MOTWShe hearkens in robes of blue-green, red and gold.
The Mother of the World stands steadfast,
silently looking from far-off heights.
Yet of Her substance we all are imbued,
closer than That Her karmic threads us did weave.
We are She, this Mother of all forms.
Her Creativity abounds in songs of olde.
Devic forces dance for aeons foretold.
Her Womb expands with all forms of the Light.
She even gives birth to darkness and night.
All forms are caressed by Her Motherly Touch,
and thus touched they expand and flow
as rivers of time, streams of Sight,
massed, moving colours of mind,
all elemental lives, herds, tribes, and races of men.
The history of all forms in this world,
of all kingdoms, and the Devic hordes
resounds from Her Bosom, the ALL,
the fruit of fusion with our Lord God most high.
From whence came this union,
the eternal consummation of Might?
For what Purpose do their children evolve,
Souls of the dawning, yearning for Light?
Oh Heavenly Mother, your Son, Christ
beckons you in His ship of wings and Eyes
before and behind, through and through.
He hearkens the effulgent dawning Light,
as do all other Sun Sons that grow in His wake.
All Created, creative Souls, Her children,
must become Christs as they pass
from darkness to arenas of radiant delight,
and sing Hallelujah as they toil in love
for the fiery lives attuned to Her embrace.

The white vibrant consummating Christ Light
is the ambrosial milk
that flows ever freely from Her Breast.
The Water Bearer captures it in his urn,
for all Her children must drink.
The Heavenly twins too must sup,
male-female they embrace.
The Lion roars.
Virgo holds the golden grain.
Myriads of times she conceives,
with the Balances parturition is near,
but nine months She must wait,
nine cycles of aeons of Initiatory undertaking,
at the tenth, a God is here.
The Eagle’s talons strike as the viper
strays from its nest.
The child in the desert has much yet to bear,
but the Mother always stands comfortingly near,
and the moving arrows of Light,
arrows of mind,
arrows of sight,
focus upon a mountainous vista,
from whence flow the waters
that will convert the desert sands.
The Mother drenches it with Her tears.
The yellow sands become the verdant green
when the blue is added.
Orange, violet, and red too do flower.
The rosy-white dawning brings it all on,
then the hand draws the curtain and pulls it fast,
for what has come must come to pass.
She cries for the toil, turmoil, suffering,
and massed pain of Her children in fear.
Children weep not, the Mother is here,
comforts them in Her Bosom,
the veil of the Real,
the Sound of the Heart booming so near.
The homestead then becomes the temple
and oxen plough the salubrious land
as the lamb becomes the ram;
many cycles of seasons it roams o’er the Earth,
whilst the goat climbs the hill
and stands transfixed in the Sun.
The Water Bearer comes to fill his urn
where fishes do swim
and children yet once again do play.

In the starry Heavens it has all been foretold
how the unchained woman
became the stately Queen, and Mother of ALL,
with the sphinx in her hands
and a rod of red-blue gold;
the Moon at her feet,
and the wolf at bay howls,
for, despite his might,
he’s chained to the nether sphere
but is let loose at night,
for even he must roam
’till the dawn’s early light.
For that Light is the Day
and the Day is God’s Sight.

Floral emblems She continuously weaves
for Her Lord
and casts them amidst the plains, woods,
vales and mountainous terrains
where Her children do evolve, grow old
and learn to pray as they come to His Feet.

Come observe the fairies as they work and play,
observe the joy that radiates,
the joy that promulgates
the loving essence of their mind
as they build the forms that compose
the vicissitudes of all embodied evolving life.
Come observe the sum of Her Might.