Change, sustenance of life;
Precursor of death.
Change, an historic marvel
Of teaching and learning
And the way.

In change there is stability.
In stability constant change.
In the fluxatious existence
That is the universe
Only change knows purity
And only change knows stability.

Nothing can be as forever would seem.
For only nothing can be forever, for
Forever is a void of time –
Devoid of time, though encompassing all
That time would encompass.

Life changes to death changes to life.
In change is stability and growth
For life and growth are but forms
Of this marvel change.

In a perfect world there is nothing.
For only nothing as we know it is pure
As we wish it. For in nothingness
Everything may exist, in purity.
In purity everything may transcend the
Mundane, transcend the remedial
Futility of the world.

History has taught and teaches us
That history continues in a flux
Of change. Change only in history
Has been stable. Both history past
And history future. Change only.

So why fear death or life or change?
Only change is pure, and only change
Can endure. Death is a part of history
Past, present and future.

Death is a part of all time. All paths,
All knowledge and all learning
Are encompassed in this death
Encompassing life.
Such as this may be, only those
Unafraid will know,
And change.

“Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration” – Shelley.

Staring at the rain, he sits.
Watching, waiting, surmising
The pains and tribulations of life
(Of lives not his own)
This man in thought, not alone.

Glaring at the sky;
Mind racing onward and thoughts
Chasing each other out of the obscurity
Of such an animate mind.

He looks at the sky
And at the rain;
He sees through the sky
And weather;
Through the mind
That makes him the
The hierophant.

Through the rain and the
Skies he becomes clearer.
I see his face;
I feel his face.
I see through the face
That sees through mine.

In the expanse of his eyes
I drift through time:
The sleeping woman
And the dying baby,
Unaware of any death;
The crying infant
And the three century tree,
Unaware of any Life.
In the expanse of his eyes
I reflect and conjure
The passive activism –
The passive worship.
His mind sees not the object
But the mind seeing the image.

Again, the image of
A face appears:
The face that once was
Young, and at once is old.
But youth shines through this age;
Giving hints of men
Who’ve fought, and men
Who’ve worshipped, and
Men who’ve taught,
And women tending babies.

Active mind; a process
Takes the place
Of each thought
Racing, chasing, losing,
Teaching: traversing
The realms of his mind.

No small diversion,
As images of
Rain or sky
Can slow his mind.

His mind is free.
His thoughts are free.
Freed from constricting objects
Lay people see day after day.
His mind is free to see
Far beyond images
Of any objects,
And his mind sees far
More than any object.

Far more unseen, unfelt,
But known.

How to see knowledge
As Knowledge?
For the tangible
Knows no bounds,
But is not boundless.
What the hand may touch,
The mind should not.
What the mind may touch,
The hand never will.
So may he surmise.

How can a hand touch Life
When a hand has no Life?
Merely animated by Life,
A hand cannot survive alone.

How can the hand
Touch the flower
And feel the Life of
The flower?
How cannot the mind,
Knowing the Life in the
Hand, and knowing Life
In the flower,
Feel the Life they share?

Still he sits;
Stares at the sky,
And the clouds and the rain.
He never moved, never
Reached to touch any flower.

Set apart by profundities
Of his own perception;
Set apart by limitless
Vision perceiving all,
Much more than sight alone;
Set apart by worlds apart;
(Though part of each other)
Worlds which only he may enter;
Worlds within.

In turning inward there
Can be nought unfound;
Nothing can be unknown
Nothing unheard;
For knowledge of nothing
Is everything.
A ubiquitous wisdom
He may find and become,
As the limitless and
Bountiful source of the
Knowledge of All.

A god within built within
And fashioned without
The help of bible or
Scripture.

A god within of extrinsic
Wisdom, of extraneous
Creation; the god of all
Outside; the god of rain
And sky.

Nought can there be
Without the process within.
Nought can be from
Anywhere but thought.
He thinks, creating his
Chasing thoughts;
Thinking, balancing thoughts.

He who,
Like the hierophant,
Turns and returns deepest within
Finds the most outside.
To him I will turn –
And return.