Easter weekend is here with snowflakes and chilly weather. Yellow flowers on the kitchen table make me feel more springlike than the view outside my window. But luckily Easter is not about the weather.
In 1938… I was suffering from splitting headaches; each sound hurt me like a blow… I discovered the poem… called “Love” (by George Herbert) which I learnt by heart. Often, at the culminating point of a violent headache, I made myself say it over, concentrating all my attention upon it and clinging with all my soul to the tenderness it enshrines. I used to think I was merely reciting it as a beautiful poem, but without my knowing it the recitation had the virtue of a prayer. It was during one of these recitations that Christ himself came down and took possession of me. In my arguments about the insolubility of the problem of God I had never foreseen the possibility of that, of a real contact, person to person, between human being and God.
Simone Weil, Waiting for God