There is no contradiction between
mystical love and physical love.
They are one.
And when one you are in divine union
and ecstasy,
it is with the lover of all lovers.
Not just the source,
But love itself

Instincts and physiology may cause attraction
But from where does such a spark ignite?
From a mystical place within
Somewhere inside where a desire to share unlimited
Love is stored and bottled up.
Not for personal gain or control,
Or even immediate gratification
But in two gifts from God.

The first gift is all the magical nature of creation around.
Abundant in our lives … even if at times we have to look beyond our feet to find it.
It’s in the faces of those in our day
Waiting for us to love and treat them
As He would wish.

The other gift is freewill.
The ability to become what was intended
Or to swallow ourselves in self,
Only to find we have redefined love to be singular
A closed cell where I control the door,
Of an empty room.

The Song of Songs is no mistake,
Mystical union and physical can be the same;
A continuum of love in all experienced
The appreciation of beauty
With awe and wonder
Understood because the need to own it is absent.
Love is humility and servant hood and hope
Engulfed in a mystical desire to rest in God
For all our moments.
We cannot compartmentalize love
And then experience it.

We are love
Or not
At a given moment.

For true love is extending this moment
To forever.

Traveling to the Saturday mornings saw the weather change,

The sadness of those passing in our family around us,

The unchanging nature of liturgy,

And of community prayer.

Through this, she sat, praying,

Listening,

Touching dialog with the lightness of a water droplet,

So as to leave a mark which placed Francis,

Or Jesus on the conversation.

The fellow explorer filled with love,

No agenda, but seeing where the way has been lost,

Or should be … the Franciscan way.

Only when a nail is placed in His hand, does she respond less gently.

And even then, not chastisement,

Rather redirection.

For this soul is the essence of a Franciscan.

Love encased in wisdom for the world to savor.

Intention, an oft used spear,

Shaft forged of the soul,

Tipped with the sharpness of the mind.

Designed to slice, then penetrate as deeply as thrown,

Into the heart of the victim, lover or bystander.

The intention, dipped either in love potion or invective poison,

Enters the heart of God and the intended.

Serving the masters of temptation with a banquet of delight,

Or the glory of innocent humility, encased in love.

It is for us to choose.

Standing, leafless in the frigid cold,

I shiver not on these evenings,

But rather enjoin myself with the blue light of divine darkness unfolding,

As the bright light of the sun, says au revoir.

I might seem lonely, but I am one with this world.