Oh Mary, sweet girl, strong woman, survivor, mother. How your life must have spun, how your soul must have shook, how your heart must have flown! To feel the light break through, startling in its focus. To feel the love crash in, blinding in its perfection. To hear the voice, dawn singing, clear and soft, definite yet light, soothing in its authority, caressing in its power. “Fear not!” and you did not fear! Though you did not understand, you did not run from the one who spoke, you did not shy from his sight.
Oh Mary, sweet girl, strong woman, survivor, mother. How his eyes must have shone as they looked on you. How his face must have beckoned you, embraced you and loved you. How his words must have spiralled and danced, weaving purpose and promise, colours and harmonies into a life so new. How did you feel it, did it warm your skin like the morning sun then gradually push deeper until it soaked your heart? Or did it well like a spring of frothing purity from your centre until it flowed through your veins?
Oh Mary, sweet girl, strong woman, survivor, mother. In that flicker you became the life giver, the author of light, the birther of love, the carrier of blessing. You became mother of mothers, archetype and inspiration, hope and comfort. Even then you were ordinary, even then you were normal, even then you were humble. But what is ordinary if it is not beautiful, what is normal if it is not rich, what is humble if it is not full of grace?
Oh Mary, sweet girl, strong woman, survivor, mother. How little you knew, yet how much you were willing to take on. How did you find the words, where did your language rise from? “How?” you asked, not “Why?” “Yes!” you answered, not “But…” Would I respond the same? Would my words be words of willingness or would I hesitate? Could I begin to walk the road you took that day? Could I sing your song? Could I look into Gabriel’s glow and choose to take the words as my words?
Oh Mary, sweet girl, strong woman, survivor, mother. When you saw, when you knew, when you chose, the Word began to beat.
PICTURA POESIS 