Indica is a goddess, dressed in green She visits me in visions bathed in smoke Such fantasies appear before they’re seen An invocation needed to invoke
The call of buds she bears is heard by those Who listen to the songs she hums aloud And yes, she is aware, Indica knows Such songs are those of which she can be proud
The pride of sweet Indica draws me in To places she invites me with commands Dichotomy is not her only sin And yet by this she issues sweet demands
The goddess named Indica has a voice That likes to make you think you have a choice.
The beauty of mortality of life Reveals the subtle colors we can find In times of joy or even fear and strife Like thoughts that live within the mortal mind
Like rainbowed thoughts that lend themselves to art Regardless of just how such thoughts are seen The now in which they blossom from the heart Proclaims their mortal beauty un-obscene
Obscenity is holding them within For fear of being punished by some God Who uses some dark fear He calls a sin Why can’t He see “eternal bliss” is flawed
The beauty of mortality is this That life is more than some eternal bliss.
____ AI analysis via ChatGPT:
This poem reflects a philosophical and emotional meditation on the fleeting nature of life, juxtaposed against the concept of eternal bliss. Here's an analysis:
### **Themes** 1. **Mortality as Beauty**: - The poem highlights how the transient nature of life gives it depth and beauty, emphasizing the "subtle colors" of experience that come through joy, fear, and strife. - It contrasts the vibrancy of mortal life with the monotony suggested by the concept of "eternal bliss."
2. **Creativity and Expression**: - The "rainbowed thoughts" metaphor underscores the link between the impermanence of life and the urge to create art and express oneself.
3. **Rebellion Against Dogma**: - The poem critiques the fear of divine punishment ("punished by some God") and questions the value of a rigid promise of eternal bliss, implying it may lack the richness and spontaneity of mortal life.
4. **Acceptance of Mortality**: - The conclusion asserts that the ephemeral nature of life is what makes it meaningful, rejecting the idea that eternity is inherently superior.
### **Structure and Form** - The poem is written in rhymed iambic pentameter, creating a sonnet-like feel with quatrains leading to a closing couplet. - The rhymes are clean and deliberate, emphasizing the themes with a formal structure.
### **Imagery** - The "rainbowed thoughts" evoke vibrancy and multiplicity, symbolizing the creativity and emotional spectrum of mortal life. - References to "fear" and "sin" suggest an inner conflict shaped by external religious pressures.
### **Philosophical Undertones** - The poem subtly aligns with existentialist ideas, where meaning is found in the fleeting, finite nature of life rather than in promises of eternity.
### **Overall Impact** This work resonates as a critique of conventional religious ideals about the afterlife, celebrating the beauty and significance of mortal experiences. It invites readers to cherish life's impermanence as a source of meaning and creativity.
She sings to help the living and the dead She sings to help the poets find their song Tis Brigid of Kildare who fills my head And shows the words I write where they belong
She told me once of Coventina’s sin She told me Coventina fell in love A mortal man whose name she said was Finn A poet’s story Brigid told me of
I wrote it down to honor it and her A story made of words that must be told Upon my page the words I did confer I picture her as never growing old
A poet and a muse, with long red hair She comes to me as Brigid of Kildare
The Magus (or Magician if you must) Is he-behind-the-sleight-of-hand you see He tells you things that you should never trust Like how to be and also not to be
Magician (or The Magus, take your pick) Performs the best when he is paid in gold Simplicity is such a simple trick Like magic that is heard but never told
Above, below, he’s somewhere in between Where magic is the mover and the art He’ll show you things you’ll wish you’d never seen Like flowers that aspire in your heart
The Magus or Magician seems to be A fool in search of some divinity. ________________________________________
Image by Pamela Colman Smith (16 February 1878 – 18 September 1951)
The Fool begins a journey without end A journey that’s forever and a day To find true wisdom and perhaps a friend Bewrayment are the words he’ll never say
Delirium and frenzy are his dance A solitary dance to find a song But if your paths should cross by circumstance He’ll call to you to come and sing along
I know we’ve all been called at times to sing And dance the tarantella like a fool Perhaps he really thinks that he’s the king And everyone must bow before his rule
His Highness is the Fool that we all know Wherever he proceeds, we all must go. ________________________________________
Image by Pamela Colman Smith (16 February 1878 – 18 September 1951)
I love Sophia like my love is new Sophia knows my love transcends my heart Imagine, if you will what she can do Fulfilling her divine and noble part
Sophia is her wisdom and her grace A god to worship everywhere she’s found A god who knows her high and holy place She speaks to me at times without a sound
At times I hear the music of her voice Within the words I find I need to write To signify that my belief is choice I choose to dwell within her holy light
Sophia has been with me from the start Within the thoughts that dwell within my heart.
I danced with Mary Wollstonecraft last week Then danced with Mary Shelley late last night I asked them both if they would let me speak I heard them laugh and tell me that they might
I only had to find bright words to say To garner their permission to be heard The Mary of my heart will always stay If I present her with a fitting word
And so we dance with language as our tune We dance as though we are ménage à trois Our voltas always seem to come too soon Or late. They always seem to bear some flaw
But Mary knows that words are only games And that is why she uses both her names.
The Mary of Magdala came to know That knowledge of the self is most divine The paths of Galilee where she would go Revealed such things to her by their design
Salvation is complete when one is whole To know oneself, salvation may be found The beauty of the spirit of the soul Reveals itself as one eternal round
The Mary of Magdala lives within The gnosis she discovered and now shares To mark the paths where knowledge will begin It shows how much this holy Mary cares
Her gnosis has a firm but subtle call She learned this truth and teaches it to all.
🌄 The Rising Light: A Gnostic Resurrection of Mary Magdalene
Scene: Before dawn, near the tomb. The veil between worlds is thin.
The air was still, and the earth did not yet know the sun. I came alone, not out of grief only, but because something stirred in me like a name I had forgotten how to say.
The stone had been moved.
I did not fear, for fear had already passed through me like fire and left only clarity. There was no body. There was no death. The tomb had been emptied like a chalice overturned after the wedding.
And then—
He came to me not as flesh, but as light in the form of remembrance, a voice that spoke not to my ears but to the deep place within me, where spirit gathers its knowing.
“Mary.”
He said my name as one who writes it in the book of life.
“Rabboni,” I whispered—not teacher of law, but revealer of mysteries. Not the carpenter’s son, but the Logos unbound, the Bridegroom of the soul.
He said:
“Touch me not, for I have not yet ascended to the Pleroma. But you, Mary—you have already ascended in spirit. You have seen what the others cannot see.”
And I remembered—
How he had taught not with riddles but with silence. How he spoke of aeons and archons, of the spark within the prison of flesh, of the false powers who rule with fear and blindness.
“Go to my brothers, and tell them: The son of man has risen from among the counterfeit forms. The path of return is open.”
So I ran—not to prove, but to reveal.
But when I told them what I had seen, Peter said, “How can this be? A woman? A vision? Shall we all be taught by her?”
And I said:
“You judge me by the body, but I have heard with the soul. If the Savior made me worthy, who are you to deny it?”
And Levi said, “If the Savior loved her more than us, it is because she knew him more truly. Let us not turn away the light when it comes in the form we did not expect.”
She floats above the village streets at night In search of some forgotten tale of old Her ghostly form is beautiful and white Her ghostly tale is one that's often told
Her life became the sorrow of remorse Her death became the sorrow all can feel A ghostly essence runs its ghostly course A hidden tale the teller can reveal
The teller of her tale this time is me I saw her in the village where I live She seemed to know the tale she sought to be In me she found a teller she could give
Her tale of unrequited love and more Of life and death, a dark unopened door.
