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WAY OF THE SEVEN STARS


Response To That Final Question:

Ignorance is the Bane of Man.
At a distance removed,
Dimly remembered, and
Still not seen distinct,
But yet somehow felt;
What we do sense
Is not reality; is not the Real Thing.
This World is hologram.
Then; for lucid sleep;
For it's just a dream
Within another dream
And we are not awake.

Seven Stars' Song of Revelation

Ignorance is a jail where no escape
Is possible but through knowledge.
Don't fear nor spurn. Dare to learn:

Assent to and accept this world as it is
Before attempting ascent to any world
Aspired to or wished for. Life's glorious!

That That Is can be known but by few.
Not space, not time, not gravity exists;
But as Extension from Field of Thought.

Be subject to neither church nor crown.

Dread naught. Disdain none: Not One!
Absent That That Is, there's Nothing.

That That Is, IS. That That's Not, IS, too.
That That's Not makes That That Is: IS.
That That Is makes That That's Not BE.

By rowing to That That Is, I become "I."
Wind + Water = Wave. As THOUGHT is
The Heart and The Nave of The Wheel.

Worlds are created from Thought alone.
That which we will do is because of that
What we are. We'll become who we are.

Charity, courtesy, civility, compassion,
Are cardinal spokes making civilization;
Chivalry forms center, hub's circle core.

IS is! Be not the slave of some other's I.
This, Creed of our Seven Stars Society;
This, The Teaching of the Seven Stars:

No man can be happy if he should choose
To be exile from his own nature and soul.
ALL IS THOUGHT ILLUMINATING BEING

Precognitive Prescient Prophetic Poetry by WILLIAM O'CONNOR

Saturday, January 16, 2010

The She

Torn from the depths of some profound despair,
The easy answer and facile response
Shall not suffice for this despondency.


The dream that once existed at the world's inception:
That all was One and of a whole unified


Has been eaten, swallowed by complacency and doubt.
What we are now is not what we were then.  No!


Brief as our lives are; briefer still
Were the days of orginal creativity.
We have moved from that bright beginning
To this bleak ending and are not the better for it.


There is of course no answer to the question
(We do not even know the question).
Only a silence, stony, still and distant. 


Hope ran free once and howled in sublime simplicity 
Gazing upward in wonder at the silver light at night.


At She,


Beautiful, cold; bathing in her gold blood,
In summons to the echo of the call
Of the wolf-bayed, white-veiled,


Moon.

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WILLIAM O'CONNOR

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