Prayer and the Indwelling Christ

Your gaze have made it very easy,
Praying, that is.
Yet, for such as me,
It's still very hard,
Not seeing You across the table.

Your eyes follow me.
I know You hear me.
"It's not You, it's me",
As faulting lovers say.

Your gaze never leaves me,
I can feel it
In the depths of my being.
I am never alone.

You wait,
As I turn to trifles,
Or beat down troublesome giants.
You dwell upon my last words,
Feeling my joy or pain
Through every season of my soul.

Though my words can stop mid-sentence
Or conversation cease,
Still You know the whole.
With the patience of eternity, my God waits.

Eventually, I turn back to You.
Your eyes sear my soul,
O, that my heart
Could return that gaze.

On the best of days,
Unless You bind me to You, I flit.
A thousand trumpets vie for my ear
And I am torn.

New love has a magic,
Erasing the world, and becoming all.
Re-ignite that flame in me
To shut out causes, fears and strife.

Your Presence felt is strength and consolation,
Your tug is joy,
And Your conversation sweetness.
If pain be the messenger
That draws me back to You,
So be it.
Better to feel the torment
Of an earthly purgatory,
Than the foretaste of hell.

If it seems I sit at our table alone,
The note of sadness betrays the truth.
I miss you and the missing is from You.
You beckon anew.

Sup with me.
Dwell with me.
Gaze on me.
I am not alone.
My Christ is with me.