The Ancient Greeks…
Studious yet perapatetic…
They pursued a noble notion of religion.
Nature based, gratefully borrowed from the mysterious Egyptians
And equally graciously passed on to their eager followers…
But when the ‘Hoi Poloi’ got wind of God,
Fear entered the arena and religion,
in the Mediterranean, at least, never recovered.
“We will never know what they thought, what they were trying to achieve.”
But we still have sun sets and sun rises…
Participate in only a few of these and it becomes pretty clear that there is something missing from our world.
And was their world any different in that respect?
One, is All…
Two, the realisation that One is All…
Three, the balance of it…
Four, the establishment of it…
Five, its central essence…
Six takes sides against it…
Seven is its fulcrum…
Eight, its portal-gate…
Nine, the step through that gate…
…Into the All.
We must hazard that religiosity be a product of normality.
Man stands closest to Truth when he is most assured of his eternal destiny.
When he contemplates things in this disinterested way
he finds death ludicrous and absurd.
How can we not suppose that in such moments he sees most clearly?
Can a ‘bad’ man turn ‘good’?
Or the sinner become a saint?
The annals of religious science are littered with such ‘miracles’.
Yet the capacity to fast and feast…
Seek solitude or egregore…
To abstain and fully participate…
Are common to us all.
That we choose to focus our intent upon one or the other
does not alter the fact that in a seasonal cycle
each and all, at one time, or another, are perfectly natural states.
…No mere forest this, but a jungle!
Foolish to venture in alone.
One would be eaten alive.
Far safer to mount an expedition.
An advertisement should suffice…
‘Only the bravest adventurers need apply.’
What, no takers?
In which case, alone, it’ll have to be,
It’s as well you’re the curious sort….
No rock – no base
But just an all-consuming-Hell
Or – empty space.
This special grace – this Earth
Where every grain of sand
Its special stamp
Its necessary place.
No vacuous hole
But threshold for the eyes,
The pathway to the Soul.
Cling not to people,
people are a prison.
Cling not to nationhood,
all nations are a lie.
Cling not to science,
its discoveries can be delusional.
Cling not to your own detachment,
lest you fly too near the sun.
Cling not to your own virtues,
lest by them you are undone.
Profundity loves a mask.
Mystics of every hue have always known it.
There are acts of such magnitude that were they not concealed behind an acceptable veneer…
The world would split asunder and spew forth not fire and brimstone,
The perpetrators of such acts…
Those Spirits of Profundity sprout masks like water-cress.
Their actions are perpetually interpreted shallow…
As guard against the blinding light.
The highest kite you’ll ever fly? …