Friday, December 19, 2014

Did you ever let your mind play with a thought; and just wander?

Everything happened all at a big bang.......the whole universe materialized and happened and was over; just like that.......a snap of the fingers, so to speak; and that materialization left a giant, almost living hologram.......a kind of programatic picture, if you will, where each part contains the whole; fully imprinted within. And so, each part, each individual, can be anywhere in the hologram at any particular time and experience the rest of the picture from that place. Once we're there, in the illusion, the Divine idea plays itself out, and we simply live the sequential events of time, as they are laid out.......from God's point of view in eternity everything we are; all that we experience has already happened.......the prodigal has long ago returned.  In the reality of eternity it's already over and done with and we're safe at home in heaven with God.  But in the world that was made, we seem to be stuck in an a kind of dream.  Time is an illusion;  and when we've all experienced it and have played each part and we get it, or accept it, or forgive will all disappear; and we will awake, and continue to just be at home with God in heaven.

Thursday, December 18, 2014

Streams of Tendency

Streams of tendency,
As deep as being:
The whole manhood,
Is moved by
The first surrender;
Can we dimly see
The heart of God?
Let light be,
And light was:
Yet we see,
A darkness of obscurity;
Left in the solemn
Of that one word.


I have seen 
The fullness of zero,
Wrapped, in the
Infinite arms of Omega:
All moments exist,
Within the taint
Of imperfection,
Marked, by the piercings
Of eternal truth;
Everything we know
Is less than zero,
Not simply
More than nothing.

Sunday, December 7, 2014

To See The Night Lift

The dawn breaks,
But it does not surprise:
For we have watched
From the valley,
And seen the long night
Of rosemary and rue.
We pass softly, with 
Quiet feet and open eyes;
Bearing with us
All of the redeemed earth,
That we have made our own:
The empty song,
Repeats itself no more;
As time sinks deep
Into the depths of Divinity;
For to be alive,
Is more than the coming
And the going of breath,
Aloof and absolved from
The accidents of existence:
It is in the ground
Beneath our feet;
The stubble, and the chaff
Lie together in its chambers,
With graves full of the dust
That once passed in forms
That spoke and loved as men:
Their illusion haunts us,
But to see the night lift;
It is here we must walk.

Tuesday, December 2, 2014


The ashes of the rose
Lie hidden well
In autumn's urn:
Life saved; and life lost;
But the ardor
Of the young lover
Was as the
Net of the spider;
Entangling and destroying:
We came not back
That way again.