MY FRIEND

I

I still feel You exhorting me: "Search!"

and happily manifest our great God's Beauty,

the sweet and absolute Beauty of God  

the wonderfully good Creator of Poetry.

"Search always for beauty, in arts and stars

you'll find His Divine image;

watch the dawn: its saying: 'He has risen

for every man, and He rises forever';

watch the sunset.  It leads you to the immense

shining firmament: an overflow of harmony.

More sweet to me was tasting this beauty,

the sense of life was more, more clear!

"A oneness that is not, oh! never, shared:

Heaven and earth are forever eternal spouses,

a union of the spirit and the flesh

that's the same Heart of God's eternity".

II

I met you by God's Grace and recognized,

in a short time, myself as a Christian;

and finally I knew sweet, true friendship.

My heart now remembers a lot

of things... once - I remember - smiling

as you told me:

"Friendships are very difficult for monks...

Sometimes I suffer, because I think that

my laborious life as a hermit

can give pain to your friend's heart;

and sometimes I cannot smile, when

smiling hampers the trappist's choice to glorify

Our Lord".  But I did not suffer grief

from You, my dear saintly friend in Heaven,

I remember Your peace and Your gentle smile

always; and still more when You were ready to

leave - Your last journey - towards Paradise.

III

Sometimes, the greatest friendships love the hush:

since one year You felt Yourself ascending

to the apex, soon to take Flight, and that

idea was warming Your heart; instead,

I confined that sad idea into

the bottom of my mind; when You were close

to entering the Glory of Beauty,

although You were exhausted, You rose

to greet us, Your very grieved friends:

it was thy last charity towards thy neighbor.

How much powerful Your prayer is now,

in Heaven

in Communion with Jesus Christ, The Son!

And Your Friendship floods the whole world.

If suffering exists here, You give thousands

and thousands of Heavenly signs restoring bodies

to health and raising spirits to the Infinite,

how many know that You have Peace in God?

"Resting in Peace and Love is our purpose".

IV

A stone built chapel rests at "Prietto"

where long ago the sheep-fold was one:

grass between stones, aged walls now ruined,

You, prayer after prayer, invigorated  

by God, by Your hands make it sacred

At the center, the Altar: a rocky slab

lain over a polished heap of stones

between two columns erected with pebbles

to support the rocky vault of the chapel:

some wooden benches for dear friends

and, within one wall, The Blessed Sacrament;

near that wall, a wooden sculpture of

the Christ Child, very simple, touches believers.

Surely the Cave of the Nativity was similar.

Entering into the hermitage, the world

changes: its something that lights the spirit

and cannot be expressed with words.

Outside, an ancient village lives, like many

others of our mountains: in the winter

it lies between bare yellowed icy pastures;

but going into the hermitage - just a few steps -

the roses are in flower in November, still,

blanketed, at times, from the first winter snow,

and in December, already the cowslips

sprout.  Signs?! "So its for believers only,

but it is silent to people who believe

nothing.  It is well therefore!  To every-

one, God gives "each his own measure";

Guido, write down: he who looks for Truth and

is not a believer, raises up the Cross".

V 

Sometimes a tree stump, or bark, or

contours of flowers in a meadow were enough

to give You ideas of new works of art:

"Is this not the image of the Divine Face

of Christ?  Observe, does this not seem to you

Mary, Our Lady, wrapped in her mantle?".

Still I feel You while You exhort me: "Search

the Beauty: it's noble joy, it is Communion

with the Verity of finding again beauty's

shape, even if only in human form".

Here before me - Your recent gifts -

a wooden Madonna and an iron Jesus:

our Christ upon an imaginary cross

because "the Cross is our world"; they are

Your last gifts: You presented them to me

just before Your final, sublime Journey.

VI

Óra et labòra. (*) Now, Your hermitage

is wholly silent.  You told me: Here I am, alone,

without companions; I have no disciple;

but what is important, my friend?  The grain of wheat,

perhaps, does not have to go into the earth?!

__________________________________

(*) Benedictine’s maxim in Latin : Pray and work!