The scent of Mary’s nard lingers down the centuries, a glorious sweetness, both of giver and of perfume. Only her hair, her crowning glory, was soft enough to wipe those feet in adoration…
Something awaking in her soul, the profound understanding (in that singing height beyond words) of this Son of God. Son. of God. The bursting, impossible joy of knowing… Nothing is now finite… near-silence stretches into eternity… and there comes awareness that THIS is the Awaking, this is the heaven of all our searching.
and that will be heaven
and that will be heaven
at last the first unclouded
seeing
to stand like the sunflower
turned full face to the sun drenched
with light in the still centre
held while the circling planets
hum with an utter joy
seeing and knowing
at last in every particle
seen and known and not turning
away
never turning away
again Evangeline Paterson
The picture is Stanley Spencer ‘The Awaking’
Beauty from Chaos 