Have A Little Faith

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Image: Pixabay

The causeway is now hidden beneath shimmering water and there’s no one available to take him across to the island. Faith, such a loaded word these days. He carries an ocean of it within his being; hearing it whisper against the rocky shore of the emotions. Its music echoes in dreams and waking moments. This pilgrimage has been undertaken for several thousand generations. The land remembers presence of beings who had spoken life into manifestation. A sense of sacredness had always existed here according to his ancestors. They’d worshipped their gods, held their memories safe in mind and heart through turbulent times. The Old Ones had eventually retreated into the misty shadowlands, not forgotten but waiting to see which way the tide would turn. The currents appeared to turn against them, but the true faithful remained steadfast in their worship. Although it was practised in secret.

The man sits on the shore for a while, he’s cold and hungry. This only highlights the sense of loneliness. Faith, in himself and the Higher Powers had fluctuated wildly over the years, causing him to abandon his path and calling. A temporary situation as his natural talents refuse to be ignored. He comes from a line of priests that stretch into infinity, the link isn’t going to be broken now. That much he vows to their spirits. “I’ll return” he promises.

Other presences slowly gather, forming a protective circle around one of their own. He hears them and rejoices, the beloved ancestors. They give him love and also their chiding, for not using his skills to build a fire, for not eating the food lying in his bag. The apathy fades in the light of companionship. Putting on a head torch the search is on for wood, there are scraps sufficient for a small fire. He makes sure the fire and his emotions are safely contained before settling down to eat. The salamanders are quite active tonight.

Fed and watered he settles down to listen to the sound of the waves. Its hypnotic sound soon pushes him into a deep sleep. Huge wings enfold his figure, giving warmth and safety. The Raven, totem of his family has watched over him since birth. She was a constant in his life, even if he wasn’t always aware of her presence. Raven now whispers “have a little faith”. He smiles.

The darkness of sleep fades to see in a glorious sun rise. Raven’s wings open and she flies into the sky, reminding him that it is time to cross the expanse between this and the next world. He stands for a moment to look across to the island. The land waits for the relic he carries, it will return home soon. Each step taken on the battered and almost unrecognisable causeway brings back memories of all those who have gone before. Thousands upon thousands of pilgrims had made their way to this spot long before it became separated from the mainland. It hides remnants of ancient temples, obscured from human eyes but strong in presence nonetheless. There are just ruins now but on another plane the buildings remain tangible. This location exudes peace and a sense of being loved by all who had worshipped here. Some of them even being his family.

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Image: Pixabay

“Have a little faith”. Those words wash over him, urging the need to remain steadfast and focussed. The relic starts to hum in response to Raven’s chant, an old song sung in the temple of its origin. Not far to go now. The sky has brightened considerably, the quicksilver colour of yesterday replaced by cobalt blue. The sea is warm and calm. His heart blossoms in the beauty of the day. Raven’s chant reverberates within him, “not far to go” it sings. Waking consciousness transforms into trance. The feet know where to go even if his mind doesn’t. They stop at the threshold of the temple that once was. He comes out of the trance to see Raven in human form standing in the centre of the ruins. She beckons and he obeys.

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Image: Pixabay

The relic urges to see the light, its call is insistent. He uncovers the small pendent and lays it gently in her palm. The Raven Priestess murmurs words of blessing over it and then offers it to the man, saying:

“We welcome our priest back into our heart and temple”.

He bows in humility. Tears fall down his cheeks. A welcome release after so many years of wandering. He’s finally reached the centre of the labyrinth.

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Image: Pixabay

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Kindred Spirits

Image: Pixabay

It’s been a while since I last wrote about Amunet, formerly known as the Alchemist’s daughter. She’s an Alchemist in her own right now. Her departure was made at the end of Inconsolable: Flight of the Father having participated in the transfiguration of her father. Her guide and friend Roshanak also bore witness to this very important ritual. Some may view it as death, but what’s death but a transition from one state of being to another? Many spiritual traditions tell of individuals who can control the manner and process of their own deaths. Such was the case with the Alchemist and will be with his daughter. I watch developments in this area with interest as Amunet holds a special place in my affections. She asks pertinent questions about what it means to be human. Ones that I can’t either ask or answer.

The characters we write about aren’t just creations of our imaginations; we invest aspects of ourselves in their shaping and eventual life on the page (physical and digital). Stating the obvious I know. You could say we’re engaging in a magical act, the end result of our efforts being an outflowing of creativity. Amunet has helped me explore many questions about the inner and outer Universes. Many of them manifesting in posts on this blog, admittedly they may come across as being a little incomprehensible! Apologies for that, I tend to forget that there’s an audience out “there”. At times it feels like my characters and I are engaged in intimate conversation over tea or coffee.

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Image: Pixabay

What’s Amunet been doing since our last encounter? Travelling for a while, collecting memories, keepsakes and knowledge, and I’m eager to learn more. We catch up with her in a remote monastery somewhere in India, near the Tibetan border. She’s sitting with a fellow pilgrim, both having undertaken a journey of several weeks to get there. Their conversation is muted and filled with silences.

The Outer Dialogue

Amunet:

That’s the last I saw of Roshanak. Her path lay elsewhere, which is a shame as we grew quite fond of each other. Gatekeepers don’t always remain with you once their task is over, I was lucky she stayed so long.

Pilgrim:

Gatekeepers? I’d heard of them but thought they were a myth.

Amunet:

They are now, but when we remember what we were once, they appear.

Pilgrim:

Talking in riddles again! (Laughs).

Amunet:

(Stares intently) Not sure you’re ready to hear more. Let me think about this. Ask me tomorrow, I might tell you then.

Pilgrim:

Of course, I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight Amunet.

Amunet watches the man leave, he looks deflated. Only natural, as their conversations are stimulating and highly enjoyable. Although impatience is a problem. Was he ready to hear more? How arrogant that sounds!

Me:

You don’t give much away do you?

Amunet:

Discernment and discretion are a necessary fact of my life. He’s trustworthy but not yet prepared for the knowledge I carry. Human nature can be profoundly perplexing and infuriating, that much I will acknowledge. How do you cope with the tumult carried within your psyche? It feels alien and unsettling.

Me:

We don’t always succeed but it can be managed. How can I put this? Being human can at times be a like a ringmaster in a very peculiar circus, with ourselves being audience and circus troupe.

Amunet:

Interesting imagery! What I want and need to know is the reality experienced by you.

Me:

You don’t make things easy do you? Not sure how to answer that. You ask a difficult thing Amunet, for me to bare my soul when I’m not ready to. What can I tell you? I search for meaning in an unknowable and vast Universe, at times not knowing where I’ve come from and where I’ll end up. My mortality is a source of occasional annoyance because there is so much to do and see. I’m wary of showing my vulnerability, perhaps fearing being hurt. These are the artefacts of my human self, buried in deep soil, waiting to see the light of day. I struggle with the frailty of the human body and projections of the personality, both mine and of others. Human nature makes me despair with its ugliness but feel elated when it reveals a deeply compassionate and divine face.

Without this body I would have no understanding and experience of the world around me. It gives me the opportunity to love and be loved, to hold, to feel and sense. I’ve been gifted with free will but don’t always exercise it. I’m in control of my destiny and world to a great extent, but my dysfunctional ego makes it a hell of a job to do the job properly. Fear is the tyrant we should all be on our guard against. You’re crying. Huh, never thought I’d see that.

Amunet:

They taste, salty, like seawater. Consisting of Elemental Water and Earth. Intriguing. I was created within the heart of the Sun, born of Fire, symbolising transformation and regeneration. My existence has been eternal and unceasing. I KNOW what it is to be immortal, it can’t be expressed in language you would understand. This Universe is but a partial reflection of the true glory of existence. You and I have need of the experience of the other to form the whole reflection. Time is meaningless.

Me:

“Time is meaningless”. I wish it was!

Amunet:

Trust me, it will unfold as it’s meant to. We are kindred spirits.

The setting Sun pours its fire through the windows of the little room and bathes the lone figure now sitting in deep meditation.

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Image: Pixabay

Duty Bound: Odin’s Gift

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photo credit: spratmackrel Auld One Eye via photopin (license)

There’s been much talk lately of Muses going AWOL and I’m duty bound to put in my penny’s worth, why not? Where the Shed is concerned should I be worried? Not really. Their absence gives me a little breathing space. I’ve been looking at my activities and decided that a change is due. This state of affairs may be the result of the number of Seers and Soothsayers congregating under my roof. They’ve been here a while, just peering intensely at the comings, goings and me. Rather disquieting, especially the ones from the far north, the land of fire and ice. They peer into your soul, divining fate and fortune from the bones of former lives. The realm of the One-Eyed One is a place not seen since the veils parted all those years ago, it occurred during a meditation if you have to know. Any more I can’t reveal, otherwise I’d have to hurt you a little. Your feelings that is.

We have a strange relationship, what a surprise…It’s the usual story of woman meets mysterious god, there’s an instant attraction and interests in common, god offers woman a proposal she can’t refuse, involving fringe benefits and travel. She accepts and may live to regret doing so. He offered me the runes, how could I refuse? It felt like a betrayal of my Khemetic roots, what would Anubis say? A ménage a trois wasn’t what I had in mind. Yet, the door he opened revealed aspects of myself not acknowledged.

This post had been languishing in draft form for several days, with little possibility of escape, until now. The One-Eyed one wasn’t going to let me work on anything else until it was completed. Damn you Trickster!

Who and what is he really? Will I ever know? Will I ever want to know? It’s difficult peering into my own soul much less one of something like him.

Who is Odin?

If you’re unfamiliar with Odin, he’s a Norse God who sacrificed himself on the World Tree, Yggdrasil, for nine days and nine nights in order to gain knowledge, the gifts of divination and prophecy. The ordeal on the Tree included extreme pain and suffering (as he speared himself on the side) in the pursuit of his goal. This whole experience has strong shamanic overtones… There’s usually a price to pay for seeking knowledge hidden from the living; his was the sacrifice of an eye in order to gain access to the well of wisdom beneath Yggdrasil. Such experiences serve to break down notions of Self and perceptions of reality. They shift the boundaries between different states of consciousness (sometimes referred to as non-ordinary and ordinary reality); so enabling the individual to interact with transpersonal beings in the pursuit of a particular goal (i.e. healing, gaining a guardian spirit animal).

The god is known by many names that reflect different aspects of his personality, one that encapsulates the might and power of nature:

  • The name is said to have its roots in the Old Norse word “od”, meaning wind or spirit (Óðinn).
  • In Old English he’s referred to as “Grim”, meaning “hooded or masked”.
  • Another name is Hrafnáss (“raven-god”), rather apt as he’s attended by two raven familiars called Hugin and Munin (“thought” and “memory”).
  • In Old High German his name was Wōtan.
  • He’s also known Allvíss (“all-wise”).

Odin’s reputation can be a little sinister, varying from duplicity to cruelty. He’s said to be able to change shape, practice necromancy, divination and prophecy. Battle, death and the gallows are other associations. Two wolves named Geri and Freki accompany the god on his travels and may hint at a wolf cult associated with him. As for his appearance, usual depictions are of a tall, thin, one-eyed man with shoulder length grey hair, usually wearing a long cloak and a wide-brimmed hat. The staff he carries is made of blackthorn. His steed is an eight legged horse called Sleipnir.

As you can see he’s excellent at multi-tasking. Okay, I’m trying to avoid the real issue here, having to fulfil my end of the bargain. Those often favoured by the gods are also subject to their (cruel) whims.

“You’ve seen sense now apprentice”, a voice mutters from the side-lines.

It’s all in the, er, eye, it stares at me with unsettling intensity.

“Unsettling intensity?” he stutters in shock.

“Please don’t pretend shock, you know what you’re doing”, I manage to get out, sighing loudly.

“Jan, Jan, how long have we known each other? Where’s the trust gone to?”, he responds in a pleading tone.

No wonder he was feared and approached with trepidation. Words were his weapon of choice, weaving hypnotic spells. You were tied up tightly without even being aware of his actions. He wasn’t one to be either spurned or ignored. Devious and manipulative so and so…

I eventually mutter, “how may I serve you High One?”

He answers, “accept what has been offered to you. Anubis and I have been waiting twenty years for your answer. Time for you to get moving sweetie,”

This is news to me, the fact that he and Anubis have been plotting together. Pantheons don’t always mingle but in this case they appear more than willing.

“Okay! Yes, yes. The finger will be pulled out and I’ll take it seriously”, my voice breaks in exasperation. He isn’t going to let go. I sob into my hands, well, pretend to.

“I can still see you Padawan, no point in trying to disappear. Can YOU see me though?” he whispers.

I peer at him through a gap in my fingers, one eye looks at the One-Eyed One. My attention flows towards the point of interaction, it swirls around him. The disguise falls away to reveal a strong and battle hardened face, an empty socket where an eye once was. He hasn’t been diminished by its loss at all. Such things he’s seen in the quest for knowledge of truths neither the living nor the dead can ever hope to learn. Odin has peered into the depths of the Void beyond existence, much like Anubis, and returned a different being. Perhaps this is what’s feared by our egos, change and letting go of old patterns. Also the deception of unworthiness, not being able to be up to the task and challenge. There’s safety in the familiar and known, that’s what we tell ourselves.

 

 From out of the Depths

Image: Pixabay

More from the non-poet as I like to call myself. Again something inexplicable emerges from an unusual image. I leave it up to you dear readers to make what you will from this offering. Perhaps create the next stage of the story. This isn’t a writing challenge but I would love to see what it instigates. Please leave your offerings in the comments box.

You don’t have to be a strong swimmer to participate, bring armbands if you wish:

Between Sky and Water lies a space set apart. It defies laws and belief. From conscious to subconscious does it flow. 

Power nascent emerges and enfolds. Alchemy of a strange kind enacts, Sun reaches out to Moon. All becomes hidden and transformed, as Alchemy of a strange kind enacts. 

How Fares The King of the Wasteland?

Image: Pixabay

Lonely and embittered is the King of the Wasteland. Ruler over phantoms and of regrets, he sees little of worth including himself. How blind, how tragic.

I watch him tread the path well trodden. Deep are the furrows, in body, mind, and spirit. He perches on the precipice, unwilling to retreat. The breeze whispers, torments endlessly, carries the voices of those abandoned, those unloved.

We circle one another, my shield and sword at the ready. Strong is my resolve, harsh is my gaze. I shall not be cowed, shall stand my ground, shall challenge forthwith. Where is my compassion? Held in abeyance, held in Hope.

Be still and at peace I say to ruler of all and ruler of none. How his gaze falters, how his gaze darkens. The tears flow, they glint like diamonds. I say yield unto Love, yield unto Forgiveness. Will he listen? Will he speak?

Heal he must, rejoin the living. Discard hurt he must and notions of revenge, notions of anger. Free yourself, free the others. This I urge but will he listen? Battle he must the fears of his heart. Shadows past and shadows present stand in his path. They are but empty shells, dust filled memories.

He advances but I do not retreat, cannot retreat. How the wounded beast circles, aches to bite, aches to tear. His heart bleeds, his tears fall. Dare I wipe them away? Dare I soothe his heart? Both he and I must divest all that hinders, all that pains. Naked must we face the other, tread the path of freedom. How vulnerable we are, like newborn babies. Hush, hush the Mother whispers. She hears our cries and soothes our hurt.

At last the Sun rises, bringing Light into our Darkness. Yet the path goes on, beyond the horizon. Yet more we should divest, do so in the fullness of time. Gain illumination say our hearts, gain flight and freedom. Be at Peace one says to the other. Journey further, learn much. Part in humility, part in Love.

Image: Pixabay

Filaments of Light

Image: Pixabay

Serenity ushers in thoughts of sun soaked dreams and filaments of light. The Night passes into Day, Introspection into Action.

Their nightly vigils fade, embraced by song and homage. Thoughts deconstruct and Speech Assembles.

Warrior monks rise, forsaking doubt and tribute. They look into Void, seeking answers, finding only paradox.

Priest and Knight seek silence, so solitude beckons. Communion embraces spirit. Wisdom releases, humility receives, illumination encapsulates. Duty capitulates.

Filaments of light cascade, breath captures in awe. Silence profound unveils, mysteries quicken. From Introspection comes forth Action.

Here end these perplexing words from this non-poet as I style myself. All has not been well in my world lately. The past few weeks have been filled with mishaps, people misreading my communications, me misreading my communications. Plans have been scuppered and in hindsight probably a good thing. Much the same has been happening to many people around me, some experiences being worse than others.

Additionally, my brain is stubbornly refusing to behave. Like a recalcitrant teenager it moans about being asked to do things, “I hate you!” it’ll mutter in a surly manner. What do you do but send it to its room to cool down. Give me strength! Now for some ‘Me’ time.

I take a seat in the Shed and look at my little creation.  What am I trying to say? Sorry for being indelicate but I’ve been suffering a little mental constipation lately. There, said it. The build up of psychic and physical toxicity in the system creates strange back-eddies, leaving you feeling uncomfortable and tired. Accordingly the words are backed up, desperate for release. How to best express the inner agonies and sense of unrest? Where else could I go back seek advice of the mysterious band of priestly knights I call brethren. I am of course being deliberately coy, leaving crumbs, perhaps hoping you’d follow. I usually have a picture in my mind of what’s waiting to be written and these priestly knights were waiting in infinite patience. It has been a long time since we last met up. I’ve been avoiding the silence, perhaps for fear of what’s waiting in there. They speak and I’m trying to digest what’s been brought to the table.

My thoughts are interrupted by loud music emanating from the teen’s room. Sigh, the little attention seeker needs to be taught a lesson. I unplug the music system. Peace. Time for a long chat with her upstairs.

 

Possibilities

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Image: Pixabay

I was speaking with a friend of mine earlier this afternoon, we’d known each other from the age of 12 years. It’s been a long friendship, both of us are now (mutters incomprehensibly). Perhaps our ages aren’t so important eh? There have been several job changes, illnesses, bereavements and relocation of homes. Let’s just say it’s been a full and interesting journey for both of us. Our childhood ambitions were and still are creative endeavours; alas this was not to be and we ended up in different professions. Both of us are at another crossroads in our lives, considering a variety of options and assessing the possibilities. 

Possibilities. A word worth its weight in gold. Much like Hope, it can sustain us when all appears bleak on the horizon. Our youthful selves were fired with energy and great expectations. As adults our experiences have tempered those expectations, that’s only natural. Hindsight is a great teacher, realistic but not unkind.

My younger self believed she could make a difference and create a better world for all of us. I passionately believed in justice, fairness, tolerance and equality. Still do. I’m going to come out of the wardrobe, fall out of it more correctly and admit to being a Socialist. Still am at heart but its nuances have changed slightly but not its heart. I’ll go to my cremation as one. Protest marches were a staple for me – against apartheid, racism, erosion of employment rights, sexism, etc.  I’d grown up in a culturally diverse part of London, attended a primary school in Soho that had children from many different ethnicities. Secondary school was a little different but still great.

That’s not to say there weren’t tensions in society. London at the time was a place of political and social turmoil. Nothing has changed! The 1970s, 80’s and 90s saw profound upheavals, many necessary. Additionally the activities of Far Right groups like the National Front (and other more extreme groups) created an atmosphere filled with violence, fear and tension. It seems humanity’s atavistic tendencies are once again rising to the fore. The gates of the Underworld have been loosed and the inmates are on the rampage dear friends. One hopes they’ll be dragged back to their cells soon.

Culturally it was an exciting time from what I remember, well, it was neither boring nor safe in terms of output. I do get nostalgic at times for the spirit of those times, more due to the people who I’d known and met. Each one of us has a different perception of that era.

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Image: Pixabay

As for this entity called Possibilities. His Nibs (Anubis) advises that I should network and when am I going to book in a meeting with it. I reply ‘soon’ and look away furtively. He lays a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. Oh boy, the Opener of the Way knows me so well. ‘Check your calendars’ he says firmly. It seems I’ve been too long in the company of certain rogues and low life, namely Procrastination, Fear, Ill health, Being Unfit (call me Cuddles) and the two worst of all, Inertia and Lack of Confidence.

He looks at me for, oh, ages. There is only kindness and sympathy in his eyes. I smile at him in thanks. My spirit needs re-energising. Writing contributes to a sense of great well-being and this blog is a blessing as are spiritual studies/training. I serve both Anubis and Thoth in spirit and reality, the power that is Ptah is never far away. What I don’t serve are other people’s unrealistic expectations of me and the beast of ‘living to work’. Although the latter does have me in a headlock. A bummer as they say.

Back to scheduling this meeting. His Nibs has passed me a list of ‘To Do’s and admitted they were only reminders as I knew what needed to be done. I scrutinise it, fair enough. Clear and simple objectives, the fine detail will require work. Not a problem. To travel between the different planes of consciousness one has to be fit in more than body. Mine needs a little maintenance admittedly but the mind, even if I say so, is resilient. It can be a little wayward, stubborn and undisciplined at times but still manages to survive adversity.

To travel through the landscape of the Collective Unconsciousness requires foolhardiness, a level head, resilience, self-insight and trust in oneself. Many falter, deceived by manifestations of their own Shadow and human longing. We also have to acquaint ourselves with the lexicon of symbols needed to engage and converse with the inhabitants of this other Universe. A guidebook of phrases and possibilities you might say. Keep your wits about you at all times, for the soul and mind can be seduced by all manner of suitors and enemies.

Most important of all, a Guide is vital. So far I haven’t upset His Nibs (and hope I don’t).

“I’m not going anywhere, if I do there will always be another one of us with you. Even if your angelic friends want to come along” he mutters interrupting my thoughts. I’m vastly relieved and don’t think it’s wishful thinking. “Have Trust” he loudly responds. Of course. The vista opens up before us. We sit down and take our time looking at the strange sights appearing out of nothingness. Images from my life, one after the other. Regret, unhappiness, happiness, anger, loss, fear, manipulation, capitulation, success, failure, hate, love.

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Image: SURREALISMART.ORG

I also see the ancestors amongst these many aspects of myself. We all need release it’s evident. My hands are clenched, holding on to much. He kneels before me and takes my hands in his. I can sense the power and gentleness within them, as does my heart. We wait, breath held in, silent. My fingers are uncurled one by one until both palms are facing upwards. We see the remains of things that were long gone and begging for freedom. Smoky wisps, rising and falling. He breathes upon them, chanting incantations. There is no other sound except for his voice. He gathers them up and deposits them in a barque that’s appeared to one side. Their journey now begins to the Duat (ancient Egyptian Otherworld).

I sense the release of the many from all my line, we are being unburdened one by one. My eyes close, seeing the world as it appears to the inner eyes. It ebbs and flows, inhaling and exhaling, communicating in ways that I didn’t think were possible. In silence can we hear the Universe as it unfolds its mysteries.

As Khepri rises in the sky so do we feel our own Coming into Being, that oft repeated phrase holds a wealth of meaning, highly symbolic. How we forget the beauty and magnificence of the stars, the Imperishable Stars, holders of memories from the birth of our existence. What of the light that’s journeyed for millions upon millions of years? Possibilities upon possibilities exist, why not take note and draw in that light into our own being? Bathe our cells in its essence. My thoughts scatter in all directions, seeking, questioning. How fare the ancestors? Of like mind it seems, all respect to them. Yet, I also understand that their burdens and history, good and bad have been passed down the line to end with my siblings and I. Do we accept their legacy?  Not if it perpetuates further negativity and damage to body, mind and spirit.

Anubis is still kneeling before me. I return to the present, time for the introspection to end. The evening light casts a golden glow on everything in the garden. It feels so peaceful and still. I sense the Opener is still here, watching. “I agree to do it” is all I say to him. Where’s my diary?

Where are You Going?

Where are you going Reaper Man?

I watch you ride by, silent and absorbed.

What are you watching with your eyes of gold and endless obsidian?

Arid vistas, fabled cities, towers of dunes,

They flash by, places caught in time, crumbling into the past,

A memory of when we were young.

 

Where have you been Reaper Man?

How we feared your coming, a shadow fleet and grasping in the night.

How wrong we were, eyes dimmed by fear and blinding light.

I yearn to hear of your adventures, songs of love and whispered regrets.

Sing to me lone traveller, garbed in leather and wreathed in smiles.

He speaks and entrances, holds spellbound:

I rode on the wings of dawn, endless roads and too brief sunrises.

My kisses fall on parchment skin and babe in arms,

They embrace me warmly, ride pillion without a backward glance,

Seeking the wonder of life that is to come.

There are no final endings, no final tears, only new beginnings.

Only new roads to ride on, caffeine fuelled encounters in nomad camps,

Magic infused silences before oceans of blue.

 

What can I say Reaper Man?

How your songs of strangeness and wonder hold in thrall,

Echoes of our own longing cascading,

Falling like waterfalls through the canyons of eternal dreams.

What can I say mighty Azrael, so named Angel of Death?

How we feared your coming, a shadow fleet and grasping in the night.

How wrong we were, eyes dimmed by fear and blinding light.

With eyes of gold and endless obsidian you peer into what we were and will become.

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photo credit: Neil. Moralee See the light. via photopin (license)

Where are you going Reaper Man?

Lone traveller garbed in leather and wreathed in smiles.

Straddling oceans of time, shaping destinies.

Bringer of infinite grace, bestower of visions unsurpassed.

I watch you ride by, silent and absorbed.

Fellow travellers on endless roads, through cities of steel and glass,

Through wildflower meadows and oceans of blue.

Exchanging smiles and imperceptible nods.

 

Where are you going Reaper Man?

What are you watching with your eyes of gold and endless obsidian?

Arid vistas, fabled cities, towers of dunes,

They flash by, places caught in time, crumbling into the past,

A memory of when we were young.

A homage of sorts to the great Angel of Death, Azrael. Not your usual subject for a, what can I call this offering? A road trip with a leather garbed angel. I’m neither a poet nor a writer of songs, so this is a Pong. Sorry! My melding of a poem and song…Does it work I ask you dear Reader?

Descent into Matter

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photo credit: Dani_vr Mirada perdida via photopin (license)

Time has moved on since the Alchemist and his infant daughter encountered the great angel Gabriel. The world has since fluctuated between tyranny and fear, settling down into a semblance of stability now. Their journey has brought them to a place that has seen the rise and fall of great empires. Knowledge and insight are to be found in many places, not all illuminated by light though. The lonely path is often strewn by jagged rocks and beset by hungry beasts, of the inner and outer. The path laid out for the child was always going to be challenging, for that is how she was to gain knowledge of the human condition. Both parent and divine being pour all care and attention into fanning the holy flame within the young woman. The omniscience is tempered by total innocence, for she is the Fool going forth into the world of matter. Her eyes mirror the totality of existence, worlds upon worlds emerging out of the great Cosmic Fire of creation. From out of Darkness and Silence do Light and Speech emerge. She knows ending and beginning and as her humanness evolves, an ocean of emotions tinged with sorrow and joy. ‘Is this wrong?’ she asks and they cannot answer. Her task is pierce the perception of what is real and unreal. Continue reading