Over this past month or so there have been many tears.  Tears for the world, tears for myself, tears for those I care about.

These months have been firstly full of anticipation, full of excitement and then most unexpectedly absolute overwhelming grief.  You see since the end of the Easter holidays there have been changes made within our home, namely my sanctuary.   Days I spent cleaning the little adjacent room to my sanctuary,  cleaning from top to bottom and redecorating.  It is a narrow long space and now looks completely different.  I would say it is about 9.5  feet long and 3 feet wide.  It used to be stacked with the laundry machines and doubled as a downstairs cloakroom, but now the appliances have been taken out.

I painted it all a gentle cotton white, including the floorboards, it looks far prettier this way and much bigger than before.  At one end of the room is a step with beautiful cold grey marble floor tiles and white oblong french wall tiles, a sparkling white lavatory and a little white cupboard with an inset sink.  The other six feet of the room now has white-painted floorboards with a floor to ceiling 3 inch deep, white wooden open shelving display with the brightest Indian pink/red/orange/green/blue hand painted illustration down one edge.  I retrieved this from our old wholefood shop, a dear artist friend had hand painted the illustration for me years ago, and as I walked past the shop last month the new owners were throwing it out and so I retrieved it.

The shelves are now holding my special framed photos of my Loved ones.  Upon the top shelf in prayer a white angel poised alongside my Jean Paul Gaultier perfume bottle  (the beautiful shameless body of a woman) the two sitting side by side represent for me body and spirit.  At the far end of this little precious room is my new wardrobe.  I have longed to turn my sanctuary into a self-contained little living space and now I have.  Up until now I still had my wardrobe upstairs in R’s bedroom, because of sheer practical lack of space, upstairs is where it has always been, and so the full move to downstairs had never been quite so absolute.  So you see this has all been quite new.

My tears falling are for the kindness and the help that R had given me, in drilling, carpentry and reorganising the laundry department elsewhere.  He has gracefully helped me achieve this and continues to serve, love and stand strong despite it all.  Bless that man.  I cry tears of sorrow for him ~ for me ~ for us all.  I cry for myself, I want to be kissed lovingly, passionately, deeply, and I long to be held naked, warm and in Love.  I have cried because I still want my body and my soul to be raised to that place, that heavenly place, that calls from above and has taken me so close to its veil through intimate encounter before now.   I cry for the unfairness and cruelty of it all.

I cry for my mind, a mind which has been infiltrated with a moral understanding of marriage as it should be in the Catholic Church’s eyes.  And I cry for my Love, Love delivered by the Holy Spirit – bestowed by God.  Love simultaneously trapped cocooned within, at the same time as having broken free from its cocoon and flown away other – leaving nothing but a shell, a cocoon  . . .  cocooned.  I long to claim back every inch of my life and scream that its my life, my gift from God and my body to worship and glorify Him in Love in the way that I want to.  I want to smash the cocoon to smithereens and feel the silk softening pure silk on silk – naked on my nakedness.

Bright.  Alive.  Beautiful.  Human.  Divine.

I want to glorify Him in Prayer – Our prayer.  The Prayer of Our body, the Prayer of Our Soul, the Prayer of every part of Our being, until there is nothing more of us anymore to give, because we are given in deepest highest Prayer, a rhythm of liturgy.  Manna from Heaven, Blood from earth, risen in Love, with Him.


I cry.

Tears of pure Love.


About mags

Beloved apostle of His Soul x
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