Wearied of war the poet sees “with my own eyes the Sibyl at Cumae hanging in a cage, and when the boys said to her: “Sibyl, what do you want?” she answered: “I want to die.”… “What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Oh Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water… “My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me… I can connect Nothing with nothing… After the agony in stony places The shouting and the crying Prison and palace and reverberation Of thunder of spring over distant mountains. He who was living is now dead We who were living are now dying. With a little patience Here is no water but only rock… what have we given? My friend, blood shaking my heart The awful daring of a moment’s surrender… By this, and this only, we have existed Which is not to be found in our obituaries Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor In our empty rooms I have heard the key Turn in the door once and turn once only. We think of the key, each in his prison Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison (of a broken warrior)… I sat upon the shore Fishing, with the arid plain behind me Shall I at least set my lands in order? London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down.” (The Waste Land – T.S. Eliot)
Prayer: Oh Son of Man, in a world set to madness, Impregnate me with life.
Question: How can I remain aware of the world falling down without succumbing to its madness?
December 1, 2024 Gospel Luke 21:25-36 First Sunday of Advent