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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

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Night-Light

In the late night more hard rain is come again.
Shade pulled down upon the window pane,
Slapping wind cascades to a roaring thunder.


The black sun of mourning rises with that rain;
Rays, so cold from its burning, this slanting rain,
Heard drumming, drumming the window pane.


A twisted darkness wrung in hammering pain;
Long evenings spent alone listening to rain;
Night-light, sole companion, sharing the shame.

The Isles

Thousands fell then.  More thousands start to flee
The stars falling from the sky, thunderbolts of rock.


What compounds the cries of the dying is their anger;
Remorse at having taken no action, at ignoring warning.


That world falls away, dissolved into a dream of destruction;
The efforts of millenniums disappeared in dusts of desolation.


All that remains from the shards of civilization are our stories;
Tales told in verse of The Coming, crossing seas to The Isles.

WILLIAM O'CONNOR

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