A true leader is a selfless soul,
One who thinks not for himself,
But for the others, for the many
For the halves and for the whole, of humanity

Regardless of age or importance to man,
It’s not in the memory of their great names,
In with which we stand.
But in the willingness to mold
One’s self into a servant,

To humbly hold the troubled hand,
And to become the kind of person who doesn’t abuse,
The right to demand

But instead, looks to enable others,
So that they might just begin, and begin again

Because all of the power in the world,
Can be abused, and removed if misused

For this, my dear leaders, I ask of you,
To not lose yourself in the arrogance
Of discovering that you are indeed you

Because true leadership is not about you
And leadership, will never be about you
So before you lead, would you let go of you
That way you might win in spite of you

the man of light
knows darkness all to well
he possess sacred knowledge
of source
a living experience with in
radiant
and self effulgent

he knows all is permitted
in the acculturated labyrinths of mind
rooted in bias
and incalculable distortions
a hell house ride
constructed of warbled mirrors
Leprechauns gold
an abusement park
of crepuscular
subconscious ethers
and concertized form
on shape shifting sands

creativity gone mad
where time undoes all
its weary inhabitants worn
they are the color of sleep
attaining misguidance
oh the vacuous business
of guided meditations
through azure skies and verdant fields
while the certified uninitiated
whisper
their pale voices against sonorous winds
as if they could lever boulders with broken twigs

stone churches
gothic crosses
temples of man
monoliths to the imaginary
fantastical man god
re-pleat with beard and ****....how quaint

adulations and prostrations
to there man made deity
through myth that binds
group think
other directed
un-individuated individuals
like tribal ants
a world of shattered light
a white knuckle ride
on a spinning mud ball

yet who knows the secret
of the inner light
the illuminated door
the portal through which
Scottie will really beam you up

The man of the mystic light
in a darkened freakish world
is he not an inconvenience
like a mentor to the deaf dumb and blind
he is rarely recognized
almost never believed

the light is not a metaphor
the source that emanates all
although formless and self effulgent
it is not a religion yet all abide with in it

in the dark funnel of conceit
man turns everything into a noun
as if naming is claiming
when what he seeks is beyond
for it is a great dimension of another order

konx om pax
light in extension