Alive

Was it Anthony 

of 

Alexandria 

or 

Paul 

that saw 

a vision of Mary stepping onto the soil 

of what is called 

the peninsula to the Mother of God?

It may have been neither. 

It doesn’t really matter. 

It is a garden unlike none that is in Her honor. 

There, I have walked along the slopes 

in sandals where even a mountain goat 

would have had to be careful. 

She is in the garden. 

The Son is, too.

He is in me.

I see Him in you. 

The Protaton holds a view of the Two

arm 

in 

arm. 

Theotokos and God.

I kissed them and the frame that holds 

the glowing 

images 

of grace, 

favor and 

mercy 

witnessing Divine Liturgies 

day and night by candlelight. 

But today, Easter Monday, They were carried through the streets of Karyes by the monks in the sun for all to see. 

When I look at them, 

I glow. 

He grew to become 

a man and hung 

on a cross. 

His blood run 

from the wounds.

The thief, 
 
at his side, 

was welcomed to Heaven. 

The crowd cheered.

Did they realize 

that 

that breath 

became theirs?

Forgiven. 

He is Risen.