I met a beautiful young woman Luminous as first morning light, Filling the world with gold. Her life story unbearably heavy, A weight that gathered many dark clouds. She is an orphan Without a family.
I was entrusted to hold her body To carry her fragile vessel, To the one who could tend her deep wound.
She asked me, "Where do tears come from? When the waters of the beginning overflow, And the caps of the deep no longer fit, When formlessness and emptiness rise, Anointed and crowned, How would you even begin To extract the trapped light At the heart of the abyss?"
We were caught In the longest rain Heavy, Unstoppable, Delivering questions in relentless waves, Each one crashing with a demand For an ark of purpose, Or else.
In wisdom Earth Heaven Separated.
Long before that She stood at His side Delighting Him day after day, Ever at play in His presence.
As the beginning ended And opposites took on substance, She was forgotten, Left behind, lost in the shadows. The fear of separation Became her new wisdom Her prima materia From which all known worlds Visible and invisible Were formed.
Since then She remained by herself, Thin as early ice. I must carry her now, With my bare hands, Keep her from the inner ones Who hunger for honey and wine.
Before she fell asleep, Her words grew gentle and distant, A last whisper: "You were made in God’s tears. He was lonelier than lonely, His heart aching more than all things, For a companion who would listen, For a mirror capable of consciousness, For an image that could reflect Himself, A voice, A pair of hands, An open heart. With wet hands, He fashioned you From the dry mud of the earth."
The light is not gone, Only hidden, Waiting for the one who remembers Each morning anew.
The Jungian Aion
I met a beautiful young woman
Luminous as first morning light,
Filling the world with gold.
Her life story unbearably heavy,
A weight that gathered many dark clouds.
She is an orphan
Without a family.
I was entrusted to hold her body
To carry her fragile vessel,
To the one who could tend her deep wound.
She asked me,
"Where do tears come from?
When the waters of the beginning overflow,
And the caps of the deep no longer fit,
When formlessness and emptiness rise,
Anointed and crowned,
How would you even begin
To extract the trapped light
At the heart of the abyss?"
We were caught
In the longest rain
Heavy,
Unstoppable,
Delivering questions in relentless waves,
Each one crashing with a demand
For an ark of purpose,
Or else.
In wisdom
Earth
Heaven
Separated.
Long before that
She stood at His side
Delighting Him day after day,
Ever at play in His presence.
As the beginning ended
And opposites took on substance,
She was forgotten,
Left behind, lost in the shadows.
The fear of separation
Became her new wisdom
Her prima materia
From which all known worlds
Visible and invisible
Were formed.
Since then
She remained by herself,
Thin as early ice.
I must carry her now,
With my bare hands,
Keep her from the inner ones
Who hunger for honey and wine.
Before she fell asleep,
Her words grew gentle and distant,
A last whisper:
"You were made in God’s tears.
He was lonelier than lonely,
His heart aching more than all things,
For a companion who would listen,
For a mirror capable of consciousness,
For an image that could reflect Himself,
A voice,
A pair of hands,
An open heart.
With wet hands,
He fashioned you
From the dry mud of the earth."
The light is not gone,
Only hidden,
Waiting for the one who remembers
Each morning anew.
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