Illuminist Lodge

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I

Your hands are emptied

At each spheres limit

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When the angel hands you to the next

Their hands meet for a moment

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A shelter in this wilderness

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You see everything fall from your hands

You cannot take this world into the next

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Your hands give the offering again

In return you gain, 

Everything.

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Do you have room to hold

Each blade of glass

Every one?

Each ray of light?

Each creatures fullness?

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Time will tell 

If you are empty enough.

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If you don’t have the space for the next world

It cannot exist

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And you crumble back into the first

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If you don’t have space at your Inn

He will be born in hay

Crashing into the lowest world

Because he couldn’t hold the highest.

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You thought it was a noble birth

But Jesus crashed into this world 

Like a meteor

Because the one before him/he failed

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He seems mighty 

because you crave security and comfort

But Jesus came into this world 

Because he couldn’t hold the next.

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II.

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The members of the holy family

Move across the line

On one side of the line

Is pure spirit

On the other side

Is the soul enveloped in flesh

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Death is when the spirit withdraws itself

From the envelope

And doesn’t return

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The voyagers move back and forth

Across the line

They travel out

Transfer goods between the worlds 

And return

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Not for your entertainment

Not for their benefit

But as the function of their station

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The members of the holy household

Appear and disappear

Flicker in and out of the body

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When they disappear 

some of you mourn

Some of you celebrate them

For your own benefit

For the benefit of your cause

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They are not gone

And you are not here

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You cannot enter 

Into the fulness

Because you are not empty

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At every limit

Your hands will be emptied

You see the limit of your power

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He puts his hand on his son’s back

While he practices his letters

Learning to communicate 

Across the line

Of spirit and body

Is the highest thing

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No one talks 

About the things that must move

Across these limits

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The voyage is presented

As a solitary endeavor

No one knows the purpose 

Of the One who goes out

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The One who goes out

If he is empty enough

To hold the next world

Then it is real 

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If it is real

He opens the gates

And delivers the masses

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If he cannot hold the world

He crashes back down

Into the hay

Into a kingdom

He almost surpassed

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III.

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Muhammad goes out

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Out of Egypt

Out of the wilderness

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He crosses the line

Crosses it to return

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He shows his face

He withdraws his face

His hands are emptied

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Both hands grasp the mane of his steed

He returns with light

His household appears

His household disappears

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When he is outside of the world

He peers into the bowl of time

To find us here in the future

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This is the way 

He causes his household

To jump across worlds

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He takes it out of the world

And projects it into the future people

Of the next world

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Each iteration of his household is unique

It arrives through you

Based on your qualities

It will persist or crumble

Back into the hay of the lowest world

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IV

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You think its a story about a prophet

A person

But the story is about a stone

A stone that holds a star

That lights a world

He is voyaging out of

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If he crosses the limit

And persists

He holds a new star

And the next world is real

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He is handed off

To the next angel

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This is the mystery

Of enveloping light 

In an alembic

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A lantern for the angel of each sphere

Your subtle body as cosmos

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You think he is a king

But he utterly failed

His likeness lines the halls

Of the underworld

And the dead use his story

To prop up their puffed up fullness

Their illness

Their fantasy of ownership

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The hands are emptied at the limit

Everything falls from you

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As he crosses the line

And his spirit goes out

His return is silent

It is signaled by a smile,

A grin

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A hermetic grin

For a boundary crosser

A secret chief of chiefs

Hiding as a child

In the lowest station of hay

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