The Curse of The Poet

The curse of the poet is he must feel. He must feel it and he can not stop the joy or the pain. More so he feels more then there are words to speck. He is always trying to get out the joy and the pain, but it is ineffably. The heart of the poet is always on fire with true gnosis.

This year a fire was stared and I am a blaze with gnosis.

I can only sleep 2 or 3 hours at a time and a wake form dreams of the land with poetry in my ears.

Here is some of the gnosis I have brought back...

We long and crave to be connected, to be whole, We seek a trybe and we seek a home, Pieces of self floating in a sea of beings, Longing for other selfs that make us feeling like a human beings, Upon the waves i hear the island i call home, And i am swimming to her shores.

We shall burn through the universe with the passion of our Black Flame, With the Star of Algol we shall unit the Five and the Eight, Which is the Myster of Change, And this is Death and eternal life.

In a dream the Magus walks into the Black Lodge, To endure the Ordeal of Shame, Upon he was laid all forms of guilt and pain, Untill he was blown to every corner of the planes,

Awaking he found him self naked and alone, Off balanced and without his home, So to every corner of the lands he roamed, Still missing one peice, it's loss a bemoaned .

But atlest there was peace and there was hope, The piece returned unboke, And with this the Law was spoke,

"There is no shame, there is no guilt, This is our law, do what thou wilt"

Asana

He sits in the center of the universe,

breathing in the flames,

as the dance of life flows around him,

he sits.

Breath in Joy,

Breath out Pain.

Breath in Hope,

Breath out doubt.

He sits.

In the still moments between breaths,

he opens the gate,

and he sits face to face with his shadow self,

and in the blaze of all he is,

He sits.


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