Amethyst Poetry / Writing Saga # 1 / Another Beginning

    The poem, Through Black Gates Rose Morning was the last ‘ragged writing’ of that particular early ‘second phase’ of Amethyst Poetry. The next, beginning with Rays Uncounted, was different. I found that I was led to a new or further level of heart outpouring, in another layer of language within the poetical creative expression that was given me in the spirit. There always awaited a further entering in; and, the losing of what was before, in order to find it, was always the way things for me: following the lamb, whithersoever...

     Following on from here, there are four more of these strange shinings through the amaranthine rocks in the third phase of Amethyst Poetry . . .  (The first phase: the original ‘incomprehensible’ poems /the second phase: the Word poems /the third phase: the beginnings of a new awakening.)

     The next four 'Ragged Writings of Everland:'

   

     Rays Uncounted

     Wisps of Sight

     The White Goose

     A Moment

The Saga of Amethyst Poetry / Part Nine: It Works Backwards or Forwards

    If spiritual ideas were the consonants of this 'other language,' then the kernels of truth hidden within those ideas were the vowels. They gave the pronunciation – the life of it – the sound of Life. The sounds in one word flowing in with those of another word, in the Spirit, made another language . . . another sense altogether-other, than the outer-look of the first sense, which seemed as nonsense . . . which wasn't nonsense, at all; it came of itself, so it spoke. It came of the Spirit. The crazy writer, perhaps nothing but a babbling baby, had understood; and marvelled: seeing evidence that language as a whole was a living entity, and a divine gift. It was not of us.   

If in a living writing flow

It was surrendered back to the Source

From where it came, it could say more

Going beyond the natural mind

Being greater than the pen which wrote

Or the fingers that touched the keys

Being greater than the fingers that touched the keys

Or the pen which wrote

Going beyond the natural mind

It could say more, from where it came

Surrendered back to the Source

If in a flow of living writing 

For wherever the living kernel was

Language could go . . . backwards or forwards