tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37634061313152203422024-03-12T23:31:36.043-07:00THE STILL HEARTDialoguing in thoughtfulness and prayerSister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-15281658700823899922010-06-17T22:34:00.000-07:002010-06-17T23:12:42.395-07:00SO WHERE DID YOU GO NOW?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjInIlCYM9lvv2OXunP30EamRdK2V6oHcjXO-eUq2Vf6THAlXzRMHdYMkzvY67i8pIXwm8j95oDES1PdsYkTMJB1QeWmete1FxFG_uCK6JOHOe3LPQhB_lphLeryWtgL0iYSL171b1IdMli/s1600/images.jpeg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 143px; height: 143px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjInIlCYM9lvv2OXunP30EamRdK2V6oHcjXO-eUq2Vf6THAlXzRMHdYMkzvY67i8pIXwm8j95oDES1PdsYkTMJB1QeWmete1FxFG_uCK6JOHOe3LPQhB_lphLeryWtgL0iYSL171b1IdMli/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483992241606261362" /></a><br />Tonight as I swam upon my back, alone, and the <br />Lights from all side struck my living body ... <br /><br />The moon <span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span></span> so milky <br />I thought, maybe, that is where you went now.<br /><br />For I learned that you are gone<br />Oh, so hard I took it.<br /><br />I beat that Night against <br />this moon; to willow the streams<br /><br />of light seeing did you<br />go there now. <br /><br />Down into the water of the reflected <br />crescent fickle moon<br /><br />I asked up if you became happy; if you became well;<br />or if all we believed of Love is a wisp of a night's moon-glow.Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-81171115291161713262010-04-27T03:16:00.000-07:002010-04-27T03:38:14.096-07:00TRAVELING DOWN SOUTH<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGfVclBV2D3xXyKQFrnrI4J6E9wjqcmGB5z0odeTMfqDv2SEH6-NwGEdGpJI1_3cQxUd0JfF8ytAuPJI7C3BRQYpMRqMmkN6SGzFY_Wswy5DceV19GpM9ec3HYQZ58ZE_9scR9v0LoLxJy/s1600/images-2.jpeg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 89px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGfVclBV2D3xXyKQFrnrI4J6E9wjqcmGB5z0odeTMfqDv2SEH6-NwGEdGpJI1_3cQxUd0JfF8ytAuPJI7C3BRQYpMRqMmkN6SGzFY_Wswy5DceV19GpM9ec3HYQZ58ZE_9scR9v0LoLxJy/s200/images-2.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464764515480324018" /></a><br />In the Swells of low mountains and hills, I pass by as a witness of timelessness, <br />through an Earthly watch of some snaking human movement. <br /><br />So swiftly, I travelled down and further down. And,<br />the Light was not to give way easily; but, fought the Night so<br />bravely and with such stubborn solidity.<br /><br />And, the argument seemed clear:<br /><br />Doubt <br />yet<br />Faith<br /><br />I watched the battle and it seemed <br />original and new and once again.<br /><br /><br />So, too<br />with such Crimson colorings came for me,<br /><br />and<br /><br />I was bathed in that moment,<br />the moment of War <br />of one Sovereignty over the next,<br /> <br />with<br />clarity and comprehension.<br /><br />That, Light carries its emptiness<br />and burdening of the Dark.<br /><br />That, Dark is forerunner and attests <br />to the Light.<br /><br />And, that doubt and faith are<br /><br />all<br />our<br />own<br />NightfallsSister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-14082682148290288102010-04-27T03:13:00.000-07:002010-04-27T03:34:06.921-07:00COAL VINES<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZE-7VQglWlN-cqa6lsSvJmKfkiK2qC5pDCn_6Z8nD8BAq6gvdlP19qpIqejKrgZ0g-BqB36LChmfezZC2mGKFo2N22Bn8-qVZc1rQtAPb9sVeTWWhmBNzV66iw7sZihvhLGVb4opxKVh_/s1600/images-5.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 87px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZE-7VQglWlN-cqa6lsSvJmKfkiK2qC5pDCn_6Z8nD8BAq6gvdlP19qpIqejKrgZ0g-BqB36LChmfezZC2mGKFo2N22Bn8-qVZc1rQtAPb9sVeTWWhmBNzV66iw7sZihvhLGVb4opxKVh_/s200/images-5.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464763604101017042" /></a><br />Tonight, I drove through such inky darkness all around.<br /><br />I knew the vines lay there;<br />but, if you didn’t know, you wouldn’t.<br /><br />And, it was this way for miles and miles,<br /><br />and,<br /><br />I learned then<br />that, perfect knowledge<br /><br />is trust<br />and faith<br /><br />in things which sit covered and unseen.Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-64642403049801369532010-04-27T03:10:00.000-07:002010-04-27T03:40:00.486-07:00SALT DOLL<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWmiUn4EQ7njJXhvezfqP_zfkBbgGenOSWEcVnCFkeTFv8uPZQr8AnuaRSmOM3T7q7_DFSGRj6xShbS4_vu8U76QgN9RtVOuVSrXiNUy8cRBsmOPPH1XNjWETJePZORS5noFL5r2evtInD/s1600/images.jpeg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 128px; height: 85px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWmiUn4EQ7njJXhvezfqP_zfkBbgGenOSWEcVnCFkeTFv8uPZQr8AnuaRSmOM3T7q7_DFSGRj6xShbS4_vu8U76QgN9RtVOuVSrXiNUy8cRBsmOPPH1XNjWETJePZORS5noFL5r2evtInD/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464765146912925570" /></a><br />S A L T D O L L<br /><br /><br />The ocean I stand in laps up against me and I am not made to last. <br /><br />Granular, by grain, I become part of the start of me, <br />my creation, <br />my entering in to begin with. <br /><br />I peer at this wide- open- place, and look at the evaporations and thawing of the many multitudes before me.<br /><br />And, I recognize things now that I hadn’t before.<br /><br />Looking backward I see my inception and how the ocean seemed so much smaller and less deep and darkly inviting. <br /><br />Then, I stood at the Edges, <br />before the Shore, <br />and was crusted and became an incrustation of a larger being-ness.<br /><br />It was solid and real and necessary.<br /><br />But, that was waters and waters past, and the brininess is now <br />reaching my toes and ankles and knees and ever upward<br />and the sensations are<br /> <br />simple,<br />known,<br />and rehearsed.<br /><br />I am dissolving too into the Sacredness of all our destinies and my <br />saltiness is emptying out through to the oceans of Great time and <br />Givenness, <br /><br />where lay mingling and remembrances and murmurings<br />of a pure whitened <br />Joy.Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-78078507269702356272010-04-27T03:07:00.000-07:002010-04-27T03:46:49.452-07:00CONTAINER<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR7zKbyihxG4RJewlHDiSIo3-AqzXdLoTDScg-LrhyphenhyphenVu9nYYN3CnmG90ePe813WToGGbgwfAPuucQn9vC8qrl8s7A0chJ6lPCuqNoVxv7d8MI9c3JUiBzyE9rurIpqRJYvFIxHvmBBDFcy/s1600/images.jpeg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 100px; height: 140px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR7zKbyihxG4RJewlHDiSIo3-AqzXdLoTDScg-LrhyphenhyphenVu9nYYN3CnmG90ePe813WToGGbgwfAPuucQn9vC8qrl8s7A0chJ6lPCuqNoVxv7d8MI9c3JUiBzyE9rurIpqRJYvFIxHvmBBDFcy/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464766887308911186" /></a><br />~What is contained within us, I wonder? <br /><br />~Birth, life... that is what is contained. So, our endings are held in these our vessels of grantedness.<br /><br />~In the original seed is the fallen shades of winter; and, in the blooms of light, there too, are the shadows of nightfall and demise.<br /><br />~Casts of living are sacred and the mercies of God give us at our inceptive pools, life and death at the very same time and in the very same place. When we are conceived, the rose seems already to be snipped and placed in an earthen urn, to wither and drop its pedals in due time. As infants, the elder lay within us, too. The cradle and coffin, the east of sunrise and west of sunset occur at once, simultaneously, most directly, in the Now.<br /><br /><br />~In our box of humanness, we cannot witness this for the truth that it is; that the seas’ breakers have long since crashed upon the Shores and the tastiness of salt in the air has already since been savored and swallowed.<br /><br />~But, for grace, we live. But for the mystical election of God, do we travel and still live as a People, standing in deserts of not our own devisings. <br /><br />~How simply we can be snuffed as pieces of short enjoyment or embittered sorrows; and how great is our creation, our Creator, and journeys toward our individual changings, toward our given freedoms. To assume the sweep of night mists will be among us; to assume the white moon will past through her phases and wanes; to assume that we shall breathe as we rise, is in the direct, divine hands of happenstance and Hope. <br /><br />~No, the fragility in which all move is likened to the delicacy of neonatal drifts in crystalized snow that bear reddened beats of sun’s rays. For, I am delicately poised in a wood, in a pasture, in a meadow, in a briny ocean pond, upon a great undulant hill; looking out and knowing that I, too, am a relic, a fossil, something already shed, already molted, yet surviving still in grace and gratefulness. <br /><br />~And although passed as mistings of my own simplicity, I live; and today my eyes close in thanksgiving with my palms raised to all there is; and to all that occurred; and to all that ever shall be.Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-39282401628934225982010-04-07T20:45:00.000-07:002010-04-07T20:50:41.368-07:00THE BLUE AND THE BLACK SKY<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1fuKSFRfei-DjSup286yWhyphenhyphen2LdE0ksfpdnMAzyD5HFTo-2sZRfobcWF2bcqwRzxjVdKSKQ2b4GrYn8O2-QDZrLfMnW2g1lmISoJ0qpYdzhImKVlIDmcL9LDLPYBkMlNjypM7F87bVjK2V/s1600/images.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 101px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1fuKSFRfei-DjSup286yWhyphenhyphen2LdE0ksfpdnMAzyD5HFTo-2sZRfobcWF2bcqwRzxjVdKSKQ2b4GrYn8O2-QDZrLfMnW2g1lmISoJ0qpYdzhImKVlIDmcL9LDLPYBkMlNjypM7F87bVjK2V/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457609032939763282" /></a><br />Up, in the blue and the black sky, I spend much time in thought and thinking,<br />trying to make sense of how is it that each of us, throughout time, within our histories, over the course of our lives and living,<br />Dwell<br />under this blue and black sky together; yet, hurt each other so often knowing, unknowing...senselessly, poignantly, for always.<br /><br />So after looking up and squinting all day at this blue and black sky, I go to the bench.<br /><br />The Schubert f-minor, plaintive and calling, places my questions to the blue and the black sky into staccatos and sixteenths.<br />Pages of asking and thought and wondering and why, moving in time and sequence, my hands begin to give way and beg stop. <br /><br />Tired questions hang upon my fingernails as I enter my bedroom and see my cat, deep in his slumber upon a fattened furred face.<br /><br />And,<br /><br />I fall silently down next to him.<br />In the deep of featherbed, in the undulance of his tiny body with the exhaustion of my own, I lay down and look up.<br /><br />And, I noticed that he lays in curves and his breathing moves in curves,<br />then, I, too,<br />felt the curves within me, circling and encircling as the shimmerings of the blue and black sky beheld the both of us,<br />down under, into the empty still question.<br /><br /><br />His honesty began to envelope me, and I started to float in a kind of blankness wherein he was teaching me and showing me...<br />Immediately, it seemed<br />the questions to the blue and the black sky, which plague and harass me most constantly, began to wane a bit.<br /><br />And, too,<br /><br />that depth of the f-minor entered me now, returning questions to the blue and the black sky with the White of pulsations,<br /><br />in the unassuming fellowship of my sleeping muted cat, who knew this song long before it began in the very first place.<br /><br /><br />And,<br /><br /><br />I learned then that it is gossamery Peace, and purity’s Acceptance, into the very way of all living things.<br /><br />Simply, <br />a suspended acknowledgement,<br /><br />inside the curves,<br />inside the notes,<br />inside the questions,<br /><br /><br />to the blue and the black sky.Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-4568776885319887312010-02-12T22:47:00.000-08:002010-02-12T23:06:58.613-08:00TITLES AND ENTITLEMENTSWhat is it, I wonder, about honorifics? <div><br /></div><div>Father this?</div><div>Mother that?</div><div>Brother such and such?</div><div>Sister so on?</div><div>Bishop and Reverend Father/Mother?</div><div><br /></div><div>Why? </div><div><br /></div><div>This is self-revealing. In certain ways, it is driven by ego and a lack of esteem for self. </div><div>The titles offer personal sanctuary and spiritual elevation where, perhaps, that risen state</div><div>is not appropriate. The title lifts where the person may hide. I say this for I feel that I do this and it is become a revelation to me. </div><div><br /></div><div>In my day, I meet people. 'Sister, they nod' ... That is a feel good and personal/emotional massage. People show their respect for the Life of a Religious and that is all well and good; however, if I thrive on the attention, live for the recognition, need that noticing: something is very amiss, indeed. </div><div><br /></div><div>In my heart lies a Hermit. In my heart lives a Hidden life for Christ. Wearing a Habit on the outside of my enclosure where others peer into my privacy and perhaps wonder of the life being publicly displayed, prayer is being said and pondered about that. </div><div><br /></div><div>A monastic Habit worn outside the Hermitage is a signpost of a life lived for something larger and more potent than myself. That I do believe. How I wish to state that another way exists in this land of profound materialism and 'give-everything-to-me-now-especially-if-it-new' mindset and culture. </div><div><br /></div><div>What need be kept in the forefront of my mind and heart is that the black monastic Habit does not become something of vanity, pride, and self-absorption. Indeed, that the black monastic Habit state both to myself and to all that this person has died to the World and lives NOW in Christ Jesus, through Mary, ever-Virgin. </div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, may this be so.</div>Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-25748307771526416212010-02-08T21:56:00.000-08:002010-02-09T10:18:12.547-08:00WHERE ARE WE NOW?Alas, the Computer Age has stolen from us Humanity. Humanity, the gift of God from throughout the ages. Humanity, from which sings the angels in Paradise. Humanity, which God entered to become One with us! Where are we going, people? <div><br /></div><div>It started small at my Parish, the Healing Service at the Mary Chapel. I would stand in full Habit, with an Acolyte holding the Chrism. We would wait for anyone to come for anointing and prayer. At first, it was a trickle. But, each one who came were embraced and held and kissed with the Kiss of Christ, anointed and bid the Love of God. In short, each single person was touched and loved humanly, as Jesus did and desire us to do.</div><div><br /></div><div>Each Sunday the line toward the Mary Chapel grew. </div><div><br /></div><div>This past Sunday it began at the High Altar and snaked all the way to the Narthex and front doors. The anointing continued until the last Congregant wandered out. It was for me the largest crowd ever.</div><div><br /></div><div>Why? Why do you think it is happening?</div><div><br /></div><div>I have placed that question before Mary, ever Virgin. And, the answer is so clear. We live in a hands-off, Internet run, sexual misconduct ridden world where folks are frightened and filled with anxiety around physical embrace. In the Church, the word of the day is: Stand Clear. This, sadly, as a result of decades of abuse. We are afraid to embrace and the vapidness of the Internet support the dying of our spirits.</div><div><br /></div><div>Do you not see that if I changed my ways at the Chapel and used this 'stand-off' approach that people would not come, would not feel Christ in their heart, would not be touched. We are so hungry to be touched and loved in this Age of Distance. Somehow, the Church must break open our tiny shells and allow the goodness known to God, through Jesus and Mary, to fill our hearts and give us the healing and health God desires of us!</div>Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-19875651338872847372009-07-23T18:24:00.000-07:002009-07-23T18:56:29.839-07:00LISTENING WITH A SPIRITUAL AND/OR AN EARTHLY MIND<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw7ZxRc3hd5TxH8GvBiTn1vV61irw99sHR4GsfIA0lmdfMtQdVEA9mDrVDqL6MUj5kjgvbgItNVf-FmqP-5FhXWWTI-SMac1z9rj-RXCxET9QhZBQ-SlibZ8Le03E4sDhfefcXYyGQ-mTR/s1600-h/images-1.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 125px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw7ZxRc3hd5TxH8GvBiTn1vV61irw99sHR4GsfIA0lmdfMtQdVEA9mDrVDqL6MUj5kjgvbgItNVf-FmqP-5FhXWWTI-SMac1z9rj-RXCxET9QhZBQ-SlibZ8Le03E4sDhfefcXYyGQ-mTR/s200/images-1.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361839604024451810" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Outside my Cottage-in-the-Trees Hermitage, I meet others in the Marketplace.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Because of my religious Habit, conversations in the Marketplace are opened whereas without the Holy Habit it may be closed.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Everyone I greet. Smiles are abundant; although not always returned. Some sneer or stare. That is OK; Jesus was spat upon and who am I to expect anything finer.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">When folks share with me I put on my spiritual mind, that is, their worries and fears and stories go heaven-ward as I empty myself inside to offer a vehicle for God's grace and wisdom to flow. Ofttimes, I never make a comment or suggestion for people need to speak; need to share; need to be heard and validated; need to feel as if someone has stopped and taken time to listen to just them. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">For me, placing my spiritual mind at moments such as above stated gives room for witnessing and experiencing the Christ in the other. Honestly, I find and discover that I love them. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The earthly mind is different; indeed, radically different. The earthly mind has schedules to keep and agendas to make. The earthly mind attempts to get something out of the conversation for themselves which they can take. It tries to place an "I" in the way; instead, of "you". That is ego; not the Christ. That is Self; not God. For me, that may harm and hurt the soul at this moment in time. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">People at this moment are new blooms which are tender and fresh and their sweetness is flowering in time. These are sacred, holy moments. The souls are responding to a spiritual mind and an earthly mind has capability to squash and ruin. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">To not create an 'either/or' situation, this kind of listening is 'both/and'. With practice, the weight of this listening falls upon the spiritual than earthly; however, since I am fallen and</div><div style="text-align: justify;">never have the purity of motive as the Christ, I imitate and fall short. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-85481827771318158812009-06-14T19:58:00.000-07:002009-06-15T10:03:05.082-07:00HERMITAGE MAGDALENE<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Rtxg3cAjE1N6y34R66kQd6Zxwhe4BVcDcEK4CS8ZZHhXBZ9Hahw5rBHs42h50v3kjJVs3PgFioDPJW5HJOx891fQ92oi_ekITFr9nTnTXkii94wVzJP1Ta4iO80AKB0dOrZPLOophJrw/s1600-h/P1020426.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Rtxg3cAjE1N6y34R66kQd6Zxwhe4BVcDcEK4CS8ZZHhXBZ9Hahw5rBHs42h50v3kjJVs3PgFioDPJW5HJOx891fQ92oi_ekITFr9nTnTXkii94wVzJP1Ta4iO80AKB0dOrZPLOophJrw/s200/P1020426.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347600887779021938" /></a><br />Tibi dixit cor meum, quaesivi vultum tuum<br />vultum tuum, Domine, requiram:<br />ne avertas faciem tuam a me.<br />Ps. 27<br /><br /> <br /> HERMITAGE MAGDALENE<br /><br /><br /><br />In the muted silence of my Magdalene hermitage<br />In the greenness of my windows still,<br />migratory Mallards call and I stand.<br /><br />GOD IS PRESENT i listen<br /><br /><br />HIS whereabouts are everywhere and<br />inside me felt.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />And, what do I feel?<br />What do I see in my petite cell?<br />What is it that my Life is witnessing?<br /><br /><br /><br />L O V E<br /> THAT IS WHAT I KNOW.<br /><br />L O V E<br /> THAT IS HIS PURPOSE.<br /><br />L O V E<br /> THAT IS OUR NATURE.<br /><br /><br />My Hermitage Magdalene, enclosed in LOVE, condenses a consort of Happiness<br />and Freedom sought by but few!<br /><br /><br />THE ALMIGHTY ONE is here for the air is made thick by Him.<br />Viscous and sweet is He.<br />OH, so dewy Christ, come nearer to me.<br /><br /><br />Yes, I love so my greenery of God where do the lacy trees and eucalyptus bend to HIM.<br /><br />I watch and tumble too.<br /><br />GOD is not INvisible to me. GOD is seen.<br /><br /><br />For,<br />what moves the dust<br />and hastens the leaf<br />and birds to crackle<br />and rains to dampen<br />and dawning colors to come<br />and the shadows of dusk to widen so long?<br /><br />It Is The Visible God: That is what It is. VISIBLE DEITY.<br /><br /><br /> In my Hermitage in Magdala,<br />I perch inside peering for God;<br /><br />I am secreted, buried behind a wall, within a window; <br />all day I whisper to His Majesty<br />as HE comes over me, pronouncing HIS REALM of Glory.<br /><br /><br />Shall I not open NOW to this LIGHT!<br /><br /><br />SILENCE:<br /><br />It holds no-thing. <br />For my sins have occurred and<br />yet have settled long before the inception of me.<br />And, so past has HIS forgiveness sprinkled me anew.<br /><br /><br />That remains the SECRET of Hermitage Magdalene.Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-30013582757043631232009-05-08T15:56:00.000-07:002009-05-09T07:01:17.305-07:00A START OF SOMETHING<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGn2_EdKYFJvdcQQRgiHIRNfQ1t06hqY3l7zv-V9fPLk8kXJkoT2-X8IaQ1dgGhjAmzO92OWiHzoW_knPmqaiiGAUSEt9-yIqECeqSZ7YzT8J5-Ezurr8i2EJq2E_y4oA9WHgiNG26K_Vm/s1600-h/photo-1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGn2_EdKYFJvdcQQRgiHIRNfQ1t06hqY3l7zv-V9fPLk8kXJkoT2-X8IaQ1dgGhjAmzO92OWiHzoW_knPmqaiiGAUSEt9-yIqECeqSZ7YzT8J5-Ezurr8i2EJq2E_y4oA9WHgiNG26K_Vm/s200/photo-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333822169086439298" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>For I do not fear<div>instead, I hope</div><div><br /></div><div>For I do not struggle</div><div>instead, I dream</div><div><br /></div><div>For I do not wince at the cool night</div><div>instead, I see clearly</div><div><br /></div><div>For all eternity is graced</div><div>and All grace is but an Eternity</div><div><br /></div><div>Returning is my path</div><div>for in You have I found my housing</div>Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-28847147126454540082009-03-30T14:16:00.000-07:002009-03-30T14:42:51.213-07:00MY CLOISTER WALK<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8czgDaAiskZsoHsTS24amTsf-rycQWATTG-D8PRn8KI9v3VXm0J5c7CJ6eSD5PbmGibmA-nUTaNYdBmAkNOprj3A95eB3DBqrECWGPg-my5JarQ68JiK09F34Ny4O6YXhdn3bpRGuZjCh/s1600-h/P1020325.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8czgDaAiskZsoHsTS24amTsf-rycQWATTG-D8PRn8KI9v3VXm0J5c7CJ6eSD5PbmGibmA-nUTaNYdBmAkNOprj3A95eB3DBqrECWGPg-my5JarQ68JiK09F34Ny4O6YXhdn3bpRGuZjCh/s200/P1020325.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319099362214097138" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here, amongst the berries and birds of Paradise, I rest and sing.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The airs spin another tale of another day.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Holiest of Holy weeks is drawing near to me </div><div style="text-align: center;">with</div><div style="text-align: center;">Stillness, recollection, reconciliation.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Christ is near/born.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-10763229833137675642009-03-25T11:51:00.000-07:002009-03-25T12:00:31.244-07:00GOOD LOVE<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZFNvdf8xiuv-N5lu4QnkDRdeB_3STpoQ30HGDvwwc3OuxKiTZI4xX8d1hys9CAisU0DGInvs7YqCztygQT7NyeeNJulLgYBgeECRYUGlKFKF0QwzYVOU_83u7SXObwypUIOrFXRnw_5Z/s1600-h/images.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 113px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZFNvdf8xiuv-N5lu4QnkDRdeB_3STpoQ30HGDvwwc3OuxKiTZI4xX8d1hys9CAisU0DGInvs7YqCztygQT7NyeeNJulLgYBgeECRYUGlKFKF0QwzYVOU_83u7SXObwypUIOrFXRnw_5Z/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317202221064354434" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />as juliet to romeo<br />flower to bee<br /><br />stream to ocean<br />glacier to sea<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">as moon to earth<br /></div>life to whitened death<br /><br />I am yours, fair Jesus<br />come my winter, to blessSister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-23472287839372057082009-03-22T07:43:00.000-07:002009-03-22T07:49:27.512-07:00THE RAW BLADE<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ffMf1hPhFvE6-AwUink_2aKQe0lkSFqX4bSu0EECD3FwRZjuCbB58iBM1NVsEwCE7JXEbIAJH_pQ9FuXTrgaqH8C6IquqYLrV18x4UGNwt1UjZUkH_4LK8YpDsszT3mi9D8qjAibG658/s1600-h/IMG_4283.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ffMf1hPhFvE6-AwUink_2aKQe0lkSFqX4bSu0EECD3FwRZjuCbB58iBM1NVsEwCE7JXEbIAJH_pQ9FuXTrgaqH8C6IquqYLrV18x4UGNwt1UjZUkH_4LK8YpDsszT3mi9D8qjAibG658/s200/IMG_4283.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316024230815782546" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>THE RAW BLADE<br /><br /><br /><br />Being a semi-enclosed Contemplative in an exploded Active culture has created a quasi-pain in my living. Christ has called me to be apart in Him; to be apart for others; to be apart for my own sake. This reality has been in my being since the cradle years, the tender years of my hay-day. Those languishing days of peering over my tricycle handles into a water-puddle, dizzying me while at the same time showing me the great Blue and whitened skies above, as I bowed down in this watery mirror. It is that upside-down world which is my world now. I bow down deep to see heaven above me. To move toward God, I move into His great Silence, His grand vacuousness, His iconic being and blankness.<br /><br />In the semi-enclosed Contemplative life which I live, everything makes sense. Everything has a name. All is loved. All is thought and being and blessing and prayer and Sacrament. All is new and born and living and all is dying and moving back to the Source which is love. I joyously celebrate this notion with all my being, each day and every day. Sharing it with all, I live this in my manner of life, my religious Habit, my gestures, my Reconciliation, my Service to God and humanity. I fall and stumble, confess my brokenness while still celebrating this living. However, to some outside my cloister, I am a mistake, a failure and out-of-step with any normal notion of what is real. I am a fool. Yes, I am a fool for Christ’s sake!<br /><br />Standing amidst an Active culture, I witness seemingly to a purposeless living and to Actives, those burdened and driven by worldly strives, that is a problem. Remaining stilled, by grace, is anti-culture. The culture in that I live exists to move; exists to change and be dynamic. The Enclosed? This Contemplative? What kind of life is this? It is a do-nothing Life! Its life is staid, static and seeming stuck. To what does it witness? My friends, it witnesses to the empty Tomb. To: The question mark. To: The what happened here. To: The depth of wisdom, non-palpable and unknowable through human means.<br /><br />My life is a monument to this anxiety: That I live a life inside a tension; inside a paradox between one existence and another. I live inside this silence of death into Life, of something else into something other. Standing by in emptiness, in the rawness at the bloodied Cross, I am becalmed into a dancing ballet of new Life to be; believing in the Good God-nature which is ever quickened and brought into being through wordlessness and love.<br /><br />Sit still.<br />Peer over the handle bars.<br />Observe with gratitude.<br />Listen in utter silence and muteness.<br /><br />Recall that all has occurred before and after and that this world is a reminder, a remembrance of that which has gone before; been already; and coming ever so soon.<br /><br /></div>Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-21532269125201224122009-03-04T11:03:00.000-08:002009-03-04T13:33:55.499-08:00WHEN MY WORLD WENT STILL<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYwBEpQxrBLANxS1lF8nV99DsQdJ03hAKJBiejt0CtdHaPrU0JHVSLCM7ChDHvyIG0y27QpxVnRaKDsC2DgPbh9Ik2QZEU89ITR1Rgi8lgBjWaJWuazrlUPBIz9lBGdcoxUI2AoW8JsDWH/s1600-h/images.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 99px; height: 143px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYwBEpQxrBLANxS1lF8nV99DsQdJ03hAKJBiejt0CtdHaPrU0JHVSLCM7ChDHvyIG0y27QpxVnRaKDsC2DgPbh9Ik2QZEU89ITR1Rgi8lgBjWaJWuazrlUPBIz9lBGdcoxUI2AoW8JsDWH/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309448968100840738" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>No, I cannot recall the time when it occurred; however, I remember the feel ... the wonder ... the newness ... the question and why of it. <div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">At first, I murmured: </div><div style="text-align: center;">Illness? <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">Oncoming Death? </div><div style="text-align: center;">Insanity? </div><div style="text-align: center;">Divine Abandonment?</div><div><br /></div><div>No, not any of those darkened elements rudely striking the soul.</div><div><br /></div><div>This was a gift of silence of heart: </div><div>this is the Christ, living within. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Suffering brought it for </div><div style="text-align: center;">Suffering bought it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">His Cross, carried and coveted</div><div style="text-align: center;">created the patina over which</div><div style="text-align: center;">coated my spirit and changed it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">Flint golden light upon Him,</div><div style="text-align: right;">dazzling all who see; but</div><div style="text-align: right;">for me,</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">then wearied and so pained, </div><div style="text-align: right;">now by Him rest,</div><div style="text-align: right;">as Nature in winter be.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div>Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-17666985914493451582009-02-25T12:43:00.000-08:002009-02-25T13:58:47.742-08:00MONOTONY OF A MONASTIC LIFE<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpJm3NH0IlGV22mguGdLbauKd_tPDczgfPdALh9MOBf-9Kzd1ukyfdAKTt6HlGaEYb6Tog2j3-L06dnGBVIwpXozRbv8wmRl4uyCyEdmxjHfwf6Jln07ChstHIWqiwFzy_WfNaUVL4KWG1/s1600-h/images-1.jpeg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 127px; height: 127px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpJm3NH0IlGV22mguGdLbauKd_tPDczgfPdALh9MOBf-9Kzd1ukyfdAKTt6HlGaEYb6Tog2j3-L06dnGBVIwpXozRbv8wmRl4uyCyEdmxjHfwf6Jln07ChstHIWqiwFzy_WfNaUVL4KWG1/s200/images-1.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306857818367359858" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The sheer singleness and repetition of a Monastic life is most highlighted in my Hermitage.</div><div><br /></div><div>All things are over and over and over again. The white molding, the beige plastered walls, sage colored drapes in my bedroom with pictures of Mary, ever-Virgin peering over... indeed, a nothing-ever-changes Life. </div><div><br /></div><div>My walks outside remain staid each day, </div><div>seemingly unadorned and lifeless in purpose.</div><div><br /></div><div>But, no ... </div><div><br /></div><div>It happens each second in a most miniscule way. God is in the splinter of a glint, the flakiness of a light shown into my Hermitage, my Cottage-in-the-Trees. </div><div><br /></div><div>God, I can smell` for he roams my kitchen in simmering Lentil soup with smoked turkey, apples and cinnamon wafting scents of good wholesome food! </div><div><br /></div><div>God, I can see` for each shine of the Western sunset breaking into my silent cell with His Royalty of purples, pinks, reds, crimsons, white, grays slashing about the darkening sky!</div><div><br /></div><div>God, I can touch` upon each object I see for God is the God IN all things, THROUGH all things, and OF all things.</div><div><br /></div><div>God, I can hear` through the motoring life outside, through movement of green Peppercorn trees with winded ballets, their life I witness in my stillness. </div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, it may appear that no/thing changes in my Hermitage; however, those who see no/thing are Thomas. Those Thomas' necessitate proof of some/thing. </div><div><br /></div><div>However, those who need nothing, oh, so reach and further fly! toward this Holiest of Holies! while unfettered wings blaze true bright </div><div>in unquenchable fire. </div><div><br /></div><div>How Holy Is His Name!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div>Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-14362283026704513112009-02-14T17:45:00.000-08:002009-02-15T07:10:33.368-08:00A THIRD ENCOUNTER WITH MARY, VIRGIN<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUs_Ea7LrrWJ2vGEgczuux9xtebnHRsam7l2Gn4EdpVJcXiRUFzV7FbvbmsAFGgP9HftILPpCwcs3U8Zs8PF7BR16A4EZOcatXzKpSKVf7Exh8DOFUN81Td-rPRqv91O9BlnaZVN2iU81S/s1600-h/images-1.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 125px; height: 125px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUs_Ea7LrrWJ2vGEgczuux9xtebnHRsam7l2Gn4EdpVJcXiRUFzV7FbvbmsAFGgP9HftILPpCwcs3U8Zs8PF7BR16A4EZOcatXzKpSKVf7Exh8DOFUN81Td-rPRqv91O9BlnaZVN2iU81S/s200/images-1.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302837159999964674" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Sweet Mary came to me yet again.</div><div>Not in voice; yet in that same place of</div><div>stillness deep within my heart of</div><div>hearts. In that place that Mary</div><div>resides.</div><div><br /></div><div>Again, she came unto me while I was</div><div>in great distress and turmoil and she </div><div>did comfort me, easing my mind.</div><div><br /></div><div>This time it was while I dozed in </div><div>unsettled sleep.</div><div><br /></div><div>With suddenness, in the locus of her</div><div>voice was a small, lit, empty cross. It</div><div>appeared ... faded, then appeared a </div><div>second time. It was illumined on its</div><div>right side.</div><div><br /></div><div>I knew it was Mary~bringing her Son</div><div>this time to me to show that my trials,</div><div>though small, are loved, are noticed,</div><div>and my spirit is not abandoned.</div><div><br /></div><div>Inside that quiet time, in the </div><div>profundity of pain, Mary's Son joined</div><div>me and entered into an inner sanctum</div><div>reserved for the Holiest of Holy.</div><div><br /></div><div>May He ever be praised!</div><div><br /></div>Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-3287921356095293602009-02-05T13:36:00.000-08:002009-02-07T14:48:12.834-08:00LISTENING TOWARD<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHWEEEAkYqwozTSRWK5-dVNMqd8Lyv9KBx7TRdED2weAcao0Axqf2VXB7VQixPenlktzk7RIBuDnQTu30MnNKoL8FMuZvKYgGBByo_scwA96ENL-rQTXTqfG6xsfGLF17Z0tAGDVccjbo/s1600-h/images-2.jpeg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 120px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOHWEEEAkYqwozTSRWK5-dVNMqd8Lyv9KBx7TRdED2weAcao0Axqf2VXB7VQixPenlktzk7RIBuDnQTu30MnNKoL8FMuZvKYgGBByo_scwA96ENL-rQTXTqfG6xsfGLF17Z0tAGDVccjbo/s200/images-2.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300191000677117746" /></a><br /><blockquote></blockquote><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">No, you shall not know the word.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">For, it is incendiary and troublesome; ofttimes a burden and anachronistic.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">It is an awkward word, inside an orb of greed, </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">narcissism, self-preservation, and con-artists. </div><div><br /></div><div><ul><li>However,<br /></li></ul></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">You shall know of its meaning:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">/Listening toward/ </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">again</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">/Listening toward/</div><div> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>What does that stand for </div><div><br /></div><div>and, </div><div> what are its fruits does one suppose?</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, I know its glint and have savored its many flavors and sweets.</div><div>I have stood in its sweaty leafed tropics </div><div style="text-align: right;">sensing the moistening rain upon my bent shoulders.</div><div style="text-align: right;">Many do fall by it; whereas, many do rise, lifting toward the God in Christ!</div><div><br /></div><div>No ... No ...</div><div><br /></div><div>I still shan't expose the word to you. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Instead, the golden Fruits of it. Its presents of Glory.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"> Oh, how myriad/ </div><div style="text-align: right;">and stark/ </div><div style="text-align: right;">and needed/ </div><div style="text-align: right;">and noble/ </div><div style="text-align: right;">are its spiritual gifts.<br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">These favors I have witnessed given to those living this word:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Peace.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Stability.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Inner Silence.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Civility <br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Humility.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Grace.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Self-forgetting</div><div style="text-align: center;">Self-knowledge</div><div style="text-align: center;">Love.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"> </div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">We learn Love when we learn to be silent and </div><div style="text-align: right;">/listen toward.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">Oh, for it happens not in a vacuum;</div><div style="text-align: right;"> but, in a molten throbbing cauldron; </div><div style="text-align: right;">transfiguring us through time and time's travail.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">Seek this word. </div><div style="text-align: right;">It lays in pitchy darkness </div><div style="text-align: right;">upon your oh so muted lips.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-41004662508189561192008-12-31T15:52:00.000-08:002009-01-01T15:33:22.410-08:00THE HEALING OF DARKNESS<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhugVXsL9Xl_UCJ6T79Txr7SPjs-PIRwP2NlhJSPNOpRQp08bRUr1ObGUsB1-9zchUbTnTqyKlJYlboWq7U7HYOPUdrHothL0ReVYLwlK-h3UI8XNDOtkM8ghVILaiF5wVxJnctC6SweY9P/s1600-h/images-4.jpeg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 149px; height: 149px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhugVXsL9Xl_UCJ6T79Txr7SPjs-PIRwP2NlhJSPNOpRQp08bRUr1ObGUsB1-9zchUbTnTqyKlJYlboWq7U7HYOPUdrHothL0ReVYLwlK-h3UI8XNDOtkM8ghVILaiF5wVxJnctC6SweY9P/s200/images-4.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286472460052312162" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">How it just struck me! </div><div style="text-align: center;">As lightening bolts from the cosmologies above! <br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">That: it is during the profundity of sleep that our bodies are healed on the molecular, chemical, and psychic levels. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Were it not for our daily dose of darkness, </div><div style="text-align: center;">we would be most broken. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And, it struck me again and again, </div><div style="text-align: center;">in the sultry bisque night, in that Tomb where the Light lay amongst the Dark, the Dark was resurrection and Life.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Yes, it struck me yet again, yet again and again!</div><div style="text-align: center;">that Christ became whole for us</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">from darkness; and in darkness was he risen as starbursts </div><div style="text-align: center;">for me. </div>Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-29221316912736660932008-12-15T12:50:00.000-08:002008-12-16T07:26:24.997-08:00SOUL HAIKU<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfhC9BkGL9SiEz8FWDxg11vCU6-ur__rTSXG7uO2NQ5Gq7OWVPJVau8ZIKZhZVS3nE2PVLesfUy5dvsslMNgFFbnndtR2xyy9E2wWCpZhPnLdcbiL0nLM9E9nrh3OIpguI9yBx3mvdd83n/s1600-h/images-3.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 141px; height: 82px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfhC9BkGL9SiEz8FWDxg11vCU6-ur__rTSXG7uO2NQ5Gq7OWVPJVau8ZIKZhZVS3nE2PVLesfUy5dvsslMNgFFbnndtR2xyy9E2wWCpZhPnLdcbiL0nLM9E9nrh3OIpguI9yBx3mvdd83n/s200/images-3.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280129756762975794" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">How barren a soul</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">empty and cascading ... yes, <br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> to hold close pure Flame.<br /></div>Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-19401040014696629492008-12-14T12:45:00.000-08:002008-12-15T08:11:10.102-08:00HOLINESS OF PRAYER<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNlgI7WhpPaYJVDRwdniw96fCxLF9u511Jbyjh17K1WwkAgAqisaXBs6oxXkCkYH1wJ4sBU1sn1O9FafEb3F0XvcOTImRUwN2lfrnXarUm_7jCoanALYXWJPEnMBRnCSTZPgH5qFNgHPMz/s1600-h/images-1.jpeg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 135px; height: 90px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNlgI7WhpPaYJVDRwdniw96fCxLF9u511Jbyjh17K1WwkAgAqisaXBs6oxXkCkYH1wJ4sBU1sn1O9FafEb3F0XvcOTImRUwN2lfrnXarUm_7jCoanALYXWJPEnMBRnCSTZPgH5qFNgHPMz/s200/images-1.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279762400789245186" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"> Something occurs while the veil of prayer envelopes me. <br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">It is as if there is a trance, </div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">a dance, taking me far elsewhere.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">Shallow and sweet is Her Breath </div><div style="text-align: right;">and the Presence is over me ... over me, </div><div style="text-align: right;">over me mute as rush weed in winter.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">Oh, for I am icy pond/ </div><div style="text-align: right;">ALIVE! amidst buried stillness, </div><div style="text-align: right;">singly with Christ, my sweeter Love.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-59953402958378313622008-12-13T14:57:00.000-08:002009-01-02T09:35:40.361-08:00SPIRITUAL EYES<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAJ4ZoSiUvmnytOYq4MkhWX2iWb1EoVBGiJkYzOsgUkUlmvy1JYtwPuNPBPkG1pXZfgRXZYHSyLmYzUbk3ersBPofBcWVlCIPNyOtjuLGGRZCnFtzuZ_tXHnSQLerWAenZCKkyVZ1ixEZX/s1600-h/images-3.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 140px; height: 92px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAJ4ZoSiUvmnytOYq4MkhWX2iWb1EoVBGiJkYzOsgUkUlmvy1JYtwPuNPBPkG1pXZfgRXZYHSyLmYzUbk3ersBPofBcWVlCIPNyOtjuLGGRZCnFtzuZ_tXHnSQLerWAenZCKkyVZ1ixEZX/s200/images-3.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286366730035682402" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">And, when I quiet; become still and pray,<br /></div><div>it is as if a fine layer of cloud/ a mist/ through damped morning Forest</div><div>covers my eyes and I travel to heaven leaving what is seen </div><div>to become unseen. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Through the veil, my heart greets him</div><div style="text-align: left;">and, at once, I hum.</div><div style="text-align: left;">We know the words, which falling effortlessly, drop as dew upon blue-blades.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">Commingling, we enter deep through the fogginess, </div><div style="text-align: right;">loving the other through gray invisibilities of </div><div style="text-align: right;">delight/standing outside Time.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">O! Prayer: sheath of silence/ pall of Holiness; stay Now with me. Let </div><div style="text-align: center;">me live among your fecund bogs; your greeny trees: motionless, open-mouth & mute</div><div style="text-align: left;">witnessing to your grand Love!</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-48073847641862646762008-12-12T15:32:00.000-08:002008-12-14T07:10:14.769-08:00KAIROS AND KRONOS<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz1nNNo3W8_6CcNXCkmiJNSzT7BVHGBWQnXoHuMdRL-0PpEWCjEocR1F70ZWrLveslY3pNYe6cfgDtF3KwOK0v8cFLSDUj9AzRmkt44mNztZaKZsm9lPxXSKyQilpQaiuK7w3z_vfNRQf6/s1600-h/images.jpeg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 118px; height: 118px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz1nNNo3W8_6CcNXCkmiJNSzT7BVHGBWQnXoHuMdRL-0PpEWCjEocR1F70ZWrLveslY3pNYe6cfgDtF3KwOK0v8cFLSDUj9AzRmkt44mNztZaKZsm9lPxXSKyQilpQaiuK7w3z_vfNRQf6/s200/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279084518597934866" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Has this happened to you?<br /></div><div> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> <span><span></span></span>You're all nervous and anxious about something. You place enormous energy into this 'thing'. Much time is spent. Hours, days, sometimes a lifetime. Then, something happens which dispels this 'consuming charge' and you are calmed, quieted, resolved, and say words to this effect: "Oh, things worked out just fine". Whereupon, you nag yourself for spending all that precious, won't ever be returned to you Time, being anxious and afraid.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> It has happened to me. What I've learned, however, is that ' that everything worked out just fine' feeling is Kairos. God's Time. In God's time, all has been worked out and ; all has been done and planned; and Kronos is what we struggle and become worried over as humans. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> But, you can e<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">lect</span> to be calm and still and silent and sit at Christ's feet awhile as Kronos catches up with Kairos ... which in my life, always seems with grace to be. Things, most generally, work for the Good. Have you encountered that old expression? <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Things work out for the Good. </span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> That axiom is pleasant to realize and more so to live and incarnate. Now, this is not to suppose a pre-deterministic world and God is nothing more than deus ex machina. I really hope not for free will prospers us; however, things seem overall to fall into a natural place in the final analyses. Obviously, not to halt working toward goals and/or personal, corporate victories; no, but, it is simply to say the process; its finality; its completion are well in progress. For us, it is to breathe and allow Kairos within Kronos to occur with thanksgiving and gratefulness of heart.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">How each of us are coveted by divine mercy, how all of our Radiances are noticed, counted, and held in honor by Him who blesses.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Do we not carry within our own souls our sacred dawns and twilights given to each individually? Oh, yes, how tender a God we love who gives what is necessary, spiritually profitable, and communally beneficial. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">We may, in our littleness, ponder that the benefit is otherwise; but, we are small with even more petite compasses. None possess the grander scheme so none can judge truly. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Kairos being manifested in Kronos, indeed; stillness teaches this. </div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-91465066510652203622008-12-07T17:41:00.000-08:002008-12-12T21:11:31.051-08:00PRESENTS FOR THE PRESENCE<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3izUpj8fKkYwOBZgougMv2gdWD7IUQXfvmJCFxWUQ8MjqJNQkpsmVXCRWakHJItK4Yp-ya79L8jhJ2DAGR2Fh5_mI7w-1y1uDWMC2Bbb9Sf96tsJ_Z-uxHOOMiLb30wDhis9WFulQAeMV/s1600-h/images-2.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 117px; height: 138px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3izUpj8fKkYwOBZgougMv2gdWD7IUQXfvmJCFxWUQ8MjqJNQkpsmVXCRWakHJItK4Yp-ya79L8jhJ2DAGR2Fh5_mI7w-1y1uDWMC2Bbb9Sf96tsJ_Z-uxHOOMiLb30wDhis9WFulQAeMV/s200/images-2.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277250954794530306" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: right;">Outside, through rusted rails, beyond the Palms, passed arcing whispers of windy Pepper trees and violet cloud, </div><div style="text-align: right;">advent is come. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">Inky and coal-dark, so long past did those three men </div><div style="text-align: right;">aim for that jumpy star.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">How brutal the trails of sand and rock as they hunted for the Child, the Presence, the new Now. Did they cast their magic as they traveled the night winds </div><div style="text-align: right;">searching and Hoping that the Saviour was nigh so soon to be? </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">And, bearing presents for The Presence, Were they the first </div><div style="text-align: right;">to worship, those elect, those chosen, those Wise Men, three ... there in that </div><div style="text-align: right;">spilled blackness of a cold and color-foiled night </div><div style="text-align: right;">echoing forth True Life.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3763406131315220342.post-64433737061088671732008-12-06T09:37:00.000-08:002008-12-06T12:06:16.110-08:00HEDONISM OR LIFE ABUNDANT<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCIerVOXEgmHjwKAtMwpJX3oQrXmrWJAofSAxsNp3jl66q6XL1FMlc70fWepnfli4bHBLU5DPHcGGV7mvycH6QJgfILppTn1Aeb6vrUXoVKKrcB4p6NbpV8m3c4pry9uhI5hhQjcgCHw-q/s1600-h/images-3.jpeg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 126px; height: 93px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCIerVOXEgmHjwKAtMwpJX3oQrXmrWJAofSAxsNp3jl66q6XL1FMlc70fWepnfli4bHBLU5DPHcGGV7mvycH6QJgfILppTn1Aeb6vrUXoVKKrcB4p6NbpV8m3c4pry9uhI5hhQjcgCHw-q/s200/images-3.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276770903851192178" /></a><br />'...and you shall have life and have it abundantly ...'<div><br /></div><div>In this most material of ages, perhaps since the Roman Empire, having life abundantly can be experienced, it seems, as modern day hedonists. The Oxford Dictionary states that hedonism is: the ethical theory that pleasure ( in the satisfaction of desires) is the highest good and proper aim of human life ...</div><div><br /></div><div>Read that: The satisfaction of desires is the highest good and (aim) of human life. Now, as nun, that is alarmingly frightening. Unless, of course, the desire is qualified. If, the desire is helping neighbor, assisting the poor and vulnerable, visiting the imprisoned, clothing the naked; loving the unlovable; then, that form of hedonism would line up with 'having life abundantly' and would synchronize. However, to have it qualified as self-serving and self-driven entirely; well, that is a problem, I sense.</div><div><br /></div><div>We live in Communion. We live in Community. According to Gospel dictates, we are at the service of Christ through others, in others, and with others. To obtain wealth for the mere sake of pleasing our outlandish needs and desires, falling then into that realm of today's hedonistic proclivities is a counter-Christ message of loving the other to simply love the other. </div><div><br /></div><div>I ponder my desires, my needs and some don't fall into that radicalism of Jesus' offering of not hedonism for the sake of Self; but, instead, the abundancy of giftedness given for Neighbor. This gift to Neighbor always transfigures into gift unto self in forms of Joy; in forms of happiness; and in forms of deep, abiding, interior peace.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Sister Mary Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07752407998047905197noreply@blogger.com3