Her eyes were kindled from the lamps of Heaven. Her voice reached through me, tender, sweet and low: An angel's voice, a music of its own. And in the center, great wings spread apart, more than a thousand festive angels shone, each one distinct in radiance, and in art.
To lie fallow is a gift. We don't really know how to do it. Rather we are done by it or undone by it. The moments we are allowed to be in that condition are times of gratitude. It is from these that our freedom comes. It is where authentic being exists. Any fruitfulness arises from that surrendered openness. It is there that God makes each of us a fertile ground, a bearing soil.
