To: Sidney Reilly who wrote (51062 ) 8/13/1999 11:31:00 AM From: Father Terrence Read Replies (2) | Respond to
.....the analogy between telecommunications and talking to the dead - ride the snake - the snake is long - it eats its tail - O ye conqueror and your sons - abiding in the ten directions - O ye ocean like congregation - the peaceful and the wrathful - when, through illusion - I and others are wandering - when, through violent anger - when, through intense stupidity - out of your great love - lead us along the path - this thing that has a code and not a core - currency held in DNA - television the drug of the nation - breeding ignorance and bleeding radiation - don't believe the hype its a sequel - its all about money in the land of milk and honey - the age demanded an image of its accelerated grimace - not the obscure reveries of an inward gaze - when the uncertain experiencing of reality is dawning upon me - with every thought of fear or awe of apparitions set aside - may I recognise these visions as the reflections of my own consciousness - may I not fear those peaceful and wrathful deities - mine own thought forms - I have sung women in three cities - but it is all one - I will sing of the sun - lips, words and you snare them - dreams, words and they are as jewels - strange spells of old deity - ravens, nights, allurement - and they are not - having become the souls of song - O glass subtly evil! - O confusion of colours! - O light bound and bent in! - O soul of the captive! - Why am I warned? Why am I sent away? - Why is your glitter full of curious mistrust? - O glass subtle and cunning! - O powdery gold! - rest me, for I think the glass is evil - the wind moves above the wheat - with a silver crashing - a thin war of metal - I have known the golden disc - I have seen it melting above me - I have known the stone bright place - the hall of clear colours - and yes the sea was always there - I wandered lonely as a cloud and fed her waters as I wept - I have sung women in three cities but it is all one - I will sing of the white birds in the blue waters of heaven - the clouds that are spray to its sea - is it true that on summer days the sky is a fleeting blue with little white clouds pasted over it as a decoration - all in the shape of hearts - and isn't there a thronged panopticon with nothing but trees in it - on which little placards have been hung - bearing the names of the most famous heroes, criminals and lovers - such obviously lying news - more and more images in less space - and the white man dancing - le paradis n'est pas artificiel - l'infer non plus - the crystal can be weighed in the hand - passing within the sphere - the body that you have now - is the thought body of propensities - it is not a material body of flesh and blood - whatever may come, sounds, lights or rays - cannot harm you - from the midst of that radiance - the natural sound of reality - in one continuous stream of vibrations - reverberating like a thousand thunders - that is the natural sound of your real self - it is enough to know apparitions to be your own thought forms - you cannot die - death to videodrome - long live the new flesh - in the end nothing matters but the quality of the affection - that has carved the trace in the mind - getting lost in that hopeless little screen.....
