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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 27, 2012

Blue Mountain Blues: Winter Solstice Section 19

Speak o memory. The voice of death has a cutting cleanness to it, a sharp edged shaping of dialog in its commentary on life. Slicing deep and dark spoken, knifed from a tongue of an old nostalgia's palest fire; it brings with it a remembrance of the days of thunder, of those nights flamed with the lightnings of desire. 

Friday, April 20, 2012

Blue Mountain Blues: Winter Solstice Section 18

Night is so cold it shivers with sodden bitterness. Night becomes brittle broken dark; for hard rains are a-coming down, bringing stinging wet sighs upon the heads of evening dreamers, giving to their faces a ghostly kiss upon their turned-up beckoning lips.

Friday, April 13, 2012

Blue Mountain Blues: Winter Solstice Section 17

Tired eyes see cemetery dreams; from the tenor of hope onto the baritone of dread, the thin cello thread of life is severed in two; each part curled into itself, separated, sliced, made distinct, to be drawn up, to be covered up, in a canvass of parched and dried up crackling fear.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Blue Mountain Blues: Winter Solstice Section 16

Black canyon walls, blank barrenness of space, give pretense of sound, a cunning deception of direction, that enters into the orifice of the ear, invades the brain, sets the mind afire with its sad story; a tale that echoes its ancient histories of evangelism, a discourse absent of sense, of all maps and legends. The mistakes and many regrets of long dead ancestors yet still walk silent in our company, as whispering strangers to we the living.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Blue Mountain Blues: Winter Solstice Section 15

Bared bars, the prisms of the transit to eternity, black glow of tongues in their white mouths, the pale spirits of the dead are talking.  They are speaking in fire.  They say: A deafness pervades this world, a lacking of that comprehension so necessary for survival. It makes for a turning of those of us, those who are now still alive, of our heads, of our heads being twisted away from the truth. "It's a sad religion that would ever seek to censor love." Yes for it's that they are saying; for it's just this flame of truth they're all conveying.

WILLIAM O'CONNOR

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