Joseph's Dream

“This place is holy,

     it is good to be here.”

            Set apart,

                 consecrated,

     an aura rests upon it,

            a rarified sense of ‘other.’

 

A tugging at the heart,

            a yearning,

     what stirs so deeply

            evading understanding?

 

Listening in the sanctuary,

     violins, organ, voices,

            filling the rainbow space.

     Then silence,

            yet the music lingers,

                 In a silent vigil,

            unheard by ears.

 

Prayers and words,

     remain here after speaking,

            inscribed forever,

                 in the silence.

 

They who gather here,

     when gone, leave prints unseen,

processing in a perpetual adoration.

 

There is an echo,

            of all things once present,

     imperceptible now by sense,

            waves and currents,

     from a dimension,

            outside of time and place

     becoming the invisibilities

            of the Creed.              

 

Two worlds simultaneously one,

            the visible and the invisible,

     each dissolving into the other,

            a holy ‘every when.’

 

The nocturnal realm,

            domain of sleep,

     a dark landscape

            teeming with expectancy.

 

In the quiet and aloneness,

     the third and fourth watches

            of the night call out.

 

Listen and look,

     paused at the threshold,

            to hear harmonies,

                 to receive secrets,

     the invisibilities labor

            to reveal themselves.

 

Angel sentries wait

     To draw back the veil,

like the Josephs of Holy Writ,

     The Old,    The New,

            just and good men,

                 dreamers,

who entered beyond the veil

     to touch intangibles,

let us embrace

     the “somnia a deo missa,”

     the “dream sent from God,”

the contemplation of the soul.

 

Within the womb of dreams,

             are many seeds of light,

                 waiting to be called

     into the now when needed,

            to nurture and to nourish

                 the children

                        of the waking world.

 

            – Gene Boehman
               3/19/15   Feast of St. Joseph      
                   dedicated to St. Joseph Passionist Monastery