I walk along the city streets, so dark with rage and fear and I wish that I could be that bird and fly away from here. I feel so low, where do I go? what do I know?
This little bird now has fallen out of the nest. I've got a feeling that I might have been blessed, So I've just got to put these wings to test. For I am just a troubled soul, who's weighted - waited to the ground. Give me the strength to carry on! till I can lay my burden down.
This sudden perennial (lasting for an indefinitely long time) interest and surprise, this fleeting - passing swiftly transitory (attention), without zero false pretense (pretending, artificial (not real) and a moment suddenly erased. While the excitement grew over time, the soul forgot the child for a new face (new things & people/materialistic comfort) - with uncertain outlines. I do despite (hate/insult/ in spite of; notwithstanding) my heart, make a little lack of fervor (great warmth and intensity of emotion)- must slow down the fire (anguish) - Just the illusion of one be, transparent without transcendent (exceeding usual limits, surpassing ,extending or lying beyond the limits of ordinary experience) attire (fine elegant clothes).
I force myself in vain to meditate on the mysteries of the rosary; I don't succeed in fixing my mind on them. For a long time I was desolate (deserted, joyless, uninhabited, sorrowful) about this lack of devotion which astonished me. Sometimes when my mind is in such aridity (being without moisture; extremely dry; parched: arid land; an arid climate) it is impossible to draw forth one single thought to unite myself with God.
I am going to recount certain little struggles which will certainly make you smile. (It's just between you and me though)
I am far from being a saint and what I have just said is proof of this; instead of rejoicing, for example - at my aridity, I should attribute it to my little fervor and lack of fidelity (the quality or state of being faithful/accuracy in details: exactness); I should be desolate for having slept for years. I am not desolate. I remember that little children are as pleasing to their parents when they are asleep as well as when they are wide awake; I remember, too, that when they perform operations, doctors put their patients to sleep.
Your little bird is happy to be weak and little. What would become of it 'if it were big? Yes, this is still one of the weaknesses of the bird so little: when it wants to fix its gaze upon the divine sun, the clouds prevent it from seeing a single ray, standing as an obstacle in its way, It's little eyes close & its little head hides beneath its wings, and the poor little thing falls asleep, believing all the time, dreaming fixing its gaze upon its dear star. When it awakens, it doesn’t feel desolate; its little heart is at peace with no more pain and it begins once again - starting its work on the thing called love. It calls upon the angels and saints who rise like eagles before the consuming fire - this is the object of the little bird’s desire. the eagles take pity on it - protecting and defending while the vultures (demons) try to devour it. But the little bird doesn’t fear anymore, for it is not destined to be their prey so easy, but it shall surrender only - becoming a prey to the eagle whom it contemplates in the center of the sun of love.
"I look up to the little bird, that glides across the sky, It sings the clearest melody, It makes me want to cry". - Anonymous
No comments:
Post a Comment