Emanation of Atziluth, Divine fountain of Absolute Truth, Source of all Illumination, Attained by mental termination. Fly among souls of that higher eschalon, Through virtual vision of awesome eidolon.
Foregoing magic's ambiguous results, In mystic pursuits my soul catapults. Seeking that ever-higher relation, It soars inside, releasing elation. Results that require no testing or query, Daily death of which we needn't be leery.
In our mystic's upward flight, The Middle Course sets all aright. Empty receptacle for divine energy, Lies far beyond mere ego-Self synergy. Forgetting myself, in remembrance, too, What I could do if I were only You.
Atonement with the Aur Ain-Soph, Even One can never get close enough. Melding all the powers of the rings, Keenly listen to swan-souls sing. As surely inevitable as continental drift, Union healing the soul's ancient rift.
Emanation of archetypal Atziluth, Well-spring of the living Truth. Remember daily the art of forgetting, Let supernal radiance of the Word ring. Forget yourself in divine remembrance, Losing it All in that blessed exuberance.
Forget to remember; remember to forget.
SEARCHING FOR THE HOLY GRAIL (A Portrait)
Once again that ardent Knight Comes charging, now in broad daylight. Remembrance of those shrouded trysts, When he and God my secret soul kissed. With you I executed my gravest sin, Which only drove me further within.
Far from Round Table, on a high quest, He paused, and blithely erred at my behest. Playing amorous Lancelot to my Guinevere, That glorified memory still remains so clear. A furtive serpent coiled around my heart, In eagle's swift flight cannot depart.
Are you still searching for the Holy Grail, Looking in sylvan forest, hill and dale? Rather, search for the Castle deep inside, That from which we cannot hide. Find, forsooth, whom these things serve, And you will never lose your verve.
These are the qualities of the Seer, Integrity, prescience, and lack of fear. Suddenly coming to the hilt of his sword, Striking within me a deeper chord. Prince of my heart and nature mystic, Forever entwined in a lover's triptych.
Only one dwelling in that sanctuary in me; Where it consummates, we shall have to see. All true healing is a high kingly art. Of which rescuing lost souls is only a part. Past master of therapeutic rapport, Come pierce me again, to my deepest core.
NECROPHANTASY (A Portrait)
Mad poet, crazy dancer, Would I were a necromancer. Psychonaut, warp-speed mystic trancer, Sometimes returns astrally, just to romance her.
Always a foot in both worlds; this-world weary, Mere human existence seemed bleak and dreary. Then life's circumstances intervened voluntarily, With the coldest lesson to break the deadlock. Stoney fate presented a dangerous draught, Which you drank like Socrates, poison hemlock.
Was it alchemical poison or was it the cure; How much mortal agony can one soul endure? Once the kiss of death has been brutally procured, The inner door opens wide for ego's insurrection. Then the blunt miracle of bitter resurrection, Another vain chance at soul's perfection.
Back from the dead like fabled Lazarus, First-hand report of what lies there before us. No angels and fairies, white light and bliss; Just the jet-black face of a yawning abyss. With immanent death, one might all forswear, And lack the vital urge to continue to forbear.
No more attachment to physical mystique. Nihilistic insight, crystal clear as fine Lalique, Far beyond any sorrowful existential dreads, Where war-torn angels rest their weary heads. "It'll be all right, as long as you don't move," Sagistic advice which reflection does not elude.
Still living on within my ephemeral dreams, I can still hear the echoing, troubled screams. An astral form too far removed to tamper, Now a spirit, vanished like fine camphor.
TROUBADOUR (A Portrait)
How far back can you remember. To the youthful memory of that burning ember?
A guitar-slinging child of sixteen years old, Drank a love potion like Tristan and Isolde. Totally smitten by fair love at first sight, His airs kindled the fire he desired to incite. Gifted with a musical ear, like a little Mozart, Expressions most eloquent and melodious, impart.
I was his muse; he was my paramour, This Fillmore-blossoming Troubadour. Nothing lives as long as long as memory, Willing to suffer for that treachery. But, "art is long, and life is short," So true to his path, he proceeded to court.
Five years passed before the final capture, The fruit of the vine, that incessant rapture. Through mutual suffering, my heartstrings plucked, A harmonious, bittersweet melody, silently struck. A game played according to the requirements of women, For which a long host of souls have mightily striven.
Bold singer of love for his fair lady's favor, Anguish and joy for a taste of that forbidden savor. Love came through song in the troubadour tradition, Nature's noblest work, razor's edge, led to triadic sedition. Like Dante's Francesca and brotherly Paolo, star-crossed lovers, From such transformations of love, one rarely recovers.
Courtly love is born from heart and eyes, A kind of seizure no one can disguise. For the hand of one's chosen courtesans, One can traverse vast oceans and mountains. For the grace of the Rose, play the game harmoniously, Let the notes play on and on, most euphoniously.
Romantic love has many implications, Unsanctified by rites, with infinite complications. The fire of the delight of that lingering passion, Lasted for years, born of irresistible attraction. Every once in a while, the sweet boon of mutual Merci, Never sauvage, transparent loving hearts deeply see.
The temperament of the gentle heart has the greatest appeal, Repeating the refrain of love's call again, becoming surreal. The wound can be healed only by the tender weapon, That first delivered the blow, completely devoid of deception. Wound of our passion, the result of untamed libido, Which led me to stray from the bounds of my credo.
Each the author and means of their own self-fulfillment. The Troubadour's Amor is a high spiritual development. Our unique experience is the source of our wisdom, Even in the judgmental face of others' derision. Love is a refining force which will not be restrained. But youth is a state which cannot be regained.
Still love carries on with temperance and courtesy, The courage to persist is the hallmark of its loyalty.
WILL TO BE GOD (A Portrait)
Mystical blood brother, one of twin lovers; Marked soul of my qabalistic magical Frater, Had a preview of God's most sacred gift, Which pilgrimage he pursued with effort so swift. Now we've sworn a solemn Secret Pact, Not to relax efforts until the last sacred Act.
Taking astral refuge in high innermost flight, Earth left far behind in deep hours of night. May he always remember, there is no conspiracy, And that the Illuminati's cabal isn't a heresy. Mind yoked to radiant mystical aspirations, Soul tied to heaven through subtle vibrations.
"Will to be God," his motto from the start, A woman who matched that, the key to his heart. A teacher cries, "You can't see what I can with eyes," Resilient spirit catches the mute voice of angels sighs. Be nevermore plagued by ghostly apparitions, Obsessively noticing nuances of personal precognitions.
Mercurial spirit is often opportunistic, ergo, Purely born in the sign of the virginal Virgo. Rest in His Will, no more care or thought to take, Selfless service and surrender, true devotion make. Fate karmas burn while we lovingly meditate, Each day a radiant form we all eagerly await.
DANCING BAREFOOT IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH
Sights and sounds of death approaching, On my silent virgin soul encroaching. Like a million buzzing bees, Gathering nectar from pomegranate trees. In the garden of the Lord's vast mysteries, Are written in flowers the truths of our histories.
Dance barefoot in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, Over serpents of fire to gain spiritual wealth. Tread lightly and never question your certainty, For the plenum of emptiness will ever sustain thee. Through death to real life, from body to Spirit, Just listen for those Sounds; you can't help but hear it.
Only footprints left in dry desert sand, Revealing where you used to stand. A serpentine track of marvelous design, Which common vision could never divine. Through terror and chaos, from abysmal valley, We've danced and climbed to heights so holy.
Found a camel to ride through that trackless waste, This beast of burden cannot be replaced. For no common camel this gimel is, Only the veteran priestess can tame its wildness. Both are soon gone through a pointless place, Where merits mean nothing, to Infinite Space.
Taste the flavor of that pomegranate fruit, Keep traveling past Binah's bittersweet root. From the swirling of Chokmah, a gateway will open, On the middle path of perceptual e-motion. That gateway is the Eye of the Seer, Ancient of Days seen in profile, drawing so near.
No more that Adam of flesh traversing the desert of his exile.
EUREKA (A Self-Portrait)
Fate has a way of conspiring with nature, Just when you're on the verge of trying to taste her. We've heard of mystic sons, but what of mystic daughters? Their legacy is full and sweet, free of "shoulds" and "oughters." Take an empty traveling bag and leave conventionality, For "the road less traveled" leads to sheer intentionality.
Rules of love chaotically confused in a reversed seraglio, Each now etched in stone of finest cut, like an Italian intaglio. In courtly love, legends of kings, knights, and troubadours, Constantly speak of the spiritual love of the Adored. In love, we all think we've discovered the perfect fit, "Eureka, I've found it!"; let the angels resound it!
Keys of the kingdom, keys of the heart, Each specialness to himself impart. Just beads of rain in "the cloud of unknowing," Fodder for the hands of time, and seeds of karma sowing. All done without the counterpoint of holy inquisition, For heaven's sake, how else on earth, could we fulfill our mission?
True to form and to herself; chalice of sincere congeniality, Immersed, ever-wrapped in lapping waves of transcendental finality. Nietzsche says, "You must have chaos to birth a dancing star," But it can't truly be accomplished till you know Who you are. And don't fail to discover Who is the host of these pageants, All so brilliantly produced with myriad variants.
Poetic rules of nature, dramatically reversed, Like primes in certain order, like squares totally inversed. Reverse all order to deduce the prime metaphorm, Best written in its most ancient script, alphanumeric cuneiform. The void beyond concepts rejects old metanarratives, Crowned with radiance, Limitless Light of the Superlatives.
So, "follow your bliss," to the lake of desire, And bloom like a lotus from the muck and the mire. In the court of love, creativity arises like a geyser, Pain and heart-felt agony the lowest common divisor. Boys do make passes at girls who wear glasses, But hindsight's no substitute for second-sight classes.
A MOMENT WITH MORRIS
Venerable elder, so ready to graduate, Would life and fate leave body to deteriorate. A facile exercise in the art of rapport, We revel in emptiness, silence at the core. Such as it is, it's culminating just right, So get ready for that One Taste of final delight.
Even "instruments of celestial navigation," Can't compensate for constant mortal aggravation. Still, you're entitled to your vocal ambivalence, But you flame's still alive through your vibrant sibilants. Informing others of the mysterious essence of this 3-D drama, Never wrapping up sentences, keep ending with a comma.
Left now with a bitter pill and metallic pacemaker, With longing he yearns for the final heartbreaker. Asks, "what do you know of Freud and Jung?" How about you, whose work never went unsung? A vital legacy so much larger than life; A creative fountain beyond pearl's greatest price.
The golden bridge between worlds is finally dissolving, All will soon meet its own precessional revolving. Tell me your dreams of metaphysical illumination, One foot in each world, the source of pain and elation. In the Tao and the now, fascination in the process of decay, From now to "the bitter end," each day the Buddha you'll slay.
Once a project's well done, there's no need to do over, The work will live on, you'll be eternity's lover. So, here it is back at you, in your own metaphorms, Permission for relinquishing and surrendering all norms. Were you talking to yourself; was I just another dream? Isn't it all just another wave in the consciousness stream?
In the celestial Temple of Living Light, Art is central to tempering our plight. It's not the goal, but yields the by-products, Left from Moon to Sun, then on to other planets.
At last, the High Priestess must impart, What has been sought through the adept's heart. The final pangs are the mystical impetus, From which God's grace patiently delivers us.
The highest degree of the soul, Neschamah, Paragon of all the virtues of holy Qabalah. Where nature and spirit realize true immanence, Through surrender to the virtues of obedience.
"Come my Beloved," to the tenth door, Dwell openly within me for evermore. Only through this voluntary contraction, Can creation emerge into interaction.
Rapture of the process -- connection to Source, From desire to transcendental beauty, the course. There is no difference between the Word and God, We can become that, even though mortally flawed.
In that interim between the Sun and Moon, His grace dissolved me, leaving only His boon. My badly bruised and tender heart did see, That He's always hiding there inside of me.
Once restored, lean toward that porcelain light, Enjoy the virtual vacuum of the soul's delight. Follow the rules of compassion for validation, Everything merges back into its own origin.
BLESSED BY NATURE, GOD, AND MAN
Follow that pull to alter perception, Ringing radiance is its most vital expression. Share the romance that unifies psyche and matter, Thoughts and desires like jeweled diamonds scatter. Journey by spirit through primal nature, Find a way, or make one of eminent stature.
This was all my winged heart could express, "Silently erase all time and do not digress." Travel without moving toward the perfect One, It may come when you think you've only just begun. Light comes from the radiance of the spiritual body, That blessing of God and nature is the rarest commodity.
You don't disappear; you just become God, That which you are is his right hand, which never feels odd. Journey without wings back to our destination, As vibrant waves of love in mutual penetration. A world-weary soul inclined toward its source, From all illusory realms now seeks final divorce.
Escape births and deaths at the seat of the soul, Pierce the inner sky, achieve the mystical goal. This divine blessing requires no ritual at all, Nature, God and man make it whole; they call. Lover and beloved are one; drop becomes ocean, Follow the pull from within for surety of motion.
Audible when emptied inner self is still, Go back to the Father, and live in his will. Here beyond time there's no thesis and antithesis, Only one final, incorruptible, supernal synthesis. The dawn and eclipse of the Sun is surrepetitious, But the regions beyond time are purely delicious.
AQUA SAPIENTIAE, SPRING EQUINOX 2000
Time for the seasonal rebirth of life; let's celebrate! Day triumphs over night, but evening too is great. Lit by soul's fires and a million lights twinkling, Of the pleasures it holds we have only an inkling. Fanning those fires only adds to the ardour, And we create a paradise in blessed love's harbor.
That which was opaque readily becomes transparent, And we enter a hidden world of ardent knights errant. All inner walls are dropped; secrets we relinquish, Only quenching our desires can that inner flame extinguish. In this ordeal we each sacrifice our spiritual virginity, Uniting as one unborn form, a certain pure sublimity.
A bath of regeneration, aqua sapientiae, under a full moon revealed, Makes everything so evident that was once finely concealed. Object of attraction, moon-drenched floating odalisque, From the fire emerged, unscathed, fabled alchemical basilisk. Solutio pertains to water, return to the womb for rebirth; Take that bath and you too may find a paradise on earth.
Love and lust are its agents, once the problem is resolved, Requires only souls surrendering, even spirits are dissolved. Beware of seductive mermaids and water nymphs defy, When that which was solid and kept within begins to liquefy. Dissolve into the First Matter and there take your primal rest, Imagining the first taste of that virginal, milky white breast.
Sol and Luna, King and Queen, fire and water reverse, The only way to quell the charm and lift the ancient curse. Maybe man and woman, maybe only ethereal astral creatures, Elusive anima casts her spell, not missing any subtle features. Two dissolved in hot, "friendly water," quicksilver Mercury, Joining in a mystic, ancient rite of alchemical consanguinity.
Blissful solutio, the adepts say, is the very most dangerous one, But this is the place, we cannot deny, to which our fates have come. Before us that wondrous river flows, sensuous billowing waters, Into its pools we would plunge headlong as if nothing matters. We would quench our fires in those waters, wafting all about, The heavenly fragrance of sweet perfume we cannot live without.
In the surging swell and the ringing sound unconscious bliss abounds, But there's a higher price to pay for the nuptial bliss we've found. Old forms disappear and new regenerated forms emerge; If we try our best to fight the flow, we can't resist the urge. But yielding now to that emergence, we find annihilation, Only presages the immortal promise of our celestial elevation.
So, come now, my sweet love and drown me all aright, Push the boundaries, dissolve all difference, opening insight. In that radiant moonlit vision, we either sink or swim, The poetry in motion of psyche and matter cannot keep us in. A quantity of riches at our disposal, swollen and excessive, Makes secret places open wide and even higher planes elective.
After primal chase, in love's embrace, abruptly problems are dissolved, By containment in that holy chalice, the first matter is evolved. The larger, more comprehensive Self within embrace is found, And love's reprise comes up again for yet another round. The opposites at last are merged and within the soul united. So just let go, and drift and float, there's No One left to fight it.
So, wash and swim and shed old skin within baptismal font. That was then and this is now, you can find all you want. The ordeal of fire and water signifies a totally melting conversion, Whose power can only be revealed through continuous immersion. To be in love, or even in pain, means dissolving in containing matrix, So come again, to love reborn with your moist, spiritual inspiratrix.
These are not fascinating powers we possess, we are possessed by them; But don't let flagging courage or fear keep the soul from trying them. Live at the edge of ecstatic intensity, bringing joy without measure, Plumb the depths, drink the dewy solution, secure life's finest treasure. When we are together no one else exists in the universal picture, Neither here nor there we've both dissolved into one alchemical mixture.
Major life transitions and the reconciliation of the opposites, Have a way of recurring through philosophical composites. The chaos of the solutio abides together with universal solvent, Divine intervention is a sign God's Wisdom will resolve it. Liquid symbolism of fire and water is the essence of blood; This clear water flowing is a healing psychological flood.
There's no fear of drowning when mere flesh becomes water; With emotional cooking its temperature rises, hotter and hotter. The unconscious contents of psyche percolate, as if in a dream, While we languidly float further into the consciousness stream. No fragmentation or dismemberment in this fated interpenetration, Only abundant love and solutions flow from such depth of relation.