A St. Johns Image

“Thus stood John, day by day, baptising and preaching in the desert. The heat of the sun and the bitterness of the cold; the draught of the sand and the hardness of the rocks; the idleness of the water and the emptiness of the sky – they surrounded him.  He knew: Nature has died, the earth is dead, mankind is deserted. Of himself though, he knew: “I am the voice of one crying in the solitude, prepare ye the way of the Lord”.

Thus he stood there; mighty to behold, with strong shoulders, long and falling hair, testifying hands, heavy steps. His voice was like storm, his eyes shone like sun and moon, his face carried the light of the day and the darkness of the night. His Jaws were as of rocks and his knees like mountains. In his hair, that grew like reed and grass, sprouted flowers and blossoms. Birds nested in the hollows of his shoulders and his skin was wrinkled like the bark of the cedars, which stood on the Lebanon.

When he walked over the earth, then the deep grounds thundered; when he spoke his words, the lightnings flash past him. His garment was like the clouds and when he preached then rain streamed and hail poured down from it. Dewdrops hung on the tips of each of his fingers and streams of life ran, wherever he laid his hands. The red of dawn was around him when he smiled and the glow of dusk when he was filled with sorrow. If he stepped into the water to baptise, fish would swim towards him. The lions laid themselves around him in the evening, when he slept, and the eagles circled about his sleep.

The world was dead. In him, though, Nature awoke to life. It shone and sounded in him, had its day and its night in him. In him Nature had become Man. He was the wind and the cloud, the tree and the grass, light and darkness, light and darkness, colour and sound, future and past. The world was dead, but he was living: he lived in waiting, in sacrificing, in believing, until the One came, to Whom he could say: “Behold, This is the Lamb of God, Which taketh away the sins of the world”

(Karl Konig, An Image of John)

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Threshold (poem)

The Portal of initiation stands ahead,
Its gaping mouth wide,
Threatening to devour
If the portico is passed
Or just engulfed by the clouds of Abeignus
Losing sight of the grey land below
There is nothing in sight but black
The night descends, the mountain cold
Death, annihilation, the fear of the dark.
There all hope dies
But eventually the new day dawns
Ahead a hazy mist, but light, bright
The promise of the Glittering image is dim yet in sight,
And further still to the summit
Where the stars and the stratosphere come into view
Where the light and the night are one.
The peak promises the city of Pyramids
And the birthing of the Babe.

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Poetry · Uncategorized

Folly (poem)

Series of 22 Poems Inspired by the Tarot Trumps(#1) 

Wide eyed and in awe,
He drinks it in,
This Bacchanalian Feast of the senses,
It is all, and one, and naught.
It is unspoken and undefined,
Unstruggled for and unmanifest,
The universal, the everything
is brought into being in the word wrought forth
In the babble of the baby
The shrill cry does not say this or that
Does not ask what or why or where,
The wailing child opens it mouth,
Echoing the universal word.
The word rings forth and in its speaking
It is heard,
I and it,
inside and outside,
The sky cracked, the lightning bolt descended
The world is brought into being
from I to it to EVERYTHING.
Zero equals one
And from one springs forth the many,
Though all are one
Though one is naught
And all reside in silence.


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