Steel and glass afire 10 stories high. Every tower an inferno.
Cars dancing in and out of shadows, tossing beams of blinding light your way for split seconds at a time.
Slivers of sky sneaking glances of the ruby and amethyst cloud necklaces that hang between buildings.
You see it without seeing it. You see its effects: its breathtaking hues and scenes that prick you in a million places to just stop a moment and be.
Yesterday, I sat in the chapel in the early evening. It's a small chapel on the top floor of a building atop a hill overlooking the Wyoming Valley of NorthEastern Pennsylvania. Two of the walls are mostly window, including the one facing west. I stand at the window, alone in this holy place. In the distance are the modest peaks of mountains, many of them hollow from a century of coal mining. As the sun sank down behind them, they are suddenly bathed in fire. I think about how one of them burns inside and out, and chuckle to myself at this loose image for a homily some day.
With a smile I sat down in my seat for a little contemplation before vespers. I hadn't turned the lights on, but the room was aglow nonetheless. A soft penetrating light, and you could almost sense in it the fatigue of another day almost gone. Long grotesque shadows stretched across the walls, but in the brilliant burnt orange glow of the room their edges were gentle and their bodies not very dark. The shadow on the wall from the crucifix was unrecognizable and faint, like an oil stain in a tablecloth from years ago.
I let Him in, and rested there in those Arms. I felt the warmth deep within and realized that in the evening glow I and the burning mountain are one and the same. And I knew that like that mountain, the sun will fade and the gentle snow will cover me with its heavy and encompassing poverty of purity, weighing down the branches of the trees that cover me. But like that mountain, I will still burn inside as I once did without.
This is a special time, it occurred to me. Then thoughts danced in and out of my head until the chapel was filled; thoughts of the nature of mercy, the difficulty of discipline, and how virginity is the flower of the Church. Then I stood and invoked God's assistance, and found whispered words of gratitude escape my lips, thanking Him for helping me start to learn how to be.
Why are sunsets the best time of day? There is no end to their beauty. There is no end to their application to life's most tender moments.
I wonder if the other Times of Day complain about the Sunset's monopoly on beauty and imagery. I know I would, selfish brat that I am.
Silly sunrise, learn to be. Silly midday, learn to be. Silly midnight, learn to be.
Silly novice...
Slivers of sky sneaking glances of the ruby and amethyst cloud necklaces that hang between buildings.
You see it without seeing it. You see its effects: its breathtaking hues and scenes that prick you in a million places to just stop a moment and be.
Yesterday, I sat in the chapel in the early evening. It's a small chapel on the top floor of a building atop a hill overlooking the Wyoming Valley of NorthEastern Pennsylvania. Two of the walls are mostly window, including the one facing west. I stand at the window, alone in this holy place. In the distance are the modest peaks of mountains, many of them hollow from a century of coal mining. As the sun sank down behind them, they are suddenly bathed in fire. I think about how one of them burns inside and out, and chuckle to myself at this loose image for a homily some day.
With a smile I sat down in my seat for a little contemplation before vespers. I hadn't turned the lights on, but the room was aglow nonetheless. A soft penetrating light, and you could almost sense in it the fatigue of another day almost gone. Long grotesque shadows stretched across the walls, but in the brilliant burnt orange glow of the room their edges were gentle and their bodies not very dark. The shadow on the wall from the crucifix was unrecognizable and faint, like an oil stain in a tablecloth from years ago.
I let Him in, and rested there in those Arms. I felt the warmth deep within and realized that in the evening glow I and the burning mountain are one and the same. And I knew that like that mountain, the sun will fade and the gentle snow will cover me with its heavy and encompassing poverty of purity, weighing down the branches of the trees that cover me. But like that mountain, I will still burn inside as I once did without.
This is a special time, it occurred to me. Then thoughts danced in and out of my head until the chapel was filled; thoughts of the nature of mercy, the difficulty of discipline, and how virginity is the flower of the Church. Then I stood and invoked God's assistance, and found whispered words of gratitude escape my lips, thanking Him for helping me start to learn how to be.
Why are sunsets the best time of day? There is no end to their beauty. There is no end to their application to life's most tender moments.
I wonder if the other Times of Day complain about the Sunset's monopoly on beauty and imagery. I know I would, selfish brat that I am.
Silly sunrise, learn to be. Silly midday, learn to be. Silly midnight, learn to be.
Silly novice...
Josh. I don't have words for how beautiful this is. Thank you for continuing to write.
ReplyDeleteI will also note the fact that my Thursday evening is wide open...
ReplyDeleteLovely. You might or might not be receiving a call tonight then (after 9ish)
ReplyDelete