Galileo
I would sing of thee!
eyes of a visionary
reduced to cinder
before the great white axe
of their fervor and control
We
do not follow
the Sun...
Recant!
Did Socrates come upon his face
In that moment?
or Prometheus?
his gift of Reason's fire
forged with Will and quiet Observation
burned
screaming into submission
I imagine the hands
that held him
before the censer
were not the hands of a Thinker
They were the hands
of an ignorant,
programmed,
and controlled
Thug
So many Gods we can Become
So many bodies on conquerors Crosses
Pagan Warriors
until they nail us
or we Overcome them
We shall see no singular god in space
or their heaven
for that is their way
not ours
Our Gods come from within ourSelves
Archetypes
of what we can Become
in Moments
Our Light in the sky
a swirl of Humans
The Wild Hunt,
Herne's Host
So many forms
the Wheel does take
a Mass of Living
humans interacting
not spirits of the dead
a Wheel
of living Life
circling,
teeming
ascending from the swirling herd of humanity
of animals that we are in ethereal spirit
as lights we ascend swiftly
to that bright white light
and through it
it is no god to Us
but a pool
a Door
of watery light
with a glistening plateau
which we swim through
to sit awhile upon
looking down as living beings
Meditating
Rebuilding
our understanding
of Sight
the pool does not speak to Us
If You say it does
I would say to you
it is the Mind-Voice
of your Priest
You may call his Voice "god" if you wish
I will not
nor will I bow my head
to "pray"
I will look forward at you
I will not
Recant
We will interact with each other
each ourselves as gods
I will give my Teachers
Respect
Your teachers and priests
counsellors and clerics of psychology
mad priests and priestesses of the urban wilderness
clutching their Objectivity
and Degrees
amidst the maelstrom
They must
Earn this
from me
not
expect it
marijuana and cigar smoke
curls slowly
from my spliff
Herbal Sacraments
They would say it is killing me.
More swiftly
than this
Burning?
Psychology burns Sight
with an unflinching Cultural Bias
pretending to be oblivious
to its own Subjectivity
A Christian Psychologist
prostrates and speaks to their "god" at night
but mine
they define
as Illusion
I will not
forgive them
They know exactly
what they do
we cannot measure visions
or complex conversations
in layers of speech
that cannot be recorded
or parsed
simultaneously we react to
body language
word language
thought language
smell language
ethereal interactions
postural echo
no dictionaries exist
and translating Babel
we are made
another shape
of ourselves
the Tree of Life
sprouts extends grows
evolves up
through me
and fills me
with Life
spreading out
encompassing
on another good day
to die
