The Oblivion of Being

This piece originally appeared in The Voice, KU Leuven student magazine. 

Thoughts on climbing an abandoned tower


Do you hear that? That’s the world around you. Right now, as you read this, life is.

There are moments, perhaps you can relate, when looking up at the spring sky and noticing the warmth of the sun gently falling in the chill of the air, that I feel okay. Things are okay. Amidst the confusion and pain, the love lost, the quiet forgetfulness of friendships, despite all of it, I am me, here, now.

Heidegger writes about Dasein, a “being-there”. For him, to be is not some esoteric concept but is the flesh and blood reality of being in this world, this life, right now; Part of a whole.


Interestingly, it is often when we are alone that we encounter these sorts of moments. Our solitude reminds us of our finitude and, in turn, of our Dasein. In some sense, to flourish is to acknowledge our smallness, to look into oblivion and be okay with it, because whether you appreciate it or not, the fact that you are, in the immensity of all things, is, in itself, remarkable.

Recently I explored an abandoned building in the Vaartkom, which is in the north of Leuven. I think it was an old Stella factory. I climbed in through a broken window, over a rusted handrail and into the eerie, dusty silence of a place long forgotten. Cautiously, at first, I clambered my way up creaky staircases, through corridors with leering holes in the floor. I climbed over machinery that had long since lost its purpose and up rickety ladders, under the curious gaze of roosting pigeons who cooed gently as I disturbed their rest. It doesn’t take long for our own constructions to turn against us, for shelters to become inhospitable and alien. Bushes had found cracks to grow in, moss had engulfed walls and ceilings, and slowly, nature had reclaimed its right to be there. It was precisely the abandoned emptiness of this old building that had enabled life to flourish once more.

I emerged from a small hatch in the roof, after forcing myself to climb a wrought iron ladder which, had its fastenings failed, would have sent me plummeting to my death. I had reached the top and, around me Leuven lived. A strange surprise greeted me here: my name, spray painted onto the side of the wall. It was as if I had encountered myself in that broken and wasted place, as if I had been waiting for me. It was a surreal moment. But it was also a moment that gives me hope; for life, for the world. In our daily battles, life is there, we are there but we forget this. We enter into the constructs and concepts that surround us but if we were to abandon them, even if just for a moment, we would find that we are larger than the systems that we follow and the roles we assume. We’ll find we were there all along, waiting for ourselves to brave the climb, to face our own smallness in the immensity of everything that is and be.




To Whom Shall We Go?

To whom indeed?

For what if Peter had turned to face the Lord only to discover He wasn’t even there? Who had he been following all this time? Crestfallen and alone, would he have gone back to his boat and cast out into the deep hoping to pull Baptismsomething up? Anything… His endless net never emerging from the dark waters no matter how much he pulled and struggled and cursed and screamed, it was

Would he stare down into the depths, noting its emptiness, its continuous descent? Recalling, perhaps, a dream of walking on water?

Simon, did you hear? Did you hear a voice saying, “Follow me”? Were you sitting by the shore mending your nets, arguing with Andrew about the weather and tides? Did He pass you by?

Did you love Him?

Who? Did you ever know Him?

How do we proceed from these shores, once the wind has stopped and the view is clear? As we warm ourselves by the fire, which way do we choose when all ways are open; yet somehow all unappealing?

But sometimes…



…in that silhouette on the horizon, a flicker in someone’s eyes, the breaking of bread there is a whisper. Faint. Soft. Like a passing wind high above.

Where were you, Peter? Where was I?

When the foundations were laid? I cannot tell you as I don’t know so much.

For now, all I can do is to sit on the still lake and wait, watching the shore for a familiar face.

Seagulls over Lac Leman

Belief in the Questions

There are questions…  But God is in the questions.

I am about to embark on a new adventure in my life. Today I begin my Bachelor in Theology and Religious Studies here in Leuven, Belgium. This blog will still remain NOT a Theology class!

Interestingly, although I am about to start studying Theology, sometimes I don’t know whether I really do believe in God.
But then I realise that I do believe in the questions.
Perhaps this state of questioning and doubt is the right place to start a Theological exploration from.

The questions are existential ones and they seem to pursue me rather than the other way around. It would be impossible for me to ignore them without numbing myself in some way or another. And their pursuit ultimately means I must turn and face them.
They are ancient questions, they are the questions.

My hope as I start this new phase of life is to wade through the centuries of minds who have also been pursued by this existential angst. I don’t necessarily believe the questions have answers but I do think they will help me grow and learn.

“Let us never forget that this simple desire for God is already the beginning of faith”
Br.Roger of Taizé

To Be Remembered

And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
Ozymandias – Percy Bysshe Shelley

Taizé, France - Sebastian TemlettIt’s saddening and humbling that all things are transitory. All our human endeavours: Architectural masterpieces, great works of art, cultures, beliefs – all of these things pass away.

Being in Europe this year has in some ways emphasised this reality to me. The beauty of medieval castles, an ancient monument or Roman ruins – They inspire a sense of awe at what has been.
But they will be gone one day. As will everything else. We see it in our modern cities now: things needing a lick of paint, cracks in the side walk, once grand office buildings of the 80’s now derelict and run down, rusty hand rails and sign posts; All things decay.

Is this something to lament? It strikes me that nature also decays but it does it in a way that replenishes itself. How is it that human beings, although a part of nature, cannot do this effectively?
In the building of monuments and amazing structures, ancient civilizations were trying to establish their primacy at the time but also, I suppose, they wanted to leave a legacy – to be remembered. And as I find inspiration in those amazing structures and breath taking pieces of art, perhaps that is the replenishment I’m talking about.

Notre Dame, Paris - Sebastian Temlett

This desire to be immortalised, is it good or bad? If we detached ourselves from it, we’d be able to be present to the now and enjoy the time we have. But in some sense, in doing that we would lose much of what drives us to create. To create is, to a certain extent, to put a piece of your soul into the world and leave it there for others to see. The desire is for people to be affected by your work, and for that to happen you want to be good at what you do in order to be recognised. And “recognition” comes from the Latin root recognoscere ‘know again, recall to mind’ – To be remembered. You gain a small sliver of immortality.

We want to be remembered, to feel as though our life was worth something; the implication being that if it was worth something, we’d have had an effect on many people in a positive way. But perhaps “to be remembered” is not what we should strive for but rather to be a force for good. It would be better, in my mind, for no one to ever know who you were but to have made a positive change in the world. In a way that is true heroism, true selflessness.

All of these thoughts spawned from a rusted handrail and cracked staircase baking in the midday sun. That decay was compost for my creativity. So perhaps it is good that all things fade; It means there is always call for something new, for creativity to continue, growing from the sediment of old ideas.

And one thing is certain, although all things fade, our very presence on earth has in some way altered the outcome of the future. Every person you encounter, even for a moment, has been changed in some way, however small that change may be, it is irreversible!
Which is a little scary… and a little awesome.

Helplessy Hoping

Wordlessly watching he waits by the window and wonders
At the empty place inside – Crosby, Stills & Nash

The last few weeks have been quite a special and important time for me.
But if I could underline one main feeling that has threaded its way through this time it would be empty longing.
Faith is a bit like this for me. I’m walking through a desert and every now and then I find a small pool of crystal clear water. Pure and cool, it soothes my parched tongue. But I have to move on and I stagger onward through the shimmering heat.
But always I long for the next pool, the next place of revival. They are always unexpected. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever reach another one and sometimes I doubt if I did in fact actually find one.
Often I feel foolish for entering this desert, frustrated and angry. Sometimes I want to stop, or maybe turn back but somehow I know that I must keep walking and somehow I do.

This longing for that cool water, this desire to be filled, to be content to me speaks of a deep human desire for God. I believe everyone can relate to the feeling of not ever really being completely satisfied. We’ll never have travelled enough, seen enough, done enough, made enough or received enough likes on Facebook.
But why do we have this desire in the first place? How can we desire a perfect contentment if we have never experienced it? How can I crave the water if I have never seen or tasted it? I was created to drink water. I need it to survive. So, I can conclude that I was created for perfect contentment too.

Water in Taizé

If we distract ourselves enough we can fool ourselves into thinking that desire is not there but in the loneliness of a dark night, we know.

Coming back to my empty longing, this can sound quite bleak at first but this empty longing is paradoxically a feeling of closeness to God. In the very fact that I desire God to be with me and within me and the frustration at the feeling that He hasn’t satiated that desire is a closeness and peace.

I spent a week in The Taizé Community in France at the start of December. In the people I met, in the chants we sung, in the quiet presence of the brothers I was drawn into a stillness and calm. There was no lightning bolt moment or emotional outburst but just a contentment with my discontent.
Perhaps this is what joy is. An underlying “okayness” despite exterior circumstances or feelings.

This empty longing has underscored my experience of Advent this year. It wasn’t conscious. Advent is traditionally a time of waiting, waiting for the birth of a saviour, but also for the ultimate fulfilment of our longing for God. But I didn’t try very hard to enter into this waiting, the waiting came to me.
This Advent has placed Christmas in its proper place, the pinnacle of this waiting. The point I can stop and realise that although I am walking through a desert, God is walking next to me.

Happy Christmas!

Sometimes We Break


I am the sum total of every moment that has lead up to now. Memories of night swims with friends in the Newlands Resevoir, the intimate moments of vulnerability, soft kisses and gentle tears, mistakes of pride, mistakes of shame, darkness, joy, finding Christ, losing Christ, losing myself, letting Christ find me… letting Christ love me.

And life whirls on in a blur of autumn leaves, winter nights, and spring-filled pain that summers into new beginnings. Every wound, strike upon my back, my breast, self inflicted, yet mirrored upon Him. Not in judgement but in Love. As I break He holds me together and the storm rages on.

I remember a reflection I once did. It was from a spiritual guide. I was a statue, a construction of time and weather; crafted with care and precision. Imagine, the reflection lead, that you are a statue. What do you look like? And finally, how does Jesus see you?

As I followed the instructions, I pictured a broken, flawed statue; Blackened by time, cracked and chipped and slowly crumbling. Over my arms were chains, locked into the ground.
I imagined Jesus coming to see me, this ruin. What could He possibly see in me, how could He love this? And yet, in my minds eye, quite unexpectedly, He embraced me. With all the chains and cracks and flaws and brokenness, He just loved. I could only cry in response.

As I’ve travelled through Europe the last three weeks, I’ve met beautiful people from all over the world. Sometimes it was a long discussion in a backpackers, and other times it was a brief encounter in broken French and dramatic gestures. But each moment was another chip into the stone face of my life, creating definition, refining me. And yet, in the whirl wind of isolated travelling, what I thought would be a chance to escape myself, my thoughts and fears, has been just the opposite. I left, but it turns out I came with too. And there have been many moments of looking at myself, this broken scultpure, and trying to remember what it felt like when Jesus embraced me in my brokenness. Because sometimes that is hard to believe.

Often thoughts will turn against me and I will think there is no way I am worthy of following Him. He wouldn’t want me. This hypocrite. This blind guide. Yet I remember His followers – The tax collector, the zealot, the denier, the traitor… All broken, all called.

And perhaps that is the key. He calls me, not because I am worthy, but because He loves me.
In every broken moment, He is there. In every quiet forest walk, He walks beside me. In the silence of a dark night, He whispers my name.

“For our courteous Lord does not want his servants to despair because they fall often and grievously; for our falling does not hinder him in loving us… He wants us so to take heed that he is the foundation of our whole life in love, and furthermore that he is our everlasting protector, and mightily defends us against all our enemies, who are very cruel and very fierce towards us, and so our need is great, the more so because by our falling we give them occasion.” – Julian of Norwich

The Art of Living

I am in London.

So you know all those posts on Facebook like this:


Yeah, they suck.

The reason is they tell a half truth and they do it in a kitch, cheesy, sentamentalised way.

I think a lot of people see these sorts of messages as motivational or inspiring because, well, life can be boring sometimes and so this must mean I am wasting my life away. The conclusion, take life by the horns and quit my job! Sail off to a foreign country and backpack through Peru!



The reason I feel strongly about this is because I fall into this way of thinking often.
But I learn over and over that there is nothing on Earth that can make me happy.

Nothing makes me happy.

Yes, nothing. If I stop expecting, stop desiring, stop coveting and just be, then I start to touch freedom.

This is a message preached by many religions including Christianity but it is an extremely difficult attitude to adopt, especially in today’s world.

Just be. If what made us content was just being, imagine that peace? Sitting in the office, in traffic, on a long journey, content with who I am and what I am and everything that is around me.

Now I don’t believe that we can’t enjoy material things, they just mustn’t be the end goal.

A year ago I was in London and this city nearly killed me. A lot of the factors were out of my control, but one of my biggest stresses was that I felt like I wasn’t maximizing my time here. This put a weight on my shoulders. Where was the adventure? I was just me living somewhere else.
There was no epiphany or magical moment. There was growth, yes, but that happens when we are open to change, and change doesn’t always need to be continents apart.

And here I am, a year later, back in London. This time, with a much healthier attitude. I am planning to travel a bit and then return to Cape Town but I am consciously making the effort to drop any expectations I may have and let things be what they are. I cannot “craft” the life I want. Life is not a fine art, it is more of a Pollock painting.

"Plain Number One of 1948"

“Plain Number One of 1948”

The more you think about it, the worse you make things.

Perhaps this is what is meant by “the Art of Living” – to stop trying so hard, and to just be.

For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it. – Jesus of Nazareth, Circa 30AD, 1st Century.

Our Own Calvary

Look at a crucifix. Reflect on whom that corpse embodied.
The Architect of the Universe, compacted into that bleeding mass.
Can I honestly say, and accept in the depths of myself:
“Yes, it’s inescapable. I am worth that.”
-William J. O’Malley, Holiness

I recently watched the film Calvary and I found myself deeply affected by it.

What really stood out to me was the rawness, the brokenness of the characters. How they represented our woundedness, a fallen world. It was real. And then how the protagonist, Fr. James, like Christ, meets his flock where they are. He loves them and accepts them in their brokenness.

We all carry our own crosses. We all trek towards our own calvary, bearing the weight of past failures, grief, imperfections, regrets…

and Anxiety…

As I walk my weary way on this earthly pilgrimage, I often consider the weight of my own cross. I wonder what my life would be like without Anxiety, without Obessisive Compulsive Disorder. The days when I struggle to focus, when I notice my jaw clenched tightly shut and my shoulders tense and I have to remind myself to relax. Days when I feel both happy and sad simultaneously. A deep pain that can’t really be explained but which is overlaid with a gratitude. A gratitude that my hurt, my brokenness is not who I am, and that there is a hope beyond any earthly experience, no matter how horrific.

My burden, as small as it is in relation to the world’s pain, helps me to love and appreciate goodness both in myself and in others. What I notice too is that without Christ’s help, without Him walking by my side, helping me carry my cross, if He were to leave me for just an instant, I would be crushed by the weight.

Redemptive suffering is not easy. It can sound romantic sometimes to “offer it up”. To offer ones hurts and sorrows up to God as a prayer – a way of asking Him to enter into our suffering and bear it with us and for us. Which He does.
And as beautiful as it is, it is not easy. When we suffer, we want to not suffer and when I was in my darkest space a year ago in London, I wanted to die. I didn’t want to “offer it up.”

Yet… God was with me in that darkness and that Calvary I experienced in London has been followed by a resurrection. New life, joy, peace… Am I still burdened by anxiety? Yes but I have come to see that I can do nothing by my own strength. And that takes the pressure off!

When we look around the world today and see a broken, fallen world. When we see “nothing new under the sun,” and we feel hopeless, all we can do is trust in the ressurection. Trust that God will have the final say and He will make all things new.

God loves us. We’ve become so desensitised to that saying but I challenge you now to reconsider it. God, the Creator of life and the One who holds everything in its place, who is holding this moment, right now as you read, in existence. This God loves you.

Have you ever been so frustrated and hurt that all you want to do is smash something or hit someone? Well Christ took our blows. He saw our pain, entered into it and as we poured our rage, pain, turmoil, confusion, hatred into each lash, each hammering and piercing of flesh, as we lifted Him up
and mocked Him from our own insecurities, mocked Him from our own fears and pride, He took it all on and loved us, and forgave us.

And now we are weary. We’ve poured and poured and poured our pain out, we’ve tried filling the emptiness with everything we can think of, and now, exhausted we collapse.

It is here, with our faces in the dust, that Christ comes to us.

If the world seems hopeless to you right now, consider that dark day on Calvary as God hung from that Cross. The day God died. And from that darkness and desolation, when all seemed lost, Christ’s victory was won.

Let nothing disturb you,
Let nothing frighten you,
All things are passing away:
God never changes.
Patience obtains all things
Whoever has God lacks nothing;
God alone suffices.
— St. Teresa of Avila

I Think You Believe in God

I think a lot of people today believe in God.

Embankment Station, London at nightAnd maybe for a lot of people they don’t say “God” but rather, the universe or, great energy… or the force.
But somehow it seems there is a comparatively small number of people who will actually say, “I don’t believe there is a God.”

For many, that’s the end of their spiritual adventure. Because what does it matter?
Around us are archaic religions with outdated ideas who just end up killing each other over trivial things.

Most of these religions are run by old, celibate white men who really need to get with the times.
They repress sexuality, and indoctrinate children. They promote superstition and ultimately, they create a system of belief which is self-perpetuating, in that, you need to be part of “the club” in order to be okay with God. And if you act or think differently, you are doomed.

And God is just a comfort blanket for people who are afraid of the reality that when we die there is nothing.

I think I’ve outlined the main arguments against “God” and “organised religion”.

These arguments are right, and wrong. They are right in so far as, yes, those things and ideas have been perpetuated and practiced by some, but they are also wrong because they assume these ideas are ultimately what religion is about.

Religion is not man-made. Religion is a word. And the word is about Man and his relationship with God. And we start from there.

So maybe you believe in God, or maybe you don’t.
But I am sure you believe in respect, in morality and in old-fashioned good nature and manners.
I like respect. Let’s look at the idea of respect. What does it look like in practice?






Lying and Cheating?


My point, being fairly basic, is that respect is a human virtue. If someone wants the betterment of humanity, she believes in respecting her fellow human beings. Would that be fair to say?

Respecting their dignity. Respecting their opinions. Respecting their rights. Respecting their safety and security. Respecting their privacy. Respecting their health. Respecting their bodies. Respecting their sexuality. Respecting their achievements. Respecting their humanity.

Sounds like a good idea, huh? Wouldn’t that be a fantastic world to live in if everyone did that?

Well why don’t we?

If we are so sure that the answer is simple. That people just need to be good to each other, then why aren’t we living in an ideal world?

There is an ancient story. A man approaches his teacher and asks:
“Teacher, which is the great commandment in the law?”

The teacher replies:
“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it, You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the law and the prophets.”

The problem with the world is not religion, as many people try to imply. The problem with the world is mankind.

What people seem to think is that “religion” is a “no”; That belief in God is a “no”

I personally struggle to see how people can think this. Everything within Christianity is ordered toward loving better.

Meet hate with Love.
Meet violence with Love.
Meet pain with Love.
Meet suffering with Love.
Meet disaster with Love.
Meet people with Love.

And what is Love? Desiring the best for others.

How does this not sound like a good thing?

We live in a society of entitlement. We feel entitled to things; Entitled to a comfortable life. Entitled to peace. Entitled to sex. Entitled to money. Entitled to freedom.

Yet none of those things mean anything without love. A comfortable life without a desire to improve others lives is a lonely, self-centred existence. Peace without love I don’t think is possible, it is just “keeping the peace”. Sex without love is using. Money without love is capitalism. Freedom without love is not freedom.

I guess my point is that your desire to be “a good person” is a desire to love. And a desire to love is a desire to put others first. It is not a warm fuzzy feeling or “romantic love”, it is sacrifice and commitment. This is counter cultural. We are told if something “isn’t working for you” then ditch it. The whole idea of commitment has gone out the window.

For this idea of wanting the best for others to work, there has to be a belief that at everyone’s core, even if they don’t know it themselves, is the same desire to love; And an inherent dignity. If we are really loving them we need to love their potential.

These ideas are the fundamental ideas of Christianity. Which, by the way, is “a religion.”

So if someone doesn’t believe in God but thinks all these ideas are good ideas, then where do those ideas come from and why are they so difficult to put into practice? If it were instinct, or just a sociological development, then I believe we’d be a lot better at actually doing it. But let’s be honest, we suck.

Christianity is and has always been, a revolutionary religion. Jesus challenged the status quo. He challenged the idea of personal gain over communal gain. The idea of rituals over faith. The idea of law over love. The idea of justice of over mercy.

And that’s why I love Him. He is the only thing that makes sense to me in this world.

I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. From the book of Jeremiah, Chapter  31 Verse 33. Jeremiah was a prophet and is recognized as one by Jews, Christians and Muslims.

The Jump

Who Am I?

God said to Moses, “I AM WHO I AM“; and He said, “Thus you shall say to the sons of Israel, ‘I AM has sent me to you.'”

On My Way!Who Am I? Sometimes I think this question is at the root of our human experience. It is what drives us. It is a desire to know ourselves, to know where we fit in and what makes me “me”. What is my identity?

We are social beings, we thrive in community. I believe one of our greatest fears is that people will reject us. As a result we live by the book, following the script written by countless generations before us.

Imagine a scenario where a group of people come together for a book club. They were all supposed to have read a chapter of their current book before the meeting but none of them has.
They make small talk and divert the conversation for as long as they can, each one of them feeling embarrassed and scared of what the others might think. Some even lie about the chapter and make up opinions so as to appear to have done the reading.

Finally, one person confesses to having not done the reading and the tension is broken, everyone admits and the group laughs, feeling closer and more bonded than before.

This book club is a lot like life. We jostle for our place in society pretending to have it all together but we are all just lost on the inside. We’re afraid to admit it but if we do, we find that everyone is really in the same boat, and there is liberation in knowing this. It takes the pressure off.

I find it interesting how many people take those “tests” on Facebook:  “What Disney Character Are You?”, “What Is Your Celebrity Alter Ego?”, “What City Should You Really Live In?”.

I’ve taken plenty myself. Sure, they can be a laugh but I feel those tests are so popular because we desire identity, we are searching for meaning and for who we are. We like it when our ideas of who we are are affirmed, which is often why those tests are flawed because we will answer according to what we want the outcome to be.
Which describes you best: Shy, Adventurous, Bookish, Fun?
I secretly want to be an adventurer so I choose adventurous. The result tells me, “You are an explorer! Seeking adventure and thriving off change!” – Yes! No… I am actually insecure and afraid of so many things. I want to be an explorer because I believe that will fulfil me. But will it?

A year ago today, I boarded my plane and began my journey to London. This was my adventure. This was my initiation; I was going to find my place and my identity.
Well, this did happen, but not in the way I expected at all! So here I am, on the Feast of St.Dominic, back in Cape Town recovering from a traumatic, life changing, OCD episode but strangely, in so many ways, I’ve never been happier.

I’ve admitted that I didn’t do the reading.

Somehow, in that surrender, lies the key to feeling more at peace in my own skin. Realising that I am who I am, warts and all, and that is enough. I am not claiming to have reached “enlightenment”. I am still insecure and afraid of many things, I still fear rejection, I am still human. And that is fine and good. But just as shading gives a drawing definition, our flaws help shape our character.
My insecurities affect me, but they don’t define me.

St. Augustine’s most overused quotation is, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rests in you.”

The quote’s popularity is, in itself, telling. We relate to the phrase “our hearts are restless” so much because we are restless. We seek
and seek but we do not find because we seek in the world.

But we are not made for this world. At least, that’s my belief. We desire more, something greater which cannot be found in this life.

An image comes to mind of a barren wasteland in which I stand, seeking out some form of life, some sign of colour in a colourless world. I run and run, seeking in vain, trying so hard to feel and to see something which I haven’t felt or seen before but I know exists somehow. Eventually I trip and fall into the dust. At first, I want to give up, and so I weep, as all feels lost.
But then I open my eyes and notice that where my tears have fallen, a small flower has sprouted and it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

It is in surrender that we find what we are seeking, we cannot find it on our own.

And what we are seeking is God. Nothing else. And He is waiting for us all.

No matter your creed, code, culture or religion, try and say a prayer
now. Reach into that place in yourself that is hurting, and then lift it up to the I AM, the Divine Being. Realise that He is here, right now, within you, around you and that you are in Him, and He IS Eternity.

Peace and Happy Feast of St. Dominic.

“Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” – Jesus Christ