Conversion of St Paul by Roy Ruiz Clayton
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My post from last year for the Feast of the Conversion of Paul is here.
My related post from last year on "Writing Daemons, St Francis de Sales and Damascene Road Experiences is here, from which this beautiful poem by Czeslaw Milosz is reposted.....
Late Ripeness
Not soon, as late as the approach of my ninetieth year,
I felt a door opening in me and I entered
the clarity of early morning.
I felt a door opening in me and I entered
the clarity of early morning.
One after another my former lives were departing,
like ships, together with their sorrow.
like ships, together with their sorrow.
And the countries, cities, gardens, the bays of seas
assigned to my brush came closer,
ready now to be described better than they were before.
assigned to my brush came closer,
ready now to be described better than they were before.
I was not separated from people,
grief and pity joined us.
We forget—I kept saying—that we are all children of the King.
grief and pity joined us.
We forget—I kept saying—that we are all children of the King.
For where we come from there is no division
into Yes and No, into is, was, and will be.
into Yes and No, into is, was, and will be.
We were miserable, we used no more than a hundredth part
of the gift we received for our long journey.
of the gift we received for our long journey.
Moments from yesterday and from centuries ago—
a sword blow, the painting of eyelashes before a mirror
of polished metal, a lethal musket shot, a caravel
staving its hull against a reef—they dwell in us,
waiting for a fulfillment.
a sword blow, the painting of eyelashes before a mirror
of polished metal, a lethal musket shot, a caravel
staving its hull against a reef—they dwell in us,
waiting for a fulfillment.
I knew, always, that I would be a worker in the vineyard,
as are all men and women living at the same time,
whether they are aware of it or not.
as are all men and women living at the same time,
whether they are aware of it or not.
Enya sings How Can I Keep From Singing ?
A beautiful song..
A beautiful song..
It reminds me to keep believing that the Holy Spirit is working in ways I may not always be aware of consciously; that there are signs and wonders that a new creation is going on all the time, despite the immense pain and pangs involved in its gestation.
I firmly believe and hope that the repressed, distorted or even lost anima of the church and world will burst into a new song one of these days.
That's the conversion of heart my faith asks and prays for these days and that's what this song is about for me right now.
That's the conversion of heart my faith asks and prays for these days and that's what this song is about for me right now.
Above earth's lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation.
Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear it's music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?
While though the tempest loudly roars,
I hear the truth, it liveth.
And though the darkness 'round me close,
Songs in the night it giveth.
No storm can shake my inmost calm,
While to that rock I'm clinging.
Since love is lord of heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing?
When tyrants tremble in their fear
And hear their death knell ringing,
When friends rejoice both far and near
How can I keep from singing?
In prison cell and dungeon vile
Our thoughts to them are winging,
When friends by shame are undefiled
How can I keep from singing?
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