Jesus, I need You

Well … it’s Christmas.

Some days ago, my dear friend Kristine shared me a strange song. I thought that I’ll used my frienship for Kristine, what I think about her deepest emotions and wishes, and some words of that song to write my 2019 Christmas wishes. I did so. Thank you Kristine. Be happy like I am. God is born. God came and comes in our so poor flesh!

These are my best wishes for next Holy Christmas.

Now I’ve into my mind and into my ears a sweet and peaceful music: John Sebastian Bach’s Cantata BWV 147 “Jesus meine Freude” (Jesu, joy of man’s desiring).
I’ve into my deep all my darkness and all the night where i was on this Advent.
I wish Jesus be born. I know Jesus is born. I wish His light, His peace, His joy.
I wish all these good things also for all you.

Jesus, I need You
by Judy Barton on Christmas, 2019

When fog hides
any idea of each way
I’m alone into grey, where I stay
There no answer responds to my why

I’m my need, I don’t feed
my pale soul nor my mind.
I’m as hole
where I can’t see my joy.
I’m a homeless old bitch
I’m grass frost under birches

When each Sunday
stops to be the Lord’s day
I’m alone in a night without rest
there’s no one that responds to my why

You are my need, feed
my pale soul and my mind.
You fill my hole
bringing me peace and joy.
Be born and be my home: then I’ll switch
to green grass under birches

 

December, 20th-24th 2019

 

 

Italian version

 

 

Third Advent week

Art by Terrygold – “Terry – Riflessi sul nero n.17_001”

 

So my hands punish harshly my pride
chasing thoughts and sin where my effort
falls helplessly, tonight, dying silently,
lost in cold nothingness everywhere

I’m not able, I can’t by myself
I can’t avoid to fall more and more:
that’s disease of our being few things,
as men or women: as each creature

We are falling down, into the solstice
full of pagan memories and impulse.
I deny you for perverse desires
but You come anyway, Child and God

 

December, 1st 2019

 

Italian version

First Advent week

 

Sometime my life is a crazy dream
where I see me so different from
myself as I am really, here,
while my days run forward I don’t know

Often I live into ill bad dreams
where my thoughts take up place of real things
and I try to be better with masks
indeed tributes to my narcissism

I would be better, I should be free
from my silly, so bad and false dreams.
I know whom I should be to be free.
Come soon, O Bone Jesu. Take me

November, 20th 2019

My deep skin

Shadow edge

Photo by Milena Carbone: thank you

 

My skin is so deep, you
can feel it when you touch me and my
mind sinks down in this night that is just
wish for light, dismay, loss, absence. It
is a pursuit

Your skin is so deep too, I can feel
it when my fleshes moan and groan
and awaits satisfaction to my
drive that pulls tight each muscle and fiber
toward that summit where I want be

We are skin and thus our minds sink
while at night we feel by ourselves
and miss each thing and all what’s above,
overwhelming thirst that is a plea

 

September, 19th 2019

Italian version

Precious love

 

My Precious love can only come from above
In unity is born a kiss of dignity
My Precious love will only come from above
And there you wish away
And with the least they met
You love better
Precious love
Precious love
Precious love
Precious love
Precious love
Precious love
Precious love
Precious love
Precious love
Precious love

Space weaver,
by Lisa Gerrard

My friend Kristine Blackadder told me about a strange song: Space weaver, by Lisa Gerrard. I listened to that song and saw its video. A woman dances, alone in an empty space; she wears a very large black dress. She keeps her hands near her hips and her arms are bent, so I can imagine two eyes, two gaps of light in the black of a mask. Her body is also bent, as to simulate a nose protruding from a mask.
A black mask.
The song flows and the woman dances until that mask seems to vanish and the woman becomes what she really is: a woman.
She becomes herself, without any mask and far from any dream.
An expression recurs obsessively, maybe as a prayer invocation, surely as expression of ineffable desire: Precious love. It is repeated twelve times.
Well… that’s my true love story.
Because my precious love came me from above.
Because when I met my precious love I found myself as unity.
Because my precious love gave and gives me dignity.
Because dignity and love grew and grow again as unity.
Because I saw and see what to love means.
Because I became me, taking off any mask.

I breathe words

 

I breathe words in the fresh wind that strikes
my face and messes up all my hairs
in the spring mornings when winter runs
far away and you are my desire

Words choose me and they give strength and form
to my wandering roaming strewn thoughts.
I don’t look for them: I find and see
them, they chase me at their whim

I collect from somewhere words in summer
going through mountains, into your eyes
full of peace, in the steps that so much
bring us toward the high sky we need

We have not to hunt words; just wait for
them that reach us across lives and time flow
and watch them changing into nice prayer
like clots filled and charged with meaning

I chase words and autumn rain turns
itself lighter becoming soft smile
as when evening mist poses on green grass
while I run to you asking for you

 

October, 14th 2019

 

Italian version