Besought golden age
Faring across the sublunar world
Many sensed it down from Ur-Heimat
To tribal participacion mystique
Was there really an Iram
In the land of Ad,
Where people achieved immortality,
And lived in grace and slaughterless life?
Even if – it is to be unburried by ants
The Arabs who remembered tales of their grandfathers
About the Iram of Columns should know,
The Mad Arab from Rub Al’Khali,
Was the only one to find it – who’d ever know?
Atlantis – said Odin in dreams,
Is our Earth, there is Centauria,
Tyssalt and four other inhabited worlds,
The Seven Luminaries Judges,
Men invent ancient utopias,
They really dream of their celestial vaults,
To be closer to our Atlantis Earth,
Their constant cry: “It must be in the past!”
Better ages come and go,
To clear paths for the worse – a fatal times’ flow,
Those men realized their heaven within,
Looked upon the world, didn’t find it here,
“It must be in the past, or some promised future!”
– They were unconvinced of their discoveries,
While their Edin was within,
They didn’t know until they parted,
Their laughter of tranquil joy was great,
Serpents and wings, in wonder’s ascent,
Sphairos is the place of repose, and solitude Divine,
Ascent is spherical, it grows at exponential rate,
Proportional to the depth of ratio and harmony
With all the worlds it passess, all the worlds it meets,
It is beyond all “is” and “is not”,
The resolution of all forces, of love and stife,
And countless other damsels,
The key is handed down by Muses,
They pitch the harmony of soul,
Ennobling with wreaths of laurels,
Until the last one kisses us and let’s us go with a blessing:
“Triumphator, you are returning home”.
They never hated this world like some gnostics
They wisely outwitted suffering heroically overcoming,
The bliss of nature and its terror was all known!
Blaming things for what they are is not the point,
Conjuring greater disasters and traps a gargantuan emphasis,
Of a suffered man that couldn’t grind his teeth and haven’t won.
It’s never easy! No one said so!
Through all pain and suffering, torments and tears,
Work and practice, genuine man, woman,
The Solar Bark of immortals is not for all,
Yet they are not counted, lady chance and fortune
Plays a role in a willful Pythagorean path taken,
The world soul sinks in animistic life,
There is not a thousand nor hundred thousand chosen,
To carve a star out of your soul and spirit,
Is not one, not few, but all – whomsoever pleases, whomsoever
One has to be in harmony with higher worlds,
The great discoveries are the keys to kingly accords!
Thus! There are many paths, but universal laws,
Easier to slip into false complacency, then to toil and strive
In the great work of life and theurgy, through heavy dark times,
And splendidly Mercurial flights,
Only old masters know,
That those secrets of the mysterious keys,
Are exposed one by one and merely for a moment,
They are like seals on one’s soul,
That redraw fates and align them with Gods!
How many perished in the deserts of belief,
How few neared to the roots of the cosmic tree,
I tell you – the further humanity goes,
The more it forgets, there was not a golden savage day,
There was a time of memory and time of great dismay!
Heroes – remember, as the Orphic gold shows,
Those who remember are heroes, those who re-mind,
Reminiscent of the robes of their soul.