At the appointed hour, all other time becomes

Not This.

I am in the sanctuary and it is the hour of Adoration.

All is dim shadow and stillness and quiet drapes around me like a monk’s cowl.

A slender beam illuminates the monstrance

And the Sacred Host- I swear it!-

Pulses with shimmers of light.

It is an oculus, an eye, a porthole,

A tiny tear in the fabric of the world

Allowing me to see for this moment beyond the illusion.

For it is the heart that sees; the eyes understand this.

A small white wafer confounding the senses

Showing that underneath reason burns a starker vision-

Of every word You ever spoke,

Of every night You spent cold, alone and in prayer.

Every fear, every joy.

Every drop of blood that poured from You.

Your eyes of love! Your groanings! Your thirst! Your nakedness!

And the oculus- a small sun of forgiveness and hope.


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