A Child’s Glorious Freedom

 

yo
Me ~  (My photo)

 

A child—if it lives in an environment where it is allowed to be itself—has no problems. Children aren’t worried about money, food, or clothing. They are like the birds and the lilies Jesus speaks about. They figure they will always get what they need. Nothing needs to be stored. There will always be enough.

Children live in a glorious freedom. Even the smallest, insignificant gift can mean pure bliss for them, because it is received in the present moment. The joy of the present moment is not darkened by worries of a difficult past or a threatening future. Children’s ability to be present in the moment means that every moment has a gift to give and that every little occasion of joy is appreciated.

This presence in the moment also means that children make no separation between play and seriousness. Play itself is taken very seriously. They don’t perceive mistakes as calamities; they count on forgiveness as self-evidently as they count on daily food.

This lack of worry is slowly lost as we grow up and become “adult.” Life becomes full of “problems”—modern variation of the worries Jesus tells us we don’t need. Our time is a time of problems, and can only be such, because everything becomes problematic when we no longer know whether there is a Father who takes care of us. But if we return to the Father, we return to the glorious freedom of a child.

 
~ A Meditation by Fr. Wilfrid Stinissen, O.C.D.

 

 

“May what I do flow from me like a river, no forcing and no holding back, the way it is with children.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke

Vineyard of Carmel

 

CarmeliteMonastery
Carmelite Monastery in Santa Clara, California ~ Art by Sylvia Waddell


Come, Love, to the vineyard

In the morning dew,
There we’ll watch in silence,
If vineyards bloom anew,
If the grapes are growing,
Life with vigor glowing,
Fresh the vine and true.

From the heights of Heaven
Holy Mother descend,
Lead unto your vineyard
Our beloved friend.
Dew and rain let gently
Drop from His kind hand
And the balm of sunshine
Fall on Carmel’s land.

Young vines, newly planted,
Tiny though they be,
Grant them life eternal
A gift of peace from Thee.
Trusted vintners strengthen
Their frail and feeble powers,
Shield them from the enemy
Who in darkness cowers.

Holy Mother grant reward
For your vintners’ care
Give them, I beseech you,
Crown of Heaven fair.
Don’t let raging fire
Kill these vines, we pray,
And grant your life eternal
To each young shoot some day.

 

~ A poem by St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross (Edith Stein), O.C.D.

Gaze Into My Eyes

Yesterday, we celebrated the Feast Day of our Holy Mother Saint Teresa of Ávila, Discalced Carmelite, first female Doctor of the Church, Spanish mystic and reformer. It was a very joyful, holy and blessed day for all the family of Carmel. Here I share a very special poem written by St. Teresa. May she inspire our hearts to be always on fire for The Beloved, our Lord Jesus!

 

Carmelite-Saints-stTeresa_of_Jesus
Saint Teresa of Ávila, art source unknown

 

Gaze into my eyes, sweet, good Jesus,
Gaze into my eyes, and slay me thus.

Look, if it pleases anyone, at roses and jasmines.
If I but see You, I see a thousand gardens!
Flower of Seraphim, Jesus of Nazareth,
Gaze into my eyes, and slay me thus.

I see myself captive without Your company,
Death is what I live without You, life of mine.

I do not want comfort, my absent Jesus,
That all is torture to whom feels this;
Gaze into my eyes, sweet, good Jesus,
Gaze into my eyes, and slay me thus.

~ A poem by Saint Teresa of Ávila, O.C.D.

 

 

Véante mis ojos, dulce Jesús bueno

[Poema – Texto completo.]

Véante mis ojos, dulce Jesús bueno;
véante mis ojos, muérame yo luego.

Vea quién quisiere rosas y jazmines,
que si yo te viere, veré mil jardines,
flor de serafines; Jesús Nazareno,
véante mis ojos, muérame yo luego.

No quiero contento, mi Jesús ausente,
que todo es tormento a quien esto siente;
sólo me sustente su amor y deseo;
Véante mis ojos, dulce Jesús bueno;
véante mis ojos, muérame yo luego.

Siéntome cautiva sin tal compañía,
muerte es la que vivo sin Vos, Vida mía,
cuándo será el día que alcéis mi destierro,
veante mis ojos, muérame yo luego.

Dulce Jesús mío, aquí estáis presente,
las tinieblas huyen, Luz resplandeciente,
oh, Sol refulgente, Jesús Nazareno,
veante mis ojos, muérame yo luego.

¿Quién te habrá ocultado bajo pan y vino?
¿Quién te ha disfrazado, oh, Dueño divino ?
¡Ay que amor tan fino se encierra en mi pecho!
veante mis ojos, muérame yo luego.

Gloria, gloria al Padre, gloria, gloria al Hijo,
gloria para siempre igual al Espíritu.
Gloria de la tierra suba hasta los cielos.
Véante mis ojos, muérame yo luego.
Amén.

~ Poema escrito por Santa Teresa de Ávila, O.C.D.

 

 

Saint Teresa of Ávila, pray for us!

 

Manuscript of Heaven

 

three archangels 2
The Three Archangels, art by Marco D’Oggiono

 

I know the manuscript of the Uncreated
writes in the garden of His good state.
His creatures are the words incorporated
into love’s speech. 

O great 
immortal poet, in Your volume bright
if one may choose a portion, write me down
as a small adjective attending light,
the archangelic noun. 

~ A poem by Sister Miriam of the Holy Spirit (Jessica Powers) O.C.D.

 

 

Wishing you all a very blessed Feast day of the Holy Archangels!

Saint Michael, Saint Gabriel and St. Raphael, pray for us!

 

The Blessed Virgin Compared To The Air We Breathe

 

Mother Mary
Statue of Blessed Virgin Mary with St. Anne  ~ (Photo taken by me at The Basilica of Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupré in Quebec, Canada)

 

Wild air, world-mothering air,
Nestling me everywhere,
That each eyelash or hair
Girdles; goes home betwixt
The fleeciest, frailest-flixed
Snowflake; that’s fairly mixed
With, riddles, and is rife
In every least thing’s life;
This needful, never spent,
And nursing element;
My more than meat and drink,
My meal at every wink;
This air, which, by life’s law,
My lung must draw and draw
Now but to breathe its praise,
Minds me in many ways
Of her who not only
Gave God’s infinity
Dwindled to infancy
Welcome in womb and breast,
Birth, milk, and all the rest
But mothers each new grace
That does now reach our race —
Mary Immaculate,
Merely a woman, yet
Whose presence, power is
Great as no goddess’s
Was deemed, dreamed; who
This one work has to do —
Let all God’s glory through,
God’s glory which would go
Through her and from her flow
Off, and no way but so.

I say that we are wound
With mercy round and round
As if with air: the same
Is Mary, more by name.
She, wild web, wondrous robe,
Mantles the guilty globe,
Since God has let dispense
Her prayers his providence:
Nay, more than almoner,
The sweet alms’ self is her
And men are meant to share
Her life as life does air.

If I have understood,
She holds high motherhood
Towards all our ghostly good
And plays in grace her part
About man’s beating heart,
Laying, like air’s fine flood,
The deathdance in his blood;
Yet no part but what will
Be Christ our Saviour still.
Of her flesh he took flesh:
He does take fresh and fresh,
Though much the mystery how,
Not flesh but spirit now
And makes, O marvellous!
New Nazareths in us,
Where she shall yet conceive
Him, morning, noon, and eve;
New Bethlems, and he born
There, evening, noon, and morn —
Bethlem or Nazareth,
Men here may draw like breath
More Christ and baffle death;
Who, born so, comes to be
New self and nobler me
In each one and each one
More makes, when all is done,
Both God’s and Mary’s Son.

Again, look overhead
How air is azured;
O how! Nay do but stand
Where you can lift your hand
Skywards: rich, rich it laps
Round the four fingergaps.
Yet such a sapphire-shot,
Charged, steeped sky will not
Stain light. Yea, mark you this:
It does no prejudice.
The glass-blue days are those
When every colour glows,
Each shape and shadow shows.
Blue be it: this blue heaven
The seven or seven times seven
Hued sunbeam will transmit
Perfect, not alter it.
Or if there does some soft,
On things aloof, aloft,
Bloom breathe, that one breath more
Earth is the fairer for.
Whereas did air not make
This bath of blue and slake
His fire, the sun would shake,
A blear and blinding ball
With blackness bound, and all
The thick stars round him roll
Flashing like flecks of coal,
Quartz-fret, or sparks of salt,
In grimy vasty vault.

So God was god of old:
A mother came to mould
Those limbs like ours which are
What must make our daystar
Much dearer to mankind;
Whose glory bare would blind
Or less would win man’s mind.
Through her we may see him
Made sweeter, not made dim,
An her hand leaves his light
Sifted to suit our sight.

Be thou then, O thou dear
Mother, my atmosphere;
My happier world, wherein
To wend and meet no sin;
Above me, round me lie
Fronting my froward eye
With sweet and scarless sky;
Stir in my ears, speak there
Of God’s love, O live air,
Of patience, penance, prayer:
World-mothering air, air wild,
Wound with thee, in thee isled,
Fold home, fast fold thy child.

~ A poem by Fr. Gerard Manley Hopkins, S.J. (1844-89)

 

Happy Birthday Blessed Virgin Mary! ❤ Ora Pro Nobis!

 

Elpina, The Shepherdess

 

shepherdess with her flock
Shepherdess with her Flock, art by Jean-François Millet

 

Elpina the shepherdess
Burning with a great desire
To know how God
Could be loved upon earth,
Wept alone one day
And in the woods
Uttered these words:
“Eh! Who can teach me
to love God Who loves me
and Who, before the existence
of the world He created
with this same love
of His Heart Divine,
loved me…”
While thus grieved
she wept to herself
not being able to console
the pain of her heart;
the virgin, now a hermit,
swooned and fell–
a prey to languor…
Behold, there before her,
ornate with gilded wings,
brimming with celestial delight,
stood suddenly a gracious spirit,
and his loving lips
like lilies and roses
opened into these beautiful accents:
“Elpina, how can you say
You do not love God,
When your very desire
Of loving is love itself?
It is the sweet flame
Which escapes from
The secret furnace of your Heart.”

 

~ A poem by St. Teresa Margaret Redi of the Sacred Heart, O.C.D.

 

 

“I propose to have no other purpose in all my activities, either interior or exterior, than the motive of Love alone. “
~ St. Teresa Margaret Redi of the Sacred Heart, O.C.D.

 

 

 Happy & Blessed Feast Day of St. Teresa Margaret Redi!  

Jesu, Highest Heaven’s Completeness

 

christsb
“Christ Embracing St Bernard of Clairvaux” art by Francisco Ribalta (1625-27)  Museo del Prado  Madrid, Spain

 

Jesu, highest Heaven’s completeness,
Name of music to the ear,
To the lips surpassing sweetness,
Wine the fainting heart to cheer.

Eating Thee, the soul may hunger,
Drinking, still athirst may be;
But for Earthly food no longer,
Nor for any steam but Thee.

Jesu, all delight exceeding,
Only hope of heart distrest;
Weeping eyes and spirit mourning
Find in Thee a place of rest.

Stay, O Beauty uncreated,
Ever ancient, ever new;
Banish deeds of darkness hated,
With Thy sweetness all bedew.

Jesu, fairest blossom springing
From a maiden ever pure,
May our lips Thy praise be singing
While eternal years endure.

 

~ A poem by Saint Bernard of Clairvaux