About The Eye of the Crone

The perspective shared here is one that comes from decades of experience, study, and personal unfoldment. It is ultimately the result of an unexpected spiritual awakening that occurred in 1971, by which a foolish young woman touched Wisdom, and became a dedicated student of the Divine Being.

Monday, November 23, 2009

A Petal at a Time

A petal at a time unfolds
The nature of the One I Am.
A lotus, a rose ...
Perfection flowering,
Against the black velvet expanse
Of mindspace.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Raison d'Etre

What is this holy grail, that feeds us all
With that which most our palate prizes?
A child? A stone? A book? A cup?
A cross? A crown? A star?
What symbol feeds your soul
And gives you living water
When the world is parched?
Where place you fealty and raise
The banner of your cause for being?

There I Am.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Seeker of Truth

I see you
Seeking, looking everywhere,
Left and right, ahead, behind, above, below,
Out there
In every direction.
Spying a glint, a gleam, a hint -
Rushing forward, reaching out, grasping
Mist and moonlight, dissolving dream of certainty
Flowing away - might as well
Attempt to clasp a sunbeam
In a closed palm.

The light to show
The way to know
The truth, beyond belief or doubt
Escapes the seeker seeking out.
Be still, beloved,
And know
I Am within.

Monday, August 10, 2009

I Am Light

Light is Spirit, stepped down into visibility;
Matter is Light, stepped down into tangibility.

Nothing is
And then
A point of being
All that is
Expanding into
I Am Light
Passing through the prism of Being that I Am
From none to one
And two engendering three, and on beyond …
Initial spark arcing into dimension
Numbering, shaping, limning insubstantial form as concept
In the ocean of illuminated Mind
I Am Idea
Being Creative in process of distinction
Definition and degree descending
Through enlightened heart
Into the plastic aethers
I am holy Fire
Moving through the astral spheres
Kindling desire
Merging with reflection of oneself
Concrete in matter
I am made
Divine substance.

Sunday, July 12, 2009


In the beginning is the thought of all that is to be.
The Source of All, containing all incipient,
from Mother Nothingness
Appears as light born from the dark -
Which was not dark before the Light appeared.

All is within the One omnipotent, omniscient,
Complete within One Self and knowing
Naught beside
Within the Light of that One Self I AM.

And then begins distinction.
From the All that Is, the End and the Beginning,
Through the point of Being
Light begins the journey into form.

First is the darkness of unknowing.
The One draws back to thus create an emptiness
An ebon mirror upon which to reflect OneSelf –
Creating thus the world:
The Light in multiplicity, by darkness given form.

The Spirit moves within the All
As Breath, as Being,
Involuting into form as Living Word

Through worlds of substance ever more concrete,
Through mind made matter by descent from Source
Into Oneself, the Word of Being and Becoming
Becomes Light made Life
Anointed to the purpose of return
To glory in the One
Eternal All complete
The End and the Beginning
And All That Is

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Gathering In to the Hearthfire

The Sacred Nature of Home
A Meditation in Three Parts


The center of the home is warm, alive --
The flame is there, the hearth is there.
The primal nourishment of body and of soul takes place
In this sacred heart of our humanity.

Gathering in the cold and in the darkness of the year,
We celebrate the warmth, the comfort and familiarity of home,
Of origins, traditions, symbols of the season
Handed down the years.
We come to the feast of thanksgiving
For what we have in hand,
Harvested and stored against the future need.

Yet for a moment we will set aside the thought of future --
Dearth may come, or it may not;
Now is the moment to give thanks
And feel the warmth within us.

We gather to the flame,
As we have done since our first hairy ancestors
Discarded fear in finding the devouring beast of fire
Might be controlled.
We tamed ourselves
To earn the warmth of ancient hearth,
To learn the magic of the culinary arts,
To bask and let the elders at their wintry eventide
Remember and teach. In the warm circle of light
We civilized.


At the great cauldron of the ancient Mother God
All are fed.

The stones of the hearth retain the warmth
Of creative conflagration.
The season’s sacrifice is made.
Our feasting done, we nestle in the glow of dying embers,
And find again our strength in our communion,
In our shared nature. We reaffirm our family ties,
And repeat to one another the tales that make us
Who we think we are,
Stories of beginning, and of wisdom learned through vast
Experience of time. And all is relative to us,
The Family of Man.

From the great womb of the Divine Mother
All is born.

In the embrace of darkness, glowing
We are at one within the Now, unfolding universe
Within itself
In reflection of all possibility.
This is the body of God
Whole, full of all potential, in every moment.
This is the great sire of our tribe of starborn beings
Blooming to awareness in the microscopic shells of flesh,
As in the macrocosmic pulsing of living spirit
That ensouls the galaxies.
The Divine Father cries a single tear in which swim all the worlds
And all the words
And all the wills
That are or are to be, or ever were,
And in whose being we are born.
Thus are we gathered in, a family of one made all, made one,
Made each and every one, and all is relative to us,
The Family of God.


Look back -- Home is the place where we are born and nurtured,
Take our first steps, or skin our knees
In clambering up a favorite tree. Home is our house, our street,
Our neighborhood, our school, our town, our state,
Our country … planet … solar system … galaxy …
Home is our source, our origin.

Yet home is more than the parental womb,
Than any construct made of rooms and walls,
Or clod of stone and metal, or of dancing gas and flame
With myriad attendant whirling satellites,
They with their own attendant spheres --
Yet it is all of these.
Home is the heart of Being.

Look here -- Home is the place where we may rest and feed,
And find our family, our loved ones near.
The feast is moveable; the nomad’s tent is home, wherever it is set.
There is the meal prepared, there is the gathering
About the fire, there thoughts are shared and new ideas
Digested; there, the cradle rocks,
Wide eyes reflect, and dreams are born.

Still -- here’s the paradox:
We learn, when from our flights we are returned,
That home is only truly known by leaving it.
What seemed at first a cozy darkness with a glow
May grow to be a great hall lit with stars,
Or more -- a universe of lights. We only clearly see
as our perspective moves away.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

The Nadir of Light

As we move toward the depth of winter, the light fades,
Weakens, moves sideways.
Rising late, thin, attenuated like a ghost,
A wraith that moves silently in mists and cloudy twilight,
The light shivers in the clear chill of icicle mornings,
And wraps itself in fleecy pastel afternoons darkening
To evening.
Darkness falls, a black drapery muffling the change of scene,
And light appears again.
Within the wilderness, a fire burns, a meal is prepared.
A window glows golden and welcoming to the traveler in the night.
Above the dark earth, the jewels of the sky gleam as diamond-bright
Sequins cast upon a velvet ground.

Death stops by for chats these days;
A familiar presence come to spend a bit of time with me
While I muse and sip my tea. We are old friends by now.
Death never says much; doesn’t have to --
The wheeze in my chest says it all,
Says I am vulnerable, says I am old,
Says my friend and I are growing closer by the day.
And the days are short, and cold in winter,
And sleep seems sweet and warm, deep, enfolding
Like soft arms, or great, dark wings ….

Death is a flirt, catching my eye suggestively
Only to look away again.
It is a game we play; we both know
Which of us succumbs.
This is an ancient wooing dance we do,
A courtship ritual played out at last
In a life lived long enough to understand the partner
And the steps.

The year glides into its turn. One hemisphere enjoying
Sun and summer warmth, the other bearing a cold face,
In winter‘s grip,
The earth orb pirouettes through space
In company with the corps, the coterie of the nearest star.
And each star in its own great cycle spins,
And moves in its great pilgrimage to ending and beginning
Never-ending. The aeons in a choreography process.
The long nights draw cold, sharp as a knife, across the lives
Of the sacrificed. All that has passed is holy, and all that is to come,
And this moment, most of all;
Now is holy. The turning point
Hidden in the moment - in every moment - the potential
Is here, present, perfect
In process.

The dark stain of blood upon the snow
Marks where a creature passed into the maw of history,
And another found sustenance.
Life feeds upon itself, in constant revolution of
Darkness and light.
The scythe has passed, the husks lie empty on the cold ground;
Freed of the flesh, the warm blood no longer coursing
With the pulsing of the chambered heart,
The essence flees from light to dark;
Womb-dark, earth-dark with the richness of loam
And decay
And there, the germ of life takes fire from heaven
Within; Growth begins.

At the turn of the year, as winter claims the sacrifice
The antipodal summer reaches apex, and the light
Begins its redirection.
The apex of humanity, the conscious eye, surveys itself,
What dies and what remains and grows, and feeds upon
That which has gone before, and changes,
Unfolding possibilities.

Another year, and old bones growing colder,
Brittle, like the dry sticks feeding the fire.
Ah -- grind the cinnamon into the mug, just so --
And breathe the scent of sacrifice;
The tree’s life gives spice to warm the blood.
Soon enough my essence will be freed to dance
In the space between the stars, where neither cold nor heat
Are sensed, and all is the light-filled darkness.
But for this day, in time, as the year moves to its turning,
I hold the warm liquid still in its cup, and inspiration
Brings me content,
Absorbing substance of a subtle sort.
Here, at the portal is a glimpse of immortality:
Life and Death as one moving essentiality, the spirit
Traveling, timeless and eternal, in infinity.

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Easter Morn - A Romance

Art by Herb Leonhard http://www.herbleonhard.com

Darkness fades,
Lightening into morning through all the shades of gray.
And then comes pearly, silvery dawn before the dawn --
Clouds swirling in nacreous patterns,
Almost iridescent with the coming light.
Day break looms, the sky expectant, swells
With tints of mauve and blue and pink and gold,
Oestre breasts then the far horizon, bursts and blooms
With color.

There was little sleep the night before;
There were tears, and a sad shouldering of duty.
Before first light she went to the tomb;
It was empty.

I AM the Light that leaps up with the dawning,
Rising in the sun
I Am the Love that holds all possibility within me,
Renewing life, enkindling spirit.

Dark confusion, and fear, and questioning, and mourning
War with hope and trust, and love that is undying.
She seeks, and finds,
And in the dawning witnesses the Living One, arisen,
And knows him not
Until He calls her by Her name.

Lover and Beloved meet on Easter Morn.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Two Meditations on the Adventure of the Unknown


It is the season of leaves falling, and dry husks gathered for the burning,
Used and dead, the life force passed as a torch,
The bearers of the sacred light
Relay the flame and then burn out,

It is the time of reckoning, remembering, returning to the earth
And giving thanks for the great bounty that is there,
The living vessels of the spark replenishing themselves
Upon the offerings of the dead.

Feel the moment,
The pulse, the beat ‘twixt Life and Death.
The balance point
Which opens the door between the worlds
Like the piercing of a veil …

What do you fear?
What comes, howling through the nightmares of your earthly concerns,
Scything on every side with impunity and seeming disdain,
Laying low love and hate alike,
Reaping the ripened heads from cherished ideas and dreams
Long held and dear?

And what do you believe?
What can protect and save you from the Harvester of Lives?
What holds you safe, coherent, in the icy blast that blows
Across the Void and chills your living blood?
What Ethic, what Philosophy, what God
Wins your reprieve?


How shall you garb the thought of the Unthinkable?
The choice is yours.
The mortal mind must face the faceless form of the Ineffable,
Masking the invisible with shape and shadow,
Smoke and mirrors giving partial sight
When truth is blinding.

Shall primal fear be felt in all its fury and its pain --
The thrashing demon with the red-rimmed eyes
Slavering as it wraps its talons round its prey,
The dark goddess devouring the living creatures of the clay,
Her wizened priestess feeding the unwary from a poisoned bowl,
And riding the night sky against the moon?
Shall wraiths of regrets and might-have-beens
Bedevil us as stinging hordes of flies, and hold us captive
In a world of matter born but to decay?

Shall terror and a greater truth be kept at bay
With fairy tales, with wings of gossamer, and wands of power,
With beauty taming the rude beast within,
The shining spear piercing the darkness, the sword upraised
In noble art of war?
Shall we with unicorns and dragons play,
Enchanted, and enraptured by the twinkling lights
Of fair Titania’s bower?
Shall romance wrap us in its roseate mists, and with its wings
Enfold us in the dream
And carry us beyond the fearful night to golden dawn?

Shall we trade ghost for Spirit
Invoke Ideals -
and move beyond the merely mortal?

The Harvest of the Soul

Speak thou the Word:
From Centre of thy truest Self
Of All
Be Witness to the Perfect Way.
Speak with the very breath
Of God
And in the speaking

Father Mother
In myriad manifestation
Emanating from the centre
Of that Perfect Union
The Son
And Daughter
Divine the Will.

Rise to the Will divine
And speak the Word of Being
And it is done.

The Harvest of the Soul is gathered home.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

A Recognition of the Astral Being

Draw back into oneself the memories
Of birth among the stars
Of singing in the morning of Creation
And dancing in the patterns of the song.
The Light that shone
From single source,
The vast vibration of the voice that broke
The dark waters of the womb of nothingness
And sent a great sea streaming forth.
We are one
In that beginning,
Streaming outward from the source
In great, majestic swirls and sweeping arms
Of starry light,
Bright clouds of breathing
Glowing in the depths of space
In new dimensions
Opened by the Breath of the Initiator
Speaking the Word.

The patterns of the dance,
The figures traced upon the planes of being
In their designs of relativity.
There is meaning in the movements of the stars
As there is meaning in the ebb and flow,
The fury and the fair repose of Nature.
We all must dance, revolving
Or extending,
Drawing in or streaking outward
From a point of poise,
Gathering but to disperse
In kaleidoscopic expression of original synthesis
Of Light and Dark
Wherein is born Creation.

The Word singing in the morning of the world,
Intoning, tuning, turning One Self into a Multiversity.
A chord is struck within eternity, a harmony
Is heard, echoing from the infinite
Into the realms of time and space.
The Holy Grail of separate self
Is finding this accord.

Now in this concordance of memory
And waking will
Enter the Temple of the Stars,
And know the astral being of the One
Enfolding all within the space of Time:
A body made of time and space
And matter
Precipitated from the nebulous breath
Of the Beginning
By the Word in mating with the working Will,
A body filled with stars,
With galaxies, with an infinity
Of infinities,
Each universe infinitesimal
Within the body of the whole.

This is the Word
Made manifest in form,
The body temple of the One
In which All is contained.
This is the Being,
That I AM,
That Is,
In every moment, every place
And every possibility.


The stars and planets move
Like dancers in a pageant they process and then regress
And yet again describe the intricacies of their relativity.
This is the choreography of space and matter
Ordered by the Word
Echoing in finite dimensions. Held in Mind
The Word fills up the cranial cup,
Fills up the soul to bursting forth …
To point of change.
Old patterns passed, and certainty found only
In uncertainty --
The Word speaks new meaning;
In the midst of chaos
Design appears.
The astral artistry spreads end to endless end,
The Great Ouroboros of the Word
In its multidimensional being feeding upon itself
To make the finite infinite.

The stars and planets move
Within the spheres of thought - and in their moving
Weave the figures of the dance
Done in the Great Hall of the Lord of All.
As matter masks the Spirit,
So movement speaks the magic word
See, then, the message of the stars is writ within
The heart of space and time, and at that heart,
Sublime agreement manifests in infinite diversity.
The meaning of the dance is at the heart
Of each soul in its Self discovery.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Path Workings on the Tree of Life

The following poems were written somewhat over a quarter of a century ago. Perhaps I was more agile then, but one is never too old to climb the Tree.

The Proof of Fire (Gevurah)

Within the Solar Sphere came I to know myself,
And find the Sun within,
Make Holy Union with the One I Am,
And rise above the taint of matter
By the Power of the Light.
Empowered, and more --
Emboldened --
By the priest eternal now enlivened,
Now enlightened,
I have crossed the veil.

Before me are the flames -- before me is the cutting sword,
Before me is the scourge of discipline, and I am bound
To brave the fire, the severing, the searing --
Fire and steel and power arise before me in the spirit eye!

Thus I behold the Sphere of Fear, behold the Martial might,
And know the angel of the powers of Justice and Economy
Turns now to gaze upon me with those eyes of fire and light --
Revealing me -- concealing nothing -- blazing
There is no night in which to hide,
No corner where I may abide and hold myself aloof;
I have forsworn all else, and I must follow Truth.

Into the flames I now must go,
And by those flames I will to know myself in purity --
In light alone embodied, and in substance like the fire itself --
A being of the Light beyond the need of fleshly form --
Embodied in eternal mode, beyond the grave, beyond the worm,
Beyond the pain of death.
Enlivened ever by the Holy Breath,
My spirit leaps like tongues of flame that speak in silence
And extol the Holy Name by dancing joy
In action, good right arm in sweeping, scythe-like measures
Dealing death to that which dies
And purifying that which now returns upon the path
Which leads unto the Source.

I do invoke upon me now the Fire!
I shall not tarry nor grow faint. The true desire
Within me flames with strength
To match the burning of the Seraphim.
I will aspire, and win my way, and then
Come humble and with childlike awe
To Mercy and the just reward of Law Fulfilled,
And Fear o’ercome, and balance struck.
I shall have won by dint of battle made within myself,
and with the conquering warrior’s wreath
Salute the laughing Lord, place sword within its sheath
And take the orb and scepter as my own.


Meditations Upon the
Supernal Triad


AMA (The Sterile)
I stand upon a silent shore and see the water, deep and dark,
Extending ever like an endless sea.
And yet, there is no life within, no movement on the sands of time,
No light, no form, and all is held within the ebon robe.
It is the womb of Time, before the Word is spoke.

I have traversed the path, come through the flames and found
Release from pain and trial by mercy
And the Father's rich beneficence.
I have stood upon the chasm's lip, and felt myself borne up
And moved across the dread abyss ... was it for this?
Is this the goal? Is this the end for which I strove?
There is a blackness here which never has known light.
There is sorrow here, a bitterness of deepest night
Untouched, unmoved.
There is death, the tomb of joy and freedom,
And the width of all of space, without the stars, without the bright
And beauteous brilliance I have ever known before me.
Where am I? And have I sacrificed all light and life and joy
For this? For only this?

Into my spirit I must look, with single eye, and find the truth.
I am at home again. I have returned unto the Mother,
And the womb of All That Is
Is there before me as the dark,
Becalmed and motionless Eternal Sea.
This is the goal. This is the aim.
For this I entered, flower-bedecked, into the holy fane and trod
The irridescent path with golden sandals shod, and with my eyes
Forever upward turned unto my God.
For this I left the comforts of the world;
For this I did unfurl my banner of intent, and spent my life
As silver and as gold, paying my price
That I might once again return unto the fold
Whence I had issued at the start, unto the primal source,
Unto the Mother and her throne
Set in the heart of Time and Space. I have returned unto the place
From whence I came. And all is dark, and there is sorrow,
And I have no name, no meaning, and no joy of self.

I am bereft of all I ever was, and am as though I never was,
Becalmed, adrift without direction, still, entombed in night.
I am as ash that falls without the breath of wind,
Without the life of movement and of form,
Into the waters of the endless, silent sea.
The Mother's robe of darkness opens and enfoldeth me.
I am enveloped
In the blackness of Eternity.


AIMA (The Fecund)
Lo! There is sudden revelation.
In this deep and mournful meditation
On the silent, lifeless sea
There is a light
From No-thing come to be, projected from Eternal Source
With force of divine creativity. The waters move
And there is light, and form, and life is born
Within me, and I am in-formed, reborn anew.

Now from the waters I arise,
And see before me Mara's eyes --
AIMA now
Enfolding me --
And I am leaping life and light and joy;
And as the light in me grows strong, I see Her in Her glory
And upon Her throne. Her chalice is now full; her lamp is lit.
The great paternal force has moved Her and She sits
Upon Her birthing chair, and from Her comes Creation
In its endless, infinite array.

There is light within Her eyes; there is life within her womb;
And darkness is the friend of life.
In darkness is the seed enwrapped
And moist, maternal depths hold futures to unfold
Into the brightness of the vast and glorious space
Where Time exists as movement in Eternity.
The stars are born from darkness into light,
And I am one of them, bright-beaming in the night of Time,
Bringing the Word of potency, of creature, co-creating
With divine Paternal Source, bearing my form
As gift of Source and Force, and as a burden that is only Light,
And hence, no burden, after all.

I have released the whole of me unto the Source,
And found myself returned.
I am a child of all Eternity, of Space and Time,
Of visible integrity, am whole, am one
With that which at the start conceived me.
Yet still, I am myself, with my own being formed within
The Mother's womb as singular, unique reflection
Of the Father's thought, brought forth from Unity
Into the dance of multiplicity that is Creation.

Upon Her throne the Mother sits,
And I before Her see the waters thrill with tides of life,
With infinite life, and I am one with it,
Am all of it, and yet, am no-thing, formed,
Being two, and none.
Father's seed of thought I am;
His power spoke, her waters broken
On the shore of Time in cosmic birth;
I am the two of them, as one come through full cycle
And returned, the child of earth, made and unmade,
And made anew as Universal Being
In the Mother's eyes.



I would at last behold and know the Primal Father whence I came,
I would return to feel Initiating Force again,
And hear the echo of the Name
Still sounding and resounding through Creation,
Holy fane of Deity's desire made manifest
And then fulfilled
By the power of the Word
Upon the sea of space.

I am a speck, a mote, a gleaming spark,
And in the darkness of the womb of space
I am a single star, and I am thus alone,
Held in the compass of Infinity.
Yet is the vision now extended me ....
There is a great and mighty wheel surrounding me,
A wheel of stars, a wheel of light,
The movement of eternity,
Infinity directed and encircling all that is
Within the form of matter made.
The girdle of Creation is about me,
And I read therein the wisdom of the cosmos laid
Like sparkling cyphers 'gainst the darkness
Of the night of space.

The wheel turns, and spinning thus
I see the universal pattern whirling in the cosmic dust,
And forming new worlds by the Mother's receptivity
To Father's force upon Her, and new stars that move
In spiral galaxies, and dance in their first morning,
And reflect the Source anew.
I see the wheels, the grinding wheels that turn
And do impress upon the forms born from the Primal Womb
Expression of the One Eternal Source
By dint of puissant and paternal force.
These wheels do move, and in their strength
Like millstones grind, and all that comes to birth
Is to them subject, and their cycling, circling power of truth
To reassert, resound, and echo
In the spiral dance that is the Name
Spoken and heard, and given shape and form,
And by the Mother's sanctifying grace
Become the Word of Creativity.

In endless procession the circles go round
And in their movement is true wisdom found:
From source to force to form light moves,and thence to matter,
Proves itself in solid state, and then begins

The serpent's coils turn back upon themselves,
The child of matter yearns at last
To find the starry birthing ground from which he passed
To earthly foster home.

My eyes are filled with starry light;
As writing in the deeps of space I see the Father's Name
And Word and Wisdom spread across the vastness,
Framed in ebon, and my power of sight is daunted and is naught.

Then, when eye has failed, and formless light is all to me,
I hear the voice of God that echoes in Eternity.
The secrets of the Aeons are revealed to me
In one, most perfect utterance.
Divinity doth speak, and laughter rolls
Throughout the universe, and wisdom is revealed
To be the endless round of spirit into light,
And thence to form, and back again
To light and spirit from the slowing of the dance
That is materiality.
There is no knowledge of this possible,
No data to collect, nor scholarship to plumb the depths
Of Divine Wisdom, nor the words to frame it in
Were sage or magus to yet come to know
That which is here.
One cannot know the mode and purpose of Divinity
Save one be one with it;
And then, what can be said?

In silence, then, I rest upon the flower of my true ascent,
And make the ancient symbol of the babe who speaketh not,
Yet hears the echo of the Word which sent him forth
In glistening spume of seminal star-spray,
And in his silence knoweth not,
Yet is the Wisdom of Supernal Parent, being made of this
And ruled by it, and formed through its activity.
I may not know, yet I may simply be
The child of ultimate, Divine Paternity.




Thursday, March 19, 2009

Life is a Flame

Life is a flame,
Sometimes it flickers,
No sooner seeming to alight
Than gone again,
A spark disappearing
Into the darkness of the night.

Life is a flame,
Sometimes long and strong,
Burning through the hours of being alive
Steadily, giving of oneself, sharing the light of Being.
Life is a flame,
Feeding on time.

Beyond the flame, beyond the light itself
There is the Spirit that animates
And from which all is formed.

The Holy Breath moves as Word of Creation
Speaks itself into the void, and there is that
Which moves within the clay
A little while,
And then returns.

Celebrate the Spirit that is Eternal.
Nothing sacred can be truly lost:
Life goeth forth, and then returns
In its Perfection.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Seeking for Answers at the Beginning of Time

What matters? What gives form to force and causes being
In the womb of time and space?
The scientists seek manfully to glimpse within their scopes
A concrete cause.
Shall we, by peering out into the vasty depths of cosmic range
Perceive a great eye looking back?
Shall we, in homely earth, in particles too small to see,
Discover insight? Answer the great Why?
Shall That which in beginning did give rise
To matter be defined
By that which It created?

What is the nature of the Source?
How can the child truly know the parent
Save by in turn becoming?
And then, what matters?
To what is Intent fired by Will applied?
What from the kiln of cosmos realized comes forth?
What from the utterance of Source is made?

It is all Light
In all its permutations; all
Vibration, all emanation of inhalation,
Sacred aura of the holy Breath,
Radiating from infinite Source
Everywhere present.

This is a Truth, yet this is not the Answer
For the great Why yet remains.

The child looks up and questions
And the parent oft replies,
"Because I say so."

Heresy Divine

The human spirit labored, and attainment gained.
Accomplishment complete, I have regained Integrity,
And I am whole, replete
With all I have encompassed by the consciousness of Self.
Eternal and divine, 'tis I that am now all -- seen and unseen;
Matter, time, and space are but my consciousness
Diversified and manifest.I am the stars, the space they move within, the satellites
That circle them, the life upon and light that feeds that life;
I am the One, the whole, the All --
All-one, alone.

Alone, I find that I am blind.
There is no sight to see outside myself;
There is no thing that is not me, myself alone,
My vast Integrity.
The vision of the universe is gone from me,
And I am deaf and dumb
Save that I see within my mind, and hear and speak
The sacred syllables of my own Name into eternity.

Omnipotence is mine; I may create at will,
And yet my dreams and visions speak
With my own voice, and from and yet within my mind
They draw and have their life.
They are not of themselves in action, save I move them.
Choice they have not,Nor desire that is not mine,
And I am the great puppeteer of all Creation.
Though choirs of angels sing and fill the universe with praise,
It is all one to me, and all within my onerous Integrity.

All One, alone - I have achieved the goal and am come
Circle round
To my eternal Self and Source in endless beingness complete,
And I am solely, wholly that I Am.
All joy and sorrow are submerged,
All seeking ended in the finding of the One I Am, and I may rest
In this completion - deathless self surveying all that is – I Am.

Yet in this ordered and pacific bliss I find
There is a need I cannot fill,
A loneliness within the single mind,
The still and perfect whole I Am.
See, then! I send throughout the cosmic space of me
The wildness of the comet's course,
Decree the nova's brilliance, and the nebulae
In their unfolding and mysterious mists.
I burst the firmament and spread out newness
In a profligate array:
I seek for something undefined, unknown, unformed
Within my solitary state of mind.
I seek for that which I have lost
In finding that I Am the All with none beside.
There was a price unmarked upon Divine Integrity.

In pluperfect and onanistic bliss I see --
The price is priceless, precious company.
Thus am I bound by my eternal Destiny to recreate duality,
The adversary of my single self;
For having thus encompassed All, I am alone,
And fill the universe
With sight and sound that none but I can see or hear,
And endless solitude is more than even God can bear!

I must divide, destroy
This cosmic symmetry that I have gained at such great cost,
Must shatter stagnant order, and regain what I have lost.
So do I call to mind forgetfulness of Self,
And manifest unknowing --
And the errant and bedeviled child of my totality is born.
I will descend in him and dream mortality again,
Forego this ever-waking bliss and become merely Man,
And sleep in matter and division,
And adventurous despair.
I will forget my Self in this divided state,
And strive again for union and the journey's end;
I will drink deep of suffering and its partner, joy;
I will know pain,
And ecstasy, and seek for the Beloved and the soul complete;
I will know love and struggle,
And the happy meeting with my Self again.
I will again achieve the endless goal, come home again to bliss --
And thus, remember yet again -- the journeying is best.

Sunday, March 8, 2009

The Gods Have Passed

One by one my gods have passed;
Their hour of rule upon the holy mount
Within the heart of me has passed,
And they departed from Olympian heights
To be devoured by Time, and then to be
Digested by my personality.
In this most ancient rite of passage,
In this sacred feast of sacrifice,
They have become no more than I,
And I no less than they.
Twice-bornRenascent deity resides within;
And I am whole, and I am one with them.
Now am I ruler of my sphere;
Upon the throne of my own heart I sit
As god and goddess in eternal union
At the center of the world;
And I am ageless, timeless, ancient youth,
And I Am That I Am, and I Am Truth.
Deathless Self, divine identity
Is mine in this most catholic
Assimilation to integrity of mind
And soul and spirit, formed by that
Which now I know myself to be:
Creator and created; wholly me.

I Witness to Perfection

I witness to Perfection,
Even as I see the flowing blood of innocence,
And hear the cries of hatred, vengeance and despair.
I witness to Perfection,
Knowing man’s inhumanity to man continues
As the brutish works of ignorance and pride
And blind belief explode across the world.
I witness to Perfection
In the mercy of the plan that gives us Time
To find our way
Back from the brink of the abyss.
I witness to Perfection
That is greater far than mortal eyes can see.

Here is a call to arms and order,
Warring with division in the soul of Man.
Here is a call to prayer and service
Bearing light into the darkness
Of tortured souls, and harmony
To the chaotic realm of earth.
I witness to Perfection
In the Mind of the Most High.

Without Beginning, Without End

The Source extends,
Without beginning, without end;
In curvature
Of going out and coming in.
Spirit flows through mind to matter
And returns again,
Yet all is held within the whole.
The Word I Am goes forth
And That I Am returns
In perfect moment of the Now.
The Parent and the Child are one.

The great Communion Feast is laid
Before the world is made.
Within the vastness of the silent dark
Before the stars are lit,
Before the first primordial spark leaps
From the mind of Cause
And lights the hall of Time and Space
With chandeliers of galaxies
In glorious effect,
Before the earth is formed, before the stone,
Before the birth of flesh and bone,
Before there is the living chalice
Of a heart to beat within the beast,
Or human brain
To frame thoughts of what is,
And what has been, and what yet is to be
The sacred union of the King and Priest
Is set within Eternity.

It Is a Strange World This

It is a strange world, this, in which we live --
No evil comes that has not good within the tangled skein,
Nor good arise that cannot be abused, no truth that cannot twisted lie.
Within each thing there lives the seed that breeds its opposition.
Yet is this evidence of great titanic struggle twixt the good and ill?
Does the Good God, the bright, the light,
Who serves our needs and our desires with blessings of felicity,
Ever in conflict rage with a dark twin?
Are we, poor human souls, but flotsam caught
Within a cosmic storm, tossed in the tumult of the waves of force,
As Heaven wars with Hell?

Or are we but children, learning as we grow
Into our destined stature?

Restive early, as we test our powers and our awareness,
Stretch our sense of self, and self-importance,
Judging good and ill by our own tastes, we crow in triumph
Or bewail in loss, and curse the fate that costs us pain.
We strive to hold, control and mold all others to our ways,
For thus we find a sure reflection of our own superiority.
We damn that which we fear,
And fear that which we do not understand,
And hold most close and dear the mirror of ourselves.
Yet this is childhood’s folly, and outgrown
When we have gained maturity, and entered wisdom’s halls.
This university of space and time in vast array instructs us
By diversity and contrast, thesis and antithesis.
Polarity is partner to solution’s synthesis.

See, here the many – of one primal substance made,
Yet set upon their multitudinous ways in waves, and particles
And other forms beyond the ken of mortal man --
All dance within the mind of the divine.
And, uttered in the endless circle of eternity,
Word of Perfection holds all in embrace, at first, at last –
And in between, we play and learn, and thus discern
That even dissonance may play its part within this symphony.
Within the compass of perfection’s harmony
Our greatest loss may prove our greatest gain,
Our greatest joy be born of greatest pain.

I Am Beyond

I Am beyond the bright and dim, beyond that which is light or dark.
I Am beyond the primal point, beyond initiating spark;
I Am beyond the ebon maw that feeds upon the stars in space.
I Am in them, and they in me; I Am in each and every place
The subtle essence of Creative One
Encompassing the Whole.

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Unto OneSelf the Word is Wed

By the speaking of the Word
The Mother-Father-One
Realize the Son.

By the extension of the Light
Throughout the Void is spread
The life and substance, wine and bread,
Spirit and embodiment,
Son and Daughter, one,
In emanation of the Divine.

No fallen goddess, she --
No tainted Sophia to be redeemed --
This is the ordained mate
Made of the selfsame substance
Of the One,
Coadjutant, eternal partner
Of the Word as Son.

The world of matter made
Aware of Self in true reflection
Of the Supernal Source of Light,
As conjugation of the Word,
Within a flash
The bridegroom goeth forth
To meet the Bride,
Be One with Her
Within the Upper Room
And bring Her home.

Song of the Herm

In ancient Greece, the herm was a column, sacred to Hermes, used as a boundary marker. Herms were placed as mileposts, at street corners, and at the entrance to homes and other buildings, where they were considered to have a magical and protective function, serving as sites of ritual and worship. The column featured only two representational carved elements: a head, and (not surprisingly, for the Greeks) an erect phallus. It was believed to be good fortune to stroke the herm in passing.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Song of the Herm
Touch me; I am alive
With the rising sap of springtime, the warmth of newborns
Nuzzling at the great maternal teat,
The bounding glee of gawky youth – in mad march hares,
Leaping through time in ageless vernal rites
That need no priest or ritual overlord
To mediate the immediacy of the Divine.

I am alive -- as the land again awakens to the heat,
Animal spirits break free, and the Imperative throbs
Like lava in the veins of earth.
Horned and hard-headed beasts collide in mythic conflict
And hot blood seeming sacred in its sacrifice
Flows dark into the soil to feed new growth.

I am alive -- speaking in the voices of the frogs, sounding in the bellow
Of the beast in rut, calling from treetop and mountainside,
Or whispering enchantment in the hum of bees that weave
Upon a field of springtime blossom. Nature contrives
To advertise the powers of generation and rebirth.

I am alive, always;
At the door between the year’s cold darkness and the vernal dawn
Youth and desire reside, and an expression of the primal.
Buds swell to bursting, or unfold tender, leafy tongues
Proclaiming their vigor. Flowery organs scatter germs of life
And drip with nectar, and the air is thick with the dance of tiny wings.

I am alive -- even within the stone, standing
Sun-warmed, wind-kissed,
Waiting for the traveler’s touch.

Touch me, and blessed be.

Image of the Father

As glistening tear from single eye
Within it bears the life and light
Of being to be sown within the womb,
The seed of self is borne by breath,
Spoken into the dark void and given substance.

The Sire of all Creation needs no more than thought
To matter manifest within the Nothingness.
Fountain of fire and wall of water,
Winds that scour or caress,
Earth of many shapes and colors,
Stone and bone, and flesh and fur
And feather, leaf and frond and bole,
Appear at the behest of that great Architect.
Yet that designing Mind which creates,
Generates the vessels and engenders form,
Begets not truly till the spirit breath
Is breathed forth from the Being of the One
As Word, initiating Life.

Yet life alone is not the crown of this design.
The parent’s potency and image are instilled, encoded, hid -
Inherent in the consciousness of his most loved child,
The primate-ruler of the planetary sphere.
The heir awakes embodied in the mother’s flesh,
And rises with the light, and grows in Grace,
And comes to know the self aethereal, descended
From celestial paternity to then ascend again
Unto the Origin of All.
From primal dust, to primal animal,
To mortal human, thence to progeny divine –
The Son is born of Father’s fountainhead and germ,
Takes form, and in OneSelf reflected finds creative force,
And speaks the Word
In perfect likeness of the Source.

Perfect Child

The Mother holds the Immanent
Being within Her organ of conception --
Inseminated by Mind, radiant and flowing, emanant --
Being precipitated through vibration in the fluid matrix
Of the Womb of Space.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

This is Perfect Birth --
A planetary child of spirit
Borne into matter
Whole in all its myriad parts,
Its elements
Stone, bone, and frond, and flesh,
Fish, and fowl, and fearsome beasts --
A World Being
In One
Expression of Divine Parentage.

Within this Perfection spins the whirlwind.
Within this Perfection the chain of prey and predator
Binds life in kinship of blood.
Within this Perfection pleasure and pain alike reside,
And Measure, defining by degree, limning natural hierarchy.
Within this Perfection
Awareness of time and number, relativity, knowledge of the finite
Light pathways to the Infinite.

This world of color, and of light and shadow,
Fear and joy and lust and sacrifice,
This world of possibility and extremes
Has soul, has being
In the substance of the Source.

Awakening Spirit of the Mother’s birthing --
Scattered throughout time and place, and by belief
Seeking, incomplete, imperfect --
Sees the lie, removes the caul that overlays the sight,
Gathers in awareness, joining like the waters
Precipitating, pooling, embracing the earth in swirls and currents.
Droplets of consciousness coalesce, reflecting as open eyes
Expressing Oneself
As Perfect Child.

The Earth Basks

The earth basks in the glory of the sun’s return
After a time of cold repose,
The dark Crone’s time --
A season of sleep, wrapped in white blankets,
Or silent standing with naked limbs,
Feigning death,
The sap of life withdrawn into the very root of self.

Now the golden touch warms and revivifies;
Calls forth that which has slumbered,
Makes new, makes well, makes whole,
Makes beauteous and full of grace,
Perfumes the breeze, and tints with joyous colors
The Maiden’s garb.

The Bride awaits the Bridegroom.


In the play of matter, mind, and dream,
Of finite phantasmagoria,
The vision flickers, shifts
From birth to death,
Dances in between.
We seem to laugh, cry, preen, and pose and ponder,
Dreaming separate self.

In the drama of denial we seek to hold
The other,
Grasp what we desire,
Keep that which we love,
Knowing well the tragedy of change and ending
In the world of form.
We ride the dragon of impermanence.
Leviathan devours all,
And the sea of darkness closes in
Upon our little lights.

Yet there is that great Light
Which is forever radiant
Beaming being of Oneself.
What comedy is this
That wrests from us our knowledge
Of eternal nature
Singular and complete
And sends us on the errand of the Fool?

I am the dreamer and the dream,
I am the ground upon, within which all is laid,
I am the stage
And all the actors who upon it move
I am the play itself.

The pages turn, scenes limned in light and dark,
In joy and sorrow, life and death,
Scenes of awareness,
Memory, and unconsciousness
Moving each and every in their turn
As masks upon the One I Am.

And thus, I am
The ever-constant Change.

Poem for May Day

(Reflection upon the Cosmic Hieros Gamos)


Spirit swells within the heart of All
In Love full-filled to bursting bliss.
Buds extrude from their encasements,
Blooms extend, unfold within the light
In hues designed in paradise.

In paradise the two are one,
And all are one --
The bud, the blossom,
The blowsy, drooping bloom that has achieved
The perfect moment
And moves on,
And, yes, the bare bough, scarce remembering
Florid effulgence of the spring.

All time, all meaning, all the cosmos,
Rapt, embraced within the Being of the One -
Flame from the heart of every atom leaps
In glad response.
Cauldron, womb, dark vessel of origin,
Receives the spark and gives return
In radiant joy.

From the communion of the One with all,
Come the many,


And shall we go a-maying, and breathe the dawn
Infused with blossoms’ scent,
Heavy, moist in dewy morning?
Shall we bring home petals creamy, soft,
Fragrant as the skin of the young May Queen,
She who is poised in that poignant moment
Between dawn and day.
Shall we see the sacred dance done,
And celebrate the holy coupling?
Shall we stoke the fires,
And circle in the light?


There is eternal May in me,
The snows of winter crown me
Yet I am She who dances in the dawning
And gives virgin birth to the Holy Child.
As the wheel of the year turns,
As the hours of day make their rounds,
I move
From maid to matron and to crone
Yet I am One.
At brimming morning, blazing noon,
And at the dark end of the cycle
I dance within the circle of Cosmos
Yet within me, All is held.

I am the Consort of the Queen
No less than She
I hold the scepter of enthroned Divinity.
I thrust and burst and cry with singular eye
The word of my Being
Enfolded and embraced by Her.
And we are One.


I AM the Word of Order
Born from the Source of all ordering,
The Point of Authority,
Borne by the breath of the Supernal
Speaking my nature.

I Am co-creator with the All-begetter.
I Am the matrix womb of all the worlds of matter,
I Am the Form of the Word.

And where there is form there is shadow.
Reflection and echo and self-awareness
Studied in practice of discrimination,
I am the magic of the darkness
Completing the wonder of the day,
With shades of meaning.

In this completion, joining with my Self,
I wed myself
To that which ever is
The name and nature of the Self
In service to the All in One
And One in All.

All is ordered by the Word,
And thus, ordained
To be in flow of going forth and then return
As Divinity breathes
The One I AM.



The Sacred is before you
And you reach for the remote -
Moving from the immediate and true
To the fantasy you wish were,
Or the fear that titillates.
No wonder your world rocks
With bomb blasts,
And deep, internal rumblings.
No wonder you seek for salvation
In every novelty
And toss away the wisdom of the ages.
Given opportunity
You while away the time in talk of this and that.
Wars and idols, politics and entertainment
Fill you up
And leave you empty.
And all the while,
The Sacred waits.
If not now –
When the breath stops
And the light within the eyes goes out
You will face the Sacred


In the moment of the Now,
Here is the bliss of the Eternal,
The everbrimming cup of joy
That is the great adventure undertaken
As Sacred.
Every moment is the Now,
Every movement is the dance with the Beloved.
Sacred is the whole,
And sacred every part
Within the sacred heart of Living Deity.
Death and Life are one
Endless moment
Dancing the dance of the Divine.

In Us One Goddess

Self-same Being
In us
One Goddess
Looks out through my eyes and sees you
And joys in the youth and beauty of you
And knows the potency
The poignancy
The pleasure of being you
And sees one self in us both.
Knowing Woman,
Unfolding in wisdom with each petal
That ripens in the heart of the Divine One,
Is living Goddess in us -
Forgetting and remembering,
Dancing in dim dream and in the light,
Daughter, Mother, Sister, Lover
Yet ever the same.
Her song sings within us -
I am many, we are One.

Friday, March 6, 2009

The Mystery of Opposites

A Question
having within itself
The Answer
Clear enough they stand,
Those two great pillars of Creation --
Black and White, Dark and Light
And She and He, and Thee and Me
And all that is
Beside the One.
This is the Law
Within this corner of the Multiverse
Wherein the great tantric tango is done
In violence and romance,
Flesh and blood, and earth and stone
And the simple turning of gigantic wheels
As galaxies and lives are devoured,
By greater movements in the spinning of Eternity.
In what dimension can we find the wheel
From which all this is spun --
From whence all matter’s risen
And all spirit sprung?
And should we to that wedding chamber penetrate
And merge with that which is the Spinner
And the Spun
Would we not find a greater Being yet
To know.
(The sun behind the sun?)

Perfection unfolds in the process of Infinity,
A mobius majestic, folding in upon
One Self.

I Dance with My Beloved

I dance with my beloved;
In the springtime of the desert land
We pace the path upon the stony ground

A labyrinth of light and shadow,
Twisting, turning, slowly moving
Now together, now apart,
Yet ever one in spirit.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

I am the honored one and the scorned one.
I am the whore and the holy one.
I am the wife and the virgin.
I am the mother and the daughter.
..... -- Thunder Perfect Mind

I am not one and not the other –
I am one,
Both and all.
I am she who encompasses,
She who has as many faces as there are faces
As many hearts as there are hearts,
As many stories as there are lives to live them,
And they are all one in me.

Entwined with the Beloved, I embrace the world,
Touching all things,
And in this making sacred all I touch.
What sin is here? What shame? What sorrow
That is not washed away
In the joy of our holy Union?

The Word incarnate,
Wisdom embodied,
Logos and Sophia join
In the eternal nature of the One I Am.

What Mystery

Wherefore the touted mystery
Whereby the bread and wine are seen
As made most magically into the blood and body of the Son?
Is this some rare and awesome thing?
A paragon?A miracle beyond the ken of human mind?
How did the gaunt and black-robed parasites beguile our kind
Into accepting them as sole recourse to Deity,
And by their hand alone, and of their hocus pocus
Hic est corpus only to receive the Lord into our souls?
When did we lose the sight of God to the extent that we forgot
Our unity with that which is our true integrity, and what
Could hold us thus so long apart from Truth?
There is no mystery to this! There is no body but the Lord,
Made manifold and myriad, in consciousness alone distinct,
Yet of one substance made into the breadth and depth of all
Creation's creatures, and the very rocks and stones as well;
All that is made is of that body formed.
All that has life lives by the very blood of that One's being;
Light it is, the gold-white ichor of the very God
Which animates the body of the man, the plant, the animal alike,
Where there is light, there flows the life of God, indeed.

Indeed, the grape is nourished by the sun, and bleeds its soul
To be a symbol of the blood of God. And bread serves well
As unifying principle that we may tell to children
How the Lord is in us, and we share His life.
But are we children? Are we babes to feed on pap
Fed by some artificer, telling only half the tale?

Wherefore this transubstantiation mystery?
And is there mystery at all?
Or change, save in our consciousness,
Which must abjure abasement and embrace
The true descent in place of fall.
If change there be, it is most simply this:
We change from craven supplicants to celebrants in holy bliss.
The substance of our lives is sanctified in offering
Our bodies and our living blood unto the One I Am,
Ingesting Truth; becoming That I Am, that is the sole salvation.
Thus digesting God, we are assimilated to Oneself Supreme.
Eternal priests of living flame in spirit unified,
We are transformed in mind, we are become the Bride.
In consciousness with God
And with the whole world wide and deep
We meet - and we are one - this is a simple and a sacred thing.

Know you, my brothers in the parentage of God,
That we are in no need of priestcraft which does raise itself
Above us, making us to cry for bread and blessing only it can give.
The Son lives in us, and the blood of God moves in our veins,
And the breath of God has breathed into us, giving us our voice
With which to sing the praise of One Most High --
Eternal, never dying, ever rising consciousness of Unity.
This is our own, our heritage.
From Mother God we take our form,
From Father God our life is given, and they are One,
Most High and Holy Mystery: One Being All That Is.

The Child of God

I am the Child of God.
It is the Daughter-self of me
That doth reflect
The Parent's Will
In all Creation.
Receiving in my innocence
The imprint of the Source,
I am Nature - Earth -
Four seasons moving in procession,
Garbing me in changing robes.
I am the mother of the earthly man,
Great Isis and the Bride of Pan.
I am the form the mind of God has willed,
And I accept myself as what I am.

I am the Child of God.
It is the One Eternal Son in me
That doth bespeak the parent's love
In all Humanity.
The word of spirit is my legacy,
And I am heir unto the parent's power.
I am the solar radiance - dynamic
Moving force within the form,
I am the true self of Immortal Man,
Eternal priest and King of Peace I Am.
I am the perfect union of the spirit and the flesh --
For I am man - yet I am God no less.

Like Mother is the daughter made
To procreate in form the seeds within her laid
By Will - and His creative act.
The Word is spoke into her waiting womb.
Like Father doth the Son display
The potency of Will to create form, and then -
Instill with life this newly made expression of Oneself.

Creation is the legacy which falls to me.
I am the Child of God.
In the heart of me I am at One -
I receive as the earth
And I give as the sun -
And I am whole,
And I am One
With the Parent-Source of me --
Divinity - infinity of me -
I am Androgyny:
Creative One I Am!