ETERNITY “Heloise to Abelard”
“Eternal Welcome”
“Seeing death as the end of life is like seeing the horizon as the end of the ocean”
The Night Sky above our Garden reveals many secrets. The first secret is that we are a World within Worlds. And we are assured that there are further worlds beyond (as well as within), through the contradictory notions that the universe is both infinite and expanding. What a metaphor for life & growth!
The poetry of the stars and planets is such that our history can be told through the names and patterns of constellations that are shifting. The ancients placed “heaven” right up there, with Gods & Goddesses looking down at us as we look up at them, playing with us as if we were scientific mice running an experimental maze.
We are even seeing dead light from stars that no longer burn; a time traveling conundrum that makes a hash of what we know of past & present. Given these facts alone many of our inherited concepts about “reality” seem naive to say the least. New physics posit the possibility that time travel could age us so slowly we become younger than our own children.
If our minds are our ticket to eternity, teaching us how to rise above our earthly circumstances, then we can learn to signal others; “I am eternal. Are you eternal?” Many people believe they are “in the Now” because they are bouncing on the surface of the moment, but they are really water spiders skimming the waves, fearful of “falling in.”
You are not a person who is afraid of depth. Instead, you will convey the deep peace and truth of living every moment connected to Eternity. Planets & Stars reminds us to turn on our inner searchlight. Our person is close; very close. “Are you Eternal?”
HELOISE TO ABELARD: “FROM THE FLAME TO THE FLAME”
Master, my Brother; Father
Confessor; my all – Before you see a nun
Abbess in fact – antiphon of grace enclosing
Octaves of silence.
I had rather be your whore. Slut, jade, poule –
What sweets! I relished those words as I craved the
Blows you struck like kisses.
Five, like Christ’s wounds. I counted them.
No midwife cut my cord but You delivered me.
Satan wormed your root; left Me whole but
Empty. I’m still cinque-cut while
You’re a smooth stockade. I “mistook” the veil –
Impetuously as you stole me –
Masquerading, copying the night
We stole from uncle’s house
In holy guise.
This veil is Jason’s wedding dress –
It cannot be removed.
It burns my flesh, these cerements
Cremate me. You denied me thrice, False Peter
Though I crawl to Bethany to earn
One word. Master, cousin, lover – slave –
We are bound.
This grave is not so silent as you are.
Yes, I’ve chatted up the dead
I’m closer to you than that tattoo you wear
As if it became you. When you die
I’ll be the fire that quickens
In your veins – the centime on your eyes
The empty scabbard left
Along your thigh
Your last escaping sigh – I.
Alysse Aallyn 
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