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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

Friday, April 23, 2010

Parade

The palm upon the heart has shown to be
Fake reverie; remembrance of false past.


Bass thumps of heavy boots on macadam;
Thunder fall of high shoe on cobblestone;
Hammer of hooves of horses proceeding,
Slow-stepping the leaning, prancing flags
Flapping, flaming red, in the afternoon's
Boiling heat rising up the asphalt street. 


With each successive, occasional, stride,
Staggering, stumbling in remains of rags,
Flying flags, emblems of former nations;
In formation, skeletons to lock-step march
Together, mixed uniforms of former foes,
To unmarked graves, silent and forgotten. 


Among men there's natural ascendancy;
A refusal to be in-step: March with them.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Rebellion

The cause is great and the hour late.
Disappearing light, severed fraction
From the day, slides to early evening
With nothing done but talk and delay.


Rough cut are the gardens of stone;
Graves of rebels long gone to bones.
Rise up you rebel dead, as nothing of
Life so honors you as having well left.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Slavery

To raise the head and not to bend the knee
Gives each reason for existence of humanity.
Squeezed on every side by the safe slavery 
Of repetition, of motions endless iteration;
Eyes are lowered and never might gaze up.

Where are gone the dreams of yester year;
The hopes that filled young heads with plans
And gave purpose to rising in the mornings?
Mourn for the dying of mirth; for early demise
Of laughter.  Chains bind us to empty career.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

What We've Be-Come

Everything the same and nothing different,
We waste our days in so many ways.
The clock of life ticks past the hour
And soon comes upon the midnight
Of mortality; the many enchantments
Of existence playing out their tunes.


With half of its people paying full price
For the other half, no nation can survive.
Vented life, grazing volcanoes of the sea,
Does more work than all the bureaucracies
Of governments and industries combined.
To them we've handed our liberty and lives. 

Friday, April 9, 2010

Our Selves Alone

Night flight of the moon, the somber sun
Is down and gone and only you remain.


Wild are the ways of the sovereign few
For a socialist sun has scorched the last
Vestiges left of our shrunken liberties.


Scared, those small senators of servility,
Silent as lizards under a noon day sun,
Voted away the hopes, the dreams,
The rights and futures of posterity.


Abandoned, now relying upon ourselves
Alone, we share a republic of the moon.

Hail

Black banded sky in brood-broken storm
Heaves thin air in thick hale-stones of ice.
Anger rides on slamming fletch-et stones;
Sharp, jagged, not fully formed, falling.


Such solemnity is made of banal sunsets,
Heavy in coruscating colors, thick in hue;
But here is slim nature, howling and loud,
Stating: here I stand and so fear my hail.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Truce

There is an armistice in art
Protecting they that make it.
Talent has tendency to touch
Even those who, with enmity,
Berate the others unlike them
For being so different; for not
Being themselves. And natural
As this hate is, art conquers all.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Then

Not light, but a before-light,
A black presence, pervades
The void.  Then a softness
In that darkness spirals out
And fills the dark with deeper
Hues, a black upon a black.


Spun, twisted into swirls,
Dark divides from dark
Making stars and worlds.
Into these worlds comes
Life, blooming to thought.
After thought, what then?

Monday, April 5, 2010

Leaves

It begins with trees broken into lines and planes
Stretched thin in winter's stubborn trigonometry.


Lines that are the signatures of weariness.
Planes that are bare scratches of scarcity.


For this is those trees hungry against a snow-filled sky.

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Sleep

The moon, bitten crescent of silver,
Hangs silent in a secret sky of night.


Slowly the stars are moving in the slurry
Of the heavens shedding their dimpled lights
Down upon the dowsing bedsheets of sleep.


The gravity of the day's care is suspended
So we may walk in the sunshine of a dream.

What are we but a waking dream, a dream
That dreams itself into the world, and then,
Suddenly leaves it; gone to a home of sleep.

WILLIAM O'CONNOR

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