"Come to the edge", he said.
They said, "We are afraid".
"Come to the edge", he said.
They came.
He pushed them ...
and they flew.
-Guilluame Apollinaire
"Who we are from conception to death isn't the whole story, our life in the universe isn't the whole story, and the universe itself isn't the whole story...and a day will come when we all of us will have stars at elbow and foot."
-John Moriarty, in an interview with RTE
Posts Tagged ‘compassion’
abwoon d’bwashmaya
When, where, why, and how did it happen?
When did God put down the mantle of motherhood to replace it with exclusive fatherhood? Does it matter as long as the story of the motherhood reemerges?
What does it mean for us to have lost, and what will it mean for us to rediscover the motherhood of God?
I am a father and I can’t think of anything my children could do that would cause me to stop loving them.
Is God, in fatherhood, the same? Is God, in motherhood, the same?
the journey to the harp
Imagine the Dagda and Lugh and Ogma journeying across Ireland to find the oak of two blossoms. To regain their sovereignty. The harp. The music of the land.
They had no insurance. There was no store. They could not just make a new one. They had to regain their sovereignty. The music of the land.
High stakes. Life or death.
We are on that same journey.
Journeying through time. Through our souls, we are journeying to recapture the harp, the music of the land from the Fomorians. We are journeying to recapture our sovereignty from ourselves.
High stakes.
Life or death.
Up to you.
Sometimes, in my mind, the gift of voice and word of Ogma are still powerful. Sometimes, he tells me the story:
soul canyon, angel trail
Is there a way to talk about it? Can we talk about it without the language of guilt and shame? Without the language of sin and salvation? Is there a way to talk about it without the language of giddy missionaries?
Can you tell me the story separated from Sunday morning finery and lies? The story that happens every day and every night, every minute and every second; the story that never closes, the story that is not created but creates? Can you tell me that one? Have you heard it?
Can you tell me the story of the earthy Christ? The radical? The wild? Yes, the astonishing.
When I thought about it – this earthy, wild Christianity that isn’t Christianity – when I thought about it, the ambitions of the many through the millennia to live as the Christ became incredibly absurd.
Posted in Tribal Compassion | 
Tags: astonishment, christ, christianity, compassion, create, faith, karma, nobility, pagan, paganism, radical, self, soul, story, time, universe, wild | 
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i tend our hearth
She came ashore,
still glistening and wet
from the sea, shared her drink
and showed me symbols
of mysterious things
and stones and shells, she laughed
and I laughed
with her.
Not wanting her to leave,
I took her to my hearth.
She spoke, I could not understand,
when I spoke, she smiled,
but made no reply.
She drew lines in the earth
to show me her home,
from whence she came, across the sea,
she held her heart
open for me.
We sat together deep into the night,
but weary from her journey,
her songs faded, and now
in a cloud of stars
she sleeps,
and while she sleeps,
I tend our hearth.