A Mystic from 13th Century Siena, Italy.
She was a popular curiosity in town, because of her many visions, ecstasies, and miracles. Once in a hospital a maid came upon Aldobrandesca in a trance. The saint appeared cataleptic, muscles
rigid, unconscious and without feeling.
Aldobrandesca’s biographer says the woman screamed in fear,
summoning all to see her, whom she thought was dead. Some were amazed, others amused. They began to punch, pinch and prick her
with pins, and burn her fingers with candle flames. When she came to
her senses her entire body was in excruciating pain, all she said was,
“May God forgive you.”
That act of forgiveness says more about Aldobrandesca than all of her paranormal experiences. Visions and ecstasies may be evidence of a supernatural touch but mercy expressed to others, is a sure sign of
Divine Love. We honor Aldobrandesca also known as St. Alda, for her charity, not for her trances.
(HER FEAST DAY IS APRIL 26 TH.)
Categories:
siena, appreciation, faith,
Form: Narrative
She drank the purifying firewater
(purer than the purest alcohol)
from the fountain where all can drink to the full.
Then she immersed herself.
She emerged with the fire in her eyes
and came close to the beggar in the ditch
and the pope within the palatial estate.
Her words and deeds became the titanium arrows
drawn red-hot from the furnace of his chest.
He had died of that hunger so intense
it produced the bloody sweat
that fell to the ground
and mixed with the dirt of the earth
and covered the surrendering wood.
(The dry wood burns best.)
The fire can’t help itself from burning.
It transforms into itself whatever comes near.
It dries up the dankness of conceit.
She preached the atonement
of both the furnace and the fountain.
She took on the air of the unquenchable flame.
Categories:
siena, fire, prayer, religion,
Form: Free verse
I cross a river of sticks-
frozen, the fallen brothers
of the War of the Seasons.
Snotty dew grasps at siena tips
in a crack between the planks of time
as the Gods cast white petals down
from some isle south of heaven.
Categories:
siena, nature,
Form: Pastoral
My heart is out for you
At the souk
My heart sits on the steps
Falling from sand to sea
Crying for you
At the souk
My heart whirls like a dervish
Around straggling lasses
Wending their way
To desert wells
Looking for you
At the souk
My heart flying high
With vultures circles the burnt siena sun
Sifting with dismal slit eyes
Mistral sands
Raging way down below
Leaping for you
At the souk
My heart
Whining to sleek rich women
Tries to sell them cheap pearl strings
Choking on you
At the souk
Categories:
siena, passionheart, heart,
Form: Romanticism