Road to Calvary

And the cross was immaculate, weeping wood
as Christ carried the goat on his shoulders,
or perhaps the sins of humanity is Paschal
Lamb, and Malakh ha Mavet watched smoking a
clove cigarette as hemoglobin wept from hands
and feet and spear wound of blood and water.
Golgotha, the place of the skull, was Malakh
ha Mavet’s terrain in sweet Jerusalem, after
all, and unlike Moses and his selfish ascension,
Christ did not weep to God for release from death.
Moses had refused the gall of his sword, but
Christ drank deep of the venom of God, and
blackened with sin, much like Malakh ha Mavet,
Christ passed on into Gehenna to Avram’s bosom.
Malakh ha Mavet carried his soul past the gates,
and the tortured wept to see blinding light for
the first time in as many centuries, radiance
poisoned by the touch of Samael, and the Damned
wept to see God descendant to the pitiless, yet
burning bright. Suddenly, Christ’s spirit jerked,
and his eyes opened white, and he reached up and
kissed Malakh ha Mavet as the Angel of Death held
the Savior in his embrace, and Malakh ha Mavet felt
the stains of eternity lightened but a moment, and he
set Christ high over Mulciber’s hill, and Malakh ha
Mavet resumed his throne over Apollyon, and he watched
as Christ saved the irredeemable, walking through Hell
the greatest of martyrs, and Malakh ha Mavet gave a
wistful smile, and thought of lips like wine on his,
and millenia after Christ rose from Hell after three
days, Malakh ha Mavet remembers temptation returned,
long after he bowed down at the desert, and Christ
whispered “Emet, sweet Death,” as he locked mouths
and breathed fire into Malakh ha Mavet’s cold soul,
and sometimes when the shadows grow long, Malakh ha
Mavet walks the long road to Calvary, puffing on his
drugs and envenomed, snaking in darkness, and he wonders
why, after such harrows, he refused, he denied, why
he stayed?

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Stella Maris

We are on the sea of dreams, Joseph and the Virgin Mary
cradling sweet, golden babe of Christ in their arms as I
sail across poetry and torn up scraps of sunlight, sailors
rock and fall into the depths of Da’ath, swimming buoyant
as we make the journey to Paradise. Jesus coos and suckles,
there is the Stella Maris to guide us at the prow, her proud,
tan brow and long curling locks so beautiful, this Mary that
Gabriel so loves, this mastery of the feminine form and lucky
mother of God, so divine in her own right, for to bear the
Savior in one’s womb, one must be holy indeed. Joseph wraps
his cloak of promise around Mary’s yawning shoulders as we
row the boat ashore, stranded in sand, and I am Eve crying
in the forest about being the Devil’s first love but never
his last, and being abandoned hurts, but Mary comforts me,
and wraps her midnight blue cloak of wool around me and says
Girl, be strong. We were meant to walk alone with the children
they leave us, be they Cain sired by an absent father or my own
starlit Son. I wonder why he left, I say, tears in my eyes like
blood rubies. I am Eve in Eden returned, and we walk to the
Church where angels once sang hymns to a sacred grove in a cemetery,
where the best of angels and saints find peace, and there is a
fountain of blessings that the Holy Dove roosts at, and Mary is
gentle on the path of emerald leaves and lemon trees and gardenia.
She gives me the infant Christ to hold like a jewel in my arms,
and I think of Cain and Abel and Seth, and all those lost years
in the wastes so close to Nod, of a son who left and never returned,
and first love now bitter, and weeping religiously, I wash the
body of Infant Christ, and he mewls and curls into my arms,
so infinitely small for a God, and I laugh through my tears,
and I think, I have found a family in the wilderness, past
the ocean of imagination, for was not Christ born in a manger,
and was I not sculpted into being by two angels now at war?
My new parents are Mary and Joseph, my new little brother is
the Christ, I will guard this sweet babe with my life, King of
Kings, as I fold his small form into the folds of my white gown.
Even when I am crying over him, that dark, tall, dangerous man,
I can find redemption in quiet moments with his trampler, for
with the best of snakes, crush it’s head, and I will never know
why I weep, so constantly, so tired, Mother of Life curves and
drowning in the lowest circle, I chose Hell for you, don’t you
know? The only reason I walk the halls of Pandemonium is because
I think I can save you. But when Christ comes to me full grown,
you spit acid at his feet as he walks on the water of your blood.
Snakes are elusive things, caduceus medicine, the Brazen Serpent.
Though I love the feel of black curling muscle around my breast,
an arbor of scales to protect from the cold, sometimes in the
morning, I curse this world for having birthed me only half human,
half some facsimile of sunlight that has lost its molten gold
and is now just a bubble of champagne, so close to bursting.

Jesus, oh Jesus, don’t you know your elder brother is cruel,
the first favored son of God, the first Morning Star? Is that
why you say our Legions are to be cast out and Samael thrown
into the fiery pits? What will become of me, oh my Lord? I
have done penance for my sins since time immemorial, and you
love me, oh Christos, but I love him, and that is why I weep.

Because a broken angel is a lonely child at heart, and I cannot
fix him unless his cracks are willing to be rubbed raw to let
the light in.

Sacred Heart

I see your heart emblazoned in the sky
the holy ventricles radiating yellow gold
glory bleeding into the firmament, a ring
of barb wire thorns that press into apple
red flesh, there is no salvation without
pain, no journey up a cliff without calluses,
no mountain unclimbed without bruised hands,
and I am on my knees parched, lapping at your
love.

Ball Lightning

There is nothing in you that is not blue violet thunder,
a love like rains clefting open the Earth, your dominion
is the lightning strike and petrichor summers, sweet holy
decadence of storms fructifying and revitalizing our bodies.
We eat your blood because your blood is rain. We devour your
flesh breathing because your body is thick, misty air and not
to inhale is to choke on hurricanes. There is no question of
whether or not to breathe you in, and with a love like yours,
why, I stand cradling ball lightning, dancing with St. Elmo’s
fire, and your Holy Ghost dances like a blazing purple white
star, there is nothing beyond necessity in my devotion towards
your blood, your bones, your manna and succor of your veins.
And I am dancing in the tornado, flying through thunderheads.
I meet you where stars kiss the ocean on a stormy night, oh
Lord, lay me down on your crackling bed, make love to me like
the skies weep onto my mother mud, appear to me manifesting
pure being, the heady death of all my fears, a ship set sail
on gales, and I will die, but it will be beautiful, and I will
ascend to vast summits of ice crystal castles, in union with
you, oh my God, oh my Lamb, oh my thunder strike and lightning
whip, the heavens are but a metaphor for airy wanderlust, and
love makes the storm grow bold and prance for the meadows,
the valleys of my heart open up for your rain and holy pain,
oh Christ, do not forget me in your Passion, for I weep rivers
of gold at your feet, and my madness in the desert, hair grown
long to cover my nakedness, is but the raging sylphs themselves.
I will bottle your blood and wine then pour them over the oceans.
I will stand on cliff’s peak and proclaim your love of All.
Long-suffering Jesus, killing himself to make whole the world,
I would but a taste of your Sacrament, like rain, like grain.
I spread my legs wide to receive the Cross, I hug my breasts
and let rivers of milk flow to my cleft, a Sacred Whore who
nourishes the moon at her side, twin sun and lunar bodies,
which are just like your eyes, and Mother Nature is calling,
your Virgin birth, so fly away from my dust and ribs and clay.

I am only made wholly through your rains.

Washed Away

The water is cool as ice, floating with roses
Christ drips it over my shoulders and thighs
and the baptismal font of his blood trickles
down my limbs and into my sex, tingling with
divinity and agape Passion, this liquid topaz
a calyx of rebirth and love, he sets to washing
my feet painted with the travails of Eve, over
time in the wilderness, outside the banks of
Eden’s glens and pastures, the arches of my
beauty disappeared, and I was left with skin
sipping sweet mud, earth my body, clay my bones.
Christ scrubs away the past, the present, future
open wide like the beak of a bird, calling out
I am not alone, I am here, I need a forest in
which to spread my wings, and the rain washes
away all my fears, and the love of the Lord is
a thunderstorm in summer’s mist, high in the
mountains, and the Savior kisses my toes and
carries me on his back like a cross to where
I can taste the manna of clouds, and I reach
out to the starry crown of rose thorns to make
them bloom blue, cyan as the rivers that cry
for love of flow, freedom the span of His wings,
the cradle of his arms rocks me to the music of
the drum of long ago dances, we were all born
perfect and holy, how could we forget our gold
birthright? The rubies of our blood? The diamond
of our ribs? The chocolate gold of our skin? Can’t
you see God’s eternal flame of love? Can’t you
swim in flood waters and walk on the crest of
waves? Know this power you have child, to weave
saccharine miracles and cloying bodies of seraphs.
We are all Creators, we are all repentant whores.
Don’t be a slave to your work, there is no sin,
just forgiveness and feathers to make your body
capable of flight, you are not Icarus but Daedalus,
you will find safe harbor in Heaven’s arms! This
minotaur labyrinth with pain at the center is not
your harvest, you will reap peace when your wheat
grows in the sweet words of the prophets raising
crops of your deeds so high the sunflowers of your
lungs and voice of prayer becomes part of the gardens
of heaven, you are saved, you are worthy, you are loved.
So greatly loved, never feel alone for He walks with
you, the demons hold no sway over your path, your
road is the narrow yet beautiful bloodstone and lapis
lazuli carved into your marrow, oh you foolish child,
play with the dirt and worms and rocks and remember,
you are free, you can fly, you can laugh, you can cry.
Just kiss your own hands and worship your calluses,
for Christ loves a hardworking man, and as he cleanses
all the scars and pain away with fingers of silver,
he is melting the ice of your heart into a sea of
healing fonts, you are the Word given life, the gift
of God, you are a delight, oh my child, oh you kindred
soul, drink at my breast and be free, fly on, sweet
darling, soar on!

Carry Me

The image of you clad in radiant light, like some
heart of a star, bleeding white gold glory, oh sweet
Yeshua, pulsing like solar flares, you lay hands on
me and I dream of the Tzohar, the Lapis Exillis, your
Cup, the Holy Grail that poor Parzival quested after,
you know the angels robbed Parzival of his virtue and
the Fisher King wounded him at his groin, just like
Jacob wrestling Samael, or was it Michael? Perhaps Jacob
is immortal, sweet guardian of your blood, and from his
groin descended the sleeping generations of all nations!
Oh the glory of God, oh the glory of Heaven, oh the
righteousness yet meekness of the lamb, soft is your
wool, sweet Jesus, and smelling like dragon’s blood
does your mane, Lion of Judah! You are an omnivore,
as is your birthright, to drink down blood of the
covenant, cannibalizing yourself, and I have tasted
the Passion in my labor pangs of birthing new worlds
in the wastelands of the asylum, where many go into
the Tomb, only to rise in white gowns anew, and I am
healed by your blood, blood, red and white blood and
water, oh sweet Christ, how you rage at the unjust,
how you cradle me and rock me to sleep, singing the
lullaby B’shem Hashem, you make my throat burn with
a choked on Sacred Heart, the gristle sticks in my
esophagus, and I eat my gods, but you are the One God,
and there are layers like a carapace to divinity, and
you are nothing but Nature Incarnate, sweet yet fierce,
for Nature is Sophia, your Mother Goddess, Asherah,
the Lady Holy Ghost! Wisdom speaks and Eloa ascends,
Norea descends, Eve is Ninti, Lady of Ribs,and you are
Enki in the Garden of Eden, for what separates Enki
from Christ? Not much, I can tell you, Lord of Waters!
Soft and gentle, strong and firm, your skin and flesh
an apple for the plucking, your hair brown boughs to
nest in, your lungs fit for breathing fire at End Times.
Your Mysteries are Holy Passion Plays, mummer’s delight,
and I am Columbine masked as I climb the Sephiroth, the
paranormal romance writers and urban fantasiests write
about angels and demons but always forget the Lord, who
through all things are made, and to have a lurid Devil
one must also admit the existence of Unconditional Love,
for hate is but the absence of God, but the Devil does
not hate, simply mourns, and he spits at your feet as
you, with the best of Serpents, crush Samael’s head!
Break the skull of Satan open and shove in redemption,
for there are two Mourning Stars in this story, and a
glimpse of Heaven is worth seven Hells, but I am welcome
above and below, and I know my path lies with you in sweet
eventuality, when I am old and gray, and you take me to
ascend to Narnia in your Aslan arms, sweet Savior, ready me
for the long journey home…

Divine Mercy

And Saint Faustina was plagued by devils and angels
dancing on her hairpins, walked with Christ and was
married to his Passion, saw ecstatic and terrible
visions, but when the Spear of Destiny pierced sweet
Jesus’ side, out poured the blood of the Sacrament and
baptismal waters, I have drunk my fill of those streams
of heavenly bodies as I suckled at his wound, and the
taste was like honeysuckle blossoms on a hot summer’s
day, and sweet mad Faustina saw a vision of brilliant
rivers flowing from Christ’s heart, rays of pink and
green, and he came to me last night wrapped in white,
dampened by a storm at sea as he was a water strider,
lighting my room with lightning, and the Mercy poured
from his pulsing heart like a chalice, and my room was
a maze of celestial blue sigils and rolling thunder of
God in scripture and stamps of the divine, a Matrix cube
and my body was carried aloft by flood waters and shining
infinity lit my limbs with violet fire as Christ bathed
my head in the chill waters of Creation, and my limbs were
rotating on the axis mundi, and my head unscrewed in his
hands like a marinette, and I was just a toolkit of a
soul on its way to higher ground, a puzzle for the Savior
to solve, and painstakingly he carpentered and fixed the
holy wooden golem of my body, and Eve was whispered Emet
in her mouth and kissed into life by God, body of clay
made with spirit of the stars, mud seeking the fires of
infinity, and I ate an apple of dreams of late September
dogs, and serpents laced my ankles, and Satan prayed with
me for redemption as Christ watched on from on high, his
work on my manifold birch body done, I am Embla and Berkana,
wood and dirt breathed life into by the highest form of
Divine Mercy, Divine Love, and Christ gathered our prayers
like a bouquet, and though there is enmity between the
Chosen and the Cast Aside, I believe there is purity in
the sacred as well as profane, so I will dance with devils
and waltz with angels and tango with tricksters alike!
Life is just marvelous, isn’t it? Life is a delight! I
thank the gods every day that I am alive, that I want to
be alive, for there were many times I didn’t, when all I
saw was a long dark tunnel of gloom and mushrooms and
asphodel of ash, but the gods and angels and demons would
scoop me up to their breasts to let me hear their sacred
heartbeats, from Odin to Hela to Freyja to Loki to Freyr,
from Michael to Ariel to Sameael to Beelzebub to Asmodeus,
and now sweet Yeshua, mightiest King of Kings, has said
admit your truth, and when I professed my love, the stone
of doubt and pain in my throat vanished, and my heart was
no longer aflame, for I love this world, and I love myself.
That is what Divine Mercy is, love for what you think is
irredeemable, no questions asked at the gates of Paradise,
just a warm kiss on the brow and anointment and embrace,
for we are all children of the Goddess, that great Shekinah
and Sophia and Holy Spirit, sweet and fierce Venus figurines,
Mother Nature reigns supreme, and She is All, and I am
Something, a dancer in one of the Goddess’ thousand hands!
So I will sing and fly and drink down glory, and contemplate
the mysteries of the Sacred Heart of Her Son. Jesus is a
mamma’s boy, all sweetness and chill waves of wonder, and
the Virgin and Bride and Wisdom are motherhood supreme, and
I will follow in Mary’s footsteps and create my own paradise
with the love of my life and children raised strong and wild.
I am blessed, I am healed by His touch, and I am growing into
a woman worth envying, for my heart is gold, my wit adamant,
but above all I embody love, and like Christ, I am a martyr.
My heart is black like the skin of a mamba, poisoned chalice
of Satan, but to bear the Lapis Exillis in your rib cage grants
a kind of fallen grace, and the rest of my soul is crystal pure.
My blood heals, my blood mends skin and flesh, my blood is wine!
I give my body up to the Passion, I feel the lacerations, I feel
the whip and thorns and anointment before an untimely yet blessed
death, when there is no separation between the soul and her god,
then that is gnosis, and the spirit moves through you, and you
become All.