The Angelus by Jean-François Millet

Of you who gnos, and yet does not
the overstand that wisdom tells. Of royalty,
that sets you free. Hear now,
of Generosity.

In all that lives and dies, there lies
in us and you and Cerberus.
A melody to set us free, our
most generous.

Lest we forget, our fallen souls
that fought for freedoms prize, of
liberation in their cries, “Viva!
la Vida!

And you and I, the Angelus
of noble birth, a messenger
of traits ideal, from Underworld
Hark! the bells, this day is past.

Our plough at rest, our heads bowed low,
a prayer in heart, the spirits grow.
In humbleness, we thank the Lord
the gift of grace, our faith restored.

Our bounded lives, from day to night
are gifted with eternal sight. To see,
and nevermore be free, except
in sacrifice.

To go without, to fill within, Wisdom
of a toothless grin. Happiness found in
an empty bowl. Nothing, worth having.
Abundance lost, in hidden kingdoms.

The Sanctimonious and Sinners, gathered
together, in duality, one reality. A fractured rhyme,
a fractured mind, beyond separation in oscillation,
between immanence and transcendence, tethered.

Greed is Good.”, new clarion call,
21st Century seer, get rich quick!
With clenched heart and cuffed wrist,
what’s mine is mine, no time for gifts.

Wisdom lost, gold does not glitter,
Our work washed away, the moment tastes bitter.
The crownless sits idly by in the gutter,
alms for a King, beg his people who suffer.

Though silent as witness’ they stand.
Let he who knows, step forth, set aside fear
and deliver us from evil. “Hear ye a flute,
of he proclaimed dead?

Focus on Locus.”, heard between laughter
the voice of a goat-head, flashed tail of fish.
And gone in a splash, to the depths of his soul,
He sang of the stars and great Basilisk.

Of wasteland and sickness that plagues one and all,
He sang in lament of the loss and the languid.
Through troubled sleep and wound in his thigh,
he struggled to see, a vision, a language.

Upon the air, a melody, his eyes in tears
Fishing, He listens, but no question hears.
Who does the Grail serve? Why does the Lance bleed?
If only a fools creed, we could follow his lead.

Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth
as it is in our power. Give us today and forget tomorrow,
our sins and our sorrow. We, the Saviour divine,
of tiny kingdoms, enshrined. Let abundance be thine.

Of centuries old, is our trouble and toil
While peace and tranquillity, locked in the Trinity.
Quaternity now is ours to embrace, and given
to those, of noble birthplace.

But what of the Gods, of heaven and under?
Whose creation and death have carved us asunder.
Our belief in the magic and mystical Nature, of
Heaven and Earth, combined nomenclature.

If Heaven exists and we can produce it, what harvest
is given to those who induce it. Abundance and Wealth
a Cornucopia flowing, from horn of the goat, to those
in the knowing.

By the river and reeds, you can hear him now singing,
His pipes and sweet melody, abundance is bringing.
The Great God Pan, is alive in the depths, and Beyond
Good and Evil hides the wisdom once kept.

Yet for those whose belief has been shaken and quivers,
a panic sets in and sends spine into shivers. A shuddering,
Thundering, quakes the boots of the lab-coat, trembling,
the host assembling, he learns from the Great Goat.

At dawn, on the fifth, look to the East,
a garden grows, and multiplies for a feast!
Let us harvest the fruit and corn overflowing,
The gift of civilization is surely worth knowing.

Let us break free from shackles, and finally see
Liberation was ours and all but decreed. Time,
To think, feel and intuit the gnosis, break the hypnosis and
Escape the psychosis. Flee from The Spirit of Gravity!

To the Sun let us fly! Let our wings shine gold!
To the gods of Olympus, where the stories of old
Can be read and a warning, given like the gift
of the choice to be free, like royalty.

For Initiates gathered, let the truth be known
Father, Son, Holy Spirit were never alone.
There are four, no less, of whole Nature aligned,
and last was She, Mater Dei, in Heaven combined.

Where is the fourth? Ancient questions foretold,
of a quest for the answer, would surely unfold.
Down the road, to the left, lowered drawbridge you’ll find
towards a mist-covered castle and the kin of your kind.

A pathway to seek and an heir to the throne,
The son of the father must make it his own.
Having left our dear Mother, now turn towards home,
Integrate the new learnings in wealth we have grown.

The Kingdom before us, Shambhala insight
We recognise Now, is our natural birthright.
Stand together as Warriors of the ancient art,
defend the line running through your very own heart.

With Compassion and Insight and The Will to Power,
Let us heal the world and let Heaven transpire.
And, as we Turn the Wheel we may also discover,
The greatest of gifts that we can give to each other.

Perhaps the greatest gift that we can give to each other is a greater understanding of ourselves.

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