Standing, arms apart, as if beckoning,
The black tunic speaking an intention.
Moving from the entrance,
Light streams towards the visitor.
Nothing said, but a smile of welcome presents itself,
And encourages the visitor forward.
Once inside, seating and libation offered,
The Passionist joins the visitor, saying little,
but encouraging conversation, without agenda.
The listening begins, punctuated by silence,
As the Blood of Christ enters the room.
The red mist coloring them both in love.
Then the secrets flow,
Slowly at first, then, full disclosure.
Open-hearts reveals what was hidden,
And the Passionist listens, and cries inside,
They are one in sharing.
The Passion; once again, is spilled to the floor.
Words are swallowed deeply by both talker and listener,
Changes begin within,
Imperceptible at first,
Then more measurable,
As the movement of the Passion of Christ becomes incarnate,
Once again.
And a visitor leaves changed,
And the Passionist returns again, to the doorway.
The Doorway
The Monastery Within 
