Saturday, December 1, 2012
So, there I was, my head deeply bowed to the earth, shoulders heavily draped from my spine and onto profoundly folded knees, my hands resting alongside my feet, and I was silently weeping.
Will I? Will I be able to hear you, Lord? In the winds of Meseta, in the refuge of a deserted hermitage, in the chant of a wind driven stand of Eucalyptus trees, in the sound of church bells from a distant village, and perhaps in the sound of my own breathing and foot steps, will I have inner ears to hear Your Voice, O Lord?