Introduction:  The poetry of Love and Courtship has always been the preferred written pathway for a Mystic to actualize a deep, abiding, and personal relationship with the God of his or her Noumenal Heart.  For divine poetry speaks to ones innermost feelings and desires for companionship, acceptance, purpose, caring, and altruism.  Poetry is intimate and personal in a way that written theology and philosophy cannot approach.

Theology and philosophy are tools to refine your concepts and understanding of the structure and function of Creation.  They are not designed nor useful for finding a Way to love the God of your Realization for love is of the noumenal heart and not the cognitive mind (by noumenal, I refer to your spiritual or psychic heart).

Such poetry can be found with the southern Sufis, the devotional sects of Hinduism, in portions of the Old Testament, most everywhere–if you look.  You will be well rewarded in your Studies to find a poet you like and read and experience a poem when you begin or end you sanctum night.

I leave finding a poet or poetess you like up to you.

It is a universal truism that unless your heart is with your God, your mind will be lost in imagination.

Personally, every kind of sincere love, from Eros to Agape, is a conscious act meant to bring more of God’s Unconditional Love into our psychophysical universe.

For it is true that God Manifest is Male-Female, Husband-Wife, Brother-Sister, Father-Mother, Mother-Child and so on, as taught by the Ancients, All comes in Gender.

My example for this day:

SPRING’S SWEET WIFE

So many days journey lie betwixt us, sweet love,
endless kilometers of sky-high packed snow,
to deep, to treacherous, to dangerous
to tread upon foot or upon mount.

The mistress of the wind taunts me each night,
her snarls and wicked whisperings
penetrating even into my bed,
her wish to damp, forever, my ardor for you.

This is a winter of winters,
a chill not seem since the dark times,
and my sweet Snegurochka,
who melts not from love, any more,
is far, far south of this lonesome forest.

Damn you Father Frost,
what good brings the howling
of your timber wolves,
do they mock my longings,
burning and crying,
no respite, day and night?

I dream of our warm bed,
you lying naked next to me,
fireplace flames burning brightly,
your heartbeats resonant with mine.

Oh, but, such are only dream fragments,
memories from months long past,
honey-laced, sweet buns and hot chocolate,
shared in the old café down the cobbled lane.

Can love return two hearts now apart?
I think so, I hope so.

Away Father Frost, come dear Snegurochka,
come to your prince, bring her to me,
Mother Spring.