I was reading, and my thoughts fell into relief – of clear silhouettes reckoning ancient myriads – a cinema of clarifying mind was before me.

So many Ancient Mothers, so many consoling hearts that bent over the human form, all the while knowing they would stay there forever, holding that eternal moment that allows the release of tears again and again in the crescent of our anguish.

I realised then, in a tangle of rising Sun and falling Moon, that this Theotokos, this Blessed Mother whom I see, has gathered riding in the human breath all the thoughts of antiquity.  She extends her Virgin hand, and shapes the living memory of something older that has many strands to the time in which we live – the Magna Mater – the perpetual Earth Mother who ascending from the cave, to the highest speculation on altars of thought, that before us now, casts bewilderment and wonder.