A Valentine for Jesus*

In the beginning

was

the

Word

but nobody speaks

of

the

Silenced.

 

Magdalene lowers herself onto Jesus, rocking gently back and forth in a baptism of ecstasy.  The upper level of the house is simple wooden boards either side of stone steps, beneath a wood-beamed roof.  There are other sleepers stretched out up here, disciples, but the low moans of pleasure escaping from divine lips do not wake them.  It’s the first time she’s come to him in this way, naked body engulfed in flame red hair.  Her round breasts heavy in his hands. 

 

Mary questioned her Lover,

‘At the end of Time,

will all matter be destroyed?’

Jesus answered,

‘All of nature, its forms and

creatures are interrelated;

all will be returned to their

original source.

The essence of matter also returns

to the source of its own nature.’

Her tongue explores his torso and mouth before she arches back, thrown open by his love pulsing inside her.  His kisses soft and urgent travel down to rest on her hard nipples; she twines her legs around his hips and caresses his spine.  Becoming each other, source and destination, one.

 

 

‘I never saw you descend,

now I see you ascend.

Why does my mind deceive me

since you are part of me?’

My soul answered,

‘But you didn’t recognise me;

I serve you as your robe

but you don’t know me.’

How can I create words that also speak of silence?  Silence dressed in robes of words: words robed in the deep celestial silence of their creations and destinations – multiple?  How to embody a narrative without linear destination; a simultaneous proliferation unending celebration of life in the moment lived and ever-living?  Starting in the centre and blossoming out from there, unfolding reaching being

‘All movement in time and space led to orgasm’, wrote Robert Glück.  Led, leading, building up to, path, progressing.  Never/Ever arriving?  What if all movement in time and space arises from orgasm? IS orgasm?  Multiple, sensuous, simultaneous, sonorous, sustained, unending, never stopping, reaching reaching reaching &and becoming

The movement towards ‘that which is in the process of becoming’, says Ernst Bloch.

Christ, male and female, in ever-blossoming union of one with other, one another, one

Physicality of hands clutching, flesh tearing, open wound gaping, receiving, entering, immersing…

Movement is life – movement towards death – death in the moment – ecstasy of the beloved –

In my prayers you come to me: my god and my goddess.  Hungry – licking eating devouring like a flame that burns to ashes

                Transform

                                Transfigure

                                                Transcend

 

                The circle cycle cygnal

                                                Swan

                                                song

                                                                unheard

                                                                                cried loud in

                               

                                                Passion

                                                                of the

                                                                                Christ.

 

 

                               

                In death and

                                resurrection

                                                we live.

 

 

Tongues twining

                                sheets drenched

                                                with

                                                words

                                                tumbling

                                                life-giving

                                                                death

                                                                                cycle

 

‘My ears throb with the scornful mockery of their jeers. Save yourself, Son of God. You who promised to tear down this temple and rebuild it in three days. Where’s your God now, King of the Jews?

Blood-red darkness crushes the daylight, seeps insidiously into my sinews, blocks my breathing with its weight.

Upon the hill, I rage in bitter turmoil: Why have you forsaken me?

I’ll never leave you. Never.
My God, my God, Why have you forsaken me? Don’t leave me here alone in this unforgiving darkness.
I’ll never leave you. Never.

* * *

Shadows of black-beaked birds circle overhead, waiting, cawing. There’s a tang of blood and sweat on my tongue.

Surging tremors of anguish convulse my body as I am cut off from my Lord. I cry out in the piercing agony of despair.

My heart splinters. Earth shudders; sky shatters.

Across the city, inside the temple, The Way is torn wide open – purple curtain rent in two.

Murderous crows pluck and feast on flesh. I feel nothing.

Numb, desolate. I crumple to the ground at the foot of the cross. And weep.’

 

Weeping, wounding, bleeding, dying I hold you in my arms, my heart, my soul;

                through this divine portal of

                                                                my body

                                                                I receive

                                                                your precious blood and holy water

 

                Spirit enters in my O, O, Open yearning

                                                                                for your love

 

                                You write me

                                                Word of life

 

                                Silent space

                                                within me

                                                                tomb womb tomb

                                                                                                woman

 

                Death is in this sweet surrender to your touch

                                                I die and

                                                                am

                                                                no more

 

                                In this ecstasy I am

                                                                lost

                                                                in you

                                                                in me

 

                                In this eternal resurrection

                                                                we

                                                                arise:

                                                                from flames

                                                                and blood

                                                                and waters

                                                                of our love

                                                                                we each have died

                                                                for,

                                                                                we rise naked

                                                                                                and reborn

 

                                                                                in Love

                                                                                                anew

                                In my words

I write you

                ouroboros

 

 

Then Mary was silent, for this was

the truth Jesus had revealed.

*This creative response to Robert Glück’s Margery Kempe incorporates appropriated texts and ideas from: St John’s Gospel; The Gospel of Mary Magdalene, (from The Gnostic Gospels, Alan Jacobs, Watkins, 2007); Margery Kempe (Robert Glück, High Risk, 1994); ‘“&and” and foulipo’ (Juliana Spahr and Stephanie Young, Les Figues Press, 2007); The Utopian Function of Art and Literature (Ernst Bloch, MIT Press, 1988) and Valley of Shadows

(Sally Willow, 2013, https://sallyshaktiwillow.wordpress.com/2013/11/23/566/).

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2 thoughts on “A Valentine for Jesus*

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