Saint Therese the Little Flower Goes to Confession

[Guest guest]

thanks Robert and Mazie.

love

eric

[Guest guest]

St. Therese the Little Flower Goes to Confession

 

 

T: Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.

 

Priest: Sin is a dream.

 

T: Yes, and isn't it so?

 

P: There is only the Great Perfection.

 

T: Beloved!

 

P: Who?

 

T: My Love, my Sin!

 

P: We love the Sin too, eh?

 

T: The Sin, the Dream.

 

P: God is full of desires.

 

T: There is a desire within all desires.

 

P: The closer to the source it hums

the more transparent it becomes.

 

T: I am an empty cup.

 

P: Placed upon the table of the Lord.

 

T: Before time.

 

P: You Are.

 

T: There are moments when I forget,

this is my Sin!

 

P: Incommunicable,

This Rapture, This Grace,

that in forgetting all

we are filled with Remembrance!

 

T: I renounce Heaven & Hell for This!

 

P: Whatever!

 

T: Oh you ….!

 

P: And when there is nothing to renounce?

 

T: I renounce renouncing.

 

P: The music begins,

an opening step.

 

T: It never ends.

 

P: Steps become dances.

 

T: Without moving, I am

swept into my Beloved's Arms.

 

P: God can do such things –

who then is renouncing?

 

T: What Penance, now, for the sin of

wanting to have it be other than

it is?

 

P: The usual, Sweet Heart --

 

Alone in Love,

as Love,

bow simultaneously

in all directions

to the Beloved

you Are.

 

T: Beloved, each moment lived

even a hairsbreadth outside of You

is worthy of every breath I take

Given as a Penance of Love for You.

 

P: Yes, and where is this place

outside of Beloved?

 

T: Any time my mind wanders,

though I be but the image of the Wandering One,

anytime my mind wanders from

the thought of You, I feel as though

I am standing outside looking in.

You act as if You do not Hear me,

and to feel this for even an infinitesimal

amount of time, is pain beyond endurance.

Beloved One! Inside the thought of You,

there, there shall I remain, until I say this:

I shall remain in the dim dungeon of Death

"with worms That are Thy chambermaids",

if You are called to the Holy Sepulcher

before me.

 

P: Even now, we wander in that Garden.

 

T: The cypresses shoot to the Sky of Infinity.

Roses climb one another for the Delight of twining.

The fig tree holds out its fruited children –

an offering for the Master Gardener.

"My Peace is to remain small."

The Pomegranate blossom hides

the blush on my cheeks as I Gaze

through the wild white lilies

and See the Face of my Beloved.

The Fragrance of that Moment

wafts throughout Eternity.

The Scent of our Love,

the Love of this little flower

and her Adorable, Blessed Lord

will stain the Hearts of Lovers

till time burns itself out again.

 

P: The Original Face,

Face in the Fire,

Fire in the Heart,

Heart of Peace,

Peace of the Pomegranate,

hiding the blush on your cheeks as

you gaze through the wild white lilies

at the Adorable One, blushing your cheeks,

gazing at you with your own eyes, the eyes of

a little flower –

so pleasing this perfumed offering!

Her Lord is a Gardener of Delight, twined

with the Garden of innocent Light!

 

T: Trace Your finger across my mouth.

Innocence springs from that action alone,

like a child running naked along some beach,

oblivious to any thought of shame or guilt.

Inside this Heart-Cup, a still Pool of Awe

reflects the Face of the Beloved One.

What Face Is This that cannot be seen

directly, but must be gazed upon in Reflection?

It is the Fire, the Blazing Torch, and the Cinder?

Until one is Sacred Ash streaked

across the forehead of Love,

they will not See the Beautiful One.

Many are His mirrors marking time,

making faces appear and disappear,

the waves lifting from the Sea,

slowly sinking back again into

That Depthless One's Heart.

 

P: Shapes shift, facades fade as

Spirit plays the Masquerade of

mouths and fingers, fire and ash.

 

In ocean's depth a dream of waves

arises, disguises there of

water to itself.

 

At the feet of a child

the tide swirls in, only to

swirl out again.

 

What is drawn out with that tide

returns as the Smile of a guileless child.

 

 

T: The waves wash over me, most often at night,

Sweeping in, taking everything of I, and then,

They flow out to Sea, accepting the offering of my smallness.

The sound carries back to me from the depths of Silence,

The HeartSong I hear inside is Jesus calling me,

Calling me from the slumber of many lives.

He tells me to Listen.

 

Listen …

Listen.

 

Tell me Dear Father,

If You hear Him now,

What does He say?

 

P: He whispers,

"Don't stop at the Image –

Go further."

 

In any case,

"It's all Praise …"

 

Still, how could it be that

a womb becomes Pregnant

in a second?

 

When we want Him like a drowning man

wants air, the soul becomes a fertility

Irresistible.

 

The fruit of such seed

Is Love, for it cannot be

any other way, there

Being Only Love.

 

Nor is it

what we invariably imagine

it to be in the certainty of

chameleon beliefs.

 

Love is a useless word for those

who are yet strangers to

the mysterious transmission of

their own Heart Core.

 

Most who come this way stop

at the Image,

worshipping the Icon, carved

by conditions, sanded by time,

polished by devotion to a

yet tyrant mind.

 

All the while, the seed

buries itself deeper,

burrowing further, and

 

you find Him

 

and

 

there is nobody there

 

and

 

you find yourself

 

and

 

there is nobody there

 

and

 

you find yourself

 

and

 

there is nobody there.

 

 

Such Gratitude for this very life,

Everywhere!

 

 

 

 

T: Priest, there is nobody here.

Pawn of the Heart, pawn of Christ,

I move as I Am Moved,

for there is nobody here.

This trembling you see,

Verily,

is the very nothing of the moment.

Realizing ItSelf, It trembles,

It trembles in Exhultation,

It Exhorts the Heart to Open,

It Wantonly weaves,

this Mystery,

This Mystery of nobody here.

This life is Joy breaking into

Bliss, the Embrace of Silence.

 

Grace has no face,

And yet, Grace is seen

in every face I look at,

And I see that there is nobody there.

 

But this trembling Heart!

 

This Heart trembles like a bright bird

Caught in some Divine Snare of Love.

 

P: Pictures change,

fingersnaps

 

What remains?

 

This Heart,

trembling at the Mystery of

Not-two

 

and

there is nobody there

 

and

you know you are that

 

and

there is nobody there

 

and

you know you are this

 

and

there is nobody here

 

and

there is.

 

Incomprehensible to mind,

Instantly recognized at Heart.

 

Hear the chanting evening prayers

in the chapel now?

 

It seems these tears will never stop flowing!

 

T: How can I hear the chanting any longer,

when I have become the chant, chanter,

the One to Whom we Chant?

Those tears flowing across your face,

flowing from some vast reservoir in the Heart --

they are my tears and I am the Reservoir being emptied

in the Heart of the Beautiful Beloved One.

 

No pool of Silence,

no tears,

no eyes,

no face,

no you,

no me,

no church but this, This!

This Emptiness

filled with nobody

nothing,

yes,

no,

there is nobody left here.

 

There is nobody to be saved,

to save, to savor.

 

Beloved Teacher,

Honored, Priested One,

what right now moves between us –

 

Ahhh, it cannot be said.

 

There is no one to see It,

nor was there ever anyone to say It.

 

Seeing no one looking back,

It disappears into ItSelf.

 

P: Welcome Home,

Beloved!

 

 

 

 

LoveAlways,

 

Mazie & b