When fire calls the heart

When fire calls the heart….in flames! watching, this wild dance between fire and air. the opening of a long held boundary, the secrete of pain and abandonment. How sacred!, for tears stream as the steeple falls and the roof comes down.

My soul hopes the full rescue of its rose window. The most beautiful and fragile glass was never hidden from site, not boundaried and stored away. Its single breast shone big and broad. the sun beat and this rose breast shines back. the city night lights swirl and this breast reflects rose moon, like moon, a true mirror. This rose window invites all who walk past into the divine. and you do not have to be a catholic or a christian, this divine knowing belongs to us all.

For some, the memory of ancestors burnt by the fires. Those souls rejoice. A form of redemption and justice is released. the theology of man, the religion of man that kills his own, that creates sin, that creates martyrs is being told from many voices, “Karma is a bitch”

For others, those flames still taunting, the burning of those ancestors ignites fear. Who is next? Am I next? This is dangerous and how can I be safe?

And for other still living – a childhood stolen, mothers/their children stolen, and for many – far too many, adulthood spent running through corridors, never knowing if church is a fun-house (the scary kind) or a safe-house (for solitude).

And deep below the Rose Window, even further below the cathedral. Is an ancient spring. And she is there. at-the-ready, a gentle laughing warrior who protects. Nothing will be lost. Only nostalgia. Only memories. The sanctuary is everlasting.


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