Jaguar Temple. Yucatan. Mexico.
The Old Slave-Music
Blow back the breath of the bird,
Scatter the song through the air,
There was music you never heard,
And cannot hear anywhere.
It was not the sob of the vain
In the old, old dark so sweet,
(I shall never hear it again,)
Nor the coming of fairy feet.
It was music and music alone,
Not a sigh from a lover’s mouth;
Now it comes in a phantom moan
From the dead and buried South.
It was savage and fierce and glad,
It played with the heart at will;
Oh, what a wizard touch it had—
Oh, if I could hear it still!
Were they slaves? They were not then;
The music had made them free.
They were happy women and men—
What more do we care to be?
There is blood and blackness and
dust,
There are terrible things to see,
There are stories of swords that
rust,
Between that music and me.
Dark ghosts with your ghostly tunes
Come back till I laugh through tears;
Dance under the sunken moons,
Dance over the grassy years!
Hush, hush—I know it, I say;
Your armies were bright and brave,
But the music they took away
Was worth—whatever they gave.
Sarah Morgan Bryan Platt
IX
Kin 174: White Overtone Wizard
I empower in order to enchant
Commanding receptivity
I seal the output of timelessness
With the overtone tone of radiance
I am guided by the power of spirit.
Everyone is an illusion; there is really no "me", and/or "they." They are all me and none of them is me.*
*Star Traveler's 13 Moon Almanac of Synchronicity, Galactic Research Institute, Law of Time Press, Ashland, Oregon, 2014-2015.
Visshudha Chakra
No comments:
Post a Comment