Fearless Love

Love, O Love without fear—
Where do You stand, O Love—
Where do I stand with You?
With love, shield my heart from fear.

Love, defining life and search,
Defining journey in every step,
In every step of life and heart,
Every beat of the Rhythm of Life.

Fearlessness—finding faith in darkness,
Hope without the Other in sight,
Love when all remains so empty,
Fearlessness in every step lit by lamp.

Love in perfection, Love in Truth,
Wait on my broken heart for my love,
Wait on my very compassion—that it may be my own,
Wait that I may truly love You,
Love in fearlessness, Fearless Love,
Perfect Love—You.

Two Types of Women

As a man, there are two clear types of women who live, and only one truly lives. One incites only the eyes of the passing man, causing the man to fall into a hollow pull of desire, a pit of desire as it were. She cultivates a garden of desire. Her need is of the flesh and her song is one of human concern. Her own heart may be veiled but all her gifts fail to be fully veiled from the man's view. She falls short of the call to love perfectly.

The other woman cultivates a garden not of desire—but of Hope. She cultivates a garden not to be trampled by the passing man but to be admired at a distance. She, in fact, knows the Gardener and accepts His direction, to prune here and cut back there. It's not that her garden is not beautiful...Her beauty is in the Hope of the fruits to come, not the flowers of the present. Her need is not to be fancied but to be fruitful, and her song is one of compassion for it's through a selfless Passion that she calls others too to a selfless gift to those in need.

Even so, her garden is one that is walled, not out of fear or disunity but for protection. And it is in this walled garden that she calls the man to devotion. For it is in Hope that devotion rightly rests. No further can the man walk and not stop to admire from a distance the beauty to be found in the Hope she radiates. It is the fragrance of Faith that she calls to mind the simple fact that her love is not hers alone—but of the One who sent her. She is a woman of faith. She loves because Christ first loved her. She is a woman of love in its fullest.

And so for a man there is one type of woman that incites lustful desire and another type of woman that calls the man to devotion and greater passion in Christ. I thank God every day for the latter of these two.

Little Things

What gracious things:
The small joys,
The unexpectant loves,
The Little Things.

What graces, blessings
What kindness
What friendships
Are found in the Little Things.

What peace is found
When we find time to let go,
To find the precious time
To rejoice in the Little Things.

Thank God
For the Little Things.

Returning to Timeless Messages

I have returned to a friend's message and other points of grace and could not help but share them, as I feel they ought to be shared. This isn't a turn of exhibitionism, but rather a magnification of the smaller workings that aren't my own.

To quote the friend:

"There is such a strange, paradoxical freedom in embracing the Cross... in stretching out your arms to be nailed, you are opening yourself, literally, in a gesture of true freedom, as if to soar as an eagle, but even yet more free, because you offer even your free will, which an eagle does not have; you accept and freely choose the Cross, though you may not like it, and in that is true freedom. A freedom that will set the Soul to true flight the morning of the Resurrection. God's timing, dear brother is perfect. We must trust and concede to it."

The problem is, quite frankly, I am stuck within His Passion. I am stuck at His Cross. More so, I am afraid I will run from that very Cross which sets me free... from the very act of Sacrifice which frees each of us with true freedom. I am John, John at the Cross. And yes, He has given me His Mother... but even that seems distant. I am lost to the terror before my eyes. I am lost even though He has given His Mother. I count everything else as a loss.

She is my compass. That through her, my thoughts and prayers are made fragrant. It is through her that I am able to soar freely in the freedom of the Cross. She, the Mother of our Lord is our Mother, too! Her "yes" can join to ours! And yet my "yes" has been drowned out...choked by these worldly concerns, my own preoccupations, my own pride, my own doubts.

I am a most unprofitable servant, still a wayward son.

My compass is stuck.

And, yet, in all of this I can see the glimmers of hope, even when I cannot share these glimmers with others around me, to others dear to me. I do see His plan within me. If only my perseverance in Him will win out.

These glimmers, how do I wish to share them! It is what compels me to carry on, to begin each day anew. Some days, they are obscured... others they burn brightly. It is the little things.

I want to share the little things, day by day. But the world seems too much, too much to overcome. But I must remember His is a battle that He has already won. All I can see is the rejection that He faced. Surely, I will be rejected, too. I must become accepting of this. For this reason, I know I am not ready, not ready for anything. I sense myself to be foolish.

Still, I see His plans in my heart. I question daily to know these aren't merely my desires... and in this, comes the hesitation. And in this I realize I must become a good son before I can even hope to become a good father. For this reason, I know I am not ready, not ready for anything.

And yet, He reaffirms these things to me in prayer: "to teach the one true Faith. How is to be done? With Charity... with Charity to all, to the little ones. It must all first be cemented in Hope... for without Hope no endeavour, blessed or ordained, ever gets off the ground. We must endure in Hope. This is what it means when we are to live a life, a vocation of Love."

These words came to me before Our Lord... and to Him they will return. I don't wish them to be hollow, but even in the Resurrection it seems I have lost the Way. How then can I teach the one true Faith? Just as much as I cannot earnestly write of love, if I don't first experience it. And it all seems dead to me. It feels as though I am charlatan. And, yet still: "praestet fides supplementum sensuum defectui."

Those words of encouragement remind me of my pastor's words that week of the message:

"Think of every pain and heartache, every difficulty and disappointment. Nothing, not even the sum total, can erase the ultimate victory that is ours in Jesus Christ. That is why we as Christians can never stop working at making our world a better place. As Catholics we can never love too much or do too much good. As followers of Jesus, the Risen One, we can always see good even in the midst of tragedy. We can see light even in the darkest corner. We can see hope and love everywhere because Christ has vanquished the darkness and the light fills us with radiance and joy."

In the end, we need the perseverance, the discipline, the hope of tomorrow to steal away to Him, our font of all blessings. All of this with a smiling face.

So Many Things...

So many things to contemplate, to resuscitate.
                    But all I want is to be thankful for you.

So many things to remember, to return nearer.
                    But all I want is to be thankful for you.

So many things do I think are needed, important.
                    But all that is important is in you.


What am I do with this, all the things given to me? What else but to share... and let settle where they may, with whom He deigns to be... and leave all of it, all of it up to Him—not me. How do I wish to see further, to see further the work... to see the completion of every toil and sacrifice, every "yes" as it was meant to be.

So many things to contemplate; so many things to let be.
Yes, I accept! I accept the grace given to me!

The Body and Soul Exposed

I. Renewed Adam

A man's chest is a complex thing,
even when undressed.
It protects a heart that is restless,
even when found at rest.

It projects an aura of strength,
its muscles bulging here,
its muscles dipping there,
its shape supple with a muscular chest.

It beckons a woman's heart to draw near,
to trust and run to,
to confide in with a certainty of strength,
to hide in, away from the restless world.

A man's chest is a guiding sign,
when open to the Other betrothed.
It revels in pointing His Beloved
to the life-inviting act bestowed,
to the conjugal love of marriage sown.
It forms at its crown a place
to carry the complex burdens of a restless heart made to love.

It calls a woman's eyes to see this crown,
broad shoulders to carry the wood of sacrifice
on the muscles and tendons of mass and berth,
for a mission to carry since fashioned from the earth.

A man's chest is an incomplete sign.
Its other half is only found
once you notice His ribs below.
Count the bones, the ones on His cage scooping below—
The missing one—"Flesh of my Flesh,"
"Bone of my Bone!"

Its sign scoops downward,
its navel gracefully surrounded
by contracting muscle
as chiseled from stone.

A man's waist forms a crossroads
between body and soul.
The body's origins still remain,
a vestige of His mother's life-giving pain.

These muscles too now help to form
a new life to be,
a breathing and heaving shown through the whole sign
where old love and new love prepare to transform.

A man's waist forms a bridge from the crown of sorrows
to the columns of strength by step below,
where the burden brought to completion
and the Sacrifice is lived once more.

The marble columns form a base,
to which the Beloved draws in closest,
to the inner storm of Eros in Agape—the love God bestowed!

A man's base is girded in strength,
girded for His Beloved to see.
He hides from all but His Betrothed
a passion destined in love,
one given to the Other
Fully, Faithfully, Fruitfully, and Freely.

Sheathed in armor great,
the man's defenses form,
flanked with robes of sanctity,
a sheath concealed for His wife alone.

A man's body as a sign
would be utterly incomplete, save for two others:
the arms of a compassionate soul
and the diadem of the crown—His mind of reason.

Found in strength when combined with His bosom,
He defends the defenseless;
He consoles the distressed.
His defined structure beckons His Beloved
to find a heart redressed!

A man's mind forms the jewel of the crown,
His hair the capstone of this diadem.
Inside He forms His thoughts,
directs His heart and braces His shoulders
to carry His cross, to die to Himself,
for His Beloved, for His everything.



II. Renewed Eve

A woman's form is a grace-filled sign
to Her Beloved to initiate their mutual embrace.
She beckons Him with a figure elusive,
a form that drives Him mad with passion
to form the union destined to be.

Her curves invite Her Beloved
to the Banquet of life-giving embrace,
to rest in Her life-sustaining bosom,
to bring Him to propose a new life together as One.

A woman's form beckons Her Betrothed
to warmly caress with firm but gentle hands
the giving heart of the mother of His children-to-be.
Laid bare, the woman opens to Her Betrothed
a body to explore with love and tender care.

Her bosom beckons Him with its free movement,
where children-to-be will gather under Her care.
Her bosom bounds to and fro
as Her Betrothed approaches with gentle care.

Before God the Betrothed are stripped bare,
not out of lust but out of love,
a love open fully, faithfully, fruitfully, and freely
to the marriage bed's promise of God's children,
to love once again renewed!

Her gentle waist, too, leaves testimony
to Her mother's life-giving pain,
to a quiet beauty that bridges
the love above and the love below.

Her waist girds Her hips,
which serves as a gateway
of Her selfless giving and receiving,
of life sustained in a fruitful love.

Her innate beauty at once bestowed
leaves Her Beloved in breathless awe,
as He rightfully beholds His Creator's love outpoured.
His righteousness refuses ownership of God's own making,
only to receive the Gift given fully, faithfully, fruitfully, freely.

Her twin talcum pillars of grace,
Her innermost hidden reaches of beauty,
remain veiled but for that moment,
that betrothed moment of Her Beloved's embrace.

There She remains, beauty in Her face
with eyes lit like oil lamps full,
waiting on the Bridegroom's return.

Her flowing hair rests rich in beauty
Ready to wipe clean with mercy's tears
And veil Her thoughts for the day of Communion,
Communion with Her Beloved near.



III. The Guide to a Sign Even Greater

And so God destined us woman and man.
For He knew that man needed a helpmate,
and in this very sign of love
we see one another even clearer;
we see a sign even greater.

We are not our own,
rather we are the Other's.
In love we are to give
as He has so fully given.

In love we are to die
to ourselves for the Other.
We are not our own.
We are for the Other.

In love, He stripped bare Himself,
that Sacrifice of all sacrifices,
once and for all time,
a sacrifice for our sins.

The images preceding
thus are washed in the Water,
are thus renewed—
By definition, a foretaste of the Banquet
that it points to above.

This is the body and the soul,
One in the Other,
the Other in the One.
This is the Body and Soul exposed.

Passion can only lead us
to two different paths,
one of descending depths,
one to the heights above.

Let us always remember
Love is never for its own sake;
it's for another fully.
It cannot be divorced from the Beloved.

And so it is—
either hot or cold—
there is no lukewarm.

Must you be afire
be fully as He is fully.
Do not settle for the reject image,
of "love" taken but not given.

It is not love but lust,
an impostor beyond compare.
It chokes out the Original;
choked to death, the Original dies.

Let the Lord be your guide;
He remains there before us, now risen.
Risen yet with scars of sacrifice that remain,
He guides us on the Way—scars all the same.

Do I Hear the Music?

Do I hear the Music;
Do I hear it play?
Do I hear the Music,
This, our wedding day?

Yes, I hear the Music;
I hear the Music play.
Yes, I hear the Music,
This, our wedding day.

Today echoes the joys to come,
The joys of a victory already won;
Today echoes eternity's shore,
Where pain and sadness are no more.

I hear the Music play,
As my heart leaps for joy,
A joy not my own,
A joy that is the Lord's.

I hear the Music play,
As my eyes weep with joy,
As my eyes soak in the beauty,
The beauty that is not mine to own!

I hear the Music play
A tune joyful but sharp.
This road, this road has not been easy;
It has been one from out of the Dark.

I hear the Music play,
And all, all passes away.
No, this is the beginning, the beginning of something greater,
Of what was once separate, now made whole.

And so tears of joy roll forth,
Flowing to eternity's shore,
Returning to the Lord fulfilled
A heart made for One.

Yes, I hear the Music;
I hear the Music play.
Yes, I hear the Music,
This, our wedding day.

For This I Cannot Sleep

For this I cannot sleep,
For this I cannot rest—
My mind races to be with Him,
And finally sleep comes at once.

For this I cannot sleep—
What is this, my offering,
To God with all good grace?
Am I enough to run this blessed race?

For this I cannot sleep—
One step, then another,
On the pavement my feet go,
On they run, run to spread the word.

For this I cannot sleep—
I, a new Pheidippides, run—
To proclaim the Good News you seek,
"Yes, the battle has already been won!"
For this I cannot sleep!

To whom should these words spread,
If not to all, to all from the Head—
My breath remains heavy—
My muscles ache so weary—
For this I cannot sleep!

For this I cannot sleep,
A world lost, believing the lies
A world found, found in a mirage—
A world that has always defied—
For this I cannot sleep!

Is this a dream?
—a nightmare?
Is this reality—
Fought from freedom?
For this I cannot sleep!

A world where love is not love
And "truth" is what you make—
The world asleep and I awake—
For this I cannot sleep!

Shipwrecked

A thousand prayers shipwrecked,
But not without love or thought, nor even deed...
I pray, we pray, for a world without any other need,
A world without the feeling lost,
The knowledge that each is completely and fully loved.

The tide comes in, wave after wave...
The crash of wave, the egress of love...
The crash of wave, whisper of what is now gone.

Shoals of doubt, left me here...
Here, to ponder what—who—has gone...
What drove them from these shores?

These shores were where I was to land,
But those landing parties have gone,
Far have they left—now only silence.

Page to page, these words flip,
An old dusty tome, a ragged binding,
These words—they captivate.

Words of passion, of concern,
They settle to form in place
Here and there, sent forth;
These words, they go forth.

How are they to have meaning,
These words that were not mine first?
"Perfect love casts out fear..."

Or another, from the Garden,
Where His blood first was shed—
"If Thou will... Take this cup from me... thy will be done!"
Quench not my own but the Other's thirst!

The waves wash over—
Salt enters the wounds—
How deep does the fear go!

Let my words be yes, be fiat—
Let these words speak for me, for her—
Let them settle deep within our souls!

Work within us a story already told!
Work within us a "Yes" among a multitude!
Work within us our own Magnificat!

These my words, yet still,
Ring hollow, without full meaning
'Til the Other is beside me...
Beside me to love only You.

Until then, I remain shipwrecked,
Finding no rest, finding only You.

Neither Love nor Truth Impose Themselves...

"He is Love and Truth, and neither love nor truth impose themselves; they knock at the door of the heart and mind and, where allowed in, they bring peace and joy." - Pope Benedict XVI

Yes, there is no imposition of love and of truth. It cannot be. And yet, this world is so devoid of both, love and truth—love in truth and truth in love—what beauty is there when beauty in the two together is not separated? It cannot be my question alone. One, two, hundreds, thousands—all of us—ask this question in our hearts and, whether or not we admit it—some do—to God. Simply a vocation of love is not enough. It must be rooted in the Truth. And, yet, I still wrestle with all of this. This rise, this fall.

How is it, this world with its unrest, its angst and hatred, cannot see its connectedness? We are all one! Why not the unity, the solidarity of hearts and minds? Why cannot we put down the differences, the hatreds, the bombs, the terrors? Cannot we live as one? This world is too much, too much to be itself alone. It cannot be all. Cruelty has its end. Hatred has its end. Death has its end. It is not all.

And this is where the testimony to Love and Truth—love in Truth and truth in Love—comes to pass. It comes to raise body and soul from the depths, from the deepest recesses of heart and mind. It comes to bind us to the vocation set. It comes to bind us to both truth and to love. It anchors hearts on the steadfast truth found in Christ; it gives the soul another way.

It gives the soul its invitation to do the same and to never look back. And this is grace, grace from God: to accept the invitation to love in truth.

Peace be with you.

Dear Woman

Dear woman,
Bring me home,
Bring me back,
Back to where I belong.

Dear woman,
Let me in.

Let me come in,
Out of the cold,
Out of the dark.

Dear woman,
Let me in.

I am not perfect,
I am not monumental,
No, I am poor.

Dear woman,
Let me in.

I cannot promise the world
Or all the riches in it,
Only the love needed,
Needed to say "Yes"
As you say "Yes."

Dear woman,
Let me in.

Let us serve Him,
Let us live with His Love,
Let us turn to His grace.

Dear woman,
Let me in.

I come not to conquer,
I come to live,
To win with you the blessed race.

Dear woman,
Let me in.

I will wait for you,
In the cold,
In the dark,
In the veiled courts,
I will wait for you.

Dear woman,
Let me in.

My song is not boastful,
My song is not conceited,
My song is not inflated,
My song goes out to you.

Dear woman,
Let me in.

My song is not my own,
For we see now in partial,
What will be later fully known,
Yet still this is my song for you:

Dear woman,
Let me in.

I know not why this chord
Replays itself, time eterne,
To bring Him ever near:

Dear woman,
Let me in.

It's the words that haunt me,
That tear from me a bone, a rib,
That makes each of us one, one flesh.

Dear woman,
Let me in.

When the perfect comes,
The imperfect will pass away,
Only these words to remain:

Dear woman,
Let me in.

Dear woman,
Bring me home,
Bring me back,
Back to where we belong.

Dear woman,
Let us love—
He will show the Way.

We Mustn't Fall in Love...

We mustn't fall in love, we must rise in it. Love is the search for truth and beauty. If it is indeed such a search, where else must we go than up, rising to the Heavens? Such things in time we learn do exist.

This world may give the appearance of running like clockwork, on its 24/7 rotation of endless schedules of always running, always on-time. However, this world runs not on the consistent humdrum of efficient interaction, but rather on everyday miracles of grace and moments of wonder and inspiration. For as the world cannot prosper without the drenching rains of doubt, it cannot blossom without the everlasting rays of Light and the roaring fires of Love, covering all of Creation. Life depends on both doubt—and through it, tested and enduring faith—as well as Love to carry on.

Life needs both the waters of doubt-tested faith to remove and the fires of Love to completely consume, not one thing or another in our lives or our world—but all! To cover all of it, the world over, in a mantle of love in an all-consuming fire... not of destruction but a mantle engulfing with a Passion, a love in its purest of forms, as gold tested in fire. So is love in its purest of forms. So the search continues for truth and beauty, for truth in beauty and beauty in truth, but the truth is it has already been found. We must only have the eyes to see it in the world in front of us. It is there. Always. Always, it is there.

Be fearless to spread this fire to the world. For in spreading this mantle, we rise in love. And this is the most beautiful thing we can do, to be fearless in the Love of Christ and to never, never turn back. To always do what most pleases Him, to do what best gives us greater intimacy with Him. We love the Other not because of vanity or self-preservation. No, we love the Other, whether in singularity of eros or magnanimity of philos and agape, because of the gift God has given to each of us, even when the road may be dry and distant and the journey seemingly lost. We love Him because he first loved us.

We must rise in love.

Confession

In my loneliness,
I have reached out.
In my pain,
I have sought dry wells of grace.

I have sought things,
Things that are not my own,
Things I should have not,
Things that do not satisfy the thirst.

In my loneliness,
I have have failed one; I have failed all.
In my pain,
I have sought an empty place.

In my sorrow,
I have run.
In my pain,
I have run from guideposts of grace.

I have run from hearts,
Hearts ready to love,
Hearts ready to give,
Hearts filled with good things.

In my sorrow,
I fall down.
In my pain,
I fall to my knees.

Forgive me, Lord:
It is You whom I seek.

At the Icy Gates

At the icy gates
There I stand
With thought and with prayer,
With heart and outstretched hands.

I think no better of myself
Than those behind these gates
Tempted by the same temptations,
Awash in my own fate.

At these gates I pray,
Pray for the little ones
And those who know not,
Who know not what they do,
Those who think themselves alone.

The darkness abounds;
The icy winds have their grip.
Prayers and presence melt not the ice
As the call leaves my chapped lips:
"You are not alone; His Love will suffice."

His Love will take us back;
His Love will melt that ice,
Tear us from our selfish pride;
His Love will suffice.

At the icy gates
There we will stand.
Won't you take my hand,
Dear woman,
Dear man...
His Love will suffice.

At the icy gates
His Love will prevail...
His Love will melt the ice...
His Love will melt the fear...
His Love will suffice.

At the icy gates
His Love will suffice.

A Thousand Sunsets

A thousand sunsets
Guide us to You,
To glory, to grace,
To mercy and joy in You.

Speak to us now,
In prayer and speech,
The words of the Past,
In the Word that You speak.

A heart meek and mild
Have You sought us to be;
My heart and hers, we pray:
Guide us, O Lord, to the Word that You teach.

Leave us not in darkness,
Out of touch, out of reach,
Guide each our hearts to You,
In both word and in deed.

Speak, O Lord, speak
To each of us in turn
Of the Glory You've done,
The Glory already given.

Turn our hearts toward
The Light You now give us;
Speak to us the Truth
That He shall never leave us.

Let our words be faithful,
Our actions ever true,
To center our hearts and minds
Forever and always on You.

Let our "Yes" never be hollow,
Empty, or ring untrue;
Let us forever say "Yes, Lord—
Yes, Lord, we do."

May each day remind us of this very Vow,
Not to each of us alone, but to You this moment now,
So that when we share the next thousand,
Its light may ever lead us to You—
Forever and always to You.

A thousand sunsets—
Binding and blinding—
Always shining—
Forever to You.