“I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.”

~Mother Teresa

l♥ver  Wrote:

“I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.”

~Mother Teresa

I love you too mother theresa... Where you been?

Quote:The line weakens. At each new push they creep closer. Muscles strain to failure. Sinews singing snap. I must return back, back to the camp. That one, he sneers. I cannot return his glance. I have broken, but no, not that way. Guide your anger against our foe. My countrymen, I return.

I can feel it, this panic. People feed on it for lack. Where is the priest? There. He does not see.

“Consecrate me!” Do not pull away.

“No. I cannot. Don’t ask that of me.”

“Consecrate me! For the men, our people, the City!” I have never before raised my voice to him, yet he must now listen to my exhortation.

Don’t look around. I am on my knees; look at me! At last he sees. The purple will come, he has called. This strong hand upon my head, tussles my hair as in former years. Your mouth moves father. I hear only the tears in your eyes. When did they appear? They have been strangers between us all these long years. At last the cloak is made fast. I go.

Don’t look back. Carry me well my dear steed. What a glow is there swollen and grown in the distant camp. A voice speaks. “My son, my son, come to me.”

Strange shadows light and cast. Ride. I feel weightless, ethereal. Never before have you obeyed so well. The main line of battle, the power flows in tidal directions. We fly, those faces below, indistinct, mere lumpen clay of hollows.

“Look my son, drink deeply from the cup of my destruction.”

Surrounded is the City. The long siege has worked its will. An army barbarous, unholy, foreign sets its sharpness against Her; peels Her skin. As if on its own moves my arm, swings my sword. From a shoulder, as cutting air, an arm is severed. Drive deep. They move through streets narrow, wide before them flee the citizens now ripe for rapine, murder, death. The enemy host is in alarm. I strike at my will. No, I strike.

Fire in rapture moves from quarter to quarter. Screaming torches carry the contagion, before collapsing. A storm, ancient glories etched within Her collapse. Mother! Iridescent. They gather around me. Move closer then back. At these waves of rude armoured flesh I hack. The very sky darkens. A shroud. He is gone. I salute you valiant one of my own heart. Once more he rears his head, hair shaking, smoky rivers of blood pour through nostrils flared. I must drive deeper.

“My lover come. My darling sweet one. I reach out to you.”

That figure. Is she that light? She who calls me now, whispering?

“Peer within me my love. See all. Know that I am.”

That man hesitates. Behind. His leg comes off easily at the knee. Why so much incense before your household god grieving one? Fear you this day your man dies? Who are these ones who dine and full go out to lie and in public deal in bribes? Aye, the famous men of our age. Move to the side! Thrust there between.

That look. New mother caress this babe so new, so fragile, so strong. She is wan and pale, but in joyed. Share my strength. An arrow as found its mark and juts, stopped by bone. I feel it as something happening, but for all that am I here? Poor girl, lost alone, I see another homeless, if only you could find one another. They surround me as shadows. Larger they grow. Splits my flesh. I drag down another. They fall upon me. What darkness they bring. How bright that light.

Where? The field. Who is this that comes skipping?
“What are you doing here little girl?”

“Don’t be silly.”

She reaches out for my hand. Would you have your tender fingers stained with blood? But they are now clean. She leads, and how excited to show me all the things I have forgotten to see. Is this her town? So small and primitive. Dare I go further on?

“Father can you carry me the rest of the way home? I’m tired.”

They could not find his body that day, but the following morning, it was discovered under a mound of enemy dead. The priest presided as the body was washed, anointed, dressed and placed upon the litter. Then the victorious army set out for the city gates, a father shedding tears as others sang songs in praise of the consecrated one.

“I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.”

~Mother Teresa

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