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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, February 25, 2011

Doubt

An assassin of doubt steals quiet in the night.
Arrives at scarlet hours, in between midnight
And dawn; times of paleness, of blank dread.


Knowledge hides great sorrow; for knowing
Wisdom will make for worlds of lamentation.
Only ignorance is ever satiated; but curiosity
Devours; eats at everything; assimilates all.


The moving clouds shadow upon the moon.
Black woods of mourning fill deepness dark;
Northern wind blowing ice crystals in the air.

Oligarchy

Bend the knee but once, bad habit is made.
Consign those few to the slums of history
Who would dare to try to tyrant over you.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Reconciliation

Surely the wine of love serves music of sad melodies,
Composed of old songs celebrating bygone days:
Sweet enmities should be surrended in embrace.


Luster red, foliage of late autumns, bidding trees
Farewell in bitter parting; give an apt comparison:
Love and leaf, both crushed beneath heel of time.


Chained concatenations, rueful rosaries of slights,
Broken promises, cycles of lies; caught, captured,
Reduced to glib fabrication and smooth invention.


At ending, sigh of reconciliation, smile of redemption;
None of it really mattered.  A loveliness lives on to fill
The heart. The sound of things happening is enough.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Conflagration

Freedom is prairie fire; a fierce conflagration,
A flashing sound, that crackling of mesquite;
Hopping, jumping, flame, from field to fields.
It's yearning incandescence; a wanted light, 
Flaring far in despot lands to topple tyrants.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Helmet

Set onto the skies at night, a diamond ring of stars.
Caps and gowns; letters and degrees, soon perish,
Extinguished by their dimness and by their vapidity; 
But the helmet of honor sits upon the head forever:
Some leave behind a radiance; some few, a glory.

WILLIAM O'CONNOR

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