The Clearer Self
Before me grew the human soul,
And after I am dead and gone,
Through grades of effort and control
The marvellous work shall still go on.
Each mortal in his little span
Hath only lived, if he have shown
What greatness there can be in man
Above the measured and the known;
How through the ancient layers of night,
In gradual victory secure,
Grows ever with increasing light
The Energy serene and pure:
The Soul, that from a monstrous past,
From age to age, from hour to hour,
Feels upward to some height at last
Of unimagined grace and power.
Though yet the sacred fire be dull,
In folds of thwarting matter furled,
Ere death be nigh, while life is full,
O Master Spirit of the world,
Grant me to know, to seek, to find,
In some small measure though it be,
Emerging from the waste and blind,
The clearer self, the grander me!
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Related quotes
Merkabah
Some tell of love stories where fire becomes a mother in healing
Wheels within wheels, where hell becomes a myth, and heaven becomes the
present
The cosmic chariot of the soul, the sacred fire, and transfiguration of
energy
It comes from the deep darkness within ones Neshamah,
Prayer to the divine Elohim, and the18th breath of life
Once ascended in that ring of fire, a being can fly beyond space and
sky
Some call it the fire in the sky, seen only through sacred third eyes
Sweet like the spirit of the sacred Shekinah,
One key in Metatronics
The visual, spiritual, and the physical, all become one in this hour of
light
To the holy vehicle of ascension, sacred and pure, flower of life
poem by Josephe Buchanan
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Power To Change
The power God used to save me, is the power that will change me,
The power of the Savior’s blood, and His grace He gives with love.
He is my friend and my Savior, my Sovereign God and my Creator,
And He, who saved my dark soul, can make a heart pure and whole.
The power of His awesome Grace, truly helps me as I seek His face,
To allow His Spirit to take control, as God changes this wicked soul.
The precious blood of God’s Son, has the power to change anyone,
Who comes to The Cross of Christ, to receive from God a New Life.
By Christ’s blood we were bought, so that change could be wrought,
In the body that belongs to Him, Christ who was crucified for our sin,
This body Christ called the Church; He did not leave here in the lurch,
But sent His Spirit, with His Light, to guide us safely out of the night.
The changes are the Father’s will, for this Church that Christ shall fill,
Filled with sinners from every nation, saved by The Lord’s Salvation,
Sanctified by the power of God, throughout the many lands we trod,
As a witness for those still lost, pointing them to our Savior’s Cross.
The changes shall continue in us, as in our Savior we place our trust,
To be all that we can be, through His blood, that flows from Calvary,
As His Grace gives us the power, for our needs, every day and hour,
Until that day, when by God’s Grace, we see our Savior face to face.
(Copyright ©06/2008)
A Wish
I ask not that my bed of death
From bands of greedy heirs be free;
For these besiege the latest breath
Of fortune's favoured sons, not me.
I ask not each kind soul to keep
Tearless, when of my death he hears;
Let those who will, if any, weep!
There are worse plagues on earth than tears.
I ask but that my death may find
The freedom to my life denied;
Ask but the folly of mankind,
Then, at last, to quit my side.
Spare me the whispering, crowded room,
The friends who come, and gape, and go;
The ceremonious air of gloom -
All which makes death a hideous show!
Nor bring, to see me cease to live,
Some doctor full of phrase and fame,
To shake his sapient head and give
The ill he cannot cure a name.
Nor fetch, to take the accustomed toll
Of the poor sinner bound for death,
His brother doctor of the soul,
To canvass with official breath
The future and its viewless things -
That undiscovered mystery
Which one who feels death's winnowing wings
Must need read clearer, sure, than he!
Bring none of these; but let me be,
While all around in silence lies,
Moved to the window near, and see
Once more before my dying eyes
Bathed in the sacred dew of morn
The wide aerial landscape spread -
The world which was ere I was born,
The world which lasts when I am dead.
Which never was the friend of one,
Nor promised love it could not give,
But lit for all its generous sun,
And lived itself, and made us live.
There let me gaze, till I become
In soul with what I gaze on wed!
To feel the universe my home;
To have before my mind -instead
Of the sick-room, the mortal strife,
The turmoil for a little breath -
The pure eternal course of life,
Not human combatings with death.
Thus feeling, gazing, let me grow
Composed, refreshed, ennobled, clear;
Then willing let my spirit go
To work or wait elsewhere or here!
poem by Matthew Arnold (1867)
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Peccavi, Domine
O Power to whom this earthly clime
Is but an atom in the whole,
O Poet-heart of Space and Time,
O Maker and Immortal Soul,
Within whose glowing rings are bound,
Out of whose sleepless heart had birth
The cloudy blue, the starry round,
And this small miracle of earth:
Who liv'st in every living thing,
And all things are thy script and chart,
Who rid'st upon the eagle's wing,
And yearnest in the human heart;
O Riddle with a single clue,
Love, deathless, protean, secure,
The ever old, the ever new,
O Energy, serene and pure.
Thou, who art also part of me,
Whose glory I have sometime seen,
O Vision of the Ought-to-be,
O Memory of the Might-have-been,
I have had glimpses of thy way,
And moved with winds and walked with stars,
But, weary, I have fallen astray,
And, wounded, who shall count my scars?
O Master, all my strength is gone;
Unto the very earth I bow;
I have no light to lead me on;
With aching heart and burning brow,
I lie as one that travaileth
In sorrow more than he can bear;
I sit in darkness as of death,
And scatter dust upon my hair.
The God within my soul hath slept,
And I have shamed the nobler rule;
O Master, I have whined and crept;
O Spirit, I have played the fool.
Like him of old upon whose head
His follies hung in dark arrears,
I groan and travail in my bed,
And water it with bitter tears.
I stand upon thy mountain-heads,
And gaze until mine eyes are dim;
The golden morning glows and spreads;
The hoary vapours break and swim.
I see thy blossoming fields, divine,
Thy shining clouds, thy blessed trees--
And then that broken soul of mine--
How much less beautiful than these!
O Spirit, passionless, but kind,
Is there in all the world, I cry,
Another one so base and blind,
Another one so weak as I?
O Power, unchangeable, but just,
Impute this one good thing to me,
I sink my spirit to the dust
In utter dumb humility.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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The Hour
This is the world's stupendous hour-
The supreme moment for the race
To see the emptiness of power,
The worthlessness of wealth and place,
To see the purpose and the plan
Conceived by God for growing man.
And they who see and comprehend
That ultimate and lofty aim
Will wait in patience for the end,
Knowing injustice cannot claim
One lasting victory, or control
Laws that bar progress for the whole.
This is an epoch-making time;
God thunders through the universe
A message glorious and sublime,
At once a blessing and a curse.
Blessings for those who seek His light,
Curses for those whose law is might.
Ephemeral as the sunset glow
Is human grandeur. Mortal life
Was given that souls might seek and know
Immortal truths; and through the strife
That shakes the earth from land to land
The wise shall hear and understand.
Out of the awful holocaust,
Out of the whirlwind and the flood,
Out of old creeds to Bedlam tossed,
Shall rise a new earth washed in blood-
A new race filled with spirit power,
This is the world's stupendous hour.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Genius
Woe unto him! the child of this sad earth,
Who, in a troubled world, unjust and blind,
Bears Genius--treasure of celestial birth,
Within his solitary soul enshrined.
Woe unto him! for Envy's pangs impure,
Like the undying vultures', will be driven
Into his noble heart, that must endure
Pangs for each triumph; and, still unforgiven,
Suffer Prometheus' doom, who ravished fire from Heaven.
Still though his destiny on earth may be
Grief and injustice; who would not endure
With joyful calm, each proffered agony;
Could he the prize of Genius thus ensure?
What mortal feeling kindled in his soul
That clear celestial flame, so pure and high,
O'er which nor time nor death can have control,
Would in inglorious pleasures basely fly
From sufferings whose reward is Immortality?
No! though the clamors of the envious crowd
Pursue the son of Genius, he will rise
From the dull clod, borne by an effort proud
Beyond the reach of vulgar enmities.
'Tis thus the eagle, with his pinions spread,
Reposing o'er the tempest, from that height
Sees the clouds reel and roll above our head,
While he, rejoicing in his tranquil flight,
More upward soars sublime in heaven's eternal light.
poem by Victor Hugo
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The Watchman of Dark Christmas Night
The brazier’s glowing coals lit up his eyes.
I asked the watchman as he guarded time:
tell me, watchman, of the truth of Night..
he said: when I had conquered all the tasks of day,
I took night-watching as the sternest test,
to seek the weakness, and to seek the strength
which I might find there in my deepest self..
In darkest night, I lost myself – or so
I thought I had: for every night,
as the third hour after midnight moves
into the fourth hour, there came a time
when all one held as precious to oneself,
all joy and consolation, all the point of life
was taken from me… then I felt
myself an abject, faithless wretch..
for it seemed that even God
is in repose, in that abyss of time..
taking from me, even faith,
and hope, and love itself..
and then one day, I saw in paint –
it could have been by Rembrandt’s guided hand –
the darkness, to be full of light..
more full than day itself..
the light itself, as God, all in repose;
and in the darkness are all things
drawn back into themselves;
so that they may awake at dawn
the fresher; Diadochus, holy man,
who knew dark well, for all his holiness,
and welcomed it… gave it a name:
‘educative desolation’ was his term…
for what mortal man would not become complacent
to think he walked with God both day and night?
At that darkest hour, faith, hope, and loving-kindness
may be withdrawn from human kind; yet,
they cannot die, I learned; they must return..
And no one may tell – as shepherds watch,
and angels fill the skies –
what Mary feels, before her faith and hope
are born as joy and love..
what Mary feels, this night as dark as sin..
what Mary feels, before the holy dawn;
only humility, for her, for us,
will see us through the testing hours;
will teach us in this darkest night
the darkness full of brightest light..
We sat there silent for a space,
I and the watchman of the Night;
the brazier glowing warm and bright;
the silence full of grace.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Not a Cage, But Stage, Where Hell or Heaven Is Built!
Each Soul is divine,
Divine journey of divine spark,
That journey as per divine plan!
Your children are not your children,
They are guests visiting you,
As scheduled by divine hands,
They are here with their own destiny and fate,
who is able to state, When who is at what state?
Your friends and relatives too,
Are on their journey own,
Remember the love and affection shown!
Love and understanding
are in the heart of those here rejoice,
Concentric spheres that look solid,
Just like Onions with layer after layer,
Nothing found when peeled,
But, Everything when properly lived!
Solid looking spheres are not solids,
They are energy layers,
waves of different pattern and kinds,
Ah! Look they are of different layers,
Matter that matters us,
is not the matter,
It is energy layers,
May be children or kiths and kins,
What we look is that
How we look,
How we look is what we are!
Our house is not our house until we own,
Our body is not ours,
Our mind is not our own,
Our soul is not ours,
Until we own and master it!
Our goal is not our goal,
Goalless we can't live,
Only goal we find here is peaceful coexistence,
peaceful exit from this Life's cage,
It is not the cage but the stage on which,
Hell or heaven built or felt!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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The Pilgrims
Who is your lady of love, O ye that pass
Singing? and is it for sorrow of that which was
That ye sing sadly, or dream of what shall be?
For gladly at once and sadly it seems ye sing.
--Our lady of love by you is unbeholden;
For hands she hath none, nor eyes, nor lips, nor golden
Treasure of hair, nor face nor form; but we
That love, we know her more fair than anything.
--Is she a queen, having great gifts to give?
--Yea, these; that whoso hath seen her shall not live
Except he serve her sorrowing, with strange pain,
Travail and bloodshedding and bitterer tears;
And when she bids die he shall surely die.
And he shall leave all things under the sky
And go forth naked under sun and rain
And work and wait and watch out all his years.
--Hath she on earth no place of habitation?
--Age to age calling, nation answering nation,
Cries out, Where is she? and there is none to say;
For if she be not in the spirit of men,
For if in the inward soul she hath no place,
In vain they cry unto her, seeking her face,
In vain their mouths make much of her; for they
Cry with vain tongues, till the heart lives again.
--O ye that follow, and have ye no repentance?
For on your brows is written a mortal sentence,
An hieroglyph of sorrow, a fiery sign,
That in your lives ye shall not pause or rest,
Nor have the sure sweet common love, nor keep
Friends and safe days, nor joy of life nor sleep.
--These have we not, who have one thing, the divine
Face and clear eyes of faith and fruitful breast.
--And ye shall die before your thrones be won.
--Yea, and the changed world and the liberal sun
Shall move and shine without us, and we lie
Dead; but if she too move on earth and live,
But if the old world with all the old irons rent
Laugh and give thanks, shall we be not content?
Nay, we shall rather live, we shall not die,
Life being so little and death so good to give.
--And these men shall forget you.--Yea, but we
Shall be a part of the earth and the ancient sea,
And heaven-high air august, and awful fire,
And all things good; and no man's heart shall beat
But somewhat in it of our blood once shed
Shall quiver and quicken, as now in us the dead
Blood of men slain and the old same life's desire
Plants in their fiery footprints our fresh feet.
--But ye that might be clothed with all things pleasant,
Ye are foolish that put off the fair soft present,
That clothe yourselves with the cold future air;
When mother and father and tender sister and brother
And the old live love that was shall be as ye,
Dust, and no fruit of loving life shall be.
--She shall be yet who is more than all these were,
Than sister or wife or father unto us or mother.
--Is this worth life, is this, to win for wages?
Lo, the dead mouths of the awful grey-grown ages,
The venerable, in the past that is their prison,
In the outer darkness, in the unopening grave,
Laugh, knowing how many as ye now say have said,
How many, and all are fallen, are fallen and dead:
Shall ye dead rise, and these dead have not risen?
--Not we but she, who is tender and swift to save.
--Are ye not weary and faint not by the way,
Seeing night by night devoured of day by day,
Seeing hour by hour consumed in sleepless fire?
Sleepless: and ye too, when shall ye too sleep?
--We are weary in heart and head, in hands and feet,
And surely more than all things sleep were sweet,
Than all things save the inexorable desire
Which whoso knoweth shall neither faint nor weep.
--Is this so sweet that one were fain to follow?
Is this so sure where all men's hopes are hollow.
Even this your dream, that by much tribulation
Ye shall make whole flawed hearts, and bowed necks straight?
--Nay, though our life were blind, our death were fruitless,
Not therefore were the whole world's high hope rootless;
But man to man, nation would turn to nation,
And the old life live, and the old great world be great.
--Pass on then and pass by us and let us be,
For what light think ye after life to see?
And if the world fare better will ye know?
And if man triumph who shall seek you and say?
--Enough of light is this for one life's span,
That all men born are mortal, but not man:
And we men bring death lives by night to sow,
That man may reap and eat and live by day.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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The spirit of man has awakened and the soul of man has gone forth. Grant us the wisdom and the vision to comprehend the greatness of man's spirit, that suffers and endures so hugely for a goal beyond his own brief span. Grant us honor for our dead who died in the faith, honor for our living who work and strive for the faith, redemption and security for all captive lands and peoples. Grant us patience with the deluded and pity for the betrayed. And grant us the skill and valor that shall cleanse the world of oppression and the old base doctrine that the
strong must eat the weak because they are strong. Yet most of all grant us brotherhood, not only for this day but for all our years — a brotherhood not of words but of acts and deeds. We are all of us children of earth — grant us that simple knowledge. If our brothers are oppressed, then we are oppressed. If they hunger, we hunger. If their freedom is taken away, our freedom is not secure. Grant us a common faith that man shall know bread and peace — that he shall know justice and righteousness, freedom and security, an equal opportunity and an equal chance to do his best, not only in our own lands, but throughout the world. And in that faith let us march toward the clean world our hands can make. Amen.
quote by Stephen Vincent Benet
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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1897
Deep in my hidden country stands a peak,
and none hath known its name
and none, save I, hath even skill to seek:
thence my wild spirit came.
Thither I turn, when the day's garish world
too long hath vex'd my sight,
and bare my limbs where the great winds are whirl'd
and life's undreaded might.
For there I know the pools of clearest blue,
glad wells of simple sooth,
there, steep'd in strength of glacier springs, renew
the lucid body of youth,
there I alone may know the joy of quest
and keen delight of cold,
or rest, what time the night with naked breast
and shaken hair of gold,
folds me so close, that her great breath would seem
to fill the darkling heart
with solemn certainty of ancient dream
or whisperingly to impart
aeonian life, larger than seas of light,
more limpid than the dawn:
there, when my foot hath touch'd the topmost height,
the fire from heaven is drawn.
If any murmur that my 'sdainful hand
withholds its sacrifice
where ranged unto the Law the peoples stand,
let this blown word suffice:
The gift of self is self's most sacred right:
only where none hath trod,
only upon my secret starry height
I abdicate to God.
poem by Christopher John Brennan
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Insomnia
Thin are the night-skirts left behind
By daybreak hours that onward creep,
And thin, alas! the shred of sleep
That wavers with the spirit's wind:
But in half-dreams that shift and roll
And still remember and forget,
My soul this hour has drawn your soul
A little nearer yet.
Our lives, most dear, are never near,
Our thoughts are never far apart,
Though all that draws us heart to heart
Seems fainter now and now more clear.
To-night Love claims his full control,
And with desire and with regret
My soul this hour has drawn your soul
A little nearer yet.
Is there a home where heavy earth
Melts to bright air that breathes no pain,
Where water leaves no thirst again
And springing fire is Love's new birth?
If faith long bound to one true goal
May there at length its hope beget,
My soul that hour shall draw your soul
For ever nearer yet.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Angel And The Child. (From Jean Reboul, The Baker Of Nismes)
An angel with a radiant face,
Above a cradle bent to look,
Seemed his own image there to trace,
As in the waters of a brook.
'Dear child! who me resemblest so,'
It whispered, 'come, O come with me!
Happy together let us go,
The earth unworthy is of thee!
'Here none to perfect bliss attain;
The soul in pleasure suffering lies;
Joy hath an undertone of pain,
And even the happiest hours their sighs.
'Fear doth at every portal knock;
Never a day serene and pure
From the o'ershadowing tempest's shock
Hath made the morrow's dawn secure.
'What then, shall sorrows and shall fears
Come to disturb so pure a brow?
And with the bitterness of tears
These eyes of azure troubled grow?
'Ah no! into the fields of space,
Away shalt thou escape with me;
And Providence will grant thee grace
Of all the days that were to be.
'Let no one in thy dwelling cower,
In sombre vestments draped and veiled;
But let them welcome thy last hour,
As thy first moments once they hailed.
'Without a cloud be there each brow;
There let the grave no shadow cast;
When one is pure as thou art now,
The fairest day is still the last.'
And waving wide his wings of white,
The angel, at these words, had sped
Towards the eternal realms of light!--
Poor mother! see, thy son is dead!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Of The Light
Sometimes in this life I need to be, a quiet light for all to see,
Not flickering of words to hear, but, that light with Jesus near,
To be for God one quiet flame, by the power of Jesus’ Name,
A light for God in any place; maintained in His love and grace.
When to dark places, I must go; it is His Light I need to show,
Indeed the light of Jesus Christ, shown to a very troubled life,
When even in the darkest hour, His Light is the ultimate power,
To help a darkened heart to see, what one life in Christ can be.
If the time seems not so right, what may be needed is the light,
The Light of God’s Holy Truth, for others, as we’re living proof,
Of the power of, God’s Word, from truths that they have heard,
From truths you have expressed, when at this time light is best.
When Eternal Truths we proclaim, in the Power of God’s Name,
In those times, somewhat dark, The Lord’s Light leaves a mark,
Deep upon the heart, of a man, this, as we live out God’s Plan,
To be the Lord’s salt and light, while in this world dark as night.
When God’s Word, we do heed, sometimes light is all we need,
This as God’s Holy Spirit moves, upon a soul that He reproves,
Moving upon that soul’s heart, with God’s Truth He shall impart,
Through the light within our life, as we truly live for Jesus Christ.
(Copyright ©12/2011)
The Alchemist And The Mouse
Once there lived an alchemist in a strange and distant land,
So wise and famous and revered, great power he did command.
For he could turn base metal in a flash to solid gold,
And so the alchemist grew rich, as he in years grew old.
The alchemist had riches, but a mortal man was he,
And came unto his house one day, a gypsy to foresee
His fortune with a crystal ball that showed his time was nigh,
So he a magic potion made, his own death to defy.
And when this potion to give immortality was made,
He took the potion to his lips, but then his hand he stayed,
For there his pet, a small brown mouse, was sitting on his knee;
He gave the mouse a sip and waited, the effect to see.
So time it passed, the mouse it thrived, so then he drank the brew.
Now safe from death, his fame increased, and so his fortune grew.
And so the years went by, he didn't age, always was well;
He and the mouse lived on, and to them nothing bad befell.
The centuries rolled on, his friends and relatives were dead.
In time the human race was gone as onward time it sped,
But even Earth is mortal, and at last the Sun grew tired;
The Earth became a cold dark rock, its spirit had expired.
And all was black, for only feeble starlight pricked the sky,
And silence reigned for there were only two who didn't die;
There gazing out to space, the last two tenants of the house;
The sad and lonely alchemist; by his side an ancient mouse.
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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Emblems of Love
She
ONLY to be twin elements of joy
In this extravagance of Being, Love,
Were our divided natures shaped in twain;
And to this hour the whole world must consent.
Is it not very marvellous, our lives
Can only come to this out of a long
Strange sundering, with the years of the world between us?
He
Shall life do more than God? for hath not God
Striven with himself, when into known delight
His unaccomplisht joy he would put forth,—
This mystery of a world sign of his striving?
Else wherefore this, a thing to break the mind
With labouring in the wonder of it, that here
Being—the world and we—is suffered to be!—
But, lying on thy breast one notable day,
Sudden exceeding agony of love
Made my mind a trance of infinite knowledge.
I was not: yet I saw the will of God
As light unfashion’d, unendurable flame,
Interminable, not to be supposed;
And there was no more creature except light,—
The dreadful burning of the lonely God’s
Unutter’d joy. And then, past telling, came
Shuddering and division in the light:
Therein, like trembling, was desire to know
Its own perfect beauty; and it became
A cloven fire, a double flaming, each
Adorable to each; against itself
Waging a burning love, which was the world;—
A moment satisfied in that love-strife
I knew the world!—And when I fell from there,
Then knew I also what this life would do
In being twin,—in being man and woman!
For it would do even as its endless Master,
Making the world, had done; yea, with itself
Would strive, and for the strife would into sex
Be cloven, double burning, made thereby
Desirable to itself. Contrivèd joy
Is sex in life; and by no other thing
Than by a perfect sundering, could life
Change the dark stream of unappointed joy
To perfect praise of itself, the glee that loves
And worships its own Being. This is ours!
Yet only for that we have been so long
Sundered desire: thence is our life all praise.—
But we, well knowing by our strength of joy
There is no sundering more, how far we love
From those sad lives that know a half-love only,
Alone thereby knowing themselves for ever
Sealed in division of love, and therefore made
To pour their strength always into their love’s
Fierceness, as green wood bleeds its hissing sap
Into red heat of a fire! Not so do we:
The cloven anger, life, hath left to wage
Its flame against itself, here turned to one
Self-adoration.—Ah, what comes of this?
The joy falters a moment, with closed wings
Wearying in its upward journey, ere
Again it goes on high, bearing its song,
Its delight breathing and its vigour beating
The highest height of the air above the world.
She
What hast thou done to me!—I would have soul,
Before I knew thee, Love, a captive held
By flesh. Now, inly delighted with desire,
My body knows itself to be nought else
But thy heart’s worship of me; and my soul
Therein is sunlight held by warm gold air.
Nay, all my body is become a song
Upon the breath of spirit, a love-song.
He
And mine is all like one rapt faculty,
As it were listening to the love in thee,
My whole mortality trembling to take
Thy body like heard singing of thy spirit.
She
Surely by this, Beloved, we must know
Our love is perfect here,—that not as holds
The common dullard thought, we are things lost
In an amazement that is all unware;
But wonderfully knowing what we are!
Lo, now that body is the song whereof
Spirit is mood, knoweth not our delight?
Knoweth not beautifully now our love,
That Life, here to this festival bid come
Clad in his splendour of worldly day and night,
Filled and empower’d by heavenly lust, is all
The glad imagination of the Spirit?
He
Were it not so, Love could not be at all:
Nought could be, but a yearning to fulfil
Desire of beauty, by vain reaching forth
Of sense to hold and understand the vision
Made by impassion’d body,—vision of thee!
But music mixt with music are, in love,
Bodily senses; and as flame hath light,
Spirit this nature hath imagined round it,
No way concealed therein, when love comes near,
Nor in the perfect wedding of desires
Suffering any hindrance.
She
Ah, but now,
Now am I given love’s eternal secret!
Yea, thou and I who speak, are but the joy
Of our for ever mated spirits; but now
The wisdom of my gladness even through Spirit
Looks, divinely elate. Who hath for joy
Our Spirits? Who hath imagined them
Round him in fashion’d radiance of desire,
As into light of these exulting bodies
Flaming Spirit is uttered?
He
Yea, here the end
Of love’s astonishment! Now know we Spirit,
And Who, for ease of joy, contriveth Spirit.
Now all life’s loveliness and power we have
Dissolved in this one moment, and our burning
Carries all shining upward, till in us
Life is not life, but the desire of God,
Himself desiring and himself accepting.
Now what was prophecy in us is made
Fulfilment: we are the hour and we are the joy,
We in our marvellousness of single knowledge,
Of Spirit breaking down the room of fate
And drawing into his light the greeting fire
Of God,—God known in ecstasy of love
Wedding himself to utterance of himself
poem by Lascelles Abercrombie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Joan
Power generation
You live up your life and it feels like fire
Suspended in animation
A trick of the light and it drives you higher
Blind vision blind faith
You really can be sold
If you dare to disagree
Its just not within the scheme of things
To give up your life so easily
Thats not the way youre meant to be
What a waste of time and energy
Its just not within the scheme of things(live your life)
To give up your life so easily, easily(Ill be there)
Psychic celebration
Look up in the stars and see venus rising
Rapture, fascination
You live for the night and your own desire
Blind vision blind faith
You really cant rely
On what they tell you for effect
Its not just within the scheme of things(live your life)
To give up your life so easily
Thats not the way youre meant to be(I do care)
What a waste of time and energy
Its just not within the scheme of things(live your life)
To give up your life so easily
Thats not the way youre meant to be(Ill be there)
What a waste of time and energy, energy
song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Arsenal of Spiritual Dynamite
i come to bow my soul, kneel upon your mighty name, the
light that illuminates my spirit, beyond other power on earth
and in the heaven who brings me to the eternal Father, my
immortal Adonai, the one who is and pre-existed in name,
exalted amongst angels and saints in heaven and in earth
you are my Redeemer; please redeem me, for you are the
fullness of thy body; come bow down my soul, kneel upon
your great altar of mercy. live and leads my sole spirit to
your kingdom, where everything comes to exist and end to
your salvation of peace amongst earthly moulds, oh! my
immortal soul, rejoice thy eternal dimension of saints and
angels
you are my Redeemer; please redeem me, for you are
fullness of the eternal grace, You are my mind, bring me
forth to the fortress, of your heavenly kingdom, my
completeness belongs only to you take me Lord, where you
reign forever, for you are my repose, and give me the perfect
gift that cannot be grasped by any living being in this time
give me Lord, the wisdom to understand, the authority when
i ask; to heal and cleanse my body, through Jesus Christ, the
name above every name and redeemer of my eternal light soul
and spirit, the begotten son of the Father, who is the first born
of the Pleroma of grace
as i invoke, in Jesus name, grant thy humble human heart
to see and anchor my ears in your precious blood, let my faith
and hope lives in your everlasting life, and my spirit be in your
arm; place me, in your beloved elect and thy blessed greatness
of your love, may the psychic God, of the universe, grant me the
wonderful mystery of your heavenly kingdom
may the faith of your humble servant to be in you in all your
greatness and power, and may your glory, praise and wisdom
lives in our souls and spirit forever and ever, Amen
poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Life
I can feel it in the darkness
Getting closer in the night
Like a sacred song
You linger on
You give me the wings of flight
And I love your sense of power
Every hour every need
When the red light shows
Your arms enclose
Like the pillars of destiny
With one step forward
I know I can leave this behind
Never look backward
I want to move through space, through time
I want to get to it
Seek and youll find
Check the world - do it its my life
Theres a star shines over you and i
Its my life
Im just keeping my soul alive
Theres talk of revolution
Theres no solution to our plight
A red guitar can get you
But you still know how to fight
They say all roads come together
Every shoulder to the wheel
Solid gold future unfolds
When you give me the hands that heal
Im looking out, and I call your name
I go running in a circle
But I cant get back again
And Im calling I need you here
My whole life took a tumble
And Im so filled up with fear
My life feels like a runaway train
Im leading through a tunnel and I cant get back again
Its my life
Keeping my soul alive
Written by : kerr/burchill reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Success Story
Stepping out from the tunnel of champion,
Where my soul and victory have been bonded as a union.
Climbing higher than mountains,
And for sure my victory is certain.
Fought many battles harder,
And came through even stronger.
I race across every finish line,
And makes the top stories and headlines.
I can hear the cheering crowd,
And the screaming of my name aloud.
Roll out the drums,
And blow the trumpet across cities and kingdoms.
For earth has begot α hero,
A hero of class and defined ego.
Even when i don't get much love from my haters,
The taste of victory grows even much sweeter.
Victory at last in the end,
With so much foes and no friend.
The joy victory kept me going,
And the zeal of winning kept me moving.
Created with the power of an immortal,
That makes every conspiracy futile.
Inbuilt with the soul of a human,
That's why am a super human.
Now standing at the pinnacle of greatness,
After working through the road of success.
Hearing my name all over the corners of the earth,
Gives me immeasurable joy i never once felt.
Each time i crumble or stumble,
It makes me even more humble.
For winning is the aim,
And victory is my name.
Finally am a success story,
To God be the glory.
No matter the amount of hate i get,
The more victorious i get.
The more they think i will fail,
The more i make them look pale.
Even when my chances grows thinner,
It really doesn't matter because in the end am a winner.
poem by Stanley Oguh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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