The Way of the Truth

Entangled in a spider web of life

Our heart looks for the ways to the Truth

Sometimes we run to the artificial lights

But these lights fade away, they are just a flame of a candle

They hurt the hands with the hot wax of illusion

We like the ways where there is laughter and fun

The fireworks of dreams give birth to new temptations

A hardly flickering light touches us

And the human faces are like the carnival masks

Paper-like, deceiving, scoffing

And though the giggle still sounds in our ears

From those ways which disappointed our heart

The soul hears singing, some gentle music

Like a ripple of a brook which reveals a mystery

With the words that lead toward the Way of the Truth:

“Lucky is the man who doesn’t enter the way of the sinners

He is like a tree that was planted over the flowing water

And bears fruit in the right time

And its leaves don’t wither (…)

Because the Lord acknowledges the way of the just

And the way of the vicious will get lost” (Psalm 1)

And though the darkness is still around a man

He follows these words, being surrounded with tender care

He waits for the light of the morning, gazing at the sky

And going on, he stumbles, falls down, gets up, laughs and weeps

And beside him, there is a silent pilgrim from the human ways

The Merciful Jesus who is leading us toward the Way of the Truth.

After the Holy Mass I stayed in church for the Adoration and at one moment I saw a very large, white pearl. I didn’t know how to explain it and suddenly I heard a voice saying: everybody who goes away from a sin is like a precious pearl for Me, more beautiful than other people, even those sinless ones.

The alley of a golden bondage

I am seeking paths within myself

The ways of happiness, sadness, joy, love

Memories, hope and doubt

They circulate in me, get crossed or tangled …

That’s human life

There is an alley, bizarre, full of warm light

Straight, not tangled

It leads from Heaven to Earth

The words of Jesus are like flowers on it

I enter into it for warmth, for safety

This alley is like a holy gift, dipped in a rain of Baptism

But it happens that man doesn’t discern it …

He looks for happiness in the tangled paths of life

He accepts a deception of the world as a gift of truth

The alley of a golden bondage is getting thin

Defenseless, forgotten …

Although it was to be the source of power!

And there appears a stone of unbelief at the gate

Sharp and hurting

And the path of the golden bondage becomes the way of Calvary

Jesus is getting on it

Together with the words that are often offensive and distrustful

And He is hurt with the nails of human pride

The God of Merciful Love stands against …

The free will of man

He fights for the alley of a golden bondage for His loving child

And it is not a battle for a laurel of victory of fanfares or ecstasy

It is the battle for the salvation of the soul for eternity

What will the man choose:

Whether to be a Sacrifice of Love or a victim of the world?

The key of love

I want to get closer to You, Jesus

But …

I see a transparent and crystal curtain

As if it were made out of clear water

Or maybe tears?

The drops are shaking with colored lights, they live

The crystal curtain attracts with its warmth and beauty

Behind the crystal curtain, there is the world of Good, Perfection

I put my hands on it and send the prayer of Faith

The curtain is shaking, shimmering and doesn’t disappear

I send the prayer of Hope

The curtain is humming friendly with a delicate tune

Being despaired with the “quiet” of the curtain, I kneel down …

An angel reveals to me the mystery of the “opening” of the curtain

As an earthy crystal, it has a weak point

It scatters into tiny bits

So this curtain has … its own, holy point

That opens up for the man

With its three secret locks of the Heart of Jesus

You opened the curtain with Faith and Hope

But where is … Love?

Remember these three … your Faith, Hope and Love endure

But the greatest is Love

The Love for God, this mysterious point

It crushes all the curtains: these earthly ones and those heavenly ones

The angel flew away but I seek in my heart

The Love that will not disappoint the Lord

                 The Love that doesn’t cast away His pain, His humiliation

                 The Love that will go along beside Him.

While seeing “the equality parade” and hearing blasphemies’ against church and a parody of the Holy Mass and offences against the Holy Mother … I felt anger. But bad emotions are only emotions, I thought. Where is the source of evil? How come there is so much hatred and an intention to offend the Church and Catholics? Actually they have their “fun” area, free from the 10 Commandments. Why doesn’t it please them? They just look for somebody to hold in contempt with blasphemies. As if they wanted to kill the faith of other people, their values and even themselves with hatred. Why those from the 10 Commandments are such an obstacle for them? Are they afraid of their conscience? Where is their tolerance? What hurts them so much that they must hate? In fact they have their own conscience (do whatever you want). Why aren’t they happy and free from hatred? Why can’t they find peace in them? I think that deeply-rooted “moral law” that protects man from self-destruction “speaks” to them and irritates them. Is this because their conscience that is free from “the 10 Commandments” does not make them happy and only blasphemies and other evil satisfy them?

I thought over the picture that I saw, being engulfed in the Adoration of the Most High Sacrament.

Vigil

I am sitting on a stony block

At an empty road

Few olive trees

Are made asleep with darkness

They bend down toward the road

As if they wanted to hear

The last news of the day

I am not sleepy, rather vigilant, waiting

For a conversation, encounter?

With my heart, I touch the time that has no hours

It flows like still water

It’s the time of the pictures, sunk in the current of the water

Like in a holy, clean mirror

I see Nazareth, a little Jesus with Mary

They are laughing and going to Joseph

I see a crowd of the Jews in Jerusalem

The men wear long robes and touch their long beards

They are discussing or maybe quarreling?

And then …

I see a crowd pushing Jesus with the Cross

Jesus is looking at me

Be vigilant until the end … I hear

Don’t wake up, don’t run away from Me

When I suffer, when they beat Me and crucify Me

Be vigilant …

On a stony block, at an empty road

Sometimes as lonely as I …

Sometimes joyful, at an empty tomb

Be vigilant and wait for Me

I will be passing beside you …

The Vessel of the Word of God

When your heart wants to turn the world into a desert

And the ravens, with a shriek

Peck out the last seeds of hope

Then don’t shout at Jesus, don’t give up faith

Like a hostile crowd before the court of Pilate

Kneel down before Saint Joseph

And in the silence of the morning or evening

Let Him get into the field of your heart and sow …

White lilies of innocence, trust and obedience

Let the gaze of His eyes silence your tormented voice

And let Him cure your body, hurt with fear, with a gesture of love

Without words … in silence and hush

May Saint Joseph teach you humility

Which leads you to God along a narrow path

He Himself learned it when He heard the words of an Angel

And He accepted Mary as His wife

He thought over the doubts like a common man

But He didn’t clamor down God with His own words

He became a vessel for the words of God Creator

A crystal chalice, filled with Heaven

Tradition speaks of Him very little, only that He was a Saint of Silence

None of us will learn how many tears sprinkled His face

How many smiles He sent to His Beautiful Family

How much He tried to protect them from the enemy

How great His love was when He looked at the growing Child

How great His tenderness was when He served the Mother

He was the executor of God’s plans

And His mission was the deeds, not the words

He entrusted the Most High with the mystery of His heart

And being the Caretaker of the Holy Family

He cares for us, too, serving like the most tender father

When the world wants to turn your heart into a desert

And it doesn’t let the seeds of hope and faith grow

Call Saint Joseph who will silence the storm of your life

With just a gaze and a gesture of the blessing hands

Then He offers you a gift of … silence, turning your shout into a silence

                 So that you could hear God in your prayer.

A wanderer … or a pilgrim?

When an extreme light touches us

It becomes an unexpected gift

And life gets a holiday brilliance

In the very middle of our gray days

We seek to get to know the source of this light

Full of love we seek Jesus in the Eucharist

And read the words of the Holy Scripture

And start journeying to the holy places …

We visit cathedrals, sanctuaries

And admire human genius that created this beauty

In one day we absorb the miracles of human work

That were created through ages, in hardship, in a mystical meditation

We are becoming like watchers, full of impressions

And the saints in these places, hidden in the reliquaries

Are looking out of the bars, surrounded by the noise of human voices

Our prayer to them is quick, it flies out like a butterfly …

The days of wandering across the holy places are passing

The cameras are getting swollen from taking pictures

The heart and soul are hungry for a longer prayer

We had so many requests to You, St. Rita and to You, St. Catherine

We wanted to talk to You, St. Francis and Clare …

And we didn’t have time to thank You, Holy Mother …

There was so much beauty around that nourished our eyes …

Maybe when we come back here again?

I call my Guardian Angel and ask:

Why don’t I hear any song coming from my soul?

The Angel spread out His wings like a fan

There was an inscription on one of them: a wanderer, and a pilgrim, on the other

He put a lump of white marble in front of me

As if I were Michael Angel … a sculptor of beauty

He said: a wanderer admires its shape, its whiteness and walks around the stone

A pilgrim crushes the stone with the chisel of the prayer of his soul and seeks the way to God

                 To be a pilgrim means the hardship of the heart and soul

                 To be a wanderer means the hardship of the body and senses

                 And whom are you? – asked the Angel.

My heaven

I don’t know Your Heaven, Jesus

The Home of Love and Beauty

That is a secret for me

A garden of my imagination

That makes pictures out of pieces of earthly beauty

That I store in my heart

Like in a child’s treasure-box with mysteries

There are pearls of memories

From the holy places, joyful meetings

Prayers that awesomely kindle

They are the gifts … from Your Heaven, Lord

Though I don’t know Your Heaven, Jesus

I find it … on earth

Every day I open a common, wooden door to it

To … the Church

I sit in the pew, waiting for You to come

From Your Heaven to my earthly heaven

Our human heaven is not perfect

Sometimes I “see” when You extend Your hand to greet

But the man passes by, deep in thoughts

I see people-guests, indifferent, as if they were “forced”

By the custom of baptism, confirmation, wedding, funeral

We adorn our earthly heaven with the beauty …

Of the pictures, sculptures, bouquets

They are like a compulsory loan for human imperfections, sins

And You, Jesus, are sad that love in earthly heaven

Sometimes withers faster than the bouquets on the altar

But I don’t know another heaven but the one to which

I open the wooden door every day and I feel its smell

I see a golden tabernacle like a brilliant sun

And I know, Jesus, that Your Love in my heaven-Church will never fade

You will always stand with Your extended hand and the Eucharistic food

That’s why I love my earthly heaven – the Holy Church.

Medicine from God’s pharmacy

Man will not go through his life without wounds

As long as hatred stings and poisons

Like a vicious insect in our world

And love learned how to put on

A dress of treason

The world hurts physically but also spiritually

With visible wounds that doctors cure

But also there are invisible, resistant to the medicine from a pharmacy

So painful that man cries

With aggression, sadness, wailing and a bad word

The owners of the invisible wounds often treat them

With alcohol, narcotics, aggression, lousy love

But these wounds don’t want to get silent

The man is lonely with his injury

He gets poisoned and destroys his own humanity

There is a Heavenly Physician in this world

Invisible in his physical structure, like our wounds

He is standing near us, but we pass by him

We get round the injured Jesus, with a cross full of our wounds

And He is extending His hand to us, with a medicine

The medicine that an earthly doctor will never make

The medicine that is redeemed from the world by the Passion of the Cross

With Pure Love, Disinterested and so Humble

That it doesn’t turn away from those who

Don’t thrust away His hand with this miraculous medicine

And so He keeps staying near our human wounds

Like a companion in our difficult journey in this world

Waiting …

For these moments when an injured man believes

In the healing power of God’s Love.

Martyrs

They are like unpolished diamonds

Dropped from Heaven

So that life could make them pure diamonds

Of the Divine Word and Holy Gospel

They don’t know the end of their way, yet

Being engulfed in their youthful doubts

Whether to be like sinful Paul … or an apostle?

Heaven has its own time, own secrets

But it doesn’t lose the diamonds

And none of us, devoted to Jesus

Will understand the secret of the heart

Although he read hundreds of wise books

And this holy moment

When man becomes a martyr

Even if he is humiliated, tortured, beaten

He will not betray

The Love, instilled by God

The Love that was taken with power from Jesus’ cross

The executioners look at the dying for faith in God

With anger, sometimes with blasphemies in their mouths

But their hearts, full of aggression, are embraced by strange fear

And the question … where do they take their power from?

Is it from a small wooden cross, a habit, a mission robe?

And even if the cross was broken, the habit was torn, the robe was trampled

The love of the martyrs lives on, their blood yields a harvest of love

It sprinkles the earth with the Divine Word, for generations

It is the gift of the holy love of man to God

                For the Holy Love of God to man.