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The Crucifixion of Christ

17 Aug

I hang my head in shame.
I am forever condemned.
As a prisoner of my own indiscretion
I have forfeited my life to an
Eternity of hell.

No one can take this burden from me,
No one can release me from the chaos of darkness,
No one can ever strip away the horror of my own iniquity.
I have been tricked by my own mind
Into committing this foul and heinous crime
On the pretext of justice
Oblivious of any wretched guilt consequent to my greed.

I cannot beg forgiveness
I cannot ask for mercy.
I cannot allow any leniency or
Relaxation of the laws of clemency.

I, of all people, have allowed
That which should never have been sanctioned,
To be actioned.
I have allowed,
Knowing the colour of innocence
And the colour of guilt,
A bloodbath of torture and cruelty.

Now my hands are stained
Permanently with the slaughter of
The innocent
The kind
The just
The compassionate
The gentle
The loving
The champion of mankind.
And from this I can never hide.

There are many reasons for murder.
And every one has, at its core,
Some semblance of justification
Some sense of reasonableness
Some grotesque payment of debt.
And as an administrator of peace and political will,
I have demanded and ordered
Brutal acts of violence
To quell the discontent of the masses
In order to rule according to the sentiments of the era
And the demands of the title of kingship.

But this,
This conundrum placed before me,
This impossible, unpalatable circumstance,
This dilemma set at my feet
Which threatens the very core of my fragile control,
This distasteful, despicable obnoxious affair
Looms in front of me
Like a grotesque monster breathing into my face
Its fetid breath of noxious vapour
Demanding retribution for a crime
That does not exist.

I am comfortable here
Curled up in the armchair of my
Remorse and guilt.
Though I am thrown into the darkest abyss
Of torture chambers and horrors
No pain can be too great,
No night nor day too long,
No event can be so cataclysmic
That the Universe of evil is smashed upon my head,
For me to wish myself dislodged from this unspeakable suffering.

And with open eyes and outstretched arms
I beseech the heavens
To ensure I am immortal.
For death, even at the end of eternity
Will be too light a sentence
For the poisoned arrow of my sin.

I look into the eyes of my plaintiff.
I see the depth of his compassion.
I see the lineage of his soul
And I see the grace of God
Enveloping him in a translucent, effulgent light.

I am a man of the world.
I have lived amongst the richest and poorest of souls.
I have been graced with an intelligence and perception
Way beyond my just deserts.
I have been given the sharp cunning of the fox
And the guile of the snake.
I have been given the strength of the bear
And the perception of the eagle.
I have risen among the ranks of the generals and the nobility.
And I have paid my dues to each and every one
With favours promised behind closed doors.
I have played the game of power
With the skill and genius of the professional,
And I have relished my advancement
Unashamedly at the expense of others.
And I have always known the price to be paid for this –
Long term pain for short term gain.
And for me it has always been the victory of the moment
Which fuels the blood in my veins
And the triumphal drumbeat of my heart.

Yes, I am a man of the world
And the world of man has lain in my palm of my hand,
Mine, all mine,
Like taking candy from a baby,
As natural as the playground bully,
As effortless as the tattle-tale words of the teacher’s pet.

And each move of mine
Has been as calculated and as strategic
As the greatest army generals that ever lived,
For the purpose of immediate personal gain
Regardless of the cost to any
Unfortunate who may cross my path.

Most people would see me as cruel, heartless and uncompromising.
And in dealing with the world, I am,
For that is the game of the era in which I find myself.
And I respect the rules of this engagement.
Its a dog-eat-dog time,
Kill or be killed,
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
No quarter given nor taken.
Mercy is weakness exposed
As fodder for the adversary.
To the victor goes all the spoils,
And the vanquished lie as
Rotting carcasses in the barren
Plains of contempt.

And into the midst of this
Shark-infested ocean of corruption,
Here, amidst our battered sensibilities
And greed for self,
Into this pit of filth and betrayal,
Comes this quiet, gentle man,
Who only seeks to heal the wounded,
Broken heart of humanity,
Restore the memory of our own heritage
And remind us of the meaning of life.

I remember him.
In my dreams I have seen him.
In the recessed vaults of my memory
I have stored his image.
I had hoped to let sleeping dogs lie.
I had quelled the nagging reprimands
Prompted by his image.
I had managed to sidestep the possibility of this encounter
By being absent from my duties.
I had begun to believe in my own power.
I had managed to conveniently forget this day might ever come.

Hell bent on my own mission of destruction
I had forgotten that even the best laid plans can go awry………

And in one split second,
I am confronted by the baying masses of wolves outside my enclave,
And the pure gracious spirit before me
Of a man of God.

The story of my actions is well documented.
It would be pointless to revisit them here.
Each word, each question, each answer
Is indelibly marked in the history of mankind.
My journal of political suicide is forever exposed to the public
And in the passing of my damning judgement,
I damned myself.

This is no ordinary man.
This is not your run of the mill political pawn,
This is no murdering, plundering beast of wanton destruction.
This is no ordinary mortal reaping the reward of past indiscretions.
Here is a pure and gentle being,
Standing quiet and still in the will of his own god,
Not wishing for miracles
Which would only feed into the superstitious minds of his persecutors,
Wanting only to show his people
How to serve God, unquestioningly,
By example,
Under the most dangerous and trying of circumstances:
The sacrifice of the lover for the beloved
Encapsulated in this significant spotlight of time,
Here at my feet, in my domain.

And seeing all this, as clearly as I see the usual
Strategies of war demarcating the boundaries of my life,
I, for once, so used to betraying my conscience
For the principle of self gain,
Mistaking the wretched knot bound in the pit of my stomach
For illness instead of fear,
Wantonly throw in my lot
With the baying pack of ravenous wolves.

Cold and wretched is this space of self loathing,
Cruel is the torture of mistaking the truth for a game.
How bitter and damning is this hindsight
Of living with the knowledge that,
For all my astuteness and genius,
I missed the only chance I had in a million lifetimes
Of redemption in the sight of God.

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Bees

4 Jun

HoneyBees
Nectar of the Gods.
Can science really tell what our honey is about?
Can learned men dissect it molecule by molecule and atom by atom and really understand it?
Can they possibly see all the ingredients buried within it?
Can they count the minutes and seconds taken in its process?
Can they isolate the amount of sunshine, rain and wind that has gone into the manufacturing process?
Can they tell exactly which flower is needed for the correct pollen?
There are too many variables.

Yes, they can see the macrocosm of its construction,
Yes, they can see the specific sugars and the number of carbohydrates and calories and vitamins.
And yes, they can make a broad judgement on its food value.
But it is impossible to know the intricate finer detail of its substance.
And it is in the finer detail that the magic lies.

We are the alchemists of life.
It is not for nothing that our product is the colour of gold.
It is not for nothing that those who tame us and keep us are considered to have special gifts.
It is not for nothing that great poets have told of us, and myths have grown around us and we have been venerated by those who tap into the spiritual realm.

But it is not necessary to believe in anything supernatural to understand our mystery.
We are but a part of the intricate web of nature.
We too are hewn from the dust of the earth and the breath of the wind.
We also carry within us the self-same strands of DNA spiralled together in our own unique pattern.
Our building blocks are the same as all life forms. We really are no different……
And yet, perhaps we have been given a touch more than most.
Perhaps we have the edge in energy stores.
After all, busyness is our hallmark.
Perhaps we have the edge in construction, harnessing the power of the hexagonal.
Perhaps our discipline and orderliness in the rank and file of our workers puts even the greatest armies to shame, and our selflessness in service to the community is regarded unparalleled.
But to God, all the above is child’s play.
He can bestow all these attributes on anyone at any time, and to whichever creature he chooses he can award the laurel wreath of success above all.
No, our secret lies in the fatal flaw of the Laws of the Lower Worlds: Free Choice.

We must make honey.
But in the vibration of our buzzing wings, we can choose the wavelength of love, or the wavelength of obligation.
We are not told or ordered which to choose.
Both produce honey.
But the choice determines the magic.
When we beat our wings with love, we sing the same song as the flowers and the sun and the winds and the earth.
We move in harmony with the creation.
And it is this choice that powers the healing properties of our honey.
And it is this choice that we make with the joy of life in our hearts that fuels our industry and our energy.
And it is the consequence of this choice that honey tastes sweet and combats the ills of your body.

It is our choice to love, and it is our choice to express our love in our work and it is this ingredient that cannot be observed, weighed or measured.
And it is this simple magic that we embed in the honey uncalled for and unasked, given of our own free will, that makes it the king of all foods and the nectar of the gods.

Aurora Borealis

6 Apr

alaska_auroraSail with me, on this ship of the wind.
Over the ocean of silence and stars.
Sail with me on the currents of orbits that track the paths of planets and suns.
Lift my sails to the freshening breeze of light swathing its mystical cloak of colour over the contours of your sky,
And sail with me to the edge of Life.

Speak not in tongues of mortal men,
Nor sing the songs of mythic sirens.
Let not your thought obscure the lilt of my haunting harmony,
Expressive in the flickering light.
Seek ye not an answer to my being.
I am not held in explanation.
Seek ye not a reference to your world.
I live not in its truth.
Seek ye not the warp and weft of my cloth.
I am not woven by the forces of your thread.

Behold ye only the vast reflection of my soul,
Calling to the unknown, the unknowable,
Beseeching in glorious longing to be remembered by Him who left me here.

Seek to glimpse behind the curtain of my stage.
What will you find, if you sail here?
What will you gain beyond this veil?
What answers await behind my sash?

Set the ship to rights.
Let the cosmic winds billow the sails!
Let the prow set its course onward into the deeps.
On the waves of existence sail with me forward into the mists of time.
I will show you my secret.
I will reveal the hidden mysteries of my waters.
I will open the oysters of time for you and reveal the pearls hidden within.
Sail with me, explore with me, adventure with me on my velvet colour.
How I long to take you through the nature of illusion to the truth beyond!

But Alas! I may not!
I must leave you here.
You and I can not play together in this wise.
My heart longs to be your friend, your playmate, your companion.

But I am not of your world.
I am not of your truth.
I am not of your thread.

And therefore, only dreams can join us.
And I can only glow my spirit in your sky,
And dance my colours before your eyes.
And be content with the touch of your gaze.

Dragons

7 Jan

blue dragon, protector, defender

Fire-breathing warriors of the mist.

Vast ancient guardians of the deep ethereal regions of time and dimension.

Fierce protectors of the hearts of Man.

Long have they been our companions,

Long have they fought beside our heroes and brave hearts,

Long have they defended the fortresses of honour and justice.

Long have they stood as silent and unmoving as the mountain ranges of the world, letting no evil pass through their defenses.

How safe have we been kept from the incessant assaults on our senses.

How little we know of them.

How scant is the notice we give them.

How many more nights must we sleep unaware of the keepers of our dreams?

How frail we are.

How given are we to thoughtless pastimes and children’s games.

How minuscule our greatest achievements in the infinite scale of the Universe.

And yet, somehow we are treasured.

Somehow, somewhere, some one cherishes the tiny specks that we are with our feeble efforts at construction and creation.

Some force out there, must believe that our each breath carries some grain or spark of value.

It must be so, otherwise, why send such powerful, magnificent creatures to keep us protected from the ravages of the pounding tidal waves of chaos that surround us.

The way is open for us, if we only find the hidden path amidst the debris of our stories and fairy tales.

If we only care to search beneath the faded lettering and inscriptions on the tattered books lying forgotten in the attics.

If we only take a moment to whisper their half-remembered names into the dancing flames of our hearth fires.

Maybe then we might catch a glimpse of them.

Perhaps a sudden rush of heated air on our face,

Perhaps a flicker of fire on the distant horizon,

Perhaps the faint, eery cry of some unheard of  bird of prey.

All these could be clues for us.

Stand guard and alert, and keep yourself tuned to the forces of the invisible.

There lies the way to discovery, reconnection and renewal of the bonds between the warriors of old and the forgers of the future.

Let us reach out now to these great hearts and make them more welcome in our midst.

For they have kept us safe, and, unbeknown to all but a few, kept the fire of life-force burning in our breasts when all hope had long been abandoned.

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