Anima Christi

Soul of Christ, sanctify me.
Body of Christ, save me.
Blood of Christ, inebriate me.
Water from the side of Christ, wash me.
Passion of Christ, strengthen me.
O good Jesu, hear me.
Within Thy wounds, hide me.
Suffer me not to be separated from Thee.
From the malicious enemy, defend me.
In the hour of my death, call me
And bid me, come to Thee,
That with Thy holy saints, I may praise Thee
Forever and ever.  Amen.

Author unknown - an eighth century prayer from Ireland

A West Virginia Memory

The hills are the basis of life in that land,
  Both as life given - and taken.

A harsh land with soft people,
  Yet, and also, a soft land with harsh people.

The land of my birth,
   With paths through the blackberry and greenbrier.
   Kind winds blowing gently of a song forgotten.

A greenness everywhere on her rugged slopes,
  And she gives forth her inner blackness
  As if a painful abortion of her babe within.
  All left to flow are her tears of acid.

The nights of West Virginia
  Mellow sharp lines and soaring peaks
  And the shadows embrace every living thing
  In her grasp till the dawn.

So much time I have spent in those hills,
  In games, thoughtful solitude,
  In the questions of life.

West Virginia is not bound by rivers and streams,
  For we all come from a land
  That calls from within us,
  To find greenness once again.

by Thomas Chapman

I thank you, Thomas and Brenda, that we have been able to share our lives, even if it is from a distance.  We appreciate your friendship.