Illuminist Lodge

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There has to be a book

That is just for me

Written along time ago

Addressed to me as I am

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Translated out of light and into light

by the Egyptian ibis itself

And one last time

Extracted from light and rendered 

Into light.

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A book that refuses to dim itself

An invitation to live this way.

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The first seven pages have no matter

No Earth.

The topic is entirely irrational and free

Not connected to any schemes of piousness

or historical dressing up,

just bright being arriving to my face

Addressed to me as I am

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Translated by The Scribe

In a language only I can read

And shining through me

To Abaris The Hyperborean

As he was and shall be

A deliverer of gifts

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Unable to dim himself

An invitation to live this way.

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The first seven pages roar with brightness

in a scribe’s quiet predawn retreat

Ibis and Apes

Beaks and hands raised

Reach out for One 

who never dims himself

An invitation to live this way.

*

What if you shone with the full fire

of your mind

And never again 

accommodated with dimness

the other readers?

* 

There has to be book 

written just for me

in the language of The Seals

slipping out of the sea.

*

There has to be an eye 

that has read every word

The possessor of which

can now be himself as he is.

*

The second group of seven pages

Move from light to light

translated out of one eye

and into another

presented side by side

in a critical edition 

never before accomplished

showing the connection between

hellenic, shamanic, tantric, theurgic

bells and shells

and other instruments of Her voice.

*

Pages only for me

a scroll that reads to me

aloud in the dreamworld

While I find myself awake on the other

side of the isthmus.

*

My friend Ibn Arabi could do this too

Be here and there,

awake and conversing with the embodied,

and through dream conversing with a scroll of light.

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I hear both sides of the sea

Roaring in the ear of my eye

I only have to look away for a moment

and the other worlds narration begins.

*

Half of this book lies here

Like a gazing bowl of water

Catching a luminous body

Refusing to dim

That is your flaming mind

Your not so subtle body

Crystal and gold.

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The other half

in a misty manner

pulls color into its pages

pulls animal forms into letters

pulls plant spirits into shapes

Pretends to make sense

of erotic gymnastics and olympic gestures

So you can mimic

What appeals to you

about endless gyration and pulsing circulation.

*

Abaris,

When you get to Pythagoras

You get to me

You find me here

and catch my mind on fire 

With a book that is for no one else

The rarest thing

and an invitation to live

in a new way.