The Soul's Knowing: Remembering the Forgotten

On Tuesday night during Mass

my heart, broke open.

It was lit on fire

for the souls of the deceased.

Considering all of those

in purgatory,

I wept.

This sense 

was so powerful, 

that every prayer I lifted up

had to be

intended for them.

On the ride home, I was reflecting on all those that had passed away. Not only those that I knew, but those that died alone, those who died in sin, those who died unbaptized.

In a second flood of tears, I considered:

What about the souls, who don't have anyone to pray for them? 

I thought about the well meaning evangelicals,

who trust that their loved ones are at peace.

I thought about the numb atheists,

who refuse to consider anything beyond what they see.

I thought about the lasts of bloodlines,

with no children or siblings.

I thought about death,

and all of its casualties.

What if I'm the only one

who prayed for them today?

While the rest of the world

moves on

forgets

or has let go.

Sobbing harder, I stepped into the power of prayer one again. 

Thanking my ancestors

for their voices spoken through me.

Thanking God for this call on my life;

to pray fervently

for the forgotten

for the alone

for the lost

for the waiting.

The following day,

our entire country, too, was considering death. 

Charlie Kirk, a man whose name I hadn't heard until that day,

was assassinated.

The world knew him,

but I didn't.

While I was already rooted in prayer for the souls of the slain;

the world mourned him in shock.

It's amazing,

being in tune with The Divine.

My heart was prepared, in the most incredible way.

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, 

and let perpetual light shine upon them. 

May [name’s] soul,

and the souls of all the faithful departed,

through the mercy of God,

rest in peace. 

Amen.

Photographed by Marguerite Marie 7.17.21