Our Lady of the Harbour

"If I could move, I'd kneel for you..."

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 02:54:24 GMT

In All Places; In All Times

Sun, 30 Nov 2008 08:09:53 GMT

Here, and now. Nowhere. All ways.

I know who you are...
We're both made of stars...
You are my Self,
& Lover, Other, I
Am you...

I re:cognise you.   It's all been different since we met in Lucca,
held erect in Alon's hand.
I feel you, Twin, everywhen I feel love.

I met a woman. She has a mouth like yours.
In the Kumulipo of Thunderbird Sweat Lodge she whispered,
"I'm supposed to tell you... don't get caught in your weavings;
dance along the thread..."   Her voice rising & falling along
the songline of heart beat, drum, breathe & voice.

I will not play any roles for you;
You will not play any roles for me.
I will love you;
I will love myself.
We will be ourselves,
To.get.her.

But, wait...
There's more

Worship me in the forms which remind you of me...

Thu, 15 May 2008 19:08:52 GMT

I have been answered.

I release Love to Be in all places, all ways, all times.
Now.
Here.

I allow my Self to be born.

I invite Mother to be born in my Heart.

I allow my little dream its awakening into Big Dreaming Mind.

Hello, omniverse.

Tue, 05 Feb 2008 08:41:09 GMT

i met an ambassador from Your energetic sphere in a bar two thursdays passed.
i wrote on a chalkboard:

when will She summon me?
when will She call to me?
what must I do to prepare?

and he said "When will you summon your Self?"

there was more. our knees touched for twenty minutes and i was ridiculously aroused.
my root chakra opened wide and elecricity swirled cyclonic through the ley-lines of my body.
just now, i found:

PRIESTS

And who will write love songs for you

When I am lowered at last?

And your body is that little highway shrine

That all my priests have passed.

My priests they will put flowers there

They will kneel before the glass

But they’ll wear away your little window love

They will trample on the grass.

And who will aim the arrow

That man will follow thru your grace?

When I am lowered of memories

And all your armor has turned to lace.

The simple life of heroes

The twisted life of saints

They just confuse the sunny calendar

With their red & golden paint.

And all of you have seen the dance

That God has kept from me

But he has seen me watching you

When all your minds were free.

And who will write love songs for you

When I am lowered at last?

And your body is some highway shrine

That all my priests have passed.

My priests they will put flowers there

They will stand before the glass

But they’ll wear away your little window light
They will trample on the grass.

I found this while searching for random phrases. I found this at this site: http://www.gnostics.com/hymns.html which is going to be a valuable resource for me in coming days. I knew they were your words, though I'd never before read them, from the first sentence. When I came to your name at the bottom of the poem, I had a heart-orgasm.

Parallel Myths

Wed, 30 Jan 2008 21:12:55 GMT

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
The Lady of Shalott."

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."

Letting Go

Thu, 24 Jan 2008 00:34:48 GMT

After spending all day in correspondence with you, hearing your voice shining through my heart in the guise of the winter sun; Singing songs to meet your Song halfway, my Voice creating a stairway of sound;
After finally re-membering the vision of NOW I had when I was in-between five and four and finally piecing understanding to*get*her like I never had before; After drawing the symbol of the Order of the Unified Heart with a circular door in its centre and the word 'Open' where a handle would be; After following the feathers laid at every seventh step, I find my Self before a Millenium Library computer desk.

I type your name and hit 'search'. This title rises to the surface of the screen:
"ANJANI
BLUE ALERT
produced by Leonard Cohen"

A beautiful librarian gently directs me to the Jazz/Blues section, pointing to the letter 'A' on a shelf.
It is in my hand. Her eyes on the cover are like Harry's eyes; like Madeleine's eyes; like Your eyes.
Her hair is the colour of your hair, her skin, your skin in Greece... Aeons ago, your skin in Greece.
...though her nose does not belong to a hawk, and her hair is long and straight. Nothing like your curly Jewish mop...

And these words are hidden inside:

INNERMOST DOOR (3:16)

Nowhere to go
Nothing to say
You won't hear my voice
Till it's far, far away
I'm too tired now
To fight anymore
We're saying goodbye
At the innermost door

When I am alone
You'll come back to me
It's happened before
It's called memory

I must go back
To where we began
When I was a woman
And you were a man
If you come with me
I'll never begin
We've made us a home
But the roof's fallen in

When I am alone
You'll come back to me
It's happened before
It's called memory

I'm not even sure
If I know where to start
But starting is second
First we must part
I'm too tired now
To fight anymore
We're saying goodbye
At the innermost door

Oh, my Heart. I have always been awake. I just didn't want to hear. I have to let you go.
("Let go")
If I Love You I will set you free.

it's me. it's always been me.
can i live through this? can i breathe through this?

I must breathe through this. I must live through this.

For less than a second our lives will collide
the endless suspended
the door opened wide
then she will be born
to someone like you
what no one has done
she'll continue to do

I know she is coming
I know she will look
and that is the longing
and this is the book

Be Loved, Lover of mine
I release you.

Thankyou, my Poet

I have finally learned to weep
for all that we have never done
for all the Time we spent asleep:
what Ever Is
but never was
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

Go Home.

I shall take up your Word where you set it down this morning, centuries ago.

Rest in Peace.
Under the Marble
And the Snow...

calling all Angels... Align your Stars

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 22:31:46 GMT

He's five foot two and he's six feet four
He fights with missiles and with spears
He's all of 31 and he's only 17
He's been a soldier for a thousand years

He's a Catholic, a Hindu, an Atheist, a Jain
A Buddhist and a Baptist and a Jew
And he knows he shouldn't kill
And he knows he always will
Kill you for me my friend and me for you

And he's fighting for Canada
He's fighting for France
He's fighting for the USA
And he's fighting for the Russians
And he's fighting for Japan
And he thinks we'll put an end to war this way

And he's fighting for Democracy
And fighting for the Reds
He says it's for the Peace of All
He's the one who must decide
Who's to live and who's to die
And he never sees the writing on the walls

But without him how could Hitler have
Condemned him at Dachau
Without him Caesar would have stood alone
He's the one who gives his Body
As a weapon to a war
And without him all this killing can't go on

He's the Universal Soldier and he
Really is to blame
His orders come from far away no more
They come from him, and you, and me
And brothers can't you see
This is not the way to put an end to war.

<b>WE ARE ALL DOING IT!<b>

Reality is an effort in collaberation.
Words are Seeds.

*softly*
"Be careful with eachother
These fragile flames,
Innocence can't be lost
it just needs to be maintained..."
(thanks Jewel K.)

I lied to the Healer (my dear friend Jason) when he asked me if the time was upon him to lay down his sword.
I told him he didn't 'have to'. But that he could.
I suppose that's not a lie.
It is in deed a Choice one can only make for oneSelf.

*long stream of breath*
Okay.

"Give the Soul her freedom
Her blessed ignorance..."
(thanks SA)

Truth.

a letter to my Love

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 21:43:10 GMT

I love you in your poverty
As I loved you in your wealth
I love you in your Illness
And surely in your health

I love you as no 'other';
I love you as my Self
Holy Soul births Holy Spirit
Within One Heart
Wherein we dwell

We've been lost and wandering
Within the realms of Hell.
Come, Golden-tongued, drink deeply
The waters of this Merciful Well

I've made a balm of Word
For you, my troubadour
Who called me to the edge
And urged me through the Door

Pilgrim-Lord, you shaped me
With words of longing and of love
Your Wisdom is the Serpent
My Innocence, the Dove

Minstrel, I was hidden
In the Song my Father sang
As he wandered on & on
Lost and found and lost a-gain

Until my Mother found him
Veiled by smoke and weed
The Universe within her
Just the place to plant the seed

She brought me to your Service then
"Is there Love in Winnipeg?" (In deed)
I heard your Voice from both sides when
In Our Heart within her Womb

Centuries passed fore I could tell you:
I've been weaving at the Loom
Image-fragments came to me
As figures in a Mirror
Tricky in that Tower to really listen:
Truly hear

You have my gratitutde
For your constance
In the midst of so much fear...
Let us strip Love of its sad disguise
Let us alchemise all fear
Let us practice Temperance
Til aeon Knows itself as seventh year

You and I, the elements:
Holy Water: Holy Flame
Bound together by the Word
Created form from Name

We've only Now ended that story
We'd been dying for so long
We have only now remembered Breath
With which we rejoin Song

You have led me Here, my Love
You dreamed me back to life
You have all ways been my Husband;
I will all ways be your Wife.

Round and round for Ever so
it's gone and so it goes
the Winged Serpent eats its tail
in the Centre of the Rose.

And when the Rose has opened
Every eye shall clear and see
Holy Soul and Holy Spirit:
United, I and Thee.

with All my Love;
Be Loved

message in a bottle

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 01:06:28 GMT

I have been addicted to 'proof'. I fully committed to the breaking of this addiction some number of days ago, and as I've been taking flying leaps in Faith, a net of golden threads has become clear to my inner eye.

I was thinking to myself, to him, on the bus just last night, "How do I really really really Know that this is real?"
Holding this question in my mind, I opened the book 'Death of a Lady's Man' to a random page, hoping for the answer:

THE ALTAR

There is a certain power in this book, though you try to deny it in every word. Deny it here...

My Love, I do not deny you.

Gary came to the bookstore to-day told me he'd been absent, that he no longer desires the drink, and that he is waking up. He apologised for not being present.

"It seems that when one of us sleeps, all of us are likely sleeping too."

My Heart is open.
You wrote me Here.

How do I find you, my Prophet, my Poet?
Find me here, my Love.

show me slowly what I only know the limits of

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 10:46:00 GMT

I asked for signs; the signs were sent.

"Be careful what you wish for, the manifestation of your wishes will require you to change in ways you may not be ready for."

I can no longer deny the connections (nor do I wish to continue serving in Denial's ignorant court): Leonard Cohen's interaction with the Word invited me here. His poems, sung & writ, are candle flame to my butterfly-soul.

My Father, also named Leonard, sang Suzanne to himself, thumbing his way across Europe; squatting in an olive orchard with other feral children. This was long before he'd even met Our Lady of Sorrows. After they'd met,  & set into motion the assembly of my genetic puzzle, I attended a concert curled contented as a paisley within her liquid world.

He has been waiting for me, watching, catching glimpses in women's window-eyes for aeons.
("Worship me where you find me." she/I had told him.)
His joyful anticipation turned to bitter longing over the years, transforming my Love from Golden God to Dark King.

How can I be here, know this, & not go to him ? I will. I will.
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law. Love is the Law; Love under will.
This July our eyes will meet for the first time & the sensuality of silence will rush in,
caressing the spaces between our formlessness-made-form.

Denial's reign is over.
This is not my "schizophrenia showing."
Reality is far more intricate and beautiful than they'd like for us to know; than we're equipped to believe after having had our precious open minds molded closed by a fear-based culture;
Let us Know anyway ! Let us dare to believe in dreams !

I am now committed to the realeyesation of my responsibility in the unfolding.
I am ready to respond intelligently and open-heartedly instead of reacting based on systems of expectation.

...And of course, our friend Mr. Brezsny is right on the ball as usual:

Leo Horoscope for week of January 17, 2008

I want to call your attention to a scene in the independent film Autism: The Musical. Neal is a 12-year-old autistic boy who has never spoken a complete sentence, not even to his beloved mother Elaine. He can barely form words. If you ask him to say "bar," he'll say "rahb." Elaine brings him to a therapist who guides autistic kids in using a machine that produces vocal sounds corresponding to words the kids type on a keyboard. For the first time, Neal's mom hears a message from her son: "Mom, I'm going to put you on the spot. You need to do more listening." I expect you will soon experience a metaphorically comparable event, Leo: A source you love will communicate with you in a novel way. Be receptive. Listen hard.

"What is the more Universal human characteristic: fear... or laziness ?"

No more cowardly Lioness.
I asked for this. I rise to meet my Self.

Thankyou. Thankyou. Thankyou.

I am listening.

"It's coming like the tidal flood
beneath the lunar sway
imperial, mysterious
in amorous array..."

Precious Words scribbled on onion-skin & treasured within my golden purse:

We are living a long way down inside God's coma-dream... a thousand kisses deep.

O ! Dream ! The dream of kissing the man-child awake, & killing his doppleganger by slitting his throat chakra open, freeing the voice in his blood (the Voice within the voice ?)... it was me. He is I !
My animus. Are You my animus made flesh ?

It is written that we meet... "It's written in the scriptures; it's written there in blood."

How do I know this to be real ?
As soon as I began to entertain the possiblity that it is not I fell unconscious again.
Then I had the dream...

Whenever I feel this particular expansion-contraction inside my body (like a flower blooming) I want to say "I'm going to die" but what I really mean is "I AM ALIVE. I AM BEING BORN."

The flower, lacking our concept of chronos (time linear and divisive), is simply aware of its opening, of the entire stream of its existence. Existence is awareness, if not sentience.

Inhale to the bottom of the question;
Exhale a stream of possibility.