Love’s Weaver

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The weaver bending arms of twisted knotted yarns
serves the loom and the loom a pattern makes.
And bent upon the stool, his eyes direct upon the thread
between weft and weave, his vision skips.

The shuttle smooth moves through the shed
to the clack of treadles pressed;
feeling more than seeing, every bone reactive
To the rise and falling weaving shafts.

The sun arcs through the window overhead
dying unnoticed in the west and in the cool
unseen light of night, clouds arise to hide the stars.
Bobbins twirling empty are replaced.

He labours not for kudos or for rates.
As every yarn entwines it speaks;
heddle and treadle selecting straighten out
and the loom alive a drumming music makes.

Star and sun dance light within his bobbing head;
the weavers’ needs are met, and the soul unfurls.
Love that has a thousand-silent sounding ee’s
Spins on to weave for all eternity.

©TonyAshenden

The Creator’s Confession


There are some words in this poem you may not be familiar with. In order of mention they are as follows:
Hur: Is the name given to the inner core of planet Earth -the primary source of matter and mind root from which Earth developed.
Aster: Is the name of a large planet in the Milky Way which exploded and gave birth to our solar system.
Fohat: Is the animating principle electrifying every atom into life. During the process of manifestation, it is the cosmic energy which produces differentiation of primordial cosmic matter to form the different forms of consciousness, therefore Fohat is the link between Spirit and Matter, subject and object.
The twice & thrice born person addressed by the creator in the last stanza should not be regarded as a pattern of reincarnation, rather they describe a process of soul reformation. Twice-born is earthly reformation, Thrice-born is heavenly reformation. This kind of reformation can otherwise be defined as ‘the camel able to pass through the eye of a needle’.
 
And so to the poem….
You can listen to it here….

The story I am about to tell began
before the first ammonite hardened its shell,
before your blackheart mountains were rivers of red
and swims of clear water had not yet fallen as rain;
before even Hur was cast into Hell
and the soporific dust that held prison his might
had yet to be formed from the celestial storm
of Aster’s last embrace with the stars.

Where Love was lost….

Love is forever becoming; the moment of life
poised unto death, born in the heart
existing apart from all that you know.
Priceless, unreachable, mysterious Self.

The rarest of jewels….

The story I tell begins before tongue,
before the screech, the roar, and the hissing
of elements embattled to make of themselves
creational worlds and Fohat had yet to cause
It has no meaning to you twice-born
until I caused life to know death.
After the cooling Earth formed crust
and the sulphurous clouds ceased their circle,
there I took lung from the water and filled it with air.
After cooling, and the first trees had breathing leaves

souls were born….

Light encrusted with matter in hope of Salvation,
Fish, fowl, amphibia, and latterly beasts.
Yes, they were soul born; amoebic hopes
that by tempest, fire, and the heat of ice
evolved by birth and death in every season.
Taking as when taking must; leaving be,
not having when having was no need.
Yes, I was well pleased with progress
however, success has its own undoing,
Light separated from the Seeds of Soul.
I should have known, identifying Myself
with creation -the cause is of Me
and the cause is unrepentant.

The cause became two -two became three
Mind became Matter, Matter became mind….

And so, twice-born, soon to be thrice,
many times born of my wheel forming heaven
and sired by the captive imprisoned Hur,
there’s no end to your becoming until I cease.
Light and Matter will then achieve peace.