Christian contemplation
becomes a kind of
sleep of death
when we descend
the abyss of our
miseries in search
of the Lord of Life.
We do not do this
to beat ourselves
up or torment
ourselves or
accuse ourselves.
We do this to
find the Suffering
Servant who has
gone before us
into these places
and transformed
them into springs of life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem