Saturday, October 27, 2018

An anjana in Ajijic

An Anjana In Ajijic
An anjana is a type of witch in Hispanic folklore who takes on the disguise of a horrid old woman to test the charity of human beings. But in her true form an anjana is a very beautiful young woman who lives underground and has many palaces full of treasures and many precious stones.
In her true form an anjana is said to be clothed in flowers and silver stars. She wears green stockings and walks in the air. An anjana carries a golden staff that can turn anything into a treasure. You know if you have been in the presence of an anjana if your dreams come true.
This is the story of an anjana in Ajijic as told to me by Jose Luis.
"When I was a young boy my father died and my mother left Ajijic to go to the United States to work and send money back to Mexico for me and my old aunt who took care of me.
My mother came to Ajijic to visit and while whe was here visiting in Ajijic she got very sick and she died.
We buried her next to my father. Then my old aunt died but by now I was nineteen years old and I was working and soon I was married.
My wife is from Ajijic too. We didn't have much but we were very happy together in love.
Then my wife wanted a baby and she could not get pregnant. The doctors said probably she could not have children. For many years this was making my wife very sad.
It was the Day of the Dead and we went to the cemetery. My wife was preparing a small picnic and I was putting flowers on the graves of my father, my mother and my aunt.
I felt someone behind me and I turned thinking it was my wife but it was a poor old woman who was so ugly that she actually frightened me and I jumped.
Then I was embarrassed and I was overcome with a great sympathy for her so I invited her to come and join us in our meal.
The three of us-my wife, the old woman and I spent the day together.
Then the old woman got up and said: 'Thank you for your kindness. Now I want to give something to you. In the language of ancient Mexicans, blood was called chalchiuhatl which means water of precious stones. The Aztecs wore precious stones to enrich their blood. The blood is life. This is quetzal chalchihuitl a precious variety of stone of great value. There is a spirit in this stone. May it bring you joy and hope.' And she placed a greenish white stone something like jasper in my wife's hand.
In the months that followed, my wife became pregnant with the first of our four children. And that is how I know I have been in the presence of an anjana in Ajijic because our dreams came true."
The moral of this story is:
Be kind in all you say or do if a poor old woman appears to you.
She could be an anjana and make your dreams come true.

Tuesday, December 6, 2016

In Search of the Phoenix

Since I was young I have seen rape and killing and war; and friends and loved ones die and no one has been able to tell me why. Not knowing whether to join my laughing or weeping friends, I began the journey that has no end:
                                        In Search of The Phoenix
Ancient and modern myths tell of the magic and mystery of the transforming powers of a magnificent, mystical, mythological bird that could or could not exist or be.

Spanning continents, cultures and eons of time, the phoenix has long been a rich and complex symbol of human nature and an image of the human soul graced with extraordinary qualities and abilities that could be called divine and the phoenix alludes to degrees of perfection, vitality and power that are found inside the human heart and mind.

Inside the human heart I have seen a death come from despair. A heat like no other come from anger. A chill like no other come from fear. A joy that invigorates the nerves and a comfort that comes from hope and love near.

I heard of this fabulous bird that has the powers to cast out disease and ease human sorrow and pain whose feathers constitute a glorious medicine to make the old young again.
I spent a fortune, endured every hardship, traveled the world in search of a bird with qualities reflecting the human soul that could or could not exist much like the philosopher's gold.

Among other things, the phoenix is a symbol of wholeness, completion and androgyny, equal parts of male-female so it can be called he or she. For our purposes here we will refer to the phoenix as she. And it will be your task, to remember that 'she' includes 'he'.

The phoenix, the Queen, the Empress of all birds is said to have gifted the world with the musical scale. Seven notes divided into two tetrachords corresponding to masculine and feminine elements by repeating the note of origin to bring the world to one again. Her songs of heavenly proportions and propensity are of such sweetness that they bring tears to a heart of stone and anyone that hears her sing never feels alone.
On the edge of a branch, high in a tree, in the sun's full light, the phoenix builds her nest of fragrancy with aromatic twigs of cinnamon, frankincense and myrrh and it becomes her funeral pyre on the first nite that the moon disappears.
The sun sets the nest on fire and the phoenix sits and waits until it burns itself to ashes in the flames. For three nites no one can see the moon or the nest of the phoenix burning high in the tree. A nest built as a sacred altar becomes through purification her victory. On the fourth nite when the moon reappears, a new phoenix emerges from the fire.

A luxurious plumage of crimson, deep purplish red feathers gives the phoenix her name. Her wonder working properties and her virtues give the phoenix her fame.

It is truly wondrous what the phoenix can do. The phoenix can live for a thousand years and more. She has the ability to always exist, to choose when to die and to recreate herself and to regenerate. The phoenix has long been a spiritual symbol of the synthesis of the life force of human nature and fate.

It's a sacred art to know when life closes and to have a secret way to restore a new existence or so great sages say. It's amazing to be known and loved even though you may or may not exist. But truth without proof is the theme of the myth.

There is only one phoenix living in the world at one time. It is unique and one-of-a-kind. I searched the world for one feather and the question is still open.
Is there a bird named Phoenix? Is it possible or impossible? Is it believable or absurd? Who in the world has ever seen such a bird?

(c)Aurora Terrenus, 2004

Wednesday, November 2, 2016

The Shroud of Sophia by Aurora Terrenus

1                    THE SHROUD OF SOPHIA
                         by Aurora Terrenus

                       The Myths of Omikros

Copyright 1979 & 1988 by Aurora Terrenus.

                     This book is dedicated to
                        the Spirit of Sophia
                                   in You.

Introduction   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   xi
Long Long Ago   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .     1
In The Beginning  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   13
Encounter With I   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   21
The Serpent Speaks  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   29
The Road Beckons   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   37
The Stone Speaks   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   45
Shepherdless Sheep  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   51
The Sparrow Sings  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   61
A Silent Song  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   71
The City Of Gates   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   77
The Burning Bush  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   99
Reflections In The Fire .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  107
Sophia Speaks    .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   .  .  .  .   .  .  .   113
Out Of Silence   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  123

     The feminine in Western Spirituality
re-emerging in this New Age is the hauntingly
beautiful splendor and sacred awe of the spirit
of Sophia; the Gnosis and Wisdom not of
some passing age, but an inexhaustible spiritual
power, impervious to time, that connects the
Elect of all ages.
     From a cloud of Peace, in a mist of Silence,
She spans the world to create a synthesis, to
unite the opposites, to pervade and permeate
all hearts with the inner light of love.
     Sophia is, will be, and has always been the
elixir of life; the philosopher's gold; the oneness
and essence of the physical world-self,
the Quinta Essentia.
     Before time began, before the creation, in
the beginning, Sophia was co-eternal, co-existing
with God, and She shall remain forever.
     Sophia is the resplendent, holy spirit
benevolent to mankind.
      The spiritual and psychical pursuit of
Sophia must be achieved if we are to live,
world-wide, in peace and prosperity.                                                                
Introduction                                               xi
       Sages called it Wisdom.  Fools called it folly. Mortals called it suffering.  Souls called it salvation.  He called it the beginning when he remembered he must die.  To die for a cause was glorious.  It was not glorious to die a useless death.  It was absurd.
     Prophets had forewarned his death and he anticipated vulnerability.  He feared death without cause; therefore, he forgot what he had called the beginning.
     He was a composite of all and a total of none.  He, the synonym of humanity, could wear the mask of one.  He could be the sum of the symbol or one man or one woman.  He has even been known to signify an abstraction.
     His identity compels confession, yet he silently retreats into the shadows of anonymity.  His symmetry would decree simplicity, if clarity did not comply with complexity.
     If he could be a representative of arbitrary symbols; temporarily, he could be a symbol for Ignorance.  And, as Ignorance, he dared not reveal his identity to mortality.
     His shield became anonymity.  A peril unknown even to himself.  A thousand phenomenon did protect his despicable character.  Aimless, he became the victim of spontaneous will and despair filled the abyss.
     Mortality searched for soul.  In the days of the darkest hours, they merged, Wisdom and Ignorance.
     The womb of the earth, the crypt of the sea, the catalyst of the wind did rejoice the epitaph:
                    Herein lies buried 
                The Shroud of Sophia
          He did not understand the words.  His memory faltered.  He stared at the epitaph and wondered if he had killed Sophia; he felt no pain.  He wondered if he had even known Sophia; he had no memory.  Yet his presence seemed to signify fate; he had no understanding.  He could not comprehend Sophia is Wisdom; he had no control over authority.  He could not erase invisible reflections; he had no power over intuition.
     He was void.  He felt his presence existing at various levels between past and future infinity.  Time and space were out of measure.
     He could not grasp the illusion.  He could not lose the reality.  At the same time, continuity remained uninterrupted.  He could find no alternative communication.
     Realities clashed, sending relativity into cosmic chaos.  Only one weapon was needed.  But how could he capture the spirit of the macrocosm, when he did not understand the ego of man?  Fragments completed his totality; he did not know himself.
     Fragments composed his thought.  Each fragment an intended collision with reason.  Each thought a chance encounter with Wisdom.  He indulged in utopia:
     Beyond the individual mind, the universal mind.  Beyond unawareness, awareness.  Beyond spirit, essence.  Beyond consciousness, Wisdom; preceding, leading, pure intelligence.
     One was Love, one was Wisdom, one was man, one was woman, one was saviour, one was saint.
    Wisdom could not be woman; woman was imperfect.  Indelible the command of Eve.  Man was not imperfect.  Reverent the conception of Mary.  And still war.  indisputable the beauty of Helen.
     When would the world remember the creation?  When would the shadow see the substance?
     She was a combination of diverse elements.  Untold the story of Sophia?  He did not remember.
     History would enter the era of the immortal will.  The holocaust of the microcosm compensated by the liberation of the self.  Procrastination the mother of indecision, anticlimax the father of death, would be defeated by the macrocosm of universal thought.
     Shadowy spectrals of nothingness united the multitudes, the endless, the silent spirits.  Revelations.  The messenger of death crushed beneath a luminous embryo.  Sophia?
     Infinity measured the words incribed on her tomb:
                           Let it be known:
     Whoever reveals the secret of the shroud
Shall not transcend the brutality of a useless               Death if Anonymity shields Ignorance.
        Ignorance spoke in her behalf:  "Life is not in Wisdom.  Sophia is dead."  He had seen her cast to the vultures.  Her eyes blinded, her tongue slit, her body trampled upon.  He told what he had seen, but he did not tell all.
     The strength of the substance outweighed the inception of liberation.  The heart of woman swelled with rage.  The mind of woman weighed the words.  The essence of woman demanded to know the secret of the shroud.
     He crawled across the face of the earth, the mirror of humility.  In the reflection, millions of women became as one, as they saw themselves.  Every woman was prepared and anxious to feel the re-birth of Wisdom in her being.
     The essence of woman defied memory.  Woman looked, and she knew, she saw herself in Sophia.  She could not endure the hypocrisy.  If he had not worn the mask of reason, he would have recognized the cause:    he had his feet in her grave.
     Was there meaning in life without woman?  Was there meaning in death without Wisdom?
     The story would be told.  The search for Wisdom can begin with a sole combination of one.
     One miracle separated a thousand realities and the truth.  Truth, with an intimidation of death, held an ominous light on his face.  There was anguish in Ignorance.  Ignorance was blind.  In truth there was Wisdom.  Death was inevitable.  Wait.  The body did not rattle with old age.  He would tell the story.  In Wisdom there was hope.
     Perspective was perplexity without eyes.  How could one translate the symbols:  Woman is pliant, until Ignorance guards the threshold of her Wisdom.
     He would present the truth without fear:  The idea of Sophia will long outlive the story.
     In speech, the word is misunderstood by the presentation of the voice.  What will be said, shall be written anonymously.
      The guide to compensate the lack of light was perception.  Death is inevitable, was a thought of the past.  Death is immediate, is of another time.  Should they meet without Wisdom.  Pity, humanity.
     Beyond the ego of consciousness the genius of man concurred.
     He remembered the beginning.
     He entered the tomb, unravelled the shroud, and wrote:

Long Long Ago                                  1                               

Long long ago in the eternal realm
of yesterday's tomorrow,
A myth was told of a woman,
Magical and Mystical.
The myth tells that she lived and lives
forever more in a wilderness by the sea.
Many are those who seek her.
Many are those who find her.
But none have yet told her story.
Somewhere, somehow,
in that delicate dimension beyond Time
our paths did meet.
Our encounter was brief for I
could not see the meaning,
nor understand the magnitude,
of a simple exchange
of staff and cross.
But somehow,
Wisdom has a freedom
to command even so-called fools.
And there is no answer to command
except it be obey.
Obey the least of the calls of the Wind.
For until it blows
who shall know therein
dwells the life of the Spirit.
Thus, did I set my sails for a voyage
between and beyond Time.
I did embark on the shores of
Fantasy and Reality, simultaneously.
Improvident I
did endeavor to paint
a picture of words so concise,
so perplexing, that all would understand;
and see perchance my paint
dripping on their hands.
Unification.  If only one.
We are lost.  We are confused.
but we cannot forget.  Compensation.
Maybe we will understand.
The present does command.
And command compels the Spirit to speak,
if but a breath of Wind.
when it tries to speak,
its voice trembles a humble cry
for Anonymity.
But if not for the Personality,
What be I?
No.  I will not reveal my name.
To do so would reveal Ignorance.
Total Ignorance.
Ego would strip my beauty.
My illusion.
And I would stand naked.
Stark Naked.
Alone not even with myself.
So, know me only as I,
as I know you.
Sophia, I called her:
Archetype of Wisdom.
I laughed in her face and
promised obedience to a touch
of the hand.
I took pity on her and she
reached out to me and said:
"Woman.  I am alone."
But alone she was not.
For she found solace
in the soul of a stone.
And she had visions
and shared them.
Did she not say,
she was I?
So I, curious as I am, followed.
And here tell all that I saw.
But I cannot know for certain
what I could not
It would be deception
to tell you
I know all.
For I means You and Me.
Will you follow me?
Hear me now
that we might
Feel together.
I have searched for words
to speak the Truth
when it matters not the words.
The Truth is spoken
when one understands,
no matter what the words.
For what we cannot say,
we can Feel.
Know it on the paths of Pain.
Know it on the tears of Silence.
Know it on the receiver of Gladness.
Because I bear your symbol,
I feel your pain.
I cannot disappear before your eyes.
I cannot turn around behind you.
I can only wander with you
through this earthen
Spirit - Mind.
Share with me this myth
told so long ago that
I only heard today the possibilities
of a beginning, of an ending
began long long ago.
Of a woman in desperate search of:
Truth.   Love.   Wisdom.
A woman who wandered the earth
in search of the Celestial
and knew not the true meaning
of her Destination.
Who knew not if her battles
were fought in vain, then remembered
She fought for her Self.
She could not understand.
She could not know
why they should find Wisdom in her words.
I found her for I followed her.
Though I could not travel alone.
I took with me four poor fools,
deaf and mute, that they could
not repeat what perhaps would
be the Death of Destiny.
Fine companions.
You should know their names,
But who knows names for
Vanity, Conceit, Ego and Pride.
I could not leave them
for they were part of me.
Thus we became five
Seekers of Wisdom.
They pushed and I followed.
Until at last I came to see
I wanted to create a myth
so alive and so true
that Sophia
would become more than
a myth of the Past.
However, nothing can happen
without your consent,
your willingness to understand.
I am nothing more
than what I am.
But, I must tell you,
the story has never been told.
Because a hag of a woman
met us on the last path
of our Destination.
This hag did poke a toothless finger
at us and warn:
"Unless you unite and become one,
you will lose your way.
You will hear all and understand nothing.
And when that is not enough, you will:
Hear nothing.
See nothing.
Know nothing.
Who could pay such a price?
Yet we were too afraid to be to afraid.
And our great fear
gave us Courage to embark alone.
We did attempt to unite.
they did not speak,
my four companions and
I emerged alone.
Alone and afraid to face Uncertainty.
Even though I could not see them,
I knew still they traveled with me.
That is why I turn to you.
In this great sea of Life,
do we not swim together
against the Tide of Time
in search of that lost
ship of Eternity?
Tell me, did my
search for Wisdom help you?
Did it open one door in your heart?
Will you find an ending
for my beginning?
Love is a word, too often misused
and its meaning seems trite;
but when a Soul seeks recognition,
Love is the Guiding Light.
We traveled together,
this little group known as I.
We were known as Seekers of Sophia
because we searched for the
Wisdom of Self.
I faced her alone,
as I had followed her alone.
And She soon became I.
I trusted her in timelessness;
she trusted me in time.
I followed in the footsteps
of this Wondrous Woman.
I thought, I thought her thoughts.
I sat before her fire and
watched the same images as She,
flicker in the flames.
I saw Past and Present
in her eyes but I remained confused
for I saw no Future.
I know no more than you.
I only made a pledge
for Peace of Conscience,
 a silent trip in time.
Seek with me, silently.
See if we can Feel
what it is, why it is,
this illusion of the mind
that has never been told.
But that I try to tell
because I bear her cross.
Perhaps with words
we can exchange a Meaning.
Perhaps even a Feeling.

In the Beginning                               13
In the beginning,
in the great division
of Heaven and Earth,
An angel
left the realms of Love
to seek the realms of Wisdom.
Her wings:
a perpetual link,
an eternal hope
of unity in division.
Her wings:
a swift surrender,
an agile carrier
of amnesia in memory.
Too soon did her wings crumble;
perish into a million variations
of life, of matter.
And this angel was called
From Heaven She came to Earth,
where no one remembers why
the search for knowledge:
a Wing of Wisdom
should be punishable by Toil,
by Suffering.
Without her wings,
She did descend and lie exhausted
upon the shores at the edge of the sea.
In the great darkness that did ensue,
a fisherman saw Her in the light
of his lantern.
He was oversome by Her beauty,
Her innocence.
He was beguiled to pick Her up in his arms
and carry Her to his home.
In this sanctification, She did find Love.
And its consummation was three.
One, two, three,
She did born them and
She did cry:
"There is no pain."
For a moment,
in the strength of his arms,
She forgot her identity.
Sacrificial lamb.
the great sea did rage
and take from her,
Her children and this fisherman,
the father of her heirs.
Sophia was alone again.
She left behind the comforts
of home that had become a curse;
a painful memory of facing tomorrow
United now meant One.
She became a prisoner of the sea
that had swallowed her family.
Even though they were only Transient.
A passing season, Time would soon forget.
But Time lingered.
The Earth swallowed the mysteries
of the sea.
Her wait became a vigilance
of but an Enlightenment for Reunion.
She poured water through the sieve.
The persons of this fishing village
did conceive her idiosyncrasies and
She did live Alone.
The fisherman had called Her Sophia.
For She had no name, no identity,
no memory of a search.
And Sophia is Wisdom.
They laughed together
that She should forget:
She searched the earth for Wisdom;
for She forgot Her wings.
Now.  Alone with a fire,
an eternal light of seeking,
unless perhaps in the glow;
She might find her wings:
A Mortal.
She might remember what
She had forgotten:
The Search.
She might recover Re-birth:
She did see these images
in the fire.
She wondered why
She was seeking and yet
She knew reflections of the future
were memories of the Past.
Uncertain destinies of the Present.
She did follow the trails
of opposites, of hope and despair,
to find meaning, understanding,
unity on the Road of Remembrance.
With the kiss of the sun
upon Her face,
a shroud the color of the earth
around Her,
She sat before a blazing fire.
She heard in the midst
of flame and smoke,
a voice.
A voice calling in the night:
"Rise. Sophia.
If the work of the Word
is to be done,
the time is Now.
Rise.  Sophia."
Slowly, Sophia rose and
followed the voice
into the wilderness.
Afraid of what She would lose.
Afraid of what She would find.
if She did lose to find,
would She forget to remember?
Before Her, in the darkness,
there appeared a woman
with the kiss of the sun
upon Her face,
a shroud the color of the earth
around Her,
sitting before a blazing fire.
From the fire
the woman drew, not one,
but five tapers.
The woman spoke to Sophia:
"The road is dark and lonely.
If you wish
for a companion
light one of these tapers.
You will need no match.
Only blow on the tapers softly.
They derive their light
from the fire of desire.
Only when you have been alone,
will you long to know
with whom you travel."
The woman added a word of caution:
"Remember good and evil
come in many faces and many voices.
Though we are certain
to understand the words;
we do not always know the source.
It becomes quite easy to see
those things that are opposite.
Quite a task to know
those things that are similar.
And almost impossible
to understand things as they are.
But I say:
Be not discouraged.
In haste
we lose Her;
in the rhythm of Nature
you will find Her:
Sweet Patience."

Encounter With I                            21
In an instant
Sophia was alone.
She wondered what had become
of the old woman.
She looked down at her hand
at the tapers.
She heard no sound
in the still darkness
and She was afraid.
"Who goes now with me?"
Sophia called into the darkness.
She lit a taper
by blowing on it softly.
Its light shining brightly
on a path in the dense forest.
Ahead there was laughing
and singing and dancing.
A gypsy caravan nestled
among the trees;
in the clearing, a fire.
A fire surrounded by strange faces.
A body dancing to the music
of tambourines and guitars.
On her breast, a cross.
Golden cross.
Golden wheat fields
kissed by the sun,
caressed by the breeze,
rocking the earth to sleep.
As the sun rose,
the caravan slowly moved away.
In the warmth of the fire,
in the moving earth surrounding it,
lay the cross.
Sophia lifted the cross
from the ground.
She held it out in her hand
and called to the gypsies.
From the back of the caravan,
an old gypsy woman,
thinking Sophia was calling
to go with them, called back to her:
"Only our own kind travel with us.
You cannot be what you are not.
Find your own way."
They did not hear Sophia calling:
"I found a cross.  It is your cross.
I hold your cross in my hand."
'I hold your cross in my hand,'
echoed in the morning mist.
Only the fire replied, crackling:
"Who goes there and disturbs
the silence of the night?"
"It is I,"
Sophia answered,
"in the silence of the day."
"I?  You cannot be.
For I am I.
And it cannot be day, for you
I do not see."
Sophia replied:
"I see you in the morning sun.
Why do you say the darkness
of night is upon us?"
"The morning sun sets afar
and the darkness of night
is upon those who know not
who they are.
You must address me as I
And I shall tell you why:
Play no tricks on me and
I shall let you see."
"I play no tricks,"
Sophia answered.
"But again you reply with I.
It is I who am I
and you are you.
No matter what you say,
that you must admit
to see the light of day."
"If you are I and I am not,
why go I in darkness?"
"Darkness surrounds me
everywhere I go.
Because I come upon fools
such as you, who do not know.
Fools who constantly say:
'Who am I?'
When it is as simple as can be:
I is me."
"Tell me then,"
Sophia asked,
"who or what might I be?"
"I have no more time
for the likes of you;
I have more important things to do.
I have told you:
I is me and still
I cannot see.
Why must I forever come upon
fools who do not know life's rules?
How will I ever escape the night,
when not one soul heeds the light?"
The sun shone brightly now
on the two figures.
Yet he still groped in the darkness.
His face twisted with fear.
His eyes wildly searching
for the light.
His agony became her agony.
She felt his pain and reached out
to him and said:
"Feel my touch upon your shoulder.
Know because I also call myself I;
because I bear your symbol;
when you say:
'I cannot see.'  I cannot see.
For when one of us travels
in darkness;
dark is the road for all.
Before I can see;
you must also see.
If you cannot see,
you cannot follow me.
And I cannot leave you behind.
Yet I know not what to do.
You see me not and
know not where I go."
"Ha!  Ha!" he laughed.
"Do you believe if I could see you
that I would follow one
who speaks with the voice
of a woman?
Why, I would wander forever
in a dark and gloomy land."
"We are born of both:
Woman and Man.
I speak with the voice
of a woman because
I am woman.
I search for the Light of Wisdom
because I am."
"Take my staff and go"
he said.
"Find for me the Light
that I may not wander forever
in the darkness of the night.
Trust when you see and know;
I will follow wherever you go."
They stood together
amidst the smouldering embers.
In their farewell,
he did give her his staff.
In his hand,
She did place the golden cross.
The smoke from the fire rose,
reaching out to the clouds
drifting in shapeless form.
Where one did begin,
the other did end.
Until at length,
their union made one
indistinguishable from the other.
A deceptive vision to all
but perceiving eyes.

The Serpent Speaks                        29
Time cannot measure the years
Sophia did travel,
both night and day,
upon a steep and narrow path.
At last,
She came upon a flowing stream
of crystal water.
Sophia drank of its sweetness,
bathed in its freshness
and rested upon its banks.
Weary as She was,
She could not sleep.
Sophia looked upon her surroundings
and sighed:
"Where is this world of sleep,
so distant yet so close?
This land of dreams
so beautiful, so fearful.
And why must I
close my eyes to see?
Why must I
be still to go?
Perhaps I know it not
with my mind but with my soul.
How weary these souls must be
at the end of the day and
search for respite in dreams.
No more to trod upon the earth
but to find freedom in flight."
Sophia did lie
with her head upon
a pillow of stone.
Sleep did at last overtake her.
Sophia did dream
that Humility did crawl
across the earth
in the face of a serpent
and speak:
"Whose head rests so blissfully,
as if upon a pillow of down,
and trusts no harm
will come to her?
For still
She is weaker than man.
Or does She know that
the road on which She travels
sets no limits?
Where strength lies in character;
and whoever does embark
fears no mortal man?
Where Immortality is
the Goal of Life.
Death is but a word and
fear and doubt are
gatekeepers of doom.
Still She is weak for She yields;
but She is strong because She fights.
The long road and fight
become a sea to Eternity.
Flowing as does this crystal stream
to the depths and darkness of the sea.
Unafraid and crystal clear.
For direction is the way
to separation and union,
to become the essence of
As constant as the sea.
One word of advice must be told:
Beware of birds of Illusion.
One bird should you follow
and that be the
White Dove of Peace."
In her dream the road was divided.
The road to the left led up.
The road to the right led down.
Flying on the right side
of the road was the white dove.
Because She was dreaming,
Sophia heeded not
the advice of the serpent.
She took the left road.
Sophia did come upon
a multitude of souls,
floating driftlessly in the night.
They mourned:
"Souls of the dead,
we are not.
Souls of the living,
are we.
Prisoners of our minds.
Enclosed in bodies.
Controlled by time.
Would you not set us free?
For though we seek direction,
we do not want to be told,
we wander aimlessly in time.
Set us free."
Sophia recognized their confusion
and yielded.
"You thought you knew
where you were going.
Error is allowed but once!"
called the White Dove of Peace,
"Now follow me!"
Sophia turned and followed the white dove
who was soon out of sight.
She yielded again.
This time to doubt and fear.
And they overcame her.
Sophia sat upon the earth,
She fell to the ground,
and bowed her head to a silent scream:
"I can bear the burden of
Mortality no longer,"
Sophia screamed in silent prayer.
"Set me free.
Do you not see my wounds?
Do you not feel my pain?
Let me go.
Please. Let me go."
The burden temporarily lifted
from her breast.
Her body danced
with joy, with ecstasy.
Sophia was free.
But now what?
"'O my God,
why has thou forsaken me?'
Please. Let me go."
Her body free,
Sophia ran and ran until
She collapsed in desperate sleep.
"I find her now
with her head upon a stone,
resting so peacefully.
She wakes now.
Let me be gone.
The serpent's work is done!"

The Road Beckons                           37
Sophia arose refreshed.
She drank again
from the mountain stream,
the sweetness
of the salt of the earth.
She did idle but a moment
until She was on her way again,
down the road to that eternal
Light of Truth.
The road in the darkness beckoned:
"Follow me.
I lead to Peace and Salvation.
To blue skies and Happiness.
To a new sunrise of golden light
and rose-hued clouds."
"But what do darkness
and despair there?
Can they be but shadows
in the light?
Yes.  I see.
I am free.
Free to be.
For a moment, I doubted.
It was an illusion.
No.  Now I see.
It is I.
It is I, afraid no more
of darkness and doubt,
because there is no fear.
Fear has vanished
like a cloudless cloud
of Nothingness.
Gone at last.  But wait.
I feel it.  Trembling.
The earth upon which I stand.
Let me go.  Let me go.
It pulls at me.
Pulling me almost to the ground.
I do not yield but pull away
to our lost battles of yesterday.
They are gone.  Gone, you hear!
I am free.  Free at last.
O Glorious Past,
you are past at last.
I am free to walk upon
the road of freedom and dignity
with swollen insides of pride.
I shall find my way
until that ever-cursed evil
is upon me and I stray.
I stray looking for destruction,
some gloomy force.
But there are none.  Wait.
What goes before me?
It is a band of men.
What want they here?
I shall ask.
"Why do you travel
on this road in such a manner?"
"We are saints,"
they answered in unison,
"Going on this road
to our mission; on the hill,
a golden daffodil."
The band of men
began to laugh and sing.
"Are they mad or is it I?
It is I.  I am going mad.
How could I confuse
saintliness for madness?
It is not they who are mad.
It is I.
Where is that White Dove of Peace?
I beseech you.
Please tell me that I may follow.
No more to wander.
My feet are tired.
My body aches.
I must know.
Am I free?
Am I free to be me?
Whoever I am?
Whatever my symbol?
I cry out to you,
O Mother Earth,
that you might swallow my pain.
Caress me in your womb again
and rock me.
Rock me to a soft lullaby.
End for me the songs of fame.
Take me in your womb again.
Feed me only goodness
and kindness and tolerance.
I can tolerate so much yet
I am selfish.
O Mother of Eternity,
release me!
Set me free from human bondage
of hurts and tears.
Let me hear no more the baby cry.
Let me know it is I.
Let me speak only the Truth with
no exception, no illusion,
no conclusion.
That I may free all of my kind
that wander in darkness and despair
with no hope of a tomorrow.
They wonder how the sum total
of life is a fleeting moment
when a day in its entirety
is an eternity.
For they cannot see this day.
This day that begins all other days
and ends all other fears.
Let me speak the Truth."
Sophia was weary and
searched again for the
White Dove of Peace.
"Come to me now
that I am humble,
a servant of your toil.
Come now and sit upon my shoulder.
That I may know no more doubt,
no more pain.
We will walk to our destination
together to that place
where the sand meets the sea.
They will come to us,
all those who doubted.
I will light my remaining
three tapers and
you will say:
'Three times our paths
have crossed
when you thought
you were alone.
You were looking for the road
and overlooked the stone.'"
Overlooked the stone.
The stone.

The Stone Speaks                                     45
"What did I hear?"
Sophia asked.
"Did I hear the stone speak?"
Sophia did lie down again.
Her head resting on the pillow
of stone.
It was as if they were one:
Sophia and the stone.
This time Sophia did not sleep,
did not dream.
She only listened for the
voice of the stone.
The stone in silence spoke:
"Since the beginning of time,
I, as a stone,
a timeless structure
have lain at the foot of man.
In me, he has found many uses
except the one great use:
the treasure of my Truth.
Too long has his world of gravity
held me down.
A cry for help and who might hear?
How heavy the burden to know
and not to speak;
precedes the illusion of not to know
and follows the silent scream
for life, for breath.
To become one of them.
With tongues.  With voices.
I call to my elders
who sit at the table of complacency.
Let me go.
Let me speak.
Do you not see the suffering,
the agony?
Because they do not know
what measure the truth.
Because they do not hear a question.
Because they forget to remember
the silent imperishable stone
of their existence.
She comes without warning.
She leaves swiftly, silently.
None but the bravest
would dare open their door to her.
Because of the fear of demands.
The fear of acceptance.
The fear of fear itself:
that fallacy of Time.
Were it not for Time,
we would embark on
lustrous voyages to nowhere.
Carefree children
frolicking in the garden of youth.
Fearing only darkness and separation
and yet not knowing why we fear.
Because we forget.
Because of that fallacy of Time
there is always another moment.
Perhaps tomorrow.
Should it be the tomorrow
that never comes?
The tomorrow that except for today
is yesterday?
Then who will bear the pain
of birth, of death?
Incongruous triangle of Hope.
When Never is too late to know
where one can go -
All can go.
Time spreads itself like a brier.
The golden days of innocence
set with the sun
to rise again in the heart
of another wanderer.
Who will guide her path?
the imperishable stone of the Past?
Complacency yields to Awareness and
Chaos yields to Understanding,
then will the stone weep.
Weep tears of Truth
and turn over.
Turn over the bondage
of past hypocrisies
to the freedom of a future
where there is no time.
No time lost.
No time forgotten.
Thus shall it be."

Shepherdless Sheep                                    51
Above the silence
of the stone,
Sophia heard angels singing,
bells ringing.
Sophia rose to see before her,
a multitude of sheep.
The shepherd leading them
to drink at the crystal stream.
As She watched,
the shepherd called to her:
"Such a fine staff,
I do not have.
I will give you my sheep
in trade for your staff."
They did trade.
Sophia and the shepherd.
Though what be a shepherd
without sheep,
sheep without a shepherd?
Guideless wanderers.
Sophia did call to the sheep
to gather them together to drink.
They did drink together,
shepherdless sheep.
Sophia did lift her head
from the water and the silt did shift;
and She did see a woman
With the kiss of the sun
upon her face,
a shroud the color of the earth
around her and
She did forget the dark, lonely ways
in the search for Wisdom.
She cried:
"Freedom is not a compromise.
Not an alternative.
But a prerequisite to being."
The words of the gypsy woman
called to her:
'You cannot be what you are not.'
"Do I not know,
I am not a census taker
without conscience?
A shepherd to sheep?
What will I do with them
now that they are mine?
Imagine them away?
No.  They have become a part of me.
Yet I cannot follow the path
of the multitude
as if there were strength in numbers.
If they choose; they will lead.
If I choose; they will follow."
"What good is a shepherd
with a staff if he has no sheep?"
moaned the shepherd.
His voice fading,
fading into the wilderness.
Followed by bells.
Bells ringing.  Ringing bells.
Alone, Sophia stood and watched
the sheep follow their shepherd.
Sophia longed to follow
the footsteps of their innocence.
"How is it?"  She sighed,
"They are a part of me and yet
I cannot be one with them?"
Her voice blending into the melody
of their ringing bells.
Quietly, Sophia followed
the shepherd and the sheep.
They did travel by day and
rest by night.
The distant hills echoing
the cries of the wolves,
and they were unafraid.
The stones on the paths
did bruise her feet and
She did suffer
the pains of awareness.
Her body grew weary and
ached with
the knowledge of pleasure.
Her mind grew heavy
with the agony of existence.
"How great the physical pain,
the daily chain of being.
I fall on my knees until
my knees ache and bleed
and still there is no answer
to this impenetrable riddle.
Where is the Goddess?
Past are the miracles
of her presence.
Past is the hope of yesterday
that She exists to guide us
through this maze of life.
I see a speck of light
and I am blinded.
Blinded to even hear
the voice of Truth.
For I cannot possess it:
this glimmering
Hope of Light.
For fear that I would lose it
in the shadows of the night.
Can anything be heard
above the whimpers of
suffering, sacrifice, self-denial?
No.  For they whisper
their subtleness,
deafening their ears to hope
that there is more than
what can be grasped in the hand.
For they know no more.
See what I see:
Darkness and despair
overcome by light.
Raindrops rising from the ground.
Bodiless forms of being,
they survive the suffering,
for they know it only by name.
Is this cross that I bear
really me?
Can I not lift it from my back
and hang it in effigy?
That I might at last
find the way to me?
But it is as the sheep, a part of me."
The shepherd did laugh
at her mumblings because She was woman.
Sophia said:
"Burn O Oil, atop the water.
Say it matters not, your nature.
Do you not see that you are man
enough to be man and still say,
'I can evaporate
the eternal body of water.'
Ha!  I laugh in your face.
Do you not see
you must recognize me?
Without me and you:  Us:
Woman and Man:  Without Us:
All life would cease.
Can you still say
Woman is not a part of you?
The universe?
The world that is and was
and forever more will be?
Separate in Unity?
Break the bondage with I am,
not with I am not.
What words can tell the story
of our differences, of our existence?
Your temples, foreign ground.
I can walk in your shoes and
know the ways of you.
Will you but once walk in mine?
No.  For my shoes wear a
pain of existence which is
unknown to you.
Forget then that I am.
Let my deeds and words show you
the beauty of life, of tears
and sorrow, of joy in tomorrow.
And when I find my way;
look back down the
Road of Forgetfulness and remember:
Because I know suffering;
I will rejoice in Freedom."
At the crossroads,
Sophia did stop and break bread
with the shepherd.
At the crossroads,
their walks, their talks
together would end.
The shepherd would lead
his sheep toward the mountain top.
Sophia would follow
the ridge to the sea.
The shepherd did build for her
a fire to warm her
in the night.

The Sparrow Sings                                        61
Sophia did sit alone
before the fire
with her thoughts
and She did think:
How quietly the fire dies.
How senselessly it burns.
Flames become gazes,
glimpses of the recognition
of survival.
Before her, a sparrow glittered:
"Does it not matter to anyone
that I am?"
Sang the sparrow
free in flight yet bound to earth.
"I never once forget
the source of my existence.
And though painful it be,
this knowledge of dependence;
I need only think:
Were it not for Down,
I could not know Up.
See me this instant.
This blinking of the eye.
Digging in the dirt.
That I might e reminded
of my existence,
my dependence on the fruit
of the earth.
That I might live and
not breathe my existence
in a straw hollow
tunnel of nothingness.
That I might Fly.
Fly by you and plant
a little seed of doubt
into that very hole
you call Home.
A hole so deep and dark
and void of joy that it
permeates the air
with that same breath of
whatever makes you,
Only that I recognized
its smell to be a part of you.
What else can there be?
There is not one alive
who can tell:
What joy lie the eyes!
What ecstasy!  What pain!
Do you not see what
it is to be myself?
To laugh inside with joyous pride
of freedom and knowledge
and confidence.
That you might for one instant
see beyond the innocence.
The veil of deception.
That you might not understand
a woman is what
you will always be.
In the eyes of man.
In the eyes of jest.
In the eyes of that
one mock of equality:
That you and he are one!
How could you stoop so low
as to trust
the lies of deception
that would make you
for a moment see beyond
the packaged treasure?
O Beautiful Breath of Illusion!
That man might know the answer
and tell one as naive as you,
the answer,
the secret to life's charm.
And man's hidden desire
to possess you,
to caress you,
and tell you:
'Isn't it odd
that we are even.'
You:  Woman and Man
in gladness would cry:
'Why was it so desperate
this flash in the night?'
But I cannot.
Because it is wrong
to take from you,
your very song:
The imagination
of your existence
as something other
than what you are:
Just a whisper in the night."
Hear!  O deafened world!
The plight of the woman
Lost in a man-made
wilderness of the mind.
She searches
for a way.
A way out of the maze.
A road.  A light.   A sign.
Anything.  Anyone.
That might guide her
down the road to Freedom.
Sophia called out:
"Must you scream so loud,
O Mother Earth?
Nurturing for Heaven's sake
the lost bird of Paradise.
Where are you?
What are you?
Hovering over me?
Why cannot I see you?
Just one glimpse.
Please.  I beg.  Help me.
For the Love of Mankind.
Save me loneliness and despair,
hour after hour of
chasing illusions yet
staying still."
The sparrow sang:
"I cannot move the heavens.
I cannot change the earth.
I am but a speck of time
in the illusion of your mind.
Find me now,
O Moment of Truth.
That I might fly
across the earth with joy.
And not be weary or afraid
to find the end of a dream
so well begun;
To end in an apology
of a storyteller without a story;
But a snicker of delight
that I thought I knew
perhaps enough
to share with you
a puff of illusion.
No more.  No less.
Just a puff of that
Judas of the mind:
there is time."
Sophia called to the sparrow:
"My due rights were deserved
yesterday; yet I wait even today
for that all-alluding promise
of tomorrow.
Help me now.  Now.
When I need help most.
Who can look upon tomorrow
if they have not seen today?
I will not die in yesterday;
I will not die today;
I can but die in tomorrow
for I still live today;
and tomorrow is a million,
a million years away."
The sparrow sang:
"Who cares about this moment
of desperation and despair?
Of wondering:
If you are.
Who you are.
Where you are.
What you are.
Will you tell me you are there?
A faint whisper I can hear.
Thank you, God, for daily bread.
Without that one reminder,
that signal in the stars,
scratching at your window.
That if only you might hear.
Forget that you can see.
Just hear me call one more time:
I am on my way to Freedom.
Fly with me beyond the paths
that lead to glory.
In the silence of the tomb
what light shines on the great
'I am'?
Forget your personal illusions.
Clouds in the night.
For it cannot be.
Nothing can shine through the
hollow tunnel of loneliness.
No light in the lost wanderings
of the night.
For illusion has lost
its meaning in the dead soul;
In the quiet stillness of
the deep earth that covers
all sounds, all wounds,
all traces of existence.
Rise now from the tomb:
That buries without dirt.
That kills without death.
That guides you, beguiling.
That cries for you, smiling.
That lures you, deceiving.
Siren of Illusion."

A Silent Song                                   71
How well I also know this
Siren of Illusion
that entices me to tell you
that is all.
There is no more.
But there is more.
Who but you and I together,
can guide this woman
from the wilderness?
Can lead her to Salvation?
Can deliver her to the
shores of Eternity?
Forget the sun does not
rise at the same time;
where one lies in darkness
another wakes to light.
Break the chain of bondage
of revolving night.
Cast a spell so incredible:
Stars begin to fall
and form a crown upon her head.
The wind does condense and
give her back her wings.
Heaven does evoke
a scepter in her hand
that She might touch
upon the heart of every man.
And he would turn and see
the heavens in flight and
attempt to follow
the colorless rainbow.
Sophia would watch,
ever cautiously, to see him
stumble and fall on a
road full of thorns.
Sophia would listen,
ever anxiously, to hear him
curse and call to a deaf world.
Sophia would wait,
ever patiently, for him
to come to her and say:
"Set me free."
Sophia above all others
would recognize the pain.
Her heart could not
allow the suffering.
She would hold him
close to her breast and
kiss away his fears with her tears.
They would speak no words
but sing the silent song of Love.
He would turn and look
into her eyes and they would say:
"Help me understand this
growing gap of confusion
that tears at my soul.
Why did I insist
on dragging you through life
when I know so well that
you can walk?"
Her wings would flutter.
They would embrace again
and hold on so tightly,
their bodies would disappear
and they would be
one movement in the night.
Lulling them beyond this
world of reality to the
all encompassing totality:
World of being:
United with All.
Where in the soul of one,
beats the heart of all.
They would never forget
this eternal moment
except with time.
Even in their dreams,
they would wonder and remember
only a part of what was.
Too great this burden of joy
to carry through
the streets of monotony.
If it were only Reality.
This woman would find her way
out of the wilderness.
Sophia would find her wings.
Sophia would dwell where
the earth and sea
meet the heavens.
The birds of the fields
would come and from the strands
of her hair would build
her sanctuary.
It would be not of one color
but of all colors.
For her hair was gold and black
and silver and red and brown.
Sophia would rub the palms
of her hands together and
flowers would blossom in the
eternal sunshine of her breath.
Sophia would gather grains
of sand and granules of earth
and therein would burn her fire.
Her tears would fall and
cause the tides to change.
Truth would quench her hunger.
Love would quench her thirst.
Peace and Beauty would flourish.
However, reality compels me
to tell the truth.
And the truth remains:
The freedom of woman
is not a gift but a fight.
Forget we could cast a spell.
Let us go back and
sit around her fire
and glimpse an ounce
of the suffering self.

The City of Gates                             77
Fortune shadows
the paths of hardships.
Fame shadows
the pains of obscurity.
Fate shadows
the burdens
of the suffering soul.
What kind hand would unlock
the chain of command that
would free this woman,
so mighty and afraid?
So weak in her meekness
that she would not dare murmur:
Let the caterpillar fly.
In her heart, somewhere,
somehow, she perceives
She trusts, she believes,
the hand of fate deals not
a benevolent tragedy.
Perhaps the fumes from the fire
make her drowsy.
Tell her it is not a dream
but a foolish nightmare.
An imagination of the mind
where all things happen
simultaneously, seemingly
out of step with time.
As Sophia sits before her fire,
remember the exhaustion
from her wanderings.
There appears before her
a huge fortress, a gate.
She wonders at the gate.
So enormous this wall of separation
that it encompasses her.
Sophia becomes another prisoner
of the gate.
One of a thousand faces,
a thousand bodies, a thousand souls.
Sophia tries to speak to unite them.
They hear not the voice of Wisdom.
They hear not the voice of complexity
in words of simplicity.
She wonders where the gatekeeper.
And before her appears the gatekeeper:
a vulture with a ring of keys
for wings, that mocks:
"O Sophia!  Woman most wise!
Why do I find you amidst
the land of lost souls?
Has but the birth of Enlightenment
blinded your eyes?"
Sophia did say:
"My pilgrimage is with Patience."
The vulture shrieked:
"Why then the cry for freedom
so impending?"
Sophia replied:
"I did not cry.
I only thought one idea:  Unity.
And I spoke to
a detached audience.
Now I face the keeper
of the gates, alone."
The vulture shrieked:
"Do you think that it was
alone that they, individually,
did enter the boundaries
of this gate?
What doting power could make
you believe you are unique?"
Sophia replied:
"Even the cockroach has
its destiny to fulfill."
"Ha! Ha! Is this all the
Wisdom you have learned
in all your seeking?"
asked the shadows of the
great vulture hovering over her.
In naked splendor, once again,
the obvious went unobserved.
Sophia replied:
"Wisdom is not learned,
but given;
not to one, but to all.
Long is the road to nowhere;
but somehow fools get there."
The vulture was angered:
"Now you believe you are nowhere.
Let me show you the way
to somewhere.
I shall call a Tribunal.  Yes.
A Tribunal shall decree your
Sophia replied:
"As long as there is security
in change, that which is true,
is contradictory."
The Tribunal decreed:
"Sophia is a simpleton."
They waited for more.
Sophia called to them:
"When the belly is full,
the bird does not think of flying."
Now a multitude gathered around her.
They said among themselves:
"Sophia dares to humiliate us.
Smite her."
Sophia spoke:
"In discord there is harmony.
From the tension of the strings,
the instrument sings."
In unison they sneered:
"Sophia is a fool."
"Yes, a fool"  Sophia replied,
"for what I create, I destroy."
The multitude in unison sang:
"We shall triumph.
Sophia does not deny her destiny.
She is no wiser than a fool."
Sophia agreed:
"So great is the joy
of knowledge that to relate
its ecstasy is to be saddened
by Ignorance.
What seemed meaningful
is no more than habit.
Too far away are the reasons
it began.
Too close is the
agony that it might end.
Though we know its value
to be self-made, at times
even death seems easier than
to part with foolish desires.
The vulture seeks for prey.
Pity its helpless victim.
Let not your burdens weigh
heavy on your shoulders.
Guilt is a crippler of the mind.
How many times must experience
teach the same lessons?"
Among themselves,
they questioned themselves.
Sophia saw their doubt and
said to them:
"There will be some that
will understand some of this.
To them I say:
To have been given a part
is to be a part of the whole.
Seek you, therefore, the part
that completes the whole.
There will be some that
will understand none of this.
To them I say:
Yours is only to question and
it shall be answered.
Where there is no question;
there can be no answer.
There will be some that
will understand all of this.
To them I say:
Blessed are You.
You shall be as the rivers
that flow into the sea.
An infinite part of Eternity."
They laughed a cry of relief
that they understood none of it.
They did not want to know
the answer:  Life.
They did not know the question.
There were some who understood
some of it.
They were a small part
of the multitude.
A minority called Youth.
Suddenly the world had no sounds.
No signs of being.
No proof that it was.
Their minds had begun
a new journey and had died
for an instant on the side
of the road of old ways.
Lying.  Dying.
Yet no one noticed
for the vultures were busy.
Preparing and building
plans and things
too soon to be toppled.
Silently, Sophia watched
and knew to let a part of
that die was to live.
Youth cried to her:
"What is this thing called time?
What is this dimension called today?
Somehow lost, somehow suspended,
between yesterday and tomorrow.
What is this fear of knowing
yet afraid of not knowing?
Not knowing, yet afraid to know?"
The physical and the mental
merged until there was
no separation.
Sophia spoke:
"All sounds are voices.
The songs of the birds
tell their stories in words.
All things happen simultaneously.
For all things there is a time.
For all mysteries there is a reason.
To understand is to have rhythm.
In the midst of stillness,
there is motion.
In the midst of turmoil,
there is serenity.
In the midst of sadness,
there is joy.
To know one thing
is to know all things;
to know all things
is to know no things."
Youth was skeptical:
"How easy it is to be a sinner
and forget the sins.
How easy it is for doubt
to become a friend."
Sophia answered:
"Though the barren earth cries,
spring comes only in its season.
Know also that which can
make you cry - can also
make you laugh.
blessed are they that know
the value of laughter and tears.
Laughter and tears are
to the spirit as sun and rain
are to the earth.
I ask you:
Do not the great oceans
have tides both high and low?"
Youth did forget the sins,
the doubts, the fears, the guilt
of the past with a simple
reminder of hope:
The dawning of each day
begins with a New Sunrise.
Youth cheered the words of
the woman called Sophia.
The vulture cried:
"Hear the jangle of my keys."
His threat was but a whimper.
Youth abided with the voice
that said:
"With that which flows.  Flow.
With that which sways.  Sway.
With that which rolls.  Roll.
Wise are they that set their
ship a sail with the current.
Wise are they who set their
sails with the wind.
Wise are they who let
the rolling surf bring them in.
I say to you:
No.  They are not as a ship
without a rudder.
I say to you
"They are wise.
Faith is their rudder."
Youth understood her rhythm.
Youth replied:
"Not to have Faith is not
to close one's eyes to
the world of sleep.
The magnitude of the gift
is so great, we wonder why
it has been given to us.
Yet the gift has been
given to all."
Sophia told them:
"What work is not done
before the sun has set
will not be done in
the light of day.
The tree will only bear
fruit in its season.
Softly wing away
with me into the night."
Youth replied:
"When we are ready those things
we could not understand before;
will be understood."
The multitude called
to the Tribunal:
"What shall be done
with this woman?"
The Tribunal anxiously
said to one another:
"It seems as if Youth
understands the ways
of this woman.
It seems as if this woman
understands the ways of Youth.
We do not understand
one word they say.
Perhaps there is a
trace of truth in the
Wisdom of this woman
who perceives through the
hopeful eyes of Youth:
The multitude cried:
"Do you not see she humiliates us?
Sophia speaks to youth in riddles."
The Tribunal decreed:
"Gouge her eyes."
They blinded Sophia and she could
still see the fear they wore
for faces.
They called to her:
"Tell us, Sophia, what do you see now?"
Sophia spoke:
"Wise are they who forget not
that which experience has taught them.
For though they know experience
to be the teacher;
the wise also know
Mind is the Master.
You are master of your mind.
I say to you:
Look for the good and the good
will come to you.
That which you perceive;
you receive."
Still they did not understand.
Sophia stood high among them
and did not fall to the pain
of the birth of blindness.
The multitude angered and
resented that Sophia could
withstand the infliction
of their pain.
They asked Sophia:
"What value you, your Freedom?"
Sophia replied:
"Let those who seek a dungeon
be their own prisoners.
To you I say:
Search for your own soul.
Seek your own way.
Follow your own light.
Until you come to know your Self.
You can be free to soar.
As free as the spirit of the wind.
Though the web be spun,
you will not be trapped.
The veil shall be lifted
from your eyes and you shall see.
Darkness shall not entrap you
but set you free.
Whoever crawls, stands.
Whoever stands, walks.
Whoever lies, shall be trodden upon."
They cried:
"But you do not fall,
O brave woman.
You do not lie at our feet
but stand high above the clouds
that we might not even
touch you, much less
trod upon you.
Trod upon her.
Chain Sophia and trod upon her!"
They trod upon her.
Sophia lay on the cool earth
beneath her chastised body.
The eyes of a few followers
seeking an answer to how;
why she had endured the pain
without protest.
Sophia heard the questions
on their faces and she replied:
"One thing encompasses all;
though it be not one, but all.
Those who seek it, find it.
Those who receive it, give it.
Though it is not to seek
or receive, but to have
and to give.
For it is.
As are the heavens and
the earth.
It posses whoever has it.
Whoever has it cannot hide it.
For it is.
Blessed are they that see it.
Wise are they that know it.
It shall be with them forever more.
It shall follow them wherever they go.
It shall lead them where they
have not been.
It shall be as the white foam
in the sea, the sea's first and last
meeting with land.
The essence,
the salt of the earth.
Without Wisdom
there is no beginning.
With Love
there is no end."
The Tribunal jeered:
"Sophia has nothing more to say
than mere riddles.
Sophia speaks the parables
of the fool.
Where are they that
understand all of what she says?
Let them step before us.
Speak in her behalf."
Those that understood all
were nowhere to be found
within the boundaries
of the gate.
In the silence
of their soaring voices,
the Tribunal did decree:
"Slit her tongue.
That Sophia might not speak
until the horse wears
the tail of an ox."
They rejoiced in their decision.
Sophia's words of Wisdom,
silent garglings on
a split tongue.
They proclaimed:
"Banish this shackle of a woman
into the wilderness.
Let her wanderings in search of
Truth give her back her eyes
that she might see the Freedom
She so cherished was but
an imagination of existence.
Let her wander in search of
Wisdom that will heal her tongue.
Let her wander in search of
Freedom until the chains
she bears pull her to the ground.
She should know that the vultures too
will always be searching.
Night and day searching.
Waiting until her quest
is more than she can bear.
When Sophia falls helpless
to the ground,
the vultures shall be waiting.
Shall be ready.
Shall devour her."
They called for the hot wax
to deafen her ears.
Helpless victim of its prey.
Pity the woman.
But they did sing and dance
their proclamation to a
united realm and they cheered
their decision.
In her great castigation,
Sophia could not even reply:
"There are no chains that
bind the Spirit."
Her tears fell and thousands
of miles inland,
a being from the sea appeared
and carried her in his arms
and delivered her
from the hands of Destiny.
"No vulture shall devour
the remnants of a soul
who has passed through
the gates of Humility."
For a moment,
in the strength of his arms,
Sophia remembered her identity.
And she did consent to Reality.
The Burning Bush
Ah, was it only a dream
that could have been,
or a dream that was the end,
or a dream that would be,
if it could become Reality?
Ah, if it were reality,
Sophia would find her own way.
Sophia would turn to the bush
and find her soul.
The bush would burst into flames
and speak:
"She has not been created yet,
though she was created before
the beginning of time;
though she lives in the heart
of all women.
One among us who could
show the way for all.
One image so real that
it is alive.
Living and speaks of being
in the Past a Reality.
A woman who actually
lived in the Past.
Created and creator of
a new myth, a new hope,
a new way for Humanity.
Women would say:
'Sophia lived and lives
in myth, a reality of being.
Sophia searched for the path
to Wisdom, to Truth, with
Pathos, Spirit, Mind, Body,
seeking completion with Self.'
But women were divided and
lost themselves in their seeking.
In one flick of the flame
they were forgotten.
Who among them shall remember;
one can complete with one?
They would search for Unity.
And unite to become One.
They would cry:
'That which is familiar is foreign.
Something we knew long ago
has not yet been.
Something that is, was.
Something that will be, has been.
Everything is new and yet
we have seen it all before.
Every thought, an idea
before its conception.
I am not.
I am again.'
Ah, but to recapture the rapture
of her struggles, of her suffering.
To become a myth among men
who would sing her praise
in belief of her existence.
And create a new image of Woman
in memory, in tribute to
Sophia:  Mother of Wisdom.
Who lives in the heart,
the mind, the soul of
every woman and man.
Women know the true secrets,
the true strength of her beauty.
Sophia is Mother of All,
their creator and creation."
Where is she who would ask the bush:
"What secrets fade with that
last piece of cord
from the land of dreams, of birth,
of death?
All the same.
Different only by name.
How ridiculous all seems
in the eyes of Death.
Was not the star in the East,
a symbol of God's great
gift to Humanity,
the gift of Eternal Life?
Was it only a reminder?
Only a symbol in the stars?
That we are different dreams
for which we know not the symbol?
We live and die and are born
again, if only in dreams.
But Death is too intense
to dismiss.
For the pain remains in dreams.
And consciousness screams:
Give me Birth.   I thirst.
Tell us your secret,
O parched womb.
The secret of our existence
shriveling on your walls.
Share with us the joys of
birth after birth, or
birth after death.
Did one really die?
Or did one just forget that
they lived at all in this
world of boundaries?
Is forgetfulness Death?
What then is Life?
Ah, only to remember the ways
of the secret tunnel,
the passageway.
In a day we drank two thousand
years only to die of thirst.
Venial sins with full consent:
Where lies the gift of forgiveness?
Swallowed with Hubris.
The answer exceeds the question.
The answer proceeds the question.
Between answer and question
there is confusion,
forgetfulness, misunderstanding,
and doubt that one might
Only one.

But one became a multitude
and they forgot that
crucifixion is a form of death.
Unnatural death.  Murder.
Forgive me, for I know not
what I do.
Great is the pain of Truth.
Why so late this birth of Wisdom?"
The bush replied in a
flare of flame:
"We see it with different eyes
for we are of different times."
Reflections In The Fire
Now we want to fill her lungs
with air and let her breath
blow the secrets of the wind
in their eyes.
And in that blinking of the eye,
let the world hear the voice of Sophia:
"Let there be no more right hand,
no more left hand.
Let one share the knowledge
of the other.
That they might not depend
on one another but depend
on themselves.
With Faith that all things
are possible and probable
in the eyes of man."
For Sophia tells us:
"Woman also sees and feels and
hears the voices
beyond the realm of this reality."
She was but one voice
that dropped the veil of
illusion to raise the
curtain of but another Reality.
Ah, if it were only Reality.
Sophia would speak from the depths
of the wilderness at the edge
of the sea in a dream that
became Reality.
Sophia saw visions and captured them.
The wise men adorned the mother
and blessed her embryo and crucified
its growth; and she stood helpless
and watched and suffered the pain
of existence.
"I am wise.
I forgot to scream.
I am kind.
I forgot to cry.
I am.
I forgot to remember."
But to create her would be to
create the Goddess.
Improbable in the eyes of man.
Always remember the myth and
the myth shall always be told
of the woman who refused
a pact with the devil
to save her soul.
Would you sacrifice yours?
Forget that you are holy
because your hands have holes
and you could remember for
a moment the story untold;
Of the woman who dwells
in your mind beyond the
bounds of time.
Women knew of her, spoke of her,
searched for her Wisdom,
her Truth, her Love, her Identity,
and they found it, not in
another, but in themselves.
They rejoiced in silence
for she spoke, not to them,
for she was of them in silence.
But because they did not speak;
she did not speak.
Who should know but by word
the deeds of another?
For what is, cannot be seen:
Unknown visions of Truth.
Unknown visions of Wisdom.
Speak now to those who doubt.
They are seeking the holes
in your hands.
They do not see because
I live:  I die.
And I wait to be born anew.
There were five who doubted
and sought the way of the woman
in the wilderness -
who is the secret of every wise
woman and man.
They sought her in the
boundless realm of her existence.
For they searched for the Self.
Sophia Speaks
Day was done as all light
left with the setting sun.
The night cast its shadows
upon the Seekers of Sophia.
Five they were in search of
A beautiful, wise woman,
they had been told,
who lived at the edge of the sea,
would aid them in their search
for their souls.
In the darkness of the night,
a soft glow flickered
through the breeze.
The seekers saw amidst
the shrubs on the shore,
a figure sitting, tending a fire.
With the kiss of the sun
upon her face,
a shroud the color of the earth
around her.
"We are seeking one who
lives by the sea.
She is called Sophia.
Can you tell us where
we might find her?"
The figure looked away
from the fire and into
their faces and they saw a
magnificent angel,
aged yet ageless.
Her words hung in the air
as softly as the veil of night.
"Find her?
Find Sophia?" she asked.
"Is she lost?"
"No," they answered.
"It is we who are lost.
Not she."
"If she is not lost,
then you are not lost."
"We only search for her
that she might guide us.
We were told she would guide us.
She would help us see the Light."
"That which you seek
to guide you is in you.
The Light is given to all
to see."
"Our light is dim.
We are weary.
If you will not tell us where
we can find Sophia;
we will be on our way.
Great is our need of her.
We will find her ourselves."
"Come," said the angel,
"warm yourselves by the fire
and see there also the Light.
If you are weary, rest.
That which you seek yourselves,
you will find yourselves.
For before you is Sophia."
The seekers were both
comforted and afraid.
In her, they saw and felt
all things.
Sophia knew their thoughts
and spoke:
"All that is mine is yours.
Whatsoever I possess, you possess.
You have turned your light outward.
Turn your light inward.
That which you think you will
find in me,
you will find in your Self.
You are your own way.
You are your own light.
You illuminate day and night."
Thus it was Sophia spoke
where the sand meets the sea.
They were not satisfied.
They cried for more.
"Come" said Sophia,
"let us gather ourselves."
They gathered around her fire.
And there formed a circle.
There was no beginning and
no ending.
For where it begins,
there it ends.
Softly spoke Sophia:
"Let us speak not one of us
to the other of us but
all of us to the sum of us."
Thus their talks began.
As to see and know one,
is to be as one.
As to see and know all,
is to be as none.
Thus they spoke one to one
and all to none.
Sophia tended the fire
as she spoke and the seekers
knew not if her words
leaped from the fire;
For as she spoke, her words
became as vapors from the flames.
"Wise are they that know
that I am.
They will seek me and
they shall find me.
I am always close to all.
Boundless is my realm.
I am as endless, as constant,
as the sea.
I am a part of all that is
and was and forevermore will be.
Wherever is the beginning,
the middle, the end, am I.
I am a part of you.
And we are one.
All are we.
We are all an infinite part
of Eternity.
To find me is to search
in the depths of your
Hearts, Minds, Souls.
For therein dwell I.
To seek me is to find me.
To find me is to know me.
To know me is to know your Self."
The flames danced as Sophia spoke.
From the midst of the flame and smoke,
the seekers saw a white dove
soaring above them.
As the white dove circled
above them, they heard the voice
they knew as Sophia's whisper:
"To those who seek to know themselves;
I give my Wisdom.
To those, I give my wings.
They will be free.
Know your Self.
Soar with me."
"But the soul is dark and deep,"
they cried.
"The road is long and steep.
Can you show us the way?"
The white dove soared:
"The mind is free to be
wherever it wants to be.
To se whatever it wants to see.
Be Free.
Know Love.
Soar with me.
Wisdom will give you wings.
Truth will set you free."
"Tell us" they cried,
"What can be accomplished by one?"
Sophia spoke:
"Wise are they that know
the value of the one.
And seek to know the one.
For they know to be one;
one must believe in one.
One is mightier than all.
Numbers do not multiply
themselves without the one.
Without the one, there is none.
To those that seek to know one;
to them is given all.
Whoever knows one, knows all.
Whoever knows all,
shall lead them all.
I say to you:
Despair not that you are one.
Look to the heavens and see
there that the light of the
moon and stars combined
is not as great as the
light of the sun.
Those who seek, will find.
Those who question, will know.
Those who fear, will trust.
Those who ask, will receive.
To them what was dark
will be light.
Through all their seeking,
they will find themselves."
Out Of Silence
Silently.  The unheard is heard.
As the unknown becomes known,
meaning is found in that which
was meaningless.
Visions become truths and
truths unspeakable try to speak.
Words create and destroy,
live and die in a multitude
of meanings.  Silently.
Yet is is with words that
we speak and write.
For words too can take us
back once again beyond the
delicate dimensions of
time and space.  Silently.
Out of silence, I spoke
to tell this story to you.
Though I do not know you
and you do not know me;
I wrote as you would write
and we read together.
Though together we read;
individually we understand
these words that neither of us
knows who has written.
Words born of Silence
know no master,
for their creator
is their creation.
The beauty of its truth overwhelms
and again there is darkness.
Spinning, spinning, frantically.
An attempt to conquer Death.
And there is battle.
Battle after battle,
for a glimpse of the Light.
The eyes are gouged.
The tongue is slit.
The ears are deafened.
The free become slaves.
How humble the desperate.
How meek the conquered.
How free the bonded.
For that one glimpse of Light
reveals the boundaries and
the boundaries are Imaginary.
Suddenly all things become
visible and there is clarity.
The eyes that perceive
become invisible and
all realities become one
in a world beyond realities.
Slowly the sun sheds light
on the darkest night
and that vast and boundless
Miracle of Mind conquers Death.
In that once dark cavern,
a spark of Hope ignites
a blazing fire of luminous light.
She appears as she has been
since before the beginning of time.
Wandering the earth.
Nurturing the young.
Caring for the aged.
Healing the infirmed.
Deep in her own heart,
her own wounds unattended.
Her road: long and arduous.
Her trials and tribulations:
a cry in the night.
Her body: a sanctuary for new life.
Her child: the earth from which
she is created and creator.
Her Wisdom:  as endless as time,
as ever flowing as the sea.
Wandering. Wondering.
When time and tide would kiss
the earth with her Wisdom.
A thousand trumpets sound.
The gift is received.
The flower blossoms to wither no more.
A single flame flickers.
Shedding its light softly
till all the embers glow.
There is no longer one flame
but a thousand and one.
Images are created and dance
in the light.
Forms become more and more
Now one single form emerges:
A figure.
The kiss of the sun
upon her face,
a shroud the color of the earth
around her.
Tending a fire.
As the embers are stirred,
the images are altered.
Those that heard were soothed.
Her words were as notes
from the lyre and they lost
themselves in song.
Gladness filled their hearts.
They were overcome.
Their eyes could see.
Their hearts could know.
Their souls could soar with the
Wings of Wisdom.
The sun rose and swept away
the night.  And darkness gave birth
to Light.
Thus the Wisdom of Sophia
was spread throughout the land.
Those who heard came to understand.
For they did listen to the whisper
in the night that called:
"Maybe I can help.
Look not upon my face.
Look not upon my form.
See me not as a woman but as an Idea.
A Spirit.
Yielding. Giving.
Reaching out to a glimpse of everlasting Hope
in the world that I may touch
Yes. You.
The guiding star of what you are.
I can cry no more tears.
Let us go hand in hand.
I need say no more.
What I have said has been said
a thousand times in a
thousand languages.
One day all will understand."
Even I.
Author and creator of my own myth.
I did say I would write
as you would write and
we would understand together,
these words born of Silence.
Through the mind, the thoughts,
the heart, the reflections
of Sophia.
Sophia who breathed life in
a fire and saw a multitude of
meanings in a ring of smoke.
Thus it began out of Silence.
The woman in the wilderness
was born again and shared
the Light of her existence.
Her eyes;
mirrors reflecting back at me:
Visions that I could not comprehend
until that speck in the eye of
Ignorance beheld Wisdom.
I beheld the breaking of
A New Dawn.
An eternal flame.
Words though they a master make;
cannot create Wisdom.
I saw her and I cried:
"If the work of the Word
is to be done,
the time is now."

I led though I followed.
I could not admit that
I was more than what I am.
Ignorance weakened on the
Path of Wisdom.
And I cried:
"Ignorance.  Ignorance.
I am Ignorance."
Thus you know who I am:
Ignorance on one path to Freedom
in the re-birth of Wisdom.
Sophia searched and became the search.
I felt Faith - Hope for the
days after tomorrow.
A New Sun shone on the
work of the Word.
A New Sunrise!
A New Sunrise!
Ignorance cried:
"Spare me the ending that
I might see
A New Beginning."
Wisdom but blinked an eye.
"If I die,
all will know the ending.
I cannot tear the pages
from the book.
I trust you.
All eyes are so different
to live in one soul."
It was as if a whip cracked
across my back.
I felt my skin break and bleed.
My knees crumbled to the ground.
I did kneel and bow my head
in awe.
Joy did pierce the hole in my heart.
A thousand pains of yesterday
hurdled the gates of Freedom.
Because Sophia blinked an eye,
I could Feel
Wings of Wisdom
lifting me.
I can fly.
I can fly.
I am free.
I am free.
I can see.
I can see.
The Beginning.