PENTECOST 2006 SPECIAL EDITION

ISSUE 7 - ISSN 1448 - 6326

EASTER

INSPIRATIONS - POEMS - REFLECTIONS

BET GREEN

BEING ALIVE  -  EASTER  91 To die  Transfigured   Transfixed    Disfigured Fixed to a tree   with nails, Flesh fixed on wood, Red blood slides    on amber sap Stains the evening sky. Below, A black hole                the Tomb,                   Empty,                              Waiting, Above, The sun,      A blind and shrunken eye. All creation dies,     ash cold,         down dragged            into the pit                             black                               void                                  deep. The empty womb The tomb is filled Time stands still Night marries day Grey nothing, Only the naked beaten wood                             upon the hill. A thrill               electric Energy borne as                the birth of a million suns, An outward rush                               lightspeed                                 silent                                   secret The act done               the birth begun                              already, Light glitters along               the edge of firs Beams of dazzling white                 Through fragile needles from the sun’s wet                and innocent eye. Again creation stirs               glorious plumèd bird                  orange feathers spread                     and upward surge. Upwards               caught up                             lifted in light                                bright in drops                                             on cobwebs                                light as                                           dancing fountains                                          as cirrus sky. A roaring and a rending               I remember,                              A groaning gaping hole, A lightspeed illumination,               Enormous Love no heart could hold, Full awesome Life with all in train,                               All creation born again!                                              Alleluia!  EASTER VIGIL at WILSTON ‘93 Glowing in light                     gathered in     shoals of gleaming fish Strong fine nets                      flung out wide     between the sea and sky. Gathering in …           Come     with shifting dappling light                      silvered in rippling water Ah, the sweat and toil      forgotten           Limbs lithe and loose Sweet the smell of salt              and oil           meets on shore     heavy scent of blooms     piled high                   beneath the sky Pink and yellow           wild refrain on blue. We move and murmur        Voices mixed                            caught up in the wind Clear chorus              meaning merged with movement             Burnished bodies made transparent The sun spreads beaming                             through, gleaming                                            on the skin. Sea and sand and swelling tide     Pressing forms breathing             an embrace        with the glittering leaping haul. All are one        A breath sublime             Lifted out of place and time.

“…TRAILING CLOUDS OF GLORY…” 1997

In Christ we live  a wound wound    barbed and bound     world round. In homest places  deepest darkest    most concealed, hide hard and work   busy bouts stretch     struggle harder       pain cover. Alone alone lone long  sand rain   dark dunes, grey swell   foam cold     leaden heart       sky down-weighing. Why, why, why? Walk and rain   cold smart  pain acid     eats heart. How start   where, why? Wrench cry,   why wound, why     care and burden bare       back breaking, heart         aching, moan, groan           sigh and cry, why? Ache wound! Crack rock! Rack bones! Break back! Cut throat! Wreak havoc! Attack attack!

Back, back, back  wave and soft    sound and wet      sand soaked, swept        and silvered,          lap, lap, lap. Where, where, there? Here, here! Oft graze gaze  greys and green   and violet haze, Slough off my feet   hard push on brothy     foam, grey waves soft sand, skin graze Stop   and gaze. Soft, silent, Amaze. Wave, sky Grey, blue-grey  tender verge green,    filter-fine soft rain mist     a gauze veil,       mauve on fawn         sand spreads,           unity pale. A gentle tear tender trails  creation’s cheek,    trembles in heaven’s vale    on cosmos’ chin.

All is coming  Into being    a constant coming And ever-present All. I fall, I fly  I fly, I fall  within the ever-present All or knees are bent   or arms stretched high       All is all in all           in all’s descry, As feet are fleet  as feet do fly    heart's up-gathered     to the sky, Heaven, land and   sea all meet     in cloud and foam       white, sweet and soft          billows piled on            two bare feet “…trailing clouds of glory…”

MARY KENNAN HERBERT

THE MISERY OF HAPPINESS Summer: we walk home from the market, sweating bullets, checking the sky, dreading our destination ruled by anger. I relished instead the in-between, that fragile space between tract house and generic mall. Walking home, my daughter and I joked and then ran like jackals to escape a sudden summer storm. Yet those jaunts were not always fraught with thunder. On benign afternoons we strolled more slowly, we stopped to admire a local artist painting water colors of daylilies edging some gardener’s lawn. A bolt of beauty comes like lightning, it’s like licking orange sherbet on a stick– little mementoes of daily dissolution and illumination, a dying marriage balanced by a girl growing up, blossoming. Hooray for her, loving ice cream, art, animals, the orphan duck she adopted, saved, like my soul.

JADE IRELAND

THE INVITATION Fill your empty vessel Caress its perfect form Marvel in its beauty You are the House Of the Lord. Shine with Love and laughter That comes from the space within The Sacred Space in each of us Where we and God are One. Honour your experience Find the hidden pearls Of wisdom in your darkness, These will light your way. Faith is a relationship And can only be experienced. Hand in hand we can journey, Come walk with Me today. Thank you for this glorious day For the gifts I have aplenty. I am beginning to know They are mine and how to use them. Thank you for this life so sweet Full of joy and love and sorrow The mystery and paradox I am willing to embrace them. I am willing to Listen I am willing to See I am willing to Feel I am willing to Be. I am willing to Love You Let go of my fears. Sweet Surrender Lord Sweet Surrender.

MICHAEL G. MICHAEL

THE ALL-KNOWING SHOULDER Nothing is left now, except for the grey serrated Marble Impassive and silent but for those who go beyond Temporal points in time. To those who stoop low enough To cup a handful of wet earth; to dip fingers into fresh dew; To char lips on the prophet's scorching censer, To read the finely chiseled print ‑ For those who hold no fear for the archangel of suffering Whose giant wing they hear flapping in the twilight ‑ No more than a foot or so above The trembling All-Knowing shoulder.   A SIGN THAT ALL IS WELL (Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness... Rom 8:26) Please do not torment me any more With your lofty, dreadful silence I can no longer put up with this Friday pain Which does strike crossly at my joints And darts through to the marrow To wrestle in the early morning hours With the dying heart. Where is your great compassion? Send me a sign, any sign will do To let me know "all is well" That my secret struggles and ordeals Have not entirely been for naught. Silence is an awful, terrible torture The mind creates its own scenarios. Yet I will not despair For in that appointed hour Surely you will remember me - You will harvest the dark nights And you will appear on my head A flaming tongue of Fire. Please, mehr Licht. More Light. Soon it will be over.   ON TOP HIS UPROARIOUS HAT They did not know whether the old man On the edge of the city With the uproarious hat and huge valise Was a saint set apart or a travelling vagrant ‑ And he would inwardly rejoice That they were still in the early stages Of reading Braille. Though some would come close to the truth When in the evenings they would catch him Balancing his huge valise On top his uproarious hat ‑ Which had, incidentally, Begun to sprout a mimosa shrub.

Contributors:

Bet Green lectures in Theology at the McAuley Campus of Australian Catholic University. She is currently writing her doctoral dissertation on “Images of God in Dom Bede Griffiths”.

Mary Kennan Herbert is an American poet whose work has appeared in Australian literary journals and others in over 20 countries around the world.  Six collections of her poems have been published by Ginninderra Press in Australia, and one volume by Meadow Geese Press in the USA.  Her poems have been published in Theology Today, Review for Religious, the Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion, The Healing Muse, and in an upcoming issue of Feminist Theology (UK), among others, and appear in several anthologies as well.  Originally from St. Louis, Missouri, she teaches literature and writing courses at Long Island University in Brooklyn, NY, and has taught at other colleges and universities in the New York City area.

Jade Ireland graduated from the Master of Social Science (Pastoral Counselling) ACU in 2005. She has a B.A. (Com) USQ; Grad. Dip. (Sec. Ed.) and Grad. Cert. (R.E.) ACU; and M. Bus.(Com) QUT. Jade is currently working as a volunteer telephone bereavement counsellor at the Karuna Hospice Service in Brisbane. She is also studying and practising yoga and Tibetan Buddhist meditation.

Dr Michael G. Michael completed his studies with the Centre for Early Christian Studies (ACU) and is a regular contributor to AEJT. He is presently Information Technology lecturer at the University of Wollongong in the Faculty of Informatics.

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