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