked

To be life-giving for John’s parents

When You uttered Your fiat to the Angel of Announciation

Heaven was like a bud of a rose and opened up with angels’ singing

The earth was silent, entangled in daily life

Human eyes didn’t see any light around You …

Beautiful were You, wrapped up in the Fatherhood of the Holy Spirit

You stepped over the land, just like other women did

Joseph, the spouse given You by God

Was carrying with You, alone, the mystery of Nativity

I don’t know Your thoughts, Virgin Mary

When You were waiting for the Son of God

But I know Your Love that has lasted for ages

And Your face from the pictures, deep in thoughts, in love with people

Today, hundreds of years later, we go to the Advent-Rorate Mass

To wait with You for the miracle of the Infant’s Nativity

To warm up our weary life in Your Love

And to light up the flame of our soul in the darkness

                 So that You, Holy Mother, could adorn it with Your hope.

The beauty of a picture

Happiness, despair, love, hope

Have colors taken from the palette of life

They are like a rainbow of colors, the artist’s brush paints with them

They are beautiful when they show on the canvas

The mystery of human longing of many generations

Sometimes many years pass, uneasy, not creative

And on the canvas … there are only dark spots

The artist mixes the paints, proud of his talent

But his pictures reflect with poor colors

The silhouettes are dead-like, like the birds unwilling to fly

He puts a white fabric on his easels

Anxiety creeps into the painter’s heart

He asks: where are you, my mysterious longing?

Where is the source of the most noble colors?

Sometimes the One who holds the palette of beautiful colors in His hand

Leads the artist to the holy places

With the help of an angel’s voice from a picture of old masters

Maybe there, he will know the mystery of his longing?

He will dissolve in tears the cold of his heart and the pride of his talent

He will become the artist of life and not painting only

As soon as he places the recovered longing on his pictures

                 Then he will become the master of the pictures that live out their beauty.

The flame of prayer

There are days when prayer

Runs away from the words

And becomes a mute image in the heart

And you wonder

Why the heart burns first

When there are no words of prayer in you

You try to adorn this flame

With beautiful words

But your heart deafens every word

It beats so strongly with its feeling toward God

That you turn into a mute person

Like Zacharias who was doubting

While waiting for God to confirm the words

But you just listen to your heart

When it prays with a hot flame

It is the soul that gives you a sign of God’s Love

Without superfluous words

Like an arrow, straight into your heart

This moment is just like a brief flash

Of enchantment and amazement

And only the tears that flow down your face

Become a witness of a gift of prayer of your heart.

Holy Night

I kneel down at Your manger, Jesus

It is colorful and clean

Like my Christmas from the past

The Christmas of presents, balls and lights

But the truth about Your Nativity is proclaimed

Only in the Holy Mass and the words of the Gospel

I kneel before You, Holy Infant

And slowly remove the glitter of this Christmas

I switch off the arificial lights and enliven the plaster figures

To penetrate more deeply into the might of Your Nativity

And the Holy Night, poor and contemplative

The Night of Mary, Joseph the Angels and shepherds

I see a cold and dirty stable

Like the heart of a sinful man

I smell an earth-like fragrance

And hear the angels’ singing that breaks the silence

Penetrating the holy silence that unites the earth and Heaven

With the light of Immaculate Innocence

Salvation has come to this world …

The Salvation that is not afraid of the pain of the cross

The Salvation that blossoms with Love and Hope through the Infant

The world hasn’t known such Love, yet

God has spread His arms over the people in this Silent, Holy Night

So that we could find in our hearts

                 This awesome Gift, the Gift of His Love.