There are two earths
one is but a map, a contrivance of mind,
a technical floor, the mere ground we stand for,
a doormat of skyscrapers, factories, oceans of oil
What happens when the Mother enters,
her Moon flooding the deep green valleys
skimming the surface of the greater waters?
The shame is much to bear before her Honor.
There are places on the map where no one sees,
and where all our shame and misery can be,
for a map cannot describe almost everything.
A wasteland is its own punishment enough.
Yet there is no soul that doesn’t believe in the divine,
for souls cannot believe that they are not themselves,
and atheists use their arguments as whips and chains:
by blood and fang, they chant of a dark godless Moon.
But the souls who can listen know what is true,
as the Mother enters the room, all anguish begins,
the guilt, the negligence, the seven deadly sins:
all bear weight upon the souls who could have loved.
But just as corpses grow more rotten in the sunlight,
so too do the ways of old that choose greed over love.
Sunglasses will not curb the ultraviolet rays of Source
And so allow the pain of death to give its debt to life.
Then all can choose sacred love for sacred ground
honorable as the great gorilla; gentle as delicate fawn:
breath the air, drink the water, build as flowers build,
sing the chorus of every cell, the swan song of Her Will.