The Rosary
I am always amazed at how different the experience of saying the rosary is each time. I always start by asking Our Lady to lead me through it.
Sometimes it’s just a nice relaxing quite time in which I establish a gentle rhythm and move into a quiet trance-like state. Sometimes it’s a wonderful time of communing with Our Lady in which the emphasis is on her and the meditations take place somewhere in the back of my mind.
And sometimes I am transported into the mystery, and experience something of the time and place. Sometimes I am a spectator. For instance quite often I have been sitting at the base of a pillar in the Temple and seen a woman, her husband and their newborn baby come in, and started wondering what all the fuss was about.
Sometimes I feel what Our Lady felt, and I have shared her joy, her wonder, her grief and her glory.
And each now and then I am permitted to feel something of what our Saviour went through. Last night, I shared just a tiny bit of his desolation in the Garden, the helplessness and degradation of the scourging and crown of thorns, the physical exhaustion and collapse of carrying the cross. The feeling was so intense I was lying on the floor, shaking, in floods of tears. And then I found that I was lying at the foot of the cross.


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