The Braying Angel portrays a spiritual odyssey from darkness into light...
And from despair, self-loathing and remorse into bittersweet resignation, pathos and joy.
Some ascetic traditions have relied on a ‘Book of Hours’ as a reminder of the value of working ‘within time, towards eternity.’
By analogy, the twelve hours of this little book bring us from the dawn-stirrings of grief and regret to the cool dusk of spiritual maturity and the renewal of the childlike wonder of the virgin spiritual...
The virgin earthly.
Not unlike the dumb ox of the misguided Balaam, or indeed St Thomas Aquinas, who said, ‘Compared to all I have seen, this is mere straw!’ the wanderer and pilgrim of this odyssey is both erring false prophet and soaring angel.
An everyman, everywoman or everyperson of despondent clay and ardent fire.
The free verse form’s disconcerting syncopation create epiphanies of silence and ambiguity which may defamiliarise some complacent readers, like the proverbial knock on the head from an impatient Zen master.
The journey never begins, and it never ends.
For it is for all of us.