Simeon, this child is just like any other child. Why do you hasten to him? Why are tears of astonishment streaming from your faded eyes? What do you see in him? How are you able to recognize him when he hasn’t done anything yet?
Holding the child in his arms, Simeon addresses the Most High with words that reveal to me what he learned in the long years of his life during which things seemed to unfold uneventfully: he learned to speak with God in all simplicity. He learned to listen to him.
When Simeon takes that infant in his arms, he speaks to God. When he addresses the child’s Mother, he continues to speak of God because “there will always be signs everywhere,” even though nothing is convincing enough for those who have not learned to dialogue with Love. Nothing can persuade you about anything if you have not mastered the art of friendship.
The kind that makes you soar on high; the kind that liberates you from judgment and controversy.
How ashamed of myself I am, my dear elderly friends, Simeon and Anna. How old were you when you felt God’s love so profoundly that you no longer had to resort to mediocrity, useless chatter and judgments?
When did you learn to fly like that–free, silent and beautiful?
As for me, I am blocked by the limits of this page.
I knock on the door of a marvelous sky swept by keen, fragrant winds–a sky that speaks eloquently to me–and I beg you to teach me your name.
