When in the soul of the serene disciple
With no more Fathers to imitate
Poverty is a success,
It is a small thing to say the roof is gone:
He has not even a house.
Stars, as well as friends,
Are angry with the noble ruin.
Saints depart in several directions.
There is no longer any need of comment.
It was a lucky wind
That blew away his halo with his cares,
A lucky sea that drowned his reputation.
Here you will find
Neither a proverb nor a memorandum.
There are no ways,
No methods to admire
Where poverty is no achievement.
His God lives in his emptiness like an affliction.
What choice remains?
Well, to be ordinary is not a choice:
It is the usual freedom
Of men without visions.
Where do you see a window you can open for a subtle sacrament to slip into your day?
to fashion universes out of emptiness
A winter solstice 2020 short stream for a Movement Medicine community
God speaks to each of us as he makes us, then walks with us silently out of the night.
The seed of life is within us all, our dance here is mundane, strange and wonderful.
Meanwhile, someplace in the world, somebody is making love and another a poem.
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