Ninth Meditation

(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)


Wing-Tip Wounds

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, and speak tenderly to us through the wounds of His love.

(1) Song of Songs 5:4-8


(c) Paul Buis, 2002