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The Song of the Gods
Take me to your leader, to the gods of the Golgotha temple, to the goddesses and god-bearers of the Gopis, to the gnostics of the Grand Canyon, to Gitanjali's ghost-dance in Greece, to the great mother who hides secretly in the pentagon with the military grand inquisitors, to the Goths with their Greek orthadox chants, to the Gregorian church where along the Euphrates, Al Ghazli still sits,
As I bring these gifts of limitless energy to Hammurabi and Habakkuk, these gifts of limitless harmony for the cosmic prophets of the new haggadah, I bring the new exodus of the global mind experience, tidings of gospels solar for Ezekiel, who arises now upwards with these new galactic bones, the buddah has a new cosmic mandala that all
English mystics will sorely love,
Take me to your mother, to the Africans ranting with the eskimoes, to the Dalai Lama, who faces death before the filling station, to Durga's cathedral at Ba 'al, to the Ka 'aba with its meteorite lodged in that bindu Adonai who dwells in the acropolis of advaita, to Allah the all merciful, to Adam and Apollo, feasting at the dinner table with Ahura Mazda, I am the analytic mind,
of the Bodhisattvah bible, Ahimsa I am, so take me to your father, who dwells among the drunken stars in Babylon, for he is the fallen one, the Nafeel of Aristotle, who came down on a Saturn rocket, which was baptized by the Ba Xian in this true kind of immortal fashion, I am a subterranean god, a black bhakti from far-away, from a vast realm only Avolokiteshvara could know,
This galactic caeser, bringing now in Confucian gifts that Christians and Hare Krishnas could only just begin to know, take me to your leader, dear Chaitanya, for I bring now an ambiguous relief from the kind of colossal dukkah that only destroyed worlds can know, my yogas, a holy beast do they make, one who wears apron strings made from lasar vapors, this beast is the bringer of the new Nicene creed,
It brings holy jhanas from sermons preached on new kinds of astral mounts, that Jonah and the priests of Jesus, could only begin to see, with these new kabbalistic symbols, which rest on these different kinds of cosmic karma, a last supper filled with kundalini for the lepers of Kali living on Mount kailasa, living within the farthest reaches of inner
Space in far away Loyang,
With a message of special telepathic love, a play of Lila and maitunas with marduk and the black Madonna from Zurich, who slept briefly with maimonides, during a medieval play that even the Beatles could not understand, a mystery out of reach even for Bob Dylan, a mystery from the Martian ruins that had no answers in the Mishna, that the moon could not say to Herman Melville,
Who flew in the Merkaba with Mongol demons from Monte Cassino, take me to your leader, to the mystics of Muhammed, who commune with Moses and those native Americans found on every planet, even the Nazis with their doomed revolts against king Nebuchanezzer and Einstein could now finally see that Odin and Sir Issac Newton were just part of the same nirvava machine,
With neutrinos that the Nyigma in far off Nivneh, the cloistered home of the Orthadox Jews and the naked Pope, now I say Ommmmm, my Pleiades pilgrimage is over, a polytheist I am, my poetry is a string of monotheistic beads, for the new prophets of this promised land, the purgatory of the Pueblo Indians, the puranas of the quran, like these Presbyterians in a kind of resurrection with Quakers,
Performing Ravana's rites of passage with Teilhard and Rilke on Rumi's planet, a bead sitting on a cosmic rosary, take me to the new science of the Sadducees, a pure sadhana of these sambogakayas, that brought this shakti, that the seraphim knew, these siddhi stars from the fidgeting alien sefirot, which I welcome like a stigmata which Sufis from Sri Lanka daily celebrate about,
A glorious sukkot for the suicide bombers of Mesopotamia, with synods for the Sumerians building stupas for the Taliban who now perform tapas on live TV, these ten commandments that the Aztecs on the internet had envisoned, holy trinities of mystical voodoo, for Vishnu and the wild Wahabis, a vision pure to Venus.
01 - 02 - 03
The ALIEN - Poems from the book "Forty Immutable Parables"
All contents of this site © Finberg Books 2000-2004 by Michael Arthur Finberg
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The ALIEN: Part Seven
