Lisieux: A Vision
Saint Therese drew near to me in the church, her small hands folded in prayer, her lips moving fast and silent, her devotion palpable in the air around her. I sat further down the pew, fingering my rosary. At first I did not notice her. Nuns entered the church like birds flying to and fro; what was another nun? A sudden flurry of white in my periphery startled me to attention. The vision quickened with the flickering of the consecration candle.
A woman, small of stature, beckoned me toward the altar, a crown of lilies and wildflowers woven throughout her long dark uncoiffed hair. She wore a white tunic and a dark cloak. With each step the marbled floor gave way to something more substantial, something like wood or, if such a thing were possible, fossilized fire pulsating with energy. Therese drew me to the left of the altar and I saw for the first time the seven flames embroidered on her cloak, shivering as she turned round and took my hand. My mother flashed in my head, from when I'd been an infant, and I felt the joy unbounded, unlocked, returned to the first experience of love.
"Tyler." She said my name as if she'd used it a hundred times before, wrapped as it were tightly in the swaddle of love. "Let your soul fly unto God."
At the mention of my soul a hundred thousand sparks exploded and raced around us like lightning bugs on the first real summer night. They lighted on the flowers in her hair. Time had been suspended, for as she took each light into her hand, tenderly placing them on the flowers in her hair, I blinked and the sanctuary returned. I knelt in the pew, alone (though it smelled of lilacs; earth; incense; the Sacrament glowing with an inner light). I finished my prayers, presenting my intentions to Therese, that she might also pray for that which was heavy upon my heart and upon the hearts of my friends. My piety felt like a dunce hat on my head as I left the church.
That night as I lay in bed, full on bread and cheese and good wine, Therese returned.
"Let your soul fly unto God," she said, the Child Jesus in her arms, looking longingly into the youthful face of the saint. To have such a gaze upon oneself would inspire a deepness of holiness, for the final cause of sainthood is, after all, one of recognition. She watched me.
"I have no wings," I said. Shame overwhelmed me.
"Once the soul was perfect and had wings and could soar into heaven as only creatures can." The Child Jesus caressed her cheek.
"Am I to make wings?"
"The pride of Icarus does not belong to a saint," she corrected sternly. "The Virgin shall be your wings and the down upon which you shall rest your head. She shall be your compass. Her clothes shall be like sails and you shall soar through heaven toward the Sun of Righteousness." At this celestial mention, Therese placed the Child Jesus onto his feet, who ran to my bedside. He kissed my hand. I lifted it to my face. it smelled of frankincense.
"My heart is the paradise you seek," the Child Jesus said. "There, little flowers grow beside the Rose that is mine." I threw myself to the floor, my heart bursting with love.
"Fly to me, son," said the Child Jesus, now a Man. "Fly unto me."
I sat up in bed. Everything inside pushed me to the window, which opened on dawn haloing the sky. Paris lay still, bathed in silvery moonlight. A few youths ran through the streets and a baker had been up for hours and a mother was placing her child to sleep again and lovers lay tangled in each others' arms and the sisters on the hill bowed at the mention of the name of Jesus. The wind caressed my face and I smelled the lilies in the window garden. My breath came in short bursts when I felt the Virgin beside me.
"Fly unto him, my child," she said in a voice like the nativity of the world. "Fly unto him. My prayers shall be thy wings." My stomach flipped as my feet left the ground. "The fires of night burn in the forge of his heart," she said and laughed. "Fly unto him!" She grabbed my foot, suspended as I was above the streets of Paris, and kissed it, then shoved me off into the sea of the night.
My flight toward the heavens purged me, fire upon fire upon fire. Paris lay stretched beneath me, shedding its skin like a snake, and soon it should be taken into heaven into that great city. The sun beat like a heart above me and a molten light surged around me.
I gathered my prayers in my heart and spoke them softly, like secrets between lovers. Therese filtered into my vision, calling out my name, carrying my prayers in her hair she shook her head and the sparks flushed around her and flew to the sun-heart like iron flakes to a magnet. Music soared around us, the Te Deum and the Gloria and the silent crescendo of the Name. My recall fails for it all began to dissolve at this moment, dream giving way to reality and I was caught up in the ecstasy of the great forge of Love, moving my heart to expand and shed its light like the stars.
I woke and the morning filtered through my window. I lay in bed a moment before going to the kitchen and making coffee and eating a day old croissant, hoping against the clouds in the sky that the sun would come out. I felt as if I'd forgotten something. My prayers swirled atop the deep waters of my heart like lily pads. I drank my coffee and stopped with my hand just inches from my face.
It smelled of frankincense. Today, I supposed, I'd visit Lisieux and ask the Little Flower to pray for us.