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MAGONIA
 

Angels, demons, fairies, creatures from heaven, hell, or Magonia: they inspire our strangest dreams, shape our destinies, steal our desires....But who

are they?

---Jacques Vallee

 

a young monk

living in the High Mojave,

I awaited the advent of God,

and the arrival of alien UFOs.

I had the same nervous hope

of intersidereal epiphany and healing

that leavened my heart, when

in the stone simple chapel,

our pentecostal guests were filled

with the Holy Spirit.

I too wanted Immanent Mystery:

for the Spirit to enter and speak

in angelic alien tongues

that swell into song rising,

and fall, and comforting

as a warm Caribbean sea.

Yet in the watches

of winter long nights,

random

with stars,

I never saw aliens

and never found God.

 

NOW fifteen years later

I am still anxious with

extraterrestrial longing.

And so much more in need

of knowing God.

But both seem bred in wish, not fact;

both seem incarnate in hope, not faith.

An interpenetration of dreams

 

AND yet, there is still Magonia.

I learned of such a place when,

as that young monk

I wanted more than desire.

I had read that in the Middle Ages,

Magonia, a celestial region,

was thought to exist; inhabited

by extraordinary and wise beings

traveling in cloud ships,

abducting humans, only to return them,

as the skeptical Agobard, Archbishop

of Lyons wrote, to speak

of wonders beyond comprehension.

I savored the name, and

gave in to the mystery.

I hoped Magonia existed

though every rational fiber

of my mind scoffed

at faith nurtured by sensation.

But I knew I did not feel,

and feared, because of this,

I failed in faith.

There is still so little faith,

and all feeling seems reduced to

an ache

of not being chosen.

I so wanted God,

or family, or friends, or lover,

or some gray galactic stranger

to choose me.

And oh, I know

they are all from Magonia.

 

THERE is a great cloud with light around it,

a fire of lightening at its center,

a radiance like brass shining in a heart of flame.

The luminous disc hovers above the mesa;

now slowly settles onto the scrub and sand,

at home amidst the spiky, praying joshua trees.

In the open hatch

four living creatures in human form appear.

Looking at me they say:

"Son of man, repent and awake.

You have always been chosen."