The origin of faith is a burning desire set a blaze by the source of which at first you don’t know. Droplets of truth start to satisfy the endless burning, a delicate balance held by the fire that would be doused by too much water and the fire that could easily consume and burn out. I want to see with the inner vision of the mystics, what was (is) their communion like?
Faith is not the right word to describe the union of desire and the object of that which is desired or truth of that object. It is much more personal I am finding. It is being faithful as to a spouse, a lover, family or friend. To be able to be relied upon the same as to rely on, to stay the course, to be faithful and dependable to each other. It is a subtle semantic distinction, but being unfaithful is so much more dire than having no or little faith. The realization makes me weep.
My hand is in His Sacred Heart
His blood runs down my elbow
and yet, I recognize Him not.
As my hand tightens around His heart,
my unfaithfulness clenched in a fist,
He gives more.
The kiss of the Cross renews the face of the earth.