The sun sets and sets
the panes on fire
stained light pours in
and pools on the floor
where fire is gathered
and soaked up by song.
Shinning Ruby facets
dripping to earth below
thirsting for love.
His banner over you is love. Can you hear him? He says to you ‘my banner over you is love’ but this is a battle standard. The banner is love, but it is held up by faith. It seems to me that at times, in the midst of the battle, when the clamor is all around us, even above us, we are unable to see the banner, yet we know it is there because we feel its weight as we hold tightly to the pole of faith which unites us to his love. As we march into battle we have to keep that banner before our eyes, in our heart and mind. We must never let go of the faith that keeps it aloft, even as we are cut and wounded deeply, even in what seems our dying breath, never let your bloodless fingers drop, for no one can take it from your hands. Remember who is victorious, who has conquered death!
This is a poem I wrote for my priest friends for the feast of St John Vianney
putting on the
blood embroidered blossoms
pulsing thread strong as God
where nails sew you in two
That we may be one
washed and stained, mystery untold
pressed against his open side
drinking from a chalice gold
pierced on the altar
heart lacerated, now you
printed indelibly with an open wound of love
set apart to be given
consecrate them in the Truth
perfection of the eternal priest
is yours to live and move and be
pursuit, prevail, the battle where the ruby facets fall
for the victory eternally
you are a priest forever
Waves of a thousand leaves on a thousand poplar trees, flashing dance of silver and pale shimmer green, reflecting the wind that blows. And living marble skies that play with dark and light, veins of white course life in lifeless grey. Bright clouds overshadow.
Giants clamor in other clouds, and violent rain gives way, but these silent vapors pour and lift and break before them. And the faster wind keeps pace.
The smell of rain and thyme, a green and purple scent, fresh and bright to draw bigger steps. Symphonies only seen in rings in puddles but the percussion plays on.
The silhouette of rugged peaks reflect the new mountains beneath, a band of light between, and a hidden pass to come.
Look up to fall into depths
Further and further dark
Pinpricks of light through heavy shadow drape
Straining eyes, my soul sees further
Glimpse of eternal
Glimpse of expanse
Draw back the darkness
When can I dwell in the home I’ve never seen
And fall forever into the heights
Spin the silken sun
Light stretched out,
cloaked in mourning sky
draped tied knotted bands
folded embroidered stars
knit flesh of light,
clothed in God
Maranatha! Come, maranatha! Come!
The world in night awaits the dawn, the Son
the Son, whose Spirit overshadowed her
Now hidden in the shadow of her womb
Weightless crystals weighed with light of ancient stars
Descend to greet the Light, himself descended
Maria weighed with the Word, the Light, the Face
the shinning face of God long sought by men
Abraham’s promise, sojourn; pilgrim, rest
Cry, come! The night far spent, our Dawn, come stay
Hidden pilgrim held in your mother’s heart
Agèd lights from dark hold celestial breath
From beyond time, whispered hope, hushèd night
Their ancient voice waits for winter blossom
A flame, flickering through the darkness
Countless ages hope in expectation
Maranatha! Come! Maranatha, come!
In the beginning was the Word
and this word spoke the stars
so they will sing to you
of being, shining, eternity
being that sustains you becoming
until you be again
years ago you were given becoming
the time before and the time before you
beyond death, born to Eternity
behold, seeing being we are
behold the pierced one
Shining arms outstretched
these Pilgrim markers counting up
counting down, counting young,
till till we grow light
becoming less and more
he must increase and I must decrease
transformed to what clothes you – Him- light cloaked in love
Obsidian dark seeps like water and freezes and fractures.
Fractures my oblivion, pierces ruby fractals blood drips
Obsidian night. Looking at it draws all the light from my eyes
Nothingness becomes present.
Deep Deep Dark Deep a heartbeat, rhythms of eternity, pierced deeper and deeper
A hidden place. Obsidian dark goes deep, and the golden Ruby drops gurgle and seep somewhere else but there is a place I have never been by myself. It is very hidden, it is below the wound and the dark passage is dug in a pain that is a light and the darkness and light become the same thing. I cannot reach it myself but the Lord has the only right and way to enter there. It is more expansive there than the whole universe, but I’ve only ever glimpsed it out of the corner of my eye. What does it mean to hide yourself to find the hidden God? The bridegroom lives there, the bridegroom wounds there. He is within me and mysterious and hidden and when can I see his face and be left in oblivion and woundedness and the death of love and beauty caused by the sight.
A gold thread and a red thread. And an arrow needle that wounds again and again but sews and binds with every stitch pours beauty
(A poem from Taryn while on a retreat in October 2020)
Wisps of soft white tendrils
float over the dark ridge
caught in azure eddies
flowering in fire as the
sun touches them
rippling the celestial fabric
blue emproidered white and gold
Our Lady’s crecent broach
and the serpent crushed
beneath her beauty
Silence reigns in these mountains,
all the growing moving things are quiet,
The earth is silent in expectation….
Hear the wind, what is that?
Sound sounding… loud and whispering…
Something sounderous and unseen,
Invisible Giant with soft steps
passing by the standing pines
spreading his stroke over the uppermost brances
flooding the forest with sweet scent.