Mystical Unions

Over our uncovered heads, beneath the silver-grey Atlantic clouds, Apollo’s fiery chariot was dulled by the passing of the moon as our antique lunar calendars tilted into our sacred seasons. At the setting of the sun we will welcome with our Jewish sisters and brothers the beauty of the Sabbath bride and the first day of Nissan – an ancient New Year festival and a memorial of a divinely guided flight from oppression. It’s about the fields and the golden growing barley. Christians prepare for the falling of the grain into the soil to die, for unless it does it will ever remain a single, lifeless seed. Our common earth-bound experience informs us, with all the animals, that the season of new life is upon us as we glide in our orbit into Spring. Out of slavery and into freedom; out of darkness and into light. We share this journey together and express it in our different languages. Time is passing, and we have come further than some we have loved and known.


Last night an old friend paid me a visit in the dead of night. I have known this friend for many years, and I trust that I will know him for many more years to come. Perhaps he will be my last comforter. We all know him, only by different names. To me he is my Empty; my memory of failure, regret, absence, he is the shadowed faces of those I have lost, and my lingering worry about my own diminishing time. On my bed his visitation was the deep brown Eyes of a big black dog, the long ash on the cigarette of a seaman now consigned to the deep, the pipe of a holy man, and the grip of bracken digit fingers sorely missed. Our time together is sorrow, but I welcome him regardless. He brings with him the closeness of them he has taken, and to who he will in his own good time take me. We began to sing together – a chant: The Supreme Lord’s manifestation of the Vedas. Incarnational theology long before the birth of the Nazarene. My voice soothed him, and his soothed me. He left, leaving Spring behind.

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