Mary

Bent prostrate, a woman seats the King of Kings

Throne piece of our Lord

Her who holds the space and sets the scene

Who contains the Answer within the question:

If not now, then when?

Oh Immaculate heart, how you gather all these things into it!

As a painter draws my attention

From unconscious multiplicity to a unitive vision of That Which Is

So too she

Mending the curtains of the temple, and tending their ochre folds

Since the Fall of our forebears,

Cascading outward from Source, piling animal skins upon us

Dousing ourselves in layers of culture, tech and sinful abstraction

Summoning Moloch with each child sacrificed to convenience or cultural whim.

Burying our instincts and clinging to artifice,

We smoulder in our hubris,

Till – at last – we forget the face of our Father and

Bereft, we wander…

Outliers on a snow-white graph

She draws a line between us and points us back to the Truth we embody

Whose image we bear

Hiding in plain sight – mysterium incorruptis –

That transcendent glimpse of Reality As Such

Her, The Arc of the Covenant

The vessel of revelation, no more or less

Her who holds in her womb the Body of God, the church

Pointing the way to the Union of All Things in Christ,

Her who takes the guise of senorita, Madonna,

A peasant girl standing in a field at dusk

Hark! Can you hear her?

Singing suave y sencilla in all the tongues of her children

Babbel dispersed them, Our Lady calls each one home uniquely.

To the Son of Man.

He the Word, She the pages

He the Truth, She the signpost

He, “I AM”, She “revelation”

Christ the Law,

Mary the constitution.