Pentecost Warm & Active Mystery of Love

This Pentecost finds me thoroughly silenced, in both physical and virtual voice; I have a sore throat, swollen glands, plugged up ears, and every folk remedy of the family at my service, but still I can’t talk above a whisper – plus the arthritis in my hands is also flaring, making it difficult to type.

Hey, I can take a hint. I know when I’m being called to quietness; I know when I’m being to “shut up, just shut up, shhhh…just listen.”

All I feel this Pentecost – readings and songs and whoosh of wind; crackle of fire, thunder of love that is reality and ever-rolling, ever-encompassing, ever-alive, well, I can’t say it. But this makes me feel it.

Dark Night of the Soul
St. John of the Cross

Upon a darkened night
The flame of love was burning in my breast
And by a lantern bright
I fled my house while all in quiet rest

Shrouded by the night
And by the secret stair I quickly fled
The veil concealed my eyes
While all within lay quiet as the dead

Oh night thou was my guide
Oh night more loving than the rising sun
Oh night that joined the lover
To the beloved one
Transforming each of them into the other

Upon that misty night
In secrecy, beyond such mortal sight
Without a guide or light
Than that which burned so deeply in my heart

That fire t’was led me on
And shone more bright than of the midday sun
To where he waited still
It was a place where no one else could come

Oh night thou was my guide
Oh night more loving than the rising sun
Oh night that joined the lover
To the beloved one
Transforming each of them into the other

Within my pounding heart
Which kept itself entirely for him
He fell into his sleep
Beneath the cedars all my love I gave
And by the fortress walls
The wind would brush his hair against his brow
And with its smoothest hand
caressed my every sense it would allow

Oh night thou was my guide
Oh night more loving than the rising sun
Oh night that joined the lover
To the beloved one
Transforming each of them into the other

I lost myself to him
And laid my face upon my lovers breast
And care and grief grew dim
As in the mornings mist became the light
There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair
There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair
There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair

H/T American Digest

Don’t Miss Post: Whispers in the Loggia

UPDATE: Please pray for Mike, who has Parkinson’s Disease. He has already lost the use of his primary hand. It appears he is having an exacerbation, and possibly losing more.