Be fearful who you judge, take no man’s dignity in vain. For all is connected, holy, and beautiful in thy name. For he who strikes another will strike himself the same.
Someday we will meet in fortune's fate, let our union of energies be complete. Every man and woman is infinite in the stars of aether. But the awakening is lost waiting to confer.
Unravel your brow and embrace the light, for you yourself are but a thought in a dream of delight. As is in my mind, it shall so be in yours, the temple of the hear it all that endures.
Respect the Mother and honor my Name. Embrace me or be cast to the flame.
As we lose our faith and trust, guide us, though sin and lust. Through the shadows of wailing souls in search of grace and love, embrace nothing and there will be no plight among you. Look to the infinite space between us and understand the splendorous glory of I.
Was it the beast along beside me who crawled out of the sea? Who is the prophet sleeping in the shadow of the tree? Who is that beside her? Is it who it seems to be? Do not disturb their slumber, oh, true love, let them be.
Poetic day dreams and peaceful, not cold and deep ease the crease upon their brows and smile upon their sleep. While the lovers rest their heads and merge their hearts beneath the clouds on the western coast. They offer hymns to the Father, the Son and Holy Ghost.
Although the stars have faded, we are not lost. The sandy rolling breeze decides our course. Seems such a long time since we last sighted land. But a dove brought this olive branch and dropped it in my hand.
This was sung before and shall be sung again. Forgotten songs reclaim their tunes when leaving the voice of men. The stars sparkle overhead but to the sides misplaced. Visions rescued from the dead speak from a child’s face.
We look through the darkness to the starlight of the moon. Crickets make the rhythm and cicadas play the tune. May all life be in rhythm and all in tune with One. Yah Heh Vav Heh rules the heavens seated in the sun, and the Mother in the harvest moon, in my heart is the Son.
When the white birds escape to the heavens, and the watchmen of the towers abandon their vigil, lost hopes and memories hang like cobwebs from a dream. Echoes fade where music rang and candles lose their gleam.
The Prophet has no choice soon you will not hear his voice. For his job is to shed light, not to bask in it. Breathe the lost truth of words and when all love fails. The Prophet shuts his holy book and leaves the Land of Tales.