What Dyēus Gives, Dyēus Shall Prosper

Ma’at Sings Song of Comforting Truth

Do you think Dyēus gives only to waste?
To have you taste in haste your gift,
Where you’ve been placed, only to sift
And shake you down with frown, then rake
You aside ne’er to abide to flourish?

Do you think Dyēus has left you destitute,
To impute to you sin, dilute your life,
And thus refute all good plans for you,
Both small and grand; to have you stand
For judgement on pungent summit of hell?

So you owe a dime to Caesar, and have not
Any time to climb out of debt nor escape
Frightening threat, yet you have now met
Your deadliest foe, and found tis you
From head to toe in the jester’s show.

And do you think that Dyēus does not know,
And even now plot to untie your ugly knot?
Will not your mother God be also brother
And sister, and friend to bend the future
To bless you with success, not distress?

You have fine tomorrows waiting for you
With fine wine of heaven and the bread
Of angels upon which to feast, though you
Be the least of his children, not beast;
Dyēus will care for you, and no one dare
Try to tear you from his arms wrapped
Round you to keep you from every harm.

Amen.

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Two Ways or Three There Be

And so Ma’at spoke to me and said:

You have heard it said, and tis true, two ways there are
And not so far the one from the other, brother, but too
Is there the third of which you’ve heard; the less trod
By man of dirt and sod; extremes are an ease to please;
But why walk chalk line of self-destruction, my dear?
Do hear me and see, the path of complete renunciation
Blinds and binds you from liberation as much as running
The cunning way of hell under death-toll bell as well
Of poison ‘ore flows as rot-scented wind blows south
Of Eden… Ah! but both paths strike badly as you hike
To end of life you never really lived, but even pined
For in the depths of your soul, but the hole was lest
Open, bleeding, putrefying and you’ve only been dying
Believing the lying that one or other is more satisfying;
But what of the third way? On this very day you may
Change course, and ne’er to stray, from the Via Media,
On the middle way, the balance-way, to stay to beyond
Any ending on the only unending course ~ the Via Media

Two ways only, or three there be? Three in the Via Media
Via Media … the middle way you may walk without pay;
Via Media, my love dove; the Via Media.

Song of Ma’at to Gaia

Flames fly higher and higher in tremendous Mystery
In primordial history long forgotten by humanity;
And the chants, dances, incense from dried plants,
And trances beyond the naked eye to spy the reality
Of the numinous, the spirit world wholly unfurled,
~ shocking always, unnerving, swerving undeserving
Soul into netherworld ~ and therein lies worshipping
Of all-too-real realities unknown to most born now,
And how, but by blindness of mind, binding of heart
From the very start; we are incredulous, not sedulous
For care of our own inner person, whether a sinner
Or no; but there were saints who wore sacred paint,
Touched the hem of garments of gods and goddesses,
Reached for the very sun at night with an holy fright,
To see the light of heaven on earth, place of birth,
To join in the mirth of nymphs and sprites and angels
. . . and are we to blame for the dying flame? Who will
Rekindle the burning, churning fire of desire of soul?
Will she come ~ magna Messiam ~ to some or to all
To rescue again from the Fall, stand tall and enthrall,
Offer breast of life to suckle, best of body and blood
As food and drink to pull us back finally from brink
Of foolish self-destruction and induction into an hell
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ of our own making?

Ah! Will flames fly high again in tremendous Mystery
In our history not to be again forgotten by humanity?

Öyle olsun! Öyle olsun! Öyle olsun!

 

Ma’at and the Third Dawning, Part II

Warm, rich cream suckled with placid dreams dreamed
Seemed best celestial fantasy, pressed against breast
Of Ma’at as I sought to fall back into sweet sleep;
“You don’t pretend to be other than mortal but spend
Of your passion freely, and all in an honest humility.
You remind me of kind simplicity and authenticity.”

Awakening was like shaking me back into quaking truth
Of horrors of impending doom, bending the far horizon,
Tending toward the ending of all without comprehending
Unrelenting judgment to come upon everyone, not some;
And so my tears flowed freely, clearly showed sadness,
And owed nothing to pride, as scented breeze blowed.

“Why such blight, my love, after such an awesome night?
Do you not remember the sight and sound of goodness
In the city; the pretty girl, shop keeper, street sweeper?
My dear, don’t be so drear. Goodness never lies nor dies;
But every new dawning is the purging for the emerging
Of another new world; queue for what is pure and true.”

Still it sounded like a curse to be poured from the purse
Of Dyēus — this coming dawn — “and so you’re now drawn
To asking what will be with no masking the coming dashing
Of the Second World in which you survive but do not live?
So I will tell you, but only in part in care for your heart.
But know what I show is in the flow of time, and will grow
Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ Ψ   Into another world aglow with life.”

So I waited with bated breath as she walked over the floor
Toward golden door, turned and stared across the space,
Looked with serious face and began to speak at eerie pace:
“Nations will fall and leaders crawl; the rich will pitch
For sale their bodies and souls, like witches and bitches;
Corporations will tumble, crumble with no more to whore.”

“Ice will melt by the diffusion of pollution, and be felt
Over the earth by rising tides that will preside ore floods
Of ocean blood; fields will dry and millions cry for meals,
Even peels of fruit, bit-pieces of an eel, or bark of abeles;
Disease will spread with nothing to ease the dying in bed;
And the fall of man will come like the blowing harmattan.”

Ma’at still stared straight into my open eyes with no lies,
And continued with sinewed voice: “Some will band together
Under the command of one strong, to whom the weak throng;
So clans will arise to claim whatever prize they may find
Upon the rind of decaying earth, for whatever it’s worth;
Ah! but after this comes the new birth, see; the new earth!”

Overwhelmed at what was coming, and what I was becoming,
What could I do but cross the space and embrace Ma’at?

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Ma’at and the Third Dawning

“‘Red skies at night, sailors’ delight; red skies in the morning, sailors’ warning,’
So speaks the wisdom of sky and sea,” Ma’at grabbed my waist band with strong hand;
“The far horizon is dizened rouge, my love, and it is morning, so this is a warning
For all who can see,” then she looked at me. “Are you blind, or can this you find?”
But I missed the intent of her query so remained content in silence, and to relent
To words wizened through the eons, prepared to offer my paean to the Aegean goddess.

red_sky_at_night

“Do you remember the tower of power, Maftet showed you? Frozen for the ill-chosen?”
My head nodded as Ma’at led me out onto the balcony. “It was agony for this world,
But that was the Second Dawning you saw, slowly yawning; Dyēus turned celestial page
And so began another age, this age whose page is now full-worn and ready to be torn.”
My face was forlorn, “The prophets of doom and gloom are right, the end is in sight?”
Ma’at smiled, “No, the sun sets on this age for another world begun, heavenly spun.”

Why, then, warning of the red dawn morning? Unfurled, what would be this new world?
“Alarming, isn’t it?” Ma’at intoned as she hurled me once more thru space and time;
“Trace the lines of history and you find much misery, yet too much good and true.”
An ancient room now, fragrant with incense and dense with myriad flowers and trees,
And birds and bees; royally furnished with gold, silver and bright burnished wood;
“My honeycomb home!” she wildly laughed; I mildly smiled. “Your home, too, my child.”

Beauty astounding, resounding with echoes of another sphere and me merely human;
“From here you will see,” Ma’at still laughed at the thrill of it all; I felt so small;
An unearthly chill ran down my spine, but with ever goodwill she said, “I will fulfill
And kill your burning curiosity, and calm the churning of your quivering soul.”
With practiced sly-skill she led me into another chamber with obviously no danger;
“Here is an ember from the timber of the first tree,” showing me the glowing rock.

“This ember will the three mothers ~ Sélená, Cybele and Kheba, treble sisters terrible
In power ~ take and cast into everlasting sun, then shall the new world have begun.
And this will be the Third Dawning, but not yawning as the Second; no, this will come
In quick flight, in fright and terror; as bearer of destruction and reconstruction.”
My head shook dismayed as I prayed; “But my vision was not of apocalyptic collision
Or damnation and mutation! There was beauty and wonder, no cruelty or plunder!”

wingedmaat

“Ah, my child, you’ve always heard the calm before the storm, but really the balm
Is the storm before the calm.” Ma’at gently stroked my pale face with trace of love;
“Brace yourself for the vase to be out-poured upon the earth; embrace all grace
Offered by heaven to leaven your life without strife; you’ve only seen in small part,
Like the false prophets, as if dimly through glass, but they’re crass, cunning asses!
You are true, though oh-so imperfect, and have found profound favor with Sélená.”

“There is here much to see, so be brave not knave,” Ma’at spoke firmly with poke
To my chest for me to be my best. “But not yet; you are tired and beset with worry;
Lie down here next to me, and drown yourself inside my gown, flesh to fresh flesh.”

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Note: Second picture 19th century print of the Interior of an Ancient Egyptian Palace by Charpentier — Image by Gianni Dagli

Ma’at and the Pyramid of Truth, Part IV

Ma'at2Through mist and bogs, and numinous fogs
Ma’at led me from rattle of recent battle
And prattle of lies to the city of Seattle,
Again donned for place in this space of time;
Regained my composure with closure of lips
Upon lips, tightly pulling us hips to hips.

“I want to show you this, so you will know,
And grow more in maturity, wisdom, purity
And self-surety; for there is no need here
To end your life to end your strife, love;
For in the Abyss there is no peace and bliss,
But greater pain, famine; you’d be a gamin.”

“Look here through this drear avenue window,
And what do you see?” Obeying, I cut a glance
Through the smut covered glass and saw a lass,
Curled alone in the corner of a gloomy room,
Holding her doll like some sacred shawl, crying;
“She has no papa to care, to bear her life.”

Tears rolled down my face; I thought I’d drown
In sadness; “And mama works through the trauma,
And cannot stand the demands she understands
In caring for this child, so mild, so innocent;
Can you see, dear man, that you can be father
To one of these; to fill and please their hearts?”

Another twist and twirl, hurl from place to place,
And we were on a sidewalk, busy and loud with talk;
“Do you see the street urchin, no shoes for feet,
who’s been beaten, cheated, and ere so mistreated?”
I nodded, prodded, “Has the child no where to go?”
“Maybe a father to gather and slather him with love?”

Yelling loud, obnoxious, from proud-suited, ugly man;
Young lass, head hung, silent tongue, clearly stung:
“How damn stupid can you be? You see I’m slam busy!
I don’t have time to look for you in some pop-shop!
No damn brain, you drain me, and strain my nerves!”
Father, yes; papa, no. “Do you see what you can be?”

Ma’at wrapped me in her strong arms, free from alarm,
EyeAnd gently whispered intently, “You have been freed
To meet great need, my love; for there are so many
And any would be thrilled to have your warm affection,
And projection of love in real relational connection;
Rejected by your own, you have not been thrown away!”

Another kiss and tighter squeeze to ease my heart pain;
“You are flowing along the third stream, and growing,
Not blown off course, but shown new ways for new days;
Remember long ago, I told you this is the Third Dawning;
Ah! yes, you remember the December night dream-vision…
You are interlaced with grace that flows at peaceful pace.”

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Ma’at and the Pyramid of Truth, Part III

Cars sped down Main Street, leaving rubber scars on asphalt wearing under the tearing of the inexplicable race of people who had no ability, or sense, to better pace themselves for the sake of their own health and well-being, apparently not seeing the destruction of such flurry and hurry upon themselves as well as others. Ma’at leaned close as she screened the pointless madness and carefully preened her boy-love appropriately for such reckless scene.

galatea-low[1]She, too, was dressed for the time and scene, and I was no less impressed. Ma’at was overwhelming in magnificence with no need for extravagance nor any grandiloquence; she could simple be and anyone could clearly see her stunning beauty. “Ah, look!” She pointed to an elderly Greek priest, so obviously humble and meek. “Theophilus, venerable Theophilus! Old now but never cold; his name means ‘lover of God,’ and thus his claim to local fame, but he could just as well be named Faroqh, meaning ‘truth,’ for above all he loves Dyēus of truth and love, yet in all truth Theophilus loves love above all, for truth and love call to one another, and bind themselves together in unbreakable bond in Dyēus. And so this is Theophilus, truly heaven-sent, now bent with age, this wizened sage.”

Walking deliberately with careful gait, Father Theophilus did not long wait at the thick-wooden, double doors to step inside onto sheen marble floor of the gold-domed building with sharp cross atop that seemed to prop the very sky. “Yes, my pup, you would do well to drink of his cup, for he learned long ago to walk the Noble Path in sacred silence, with talk of only what is sound and pure, profound and sure. But in learning the burning pain of this world, he was enlightened to the truth that these clouds of pain are what give rain of joy.”

She wove her arm in my arm, and talked while we walked. “And in dispossessing himself of all, he found himself in possession of all, and so in dying to the lying of worldly pleasure, he was reborn to adorn the world with heavenly treasure. And so in him death took its last breath, which freed him from the endless cycle of futility to live forever in happy humility, and more, to live to give grace in every case and place to every face. In this, he travelled further along the Noble Road toward celestial abode, though Buddha of long ago, flowed freely, and showed in his day the higher way, and glowed with radiance without variance of truth.” We continued walking down the side walk, bustling with people hustling here and there and everywhere but seemingly nowhere, past a pair of drunks sharing a park bench with stench of alcohol.  “There is trouble everywhere; you don’t live in a bubble… What would Lao Tzu do here and now, and how?” Question. Hesitation.

Aletheia[1]“Did not Maftet show you the tower built for power, sitting in the blow of snow and ice, place of all evil and vice?” I nodded. “Look around you; here is a profusion of towers of confusion, and what would Jesú say today? The might of light penetrates the darkness, which cannot harness its brightness. And for all the people scurrying and hurrying in and out, about their business worries, those buildings loom large in the city like empty tombs. But watch! There is an intricate nautch of goodness, flowing throughout the frenzied madness, celestial dance envied by angels. The old woman selling her flowers is herself a tower of joy, and the boy with the papers, too. The middle-aged man opening his bistro is a veritable maestro of  generosity and honesty, as well as the street sweep, who keeps in his heart more gold than the old banks along these streets so replete with greed. And look at the little girl meeting the need of the homeless man; she’s not rich like the bitch passing by with irritated sigh. That small angel is giving in silence her whole allowance today, what she was going to use to pay for a tea-party tray. She comes from a healthy family, though by no means wealthy. She simply loves and gives because that’s how she’s been taught to live, brought up in the way of virtue from day to day.”

Ma’at turned me to the right, holding me tight. “And look there at the precious boy with golden hair. They call him cripple, but I tell you he stands tall and walks through life with longer strides, stronger than most anyone with legs that hurry and scurry. He has no money at all to give, like the angel-girl, but he can hurl more treasure from the depth of his soul with pleasure, blessing all life around, even the least of beast, with yeast of kindness and hope, mildness and wide scope of happiness that drives away all loneliness.” Her eyes were sparkling and dancing as she turned me to face her again. “You see! Don’t be so sad! Yes, there is bad in the world and you see it abound all around you, but if you’re not careful you’ll miss the bliss of heaven that leavens even this district that evil would otherwise constrict. Look around you, and you’ll see goodness in bloom and plenty of room for more; only open the door of your heart, my love, and let it flow like a river of silver and gold of untold worth … all you were given from birth.”

One long, strong kiss and … home again.

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Note: First image from http://www.pixshark.com; second image from awakeningthegoddesswithin.net