Thursday, April 23, 2009

Lovey Kiss

A remix of a Mucha classic! This beautiful image reminds me of a poem by St John of the Cross where he's talking about being totally loved through and through by God. Yummy! A kiss from god reopens the god inside. The song playing now is Loreena McKennitt singing that poem.

I started reading St John of the Cross right before I graduated from high school, and when I did, I was like: Holy Moly Shenanigans! This is where it's AT! You say so many rosaries- and things can get a little repetitive and honky. So when I read John's poetic collected works about how he met Jesus and the Holy Spirit as love in all ways... and how it was just so beautiful even through translation and centuries, I was totally done with St Thomas Aquinas/ Mr. Snooze-a-Lot.

After staying up late for nights reading John of the Cross, I was so excited I just had to talk to someone. So I went to confession. I said my not exciting confession, and then I was like, "Father! St John of the Cross! Holy Cow!" And then I went on and on "bla bla bla and then John says this and isn't that amazing bla bla bla... oh! AND bla bla bla... isn't he really something, Father?! What's he like to you?" And let me tell you what. Father dropped so much bullshit that even I could smell it. I sat there smiling at him thinking to myself, "This guy is clueless." And that was the last time I went to confession. Regularly. I had an inkling at that point that I had something really good in my very own pocket. Sometimes I feel bad that I've disappointed my family by not staying with the Church, but it makes me twinkle that it was sweet St John who started it.


Anonymous said...


Marguaritte said...

Some Kiss We Want

There is some kiss we want with
our whole lives, the touch of

spirit on the body. Seawater
begs the pearl to break its shell.

And the lily, how passionately
it needs some wild darling! At

night, I open the window and ask
the moon to come and press its

face against mine. Breathe into
me. Close the language- door and

open the love window. The moon
won't use the door, only the window.

From Soul of Rumi
by Coleman Barks

Shannon said...

Oh. How lovely is that? Thank you Margo! I really enjoyed.

Just this afternoon I came a across a bit I wrote years ago somewhere within this subject. Here 'tis!

There is a long drawn out beauty to these hours- tie dyed and infused through like well-steeped tea.

Soaking in beauty, dripping with the sweet honey. No, the juices. The juices dripping down chin to sundress. What is the holiest hour? It is a saturation. All the little sponge holes, wet with the golden milk of a thousand cherry trees.

"Perfume the wind," the leaves rustle. Make me drunk, sweet air. Sweet air, make me drunk.


Anonymous said...

Such amazing grace and beauty to be so deeply grateful for...
wow...dripping with the sweet honey... no, the juices, the juices dripping down our chins!


Marguaritte said...

...perfume the wind....

Shannon said...