The Bowl of the Heavens
People have decided that the fabled day of 21st December 2012 came and went and nothing happened. Nothing changed. For me poems speak sooth, they tell the truth – particularly during the twelve days and nights of Christmas – and they say differently. They say – if I am hearing properly – that things did change, by 180 degrees in fact. People have always gazed up into the night sky and drawn from the stars faith, hope, strength and belief. Now, all at once, the bowl of the sky, resplendent with shining stars, has tipped over and become the bowl of earth. Now, at a stroke, the elements of the universe – led, as it were, by wind and rain – gaze down into the bowl of the earth and search for the bright points of light which will feed their souls with faith, hope, strength and belief. Everything depends on it. The continuance of God’s work depends on it. To begin with they see nothing. Then suddenly they see a pair of eyes, shining star-like up into the watching elements. Then, at a distance, another pair – then another, and more and still more, until the bowl of earth is filled with eyes, returning light upwards, resplendent as stars.
To me it seems that people must come out of their places of worship and return hope to the universe. This is the change that was prophesied. Not that we would behold great upheavals or shifts but that the elements of the universe would look down and find exactly what they had once given being returned to them. The poem below told me of this.
St Stephen’s Day
The wind has picked this evening to debate
with rain if God is real. Abbeys
have fallen silent, altar candles spent.
Says rain, ‘If God were true his people
would pray with faces turned up to me.’
Says wind, ‘If God were truth his children
would fill their lungs with me and name it soul.’
‘He has left,’ drips rain, ‘He is gone,’ sighs wind,
and raising darkness high into the sky
they let it fall. But thinking they mistake
themselves they see a pair of eyes like stars
shining from the earth and at a distance
more and still more till the world’s bowl is full.
Then rain pours down in prayer and wind lifts up
its soul, while abbeys darken, candles spill.
Best wishes, today,
© Landar 2012. All rights reserved
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