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Heffalump – the Holiest of the Holy, the Human Faced
-for the memory of Joseph ”John” Merrick,
the great poetical soul and lover of inner beauty
also known as ” The Elephant Man”
”You have more tumors on your face
than the God Almighty has fingers
in His hands sublime and beautiful.”
The blunt remark came from one
of the starers in the endless line.
In the meanwhile the ringmaster
wawed his hands intensily and shouted:
”Look! Look! Look and sense the horror!”
You felt the pain deep within,
but the steam of your tears did not dry out.
Maybe that time you whispered
- perhaps to your own ears only - ,
what is true to us all: One rises
to the Mountain of Smile
only through the Valley of Tears.
You knew by heart the most beautiful
word of English language: To Love.
Finally: When the pain stopped, there
was no even slightest bitterness within you.
I remember: Fingers of your left ha
The Bride of the Christ(Mary of Magdalen)
It's written in the Gospel of Philip: "Mary was his mother, his sister and his companion". I notice now that occasionally even the Gnostics find the seed of the truth.
You sacrificed all in the name of love
your crown of thorns is made
from the lovely scented roses
and your whole fragile body
is covered with wounds of love
and even still
Before Jesus awakened the daughter of Jairos from the dream of death, he made another miracle: He cast out seven devils from you, Mary of Magdalen. Because of this act you loved Jesus more than your own life. Some say that your Hebrew first name means 'bitter' or 'reluctant', but for Jesus you were never such.
All your sweet words are doves
your steps are light like gazelle's steps
your thoughts are fast like the wind
your conscience is white like the snow
you the protector of all the children of the world
you the matron saint of all the sorrowful
you the only true consolation
of my s
A cup of wine for the memory of you, Aurelius(St. Augustine)
When the Visigoths were burning the city of Rome
You wrote the name of the Unknown God
to the marble of the Eternal City
just like Jesus once wrote
all that to the sand
where it would be washed away by the rain
- perhaps this was your main mistake.
Among all the wise teachers of the Church
you are the one, who is the most contradictory.
You wrote on
the inflammable papyrus
that the duration
of the fire of Hell
just like Heaven
and some of us humans
in this sublunar world
are meant even before their birth
just for the another one of them.
So, you had ceased to remember
that also you yourself also had hovered
between darkness and light,
and on the edge of night and mists of the earth
you acted lik
Musician of the Silence(San Juan de la Cruz)
You were a Carmelite in the style of the most severe and the most poor: Shoeless.
There is a passage in the Gospel of Matthew, where Jesus sends the disciples to the world with these carefully chosen words: Do not carry gold or silver in your belt; Do not take a bag or two robes or shoes or stick; because the worker has earned his meal. You were so serious a person, John, that you interpreted these words in their literal meaning , which was also the most poor and most miserable meaning: You chose to walk without shoes just like Jesus and his closest disciples.
Perhaps you recalled the words of the Lord to Moses in front of the burning bush: "Take off your shoes, because this place is holy!" For you, John , the whole world was a holy place, the house of the God, where it was strictly forbidden to walk with shoes on; For you every living creature was holy.
In Exodus of the Bible
it is written that on the
Mount Horeb Moses cam
visionary in the dark(Edith Stein)
The festival of Chanukah
your childhood memories
the latkes potato pancakes
and the nine-branched
You found philosophy during
your days in the university
and soon you joined
the disciples of Edmund Husserl
You progressed quickly in your studies
and at the early age of only 25 years
you graduated as doctor of philosophy.
In the company
those silent onesThose silent ones
who carry sorrow within
they feel the secret yearning
has anybody ever loved us
their tear wet and silent eyes ask
who shall free them from this fire
when shall the Christ descend
from the heavens with his new kingdom
when shall the Redeemer redeem
his slaves when shall the chain be
broken on the eve the kingdom of love
when shall the tender purple sunbeams cure
the burns in the hands of the workers
Those silent ones
who carry sorrow within
They carry also sorrowful
signs of loss and remarkable
acts of weakness: broken hearts
feelings of abandonment all kinds
of scars from the battles of life
song of my heart SONG OF MY HEART
Maybe just loneliness was the part meant for me just like a pause or a silent moment or an expectation
in some composition bigger than me, which is maybe the humanity or
the wholeness of Christian brothers and sisters or the God Almighty or the world
love is a tree mysticall o v e i s a t r e e
m y s t i c a l
I stand in the shadow
by its side
its fruits grow fast
in my eyes
in night time
together with daytime
spring time, summer time
and even in the winter time
in all the colours of the rainbow
and i grow myself too while watching it
To each person this tree has something to offer
To each one with the way pleases each one
To whom the suffering
This one shall have the suffering
To whom the passion
That one shall have the passion
To whom the tears
This one shall have the tears
To whom the kisses
That one shall have the kisses
To whom the miracles
This one shall have the miracles
To whom the nails
T h a t o n e s h a l l h a v e t h e n a i l s
CredoAll the testimonies of the Septuagint
pierced by sunbeam
about the existence of the God
are all full of truth
just like testimonies of Thomas of Aquino
and Johannes Duns Scotus
and Anselm of Canterbury
and even testimonies of John Locke
and Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz
just like strong arms drawn by Rafaello
but only from the surface
as memories of solitude and spirit
without lively spirit in themselves
just scratch them from their mirror surface
and their spell is broken
B u t
w i t h i n t h a t
v e r y m o m e n t
u n t o u c h e d
The Dance.You and I dance as life and death,
unbroken and ever going,
circling and never ending.
As the music dies,
and the song stops,
where our dance is paused.
My sight goes gray,
the light in my eyes dims,
and I fall down forever back.
Your face is the last thing,
I saw and remembered so I take great comfort,
that you're forever there before me as I fall down.
So the music revives,
and the song restarts,
where our dance is unpaused.
The music is all around us and surround us,
like the lives we make and take,
and the dance is going faster to bring life and disaster.
The Memory of a Dead Man Walking
Suchlike the will of brimstone beasts,
Is the will of a dead man walking,
In each step is left the prints of carelessness.
Holding the half empty glass with a crack in the side,
stumbling around the dunes in the long wait to become
a savage before the credits roll.
A happy ending was for another tale for another man way
off back in the mirage of the desert that harbors those
dunes as he lies six feet under with a smile by rigor
mortis and a silent song in the beatless heart, there
beneath a tombstone that read,
here lies a memory.
Come Hell or high Heaven, the dead man walking
walks on without a goal or care for the world,
a bottle of dried up whiskey hanging loosely
in hand, gathering sand from the winds of that
coming storm. Illusive would have been his
laughter to sober eyes in that wasteland.
The Memory looks on as a shade beyond the grave,
staring straight at a man of woe, watching those
apathetic trails disappear. The glass fell into
the bosom of those lands beyond greener pastur
Heart SongI am conscious of
Getting everything in my body going.
I can control everything in it as I need it
And perceive in it every single touch.
I love my heart as it is.
I am certain of loving it.
In my spiritual hand I take it gently
And I always pay attention to it.
It bounces and flutters in my hand,
Almost up to its edge.
My heart is beating incredibly wild
And I give it a calming picture.
With loving words I talk to it:
In a relaxed, peaceful tranquility may you serve my body.
I am full of gratitude in me,
All this love belongs to you.
You have always provided my body good
And I admire your everlasting courage.
In all fears, in all fright
You have been always awakened.
Through my body you pump the blood,
Even at very extreme anger.
All that always in love to me,
For this I thank thee.
I need all my life
Your everlasting song.
Until I have accomplished my work on Earth
And my soul will set out.
Please accompany me with all your strength,
Until the path is reached.
Till then, I will join
Serenaded are the vultures past the
silence of calm demeanor,
where only leaves fall in a quiet Autumn.
The gusts of haunted winds run through a
chilled air that even ghosts choose to
evade in the darkest hours.
No Sunlight had touched the soils below
in any matter of time,
though it had given first light to growth.
Though that canopy cannot keep away the
howls and screams of undead scavengers
which only muffled the sounds of better
birds who sang for the sun.
Third eyes were stitched shut and feet
were bound by illusive chains. How little
the closed treasure chest could ever hold,
where when opened it would have overflowed,
blotting out the haunted sounds and using
the limited light within darkness.
The vultures search only to find with eyeless
sockets, the lively canopy of those growing woods.
Time and all of space could never have grazed those
soils, however wet or dry. Whatever was let in was
by the canopy that guards and shelters.
There were paths in those woods, where many feet h
Passage to the Catacombs of TimeWhen day becomes empty
In the dusk,
When time without pictures begins,
Lonesome voices combine –
Animals are nothing more than hunters
Or being hunted –
Flowers are only fragrance –
When everything becomes nameless like in the beginning –
You will go down to the catacombs of time
That will open to those
Whose end is near –
There where the heart seeds grow –
Deep into dark contemplation
You will sink –
Already passing death
That is only a windy passage –
And freezing from the exit
You will open your eyes
In which already a new star
Has left its reflection.
baby stepsit was probably
celsius met fahrenheit
in a sloppy french kiss on frozen ground.
after all the walking,
the skin of my hands started to crack and bleed;
silence, i decided,
was the solution and the cure. i dipped
my hands into its glowing broth:
warmth suffused my body struggling
to sit still.
on marched the sun,
You're just a puppetI am everything,
I am nothing.
I am everywhere,
I am invisible.
I'm in your head and won't let go.
You beg for my approval,
I am light,
but you will never see me.
But you will never know me.
You don't know yourself.
You are lost.
You know what i allow you to know.
You're just a puppet, who thinks he's alive
You're just a puppet.
RevolutionChains and chains of hopeless bind the system together
No one feeling like they can change the world
No one feeling like our very existence is just vanity
No one feeling like there is anything to live for
Millions and millions of confusion in the air tonight
Fills the blue skies and enters into our hearts
Confusion and vanity is what the world runs by
Be this, do that, give this, believe that; all I can do now is raise my fist in the sky
As I raise my fist high in the sky, I shout a battle cry of life
There is only one voice that still stands out through the generations
I shout a battle cry with my fist in the sky; words that brings the world to life
Words that brings light back into the hearts of people from young to old
Revolution; time to end the misery
Revolution; time to show the world the true meaning of life
Revolution; time to show the world that true love exists beyond our understanding
Revolution; time to cry out into the heavens for love to come down
Revolution; time to rise
Shel SilversteinI might have been friends with Henry Moore
I visited near his studio and garden once
We might have had tea
I could have helped Ziolkowski with his Crazy Horse
All I needed to do was show up in the Black Hills
All I needed to do was put my hand out
Just be human, be honest
We three, Moore, Ziolkowski and I would have been buds
Talking about women and monumental sculpture
The Dalai Lama might want to be a pal of mine
The Buddha would smile on us
We could sit out in front of Five Brothers
And drink Cuban coffee and laugh
His Holiness loves to laugh
But Shel, this presumption…
This one-sided dialogue…
It has been in my head since you died
We didn’t meet, but I am sure we would be friends
You and I would talk about pirates and politics
We would dis the local royalty and cuss
You would be shoeless and grinning
I would be happy you were my friend
Friend of the God, companion of the paradoxes(Meister Eckhart)
You were born perhaps in the small village of Tambach in Thüring. Your parents were maybe farmers, but we can not know this with absolute certainty any more. In the days of your youth you joined the ordain of Ordo Praedicatorum ie. the Dominican Order in Erfurt. Later on you were chosen as prior in the Dominican Order. Your early latin dissertations emphasize the role of giving away of one's own selfish craving in the spiritual path, uninterestedness for the benefit of the God Almighty. Soon you moved away, you first started to study the sentences in Cologne, then you visited Strassburg and finally you ended up to teach theology in the university of Paris.
In Paris you found the blind spot of the learned scholastics and their Aristotelian sentences: Outside the official church there was a group of poor women, who worshipped Jesus of Nazareth and made various kinds of acts of charity in the name of the Lord together with
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