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Extract from Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet

And now you ask in your heart, 
"How shall we distinguish that which is good in pleasure from that which is not good?" 
Go to your fields and your gardens, and you shall learn that it is the pleasure of the bee to gather honey of the flower, 
But it is also the pleasure of the flower to yield its honey to the bee. 
For to the bee a flower is a fountain of life, 
And to the flower a bee is a messenger of love, 
And to both, bee and flower, the giving and the receiving of pleasure is a need and an ecstasy. 

People of Orphalese, be in your pleasures like the flowers and the bees. 

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  • The following video is a reading of a poem - THE GREAT REALIZATION - by Tomos Robert - and how the Covid Virus changed the world in a good way:

    The Great Realization | Storytime Read Aloud - YouTube

    "Tell me the one about the virus again, then I'll go to bed..." It's storytime! The Great Realization, Tomos Robert’s message of hope and resilience during the coronavirus pandemic, has resonated with millions online. Now he’s partnered with award-winning illustrator Nomoco to bring his inspirational poem into a beautiful picture book that’s perfect for anyone, of any age, who needs to see why hindsight is 2020.

  • Journey Into Light
    As I enter the Celestial Sanctum; I surround myself with Light.
    Sometimes I wonder if I need to; in this mist of Cosmic White.
    No longer in the physical; A Being of Light I became;
    Free to travel in the ether; My fear of separation overcame.
    I danced among the Masters; and floated high above;
    I soared from place to place; receiving the Gift of Love.
    My time for wonder limited; It is time now to return;
    To my life upon this planet; My task to teach and learn.
    I enter my home sanctum; The scent of incense strong;
    Two sacred candles still burning; All is right and no-thing wrong.
    I hear music softly playing; As into my body I return;
    From my Journey into Light; Another mystical sojourn.
    My senses fully woken; I now become aware;
    The Journey into Light; was made to me so clear.
    Surrender of the Spirit; Will bring you to the Light;
    Is a message from the Masters; I bring you with delight.
    This was a Cosmic Initiation; On a higher-level realm.
    Not just another moment; of relinquishing the helm.
    The inner peace I'm feeling; Is like nothing felt before;
    A mix of Light and Life and Love; Fill my soul for evermore.
    Image result for journey into light images
  • This is another poem that Oriah Mountain Dreamer used in her book What We Ache For - besides really liking the poem - the last two lines I really love and will take to heart.

    Things to Think, by Robert Bly

    Think in ways you've never thought before
    If the phone rings, think of it as carrying a message
    Larger than anything you've ever heard,
    Vaster than a hundred lines of Yeats.

    Think that someone may bring a bear to your door,
    Maybe wounded and deranged: or think that a moose
    Has risen out of the lake, and he's carrying on his antlers
    A child of your own whom you've never seen.

    When someone knocks on the door, think that he's about
    To give you something large: tell you you're forgiven,
    Or that it's not necessary to work all the time, or that it's
    Been decided that if you lie down no one will die.
  • From the Daily readings of the 13th Century Persian poet Rumi as translated by Coleman Barks - The Treasure's Nearness:

    A man searching for spirit-treasure
    cannot find it, so he is praying.
    A voice inside says, You were given
    the intuition to shoot an arrow
    and then to dig where it landed,
    but you shot with all your archery skill.
    You were told to draw the bow
    with only a fraction of your ability.
    What you are looking for
    is nearer than the big vein
    on your neck. Let the arrow drop.
    Do not exhaust yourself
    like the philosophers who strain to shoot
    the high arcs of their thought-arrows.
    The more skill you use,
    the farther you will be
    from what your deepest love wants.
  • The author/poetess Oriah Mountain Dreamer likes to refer to the poetry of others to make a point in several chapters of her book The Dance.  The following - by the Sufi poet Hafiz - was found in Chap 5:

    It Felt Love

    Did the rose
    Ever open its heart

    And give to this world
    All its

    It felt the encouragement of light
    Against its

    We all remain


    –  Hāfiz e Shīrāz

    Rose - Light Yellow Center with Deep Red Edges

  • 2013 - The following poem was written by a Frater "Across the Pond" - he has given permission to post it here - and it is done in remembrance of Veterans everywhere and all who have come before:
    Meeting in Time
    The Anahata sound arises in a forlorn heart
    As another soul returns to its dwelling place above
    And its note seeks its corresponding note
    In both rthythm and chord across the Space below.
    A song sings the name of its beloved
    Upon and across the crests of time
    Knowing not when its notes
    Will form the melody once more.
    In Infinity is Cosmic Immensity
    In Eternity are the unlimited spirals of time
    Mentally constructed by Man
    Removed by Love and rhyme.
    The cross of matter is both cruel and benevolent
    But joy divine returns to that human heart
    Which finds its true voice in their other,
    Where melody begins once more.
    Tears of remembrance drop
    Like torrents in a sacred well
    The sounds finally blend like blood and wine
    To be drunk in loving verse.
    Image result for red remembrance poppy image
  • Love at First Bite

    It was the tender age of seven
    When the introduction was made.
    Me -  a young, naive city-girl
    For this encounter ready-made.
     I remember the evening so clearly,
    Muggy summer heat what I recall,
    When in walked my Uncle Louie,
    And what was to be my downfall.
    He carried a big box so gently,
    Then opened it for us kids to see.
    We looked inside in child-like wonder,
    At what was soon to be eaten with glee.
    What we saw was a cheesy circle,
    Covered with meats of all kind,
    With colorful veggies in the mix,
    A treat to boggle the mind.
    Where was the garbage?, I wondered,
    For he had called it a garbage pie.
    Then a piece to each was given,
    With my first bite - out came a sigh.
    From that day forward,
    A fan of Pizza I became.
    Pepperoni on thin-crust my favorite,
    Jersey pie the best is my claim.
    Related image
  • The below poem - To The Temple of Alden - was mentioned in The Essenes Digest article - The Essene Lineage in California: Carmelites and Rosicrucians at Carmel in 1602 - by Richard Schultz, Ph.D., F.R.C. and seems it was written by HSL under a pen name of Royle Thurston.   Overall the article is quite compelling besides being a good read. 


    To The Temple of Alden

    Royle Thurston (H. Spencer Lewis)
    Reprinted from The American Rosae Crucis Vol. 3, No. 2 (May 1920), p. 26
    The old Rosicrucian “Temple of Alden” is situated in the oldest section of California among
    primitive ruins on a hill overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Alden was its first Master and
    founder in 1603.

    The coastline ranges far, the skies unfold;
    The mountains rise in glory, stair on stair;
    The setting sun sheds Gold Rays as of old
    In thickets dark where roses bloom most fair.
    The ancient sea, deep wrinkled, ever young,
    With salt-lip kisses still the silver sand.
    In ruined Temple dwells the Master with silent tongue
    And alchemists with strange fire shake the land.

    An hundred generations here have come,
    And wandered o’er these hills and faced the light;
    An hundred times slight man from mortal womb
    Has leapt and lapsed again into the night.
    Here tribesmen dwelt, and fought and cursed their star,
    And scoured both land and sea to sate their needs;
    Prophetic eyes of Alden gazed here afar,
    And laid the cornerstone of mystic deeds.

    Nor dreamed this mystic mortal of his Past,
    Nor the deep sources of his life divined;
    Watching his herds, or nets in ocean cast,
    Deaf to the ancestral voices down the wind;
    Nor guessed what strange young likeness should arise
    Self of himself, far in the future years
    With his own soul within his sunlit eyes,
    And in his heart his secret hopes and tears.

    Yet, Alden saw—Yea, from his lofty stand
    He saw each life continuous extend
    Beyond its mortal bound and reach a hand
    To others and to others without end

    He saw the generations, like a river
    Flow down from age to age, and all the vast
    Complex of human passion float and quiver
    A wondrous mirror where incarnations glassed.

    And still through all the ages scarce a change
    Has touched those mountain slopes or seaward curve,
    And still the folk beneath the old laws range,
    And from the ancient customs hardly swerve;
    Still Life and Death, veiled figures, hand in hand,
    Move o’er men’s heads, dread, irresistible,
    To ope the portals of that other land
    Where Peace Profound and Alden dwell.

  • This is the Rumi poem Frater Steven read in a Podcast - he does not know the title but he posted it for me - and now I am reposting it for him as he takes his place amongst the stars!!!

    Inside the Great Mystery that is,
    We don’t really own anything.
    What is this competition we feel then,
    Before we go, one at a time, through the Same Gate?

    If you’ve opened your loving to God’s love,
    You’re helping people you don’t know
    And have never seen.

    Is what I say true? Say “yes” quickly,
    If you know, you’ve known it
    From before the beginning of the Universe.
  • I wish the bees I am dealing with we’re loving.  flr aix Years they have been feeding off of my

    honey, and am dealing with major abuse abuse and sabotage.  I even show the the mwntal anguiah they bring to me for not stopping, and they continue to harass more.  Though as the marriage of heaven and hell states, “rose cover the thorns as the singing bees fly’s over the barren Heath”. That argument correlated with my shaman issue and legal argument.   As the rose feeding the bees honey, I too tried stopping. So they hack amd wired my phone.  It’s quite disturbing.  I will Ben once my village tuning into nature as I’m guided onhow to handle the bees. As the magistry, without this abuse I wouldn’t know how roc establish the order.  I have tried everything’s to help the bees become good people.  There’s nothing I can’t do but bring a legal criminal case whichever I’m upset about.  I can’t move to Europe because the bees don’t stop 

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