Dirty Little Secrets

phantom dogmas
clutching like pseudo coils
around our thoughts
like serpents hissing
“Thou Shalt Not!”

pomp and circumstance
pounding like drums
of an underlying nexus
machinery grinding
to a standstill

corrupted equations
a fizzle with excuses
revolving around it
unable to explain
the field of magic

the basic fallacies
shiny delusions
the so-called foundations
of our whole existence
are actually myths

silence
the only true philosophy

Out of the Divine Darkness a small dark light has arisen, a brooding twilight before dawn, in which the cloud images of the gods are dancing. There is still within me an immense deep of being, an emotional life too vast, too spiritual, too remote to speak of, for the words we use today cannot tell it’s story. It is Love yet unbreathed, and yet not lust…

… rather a hidden unutterable tenderness, or joy, or the potency of these, which awakens as the image of the divine is reflected from within. The Spirit sends an energy or love or eternal desire to go forth… it seeks, through myriad forms of illusion, for the infinite Being it once was, and still is on other levels of existence. It is an eternal joy becoming Love, a love changing into desire, and leading on to earthly passion and forgetfulness of its own divinity.

The eternal joy becomes love when it has first merged itself in form, and images of a divine beauty dance before it and lure it afar. This is the first manifested world, the place of Manannan, the Tirnanog or World of Immortal Youth. It is just a side-step away.

fleeting presences gather
’round the gates of sleep,
lands of Immortal Youth
there within our reach,
creatures of water and wood
of Darkness and Light
and of Twilight

we imagine the fields
sown with seed
and they are sown,
we imagine the fields
reaped of harvest
and they are reaped,
for the Spirit is Creator

Spirit of the Dreamer
wandering among images
memories or imaginations,
in remote legends we are
Children of Darkness
Children of Light
and of Twilight

an infinite depth,
an invisible divinity,
as the mystic night
trembles into dawn,
filling the Sacred Well
with the unuttered Word

what numbness lies there in thee,
once loved most by all the Daoine Sidhe?
have ye forgotten how to love?
have ye forgotten how to hate?
must i remind all of ye of me?
be it a blessing or a curse,
Love Is,
without it, it’s much worse.

A word: begin
A phrase: in the beginning
A sentence: In the beginning, there is nothingness.
A paragraph: In the beginning, there is nothingness, and yet there is all that ever was or will be. It is paradox. An Awareness is Awakened. Out of darkness comes light. The still small voice within whispers, “Who is listening?” The response is a spark of light proclaiming Presence, a Song begins to play.