Tag Archives: Mary Magdalene

End

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Day 28: Peace Poetry Postcard Month

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In the end, I bless you
with water from Magdalene’s cave.

I bless you with breath of life
deep within.

I bless you with laughter
from my belly.

At the end of our month
of words of peace,
I wish for you rest and joy.

In gratitude, I bless your being
as you bless the world with you.

Munay. Aho. Amen.

 

And today we come to the end of Peace Poetry Postcard Month. The practice of writing a poem a day about how I step into peace in this world has been important work.

I continue to write, but with much less frequency. However, April is National Poetry Month and I participate in National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo).

I hope you join me.

Much peace and many blessings,
Lex

The Tower

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It is a bit of a walk up to the tower
above green-green grass,
past the high school, past
the firehouse, next to the pool.
It’s worth the trip.

Along the way stop signs post
for those who might not see,
those who need to slow down,
those who can’t do it on their own.
Those who probably won’t stop anyway.

Open space along the artery shelters
strays who in daylight hours rest,
under muted twilight hunt,
in sealed darkness feast.
All on the way to the invincible tower.

I course my tack, not straight and flat,
not always on steady pavement –
the approach my father instructed.
I feel curves and hidden wounded.
I leave before sun or wait until dusk.
I cede bright light to those whose
wrinkles tell of their own journey.

It is not the tower itself that tenures
the answer, high above, vista of the whole.
It is disruption of orange cones pushing
me aside, upheaval of sidewalk
buckling under pressure of rooted
tree, sudden movement within
stogie-spiked cattails.

It is revelation along the measure,
epiphany bursting open
as I somehow make my way
to the tower.

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Author’s Note:

My sacred space.

Here I walk with Benny before sun rises. I never thought I could experience sacred space in such a simple way. It seems now the only way.

Here I walk at sunset, again with a dog who is my soul companion taking me into our open space where fox greeted me unseen by Benny. It is where dragon flies flew so thick in spring I stood in awe. They still great me only less in numbers as the season wanes. Snake sprawls across the sidewalk warming itself in sun. I am told there is a bob cat. There are cicadas and crickets and katydids as my choir. And then there are the skies. A glorious backdrop with stars sprinkled across midnight blue and Moon in all her moods.

It is the simplicity of this sacred space, a tower that draws me.

A year ago I discovered another Tower – Magdalene and the root command that drives her – love one another. With that my life changed.

I learned through the simplicity of this command, I must start with myself because I am loved and am Love. It was in stepping back and discovering the infinity of this love that I now understand that I am worthy and I can, no, must give the same.

I learned that Divine revelation is not given only to a few men who hand it to the rest of us if we prove ourselves worthy. Divine revelation comes to each and every one of us directly. We don’t need interpreters.

I learned I am not only fully capable to bless, but must bless. As our Holy One flows from me and from you and from all – this our blessing. We are ordained simply by our creation.

May the simple joy of sky and earth bless you.
May the simple song of night insects bless your journey.
May you bless all those around you each moment,
for you are Love and Light and Joy given for all.

Munay,
Lexanne

Almanac Questionnaire.end

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Day Twenty Two
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Big Blue Bear

Sunday worship, a custom

child with hat and white gloves, black patent shoes
kneeling, hands folded, head bowed in supplication

guitars, women nearer the altar, kiss of peace

a pause, a long time gone

new words for old prayers, re-imaging Christ

no longer defined by Sunday or its tired formBigBlueBear

In reverence of Redwood architecture
joining air to earth to that which lies beneath
I stand in awe of your strength
pay homage to your constancy

Three minutes down the city banded
alleyway, a wall to halt my vagrancy,
you press me to change my viewpoint,
look up instead of down, past high rise windows
my eyes ascend to glimpse a peek of sky where
buildings join air to earth
to that which lies beneath
In observance I discover
You are also here

Outside my glazed glass frame
a tree bows in reverence under snow,
crow, owl and squirrel, bees and spiders
await their spring ritual
Tree, oh Tree, you brush my face
in morning hello
tap my window in icy storm
wear that which I cannot control,
innocent release to what Is,
you welcome me to journey
enraptured I bow to You

Lilacs, lavender, iris
purple flora scenting air
fill my lungs with song
I chant Your being

In weep of rain,
I receive your indulgence
wash away quotidian dust
rain, oh, rain
a baptism of comfort issued
Your lullaby and caress

I fear of being homeless,
without a house to cover my form.
But You are home within my being,
a house not of cards to collapse
with slightest breath
but Spirit filled dwelling
where I rest and cry, sleep and love,
You place yourself within
to walk with me in holy sanctuary
all the days of my life

Leo was there to welcome him home,
a scrap from a letter, condolences from Pam
angel doggie card in remembrance of Bremen
canidae, anubis, golden wolf,
protector of graves and cemeteries
I celebrate your unwavering devotion
Dog and God

Magdalene, a most notable person,
not whore who washed his feet,
that image only for those who boast
of saving souls, condemning sinners,
I know you as woman of understanding
the one who saw, the one who loved
the one who believed
I praise your grace

I am not the Big Blue Bear
peering into the great glass cave
hoping to be welcomed into
a walled-in temple, a postcard
perfect invitation to entice me
into a rigid model of salvation,
I choose to step aside,
turn around to join those in dance
under clear blue sky, each a unique
expression of You reveling in
your liturgy welcoming to all,
your holy sacrament to make us One

There is no conspiracy to
make me think I am Beloved,
I am
It is maitri,
through my bewilderment,
I find compassion
In disorientation, harmony,
with my befuddlement,
I am re-written, turned,
and in gratitude I accept me
I am Yours eternally

 

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Author’s Note:

Click for how this poem came to be!

What I’ve used to create this piece:
Almanac Questionnaire
Weather: rain
Flora: lilacs, lavender, iris
Architecture: Redwoods
Customs: Sunday Worship
Mammals/reptiles/fish:
Childhood dream:
Found on the Street:
Export:
Graffiti:
Lover:
Conspiracy: not being beloved
Dress:
Hometown memory:
Notable person: Mary Magdalene
Outside your window, you find: my Tree
Today’s news headline:
Scrap from a letter: Condolence card for Bremen from Pam
Animal from a myth:
Story read to children at night:
You walk three minutes down an alley and you find: Wall
You walk to the border and hear:
What you fear: Being houseless
Picture on your city’s postcard: Big Blue Bear

Almanac Questionnaire.6

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Day Twenty One
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Sunday worship, a custom

child with hat and white gloves, black patent shoes
kneeling, hands folded, head bowed in supplication

guitars, women nearer the altar, kiss of peace

a pause, a long time gone

new words for old prayers, re-imaging Christ

no longer defined by Sunday or its tired form

In reverence of Redwood architecture
joining air to earth to that which lies beneath
I stand in awe of your strength
pay homage to your constancy

Three minutes down the city banded
alleyway, a wall to halt my vagrancy,
you press me to change my viewpoint,
look up instead of down, past high rise windows
my eyes ascend to glimpse a peek of sky where
buildings join air to earth
to that which lies beneath
In observance I discover
You are also here

Outside my glazed glass frame
a tree bows in reverence under snow,
crow, owl and squirrel, bees and spiders
await their spring ritual
Tree, oh Tree, you brush my face
in morning hello
tap my window in icy storm
wear that which I cannot control,
innocent release to what Is,
you welcome me to journey
enraptured I bow to You

Lilacs, lavender, iris
purple flora scenting air
fill my lungs with song
I chant Your being

In weep of rain,
I receive your indulgence
wash away quotidian dust
rain, oh, rain
a baptism of comfort issued
Your lullaby and caress

I fear of being homeless,
without a house to cover my form.
But You are home within my being,
a house not of cards to collapse
with slightest breath
but Spirit filled dwelling
where I rest and cry, sleep and love,
You place yourself within
to walk with me in holy sanctuary
all the days of my life

Leo was there to welcome him home,
a scrap from a letter, condolences from Pam
canidae, anubis, golden wolf,
protector of graves and cemeteries
I celebrate your unwavering devotion
Dog and God

Magdalene, a most notable person,
not whore who washed his feet,
that image only for those who boast
of saving souls, condemning sinners,
I know you as woman of understanding
the one who saw, the one who loved
the one who believed
I praise your grace

To be continued…

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Author’s Note:

Click for explanation of this growing poem!

What I’ve used so far…
Almanac Questionnaire
Weather: rain
Flora: lilacs, lavender, iris
Architecture: Redwoods
Customs: Sunday Worship
Mammals/reptiles/fish:
Childhood dream:
Found on the Street:
Export:
Graffiti:
Lover:
Conspiracy:
Dress:
Hometown memory:
Notable person: Mary Magdalene
Outside your window, you find: my Tree
Today’s news headline:
Scrap from a letter: Condolence card for Bremen from Pam
Animal from a myth:
Story read to children at night:
You walk three minutes down an alley and you find: Wall
You walk to the border and hear:
What you fear: Being houseless
Picture on your city’s postcard:

The Ladies

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St Therese of Lisieux,
what the other sisters didn’t know,
snuck off to the kitchen
to enjoy some leftover chicken.

Mary Magdalene once said,
“Don’t let it go to your head
and be careful not to fall,”
was to Peter her warning call.

St. Brigit of Kildare
was far more than just fare.
She milked cows and brewed beer
keeping others in good cheer.

Sophia, our lady of wisdom,
set herself apart from the great “hisdom.”
Her spirit wends its way
through our lives everyday.

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Author’s Note:

NaPoWriMo Day 25. A bit of silliness today following the prompt.

“And now for our prompt (optional, as always)! It’s the weekend, so I’d thought we might go with something short and just a bit (or a lot) silly – the Clerihew. These are rhymed, humorous quatrains involving a specific person’s name. You can write about celebrities, famous people from history, even your mom (hopefully she’s got a good name for rhyming with).”

I decided to go with the ladies who are currently guiding me. Such fun!

St. Therese of Lisieux

St. Therese of Lisieux

Mary Magdalene

Mary Magdalene

St. Brigid of Kildare by Joanna Powell Colbert

St. Brigid of Kildare by Joanna Powell Colbert

Pistis Sophia by Louis Janmot

Pistis Sophia by Louis Janmot

Harlot

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After sunset, as azure deepens into cobalt, I lay
myself down on a wrought iron table, a weathered

appointment to my backyard. It is a quiet wild place
with a simple narrative. Urban born coyotes, at times,

in the distance. Rabbits, always rabbits, ignored
by my dog. Once, an owl. And recently, doves. My gaze

above through undulating branches of ash catches
a clear spot, a free  peek at the universe. The afternoon

storm carried away July’s rage that christened our day,
yielding a healing baptism of breath. Cool flows over my

bare arms, down my legs, around my feet. I would prefer
to guide each button until undone, dropping my livery

into a puddle around my ankles leaving me unembellished.
But modesty, even in shapeless darkness, is pressed here

in the suburbs. A red hot star, the color of harlots, of
Magdalene misunderstood, a flashback to the burn

of midday, catches my eye with a blink. What does the
color red have to say about a soul seven times released?

Are there demons I walk with unaware, each one’s
diminution a step closer to the Sacred? Sanguine flowed

from His veins mapping a path. In my bittersweet days
I gaze into a mirror and see the Divine, leaving demons

behind. In my face and yours I caress Brilliance and in
the night sky I am remembered, exaulted in a crimson flash.

My Child, A Lament for Peace

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My child,
Never forget you are
a child of the Beloved,
rocked in her gracious arms,
held safe under his gaze.
You are a child of the Beloved.
Not one of you turned away.
Not one of you held closer
than the other.

My child,
You are sisters and brothers of
one another, one family in the Beloved.
The earth does not belong to you,
its land and fruits, all gifts to be shared,
gifts to be tended,
just as the Beloved nurses you.

My child,
you are a child of the Beloved.
Not one of you more precious,
not one of you more cherished
than the other.
Mother and terrorist,
teacher and gunman,
oppressed and the oppressor,
rest in the lap of the Beloved
swathed in forgiveness,
all made whole.

My child,
do not forget you are a child
of the Beloved, compassion
and grace rain down upon you
with boundless, unselfish passion.

My child,
Child of the Beloved,
in gratitude,
be a mirror of your Beloved.

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Author’s Note:

I struggled for a long time with how to write this poem. What form it should take? What exactly did I want to say?

I am a first grade teacher. Sandy Hook.

I live in Aurora. The Aurora Movie Theatre Shooting.

I live in Colorado. Columbine.

I am a United States citizen. 911.

The rest of the world has experienced terrorism for millennia, much longer and more intimately than I have. These current killings – Gaza and Ukraine – brought me back to the empty page.

I don’t know if it is due to my recent study of the Gospel of John with Fr. Scott Jenkins at my church. If it is the Celtic kirtan chant project I am involved in, with Macushla introducing me to the Irish lament. My recent immersion into Mary Magadlene, giving voice to her story in a monologue I wrote and will be performing later this year. Or my satsang friend, a mother, with a daughter in Israel and another friend, a mother, whose mother and father live in Palestine. It must be combination of all of these events and people that kept me from sleep this evening, muses that finally led me to this poem.

The insanity of killing one another must stop. I don’t know how, but I think it is summed up in a quote I read earlier this night from an Israeli. In response to a call for prayer from the Book of Isaiah, he said rather eloquently and simply:

“AMEN to Shalom over ego.”

I wish you peace this night and a blessing of surrender of ego.

 

 

Here is one of Macushla’s songs, “We Are Beloved of God.”

 

Change

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In the late night of the day after the
Fourth of July, I sit on the deck in the
dark waiting for the next day to arrive.

I am content having finished a few
new written words, taking my story a
little further than I thought it could go.

A calm resides in me. The firecrackers
have been mostly silenced to the late hour,
smoke cleared. Bremen sleeps at my feet.

A smile curves gently across my face.
There is a peace that settles in when
I think of you and your light.

When we realize who we are and the
gifts we have been given, your light
shines enduringly to light our way.

It is not a boldness that takes over,
but a faith that holds our hands and
reminds us to trust ourselves, you.

And your light shines brighter.
Change is good. It’s not what we
thought it was going to be, but more.

A Garden Balanced

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I wander through my little plot of land,
know what’s needed for growth. I nurture

your beauty to share with the world, choose
each of you for your elegance of color or scent,

hardiness to sun and snow, cold and dry.
I allow you room to grow, but know you

need more than just yourself to bounce your
radiance against, each of you splendid in your

charms but more resplendent and robust
together. Stepping away I allow your existence

to thrive. With wonder I realize how grand you
are alone, yet together, a fanfare of perfection.

With wonder I puzzle why I am still not welcomed
with such grace to grow, rise equally in kinship

uprooting fractional descant. Inside my passion
is aflame. I am a voice to complete Wisdom and Light.

I long to rise hand in hand with you, partnered in
journey. In parity we can grow, a garden balanced.

Together we can perfect harmony, not one above
the other, but side by side secure in Mystery.

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Author’s Note:

I write this for those of us marginalized – women in the church, those in poverty, those is relationships not allowed, anyone whose light is diminished.

We are not in harmony for many reasons. If we could see how desperately we need to be hand in hand with each other despite our differences, we would realize how much we need one another, and we could heal.

A special and heartfelt sigh to Meggan Watterson and her incredible book I just fell into, REVEAL. It is changing my life. I am dropping the veils and looking to complete the whole.

And, as always, I am glad to have found A Church of the Holy Family and the Ecumenical Catholic Communion where all are welcome. Of course, there is always more work to be done and growth to be made, such as more inclusive language. But we are working on that.