From the Song of Solomon 4:8-15:
Come with me from Lebanon, my bride;
come with me from Lebanon.
Depart[a] from the peak of Ama′na,
from the peak of Senir and Hermon,
from the dens of lions,
from the mountains of leopards.
You have ravished my heart, my sister, my bride,
you have ravished my heart with a glance of your eyes,
with one jewel of your necklace.
How sweet is your love, my sister, my bride!
how much better is your love than wine,
and the fragrance of your oils than any spice!
Your lips distil nectar, my bride;
honey and milk are under your tongue;
the scent of your garments is like the scent of Lebanon.
A garden locked is my sister, my bride,
a garden locked, a fountain sealed.
Your shoots are an orchard of pomegranates
with all choicest fruits,
henna with nard,
nard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon,
with all trees of frankincense,
myrrh and aloes,
with all chief spices—
a garden fountain, a well of living water,
and flowing streams from Lebanon.
Years ago, from her convent, Sr. Lucia wrote a letter to Cardinal Carlo Caffarra, saying: “Do not be afraid … Our Lady has already crushed his head.”
People going through this kind of thing often want a magic answer, a technique or a trick of the trade, something to do that will actually help. I knew that from experience. I also knew there isn’t one.