Cries forlorn
Break dawn’s
Eclectic clarity
Of thought and sense;

Cries born
On baby’s breath;
Wailing of one
Little boy born
Into this world
Of darkness and death.

Such innocence
No man might declare –
For no innocence
Is there.
This body young,
(And Spirit old)
Not was or will be –
Spirit Is.

The Spirit that
Is this new body’s
Doer, is such
For in lives and
Time before,
The thoughts
Which were his
Actions – deeds –
Which caught him in
His worldly greed,
Remain unbalanced,
And stain the palace
Of his Being.

Would Kings cry
On their palatial
Destruction?
Would baby die
For the right
To salvation?
But baby cries
On Spirit’s
Emaciation,
That is this
Thing Birth.

Cast headlong
Into the world
All little unseen
Boys and girls,
Whom know not Spirit –
Know not Life –
Must live and breathe
And learn of Love,
For naught but
All awaits the
Ones for whom
One is All and
All is One.

And on life and
Right living done,
Such children
Are no longer;
For a child is of
The Earthbound plane:
Youth and age are
Inseparable from time.
Where no time is –
No boys, no girls;
No gender or age
Afflict the beings
Whose indiscriminate
Thought forms are
Balanced as One.

Why seemest thou so pensive
When violently apprehensive,
With visionless postulations
Of thy earthbound situation,
Thou do nought to help thy Spirit grow;
Thou who ought let love within thee flow.

Now who fought the feelings that thee know
Would lead thee away from this earthly abode.
To live One Way in deference
Should be thy only preference;
O distraught futilitarian!
Discover what’s really there again,

Beyond beguiling fecklessness.
We wander through the wantonness
Brought down by consternations
Of will founded not in patience.
Thy thoughts and desires of earthly planes:
Why taught thee thus this mirthless game

(High aboard thy throne of worthless gain)
To those needing no more inflicted pain?
Lessons in True Perfection,
Life and Truth’s redemption,
Should young Masters be shown
And to all the world be known.

For in dire they need the knowledge
For freedom from earth’s bondage:
Freedom – as freedom reigns
Kingdoms of no needless games
(Planes where thou art wont to be)
Kingdoms beyond materiality.

I was cut off from my Self above;
Now the self you know is not my all.
Extricated by my misguided desire;
Now from myself to my Self I call
To learn more of things which I aspire
To know, live and grow, in all Love.

Though it would seem completely ineffable
To most, whose vision is limited to this,
(The body they think of as themself)
To me it seems true happiness and bliss
Comes only from true Knowledge of Self
Apart from this plane of all unethical.

Planes beyond sight are inhabited by
Beings of Light and Consciousness:
Of the Being that is the Knower;
The Thinker whom I now address;
And the Self embodied, the Doer;
Triune parts of what I know as I.

The me you know is the Doer only,
Feeling and Desire, thus embodied.
Feeling, not a sense of this plane,
But the passive Doer part in the body;
Not of the Physical are Love or pain,
Hate or greed, or what’s called Holy;

Of mind and thoughts made thereby,
Are these feelings and conditions.
Permeating bodily sense – this Feeling
Is Desire’s receiver – it’s erudition.
And Desire’s want and will is really
What controls progression of I.

Desire – the active Doer part –
Which is what allows me to say “I can”:
Conscious control of which will hasten
My awareness of the Selves I am;
Complete Knowledge of worlds I’m facing;
Growth in Spirit and in Light;
My return to Supreme and Glorious Height
As a Triune Being Complete.

We, yes the mortals now around,
Within worlds and worlds known not;
Thinking and the contact permeated
By more than our thoughts created;
Or more than by what any God begot;
Worlds within in which me move about.

Close the eyes (which see only as much
As can a stone); only sight is gone:
Vision remains as behind the eyes
A world of imaginings does materialize;
Real, as we alone can feel – alone.
A world within worlds, foreign to touch,

Foreign to gross and bodily senses
(To which, though, no sense is foreign).
Each sense conscious as its function:
The Doer and this world’s conjunction.
Sense impressions should not reign
The Doer’s thought, his acts, intentions.

Lead to lies by limited impressions:
Sight can’t perceive as much as vision;
Sight only sees the solid of the solid plane;
Vision goes beyond this; thinking does the same.
How and what the Doer thinks is his own decision –
Placing him within the Eternal Order of Progression.

Am I the animal? Is the animal in me?
Am I in the animal? What can the me be?
What makes this flesh to move so free?
What binds unto this flesh the me?
What is the me of me? and what is I?

I am a product of my thought,
Though thought is a product of me.
I am a being who has fought
With the pangs of culture,
With the pain to be free.

I am lost though I know where I am.
And I am all though seeming none.
And yes, I struggle to again be One.

But am I the animal? Is the animal in me?
Am I in the animal? What more is there to me?
Why unto me this affliction grown?
Why unto me these facts not known?
And what state is this that I call “free?”

These forgotten facts I once knew well
And now do seek them out.
From realms beyond to flesh I fell
Casting out the Light of Truth;
I then knew not what I was about.

Freedom comes again, though ne’er it left,
When desire’s freedom wills its way
Again to Light and from this world away.

But why am I the animal? It is not in me!
I am in the animal! How came here I to be?
What curse upon myself was cast?
That I had to live through past
And future, knowing Time just cannot be.

The passage of learning is the illusion of Time
And Time is the teacher of all.
This? No curse: life away from the shine
Of the Light – from which lessons learnt will
Show the Way back to from where I did fall.

The animal was my downfall; into its clutch I came:
A tool for toiling and learning, though Time has no end
With this, my tool: Time I shall transcend.

These coils of flesh to which I am bound,
Do hold and upset, do try to confound
All the things that I live for, long for,
That by my right should be mine:
The parts of me left when in past time,
Unsatisfied with perfection, first body I wore.

Enthralled with this fleshy work of my art,
I did soon come to believe that this body was me;
And that all that I lived for was to breathe;
And that an end I’d have just like this had a start;
And that nothing more was that wasn’t real by sense.
Such a fool then, in foolhardy ways!
My Self did I lose – how? In the things that I made.

Yes! my Self was lost in those bodies of mine,
To live and to struggle through this illusion of time
And of matter and thought, and on thinking now,
I long for and live for my return to True Life;
To knowing my Selves as once they were – One.

My desire lies elsewhere, not this limited plane,
Where toiling and struggle for pathetic gain,
For sensual pleasures – short-lived as they are –
Do take the possession of too many a man,
Each granted the facility to live out his desires:
This body is my tool to get out of this plane
Of menial existence, of hard-earned pain.

This plane of illusion, though the illusion is real,
Does, to most men, the beauty of Self conceal.
Little or none is known of the parallel planes
That permeate matter, that permeate mind,
That know it not but it all; that procreate Time;
The planes on which thought has substance and life,
And controls the events in the passage of history,
Which teach the man through pain and through strife;
That love the man – for Love is the Life.

Nothing is as far as it seems,
For all is possible in the dreams
Of the one that’s with you, within you.

And dreams are of thought –
What could be more real?
Only a thought can build.
Only thought can heal;

Only thought creates;
And when thinking is done
Those forms you made
Have decided your fate.

And when thinking in One
No thought you create.
(This is the secret of
The opening of the gates,

Of pulling back the curtain
Hiding Light that awaits.)
To release thinking’s tenure
From the illusory sense,

Is to free one’s own life
From this Garden of Deaths;
To return to a permanence
Every man has known;

To return to the sanctity
Of his everlasting home.
But before homeward bound
Thy spirit can fly

There’s a Light within Reason
By which one must abide
And adhere to, when found.
Thus balancing thought forms

Of his past lives,
The seeker no longer shall
Be born or die.