Popular Posts

Follow by Email

Search This Blog

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

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Place of Strangers

My country is a land of morning mists and cloud;
Jade, indigo, silver, show true their colors there,
When Ur was young, twas then already ancient.
Noon's late light shimmers tints in aqua greens;
Its bay, butter yellow beneath cottons of blue-
Blurred grey, darks under the summer's storm.


When my name is numbered in the ledger of death
And my tomb added amongst the gardens of stone,
Let me not lie alone in a gaunt grave place of aliens.
Bleak, sinister and bitter is the common end of man;
So to be sequestered, squeezed between strangers,
Buried outside my nation is to be more abandoned still.

No comments:

WILLIAM O'CONNOR

Blog Archive