I lie on my bed floating
in a sea of sensations…
The joy of a colorful world map
tacked to white walls.
The comfort of my grandfather’s photograph
smiling from the shelf.
The soft glow of golden lights around the ceiling.
The pang of singleness in the moment,
the wondering of who will come.
Fresh vision granted in the excitement of
The satisfaction of revising media platforms.
The image of mischievous smiles and bright eyes
I hope my own future sons will mimic one day.
The fear of sending a stupid email
that could open a whole world.
The wonderment of meeting celebrities,
The overwhelming peace of experiencing
how normal and good they can be.
The worthiness of prayers for years
and the quiet questioning if they will be worthy
for years to come.
The spots of emptiness for times gone by
and cherished moments never to be.
The love of sisters no matter the distance.
The warmth of blankets and depth of pillows.
Eagerness standing on the edge of the future.
Tears coming for the known and the unrevealed,
the knife and the oil,
the pangs and the gratitude.
Knowing in this moving, mesmerizing sea
it will become one dance,
One weaving of souls in eternal prophecy,
One touchable wrenching of relations
that are and were and are yet to be.
And life is beautiful.
Artist’s eyes are a gorgeous sight
In them dances a myriad of lights,
Countless emotions of age old race
accepted into so small a space
between two ears, but expanded
Down the stretches of eternity, forever stranded
Past the ends of the universe,
Endlessly traversing a deepening course.
Who knows of behind the artist’s eyes?
The flow of tears and pain and sighs,
Joy and laughter, loss and gift,
Such vast understanding as to cause a rift
between vision and another’s sense of reality,
Finding wonder in each bit of causality,
Pricelessly awed as if drunk by a magic potion,
Wrought and torn in a sea of emotions.
No wonder the colors are bleeding together,
A poignant masterpiece running over,
These attentive eyes created and vast
Reaching into the future, present, past,
By deeper mysteries in the mundane
haunted, untamed they are never insane.
Drink of the wells and tell me you too descry:
Vivid, copious are the blessings of the artist’s eyes.
Art Credit: Watercolor painting by Cierra Campbell.
Cierra is one of my fellow students at John Paul the Great Catholic University. She is a very talented artist in various mediums and has illustrated for numerous companies. Check out her website and store at http://hunterroseblog.wixsite.com/resume/portfolio.
It’s a chill, rain washed desert morning. We climbed a foothill at 6:45 am and prayed the Rosary looking out over the valley into the rising sun and the mists it flecked. Now, in our hour of silence I trekked out of the ranch and over the hill up some strange roads to a view of the mountains. I followed the Yellow Brick Road to the Wizard’s Way and found myself a spot—probably on someone’s private property—to contemplate the mountains.
All greys, greens, browns, and a little blue as clouds roll in to shroud the green peaks. Streams of sun burst through the grey and throw stiff white shafts over the mountains into the valley. I imagine though that they might bend and sway if the air wasn’t so still. Only the cold stirs in little puffs. Passersby stir so many watchdogs in the distance, but close is only a jackdaw making a bullfrog clicking noise and songbirds chirping incessantly. Serenity and wideness of scope reign here, and glimpses of a wider world. Soon I must go back to Broken Rock Ranch and later to the city. For now I can reach out with the fingers of my heart and feel the vista, let it wisp on my hand, and catch a tiny part to carry back, tucked deep in the recesses of my soul.
(Photo Credit: Clare McKay)
Tonight is the night we pass through a portal:
A moment upon which every age has lingered,
A threshold which no one has yet crossed.
Living flames issuing from the Cave of Bethlehem,
Glinting across a dark, dark world;
Breathing the prophecy of a new Dawn.
Light enough to guide wandering feet to the Child;
Warm enough to melt frozen souls.
That the trickle of fresh water
May quench the thirst of Jesse’s root,
Springing anew from once weary earth,
Soon stained by the wounds of redemption,
Yet ever untouched by the frost of waiting.
Such a threshold in which the Fire of Love hovers,
This threshold upon which we stand.
May you have a blessed Christmas season and a happy New Year!
“If it weren’t for the darkness, we wouldn’t see the stars.”
This is one of a collection of random quotes I sticky-noted to my work computer. This past week, it suddenly dawned on me while wrestling with wanting to know everything (meaning particularly The Future, particularly my control over The Future) that maybe that very wanting is why I have to be kept in the dark. Maybe it is so that I learn I don’t need to know everything, and yet it still works out.
Perhaps also though the darkness is a gift. Continue reading “Blessed Darkness”
A couple weeks ago in group discussion, a bunch of us girls broached the question: “How do you describe authentic womanhood to someone in a way that doesn’t use religion as the context?”
It’s a valid question for a posse of young adults in a culture where the average girl is seeking the truth but is not open yet to hearing it in terms of “God-creating-it-that-way” or “this-part-of-the-Faith-shows-us-that.” Continue reading “What is Womanhood?”
“I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valleys. As a lily among brambles, so is my love among maidens.” ~ Song of Solomon 2:1-2
This past June I was blessed to be present at my sister’s clothing as a Carmelite novice, and even more blessed a week later to be able to have a family visit day and a few minutes alone with her. I can’t post a picture of her (part of the seal of the cloister is dying to the world and remaining hidden in Christ), but imagine a more or less five foot girl in the complete brown habit with the white novice veil. Continue reading “Brides of Christ”