Of Gods and Men and Moons

Last night I went to see the beautiful film Of Gods and Men for the third time.  It is such a beautiful film.  All of its beauty transcends all of the brutalness.

I watched it in a very peaceful, contemporary, sacred space.  This sacred space has warm rounded walls whose arcs and curves surround and comfort.  Whose whiteness and minimalist peace stills the soul.  As the clouds drift across the large circular port-hole window (which is set into the white ceiling) the blue skies cleanse away anything other than peace.  Free spirit.  And then the night sky came.  I watched this film in the presence of Christ, the tabernacle protecting, the candle flickering comfortingly in the darkness. Such an intense blessing.  Such an intense momentous journey for them all, and for me too at the moment.  And when the bleakest of final scenes finished, and the credits rolled, and the screen finally went black, the Christ light was still gently flickering.

On the way home the blackest of night skies was crystal clear.  The precise slice of crescent moon and her penetrating night diamonds, cast silver upon black.  Deeply radiant.  I have always loved the moon.  People who truly know me, know this.  When living has been so curtailed by life, and restrictions have been so binding like strangling bind weed. When my life has felt like it’s deepest intentions have been tricked and thwarted and manipulated by man (and still are to this day),  I have focused on Mother Earth and her nature, and the moon and the stars.  And I have known that this here, is but a stepping stone being smoothed and worn and polished by the soles of my feet.  The transition from one season to another,  Waxing. . . Full. . . Waning. . . New. . .

Once again a few weeks back, I was delighted to tune into my favourite spiritual radio 4 programme Something Understood, to discover it was all about the moon.  To think that one single visible white-gold orb can inspire one whole planet of people collectively, with all their different beliefs and cultures and lives and experiences, is surely just a physical reality and proof of our physical existence and unity.  So what of our spiritual reality and proof of our spiritual existence and unity, with all of our different beliefs and cultures, and lives and experiences.  If the moon is proof of our physical unity, we must surely all believe that God is proof of our spiritual unity.  There is but One God whose boundless cosmos is bound all together in Him.  One.


Physically and Spiritually united.

I once wrote a poem with the line “stop looking at the finger pointing to the moon and start looking at the moon herself”.  Then one day, I can’t remember now where, somebody else used that line as if it were their own.  It didn’t matter.  I couldn’t bring myself to re-claim it, or challenge them.  Old poems like old dreams fade over the years, but the Truth remains.

Man will continue to play at being God.  Man will continue to segregate, select, exclude and reject, intervene and coerce, and manipulate and rule as he sees best, sometimes cruel.  Man will continue to war and to lie, and to thwart and deny, and take the gentleness of Love and will it to die.  Only man could take beauty and sever it from Truth.

But God Willing, the shepherdess will always shine freely and bathe the world in her tender gentle loving light.  And God Willing, the shepherd will forever Love divine and bless the world with eternal time.  And all that is Beauty and all that is Truth, and all that is God, and all that is Love will reign forever.


Sister Moon

She pours her tranquil gentle magic in to my body
Renews me with her honesty.
Held in the night by silhouettes of the days past.

As darkness squeezes its hold,
So does the gentle moon with all her strength sweetly shine.
The darker the dark, the brighter her beacon
Never leaving me alone.

Poised and dignified, silent and sure
Warm and swollen with compassion for me.
I am held by her courage.
And I learn from her humbleness as each and every day unfolds.


“And I will make a nation of the son of the slave woman”


About mags

Beloved apostle of His Soul x
This entry was posted in female discipleship, Love, music, My poetry, Nature and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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