The Apotheosis.

I.

The daughters of the sun are pregnant.

Their bellies ripe with the warmth of silent fires. I warm my hands upon its shadows; and there remained joy, a ritual of silence. The night’s wind blows its horn; the spirit sets the sky alight. Behold the stars and the stars behold you. The dim stars, soft with love are ready to eat. Well, let us forget the sensation of hunger; let us feel the thrill of stars a ’glow. The modest and the meek take fresh delight in the harvest of their senses; the twine of fresh fire. Sing of that which is between us. The orchard where God intends to rise. It is rocked with a cry, the reproach of thy fame. We suffer death because we are never born. I thought this the strange dream. The sun may die, but the light is forever and there in the womb we await that which has already happened.

Like flowers thoughts grow; passion burns thy flesh.

Waters break.

I have reaped what I have sown.

I have the ringing of angels in my ears.

Who is it that dictated the secret teachings?

The answer: I am the one.

Mother of mothers; your children clutch at your breast. At last! We swallow the last judgment. Too tender the spring and the heart is moved only to be still.

On a hot night, the daughters of the sun, who in heat, quiet and pale seduce me and there on the silent bed they made love to me.

Awaking in the morning in the light of the virgin sun.

II.

The iron dawn,

Like a magnet sucked in the air and

Crushed the serpents tongue.

I saved the blood and poured it into a cup. It overflows in the immense sea of mortal flesh; kissing the happy embryo at the foot of a golden shrine. We sing hymns that chime like the stars; those ancient songs. O how I long for those ancient days. When mother earth carried Pan in her arms! The infant Pan on the knee of love.

Faith is king and love is God.

The sun of infinite existence warms the blue waters of noble faith. The waves move in harmony; yet man stands in obedience and sings his chains. Like pale skeletons under the sad sky. The dumb silence; the idol to the deaf.

 And the yoke from the divine egg is cast out.

III.

There is the sign.

Spawned by the spewing of flies. Among the whispers of their

Wings are a world of tears and there came the burn beneath the tongue. In the idle dream primitive modesty sleeps night after night under the safety of a wise tree. Its leaves radiant like a heroic kiss; the visible lips now the invisible bliss.

And there appears the immortal landscape.

Lovely as the sun forged in heaven. The fruitful season.

The savage fruit; like breaking rocks crumbling into the sea.

Then out of the water comes a maiden, holding the seed of the new spring.

IV.

Love offers me a crown and a garland round my neck.

It was the strange rumours of the wind; a song of nature inspired by the roar of an October morning.

There are flowers floating in the river; following their own charms,

And when the low towers fell they held beauty in their arms.

Beauty blushed; seen without sin and blind in sleep,

Saw the cosmic law in the hot springs of the deep.

V.

The spell was cast---The many faces of Beelzebub ran.

It was spring. A flock of angels ascend over the blue countryside

With divine intent. They carried with them the heavenly warmth

Of silence.  The angelic chorus fanning the flames; chanting omens

Of delight. The old shapes that I once saw now dissolved and formed

Anew. Now, the darkness like broken strings; held the light; celestial

In power…

The mind’s lies now in a forgotten hour.

It is the heart that tells the truth,

The dark night,

The silent breath,

The dreaming voice,

The blessing of death.

VI.

Portals of fire lit every corner of the universe---How strange it is. The breathing of sensitive tears; the discovery of mysteries; the singing of fire.

The rosy voice of eternity.

The happy rose. Its petals that touch the essence of life.

Those of swollen eyes, breathe heavy. Like the hanging of a selfish king.

The rope was formed from the bones of birds who cannot sing.

The eyes catch fire in the spitting of a wreck;

The higher the head, the longer the neck.

VII.

The fat sun has lost weight---

The white eyes of lady love dilate like an oracle, seeing the labour of the wind blow

Among the ruins of the sun-glowed cities of ancient myth. The towers fall and smash

Like magical crystals. I watched the trembling of bones, rattling like flutes.

There are too many hands and not enough fingers.

Fresh fame that none have ever heard, holiness in the vision of a cloak,

Ripened by the heavenward rage; the smirk of a mythical joke.

An Aquarian laugh which vibrates before the twilight, soft and sweet,

And we leap like a rose with our thorns sticking out of our feet.

Up the mountain and over the other side, greeted by the host,

The heart a newly discovered land--- the earth a ghost.