Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Love Story

In Love, I am the mountain,
Broody, insurmountable,
surrounded by the sea.
A mystery, everyone says, what fortunate soul might conquer her?
Who would dare?
Truth be told, dying to be overwhelmed, I softened my edges, allowed pride to crumble.
I became vulnerable, ready, willing to be worn down by the sea, as is right.
Alas, exposed, below me, my conqueror did not rise.
My Sea, my lover, remained unstirred –
Uniformly void of spume, of thunderous roar - of obsession.
Like a glass eye viewing a masterpiece, he was equally oblivious to me.
Behold, how even my shadow lays listless upon him, could he not, at the very least, stir that!
I ask, O Lover, where is your passion?
Where is your desire to drag me beneath you!
Curse your tranquillity!
If still waters run deep, then I declare you fathomless!
Sailors call you traitor!
The wind grows tired of you!
And so do I!
O how you have brought the lofty low.
Made miserable with the longing to be wanted.
Why do you stay if you have no desire to take?
What storms have forgotten you in my wake?
Abandoned you to my shores!
I, the Mountain, it seems, must crumble down into your depths and carry you away!
Why is it that I must hammer against you!
Its not fair!
Its shameful!
O Sea, why don't you beat against me, consume me, drag me beneath you.
Like the other waters do, to the other mountains.
Leave me dry!
Leave me be!
But do not leave me to beat myself to sand.
Do not have me reduce myself to sparkles on a distant shore.
Its your duty done, yes, well executed to be sure, but far from the bard's pretty telling.
That is too cruel,
even for you.
Salty, demon!
Made of my tears.
Why don't you want me?
O where is your passion?
I ask and I ask again, but you never answer!
Questions with no answers become riddles!
In love, I am the mountain,
Unwanted! Abandoned! Tormented!
A curse upon you! To heck with it!
I shall ask instead: Why do you stay?
True and steady as a clear blue sky, as close to me as the wind on my face,
holding my shadow.
Embracing me, where I touch you.
Because you love me?
Because you hate me?
Or is it a sad mistake that leaves you lapping eternally at my stones.

By Jaymee Bennett


 
 



Friday, November 14, 2014

A Rose by Any Other Name

Be watchful of the naming of things.
Word has power.
To take away, or make.
Like love!
The nameless manifested it, yet we dared name it.
Context lost!
Love! Here it is! Found!
Struck off its branch; an apple ripe for its first bite.
Yet, what we hold in our hand, is no longer that which grew on the tree.
No longer that which God knew.
Become now, a mystery to all.
Only we don't see it!
Blissfully ignorant to the facsimile made.
We turn it over, feel it in the palm – apple, apple, apple, we say – understood, catalogued, yet failure to see, that the fruit is now limited.
Blinded in understanding, the mystery is lost to the sweetness of the taste of apple.
Become sweetness and crunch, it can no longer grow beyond our comprehension.
Woe to you! Better that you had left it as presented! As offered!
How bold, how presumptuous! To declare the name of another’s offspring?
When meeting for the first time, is the finger pointed and one stranger declared by the other as to who he is?
Would it not, that we had waited for the stranger to reveal their own name! Would we not know him better then?
If we have named everything, and nothing named by itself, or its creator, how can it be, that we can claim knowledge of it?
A universe of mysteries transformed, lost, in becoming known.
God!
We have named him too, but ask, has he named himself?
He did not name his creations, created in his image. We named them!
That which another meticulously dreamt up, purposely fashioned, placed, yet, belovedly, limitlessly, left unnamed.
We named.
An artist's craftsmanship mistaken for indifference, an oversight, an omission, or at best the gift of freewill.
Such is the faith we place in the institution of naming and and being named.
Of claiming.
Listen! Take care if you would behold the truth!
Unname that which you have labelled!
Renounce your titles!
Seek no longer its name, rather, seek its entirety, its fluidity, the context of your first experience with it.
And for heaven's sake, ask yourself, what is apple?
Or better yet, what is Love?
 
By Jaymee Bennett


Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Something out of Nothing

With ink which is not ink,
My heart speaks.
My thoughts lay themselves down with the help of my fingers.
How can it be, that something appears from nothing?
How can you read words never written?

There is no ink here.
No page to write upon.
No place in existence where this message is.

But yet?

Here it is, beneath your eyes.
In your brain.
Creation works the same.

It does not need blocks.
It does not need space.
Just YOU.



Monday, November 10, 2014

The Hammer – A Poem for The Light



O, Let the sparks fly!

Set ablaze, that’s how I can best describe it.

with faith,

with trust,

with grace,

As the Hand of Saint Michael – Five Pointed Star, raises me up and strikes me down, forcing form, striking sparks.

From what? I do not know.

To what end? I do not know.

How does it begin? Now, that I know.



It begins with faith.

It beings with trust.

It begins with grace.

Oh, and with sincerity!

As bright as sunlight and deep as shadows.

That’s how it begins.

 

Sunday, November 2, 2014

The Oak Tree


A mighty wind blew night and day.
It stole the oak tree's leaves away,
Then snapped its bark
until the oak was tired and stark.
But still the oak tree held its ground
while other trees feel all around....
The weary wind gave up and spoke,
"How can you still be standing, Oak?"
The oak tree said, "I know that you
can break each branch of mine in two,
carry every leaf away,
shake my limbs, and make me sway.
But I have roots stretched in the earth,
growing stronger since my birth.
You'll never touch them, for you see,
they are the deepest part of me.
Until today, I wasn't sure
of just how much I could endure.
But now I've found, with thanks to you,
I"m stronger that I ever knew.



Saturday, November 1, 2014

The Welcoming of The Jewel in the Crown

Words I choose you carefully – stones to build with.

The hammer of a grace filled heart to guide me, I set my tools against the page.

No page at all, in reality, but a place in creation.

Here, now I write the words:

A dark purple stone joyous with light emerges.

It rests in my hands, my fingers spread wide to cup its form, above the ebb and flow of the eternal sea.

A being of beauty, of love, created for all to look upon, I name her – Jewel in the Crown.

A thousand thousand angels come with purple wings to admire the beautiful thing, to enjoy her creation.

Source is with us, a spiral of blessings.

For the light, for the joy, for the love, for the wonder.

Oh how wondrous, the ability to create, to share!


To bring forth from the light, more light!


Monday, October 27, 2014

The Hopeful Forging of Micheal The Lion's Scabbard


Great one who is God's light with your sword grasped in both hands --its blade sunk deep into the spiritual ocean, the first water.

You who kneel before God, I kneel before you.

Your armour is silver, but it is the nature of gold that you glow with, your form blessed by God's rays.
In awe, my eyes hold yours. You are the light of the world.
 
O Healer, Lion, Calm Abider, with a heart of light I request your help.
Transmute me! Temper my darkness, guide me onto your path.

Take your hand from your sword and grasp me instead, plunge me beneath the waves of purity, baptise me so that I may become like you.

Seal me: my flesh, mind and spirit, to the eternal true light.

I do not know God's true name, nor his shape, I do not know how to worship him or please him. I am as ignorant as you are light.

And I humbly beg for you to change that for me.

Accept me as your squire, although I am made of dust, True King, make of me your scabbard.