What of me is bleeding?

All of me is bleeding.

What of me is grieving?

All of me is grieving.

What of me is silent?

All of me is silenced. 

All of me is prayer

with urgent emergings,

itching surprises 

rising from my soil;

nothing surrounding

ladened rebellions.

The Wind espousing

needful pairing;

all of me journeying,

I walk stumbling.

Someone's on the Way.

"Come toward me,

all you weary ones;

I will wash your feet."

*Reflections of Jean Sulivan:

  -The fish doesn't know the water which makes it live, only the absence of water from which it dies.

  -I know God only through Jesus.  The unique grandeur of Christianity is its belief in a poor God, like a wound in the absolute.  God, the child in a manger.  No man could invent that; it requires a revelation.

  -To know something of his (Jesus') tenderness and his exactness, it's enough to read the parables. Don't project them into history, but listen to them today, pronounced by the Spirit who is the spirit of Jesus.  They are words that have to be fulfilled; otherwise they become pathetic legends to console us.