They talked, at work, of gold this morning,
the difference between base and precious metals,
the former was a bubble, financially speaking,
the latter the last thing of value on earth,
increasing based on its cost in extraction,
the modern variant of the myth in every ancient culture
how the serpents came to our planet for gold
and created us to mine it, and take dominion.
Thank you, Melchior of Babylon
for the gift of empire, in changeless gold,
for the philosopher's stone,
the earth of kings turned virtuous,
the queen that recognizes the divine so gives it birth,
the women of Parthia in the West, in angelic descent
yield their perception to earth, producing form as beauty
the loveliness of all that is endlessly created,
the sculptures, the colors, the bodies
as, from the East, the shamans and brahmins
with sage and papyrus, priests of their captor's religion,
Chaldean necromancers, Egyptian exorcists,
who hold the secrets to conquering earth with their minds
for the betterment of humanity, yield their wisdom
to the earth, producing laws of wisdom
transmitted secretly from races unknown to history,
the 144 magi, 12 messiahs, seven ages.
This afternoon, a different scent in the underground tunnels,
frankincense, strange and familiar, with its opening fragrance
that widens the heart and softens the mind,
the white stone that burns and turns the self violet,
the smoke that is spirit cleansing the air
and calling us inward to God.
Thank you Balthazar of Arabia
for the gift of priesthood, sweet frankincense,
for the fire that burns knowledge into the divine,
that illumines a vision of God the Son,
that we may see through the crystallized sand columns
built from music and plied with cosmic light,
to wear the robes of hierophant as he awaits the Christ
until revealed like an eclipse, out of the infinity of faith,
earth becomes a two-fold star lit by two perfect rays,
the bride and the groom waiting,
the binah and chokmah, the yin and yang
dancing through the skeleton frame
where the constellations, the mighty bull, lion and scorpion
marked in light within the head, high heart and loins
as one aligns with the flowing, the conclusion to the word,
the slow syrup drip of the universe.
This evening, when I came home
my wife put in the diffuser a new essential oil, myrrh,
the most powerful tool of healers, a resin that bleeds red
from the tree, embalmer of mummies
strong enough to resurrect one for the next world,
to if not cure all disease, purify the suffering
in the space between living and immortality.
Thank you Jaspar of Persia
for the gift of prophecy, bitter myrrh,
the divine feminine manifests the divine
virgin Mary in the grotto as the Christ light is born
from the bride and groom of heaven,
the mathematics of love calls down angels
from thrones from dominions from archangels
to densest earth, for heaven to beat in hearts
and vibrate inside skin;
throw the fruitcakes, hunt the wren,
set the Christmas trees on fire, dive into the water
for the cross, let Carnival begin
to celebrate the unification
of what never was divided,
spirit and flesh, earth and heaven.
