Posted on by Glenn Mower

oiling Your palm

 

pausing I pour

 this way and that

that

i may disappear

within Your honeyed

Translucence

fertile and pure

Your

sweet pulsing elegance

in Grace-fuelled dhikr

 immersing

soft green shoots of

Eastern Sun Light

 palm pressing fresh fruits

needing till ripe with

Great goodness seeping

through pulp, pith and kin

earthly distinctions

composting in Him.

 

the above was written in response to:

The Head of The Prophecy (6,21-8,27)

‘It is like a palm shoot whose dates dropped around it. It produced buds and after they grew, its productivity dried up.

It certainly would be good if you produce new growth now. You would certainly find it.’

Know Yourselves (12,17-13,25)

 

‘Be eager to harvest for yourselves a head of the grain of life that you may be filled with the kingdom.

Do not be proud because of the light that enlightens. Rather, act towards yourselves as I myself have toward you. ’

(quoted from ‘The secret book of James’  which is the first chapter in The Nag Hammadi Scriptures edited by Marvin Meyer published by Harper One in 2007)

 

Next blogs: The Gospel of Truth.

Posted on by Glenn Mower

Night daze

Endarkenment immense

light glance this cliff edged firmament
these ocean thrusts and sweating spume
re-foam this cleaving cleft of discontent
sweet soak this night with Loves perfume
re-float this will-filled would entanglement
this hope-long-roped-on sophanes ledge
unclasped at last, to weep and flow within
your grace swathed Anchorage.

Posted on by Glenn Mower

Time to Pause

This is my first post for maybe five months.

It has been a wonderful time to pause, centre and immerse into contemplative practice, private discourse and growth.

Please find below a celebration of a shared experience of pausing last week.

Pausing together.

I sit next to James’ glassy eyed breath

slurring in grief and quiet disconnect to

witness stressed footfalls pass swift his lament

brown staining duvet and cardboard cement

changeless frayed fingering in woollen damp thread

cap churning suchness through fear fuelling dread.

To follow, I swallow guilt filled regret

bus fares, fast food and dead father non-sleep

sick discharge of mother and sore bloated feet

crazings on paving, stunned cracks in shared ground

oozed out un-sparing, unseen yet, profound

re-rememberings of something beyond

so still to relax I sit side by side

still breathing with James, still leaning, we Three

for grace-filled unknowings to let this time be.