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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.

Precognitive Prescient Prophetic Poetry by WILLIAM O'CONNOR

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Down Below

Off high porches of indifference, seen
Down below the stairs of insouciance,
People passing on windswept streets;
Needful nation of lost souls walking by.

For them, a bending cross of compassion
Shan't bow, for they're the already dead.

From verandas of our nothingness we spy
Those, strung-in-line, stranded, shrunken,
Statues of the street, gaunt-thin, shuffling;
Mouths gasping open, grimaces of oblivion.

Nature, both adamant and free, imposes
On her subjects symmetry and economy.

From our lofty balconies, dead as they below
We'll be, dead which'll be watching the dead;
For we are but marching memories, mirrored
In minds of those soon joining death's parade.

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