sw00385jt-b1.e20

Justan Tamarind: Book I       e20



From Love, through Love, to Love: no other way
Will let us well discern our night from day.
We never can know all: because we change.
And if it seems God's truths are shorn away;
That absolutes lie lost beyond your range,
Or never were, I cannot help you, friend,
Irradicate the causes of your mange,
Unless you first desire that ill to end;
Unless God first allows it.  To spend

Ourselves, relentlessly, in search of what
We are, remains our need, as always, but:
This is a Loved-One kingdom, I believe.
We do not have to travel up that rut
Of human evolution to achieve
A knowledge of ourselves and of our goal,
As so/ many must.  Do not, then, deceive
Yourselves or let each passing theory roll
A little more of heaven from your soul.

Retain the faith your God has given you.
And not from fear.  For if our Loved-One's few
Consider their belief, as some would say,
'Creative security'; and do
Not bear the good news and the cross, their faith
Is hollow and of little worth.  My prayers
Are granted substance for those here today,
Therefore, because you are my central cares;
And while I am no priest, my heart repairs

To Loved-One just the same.  This kingdom nears
A time when every good, which now appears
So vibrant, could be poisoned into ash.
The decisions we rest upon, my peers
In spirit, will judge us: will see us splash
Into the lye our enemies prepare--
Within one thousand days--or see us lash
New beams against the dark; and bring our spare
Accomplishments to more, and keep Earth's air

From riddled screams.  We are finite beasts,
Whose sciences can only let their yeasts
React upon the finite universe,
And be at all correct.  Bound knowledge feasts
On bound objects, not boundless ones.  The curse
Of our advances, the saddest aria,
Is that we think we live absurdly, hearsed
In a 'void at the center of things'.  Let this be a
Newborn land.  Let it be named: Urania."



Postem

For Urania is astronomy's Muse,
And to the stars we must incline our views;
But first the selfish child in us must die,
Or from this orb the only lasting news
May be the remnants of a race passed by.
The justice of this universe is such
That beings who refuse to love will fry
in hells of their own making.  Purge the smutch:
Humanicide.  Heal// with the olive crutch.






§






[ Below this note is a phonetic call-to-arms (though it does not need
  to be read that way) entitled: Incantation.  I've often said it was
   from Pageant Wizard's Alchemy, a book which does not exist.
   I think my first version of "Incantation" was written in Gainesville, 
   Florida.  I am not at the moment certain about the date. ]


                    Incantation


                    Terragahn oh tahpolahzoh
                    yah trinkahlou iveederon
                    yo vahdigay yo vahdigay
                    terrez          terrez

                    Octormilou invederee
                    sayhamahrah interritahn
                    see imerow see imerow
                    ahlahg         ahlahg

                    Kristahnsibole iieeamin
                    mitahvrahlah omistifahn
                    gy sahmahrahsh! gy sahmahrahsh!
                    eelay!          eelay!





Brian A. J. Salchert