Category Archives: poetry

The Sun’s Handmaidens—The Creative Life of the Universe

 

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An expression of spiritual experience related to cosmology and the creative energies of the universe

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The Defining Moment

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In austere beauty, the awakening and defining moment—Light falls from the apex of spirit and rises from the depths. The voice of God kills and resurrects, cutting through darkness with undeniable affirmation.

The Relativity of Galaxies and Body Heat

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The cosmic, the universe, the all beyond yet inclusive of Earth, the vast ocean of energy-matter; the misty turn of galaxies and suns, bright lights and luminous clouds and further on, unfathomable curtain of night; so many well designed flames, so many mysteries of light; and here below we focus small, reduced, microscopic, with body heat no match for stars. Or more, we find it so by our binding in time, by animal nature, by blood, by minute psychologies and small pains, troubles rendered in large illusions, yet not one such visible from Space. But thought of the universe is more magical than time and lights brain with new fires; so then, small links to great and the sunlight spaces of the cosmic worlds are close as love.

Calls to Hidden Realms

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All the chains of thought and words, the countless sounds and songs of our inner life, all make calls to hidden realms. Common words reinforce the common bondage, while the higher ones call to freedom and life. In words, these bodies of thought, a secret life and help is woven, and a beautiful magic lives in the spark between word and meaning.

The mediators of mystic potentialities surround us. I believe the most sacred invocations may slip unexpectedly into your voice and the voices of friends. See how a song repeats, how the lyrics come rounded with magic appeal, how the words hide joyous scriptures just beneath… I feel the most secret musical formulas are calls that set lines of light dancing in the air, lines of communion along which run the colors of our love for all that is luminous and beautiful. They thread instantly across mountains and seas, binding the most remote points in creative intimacy. There are voices in the lattice of lights, a vibrant intercourse, a comprehension that is the archetype of speech.

Magic and Meaning

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I tried to read her in stories, and in the books called sacred and most secret, yet she eluded me. Sometimes I thought I caught a glimpse of her in nature, but it resolved into shadows. I was sure, I knew, that if there were shadows there was also light. So I invoked an elaborate alchemy of approach, yet no prescription sufficed, and she yielded not. In the stars I looked for her, but every map gave more questions and never the face I sought. Glimpses, shadows, glimmers, always the gray game but never the luminous face. I made an alter of finest quality—by this I found exactly and only my creation, nothing more. She held herself aloof from the ancient images; my charms held no appeal. We gathered to invoke her name, but to no avail. Every charm was dispersed, and every craft and every conjurer’s task was as nothing to her. All commands, all entreaties came to naught. To number and element she remained immune. Nothing cast or broken, nothing done or woven, no cycle, no intonation served.

What was the strange and mysterious place of her birth? At first I thought the ancients had sent her, and that the word of her coming was already known among the simple people, even mirrored in their rituals. Then I thought she had always been with me, waiting for the day when she could speak. But I learned she had spoken long ago, and many times since, and down the ages to present moment. She had come to me in luminous dreams I had not remembered. She sang and whispered, but I did not notice. I know now how distracted I was by my toys and tricks. Coming to this, I dropped them, and on a morning before the coming of dawn, I left all behind. I went then to the mountaintop, and sat in silence for a long while. There was nothing within, and seeming nothing without, and I felt and knew that nothing of the old was needed now. Life became simple. I had nothing and needed nothing, save something to give—and that would now be the object of my quest.

And when the sun rose, she came to me at last. Not as whisper but as thunder, not as glimmer but as a storm of light. Her shafts of song assailed the secret places of the soul. She sang a new alchemy that cannot be bound in a sacred book. Her presence unveiled a new history of the world all laid in geometry of fire. Her charms were constellations, her craft a sphere of glory, her magic the sunlight of a thousand worlds.