04.01.2015. One day, during Adoration I started to feel in my heart some signals concerning the life of Mother Therese of Calcutha. Although I haven’t thought about Her for months but my thoughts began to turn into consequent sentence structures and at this moment of Adoration, she became so close to me. I had an impression that Jesus was speaking to Her, not to me. Oh, Jesus, She has already died, I said silently. Then I heard: She hasn’t died but She asks for the “new” Mothers Thereses for the poor of this world. She asks for the saints who are ready to live like She did. Then I heard in my heart: I want you to understand the essence of Her difficult vocation, the core of Her precious cross, that is the cross that I shared with Her. She was carrying it in pain … to the very end, to Her sanctity.

Oh, Mother Therese of Calcutha

You desired to see Jesus so much

With Your own eyes

And to cuddle Him in His arms

But You persevered in the dark night

Full of suffering and pain

Without any consolation …

And though You knew that the Lord was speaking to You

Through the eyes of the dying

Through the eyes of the abandoned children

In human terms, Your vocation was so hard

When You experienced the vacuum of His Love

But He entrusted this Love to You …

He proceded before You a few steps

With the cross of the harmed

Your angel carried a prayer on his wings

He was faster than Your steps

That were so busy over human unhappiness

You were the handmaid of the Lord

Washing the wounds with His hands

You were His smile of consolation

What did You want to say, Jesus

Through the life of this beautiful saint?

You wanted to say that You wait for the sanctity of man

For his will to fullfil Your Passion

You wait for love that is like Your Love

The Love that is despised by so many people

The Love without consolation …

But this Love is beautiful

For it is all-saving and eternal.

Our Father

I wanted to express my love to You, Lord

With beautiful words

But silence spread within me

As if this silence was to announce a secret birth

I was like an empty cave, waiting for an echo of words

Or maybe for the beating of the heart?

A little bird outside the window

Was singing morning chirps

It was tiny but so much power was in this song … without words

I wanted to tell You, about my love to You, Lord

But I stumbled over ordinary thoughts

About troubles, past joys and hope

I was like this little bird

Only the singing of my heart was so poor

But something unusual happened in this silence

The forerunning silence of a mysterious birth

A prayer resounded unexpectedly within me

The prayer that I have repeated for years …

Our Father who art in Heaven …

It sounded with a power that I hadn’t experienced before

It was beating loudly with a heart-beat that was in love

The words were resounding with an echo in my cave:

Hallowed be Thy Name, Thy Kingdom come …

The words were like a sudden, outpouring love

Like a beautiful hymn of a child to his Father

I desired to tell You, Lord, about my love to You

But it was You, Lord, who bestowed

The power of Your Love upon me.

What are you like, my prayer?

Sometimes you sound loud, sublime and solemn

When raised with a choir of voices

Sometimes, very silent and hardly heard

Like a little puff of wind, gentle and soothing

Sometimes you are a beautiful singing of voices

Like the elevation of gothic cathedrals

Sometimes your singing is sincere but incompetent

You dwell in the church, at home, on the street

Whispered in a daily hardship

You wake up on our lips in the morning

And go to bed together with the faithful

There are days when you wake up a sound sleeper

So that he could say at least: “Under Your Protection”

For the unknown people who are threatened with sin

You are, my prayer, a lonely voice somewhere on the mountain

Like a night dialogue of Jesus with His Father

You are the suffering on Olive Mountain

When the Son of God is drinking His Cup of bitterness

You are sorrowful on the Way of the Cross of Jesus and ours

You are joyful on the Day of His Resurrection

And even those who despised you once

Will grab you, whispering: “Hail Mary” like the last resort

When pain touches them or life diappoints

Beautiful words got lost in the memory of the past

But you, my prayer, are still alive

You rise up to God with a bright flame

You are the hope encoded into the heart of man

                 The hope, on our way of encounter with God.

Saints

When our sins cause a painful wound in us

We turn to the saints for support

To feed us with the power of their faith

We try to know the secret of their life and faith

The faith that they even lost their lives for

And I see them climbing up toward the light of Heaven

Along the stairs of the world, full of thorns of temptation

Along the slippery rocks of doubt and illness

As if God by crucifying their will and body

Wanted to liken their souls to His Son

But the smile for the people never disappeared from their faces

Among these hardships and spiritual struggles

They hid the tears among the sad, dark nights

They turned them into the words of a beseeching prayer

Somewhere, at some time of their life

They saw Jesus on the way of the cross

His eyes were like the eyes of the poor, hungry, love-thirsty

Through His silence they recognized the will of God for them

And took up the struggle with their own weakness

For those who haven’t known the love of God, yet

And even if we wanted to know their sanctity with our mind

Studying many wise books

Our heart will not understand the mystery of sanctity

When it is closed for our fellow being

It will not understand the gift of hands and heart as an offering

For the salvation of souls, so precious for God

It will not understand the pain of the saints, their suffering

The crucifiction of body and will and the faithful trust

As Mother Therese of Calcutha says: For the saints

Suffering is a sign that you are close to Jesus on the cross

                 So close that He can even kiss you.

Journey through a green valley

Faith is like a journey

Through a juicy, green valley

Holy words of God rise up over there

And the angels, the Heavenly birds of eternity

Offer them to the hearts of the pilgrims

The Holy Eucharist is leading this procession

Following the guide, the priest

He nourishes those who are getting weak on the way

He passes a cross to them for their support

And the hands of the companions help those who fall

Faith is a journey through a green valley

Following the light that shines even in the dark

The journey without the baggage of the world that weighs on the back

This is the journey of trust that we won’t fall out of hunger

Because the granary of God’s gifts is inexhaustible

The voices of the world are waiting on the elevations

For the travellers along the green valley

The voices of doubts, ridiculing and hurting

They fall on them like sharp stones

They try to disturb this journey through the green valley

Some voices quote wise books, logical reasoning

About senselessness of faith, about non-existance of the green valley

The hands are held out, full of tempting gifts of the world and victory

But the pilgrims of the green valley go on, toward the light

And the voices and hands of those tempting are absorbed by darkness

                 And the night wind leaves the prayer for them on the elevation.

Gift of the royal Eden

My eyes can not see You, Lord

Nor can my hearing penetrate the Heavenly dome

But even an earthly blind man

Feels warmth on his face and turns to its source

Fascinated that he can run to it

And the one who can not hear

Can praise You with his eyes

Although our senses don’t reach Heaven

But You, Lord, with Your Mercy, opened Heaven for us

With the cross of Your Son, with His Resurrection

So that those of poor vision and hearing

Could know You with their hearts and redeemed souls

Which are more precious than senses

So I sing to my soul patiently

Lift me up where Eden reigns

Where love plants trees and flowers

Where the smiling saints are like gardeners

There are no dark nights but the light of love

There are such days, like a dreamy enchantment

When I hold out my hands toward this Eden

With my complaint about my blindness and deafness

Then somebody from behind this blue veil

Lays a shining crystal on my hand

Shimmering with the blood of my Lord

And the crystal, the gift of the royal Eden, flows down

And is changed into the white Host which opens the eyes and ears

                 Of those whose senses don’t reach Heaven.

Gift of the Divine Grace

The Divine Grace is not a hidden treasure

It is a gift of forgiveness

The Divine Grace is like the crumbs of a grain

Thrown near a nest of a bird

Engulfed in a sleep

He hasn’t shaken off his dream, yet

He hasn’t tuned up himself for the morning singing, yet

But the feed is already waiting for him

The gift of Merciful God for the weak …

The Divine Grace – it is Jesus going beside us

With a basket of bread, waiting for the hungry

The Lord with a sincere smile

For those who hold out their hands for His bread

The Lord who is sad seeing others who pass by Him indifferently

Their eyes are turned to the gifts of this world

The Lord suffering on the Way of the Cross out of His Love for people

The Lord – the Slave of Love, hidden in the Tabernacle

Jesus – the Grace for the sinful world

Give me, Lord, the trust of this little bird

He knows that the feed is waiting for him

Out of Your Divine Grace and Your disinterested Love

So that while I look for these gifts with my mind and my eyes

And ponder over their value and taste in this world

I do not overlook Your graces

That were offered to me on the branch of my life

Give me, Lord, the gratitude of this little bird

And give me his trustful song about Your Love.

The way of coming back

You have let me out of Your arms, Lord

So that I looked for the way of coming back to You

You have given me a safe house on this earth

Protected with a cross and the pictures of the Holy Mother

And the sunny childhood, adorned with the wreaths of daisies

And the faith that here on earth, the sun shines everywhere

I have observed human life for years

My ways crossed the other ways

I have seen the pilgrims of this earth, seeking wider ways

They got around the crosses of hardship like obstacles

Looking only for joy in their pilgrimage

And finally, disappointed, they fell down …

I looked at the pilgrims of the hard trails

When they climbed the mountain-virtue crests

The storms and winds of life didn’t stop them

They were hiding in the grottos, their temples of prayer

I saw a miracle in their holy desires

To reach the cross on the hill of Golgotha

How very little our life is, oh Lord

It is just a drop, sunk in the elements of this world

In the storms of spiritual breakdowns and too long nights

In the fear of a stormy ocean to protect our faith

In the heat of a desert that blows with sand into our eyes

And loneliness that can not be abandoned

How very little our life is, oh Lord

Bestowed with Your grace of free will

That must make the right choices among the spiritual elements

So that it can find the sunny way to You

To reach the mountain of Your Love

And to be like David who defeated the great Goliath of this world

                 With a stone of faith and trust.

Life-giving love

You prayed, Jesus, on the desert mountain of temptation

Where the flowers of consolation don’t bloom

The cold wind at night

Wanted to blow away the words of Your prayer

In the day, the desert heat took away Your strength

And satan tempted Your hunger with bread of stones

He wanted to offer You a kingdom

You hid Yourself in the desert, Lord

Like in the hearts that despise You

In the cold hearts, like the cold desert winds

Burning with the sin of the desert heat

And You, God-Man have called Love

To make it a shield for the hearts that are cold

To make it the bread of salvation for humanity

You wanted to show the power of suffering Love

That satan’s temptation can not overcome

For only where pride and egotism rule

And where love is despised

Evil is born like a weed in an infertile field

And kills human life with wars

Evil is free to act when there is no shield of love

You wanted to show people, merciful Lord

The value of Love in this world

The Love that is worth giving life for

For it is the only one that gives life …

But when man that has a weak nature

Leans against this love, this holy cross

Together with You, he will win over temptation

                 In his own desert.

20.04.15. I spent one week in the Holy Land just before the Feast of Divine Mercy. I had in mind my previous pilgrimages to Israel which were full of spiritual experiences and unusual energy that I absorbed from this place. This pilgrimage (described in a poem) became a painful contemplation for me, as if Jesus wanted to show me the “signs” that I hadn’t seen before , being sunken in joyful pilgrimages. I tried to decipher these signs … merely just for my heart, to deepen the mystery of the Way of the Cross of Jesus which … is still going on. It is still going on because people have more tendency toward the material signs than toward the transformation of their hearts.

Painful pilgrimage

It is a gift, Jesus, to fill the heart with the Holy Land

And let the sun of Israel penetrate us

And touch the mystery of this land with our hands

And the places of Your footsteps

Breathing the air which still carries Your words

Feeling like a gifted child …

I experienced these feelings in my previous pilgrimages

I was joyful with the joy of the Apostles from Mount Tabor

In my next pilgrimage You stopped me, Lord

On the Jerusalem’s Way of the Cross

As if You wished that I shared my pain with You more than my joy

Without sun, in the stormy wind and touched with a sickness

I carried a strange sadness within me, a complaint of my soul

The prayer got broken in my mouth

As if it wanted to take me away to the desert

Far from the noisy voices of the pilgrims

Being pushed by an uneasy crowd in the Basilica of the Tomb and Nativity

Among unknown faces and languages, very tired I reached

The holy places, the Rock of Golgotha and others

I felt like a lost pilgrim, seeking the Guide

The Guide who will show me the source, the very essence of my pilgrimage

I was seeking You, Jesus, Your presence …

During the Holy Mass when the wind was pushing aside the cloth on the Altar

Or when a cold wind penetrated my body on the Galilean sea

Being burdened with my own infirmity

I looked for an answer from You, Lord

And I saw a picture of Merciful Jesus on a Jerusalem street

There wasn’t any inscription, Jesus, I trust in You

A strange pain penetrated my heart

As if the diamond of Your Mercy got shattered into pieces

And the feet of the pilgrims ran forth, covering it with dust

They ran to Your footsteps, locked in the stones, not in the hearts

You have intended this pilgrimage to be painful for me, Lord

You taught me humility and patient mercy

And the contemplation of divisions of religions and hearts

And when in the Basilica of Nativity, an Orthodox priest

Asked me to move over … to the Catholic side

I saw You, Jesus falling down under the cross

The cross that is undividable and is the only cross of Love

How many centuries do we need to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land

                 So that the Love of Your Cross could join people together?

Last slice of bread

New life opens up like a scroll of Tora

Being unrolled by the hand of God

In every scroll there is a mystery

Still not recognized, in words and signs

The mystery of human fate …

God’s gift of life is laid down at the foot of earthly time

And time flows sometimes like a rapid stream

It speeds up the dramatics of life, it teaches

And sometimes it flows slowly

As if it waited when life learns God’s signs

Merciful God and His time …

How forgiving He is for the analphabets of life

Will they understand the beauty of the writing of God’s laws?

Or being blinded by free will

Will they choose the earthly, human codes of law?

And the scroll of life gets unrolled implacably

The unread signs and warnings, written by a loving hand

Get faded in the hearts of many people

Although they don’t disappear

The singing of God’s words gets silent …

And when the scroll is slowly getting closed

Joining the time of birth and the time of death

Those who drew joy from a whim or free will

Look with bitterness at the dark pages

For there aren’t any … signs of Love on them

And then as if in the last enchantment

Of God’s Mercy and His Time

They grab the closing scroll with their old hands

And read the fading words, even the faint syllables

And look for God’s Love like for the last slice of bread.

I had a dream

My dream hasn’t flown away, yet

And my prayer still waited to come to pass

As I sank into a peculiar world

The streets were similar to mine

The people were engulfed in their noisy rhythm

The faces, unknown, young and mature

I am walking along in my dream

With my desire of smile and friendship …

And I hold out my hand to the next passers-by

They say: “I don’t know you, man”

As if they didn’t know any other words

My angel interrupts this sad journey

Whispering: you dropped into Purgatory in this dream

Look for the way out

Somewhere in a distance I see a strange intersection

As if a large cross was spread over the asphalt

Its wide arms were empty

Free from people’s footsteps

A lonely intersection of the streets, a lonely cross

Waiting to be discovered

By the passers-by in Purgatory from my dream

Waiting for the words: “I don’t know you, man” to get silent

I stand in its very center

Lonely, though the crowd is surging by

Swollen in the narrow streets

A strange world of indifferent faces

“Don’t be afraid” – I hear the voice of my angel

“Call to those who are getting lost

Pray for them, in your painful solitude

You are the one who can still touch the cross

Purgatory is waiting for your calls and prayers

For those who can say … I know and love you, man”.

There was the morning

After Holy Mass I am wrapping myself up with a robe of prayer

To save the silence of my heart

From the bustle and disharmony of the street sounds

I summon the image of Jesus from the Way of the Cross

And my thoughts are focused on the Jerusalem’s paths …

At one moment as if being dazzled

My world of honking horns and howling ambulances, disappears

Suddenly I am standing in the hot sunshine

Hearing a foreign language around

I see people dressed in loose garments

And suddenly …

A groan of pain of a man being wounded

Is deeply piercing my heart

I see Jesus with a thorny crown on

A man is pressing it hard to His temples

And it is not just a physical groan of pain

Though the blood is falling down on His face

This groan comes from the pain of the world

It is all-embracing me and this Jerusalem street

It doesn’t accuse but it suffers …

It doesn’t pierce like a sword that hurts the body

It flows out with a cascade of a painful feeling

Like an ingenious orchestra

It plays a hymn about a great suffering

Of God’s Son and humanity

There was such a morning when I came close to Jesus’ pain

And I felt the evil of sin in the groan of His suffering.

The wedding days

There are wedding days like a touch of a gentle wind

When the soul experiences joy

And is filled with the presence of the Spouse, Jesus

She is surprised with the gift of this poured-in grace

So sudden that the heart stops beating

And there are no words but just a sigh of gratitude

For the beauty of these wedding moments

There are days of an unexpected sadness

Overwhelming the heart with a strange fear of loss

As if we drank water from a poisoned spring of the world

And the more prayers flow out of the mouth

The more severe our pain gets, the more hurting

And we look for the Spouse, Jesus from Galilean Cana

And He stands before Pilate

Oh, Jesus, why can’t the wedding days last longer?

Why do joy and sorrow in our life

Look like light and dark threads that weave our life’s fabric?

And I hear the answer: I, the Spouse, always stand beside you

It is you who forget about Me

And lock the Wedding Parlor with a key of deceptive worldly feelings

I, the Spouse provide only the wedding days for your life

                In return, I desire your faith and love, but not your sadness.

Healing

The drop of Your blood, Jesus

Flowing down to the Chalice at the Holy Mass

Is able to break a lump of ice of the heart

Carving a corridor inside

With a sign of the Holy Cross

And it penetrates the heart to the bottom

With the fire of Love, unknown in the world

And if you desire the healing

For the man whose heart gets hurt with a lump of ice

Surround him with a beseeching prayer

And take him to the Mass, before the Altar

And sacrifice your white Host in his intention

So that the precious drops of blood of the Lord

Could also flow down on him …

And though you won’t see the miracle of a sudden conversion

But that day or maybe after many years

The eyes of the Lord will remember his face and yours

And the Heavenly clock will determine the time of healing

And the moment will come

When Love, out of the offering of the blood of the Lord

Will burst like a geyser in the ice-chained heart

And the man, hurt with lack of faith

Will kneel down himself before the Altar

And will beseech the Lord:

Pour into me, Lord, the drops of Your Holy Blood.

The fire of love

I long for the fire of Your Spirit, Jesus

When I look at the Altar during the Transfiguration

I would like a strong blow of wind

To burn my weakness in me

And deliver me from sin

I take this longing before Your Altar, Lord

Carrying a small candle of my own spirit

You have, I hear, a little flame

That was lit by My hand, at your Baptism

May this gift blow it into a big fire

There is nothing that happens without your will, my child

It is able to kindle like your love toward Me

Let it not be just an empty vessel

Like a prayer whispered by a sleepy heart

But the armor of fight, against the evil that lures

To put out the flame of faith that is too small

Let your soul know My Love

She is more faithful than a capricious heart

When you open up your soul for the fire of My Spirit

It will flare up like an eternal lamp on the Altar

And no blow of evil will ever put out

                Your love toward Me …

Contrition

She is not the mourning hymn

Sung over the sin

The hymn that wraps the sin with a shroud

And buries in oblivion …

Contrition is like grace, bestowed on the heart from Heaven

To know the essence of sin, the killer of souls

The grace of contrition allows to shatter the rock of sin

Into small pieces but they also hurt …

Contrition dozes in man in the cradle of memory

Even after the holy confession

It reminds how hurting for the soul and God, sin is

Contrition hurts, she makes you think and pray …

When we move along the river of life, in the peace of heart

Contrition rests with the joy of pure heart

She wakes up like a wound with a removed dressing

When sin invades …

The man, gifted with the grace of sincere contrition

Does not want to scratch the wounds of Jesus with his sins

And if he sees his own sin

Then contrition will give him the tears of repentance and conversion

Pain and joy are the richness of contrition

As well as despair and hope and struggle and the will to win

Contrition never turns down her sight toward the turbid waters

Her eyes are always turned toward God, toward her Gift-Provider.

Silesian Sanctuaries

When your heart suddenly puts on the pilgrim’s robes

And stands, ready to go

You feel that it’s time to set out on a spiritual adventure

And let your eyes know the beauty of adoring God

In the gothic churches, baroque interiors

In the Sanctuaries of Silesia, Czechoslovak Prague, Wroclaw

In Klodzko, Wambierzyce, Brdo, Czermna

The spirit of old creators is still alive for beauty is long-lasting

And nothing is the beauty of sculptures and pictures

Unless the artist fills them with love for God

On our knees we pray to the Divine Spirit

To uncover a bit of Heaven for a moment, bestowing an inspiration of beauty

In Czermna, near the church of the Mother of Good Council

There is a chapel full of human skulls and bones

One near another, no faces, no history, all looking alike

No one knows who is an enemy and who is a friend

This sanctuary of death fills us with fear

Many thoughts flow into those who are still alive

How anonymous and physically equal we are when death comes

But I do believe that God knows our faces and names …

There is a mysterious spirit in old sanctuaries

As if the sculptures, pictures, altars had eyes and were alive

A hundred-year-old cross with Jesus, wooden statues of Mary

Have been on vigil for centuries like soldiers of faith, like an immortal army

Maybe it’s the power of the faithful, of millions of pilgrims

Whose traces got reflected in the walls of these places

For sure it is the power of Holy Masses, Gospels and Liturgy

Filling the interior with the living presence of Jesus

You can absorb the beauty of these sanctuaries with your eyes

And remain in this inspiring enchantment

You can also let this mysterious power embrace you

And personally experience its awesome loving touch

You can feel as if you were in a treasury full of jewels

The jewels that have been stored on the Altar for generations

The jewels of love, hope and faith that were carved out of people’s hearts

Invisible for the eyes, abundantly scattered at the side chapels

I say good bye to the sanctuaries from my pilgrimage

Which have given me an interesting gift – the gift of a childlike joy

I dipped myself in their interior like in an enlivening ocean

They were like a sanatorium of a spiritual renewal for me.

Morning, noon and evening

We are like billions of scattered out lights

Wandering across the earth, being turned on and off

Within the time unknown for us

We have been given one morning of youth, one noon and one dusk of the evening

Dawn wakes us up to life like a sunrise

With the light from the hand of the Creator, with the gift of the “blessing prayer”

The precious prayer, for it is written only for us …

And when the morning of infancy changes into the maturity of noon

We feel strong, in full bloom of strength and beauty

But we look for timely and temporary joys

And the noon of life is rolling on, either with a prayer of the Creator in the hand

Like a lamp of grace that protects in the darkness

Or we light up common candles around us

But they go out so fast …

The spark of life has also her evening twilight

When lit up, she goes out in the chill of the evening

And she has time to think about her dawn and noon that passed away

Then she reads the hidden-in-the-heart prayer of the Creator more carefully

She already knows that time will not blow up the flash of her spark of life

And is astonished that this prayer has so much beauty, so much love

And the words of God are heard more clearly than the clatter of voices

And the life wants to shout at those who persevere in the “noon of life”

That they shouldn’t lose the prayer, written for them

For the vocation, if accepted, will become their wedding feast

And evil that tries to threaten with a black shadow, gets scared of the light

And the spark of life, so precious, but goes out so fast on earth

But the man who does good around him with a great passion

Creates a prayer … out of his life.

How much?

How much pleasure should we give life

So that it didn’t change into boredom and not a creative joy?

And man didn’t become a butterfly

Which is like Icarus, so greedy for sun that he got burned …

How many wounds and sufferings must we experience

So that we didn’t choke from tears?

And try to endure the hurricane of sorrows

And firmly seek the green border of hope

How much love should we embrace and how much to lose

So that we recognized the one that enlivens, is bountiful, disinterested?

Like a baker offering the hungry

Warm, fresh bread

How many swords should we whittle out of a tree of bravery

So that we had them enough to kill the thorns of hate in us?

The thorns that grow when seeing harm and misfortune

Of egotism, wars and evil

What words to know, how many languages to learn

So that we could talk cordially with people?

And not stir up anger or severe silence

With the commends spoken with hostility

Out of which treasury should we choose the crystals of wisdom?

Out of the treasury of the heart, so that they multiplied like the fruits in the tree?

Or seek the treasury of wisdom and knowledge

Where the crystals of wisdom often change into the golden coins?

Where to look for a pure spring of water or a small stream

Where I will find the answer to my anxious heart?

Or maybe I should stand by a great ocean of knowledge

In its depth, many generations lost the question about the essence of life

I am standing by a spring, the pure source of the Eucharist

I recognize the delicate blow of the Holy Spirit

His silent voice touches with the awesome words:

If you know how to love, if others love you …

                Then you know the answer.

When love matures

Human love to You, Jesus

Wants to be mature, beautiful

But often is …

Like a clumsy bird

That fell out of the nest, in a tall tree

Its wings are weak, they won’t rise high

Above the earthly tastes, smells, feelings

Above the dried leaves …

Life is moving beside the clumsy bird

It carries love, indifference, hatred

Someone will pick up the little greenhorn

And will hold it in his hand with compassion …

But time is short

He will not wait for the self-reliant flight of the bird …

Someone will look with hatred

And will try to kill this hardly born life

With a bad word or gesture

And the weak, clumsy love

Is waiting for a Samaritan with good hands and eyes

Is waiting for a man with a cross

For You, Jesus

So that You could pick up this weak, clumsy love

And wait …

Wait until its wings get stronger

So that it could fly up, beautiful and mature

Soaring high toward Heaven

Toward the natal nest

In the tall tree of Divine Love.

The return to my Angel

A dream gave me a gift of a picture

I saw a child walking over green grass

The grass was extremely juicy

It was filled with green, liquid dew

The child was walking alone but not lonely …

A silhouette of an angel was following him

They were talking, united with a twin-like bind

I reached deeply into my memory, turning over the past years

I shoved away the stones of hurting memories

And the dried leaves of worries

And the still smoldering sparks of hope and joy

I was looking for … the memory of the heart

The memory of my childhood with my angel …

He had wings like the arms of a swan made of white down

I heard his warnings, consolations …

He was as real as a man, but dressed more beautifully

I thought that I could leave him or abandon

And go ahead and he will be waiting …

And I went through the door of my childhood … into my maturity

The maturity that is the thickest string of the instrument of life

I was tense, resistant to being delicate

Requiring strength and firmness

Listening to its sounds

I didn’t hear the voice of the “twin” from my childhood

But he saw me and heard me

Embracing me with his arms made of swan’s down

He kept enduring where I abandoned him …

In my heart …

And waited patiently until I come back to him

Until I remember about His Love …

When little becomes great

Like a ripe fruit, filled with juice

Ready to complete the flight

From the protective wings of a tree

A thought came to me, looking for maturity in the heart

With a question: what is my love to God like?

It is like a small leaf in the thicket of a huge tree

Listening to the whispers of other leaves

Or a blade of grass on a carpet of a colorful meadow

A bowing blow of wind that trembles before the storm

A little drop that is sunk in a rapid river

And disappearing as if it were a little fly, captured by the waves

A little ray of light, shy among the shadows

Looking for hope full of glare

A flower with small petals of forget-me-not

Filled with the dignified beauty of the field lilies

Such is my love toward You, my God

Little, human, defenseless

Often lost in great spaces

But it is You, Lord, who are its Father

You make my love great with Your Love when …

You hug the hurting heart of man like a withered leaf

You save the blade that is drying out of a peculiar longing

You catch a drop from the river and change it into a pearl

And decorate Mary’s dress with a modest flower

You blow up a hardly lit ray to make it burn

And Your hands, Lord, make a leaf a huge tree

Washed in Your Love and a blade - a fragrant meadow

A drop has the power of an ocean, a silent prayer soars up like a hymn

For Your Love, Lord sees what is little

It hears pain even in human silence

And a falling tear is for You, Lord, like an echo of a volcano

                Even if it quietly flows down the face.

04.12.15. During the Holy Mass I thought about a little “spark” that is inoculated in every man at the Holy Baptism. It may become a flame … or may slowly go out. The spark “asks” for the Sacraments, for the words of God. When we use them to stir us up, we receive the power of the Divine Spirit, strength and courage. The spark of the man who is indifferent to God, to the Sacraments, to His words, hardly burns because the man who runs after earthly pleasures, is nourished with non-lifegiving medicine without spiritual value and is often being poisoned with a bad word or picture and he gets weaker when surrounded with icy chill of his own egotism.

The encounter on earth

There was time when I was looking for You, Jesus

High above the land of my feet

Giving the power of imagination to my eyes

I was sliding aside the clouds with my sight

The sky was like a blue veil

Painted with colors during the day and with stars at night

I was looking for the door to Heaven behind this veil

I was looking for Your chamber, Jesus

There was the time of my youth, the time of looking for God in the clouds

Outside the earth where the white and the black angels fight

As if I wanted You, Jesus, to be protected with off-pain Paradise

Surrounded by the saints and engulfed in the essence of beauty

One day I didn’t raise my head toward Heaven

Maybe I lost the childlike naiveté?

Maybe maturity of my experiences stuck me to the ground

And ordered me to fight with the angels of darkness?

When life shuts the gates of illusive imagination

And forces us to touch it with courage and hope

The knees bend humbly and in front of our eyes

We see the merciful eyes of Jesus – the grace of meeting Him on earth

Jesus is wrapped in the earthly robe of human pain, hope and tears

He has the beseeching eyes of our fellow men …

People who are blind and outside their hearts, are looking for You, far in the clouds

Does the gaze into Your eyes fill them with fear, Jesus

                                                                                                  Here on earth?

Diamond

I discovered a desert-like space within myself

Born out of ripe fruits of my life

It appeared in me all of a sudden

Like unexpected gifts or holy moments

To understand myself, to understand Divine Love

This space emerged when the “sea waves”

The waves of this world – flowed away …

Leaving me in the desert space

The space of my thoughts, prayer and silent music

On the map of my life, still wet after the low tide of the waves

The journey across this desert where only God’s wind blows

Is like a pilgrimage, like a fight for truth, for conscience

And there is no escape from the high tide of the waves of the world

I saw the mountains that I didn’t want to conquer

And they should be conquered to see the light of the morning of hope

Glittering in the chapels behind the mountains

I saw the crosses made from the desert sand

Along the common, daily paths

Like question marks, waiting for answers

Shall I kneel down before them or pass by them?

There were small grottos in my desert

For my thoughts to rest, to call my longing

For the love that is absolute and merciful

I listened to the songs, probably the angels playing the harps

Sometimes they played only a few strings of sorrow

Like a requiem for the conscience, touched with sin

I hasten to get to know my desert

To know the signs of God and … my own ones, carved there

I hasten to know it until the waves of this world flow over it

And I hide its image in my heart like a diamond

                 Like a treasure that was granted in this one, holy moment.