One is wise to cultivate the tree that bears fruit in our soul. (Henry David Thoreau)
In the serene silence of my hallowed depths
The true beauty of my belief shines
Resonating with the very essential frequency
Of my soul and all it has ever been.
I reach, quietly yet insistently, for answers
For the truth that has always captured
The fascination and compulsions of men’s hearts;
I call to my patron, Djehuti, Lord of Khemenu
The Holder of Secrets and Lord of the Equilibrium
The Ibis Headed Scribe;
And though He and I have never physically met
Nor spoken in utterable, audible sentences
I yet know He is there, guiding my barque
As I navigate my life’s seas
Sunrise to sunset, and to glorious sunrise again.
He is the embodiment of the my mind - my teacher, my guide -
And yet He is also the embodiment of the Moon
That body whose frequency changes dramatically
Yet also predictably and consistently
Shining soft, silvery illumination
That can expose more than the bright light of day
That somehow reaches deeper, further
Closer to the creative spirit of the soul
Rather than into the engulfing power of the Oversoul.
Djehuti, All Wise, Great Scribe, Lord of Letters
Guide me thus further, deeper, truer
That I may see yet clearer
And thus live, and espouse a life
That is worthy, that is pure, that is true.
Djehuti iu aper em peh-ef, kher utu aat em maakheru.
Love, Thou art the Ideal
The animus mundi
The light at the end of the tunnel
And the path that leads there.
For too long have I hidden my heart
In languish and mourning for that I have lost
And yet have I given little of myself
To all that I have thus gained.
Love, love be my religion
Be the purifier and the purified.
Wash me and bathe me in your waves
Cleanse me and empty my cup
That I may fill it afresh
And thus give libations to reflect my love,
Of that which is pure, that which is
Worthy of the truest, purest love.