The Meeting Place.
Often I think of you. You are never far from mind.
You are always in my heart. My presence your guiding light. When our hearts are perfectly balanced, we become as one. Together, on that current, we soar.
Deep peace from the veil I give to you.
Deep peace I breathe gently into you.
Deep peace has my kiss as I kiss you.
Deep peace as I murmur to you.
Deep peace from the veil is my gift to you.
Image: Krist Mort
Image: Olia Pishchanska Dreamcatcher S Glhuo Absu Photography
“Deep peace I breathe into you,
O weariness, here:
O ache, here!
Deep peace, a soft white dove to You;
Deep peace, a quiet rain to you;
Deep peace, an ebbing wave to you!
Deep peace, red wind of the east from you;
Deep peace, grey wind of the west to You;
Deep peace, dark wind of the north from you;
Deep peace, blue wind of the south to you!
Deep peace, pure red of the flame to you;
Deep peace, pure white of the moon to you;
Deep peace, pure green of the grass to you;
Deep peace, pure brown of the earth to you;
Deep peace, pure grey of the dew to you,
Deep peace, pure blue of the sky to you!
Deep peace of the running wave to you,
Deep peace of the flowing air to you,
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you,
Deep peace of the sleeping stones to you!
Deep peace of the Yellow Shepherd to you,
Deep peace of the Wandering Shepherdess to you,
Deep peace of the Flock of Stars to you,
Deep peace from the Son of Peace to you,
Deep peace from the heart of Mary to you,
And from Briget of the Mantle
Deep peace, deep peace!
And with the kindness too of the Haughty Father
In the name of the Three who are One,
And by the will of the King of the Elements, Peace, Peace!”
~ Deep Peace By Fiona Macleod, The Dominion of Dreams Under A Dark Star.
Excerpt from Psalm 103:
“Our days pass by like grass,
Our prime like a flower in bloom,
a wind comes, the flower goes,
empty now is its place.”
I read this my lady and an icy wind gusts through my heart as I know the words to be true. They echo through the empty chamber of my heart. The place where you were. Our crossroads reached, the point of egress, now passed. My Rose you have gone from me.
Indeed my lovely, for now, but do not fear. I will find you again, just in a different form. Lift up your heart to me and I will find you dear one.
All things must end order to begin again.
I just love it when Saints pop up and appear in our lives. They truly are companions along the way. Had an encounter with Saint Faustina today so here is some information.
Santa Faustina, pray for us.
Canonized: April 30, 2000
Beatified: April 18, 1993
Venerated: March 7, 1992
“Helenka Kowalska was born in 1905 in a small Polish town, one of 10 children born in a poor family. She left school after third grade and never learned to write or read very well. She dreamed of becoming a nun and was very disappointed when her parents would not give their permission. They needed the money she earned as a housekeeper for other families. She was obedient to her parents, but her desire to enter religious life never left her.
When she was 19, the young woman said she had a vision in which God told her to go to a large city in Poland to enter the convent. It is said that she took the next train to Warsaw.
Helenka tried to join several religious orders, but they turned her down because of her lack of education. Finally the mother superior of the Servants of Our Lady of Mercy decided to give her a chance. Helenka was given the name Sister Maria Faustina of the Blessed Sacrament.
Sister Faustina worked in menial jobs that did not require education, as a cook, a gardener, and housekeeper. But she was blessed by visions of Jesus, who gave her a special mission. Jesus wanted her to spread devotion about the Mercy of God and to help people remember that God our Father is merciful and loving to all people, even those who have turned away from him in sin.
In another vision, Jesus asked Sister Faustina to have a portrait painted of our Lord as the King of Divine Mercy. Jesus also asked Faustina to be an example of mercy for others and to imitate Christ by making sacrifices for others. Faustina did everything Jesus asked. When the other nuns made fun of Faustina and said her visions were fake, Faustina forgave them.
Her spiritual adviser told Faustina to keep a diary about her experiences and her visions. Because Faustina had such a poor education, the diary was difficult to read, but after her death in 1938, the spelling was corrected and her work was sent to the Vatican. It took many years and arguments, but finally, in 2000, Sister Faustina was declared a saint. Divine Mercy Sunday is now celebrated the first Sunday after Easter every year.
In preparation for the Jubilee Year of Mercy, Pope Francis called Saint Faustina an “apostle of mercy” who provides us a wonderful example of trusting in God’s always present mercy.”
I won’t go into details about how it is used, it’s history and so on, as such information is readily available online. I will just tell a story.
Three or four years ago now, when I was “introduced” to Agios Paisios, Saint Paisios of Mount Athos, I asked him, in a prayer, to teach me how to pray.
On some level I know, these conversations a should be for God alone, not the ramblings of some ego, but its good to share also. But, on another level, these things are intertwined and inseparable.
In order to try to relate the story somehow, I must tell you some individual small stories. These stories are like infusions of the emotions, time and place, the situation as it was, the melting pot at that point, it holds a lot of meaning somehow. Everything is related but it is only in looking backwards on events in our lives that we can see how things become shaped and formed, linked and result in later understandings. At the time we can not see.
One story is, my good friend, when I first moved to Crete, told me of when his grandmother whom was dying and she asked, the moments before her death, for some bread. This she the chewed in her mouth, made into a ball, took it out of her mouth and squashed it onto my friends chest, just on his heart area. No words and she died.
Another story is from Jan 6th, every year, the day when the waters become holy. This day, in Orthodox Greek, the boys dive in the water for the cross, the priest blesses the people and the waters. That day, there is a special bread that is blessed, but you must drink the holy water before you eat the bread. The Elder ladies of the village, after the mass and everyone processes down to the sea for the throwing of the cross, the ladies throw bread crumbs into the water also. It seems that particular practice of throwing the breadcrumbs into the water was one that was dying out, only a few knew, soon to be forgotten as the elders pass away. It was as if they knew what they were doing, but they did it so very descreetly.
Another story is my own realisation that my life on Crete was a life within a life. It was my life in between lives.
The last story I will share within this post is the evening I took some of the “soul” food which is made by the women of the village for the day of the dead. We all ate some but I had a promoting to take some down and throw it as an offering into the sea. And so I did. At the time I wasn’t sure if it was appropreate but just after I had done this with a small prayer, lightning flashed way out to sea. There was no storm, no subsequent flashes. To me it was a sign that the offering had been accepted.
These small experiences, and there are many more, with all the crossings and weaving of others lives (matter or spirit) whom we meet on our individual paths, make up a prayer rope. How a prayer rope becomes *lived*, becomes an integral part and…how to say…experienced part of life. In a way like Lectio Divina, but of course, that is scripture in a prayerful visualisation way. What I speak of is the way the scripture is brought to life, in a way. The opposite. They are experiences, of one life, amongst a myriad of many, the people we meet, the myriad of encounters we have each with its own points of ingress, congress and egress, imparting lessons of Spirit and matter, all those “points” or “meeting” places along the way, each forming a knot, each crossroads a knot on the prayer rope, entwined with the myriad of others. The web.
But at the heart of all this is the “Christ.”
It must be an amazing feat, those who live out an asthetic life, like the monks on Mount Athos, who strive to fulfil this.
In order to do this my only conclusion is that one must *become* prayer. *Be* prayer. So that means, constant prayer in the inside, in the heart. Like the Jesus prayer. Like as Agios Paisios says, to be in constant prayer. But it must become a feeling…I dont know. A love, I think personally, its like an emptyness that its like bitter sweet. But very simply put, we become the prayer rope. It is a part of us, our heritage just as much as we are a part of it.
I could go into much more detail to explain this and illustrate, but I have left a lot out and unsaid, those musings are for another day and I shall let it here for now. Enjoy!
(Photos not my own.)
My words, on wings they fly as they soar to reach you.
They seek you my Lady, as my heart seeks you. I have never forgotten you.
My love for you burns, sometimes it is as gentle as embers glowing in the hearth fire, sometimes it rages, the flames soaring high, they engulf my very being and burn me alive. My whole, all that I am, yearns for you, burns for you, holds that fire for you.
My Lady, my Sister, my Lady of the Cloth, my Lady of the Veil.
I know your presence when I feel that peace, your love cooling and soothing. You surround me and quenche me. You are ice to my fire. Together we blend into cool flowing waters; deep peace from the Veil you bring to me, my Lady.
You know who you are, of whom I write, to whom I write. My beloved teacher and guide. But I shall not speak here your name. Your name I whisper, your name is formed on my lips in prayer, in the silent midnight hours.
Only know my Lady, my heart is yours, and that the day will come when I will bring flowers to your grave. And I will sit beside you, where your body lies. I know my Lady, there you do not reside, but as a pilgrim I will come, in honour of your life.
Until that time, let your love give birth to mine, let your words give birth to mine…let us flow together entwined…
…let my words fly on wings as they soar to reach you…