Should I give free away this truth... That it be eaten by sparrow and fly alike? Once the pyramid became a part of my inner vision, I soon realized through diligence that It leads to E Pluribus Unum, "from many, one". And as I solve my own problems, (they are the same for family, nation, and the world) I see the picture of the gradual unity of our planet's society, and beyond.
The pyramid is the final vision beyond which there is no passing. It is a moving Kaaba, carried away by angels and forces. There is no way out of the pyramid. When I reach the top it becomes less important as a top and a point. The only way out of the pyramid is to attack it, which would attack beauty and attack simplicity. Observing it is like having every answer given and every mystery solved, except Its own mystery. The Messenger is the Pyramid of Reality.
It is more than breathing forbearance, but being forbearance itself. Like the back of my head is pushed to the wall and I am allowing the Spirit to push me further away from the middle.
The pyramid is the greatest source of God's Might and is the most hidden retreat of Light: in the realm of shapes and symbols. The body takes on the quality of a pyramid.
There are man-made, divinely inspired, objects. These are all micro aspects of the pyramid. The city within the pyramid has many aspects hidden behind "doors". The letters and words written on the pyramid's parts allow for the splendor of mankind. All lights in this city get their power from the Divine.
The pyramid is the owner of Silence. The sides of the pyramid are upheld by the straight back of silence. Its apex is held by the inner observer.
I watch the posters bleed. A warning of their shared fate with the stone. Canaries painted up with the brightest feathers. Monuments like gleaming limestone pyramids.
But we won't remember the feathers as bright.
We'll remember the colors bled out, when they're bled out. The paint on our pantheon will wash to white marble. And they'll re-remember it as white marble. They'll re-remember the lustrous white limestone as dirt and sand, when its dirt and sand. Our history will be rewritten, as its remembered.
I haven't posted much, so I decided to put this up before I edited it all into rhyme. This is a small excerpt of a larger thread of thought I plan on continuing to write about.