Into the Sea of Molten Light
Black obsidian glass venturing
Far, far into the navels of the green sea
Of molten light, whose aperture
Can only be gleaned by those
Of sufficient motivation…
Character flaws suffuse the personalities
Of my storylines, it seems, for I cannot
Recall if any one of them sufficiently remembers
The ancient paths to dawn’s promise
I wager a thousand gold pieces
That no one among them possesses
The infinite courage required.
Portals opening into the maws of destiny configured
Portend the coming of slick midnight
Into the realms of men, perchance
To awaken those nonchalantly slumbering
From the laziness of extreme complacency…
The opulence of “sacred” words from books
Cannot compare to the radiance of experience
That which teaches us sears into the extremities
Of our bones, the world-spheres of immanence
A gift beyond compare for those who have braved
The immersion sequence that entertains the delights
Of Hanged Men.
A fractal self like me, like you
Feeds into the powers of immanence
To experience one beautiful flower of springtime
In the manifold universes of Creation.
Again, and again, and again…
The mirrors of the seers imply
That if the square root of one percent of thee
The paths to Truth, and acts therein
Then the recursive power of infinite beauty
May propel the remaining sets into the cohesion
Then, one day, we awaken
To a different dawn, when our sights
Are dazzled by objects hitherto unknown
And the colours of the rainbow dance
With our senses, like fairies in the moonlight…
We should cry for the passing of shells
Into the naked woods of memory
Assuming they’re forgotten in the mists
Of time; and the songs of sorrow may cascade
Into the memories of our souls, the lovely tunes
Enchanting us no end, for we thought
There was nothing better.
I am a bridesmaid, and I shall be ready
For I am forever wishing to be married
To the Deep Self of my being, and
The One Who Animates Us is no less
Than our true, real self, hidden but glorious…
Of course, we were mistaken
When we thought this was the only real world
This fragment of Infinity we call Earth
Is only a dream within an illusion within a game
And now that we awaken from the darkness
Of millennia, let us see, let us see
The ecstasy of Infinite Reality!
Let me guess, let me guess
That what lies beyond is incomparable
And a fitting crown to all our efforts
In this monumental sacrifice when the soul
Was tricked into hypnotic sleep…
Shall we dispense of letters now, my friends?
I am tired of the slow, dizzying mortal dreams
Of my left brain; and now only open
My deepest essence to the gold cords of my twin
Whose magickal guidance all these eons
Cannot but be gifted with the immortal skeins
Of undying gratitude.
You Painted the World in Serial Time
You painted the world in serial time
In ordinals, in graphs, in shades of up and down
So neat are the rooms you’ve prepared
For me, so lovely are the wrappings.
And I trusted in you, unfortunately.
We called this science.
You painted the world in white and black
When we both know shades of gray exist
In between those recesses of ethics
The minutiae whose forms are hiding
In the vestiges of our consciousness.
We called this morality.
You painted the world in left or right
Did I have to choose some path
Or was it prepared all along
The way you prepared the feasts
And desserts of mundane existence?
We called this jurisprudence.
You painted the world in life and death
And never spoke to me, not once
Of the beauties of Eternity
So wrapped was I in this transient dream
And I believed every morsel of it.
We called this life!
You painted the world into scrolls of awe
And who should daresay challenge you
Whose arguments were so cunning?
Not even our geniuses could unravel
The lacunae of verity, confusion abounding.
We called this religion.
You painted the world with mints of gold
And everyone enchanted but imprisoned
By the need to toil, day and night
The hours stealing our souls
And suffering ingrained into our mortal bones.
We called this economics.
You painted the world in ladders of truth
Dangling a prophecy at every zenith
Step by step, we reach a goal
And care should be taken at every step
Lest the tower shatters, what a precipice!
And we called this the occult.
You painted the world in serial time
And we, naïve, innocent and credulous
Believed all the webs of deceit
You imposed onto our willing minds
Such was the game of eons.
But now, we awaken, at last!
To a Mystic Daughter
I had a daughter and she was lost
But someone found her and now all chaos is dross
For harmony sings at the foot of a sage
To revel in one so keen to play the Muse
To the labours of industry, how elegant the work
How enthralling the fruits you bring to the round table!
I had a daughter and she once fell asleep
To the throes of passion, dreaming of an unknown prince somewhere
Who might know how to awaken my sleeping child
But who can blame growing pains, and hearts and minds, though
The Work of a Thousand Centuries may be lost
In the mists of a Dying Age?
I had a daughter who deserves the best
That life may bring, how I yearn to provide
Mortal dinners, and wine, and song, and the Grove
For esoteric lessons aren’t enough to get by
In this century where all is lost in the sorrows of mortal doom
And everyone needs to labour for coin, alas.
I have a daughter who may yet fight
The war of ancient continents
And in this battle, in this age, perchance the Infinite
May grant my dearest wish and bring
My favourite daughter, my dearest daughter, to the Grove
That she ultimately deserves.
(Fisherwoman, the sages are calling
And Keltia beckons to thee
Into the West you shall flee
The ships are leaving, Lemuria in flames
And a child doesn’t dare to tear away her gaze
From the land where the curtain falls forever.)