The words of the Son are in normal text, those of the Mother in italics, and those of the Father are in bold type.
Dear Mother, chosen from eternity,
chosen in the love that unites me
to my Father, in the one breath
of our Spirit of love and intimacy.
A child needs a mother
in this world we have created—
even though, in God,
it is enough that I have
a Father alone.
you, Mother, image him,
in the transparency of your love,
virginal and pure.
the sweetness of motherhood,
a blossom and a fruit;
yet mother is different than Father,
for Father, you see, he gives all
and from his gift I spring.
But for you, all is received,
So you are a mother as a child,
and a mother, a child you remain:
for it is proper to a child to receive,
as it is for one who generates,
who carries, nourishes life in her womb.
How sweet it is to receive,
dear Son, this gift in my spirit,
my heart, my body.
Son from the Father,
begotten in the daughter,
who becomes, in grace,
Acceptance in trust,
the complete surrender of self
to the power of creative Love.
My dearest child, daughter most dear,
I see reflected in you the radiance of love,
the love flowing from me into my Son,
and from my Son back again—
the love who is our Spirit,
who overshadows you now.
Yes, daughter becomes mother,
and mother a child is,
and a child bears.
Two little ones,
beloved of my Heart,
for it is in such that I rejoice.
Who am I, lowly handmaid of the Lord,
that such is done in me?
You are a little one, don’t you see?
There is in you the blessedness of poverty,
the pure love of a virgin, given to God,
the pure, obedient acceptance
which sees in all things the pure gift of love,
the embrace, enfolding every moment,
of Love, who is the Father, Spirit, and I.
Yes, you see it in the rising of the sun
breaking through the early morning clouds,
dissipating the mists of the night,
and in the heat of midday,
when sinful women go to draw water,
and wayfarers of Love sit and ask for a drink.
You see it in the evening,
when worn by a day’s work,
in nightfall, when the burning orb
returns to his tent, sheathing his fiery sword.
In a breath, a beat of the heart
—the Beloved is here, you say—
I know, for I hear it,
your every hidden thought.
To me they are most sweet,
these words of love in your heart,
known to none but you and I,
and to the Father in whose bosom I rest.
Ah…yet now, Mother,
when you breathe these hidden words,
they not only reach out to heaven, which,
in spirit, is so near,
but they also find rest, in the One
who rests in your womb.
As the early morning sun
rises above the earth
to scatter the darkness of night
and the shadows of slumber,
my Son is led out to trial,
the Light of the world.
At midday, the sun, burning brightly,
for the space of three hours
allows its light to be eclipsed,
in homage to the pure Light
who bears darkness in loving compassion
with all those who sit in darkness
and in the shadow of death—
breaking through as the ever shining
Son of God,
Child, full of love and trust.
And there, my daughter, do you stand,
seeing, as you always do,
the gift of pure, all-encompassing Love,
in each and every thing.
Love, which, as a needle and thread,
now plunges into the fabric
of the fallen, broken world,
yet only to return again
to the bosom of God,
into the abyss of my own wounded,
weaving together, as one,
in intimate love,
what once was so estranged.
Mother, the sword pierces your soul too.
A sword—a lance—
yet Love alone,
For Love has led me here,
Love which receives our Father’s Love,
even in the darkest place.
Yet in love I embrace them both,
so that in the sinews of my own Heart
both may again be one,
a Father and his beloved children.
Daughter of my Father,
and my beloved Mother,
here beside me now,
I want you, also,
my precious Spouse to be.
As once, through childlike acceptance
and the intimacy of pure love, you conceived,
so now again receive what flows from God,
in me, in the radiance of my gift,
the Blood and water flowing, in love,
from my wounded Heart.
and offer, my only-beloved Son,
taking what you give,
and giving all of me in return,
to offer you, in this Passion,
a compassion joined to your own.
And I feel it, deep within: this union
reaches out to all the world.
Espoused to you in love, compassion,
a bride I have become,
living in this flesh, this spirit,
the union for which—each one—
every person has been created.
And a spouse, I become again a mother,
of this man who stands beside me,
your intimate friend, given to me,
entrusted into my care,
as you, soon departing,
entrust me wholly to him.
Yet not of one man alone
but a mother of every man and woman,
born here from your opened side.
For it takes also a woman
to give birth to new children,
a woman of pure acceptance,
Virgin, Bride, Mother—
the one who, without spot or wrinkle,
washes in the waters of rebirth
and feeds with the Bread of Angels.
Now I am there; there I shall always be,
joined with you wherever you are at work,
my Son, my Spouse, my Lord,
sharing with you, as one,
the Spirit of salvation.
Once he descended upon me,
in the beginning of this story,
the Breath of Love and Life,
and in me I conceived.
Now you breathe him forth
with a final cry:
“Into your hands, Father,
I commend my spirit!”
Silence of the night,
what do you speak?
do you conceal the one I love?
I look for him, I yearn—
with the wound deep in my heart.
He is gone.
Others may search madly
through the streets and the squares,
going also to see
if they can roll away the stone.
No, but I understand already:
Life cannot die.
Love that gives itself,
as you, my Son, have done,
cannot be forever lost.
The cords of love binding us together,
you and I,
may indeed seem stretched beyond reason,
even—broken, beyond repair.
But my inmost heart knows,
as it beats its sorrowful tune,
in the emptiness of this night of waiting,
in this early morning,
before the rising of the sun.
It knows that blood flows through my veins,
not from some place in my heart alone,
but from yours, surging within mine.
Gone—but present—in flesh broken,
but mingled already in the Gift,
divinity and humanity:
Cross and Passion:
Love in that very crucified flesh
cannot allow such flesh to remain
to see corruption in a place of death.
In me you rise already,
and I await the Savior whom my eyes shall see.
I draw in breath, as I wait, and hope—
for where are the springs of being
from which we draw the breath of life,
but in the Heart of God?
Silent and still—
a flutter, a noise!—
Light in the darkness.
I am awake, never shall I sleep.
He is here, the One whom I await.
Ecstasy of joy, the knot of love:
simply pull, and its stretches tight,
drawing us together.
I am here, in flesh, in blood,
and here I shall always be,
Be here, also, with all those who shall come.
Be for them my presence,
the radiance of my light.
Be, in their midst, also,
what each yearns to be,
yet affirming, guiding,
so each may be what, uniquely,
I desire for that one alone.
Among them I shall be,
as I know, here, you shall depart,
and there, you shall here remain.
But if they don’t see you,
in case their trust grows dim,
my faith I will provide.
Be with us, Son,
when you are gone,
deeper than before.
And let me be there, too,
with you, in the Father’s bosom.
You shall be, my Love,
in his embrace until the end,
not of your short earthly span alone,
but until the end of time,
and for the endlessness of eternal day.
Rise! My dear one, come:
for the winter of life is past,
the night is over and gone.
See! The fig tree puts forth its fig,
the vines, which have budded,
are now in blossom.
You sleep at last,
you whose heart was ever awake.
And, sleeping at last,
you awake completely for the first time,
not to love, to surrender, to acceptance,
which you always knew,
but to the intimacy and knowledge
that a heart can know only after the veil is torn.
Rest, abide, in the being that you always were,
in the embrace that enfolded you
from the first moment
of that sacred, immaculate conception.
And, resting in the repose of love
against my breast,
feeling the beating of my Heart,
I draw you also,
my Mother, my Spouse, my Love,
into the bosom of our Father.
Here, one for all eternity,
knowing him as I alone can know him
—and now, yes, also you—
we shall rejoice,
until, at last, with you,
they shall all taste also, to the full,
this same bliss of love,
caught up in the midst of this single embrace
shared by us eternally.