(Interior Castle, book VI: chapter 2-3)
"My beloved put his hand to the latch,
and my heart was thrilled within me. I arose
to open to my beloved, and my hands dripped
with myrrh, my fingers with liquid myrrh,
upon the handles of the bolt. I opened to
my beloved, but my beloved had turned and
gone. My soul failed me when he spoke. I
sought him, but found him not; I called him,
but he gave no answer. The watchmen found
me, as they went about in the city; they
beat me, they wounded me, they took away
my mantle, those watchmen of the walls. I
adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if
you find my beloved, that you tell him I
am sick with love." (1)
At dawn's first light, her wings are healed;
She lifts off, reaching greater heights.
The presence of the Wind's revealed --
Her wings tear in the Updraft's might.
The wing-tip wounds have cut quite deep;
Yet Maiden's flight is undeterred.
She asks for neither balm nor sleep;
A deeper love of Wind has stirred.
The Wind whispers His Word up here;
The Maiden listens with great care.
Though Wind and wing have drawn so near;
The meadow's sounds still fill the air.
The presence of the Wind is known;
He spoke with her as they have flown.
May the Lord lift us nearer to Himself,
speak tenderly to us through the wounds
(1) Song of Songs 5:4-8
(c) Paul Buis, 2002