In a strange place
In a strange time,
Pale light from a gold
Moon, shines in slivers;
In cold silver, chaining,
Night to sleep; locking in,
Far distant suns of vision;
Tangling in ropes of doubt:
What are we, but dreams?
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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
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.
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
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, June 17, 2016
Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 69
Deserted woods,
Silent of voice of birds;
A Land of Death.
Nothing moves here.
Nothing stirs here.
Desert of desiccation;
Dry trees droop
In limbs bare of leaf;
Broken branches.
We started as Hope;
We have ended up
As being Despair.
Silent of voice of birds;
A Land of Death.
Nothing moves here.
Nothing stirs here.
Desert of desiccation;
Dry trees droop
In limbs bare of leaf;
Broken branches.
We started as Hope;
We have ended up
As being Despair.
Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 68
Light-stepping man,
Gravity of care eludes
You now. It will all change.
Burden of responsibility shall
Weigh you down. You'll soon
Shall see your father in your
Mirror whenever you'll shave.
You've become your own ghost.
Gravity of care eludes
You now. It will all change.
Burden of responsibility shall
Weigh you down. You'll soon
Shall see your father in your
Mirror whenever you'll shave.
You've become your own ghost.
Blue Sun Series: Confluence: Verse 67
Education is an erasure of everything;
Of those tools that could set us free.
Taught to have our faith in a State
That never has cared for us; except
As vessels for exploitation, to use,
To serve for its imperial needs.
We've forgotten of our own;
To be WE.
Of those tools that could set us free.
Taught to have our faith in a State
That never has cared for us; except
As vessels for exploitation, to use,
To serve for its imperial needs.
We've forgotten of our own;
To be WE.
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WILLIAM O'CONNOR
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