Tell me;

when does the suffering end, when does the weight lift up,
of waiting on unanswered prayers? Who else is out there to
place all the blame on, when your self-blamed self blames
you right back?  

who do you believe in less, firstly - God or yourself?
When facing all of the four walls, whose pinned up walls
stand much stronger? Who is fed firstly – an empty stomach,
or your poverty’s hunger?

For I am beginning to rest myself on canine sugars – a mutt
chasing after the sweetness of biting their own tail. Whereas
your daily bread seems to have gone a bit stale!

I’m not ready to die; but then again – I’m not so willing
to stay. And that makes for this to be… a scary prayer!

Beneath this stone, a light once shone,
A son laid down, the battles won.
In tender arms, a dream to hold,
A mother's heart, forever cold.

Though time may pass and shadows creep,
In memories bright, your spirit keeps.
Each whispered word, each silent prayer,
In every tear, you linger there.

No path more cruel than this we tread,
For parents mourn the child who’s fled.
Yet love remains, a guiding light,
In darkest hours, your soul takes flight.

So here we stand, our hearts entwined,
In grief, in love, forever bind.
Though life's cruel twist has sought to part,
You live forever in our heart.

Today's Gospel is from Matthew 15:29-37. It describes Jesus performing miracles of healing and a vast crowd of people had gathered and followed him for several days. He looks out and says: "My Heart is moved with pity for the crowd... I do not want to send them away hungry and possibly collapse on the way back." They have a little food between them, Jesus blesses it, breaks it, gives it to his disciples and from there to the people with seven baskets full of leftovers. What I want to focus on is not the miracle, but Jesus' statement that "My Heart is moved with pity." It's a fine enough description in English, but in the Greek, it is called splaghchnizomai, which means "be moved in the inward parts". It comes from a word meaning internal organs, a deep gut-level response, "visceral feeling/reaction".

Have you ever experienced this? Something so powerful, it turns your insides out and can make you feel physically ill? We've all seen those commercials of starving children or helpless animals on TV before. That's how Jesus probably felt or worse to see those people before him starving for physical and, more importantly, spiritual food. I get the feeling when I see someone suffering and there is nothing that I can do to ease their discomfort. I can only pray. To be honest, prayer might be the only thing that can help, and we should take great joy in the fact that we have a way to help, we believe and have faith that prayers will be answered, and we have the gift of asking others to intercede and lift their voices in prayer joining our own.

Lord God, how perfectly, how intimately, you must understand and experience our joys, our burdens, and our sufferings with us. How connected you are to all we go through. If this is true, it's unimaginable what you must have experienced on the cross with the weight and pain of all sin, all the suffering in the world. It makes our trials easier to bear because, at mass, you unite your very self within us. You become part of us and, likewise, we become part of you. We do not walk this road alone, because you share and understand, better than anyone else, what we are going through.

Lord, help us to develop a greater connection with you, give us the grace to be moved in our inward parts by love, compassion, mercy and all the gifts and blessings that flow from you. Let us act swiftly and come to the aid of those in need. Perhaps, our own crosses, our own struggles and trials, are preparing us to have that tender heart of mercy toward someone in a similar situation that they can find hope and peace in the midst of the storm. We ask this and all things in the name of the Father who created us, the Son who died for us, and the Holy Spirit who lives within us. Amen

My Goddess divine,
I have stumbled yet again.
My Goddess wise,
Fallen for a mortal gave I.
My Goddess blind,
Is it just for I to love?
She is a beauty,
Yet, she sees not the beauty in she.
My Goddess strong,
Grant me the same strength,
So I may protect her as you have protected me.
My Goddess, my angel,
Look upon me with favor.
For I will need these blessed days,
To learn from you,
And so I may love her.

I don't want to be down, but my heart is too heavy for my eyes to look up

I don't want to be found, not by others but, I'm hoping I can find myself
and
I don't want to be loud, because the ones that are, they don't often look like us

I don't want to be me, as a child being seen not heard, as a black not seen at all
and
As a man that bleeds, with scars that cry, and scabs that call for help that's not coming

I want to be proud, but of me I can't, I don't know what to be proud of
and
I want to be free, and I have the key to these chains, but these burdens start to feel like hugs

I hope you're praying for me, I hope you're praying for me, lately it doesn't feel like enough

I hope you're praying for me, I hold my hands in the dark, my feeble heart is searching for (what?), can you keep praying for me ?

I pray you're telling the truth, lately it doesn't feel like enough,

I hope you're praying for me

I hold my hands in the dark, my feeble heart is searching for love

Nobody's praying.

I am lucky.
I am luck.
I am loved.
I am love.

I am joy.
I am joyful.

I am laughter.
I love to laugh.

I am grateful.
I am Alive.
I am Dead.

I am blessed.
I am a blessing.

I am Enough.
I do Enough.
I give Enough.
I have Enough.

I love to dance,
I dance to live,
I live to love,
I love to bless,
I bless to laugh,
I laugh to love.

I am lucky for this Universe that I have been blessed with.

My ill-filled mind adrift on winds ethereal,
Hopeless, I muse on my own burial.
I dug six feet in foreign lands immemorial,
As ruminations run wild, rabid, and feral.

Imprisoned self, reborn as antisocial,
Past cohorts are now strangers, fantasmal.
Depressing illusions intensify suicidal,
Knocking on doors of the heavenly celestial.
Yet kneeling at the pulpit feels nothing special.

Words misunderstood, deemed uncolloquial,
Unbothered to learn, It's deemed impractical.
Learning the language they use in their imperial,
To make my plea resound consequential.

𝒩𝑜𝓌 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓂𝓎 𝓅𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒸𝒾𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑔𝑜𝒹𝓈 𝒷𝒶𝓃𝒶𝓁!

"𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒌! 𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒈𝒐𝒅𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒄𝒉 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒆,
𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍 𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆.
𝑻𝒉𝒚 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒌 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒍, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆.
𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒍𝒆' 𝒈𝒐𝒅𝒔, 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒆.

𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒓, 𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒂 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒍?
𝑨 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓, 𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏, 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒚 𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒍.
𝑫𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒏𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒍 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓?
𝑶𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓?"

For endless ages, I wait in vain,
Enduring this stone-hearted disdain.
Forsaken and lost, your silence profane—
An eternal ache, my solitary refrain.

That this morning we wake up.
And you give us a small ray.
That we keep in our pockets -
throughout this year, this week, this day.
And that when we expect it least,
The ray slips out
Onto those who need it most.

Taking each breath
You now see
What the eyes will never show,
There - a smile,
Here - a year;
clearing out a space,
for yourself-
Lighting the bonfire, heating the hearth-
Light it and
Wait,
Breathe-
And pass the warmth, the glow
to the withered eye, bones and souls,
seeking refuge
under the mighty toll of
The Great Turn.
Hey-**!

pink blossoms – in the forest of thoughts; I seem
so lost. as a storyteller, I must have consumed a library,
every day is a memory of all that you’ve learned, and
the scriptures on your skin of the Word

where true prophecy reigns – the taste of one’s future
rains, watering faith’s garden. you beautiful tragedy,
making blissful mistakes – life hurts and stresses you
out with heavy thoughts of tomorrow, that you seem
too scared to even let down your hair; it's an anchor

yet in these pink blossoms, any piece of hope blossoms
like a blush on your face – when the slightest beauty
smiles back at your worried face… weary child,
go and pray.