I Am Said I (Huruma)

I. A bit rough around the edges Said Love With tears And a quivering voice Like the fields he farmed The soil that felt his footfall Strong and straight Loyal Not easy then with Weakness in another Vulnerability became him As with surprising grace He himself surrendered Allowing us a glimpse Of something more tender Faith-filled Praying his way Homeward With an eye for the frailest Left behind II. He is laid to rest now In this land that he loved A calm November day Sun shining, birds singing Breeze blowing Bough of trees bending River flowing Rainbow in a clear Blue sky Last leaf falling Whistling in the wind In this place there is Peace (In memory of Fr. Roger Rafter sac)

August 2, 2013 “My grace is enough for you; my power is at its best in weakness…” You can smell the flood, the after-effects wafting from the closed hotels and shops. In the river a snapped tree juts sideways into the air. Reconstruction, sacred areas cordoned off, inaccessible for now. Thankfully the Grotto is open. There’s an overwhelming innocence in the unpretentious humble pilgrims. A recently born baby in her father’s arms, toddlers, normal modern young women and men, the old, the sick; every race and nation. A lot of Indians and Vietnamese. We file along the base of the Grotto, touching the rock made smooth by millions who touched it before us, wiping ourselves with the water that seeps there. Time was when I would have been too sophisticated to engage in this. Sophistication has thankfully abandoned me and I abandon myself to the grace of the present. I kneel in the spot where St. Bernadette prayed and my prayer is intense, sad with the sorrow of those ...