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"By this all will know that you are my disciples, if you have love among yourselves.” (John 13:35) This commandment is The Messianic Dictum. Sometimes I wonder upon how far aloft my flight my zenith may lie. What dost the apex of my pilgrimage bear?

We all have a future. Love is the ultimate religion. Why? Because “It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.” (1st Corinthians 13: 7, 8) When we love, we taste eternity upon our palates. Love is the elixir of the soul.

When my life is over, I hope to gaze upon the visage of those who I hold dear. I want to know that I’ve made a difference in the lives of those encompassing me. We all carry subjective burdens, subjective blights. This suffering is the commonality of all creation.  Whence we ail together, The Catholicon of Ancients exalts us as one.

The Faith of Dreams is a worldwide denomination, within which we need fellowship. The Universe is our temple, our Cathedral of Dreams. Beneath the firmaments, we all have an abode.

We are all Sparks of the Divine. Fulgurant lovelight glistens in each one of us. The most bedarkened soul can house a diaphanous blaze of light. In light, there is darkness; moreover, in the night, there can reside light.

Dreams can still serve a purpose to the entity inhibited by a worldly lusting. Ultimately, desirelessness is catalyzed by cathexis to the Deifically Divine. We must cleanse ourselves of corporeal desires until we wax holy. “I dream; therefore, I am,” said the sage. If this is true, the substance, the essence, the elixir of life is in upon the Dreamscape.

In truth, any temporal expanse spent in The Chrysalis of the Astral is commensurable with augury. A dream is celestial summoning. Therefore, persevere amidst hardship, borne of tribulation is prophetic fulfillment.

(Se' lah)
---------------------------Dictum of Resurrection---------------------------
“Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand.”

―Albert Einstein

-------------------------------From my-------------------------------

-------------Spirit---------------

--------------------To Yours-----------------------

May Jah
Make you
Strong as He is Strong;
Wise, as He is Wise;
Just, as He is Just;
Love, as, '…God is love.'

(1st John 4: 8)



Excelsior Forevermore,


Sanders Maurice Foulke III
parker Apr 22
i'm made of something stronger.
i may not be a saint,
but I am mighty.

i do not fear you.
Corey Boiko Dec 2019
In my eyes i see evil,
A window depicting
A devil beside me.

I couldn't see though him,
As i hurried through the rain.
His reflection stained dry
Just inside the glass.

A man slowly writhing,
tossing, and turning,
Tattered soaked clothing,
On a dampened cardboard bed,
On the wrong side of the glass.

There he suffers,
Feet from salvation,
My train station.

A shiver passes through me
As i enter this cathedral of a station,
Population: one bulletproof guard,
Ensuring that i am not bothered
By the sickening feeble,
****** and outside.
But that does bother me.

Is there no church
In this place of momentum,
On the greener side of the glass,
Where we do not stop moving?
Thanks To Eunoia for reading this before it was ready, and helping me choose a title!
Enas Sep 2019
‪Wistfulness is the state of my existence..constantly returning to the place I come from..always feeling like a soul floating on a star ceiling watching over my surroundings..blended in a distant place that doesn’t bend to the measure of time..in quiet detachment from the world true to my being..as realities shift condensing together at once..as if I already experienced reality in an incomprehensible, hypnotic stream away from my immediate present & all my five senses rendered surreal living in a constant dream..a concentrated flow to the center of my cerebrum..a view from the Rose window in the dark cathedral of my mind..where the tiny light particles in the sun beam passing through pulsate in my sight and the deep waves of silence echoing in the corners ring in my ear..where even darkness speaks dancing specs of iridescence..and colours weep intricate opaque gleams..concealed in an omnipotent and brimful beauty that passes never captured or understood..an unfathomed sacred language I can only feel..with fey farseeing  eyes and a tranquil faint smile..like a scenic sophist..where everything in a word has a world and weight as real as anything else I can overwhelmingly see & touch..and everything around me becomes one with my own soul..‬
Megan Hammer Aug 2019
The River Seine, I remember well
And his bedroom window just above the stream
The gleam of a basement bar in Bruges
Blue eyes he poured out of over a mug

All I can think of is laughing and stumbling in the street
The cathedral as I sat in his lap, soft as the hour passed
Laughing at boys who were drunker than us
Asking each other which way the hotel was

Kissing in the dark in the back of the pub
Just look at him - how the eyes pour out
Pouring the most important thing into me,
Words I keep scrawled on a note in my pocket

Because he’s not here to tell me anymore
Doesn’t mean I can’t go back to the River Seine
Or a cathedral or the bar or the square

I can still hear it, the eyes pouring out
lorphe May 2019
my own importance is swallowed like a pill,
by the resonance of his voice,
vocabulary ****** dry and replaced with a sheen of the need to
stay so unbearably quiet.

i always want to waltz in open spaces,
feel the air rushing past my arms as i spin,
but walking into a house so white and so cold,
i feel like i have ignored the welcome mat at the door.

it's his alleged presence,
or maybe it's just my own scepticism acquiring the patina of caution.
i walk with soft slow steps as if not to wake the dead in the garden,
cut short the swirl of my movements,
replace air vents in cartilage joints with rocks or plaster.
am i even supposed to feel like a person in my own right?

i wish someone would drop a pin for me to assess the quiet,
but there is a soft small current of people feeling at home,
or the quiet and the cautious mixing in like a cavity in a set of white teeth.

when i step back out into the sun,
my lungs grow fuller with oxygen, the leaves appear greener and the sky is more vibrant.
i do not feel his eyes on me as much; or the weight of being contained.
perhaps he just wanted me to go home.
based on the idea of feeling unholy in holy spaces. from 2017
Star BG Apr 2019
In the wounded shadow
we must shine light.
Consciously choose
expansion into a rebirth
to cleanse pain.

The wounded shadow
calls out burning like fire
with purpose
so Phoenix of self and world
can emerge.

It’s flames dance so we
purge remnants of old
that no longer serve.
That stipe truth from emerging

It’s time for
cathedral of heart to be built
for all to see.

See a new structure
of human form meant
to sing with choir of soul.

Let us all come together with love,
and weave a time line of peace.
Saw the burning Cathedral photo thus this poem was born.
John McDonnell Apr 2019
When the cinders cool and the answer seekers
pick their way through the charred rubble
what will they find? A medieval carpenter's chisel, a pair of rosary beads, pigeon droppings, the down from an angel's wing, the tears of saints.
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