I was a child living with an unfathomable free spirit mother and was uncomfortable with Bowie’s colourful strangeness. Part elegant alien, part harlequin he looked like something out of a renaissance Alice in Wonderland court.
Communion is not when we reach out to another, join them in their space, dump the contents of our soul and lose ourselves. Communion is holding so strongly to the self that we are concentrated essence moving through space.
We are rising in a language that is full of emotion, anger and love that it’s as heady as the oils and sage we use. What about the women we are not reaching because we’re so busy speaking our soul’s language that we’ve forgotten the human one?
To you who are known by so many names across space and time, it is with the fervent devotion of a burst-open heart and the awe-struck reverence of the enraptured that I write in homage at this inky, indrawn moment of the winter solstice.
Only once in an eternity does God launch this kind of heart-rocket. How could I turn away? I suddenly felt compassion for my friend, struggling as he was to find his faith in love after such a tremendous loss.