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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.

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WILLIAM O'CONNOR

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