I am rash and impetuous. I rush in to the empty footsteps. You lead me through a miasma, my thoughts disconnected, yet constant: Everywhere I look I see you—your ghost. I see where you have just been, where you will shortly arrive. You linger like perfume on my fingertips.

When I saw you today I started shaking. Microscopic spasms inside. It was hard to breathe. I felt the blood fill my skull. I cursed the person before me in line who was using up an eternity, fumbling with her change. I needed to be with you.

I am stricken. You don’t want me, or need me, like I need you. It’s fun for you. But for me, such fun is trivial. There is something much greater and deeper that fuels me forward, towards this bottomless pit. I ache in every corner of my being. My mind is a whirlwind without an eye—I’m blind to all but you.

Your shadow intoxicates me. You flesh is contagious. I am like the man looking over the cliff. I am so close to jumping; something silent pulls me to the edge. The gravity is powerful. I jump, I know that the fall is thrilling, but that the impact is near.

How can I describe what is happening to me? You are the best thing I’ve stumbled on, and yet I fear you the most. How can such power radiate from such beauty? How can something so small contain such virulence?

Is there a cure?

The only salve is your company. And yet, like an appetite that breeds hunger with every bite, it is such pain. There is no satiety.

No wood can assuage these flames. No water can oust this fire. It must burn. And it consumes me. This isn’t love. It’s pyromania.

Every waking moment you are in the corners of my eyes. When I close my eyes I see your face. When I sleep, there you are. I cannot escape you. If I am a whirlwind, then you are a vortex. I am electric, and you my magnetism. There is no way to separate this duality—I am made from you, by you. I am, for you.

The Apple well symbolizes the four worlds. For in the seed is
contained the image of the tree. The seeds are thus surrounded by
the core, which sustains them, yet exists from them. The fleshy part
surrounds the core, and then the skin, that subtle kingdom that
divides it, in separateness, in individuality, from the rest. So the
apple comes into being, and the tree is reborn. From the light we
move to the dense, and the whole becomes a part within the whole.

"And yet the opposite is also true. For the skin is like the first
division of the realms: veritably it partitions space from space,
and from emptiness the first sphere is laid down; then the fleshy
part, which surrounds a denser core, and then the seed, the densest
part of the fruit – the kingdom, which grows, and the tree is reborn.

"So it is the light is within the densest part, and the densest
within the lightest. The two are one, and the direction is one. We
move out from Atziluth. We move in from Assiah. Baruch HaShem.

Be mindful
Be aware of the present moment
To participate in the NOW
Thus, you will walk peacefully
and Drink in the sunshine
There is no thirst this Sun cannot quench
No appetite the Earth cannot nourish
Only by listening

Listening

With the eyes

Excerpts From: “Conversations with Hermes the Logician.”
Never before published. Found in South of France.




1. What is God? This is the first question.

God is that which contains itself.



2. How does God contain Himself?

By being in the world.



3. What is the world?

The magnitude of heaven.



4. What, then, is heaven?

The magnitude of God.



5. Where is man?

Man is in the world.

In Heaven.

In God.

Yet God is in man.



6. What is man?

That which contains God, without limiting God.



7. How can man contain God?

By being the piece similar to the whole, which in turn is self-similar in scale.

Man is the world within the world.

The heaven within the heaven.

The God within God.




8. Does God need man?

God is that which needs nothing--not even itself. God is completeness of itself. God is the fullness.



9. Why does man need God?

Because man recognizes God--man comes to know God. Man is God's sustenance.

God and man are united in the world.



10. Why do they teach us man 'fell'?

Because man is hidden from God--only from his own shadow can man perceive God's light.




11. What to you mean?

The man only knows the not-God. Yet man can come to know God independently. Man is the only one who can look upon God every day, and choose not to see Him.


12. Why does man not see God?

Because he has choice.



13. Why would man choose not to see God?

For the Truth to be revealed; and for God to be known; God must be concealed. Man is that which hides God.



14. I don't understand.

Sit, my Son, sit Tat. It is all revealed in you!



------------------------



1. You said that God is the fullness--which is the radiance. Explain.

That which is full is complete. That which radiates overflows. While God is full to completion, his radiance becomes the world.



2. Does God, then, overflow?

Nothing is outside of God. All is contained within. What could God overflow into?




3. You said, "The World."

You have spoken rightly, my son.

The Light of God is a lasting Light
The knowledge of the Lord
The Love of God is a lasting Love
The knowledge of the Word
What comes from god returns to god
The revolution of the World
Evolves the essential nature
from which to discern the whole
The movement of the seven
Cycles through the twelve
To return the soul to heaven
and rectify the selves
That come from One to know
the One, to witness all in Glory
for God moves the world, in turn
for the creation of His story.

Venus Occidental

Your smile is of Aspen wood
Luminescent, a vibration of the Moon
You light up the world
like the Lily's bloom
Your heart sustains the Sun
and casts the world in shadow
It shines where rivers run
and whispers secrets of the meadow
The woods they wait for you
and part their leaves
As the spirit of the evening
fills the void
Your laughter makes the world breathe
and keeps the world believing
It is the ear of wheat in Virgo's sheath
the toys of heaven's giving
Your limbs are like the raindrops
Refreashed by day's good labors
You shine form the mountaintops
and fill the valley with your favor
It's you the world savors

Cross this bridge of earth
Come! Commune up on the mountain!
The fire you stole is yours
As sparks that fell from counting
Yet your gentleness restores
The Ultimate to its beginning
The serpent swallows all
And the world keeps on spinning.

Ladder

Don't you know you are the stars
Rectified in form?
You stand between the pillars
Upon which rests the world
You ascend above the storm
To the place of the Angels' birth
~Here sustains the earth~
and the treasures of the Kingdom
Deep in Heaven's fold
Gather the sparks, and bring them
To the silent names of God

Conversations with a Ghost

If you loved life you would have come here. But you didn’t—you waited idly in your darkened corridor, the lamps already low and used. And what did you take from this sojourn? This ephemeral morn? Your life was spent in empty chambers of hollow rhetoric, in endless shopping malls with dripping musak and plastic people. You congregated with a thousand priests beneath the city’s crusted church and democracy’s neon steeple. Your lasers cut pieces out of the night. You left the stars; you dropped them onto sunset strip, and no one looked twice.
But you didn’t find it, did you? You never answered that strange itching discomfort asking you to live as your heart knows best. You were double-bypassed. And the mimicry of your brain took hold.
So why did you wait? Why did you let this restlessness play out itself ? How could you have not put words to the music in your ears, put voice to the song in your breast?
And so you punish yourself in uncertainty, always questioning your own motives, second-guessing your instincts. Did you learn to put these words in the bar, scuffle the notes with numbers? That strange haunting won’t leave you. No acquisitions can quite remove it—stand in the way, bounce it off like sun-rays to scatter in sunsets—but the sun also rises.
I wanted you to come here. I thought it would make it better—make it better for you. But I couldn’t have known that you had already lost the middle of yourself, had tied your brain up with your genitals. What was I thinking to hope you could leave the thing you had grown in; the thing left here by our ancestors to delineate the future between men? They were my ancestors too, and I know that then they had acted for the creation of a future relative to the sustenance of their present. How foolish to think that there is no change; that change isn’t effected and affected simultaneously by the action toward instating a norm. But they were young and dizzy with the creation of civilization. Who can blame them? I do, but I don’t hate them for their accident. I always dug Frankenstein.
Your face is paling. Every time I see you—it’s been years, I know—you seem whiter, frailer, leaning heavy on your wonder-stick as even now your little-toe becomes more useless. You poor animal—could you really love your inanimate pets more than your own imperfection?