autumns symphonies – a pas de deux, vi (final movement) return of shulamite return o messiah


Parole de Les Coeurs Tendres:

A  Pas de Deux of Ancient Lovers*

(to my Muse of muses)

Return O Shulamite Return O Messiah


“Before wary minds knowing unchary harts are unknowing:

So Ruach lifts up Nefesh as Chayyah lifts up Ruach even so

A Royal Merkevot Chariot of Fire ferries all true lovers home;

Return O Shulamite Return O Messiah for your ignorant ones,

Return all your children to the mystical spiral of Israel dancing.”

-Canticles 6:12 (transliteration by Broeder Emmanuel)


(Crucifixtion, Resurrection, Liberation)


these two here this hart that remains outside

Celui-là a le cœur dehors

as it is fragile so it is supple Et si frèle et si tender

like but unlike those cursed hanging trees Que maudit soient les arbres morts

that point at stars but do not hear angels sing Qui ne pourraient point l’entendre

those dull eyes are full of sadistic clouds A pleins de fleurs dans les yeux

those eyes are full of thistles and sharp thorns

Les yeux à fleur de peur

for fear they are lacking the hours to find De peur de manquer l’heure

that one hart that leads all lovers to bethlehem

que tous les chemins trouvent les nouvelles terminaisons à Paris


we are never not found kissing in paris

where there are neither beginnings nor endings

as in heaven one ancient hart is already conducting


always from crucifixions through resurrections to liberations always

toujours de crucifixions par le biais de résurrections de libérations toujours


chrétien marc valentin

(© 09 juli 2014)


*A Modest Manifesto

I am going to break a general personal rule – rule are made to be broken as in the true sacred warrior starts by questioning authority – by adding some authorial commentary on my own work.  This ‘symphony’ was composed over the period of six straight days (a number with rich in mystical significance misunderstood by fundamentalists but not by serious students of  Kabballah),  a accident I suppose as I did not see then end of the poem when I commenced it or, as I prefer to say, my Muse commenced the process of channeling itself  through me.  I have had many muses in my life given that I started writing poetry when I was four years old.  However, it was recently that I discovered my Muse of muses.  She knows who she is.  There is a rather tragical history back-story here which out of respect for the Muse as she is today we leave shrouded in darkness.


Related to this, is the fact that while I was raised an Evangelical Christian (a fundamentalist) who as an adult converted to Catholicism (a mystic),  I have only recently made an effort to come to terms with the fact that my paternal grandmother was a victim of the Polish Pogram that preceded WW II.  Upon migrating to America as an illiterate peasant, she converted to an early form of charismatic Christianity.


Also, as an undutachably unamerican first citizen of the global village and conscientiously so,  we (three languages, three harts) are passionately concerned about Chauvinism:  The ethos in the engines driving all humanities major social constructs  and institutions –  religious, scientific, financial, military, educational, technological, political, etc. – into catastrophic conflict with Gaia or Shekinah or Mother Earth or simply Nature.


All these threads are subtly woven into the tapestry of this symphony.  It should be understood on at least four levels:  The literal; The allegorical; The metaphorical; The anagogical (as should the mystical book of Canticles and the art of geniuses like Mahler and Chagall, men better than myself.  They are my heros.  Artists, like myself,  boldy unafraid  of attempting to be a bridge of compassion in a brutal and cruel world defined by antagonistic religiosities and the social constructs which gave birth to these still emerging and converging cosmologies.


The journey from extremes of rationalism to a more integral relationship with mysticism is a long and difficult one.  This poem is a sketchy map of that journey.   In the subsequent days,  I will begin the process of polishing and re-posting it in a final version.  This too has been a deliberate decision.  I wanted to record the stumbles one makes when allowing the intuitive ‘hart of harts’ to give voice to a remorselessly paradoxical wisdom that the fundamentalist mind and rational is incapable of grasping lacking as it does an integral psychology and spirituality.  I refer here to the science of what Ken Wilber calls, the naïve belief in ‘frisky dirt.’ To paraphrase Marx, “No longer Religion, but Capitalism and Technology is now the twin opiates of the ignorant masses and fundamentalists of all stripes.“


It is my hope that those who have struggled through this labyrinth of images compounding into poetry will find a seed of compassion has been planted in the sacred and immaculate hart of harts and join us in our modest campaign and compassionate to convince the ignorant masses to take off their google glasses of denial (fundamentalism) about the disastrous consequences emerging from  unlimited growth (cancer) fueled by rapacious consumption of petrol-chemical products in seeking  an ever more convenient ergonomic life-style.   La a sa raisons la raison ne connait pas.  Or, as my beloved Shakespeare wrote,


“There is no darkness greater than ignorance. “



This entry was posted in Poetry, The Living Logos, the motley fool, The Path of the Sacred Warrior and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s