30 Apr 2023

Mandala by Olga Frobe-Kapteyn

Through the trackless ether

We entered a belt of fog.

There is no scent in space but

That fog brought deep cold soul-stink.

Deep cold soul-stupor, overhanging

The smallest part of divine creation.

Choking Truth, a fleeting golden animal, in the murk

Of centuries. The rising tide of filthy matter.

Excrement of evil.


The “Information Age” is DOA

Save in our mouths and hearts.

The fact of individuation is all. We cannot escape it.

And we should never wish to.

It is the nature of our being. Immutable.

Fog is the way of the slave

The way of endless death,

Abdication of free thought.

Relinquishment of Love on Earth


Let there be Light, ever more Light!

And let the Evil tremble before our scythe

May 2023