THE BREATH OF SPIRIT

THE BREATH OF SPIRIT

The drapes of my eyes close. In this silence, it begins. I hold Thy crucifix in my hands, wiping away, Your tears of sorrow. With Your tears, I bless myself, and Your gentle peace, falls on me. The wisping of Your presence, captivates my inner self. It is here, in this place, uplifting from the soul, truth unfurls, in gifts of compassion. I long to be, embraced, by You, my Lord, in this place of stillness, in solace, speaking to You, loving You. Your breath of spirit, has fallen upon my thoughts, upon my heart and soul. The fragrance of my words, float upward, resting within Your Heart of Mercy. My love is deepened, as Your compassion anoints over me. For You have saturated me, with this burning desire of compassion; this happened, when I surrendered—surrendered all of me, to You. You have mesmerized my spirit. I feel You drawing me in, like a magnet. I am powerless in this world, but powerful in Your love. For You are the King of all mercy, of all love—love so majestic like a mountain, but gentle, as a feather.
I never understood what love was, or how it really felt. I found love, when I took You down from the cross—held You in my arms, not wanting, to let go. I just let my sorrow, wash over You, a sorrowful compassion of mercy, prolongs in my thoughts. I think of, all Your suffering, and pain, all Your torment, all Your inflictions. I think of Your tears, Your blood, Your fear. I think of all Thy blows, all Thy insults, Thy rejections. I think of Your thirst, all the abuse, all Your wounds. I think of, the nails, the crown, of prickly thorns. I think of, Your passion, Your death. I think of, Your heavenly Father, that loved You so, and yet sacrificed You, for all of us. I think of, Your Mother, Her sorrow. For it is Your Mother, who knows sorrow, more than I. But I too, have embraced Your Mother, in seeking comfort, to relieve Her pain. I have wiped away, Her falling tears, and compassionate Her sorrow of heart. For it is Your Mother, who has brought me here, to You. I could not, find the way, by myself. This compassion of love for You, has given fragrance to the flower—a gift, from Your Mother. For in this silence, the three of us, are present to one another, in prayer, and mellowed tones. For here, is where I found the two of You—at the cross, at my conversion, waiting, for me. My Lord, I cannot pass by, without thinking of You, and thinking, of how Your Mother suffered, in agony, for You. I can only whisper, from my tongue: I love You; I love You; from the depth of my soul, I love You.
Let not my compassion, fall short upon Your Heart, but take each breath, and let them fall onto Your mercy. Let what I have told You, and feel for You, instill comfort and coolness, to Your wounds. If, You were to receive a love letter, then let it be this one. For I write these things, not to impress You, but, love from the soul, is uncontrollable, and flows, like a mist of gentle rain. I could not say these words to You, if I did not know You, and have these sentiments flowing within me. It is here, in this place of presence, Your aroma of Your sweetness, is all around me. How can I leave here, without You? It is not enough for me, to say hello; I must live here, forever, with You.
Lord, I lift up my heart and soul, to You—opened to Your Will, for guidance and instruction, that Your Word, be done, in me. All You have for me, store in this compassionate chamber of mine, and immerse Your passion, and anoint me with Your grace. Fill me, with all I can carry, for I know Your love, is generous, and un-measurable.
The tenderness of my words, reach for You; and when I am speechless, the softness of my breath inhales Your presence. My heart is refreshed, by speaking Your name: Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. Cling to me, O my Lord, and transform me into Your servant: to love all, to forgive all, to compassionate all, to be an extension of Your loving heart. All the tears I wipe away from Your face, let them quench Your thirst, for those, who have abandoned You. Let my words of love, approach You, with the fragrance of roses. For when I hold Thy crucifix in my hands, I am holding, You; I am holding, LOVE.

Robert J. Varrick
rjvarrick@gmail.com