In response to Archbishop Sample's column, I would like to share a few words in an imagery format concerning our dearly departed:

    Gazing upward in awe at the early cold November sky,

    as time and days are getting shorter in the light of life.

    Fascinated in the multi-shaded spectrum of gray array,

    as tested by the prancing spirit of the vehement Columbia Gorge winds,

    as PDX jets, as roaring lions, roar overhead in the gray of these days.

    Waiting, anxiously waiting for my love with her warmth to arrive;

    the clouds the sun did hide,

    as soliciting pleading rustling leaves of deeds swirl about by feet

    decaying into the clay so deep.

    Broken clouds drifting quickly by

    from east to west they fill the firmament so wide;

    so numerous, more than one can summarize;

    swiftly whispering guilt in their airy plight they fly,

    passing away to their journey to be purified,

    as irretrievable precious time slips by,

    as myriads of departed poor souls comes to one’s mind, soon I.

    In varying stratospheres they reside,

    some dark, some light, some shine,

    some thunder, some rumble, some cry.

    Descending copious raining saline-teardrops in soul pines,

    weeping, seeping, soaking

    deep into this ash-dusty soil heart of mine,

    quenching, enriching those below enshrined.

    Sympathy, empathy, prayers in one’s heart align;

    here no earthly empirical formula can analyze,

    here no algorithmic data can contrive,

    what eye has not seen, what ear has not heard,

    for here the aching, anxiety of anxious clouds sigh,

    so long waiting, waiting for their time,

    to be totally consumed in the heavens,

    in the immense warmth of the redeeming sun on high.

    Still gazing upward and then a surprise,

    Ah, a swirling pure breeze caresses the face,

    whispering so low…, so softly… to elaborate,

    “Please, please be watchful. Stay awake.

    Do not wait to pray in the talents of given grace.

    Live in love with no gray bitter grief motif,

    so not to wait for Love upon thy deep sleep.”

Thomas Salazar

Portland