Hunger for love

There are such moments in life

When the breath of the Holy Spirit

Puts aside the wing of the heavenly window and shows the world of Love

It allows to feel enchantment, dazzling, meditation

That the joyful hope is being born

I adore Jesus, still feeling the taste of the Host

The taste of wonderful freshness of bread

I write my prayer into the silence of the church and stop my scattered thoughts

I give Jesus my heart which is better to understand love than my mind …

It comes back to me with the words: you will not feel hungry when fed with My Body

I get sunk in these words like in the waters of the Jordan

I settle accounts of my desires that are still stuck in me

I gather the fragments of the “hunger” of this world that still lure me

I feel that I can cast them out though they glitter and promise …

This hunger for You, Jesus, is vigilant in me, night and day

I see a meadow that is like an ocean of waving flowers

Or can it be a symbol of our rushing world?

This awesome silence is going on, it teaches, it speaks …

Your hearts are broken and God’s Mercy is flowing through them

How much Mercy must I pour out so that man wanted to renounce sin?

I am hungry for this silence that speaks the language of love

The silence that sings the beautiful hymn of Saint Paul:

Pure love doesn’t want any profit … it is an offering

And I think that in man there is a great hunger for You, Lord

And in You, Lord, there is also a hungry love to people

                   May Your Mercy join my hunger and Yours, Jesus.

The new day

Every morning I pierce with my hand

The wall, invisible for my eyes

The wall that separates the consecutive days of life

Sometimes with fear, reluctance, sometimes with hope

I fold my hands in the praying gesture

And beg Heaven for a holy patron

To help me …

And I, clinging to his garment

Will enter into this day safely

And will skip the ways that lure with a pretext of beauty

I will not allow to be cheated with words and pictures

Which make us hungry for sin

And make man a beggar

That is thirsty for the goods of this world

I also beseech my own Angel for protection

When I see darkness at the border of night and day

And the thoughts like dark ravens croak in a strange language

I beseech Jesus and His eyes and hands for the light for me

So that I didn’t yield to terror

And didn’t become a blind person

Escaping from His suffering … and mine

I am praying before the Altar: it’s not easy, Jesus

To open the eyes in the morning and not to be deaf

To the questions that the day carries on

And go, staring at the horizon of God’s Love

And seek the places in yourself where Heaven touches the Earth

And offer your fellow men the sea of Genezareth, full of fish

And kneel on Tabor and not to be afraid of the stormy sea

When I pierce through an invisible wall

To see the secret … of the next day

I am on a pilgrimage through my life, carrying Time with me

The Time, given to me by God, known only by Him

Not even one morning more, one night less

How many of His words will I hear during this time?

How many prayers of love will I transfer to God?

Prayer of joyful longing

I have a desire

To pray to You, Lord

With the words that get imprinted in my heart

With a hot seal

And are not like birds, freed from a cage

Flying out to the space of freedom

So that they wouldn’t return to the cage of the heart

And get dissolved in oblivion …

I desire the words of prayer, fruit- bearing

Even if the gardener of suffering planted them

I beseech for a prayer, full of longing

When the very sounds of words play music in the heart

The music of angelic violinists, inspired by love

The music of Christmas joy of a child

And also the notes of a sad requiem, like a cry to Heaven

And a dying weep of Jesus, on His Calvary way

I open my heart for such a prayer

Not for the words, like lilies that are fragrant just a while

And then they become dead, lifeless

But for the prayer when the heart kneels, awakened

From the stress of daily life and wants … to sing

And cry, and be silent and wait … for the voice of the Lord

For the voice … of the Father, the Living God

Whom the heart of the loving child desires so much.

Bread of love

God sends His Love down to earth

In the huge bread, smelling with herbs

The angels crush these God’s loaves with their wings

That they fall down with tiny crumbs

Similar to the Heavenly manna

Those who see love around them

Catch the falling manna in their hands

And share this holy food with their fellow men

Giving out generously, through the pearls of prayer

The distrustful, whom the world has begrudged love

Store the God’s food in the granary of the heart

As the reserve … for later times

Those who got blinded by the tinsels of the world

Are stamping over the Heavenly manna

And the Merciful God is weariless

Sending the Bread of Love down to earth

Sometimes its crumbs fall like snow-flakes in the winter

In the summer they ring against the window with rain-drops

In the spring they enchant with the flower buds

In the autumn they hide in the carpets of the leaves

Huge loaves of bread of Love grow ripe in Heaven

Blessed with the Hand of God over the Fire of Love

The imploring breath of the saints sustains the flames

Jesus marks them with the cross of salvation

Just like the village mothers would do it in the past

And the Divine nourishment is flowing down to earth

And the human children will not experience this hunger for love.

When the grain of prayer gets ripe

I gather the prayers like grains

And make a colorful bouquet out of them

Some grains are green, hardly germs yet

Like inattentive prayers, a little impatient

Which reflect the learned-by-heart words

And are not ready for love, yet

And still wait for the enlivening juice of trustful faith

There are prayers like ripening grains

Surprised by the birth and growth

Happy about the dew of God’s grace

Fructifying with the beauty of prayer

They still look for the fire that warms up the prayer

Sometimes they lose the grains

When they mistake the fire of love for the fire of the world

I have in my bouquet the quiet prayers

Flowing rapidly like a river current

Sometimes so calm that they make love fall asleep

When a stone of tragedy strikes a quiet river of life

The prayer is crashed out like a crystal glass

Man becomes despair that engulfs the cross with tears

Should he carry this cross with words or trustful heart?

I saw the prayers that were scattered

Like the beads from a broken Rosary

Sometimes they were cast out so long that the words were gone

I saw those people on the knees, doing penance

They looked for the lost prayers to have a new Rosary of life

They formed the words out of the painful, cheated heart

By prayers … to the gods of this world

How much must a just born grain of prayer experience?

How many life-giving sunrays, raindrops?

How many blizzards, disasters, disappointments?

So that he could create his own prayer of the heart, of love

As ripe as a golden wheat grain

Ready to become the bread …

The bread like intercession prayer to You, Lord, for our fellow men.

As long as …

I experienced a strange day

It was like many others, full of city noise

The noise that flowed all over the streets

And suppressed all attempts

Of bird singing, wind blowing to be heard

The clatter of wheels of speeding cars, the creak of brakes

The terrifying sound of hooting ambulances

Were making the cacophony of sounds

Or rather the “cry” of the street that feels hurt from traffic

That is indifferent to people, to their needs

In this street music, I felt … fear

Suddenly as if on the inner screen of my consciousness

I saw the written words of prayer: Hail Mary, full of grace

The prayer hugged and embraced me, softened my fear

It took me to Nazareth, over two thousand years ago

To a settlement, dazzled with a burning sunshine

The cries of the people were like chirping birds

The donkeys, loaded with goods, the clatter of their hoofs

Time seemed to be gentle for a man there

Time wasn’t in a hurry … there were different voices, different smells

Though that life had its own … fear

I feel an awesome, mystical bond of these two worlds

This bond is the miracle of the Divine gift, the miracle of prayer

As long as the prayer endures in people’s mouths and in people’s hearts

                The world endures as well

                So does the hope …

The gift of beautiful prayer

I am sinking in the Adoration of the Lord

Before the miracle of the Most Holy Sacrament

I hear the words in my heart, the beginning of the song

From an unknown song-book

Whose song is this? As if it were lost by an angel

Its words are so beautiful:

“I want to be the prayer for You, Lord”

I see people with paper slips in their hands

On each slip, there are the words of a mysterious prayer

They aren’t repeated

They are taken out of the rich Dictionary of God’s Love

That He gives the human children when conceived

The words of grace from the Loving Father

The Father who is waiting for His words to be deciphered

I see the prayers, hidden in the heart, tenderly cared for

I see others, put off for years, like an incomprehensible text

There are also the ones that are cramped, rugged, cast away, lost

The Holy Mother watches over the lost prayers

She dews the obliterated words with hot tears

Maybe they will bloom from Her tears? Or will sing songs?

And “the child of prayer” will kneel down, looking for the loss?

“I want to be the prayer for You, Lord”

And I want to read Your words of love for me

And protect them like a mysterious parchment in my heart

For there is … Our Encounter written down there

Give me, Father, the light for the words of my prayer, still not deciphered

When I can’t understand the words, send me the Holy Mother as a teacher

For “I want to be the prayer for You, Lord”.

Ortiga

There are sanctuaries like oceans

So deep from the faithfull’s prayers

Humming with human voices

Like the waves striking against the shore

Pulsating with hope, with pain

With requests, with the words of gratitude

Pilgrims prayers are like the incense smoke

Longing and reaching the pictures and statues of Mary

Sometimes a pilgrim whispers a long Rosary

Sometimes his soul utters a silent shout

In Fatima, Lourdes, Guadalupe

The human prayer flows out like an ocean

The boats of human hearts are sailing over

Like lonely cradles

That wish to be hugged and rocked

With the Motherly hand of Holy Mary

There are also churches with an awesome silence

Just humming with the music of a little waterfall

Or with the echo of a final verse of a monk’s prayer

Who just rose from his knees after a cordial talk with Mary

It’s a creative silence that encourages to open your heart

As if the church were a … confessional

The whiteness of the walls, the sunrays, the lit candles

The figure of Mary in the Altar, so close

The breath of the praying gets united with the breath of the church

The church lives in the Eucharist, hidden in the Tabernacle

You feel it strong, you feel this house full of love

The house-confessional that burns sin …

There is such a church in Ortiga, near Fatima

Out there the Holy Mother also appeared

Before a mute shepherd girl and cured her when asking for a lamb

I say goodbye to Ortiga, feeling the blessing of this place

               And I still see Mary with the lamb

               As if She wanted to tell me: give Me your pure soul.

Where angels cry

On a hot, windless day

When even to sigh is hard

I keep walking, spreading around

Thoughts that are sad and mutilated

Like dark, twisted mouths

Painting the space around with gray paints

Creating an image that is left somewhere in the gallery of sadness

The image that nobody wanted to buy

I felt a delicate blow on my face

Like a friendly touch of an angel’s wing

Here you are, my angel, I whispered, where have you been?

I have been where angels cry

Where suffering, indifference, crime dwell

I have been in an empty church, before lonely Jesus

I have been where angels get together

To cry … instead of people.

Joy and suffering

The candles went out, the organ got silent

Tranquility penetrated the temple

Composing its own concert of adoration

Out of songs and prayers of the faithful

Bowing down in adoration, I was looking for the words

Daily and simple, for the conversation with Jesus

I moved into the world of feelings in my heart

Sliding off the curtain of reality of things and sounds

I saw a crowd of people dancing in a religious ecstasy

But I didn’t feel their joy

A thorn of suffering was hurting my heart

As if a stranger’s pain wanted to cry in me

Joy and suffering, suffering and joy …

Two arms of a human soul – I thought

In my image of experiences, I saw a man

He was crying silently in a dark corner of the temple

Lonely, far from the joyful crowd

I saw Jesus near him

Bent down, He was listening, consoling

Although it wasn’t a picture of a joyful, noisy crowd

My heart was filled with enormous joy

This joy was singing within me, bringing hope

It shook off my pain and torment

It was my fascination over the Truth that I experienced

Jesus, You are where crowds adore You

You listen to a loud singing of adoration

But You are also at the same time

Where a lonely man is crying …

Holiness

It walks in a frock, in a civil garment

Sometimes it wears a working apron for a job

Quite often it lies bed-ridden

It has no age but the heart is burning with love

For God and people

Holiness doesn’t look at the world with human eyes

It reaches at the Altar, for the light of the Eucharist

It touches Jesus’ robes with prayer

With trust that His power cures ill thoughts and weakness

And indifference that kills love of man toward man

Holiness is a longing for goodness and beauty of Heaven

For clinging to God

This longing painfully penetrates holiness so much

That it isn’t afraid of being cast away by the world

Now it moves along the way of suffering with a cross on its back

Shifting the beads of the Rosary of its life

Holiness gets to know the Love of Jesus with its body and soul

It experiences Love of the Heart of Jesus, weeping with bloody tears

It gets to know Love that wanders hand in hand with Suffering

Holiness receives a gift … the gift of a touch of the essence of Love

By touching, it bestows the life companions with this love

It nurses them with its own hands, heart and words

It carries the cast-away, the suffering as if they were Jesus Himself

God also sees the time when holiness suffers and cries

And begs on its knees for courage

             Then God sends down the Son who is like Simeon for holiness.

The Holy Mother of Osuchowa

There are clearings so lit up with sun

That they penetrate the body with an awesome fire

And the man wants to shout, cry and laugh

As if he found himself in a mystical circle

There are such clearings amidst the forests

Where the trees protect the newcomers

They nourish with the fragrance of resin, with sunrays

Curiously penetrating through the boughs of the trees

The trees full of dignity and memory of amazing events

Of the encounter of Heaven and Earth …

There are narrow paths in the forest

Destined for lonely journeys through the forest, through our life

The paths that don’t know the noise of the concrete highways

The paths that direct the newcomer to a chapel, to a cross

To the places where the Holy Mother appeared with a message

You are led by a strange light, by silence, by fragrance

And even if there were other people near you

You become a lonely prayer, looking for a chapel

Where you kneel down before … the Mother

Being touched with Her love

The love that you might have experienced once

In a quiet, countryside church

Holding the hand of your mother or grandma

Staring at the picture of Mary with a childlike wonder

There is such a place where silence embraces you

So tightly that you must long for

The innocence of a child, the warm touch of your mother

The sinlessness, the adoration of God

The place where your heart receives the seal of the touch of Mary

The unforgettable gift of the Mother for Her beloved child.

Garden of prayer

Plunged in a prayer, embraced with the waves of feelings

I saw a world in my heart, a colorful, living garden

Full of fragrance, delicate plants and mighty trees

But it wasn’t a paradise … a hurricane of evil sometimes bossed there

Devastating the garden, destroying the harmony of the beauty of the Creator

This world charmed with music, sounds and songs

Orchestras played the various instruments

There was a hidden mystery of a pure tone in these instruments

The musicians looked for it, it was like a gift for a soul, like peace for the heart

The impatient played falsely, being deaf for the mystery of the beauty of harmony

I love this world, born out of prayer, I hide against the destructive hurricane

I listen to pure sounds and look for the flower of my own

The “one day” flowers tempt but they wither fast, for pride is their mother

I look for tiny daisies that are sunk in lush greenery

They are not afraid of … the humility of existence, the humility of littleness

I pick up a little daisy and lay it down at the feet of the Lord

I look for an instrument to play my song to the Lord

I see a violin with one string, an angry musician must’ve cast it out

I will take it and hug, it reminds a man, hurt with a suffering

Maybe I will let free a pure tune of my song for the Lord out of this one string

             There are prayers in this garden, as humble as little daisies

             There are songs of the angels that can be played with one string

             There is the Lord of the garden Who hears every human heart.

You Are Love, oh Lord …

You Are Love, oh Lord

When You touch our youth, blinded with light

Reflected from the delight of the world

The youth that is dipped in this artificial light

And is having illusion of taking a bath in the ocean of freedom

Being blinded, it swims unprotected, to the middle of the ocean

And scared, in pain, it calls for help

Having discovered the deception of the value of the artificial light

But the gift of Your fatherly love is like the boat with a helpful angel

You Are Love, oh Lord

When You become a delicate, little fire

Leading through a forest of human fears

You light like a ray with Your eternal light

And You leave a trace on the face, overflowed with tears

Which is a red, little light, of Your Son’s drop of blood

You wait patiently when we follow this light

Bravely dispersing the darkness of the night

So that we could discover … the longing for the truth of Your Love

You Are Love, oh Lord

When the indifferent crowd jostles us painfully

And they don’t see our held-out arms, asking for help

They are running in a maddening, ritual dance

Knocking off the crosses and statues of the saints on their way

While rushing to the luring mammon

And we, in this bustle, sink in despair …

But when we raise our eyes high over despair

Then we will see the hand of God when He lovingly gives us His Son in the Host

You Are Love, oh Lord

When You sow hope where despair blooms like weeds

You pour in longing so that it was leading the heart toward the light of faith

You raise up the old crosses, collapsed by history, thus sanctifying human crosses

You hold out Your hand though You know that the blind eyes won’t see It

You stand like the gate that defends the access to evil

And Your Love doesn’t avoid the darkness of human weaknesses

It is the hurricane that transforms the soul …

For those who have discerned it.