I Am Said I (Huruma)

I come from a place Of apparent strength They do not know How much I belong here Broken seeking mending For the umpteenth time Tools to help us cope With this unrelenting Seduction By One from whom We seek escape And yet desire Love has wounded us We have allowed The wound to bleed A prayer for intimacy The brave full-throated Cry for more is signed With scant regard for safety A bony ageing hand Goes up to clasp The throat that gasps Our free and petrified assent Astonished eyes behold What Love has bade us Yet to climb 

My Lord and my God My God and my All My Lord  My Life My Love Come to me in electrum White-gold glow Of your beautiful Face Shining upon my darkness Enlilghtening And even though My eyes are closed I can see your Smile Brightening  I am at Peace I am in Love

It is not death  No twelve-year issue Of blood We do not have The certainty of the father The faith of the woman Touching His hem For the healing And the rising Not for us the definite Unquestionable answer We have had expensive treatment For life’s most chronic ills Returning now outpatients Of uncertain futures Not as well healed As we had hoped We sit at table In the thunderstorm Shielding ourselves From its ferocious drenching Shielding our souls Staring from vacated minds Sharing disconnected phrases In the hope that something Kind will arrive to occupy The emptiness But no such guest has come Or else we were not at home To grant it entry When it called And in the passing Of the storm we part Without a word walking With unhurried steps On different paths Seeking ourselves In places where we had not Searched before

Ocean heaves a deep Sub sonic song Wave and sound Will wash upon The waiting And not before its time This is love A delicate fine delight Powerful passion Pure patience Keeping its distance Until the appointed Hour In due time They will meet And give birth

I went faithfully Among bare trees When life was cold And hope obscure And grief like frost embittered In my taut and tightened heart Dried out Cowhide Stretched Kneeling beside her grave With my backside in the air To kiss the damp and grey Brown earth instead of her And aching to touch And aching for some kind Softening warmth To Spring And it Sprang, so it did For a while And it will Spring again

She stayed by the tomb weeping faithful to the emptiness she found there longing for her absent Lord While we are not inclined to stay with weeping or emptiness We run away ahead instead But it is in her weeping and her waiting that Mary met Jesus becoming the first apostle of Resurrection

The first time I went to MEDJUGORJE   our leader took us up KRIZEVAC (Cross M ountain) to do the Stations of the Cross. She was old enough to be my mother so, when she took off her shoes to go barefoot, I felt I had no option but to do the same. It’s a slow climb of about two hours over large and sometimes sharp rocks. The pain and discomfort I felt helped me connect with the sufferings of Jesus in some small way. When we got to the top I sat myself down to relieve my dirty, bruised feet and what happened next is one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. An old woman came over to me unbidden, carrying a small basin and a bottle of water and she proceeded to wash my feet. She was Jesus to me in that moment, touching me in a concrete way with her love, doing something that I needed. It also became clear that she washed my feet because I am a priest. My feet are symbolic of who I am as a man and a priest – dirty and bruised, needing consolation and healing....