Monday, December 03, 2018
Holy Wounds
Holy Wounds
"When the breeze blew from the turret, as I parted his hair,
It wounded my neck with its gentle hand, suspending all my senses."
St. John of the Cross
Not at night
but by light of day,
You came,
one for whom
I had no name,
yet I knew it was You,
the one I had waited for
so long.
And so you wounded me
with love,
rapture so intense
I had no word
to speak it,
could not say its origin
or end.
Our rendezvous could
not be told,
but in silence
we joined
as if a god descended
to earth
and sought its mortal
counterpart.
And I lay ravished
night and day,
for time uncounted
and now am left to wonder
what that purpose was,
how it still returns,
so many days and years,
rapture unveiling my soul,
taking me into the hidden
realms
of my beginning,
my destined end.
Dorothy Walters
December 3, 2018
"When the breeze blew from the turret, as I parted his hair,
It wounded my neck with its gentle hand, suspending all my senses."
St. John of the Cross
Not at night
but by light of day,
You came,
one for whom
I had no name,
yet I knew it was You,
the one I had waited for
so long.
And so you wounded me
with love,
rapture so intense
I had no word
to speak it,
could not say its origin
or end.
Our rendezvous could
not be told,
but in silence
we joined
as if a god descended
to earth
and sought its mortal
counterpart.
And I lay ravished
night and day,
for time uncounted
and now am left to wonder
what that purpose was,
how it still returns,
so many days and years,
rapture unveiling my soul,
taking me into the hidden
realms
of my beginning,
my destined end.
Dorothy Walters
December 3, 2018
