A CLUB OF SUPERNAL INTERESTS Christian Esotericism, Spiritual Science, Esoteric Christianity - All Authored by a Lodge of Christian Teachers (unless otherwise stated.) (All writings copyright) ©

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Journey to Desire's End- 1992

Some may take the Gorgonian inroads,
Whilst some the pleasurable scenic drive,
The journeys are many and curious,
For the wayfarer, the traveler
- Well come!

Let us go to the market of great surprise!
Well shod!
With hoof and tail held high,
In step!
With prance and certain gaiety.
Well done!

A morning's venture,
So home we run,
Home we run!
We have slept a fair night's rest.
They champ those champions.
We plot and plan our next navigation,
Uphill, downhill,
We run.

Hither thither, thither hither,
Beware! the noonday's sun!
And then turn back
Down plotted track,
And back to bed we run.

With thread and twine,
Of half a day's wind,
We heed the call to return,
We explore in the morning,
Turn back at noon,
That before the twilight falls,
We return.

Turn back,
Turn back!
Lest the twilight catches you -
Now back,
Go back!
For the home run avenue.

Come tomorrow,
We will go again the distant route:
The ways of men,
We meet,
We eat,
We then excrete,
We sing of that and what might have been.

Go back!
The track,
That homeward runs.
The day is spent,
The songs are sung,
The home-fire burns,
The hearth is warm,
The time has come nigh
To now return home.

Farewell, farewell,
A blessing to one and to all.
The parties disband,
With a promise and a wave,
With weary cheer and hesitation,
Hopes rise on tribulation,
Good day! Good day!
And a very good night to you also.

I have stopped,
I have shopped,
I have spent,
I repent.
I have traded even my purse,
For remorse,
For my loss.

Now we carry bargains home;
With heaving fortitude,
And quiet groan,
We bear the weight,
Of this day's trading,
We hesitate,
With slight misgiving.
Was there more what was not found?
Perhaps tomorrow we will shop around.

And so the treasures and comestibles (what's left)
Are at home dispatched,
Or shared or lent,
Or lovingly admired,
Or enviously spied,
As we compare our treasure-troves . . .
And sort through piles of jumble.

I'll go again a different course,
I'll leave home very early.
I'll stretch the day,
With Summer's recourse,
And live each minute of the journey.

I'll travel, converse haggle and trade,
I'll seek out the path of the quickest -
Or no, perhaps
That I might sleep,
And dream that same dream,
And take journey
The next day or even,
The next.

For it is but the dream,
That does carry me onwards,
My night is as day,
And my day is but dreamland.

We venture and encircle,
The starry trek with great design;
A plotting and a planning,
A procession,
Through this night.

Turn back!
Turn back!
The voice begins to stir and call,
E’er come the call for wakefulness be not met at all . .

The nightly peregrinations,
The visitations,
The great embark,
Does cease with the fall,
Of the twilight of a stirring consciousness.

Home again,
Home again,
The new day begins.
There are so many inroads,
Which lead our way through
To Heaven's party,
Where there the Heavenly Host entertains,
With each,
A sweet or savory platter -
To each their swizzle stick.

Now departing,
With a kiss from an Angel of sweet virtue,
Or a bite from a demon,
Who with foul-mouthed grimace grins.
With a promise and a wave,
And a parting hesitation.

Turn back!
Turn back!
The homeward trail we turn,
As we journey forth,
Going thither and hither,
Hither and thither,
The circuit of hope's desire.

And we slumber,
Such sweet slumber,
With our days and nights
Of split continuum.
And we plan and we plot,
Our designs,
Our infinite prospects,
Setting maps and charts
With vast configuration.

And we sing of what has been,
And we sing of what is to come,
And we hear,
The songs unsung from the Word,
That needs no tongue to form.
And we laugh of exploits
With the fervor of the frivolous,
And we know that desire's end,
Comes with which attainment,
Only journey brings.

Do we share,
Or thus compare?
That which the journey gleans?
Compelled to go our own way,
The way that takes a million more . . .

Home again,
Home again,
Home again we are called.
The quickest distance,
The nearest horizon.
We travel so far as it takes,
For commensurate time to return;
For these are our limits so set,
Of the journey,
The boundary that calls for return.

We set out in the morning,
And turn around at noon,
To be home before the twilight falls,
To be home before sleep's sweet whisper calls,
That come the new morn,
We resume.

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