Monday, September 3, 2012
Sunday, September 2, 2012
And then our Lord opened my spiritual eye and shewed me my soul in midst of my heart.
I saw the Soul so large as it were an endless world, and as it were a blissful kingdom.
And He shewed the satisfying that He hath of the making of Man's Soul. For as well as the Father might make a creature, that Man's Soul were made.
And at this point the Son began first to shew His might:
for He went into Hell, and when He was there He raised up the great Root out of the deep deepness which was knit in high Heaven.
"The dear worthy blood of our Lord Jesus Christ as verily as it is most precious, so verily it is most plenteous" in seeming of the Scourging, as thus:
The fair skin was broken full deep into the tender flesh with sharp smiting all about the sweet body.
So plenteously the hot blood ran out that there was neither seen skin nor wound, but as it were all blood.
And when it came where it should have fallen down, then it vanished. Notwithstanding, the bleeding continued awhile: till it might be seen and considered. And this was so plenteous, that methought if it had been so in kind and in substance at that time, it should have made the bed all one blood, and have passed over about.
And then came to my mind that God hath made waters plenteous in earth to our service and to our bodily ease for tender love that He hath to us.
Behold and see!
The precious plenty of His dear worthy blood descended down into Hell and burst her bands and delivered all that were there which belonged to the Court of Heaven. The precious plenty of His dear worthy blood overfloweth all Earth, and is ready to wash all creatures of sin.
The precious plenty of His dear worthy blood ascended up into Heaven to the blessed body of our Lord Jesus Christ, and there is in Him, bleeding and praying for us to the Father.
And evermore it floweth in all Heavens enjoying the salvation of all mankind.
I saw the plenteous bleeding of the Head.
The great drops of blood fell down from under the Garland like pellots, seeming as it had come out of the veins; and in the coming out they were brown-red, for the blood was full thick;
and in the spreading-abroad they were bright-red; and when they came to the brows, then they vanished; notwithstanding, the bleeding continued till many things were seen and understood.
The plenteousness is like to the drops of water that fall off the eaves after a great shower of rain, that fall so thick that no man may number them with bodily wit; and for the roundness, they were like to the scale of herring, in the spreading on the forehead.
These three came to my mind in the time:
pellots for roundness,
in the coming out of the blood, the scale of herring,
in the spreading in the forehead, for roundness;
the drops off eaves, for the plenteousness innumerable.
For the blessed flesh and bones was left all alone without blood and moisture.
The blessed body dried alone long time with wringing of the nails and weight of the body.
For I understood that for tenderness of the sweet hands and of the sweet feet, by the greatness, hardness, and grievousness of the nails the wounds waxed wide and the body sagged, for weight by long time hanging.
And therewith was piercing and pressing of the head,
and binding of the Crown all baked with dry blood, with the sweet hair clinging,
and the dry flesh, to the thorns, and the thorns to the flesh drying;
and in the beginning while the flesh was fresh and bleeding, the continual sitting of the thorns made the wounds wide.
And furthermore I saw that the sweet skin and the tender flesh, with the hair and the blood,
was all raised and loosed about from the bone, with the thorns wherethrough it were rent in many pieces, as a cloth that were sagging, as if it would hastily have fallen off, for heaviness and looseness, while it had natural moisture.
The Garland of the Thorns was dyed with the blood, and that other garland of Blood and the head, all was one colour, as clotted blood when it is dry. The skin of the flesh that shewed of the face and of the body, was small-rimpled with a tanned colour, like a dry board when it is aged;
and the face more brown than the body.
The body was in the grave till Easter-morrow, and from that time He lay nevermore.
For then was rightfully ended the struggling and the writhing, the groaning and the moaning.
And our foul deadly flesh that God's Son took on Him, which was Adam's old kirtle, worn, bare, and short, was then by our Saviour made fair, new white and bright and of endless cleanness;
loose and long.
Juliana of Norwich 1373
Friday, August 31, 2012
Two Minstrels' Rune Medley
MASTERED by desire impulsive,
By a mighty inward urging,
I am ready now for singing,
Ready to begin the chanting
Of our nation's ancient folk-song
Handed down from by-gone ages.
In my mouth the words are melting,
From my lips the tones are gliding,
From my tongue they wish to hasten;
When my willing teeth are parted,
When my ready mouth is opened,
Songs of ancient wit and wisdom.
There are many other legends,
Incantations that were taught me,
That I found along the wayside,
Gathered in the fragrant copses,
Blown me from the forest branches,
Culled among the plumes of pine-trees,
Scented from the vines and flowers,
Whispered to me as I followed
Flocks in land of honeyed meadows,
Over hillocks green and golden,
After sable-haired Murikki,
And the many-colored Kimmo.
Many runes the cold has told me,
Many lays the rain has brought me,
Other songs the winds have sung me;
Many birds from many forests,
Oft have sung me lays n concord
Waves of sea, and ocean billows,
Music from the many waters.
Music from the whole creation,
Oft have been my guide and master.
Sentences the trees created,
Rolled together into bundles,
Moved them to my ancient dwelling.
On the sledges to my cottage,
Tied them to my garret rafters,
Hung them on my dwelling-portals,
Laid them in a chest of boxes.
Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
Passed his years in full contentment,
On the meadows of Wainola,
On the plains of Kalevala,
Singing ever wondrous legends,
Songs of ancient wit and wisdom.
Chanting one day, then a second,
Singing in the dusk of evening,
Singing till the dawn of morning,
Now the tales of old-time heroes,
Tales of ages long forgotten.
Now the legends of creation,
Once familiar to the children,
By our children sung no longer,
Sung in part by many heroes.
In these mournful days of evil,
Evil days our race befallen.
Far and wide the story travelled,
Far away men spread the knowledge
Of the chanting of the hero,
Of the song of Wainamoinen.
Still the minstrel sings enchantment,
Sings his sword with golden handle,
Sings it into gleam of lightning,
Hangs it in the sky above him.
Sings his cross-bow, gaily painted,
To a rainbow o'er the ocean;
Sings his quick and feathered arrows
Into hawks and screaming eagles.
Sings his dog with bended muzzle,
Into block of stone beside him;
Sings his cap from off his forehead,
Sings it into wreaths of vapor.
From his hands he sings his gauntlets
Into rushes on the waters;
Sings his vesture, purple-colored,
Into white clouds in the heavens;
Sings his girdle, set with jewels,
Into twinkling stars around him.
"Aino, beauty of the Northland,
Wear not, lovely maid, for others,
Only wear for me, sweet maiden,
Golden cross upon thy bosom,
Shining pearls upon thy shoulders;
Bind for me thine auburn tresses,
Wear for me thy golden braidlets."
Thus the maiden quickly answered:
"Not for thee and not for others,
Hang I from my neck the crosslet.
Deck my hair with silken ribbons;
Need no more the many trinkets
Brought to me by ship or shallop;
Sooner wear the simplest raiment.
Feed upon the barley bread-crust,
Dwell forever with my mother
In the cabin with my father."
Then she threw the gold cross from her,
Tore the jewels from her fingers,
Quickly loosed her shining necklace,
Quick untied her silken ribbons,
Cast them all away indignant
Into forest ferns and flowers.
Thereupon the maiden, Aino,
Hastened to her mother's cottage.
Loudly does the pine-tree answer:
"All the ships that have been fashioned
From my body are unworthy;
I am full of imperfections,
Cannot give thee needed timber.
Wherewithal to build thy vessel;
Ravens live within my branches,
Build their nests and hatch their younglings
Three times in my trunk in summer."
Sampsa leaves the lofty pine-tree,
Wanders onward, onward, onward,
To the woods of gladsome summer,
Where an oak-tree comes to meet him.
In circumference, three fathoms,
And the oak he thus addresses:
"Ancient oak-tree, will thy body
Furnish wood to build a vessel?
Build a boat for Wainamoinen,
Master-boat for the magician,
Wisest of the wisdom-singers?"
Thus the oak replies to Sampsa:
"I for thee will gladly furnish
Wood to build the hero's vessel;
I am tall, and sound, and hardy,
Have no flaws within my body.
Three times in the months of summer,
In the warmest of the seasons,
Does the sun dwell in my tree-top,
On my trunk the moonlight glimmers,
In my branches sings the cuckoo,
In my top her nestlings slumber."
Quick he changes his complexion,
Changes too his form and feature,
Slips into another body;
Like a serpent in a circle,
Rolls black-dyed upon the waters;
Like a snake among the willows,
Crawls he like a worm of magic,
Like an adder through the grasses,
Through the coal-black stream of death-land,
Through a thousand nets of copper
Interlaced with threads of iron,
From the kingdom of Tuoni,
From the castles of Manala.
Mana's son, the wicked wizard,
With his iron-pointed fingers,
In the early morning hastens
To his thousand nets of copper,
Set within the Tuoni river,
Finds therein a countless number
Of the death-stream fish and serpents.
Elias Lonnrot
KALEVALA
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