The sun has just risen,
Eve is shaking me,
“Are you okay?”
I am in a cold sweat
Head to toe,
I am having heart palpitations,
I am sobbing.
“I had a vision.”
“There’s a new emperor,
He gives
A vicious order,
His soldiers kill him.
New Rome now turns
Into a fire ball,
I feel a million people die,
My heart can’t cope.”
“Oh sweetie, I love you.”
Eve holds me tight.
Later that day
My heart is
A bit calmed down.
She says, “You know
You have to go,
It is time to get up.”
“Time to be a prophet.
Go tell them
It was because of men
That we were caste out of Eden.
Tell them what horror
Is to come.
Many will not be able hear you,
Often you will not be invited back.
Go tell them that their God
The Trinity,
Father, Son and Holy Ghost,
And his creator,
The Emperor, are dead.
And now it is time to accept
The-always-been-there
Invitation back to Eden.”
The Prophet struggles
In polite company.
As a mention of
Unfathomable cruelty
About to be inflicted by men
Shatters the nice comfort
Of the moment
And ruins the taste of dessert.
His host throws
Up her hands,
Physically recoils from his words
And demands that
The Prophet stop talking.
He can’t
He continues
With a zen like koan,
“Can you wrap
Your arms around
A nuclear bomb after
It has gone bang?
What kind of mushroom
Is this to expand
Your consciousness
And love?”
“Where did this all begin?”
She asks, “This madness?
What God would allow this?”
The Prophet says,
“Don’t you know it is The Trinity,
Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
Male dominance is reaching
The limits of its expensiveness.”
“When was The Trinity born?”
“In the year 325 no less,
When another Emperor
Summoned what is said
Is 318 men
To divine who gets to be God.
They decided Father, Son
And, a gender suspect, Holy Ghost.
They focused mainly
On the clearly men
The Father and the Son.
The Son became a type of superhero,
With a “kingdom come” command
To create presumably
A king dominated world,
A single male crowned.”
“The philosopher has said,
“God is Dead.”
On 16th of July in 1945
God, The Trinity was killed.
Trinity was the first atom bomb
To come alive and in its blast
The Trinity God died,
Aged 1,620 years.
Man thought he had become God.
As Trinity exploded to the radiation of
“Now I am become Death,
The destroyer of worlds.”
He did not realise
That he had destroyed God too,
And we’d all have to pay the price.
There’s been no funeral for The Trinity
But the funeral pyre is ready,
It is New Rome itself.
The preparations are in progress.
It will be a fireball
You do not want to watch.
Blinding, a searing scream
Will ignite in your soul.
Is your heart open enough
To feel a million deaths at once?
And have you remembered to
Have a defibrillator to hand?
Will the nuclear attack
Look at you like Medusa
With her hair of serpents
And just turn you to stone?
What is your plan?
Get ready to kill
Your neighbours to survive?
Build a bunker now?
The men of avarice
Will pull the pin, press the button,
Give the code, just to prove
They’re a bigger fucker than the other one.
They always have done this.
And with each generation
Tricking nature
To give up her power,
The hungry new men
For money and clout
Grab her technology
As their own
Without consent.
They leave ethics
And morals in the dust
Of their pyramid-building schemes,
Thinking they get to have it all
And take it into the next life.
A bullying they go
Wondering who they can dominate
Pretending to be gods.
Wondering if they are now
Lord Shiva
The destroyer himself.
They forget where the power
Originally came from,
The nature of the goddess herself.
She never gave up the power
She lent it to us on trust.
With the Christian God dead
It’s probably time to turn to
Some other gods for help.
The men should have known
That Shiva is accountable
To Kali no less, the slayer of demons,
The great transformer,
Ender of ignorance, fear, and ego.
Kali who demands
The end of the poverty,
Hunger, untreated sickness,
And oppression.”
Kali says,
“I am not amused.”
As she whirls around
Cutting off the heads of demons.
“I am not out of control.
This is the rage
That every woman feels,
And everyone who still has a heart
At what the men with their Trinity God
Father, Son and Holy Ghost have done.
They have unleashed
All our anger at once.”
With a commanding voice
She summons Lord Shiva himself.
“You are not here to calm me down.”
“Get down!” “Get down!” she shouts.
He obeys, face down and is covered
In the ash of the human corpses,
Ash that is radioactive
For 10,000 years.
“I will not let you up Shiva
or allow you to get married
Until you have made me a promise.”
She stomps all over his back.
He is unable to get up,
Unable to move,
He is pinned to the ground,
Motionless.
She stomps, “Shiva assure me
That every man in the world
Has taken on the ethic
That every person in the world
Deserves to be treated well,
Regardless of money
Gender, race, tribe, caste, class
Or God.”
She stomps, “Shiva assure me
That you will make them
See this blue and beautiful world,
Full of life-giving nature
That feeds the people,
And that they will guard the soil,
And the temperature,
And stop their poisoning rapture.”
She stomps, “Shiva assure me
That you have instructed men
To bow before Wisdom,
Wisdom herself,
To receive a tear of hers
In blessing,
A tear of suffering generated
By The Trinity, The God and The Bomb.”
“And they must dedicate their lives
To end this drop of suffering
And accept further tears to come.
It is now time to build
A rejuvenated world
That can survive the hubris
Of a male God.
It is time to head back to Eden.”
Lord Shiva says, “I will teach men.”
And she lets him up.
Kali announces
“It is time for your marriage
To Sri Meenakshi
Who lives in the largest
Active goddess temple
In the world,
In the city of Madurai,
In Tamil Nadu,
In southern India,
Lives Sri Meenakshi
Who has inspired more poets
To write more lines to her that to any
Other goddess in the world.
We so need her help today.
Tell me,
How do you two plan
To celebrate your marriage?
What sort of party
Will you have?
Who do you really
Wish to invite?”
Shiva and Sri Meenakshi reply,
“Now the Christian world has no God
And their God has been burned
On a funeral pyre
In the fireball of New Rome
And so many people are dead,
We invite the women of the Christian Gospels
To have their moment
To define their God anew.”
“We invite their descendants
To come and convene
Just like the 318 men did in 325.
And we will ask them
To read their gospels carefully
And explain what is this love story
Of men and women
That births new life.”
“We will ask these women
To define words
That capture a glimpse of God,
And write a fitting creed
That does not lead
Back to The Bomb,
That leads us
In resurrection love.”
“The women will come
From all over the world,
And from many faiths to debate
What is said in the Christian gospels,
And they will restore the significance
And embrace of women
Who co-created the gospel love
For us to light the candle of everyone.”
“They will come with Mary
Who defied the patriarchy
And arranged marriage
To have a baby
She wished to have,
And sang so
Magnificently of leaders bowed
And of the poor raised up.”
“They will remember
The Syrophoenician women.
Insulted, she stood her ground.
She stripped Jesus of his tribalism
With her annoyingly persistent love
So, he’d heal her daughter
And heal himself
To become a true messiah.”
“They will write a new creed.
They will define a new god
With the feminine in love with men.
Ultimately, they will come with
Mary Magdalene
And go to the tomb,
To meet the gardener
We all need to become.”
“No, she did not mistake him
For the gardener
He was The Gardener
He is The Gardener
He is The Gardener of Eden
Now Mary Magdalene
And The Gardener
Issue an invitation.”
“Come back to the garden
Where you will be safe,
Where nature will be respected
And poverty ended
And prosperity will be in balance.
And let us each say,
“I am death, I am the creator of worlds.
I am one with the cycle of nature.””
The Gardener says,
“I am different from those men
Those subjects of a Roman Emperor
Who created The Trinity, the God
And Trinity The Bomb.
I am a man of harmony and kindness.
Come men in love, come to be adored.
Don’t stay in paradise ignored.”
Eve and I stand this evening before
The gates of paradise found.
Somber with suffering,
Praying for healing.
Two sprawling tigers block our way,
Sentinels, blessed by Wisdom’s tears.
They allow Eve and the snake to pass,
But I am stopped.
A tiger growls “Who are you?”
And I reply, “I am the gardener.”
I am let in.
And Eve runs over to me
And kisses me passionately,
And can’t stop
And leads me by the hand
To our abode, finally we are
Back in the garden of love.
A “Holy Week”
“Are you the Gardener?”
Was written at Sitio Leela,
Rio Grande Do Sol, Brazil
March 2025.
Back to the Garden, A Prophecy | 1. The Peacock in the Garden | 2. The Garden in Brazil | 3. Are You The Gardener?