Space . . . and I wrote in air the 'ragged
writings,' Everland in my heart, the land of our father’s, the internal country in
which we ever journey onward and always ‘further
up and further in.’ Her shores are as
mystical as Arthurian Avalon, dark as ancient Annwn,* in the elusive quest for the beyond; her interior as
timeless and real as heaven on earth. In the dreaming back to lost worlds of
beauty, the yearning eye turns to the past to find the future.
Found in the compelling pursuit of the
Holy Grail her elusive perplexing songs; all springing from their inner
ageless, Celtic pool. These were the ragged ‘rosebuds’ of Everland; and their
message, and the inner banner she flew from her highest towers: that beauty and
truth were not made one, and whole, without their stinging thorn; and that
flesh cannot abide. It will endlessly reject it; and to its own demise! Not
understanding that its very piercing and seeming dying was the life of the
inner path, of ‘the sword being pulled
from the stone’ within us and the reigning as a king in this life! It was
the missing piece of the mystery; the piece we didn’t want so it was always
missing. We clung to the shadow instead of the light. We trusted to the outer
form of things instead of the inner substance.
Unless we become as believing as a little
child, we won’t understand. Only the small would understand; it was the weak
that were strong…and the process which made them so? The key to that strength
that was the thing to comprehend. Only then the possibility of the drawing of ‘a sword from a stone:’ and the evidence
and power of a heavenly life. But it was hard. Very hard. But it was worth it.
Who would not want to pull from the ‘stone’ the very ‘sword’ of kingship which
made one rich in life! It was still
there! Ever enthusing and empowering the ‘knights’ of every generation, and
throughout all time . . . it was irresistible!
[* Annwn n. A Welsh mythical land; spoken of in ancient Welsh poetry; translates as:
“In-World;” ‘the inner world.’ Annwn was surrounded by darkness and men were
afraid; but it contained the magical cauldron or cup, held sacred and holy to saints
and explorers, alike; among whom was the mythical King Arthur of Dark Age and Medieval
legend who went in search of it.]
The
titles of the next four 'ragged
writings' of Amethyst Poetry:
Space
In Following
The Inner Grail
Just Being Loved!
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