The movement in Time
of the collective consciousness
constantly creates reality
in the ever changing present moment.The past is gone.
Yet, the past has left evidence
that it was present.The future hasn’t happened yet;
it doesn’t exist.
It’s still in the planning stage.
definition: collective consciousness -the sum of every individual awareness of every conscious being
Before his ear can hear it,
Before his eye can see it,
He perceives the coming.
From lonely heights atop the wall
The watchman waits and scans the sky
For bird or cloud or dust or smoke.
He feels and knows, yet does not see.
He looks below at brick and earth
And gropes the ground for movement there.
There’s something in the air beyond,
A song or distant melody
Beyond the audit of his ears, a most familiar strain.
Perceive he must, and grips his silver trumpet fast.
The blast he may not sound too soon,
Or, “Wolf,” would be the cry.
With trembling hand and firming lip
He lifts the trumpet to his mouth.
The time for war has come.
Mark 13:34-37
For the Son of man is as a man taking a far journey,
who left his house, and gave authority to his servants, and to every man his work,
and commanded the porter to watch.
Watch ye therefore:
for ye know not when the master of the house cometh, at even, or at midnight, or at the cock crowing, or in the morning: Lest coming suddenly he find you sleeping.
And what I say unto you I say unto all,
Watch.
by Justice Ward, 10 years old
Nothing is a never ending abyss.
It has not one atom.
It is a mystery.
It is dark,
And nobody has ever seen nothing.
It is easily killed,
And nothing can live inside it,
Or it would be something.
Nothing is scary and interesting.
by Justice Ward, 10 years old
Home schooling my three grandchildren, I gave them an assignment to copy any paragraph of their choice. Justice asked, “Can I just make something up?”
I answered, “Yes, what do you want to write about?”
He responded, “Nothing.”
I said, “Well, it’s okay if you write about nothing, but you may not write nothing.”
He wrote the above in paragraph form. I saw a poem.
I asked him about the line, “It is easily killed.”
He said that it is gone even if only one atom enters it, so in his mind to be killed is to be gone.
(I am home schooling these grandchildren because they lost their mother to cancer four and a half years ago.)
A Poem by Susan Ector Ward
He reaches out to lift me up.
His gentle face is bleeding red,
And I’m the one who hurled the stones.
After a season of illness that kept me weak and bed-ridden for an extended time, I wrote this poem. The poem came to me because of a vision I received while in prayer one morning. I saw Jesus walking on water. Then suddenly the picture flipped. I saw him upside-down, as it were, walking on water that was up and the sky was down. I laughed at the thought, but I understood at that point that Heaven, not gravity, held Jesus to Earth.
The painting I call Where Earth Meets Heaven. It depicts two realms, and shows a man walking in both. It certainly goes with this poem because as we walk in this earth, we are also constantly confronted by the heavenly realm. We walk on earth and in heaven. We are offered the opportunity by God to bring His Kingdom to Earth by our involvement in it. Earth meets Heaven in the place where our feet walk.
My body may be feeble
Holding life by a thread.
As my Savior walked on water
I will rise from my bed.
He held to Earth by glory,
No need for gravity,
And when my work is over
I’ll ascend to God as He.
My feet daily walk this Earth.
I labor in His field.
Thirty, sixty, a hundred fold
I pray my work will yield.
It’s not Earth that holds me down.
Heaven holds me up.
My feet will ever walk this Earth
While Heaven holds me here.
I have taken the liberty to name this passage from George MacDonald’s book At the Back of the North Wind and to call it a poem and to break it into lines. It seems to me to be a beautiful free verse poem. It occurs in chapter 15 as if it comes from a children’s nursery rhyme book. The mother cannot understand a word of it and calls it nonsense, but the boy thinks he has heard it before in the river’s song at the back of the North Wind. I think George was giving us a clue. [EW]
I know a river
whose waters run asleep
run
run ever singing
in the shallows
dumb in the hollows
sleeping so deep
and all the swallows
that dip their feathers in the hollows
or in the shallows
are the merriest swallows of all
for the nests they bake
with the clay they cake
with the water they shake
from their wings that rake
the water out of the shallows
or the hollows
will hold together in any weather Continue reading
She rises in the fog.
She lifts defiant sword.
Fight on, soldier, fight.
The battle is not done.
Weary, weak and torn
The war will yet be won.
Fight on, soldier, fight.
The day will finally dawn.
This darkness shall be gone.
Fight on.
A Poem for the Hurting and Abused:
What does he look like?
Does he come on with a smile?
Is he good looking?
Or, does he just think he is?
He says he wants you.
You know what he means.
His want has nothing to do with you.
What does he look like?
Does he want something from me?
I’ve seen their eyes
Roving, piercing, twinkling,
Sneering;
And hands, too,
Sometimes fists,
Sometimes groping,
Taking what I will not give.
They take me,
But they cannot have me.
The secret within,
Some of me is yet alive
Inside this death-stiff carcass.
What do I look like?
I have one face and many,
But you still don’t see me.
I am none of those you’ve seen.
I heard you crying,
And I have come.
Let me live in the fire of the Ashen Altar,
Living sacrifice accepted above,
Laying my life down that others may live;
Just like my Lord has done.
“Follow me,” he calls, “in Death is Life.
The Fire has Resurrection power.
Your life laid down shall rise again
And multiply heavenly deeds.”
The title, Upon the Ashen Altar, refers to the pile of ashes outside the camp of Israel where the ashes from the Altar of Sacrifice were dumped. On the Day of Atonement each year, the bullock and the goat of Atonement were burned, outside the camp, upon those ashes.
(see Leviticus 4:12 and Leviticus 16:27)
Hebrews 13:10-13
We have an altar, whereof they have no right to eat which serve the tabernacle. For the bodies of those beasts, whose blood is brought into the sanctuary by the high priest for sin [on the Day of Atonement], are burned outside the camp. Wherefore Jesus also, that he might sanctify the people with his own blood, suffered outside the gate. Let us go forth therefore unto him outside the camp, bearing his reproach.
Brandishing burnished Sword
Transparent in armour of Light
There stands the Warrior Maiden
Prepared for the darkest of night.
A curtain sliced through;
A way opened up;
Enters the Maiden
And drains the bloody cup.
Her life on the Altar
Long now has lain,
But up she has risen
Atonement to gain
For those who have hurt her
By whom she was slain.
She calls to the Judge,
“Forgive them my pain.”
Light pierces through;
The Earth opens up;
Stands forth her Beloved,
“You have drunk of my Cup.”
The two who are one
All infirmities feeling
Now spread out their hands
In forgiveness and healing.
Ector Ward, copyright 2006
Thank you Thursday Poets Rally for the Perfect Poets Award.
I nominate Harry Nicholson for the next award.
The Word in Vision 