A Pope
I dreamt of a pope.
He was old and somewhat plump, I’d say.
A white guy for sure.
He sat on a plain floor.
Legs crossed, no furniture.
Wearing a simple white alb.
He was still and silent.
He was open and longing.
He had questions, but never spoke.
He looked at me.
He wanted me near to him.
Which surprised me.
Because, you know how popes are.
They are men with words.
And far from women.
But this simple floor.
It was not the Vatican.
Nor was it even earth.
It was a spacious place.
So full and clear.
Full of his listening.
So, I said to him,
“Divinity is ineffable.
God is mystery. Except—
when look into a mirror.
Then you will see
Her golden countenance
looking at you.”
Her face and voice of light
will say, “Remain still
and silent into My mystery.”
Then, the old white guy,
a pope sitting criss cross applesauce
on a basic floor in heaven, trembled.
And began to weep.
Rev. Mary Sue Barnett ARCWP
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