Our Lady is on Fire

 

 

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I entered the Silent Tomb;

the Mosque felt

devoid of Presence.

We wandered through

a myriad of glorious arched rooms,

ornately carved woodwork –

soft carpeted floors.

Removing our shoes

we spoke softly

in deference to

Something ineffable?

Each tiled courtyard,

Mute, yet

starred in

cobalt blue.

Opaque light streamed

through precisely cut

geometric shapes,

domed ceilings

cracked the heavenly stream

into patterned shards.

Outside,

unattended,

High mud walls

kept Creation

at bay.

Fruit trees

twisted by bitter west winds

ragged junipers

sagging in sorrow

rendered invisible

by those who choose

not to see…

I wept for the casually discarded

living breathing

Beings –

Pulsing with Light.

 

Beyond white sand walls

the stark white capped

Mountains cried out in torment

“Here we are!”

“Sangre de Christos” –

It is our body, our blood

that has been shed

not just his.

Stretching north –

Ridged, ribbed serpents

split the continent in two,

valley gorges meandered far below

arroyos flooded Rio Grande

and all the colors of

the rainbow streamed

out of mud and stone.

 

I picked a fragrant branch

on my way out –

a blushing apple blossom.

Re – attaching myself

to Her through a plant,

to what is tangibly real

helped me to breathe…

I felt the split

between mind and body

heal the artificial division

that I had just experienced

beneath words –

Inside and outside

remain perpetually at war

for so many.

 

I stared –

Transfixed by a miraculous painting –

bewildering beauty

stretched around me

from horizon to horizon

I bloomed with the usual awe.

Turning back I gazed at

the graceful rounded lines

of a “holy place”

where Nature was kept at bay

by stark walls,

lack of windows,

cold shadowy halls.

 

Why is it that humans

can no longer see

that the ‘holy’

may manifest

in man made structures

but containment

requires situating

oneself in the Whole?

 

At home

When I placed the

budded branch in water

I recalled another

holy place engulfed by flames.

“Our Lady” is on Fire

during this week of

crucifixion

as once again

body is severed from

the spirit to which it belongs.

 

 

Working Notes:

 

Yesterday I spent more than two hours with a friend exploring a huge and empty Mosque situated just down the road from me… this beautiful structure was situated high on the Mesa with the snow covered Sangre de Christo mountains (Rockies) in the distance – other mesas and volcanic mountains stretched in every direction. The whole landscape was draped in pale spring green. A deep blue sky held a white star in her arms…

Once inside the enormous structure all light was diffused and entered only from ABOVE – mostly covered by some kind of translucent material or plastic… Each magnificent courtyard was enclosed – stone, tile adobe, star patterns carved into ornate wooden doors – The arched doorways and niches were astonishing to behold.

And yet, my body felt heavy – “de -pressed” in some fundamental way. It wasn’t until I was outside the compound that I realized that what I had experienced was a brutal and mind – body split as I was FORCIBLY separated from Nature’s beauty while wandering about inside this extraordinary building…

From my point of view this compound reflected in a concrete way how religions force us to make a choice between loving natural beauty and “worshiping” in man made structures. Churches etc. separate us from wholeness, creating a split that damages not only humans and all non human beings, but allows us to discard this beloved planet that is our home.

How in such a magnificent setting could people separate themselves from their landscape as effectively as this place had?

Then I thought of Notre Dame burning…. “Our Lady” is going up in flames.

I do not believe in coincidence. The message implicit in the burning down of the cathedral in France during the Christian holy week also speaks to what we are doing to the Earth.

Indeed this is the week of Earth’s Crucifixion even as Christians and Jews celebrate resurrection – freedom from the body, slavery, and redemption.

Crucifixion

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When I saw

the mist rising

over the veil

of red willows

I heard Her cry out.

I had to heed the call.

 

I stood at the river’s edge,

a silent witness for

My Lady

of Sorrows –

La Llarona,

the Mother that Mourns.

 

I did not know

that today

was the beginning

of Her Dying;

Body severed from Spirit.

 

A 2000 year old story

lives on

through each heart-centered cell

year after year

regardless of personal

awareness or intent.

 

I must choose to join

Her as she rises,

for her grief

mirrors my own.

 

Not to acknowledge

the dark veil she must wear

is to deny the loss of her son,

the loss of my sons,

the Great Dying of

Earth’s plants and animals.

 

What can I tell her

this Lady who watches over

the Living Waters,

this Woman Who Weeps?

 

Only that I witness

Her anguish

with heartfelt compassion,

and commit to Presence

amidst the Great Dying

loss of children

and the death of one

whose benign and beneficent spirit

some continue to call a god?

 

 

Working Notes:

 

This morning I awakened to a hard frost, and a deep blue pre- dawn sky. When the heavy mist beyond the field caught my attention I felt compelled to walk to the river. I wasn’t thinking about the story of La Llorona, the mythical Southwestern woman who haunts the river’s edge, one who mourns the loss of her children … What I experienced instead was the Presence of My Lady as a Spirit of the River, a spirit who watches over the Living Waters, and one who mourns the loss of so many animals and plants. I feel a great kinship with this figure because I am a dedicated Naturalist who walks with the Great Dying as a way of life.

 

It wasn’t until I returned to the house that I realized that today is Psalm Sunday, the beginning of holy week according to the Christian tradition. Although I am not a Christian, I have Judeo- Christian roots and for some reason I seem to have to live this story each spring whether I want to or not.

 

So, I was not really surprised to learn that my first spring meander to the river included an encounter with the Mother who mourns the loss of her son, although I wasn’t yet consciously aware of this aspect while I stood at the river’s edge gazing into the mist…

 

What’s different for me is the focus of this week’s story. I identify and align myself with the Woman Who Weeps not only for lost children but for all the losses the Earth is presently enduring.