I sit down beside you. Your eyes looking away. Your words unintelligable. Do you know that I am there? Is that why you speak?
Now you sleep. And I sit wondering if my presence is really present. I look around your room. There's the Pope And Mother Mary And Jesus hanging on a cross more than once. Therein resides your spirit.
Therein is your spirit For me to touch ... I set aside my Protestant sensitivities and biases ... And let the Spirit enter and here materializes a vision of you:
You stand at the foot of the cross face turned up at the dying Jesus. You in your Roman tunic and stola embrace Jesus' Mother soothing her torment. Beside you both stands Peter, destined to start the Popes.
Two thousand years ago, would that have been you? Is that the image of your spirit? God knows.
©2009 John A. Mills