This is the final stanza of a longer poem called M for Mars in
Retrograde. It concerns the question – Who are the true saints in the
western spiritual tradition? While characters such as the painter
Caravaggio, the gunslinger Doc Holliday, or the occultist Aleister
Crowley may have been widely regarded as unsavory rogues during their
lifetimes, they have by now become cultural icons because lacking any
valid spiritual tradition in the West, or perhaps as rebels being
incapable of conforming to any institutionalized spiritual movement,
these men zealously, irreverently, and sometimes even violently sought
toward their own revolutionary conceptions of the divine. And we today
emulate them for that.
The following extract is an ecstatic musical chorus of sacred words,
sounds, and images, offering homage to the sacred validity of a range
of traditions: Native American shamanism, the Mayan Popol Vuh,
Kabbalah, Christianity, Gnosticism. And underlying it all, devotion to
the god who, for me personally, encapsulates the spirit of passionate
love that runs through the blood of every seeker: Krishna.
Blow smoke swirls in crystal balls, glass spheres.
Colors of flames amplified through cylinders
stickered with sacred images and prayers
to the Holy Father in the Emperor’s Spanish.
Ahem, Crystal repeats. She echoes, Narcissus.
Artists, gunmen, occultists, gurus, rock stars.
Aleister Crowley blew back as Jimi Hendrix’s guitar,
which talked. Pst, Cherub, what’s it say?
Smoke swirls in Crystal Glass.
Um, hi Miss Glass.
Hello, artist. Reply.
The ball is in your proverbial Xibalban court,
archetypal live, young man, One Hunahpu.
Why I… Egh! The Wrong buzzer blares. Try again.
Slew the tootled flutings of Native American Pan pipes.
Why I… am Peter, the Spirit of the Aborigine!
Hari, hari, Krishna! Hari Peter Pan!
Lost Boys incant around a kirtan fire,
accompanied by Indian musicians, also aborigines.
The shaman says: Just think of lovely things
and your heart will fly on wings
forever in Never Never Land.
Ketherian nothingness; the Emptiness taught by Lord Buddha.
The prophet said: Second star to the right and straight on till morning.
The magi went…
A that a way – the Old West prospector points to Tenochtitlan.
The Three-Throated One voices: IAW.
Thus descend into the ternary dimension.
Binah gives birth to three: Geburah, Chesed, and Tiphareth.
The lightest path thence is down Yesod,
directly into Malkuth, the Shekhinah.
The phallus links to the Bridegroom the Virgin Mother Earth.
The Sons of Man are Lost Boys M, John Henry Holliday, Aleister
Crowley, archetype Peter Pan, who crowed to evoke the totem
animal of the Native American Ghost Dance shaman.
They practiced Thelema in one form or another,
which is: Do as thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.
sic, Liber Legis. Thus spake Ankh-af-na-Khonsu.
Sri Krishna Govindas. Hari, hari hari!
Govinda Gopalaha! Sri Krishna yaya!
The Krishna-conscious are to be heard in voco grotto.
The ignorant in chiaroscuro; blandished, the bloody victim.
What are we? Saint Matthew Peter martyrs?
Check the slate, the Thelema stele, for the camera’s positioning.
Peter Matthaya Gopalaha! Sri Peter Pan aya!
Sri Krishna Govindas hari, hari, hari!
Scene forty-seven; take one hundred and nine.
Let us commence our rosaries.
Everyone shut your eyes. Envision the mandala.
Here we go round the rosary bead, the world,
the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush, mulberry bush.
For thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory
forever and ever. Amen.
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