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