Jul 052011
 

Put now your ear to the seashell of memory,
Walk through the glistening rainbow of promise,
Sun on the ocean makes ripples of magic,
Star of the sea and pure bride of Adonis.

Then will the sea-priestess, white in the starlight,
Raise up her arms at the moon gliding by,
Sing the enchantment that harnessed the ocean,
Dance in the circles that meted out night.

Sea nymphs are whispering ‘Shayla remember…
Mesmerised mermaids and undines glide
Deep in the moonlight of hypnotised sailors;
Drawn by the current that governs all tides.

Whispering ‘Shayla, return to your kingdom,
Sister and daughter, rejoice with your kind…’
Shimmering crystal, the doors of the palace
lay on the seabed, beguiling still waters.

She who sells sea shells upon the sea shore,
Walked through the turquoise and paused at the entrance
Looked through the shimmering aqua at kinsmen,
Heard that the voices were soft but relentless.

Soft as the breeze on the salt of the ocean,
Gentle as rustles the wind through the trees,
Whispering over and over her secret,
Meaning; she hailed from the palace of dreams

Stopped at the threshold the fairytale maiden,
Thought of a promise once made in the spring,
Called to remembrance the angel who loved her,
Said: I relinquish the realm of the sea.

Go, little mermaid, they turned away weeping,
As she, the self, was set free and made mortal.
As you lie dreaming of rainbows in summer,
Seeking the memory, then think of this portal.

Sister, oh sister, how sorry we are now
So went the whispers, the shadows of light.
From the unconsciousness reason found mercy;
Words without doubt put magicians to flight.

Three that give birth from the fiery water
Seven the spheres and reflective of heaven,
Twelve that encircle and bring to completion,
Doubles in number of holy eleven.

Queen of the silver beam, king of all, golden,
Red the blood flowing through milky-white rivers
Bring generation to life in your nature,
Die by the heat but in hope be uprisen.

Light came aurora and pinker than sapphire,
Orange as anything orange is yellow,
Redder than berries of green in the meadow,
Bluer than dawn is, an indigo fire.

Promises, promises, rainbows and birdsong,
Speak of the vow that just cannot be broken
Time has no meaning and space is illusion,
Born is Creation, by God’s word is spoken.

Jan 042011
 

In the Hall of Flames let me not put to shame my ancestors; descending there, let me not put you to shame.

I fasten a rope to the sacred tree, I twist it in eight folds, that by it I, a magician, may descend to the magical house.

Begin your song in the Hall of Flames; begin your song in the Hall of Flames; why does the magician not come forth? Why does he not rise up?

Let his subjects assist in the Hall of Flames; he appears, he appears, let his subjects assist.

Let the servants never cease the song in the Hall of Flames; let them rejoice greatly, let them dance wonderfully.

Call ye for the woman with abundant hair, whose care is the mist and the rain, call ye for her.

Aztec Hymn to Ixcoçauhqui.

Jun 192010
 

It was an hour before dusk sometime in June and the massive garden walls reflected the warm evening sunlight.

He and I watched two butterflies chasing one another in a stylized dance of love.  This dance reached its conclusion when they came to rest on the step immediately below our feet, where they stayed for a moment, slowly moving their beautiful wings. Two painted ladies who had recently been born and never been so close to a human spirit.  “They are bowing”, he stated pensively.

I was delighted by his strange words and peered more closely at the tiny coloured insects.  Fully in tune with one another, the butterflies took renewed flight in unison, fluttering through the force of their own energy for a few seconds before landing once again.  They settled on his right knee this time and I wondered what it was that had attracted them – and others – to him, as if they were magnetised.

It was not long before they took off again, this time disappearing into the ether; leaving us to follow the path they made through the gates of heaven.  I sensed that a turning point had come in my relationship with him, which had been growing for some time.  With an unspoken agreement, we got to our feet and followed the two butterflies through the gateway.

May 092010
 

Thus, the voices reached a clamour –
Each had made his case with vigour –
Each revealed his spirit’s armour,
Each declared his god(s) the bigger.

So the Shaman stepped amongst them:
“Let us settle this forever,
Lest in man is made a schism,
Then in woman, child and creature.”

On his drum he rolled a rhythm,
Challenged all to meet his maker,
Clear of conscience visit heaven
Then return, not less, nor greater.

As the beat rolled on, relentless,
Nine – the listeners – reach inside them,
Sought to find their soul-connection,
Straight unto the gate’s of Heaven.

First to fly, the Sufi mystic –
With his coat of many colours –
Made a spiral of his spirit,
Through his dance amazed the others.

Where he went was then a secret.
“Who’ll rise next?” the Shaman wondered.
So the Rabbi brought his deepest
Spark to life and upward wandered.