Illuminist Lodge

I could share with the Sufis

what I found in the Great Sheikh’s Manuscript

Or I could take its essence

Bring it along into solitude

and make a dark red tincture.

*

What is more precious?

Which way shall I be turned?

*

We have been tasked to carry water

to The Date Palm

*

Mary’s retreat

As she carries our hope

To a place away

Brings the seed into solitude

To make a bright fire tincture.

*

I see the mountains crumble

And put their faces in the dirt

They laugh as they pass me

in their quick descent

surrendering to the heaviness of their calling

*

They laugh at the son of man

The fool who chose or was chosen to carry

The Mantle of The One

*

Always standing, always falling

Always called from without, from within

Spread thin on the square and cross

Of The First and The Last

Of The Hidden and The Revealed.

*

I could take these seeds of knowledge

Gathered in the desolate wilds

Barely emerging with my body intact

and carry it to the hive

*

Or I could turn towards The Hidden

And in our Aloneness

Make the most pure red tincture

ever known

*

When I taste it my heart expands

And the cross of the many

Concentrates into one point

of pleasure

The Certain, The Living.

*

I forgive The Mountains

for mocking me

They do not see that in our rising and falling

We not only carry The Mantle of The One

But are carried to places of Beauty and Certainty

That heaven cannot even bear

*

For a time,

the most perfect time

Mary carried the seeds of our hope

Away to a shady place

Where we were tasked to carry One Water

*

She was alone with Him

in a stillness and nearness we lean into

*

In my poverty, in this Sea

I am surrounded by Salt

It is everywhere

The riches, the treasures

The squared path of white elixir

*

And yet I turn away from the brilliance

I look into obscurity for Her true name

When I already know it

Aloneness, stillness, red elixir

*

For now I put my face into the dirt

With The Mountain Ranges who mock me

But in my feigned sorrow

I am laughing

The Living moves in millions of bodies

Over, around, and through my dressed up desolation

Singing to me through color, form, vibration, scent

*

It is Mary’s song under The Date Palm

Only a fool would miss it.