It surely, in a world so abundantly rich in diversity, must be a grave sin to feel so uninspired. I had a sudden bout of writers block. The first bloggers block in nine months of blogging in fact. Writers block for me usually ties in with a list of things which have to be done, longer than both arms. A quibble about extreme lack of finance at a time of exceptionally high out-goings, which causes me not to seek my inspiration from anything further than the back garden. A lagging feeling of physical and mental deflation. Frustration and restriction. And a dullness of intuition, causing a deficit of inspiring Love, a creature I so know. Tension so supressing, that the inner spirit during its final moments of being crushed, rages up ALMIGHTY….. Creatively……until the supression is itself supressed. Only then residing inner calm. Thank God we are not Bumble Bee.
So today’s blog is a poem which I wrote whilst on a treasure of a retreat. A day of silent reflection, hosted by The Canonesses of The Holy Sepulchre. Maybe not a brilliant poem, but none the less one inspired by a Creator I do know.
The Weathered Web
Silken threads of a spider’s web/Like the grooves on an old LP/Visible in sunlight’s gold
Abandoned by the spidery creature/Whose life’s toil went into creating/A safety net, a space to nourish life.
Embellished threads, strong enough to resist the breeze/Perfect enough apart, not to tangle together/So many paths all leading to the one centre.
Prey, dead caught in the web/Forsaken, waiting for their forever/Abandoned now by the creature who spun.
Who created the gossamer world/In which they were sacrificed unnecessarily/Shrouded carefully in silk/Creature or Creator?
Waiting to be dusted away/dismantled into eternity/By the seasons wrath
Diminished beauty/No more belonging than before it belonged.
But for the engram of Love.