In France and elsewhere there are a plethora of relics pertaining to the life of Mary Magdalen, the one I know as Magda. Yet only she is the true reliquary. She floats free, beyond the grasp of any who would try to limit her through definition or use her energy or power for anything other than the purest of intentions. Count her saint or sinner, but you cannot contain her spirit which belongs to the ages. She is more than pieces and her story lives in me.
More Than Pieces
Here is her hand. There is her foot.
Here you can stare at her skull encased in thick glass—
Behind bars as the church likes to keep her,
Though now with purported admiration and some measure of veneration.
But what you have missed in the pomp and circumstance
is that she is forever faithful, free from being tied to your circuitry.
She is alive and I love her. I am alive and she loves me.
So mix her up and make of her what you will. Seek your definition.
But know her joy in seeing all things risen will not be contained, cajoled, controlled.
Feast if you will. Seek her prayers should you choose. Know more than pieces of she you seek to break or use.
There is no denial of a testimony that rings, true as the bells of a holy matrimony:
"I have seen the Lord!" Word and flesh births worlds.
Two who belong to each other, for eternity, to this revelation of a mystery.
What is your essential story of life? What is alive in you?
I hope this poem has sparked a reconnection and remembrance for you today. I believe there is beauty to be found right here, right now, all around you and right there within you.I'll meet you on the way!