Whose very warp and weft's composed
Yet he who knows the ebb and flow of tides
within a tree,
knows too the breath of planets
in their pilgrimage.
Also, in his compass, he would hold in view
the rise and fall of circumstance
where man, as nexus of two worlds
stands poised at this midbetween
on razor's edge,
gifted beyond angels,
benisoned in light
and cast in the major role...
could he but know it.
This final volume is just that - the final volume...or is it, can it ever really be?
... coming home is a journey of becoming, where the traveller journeys through landscapes of myriad mind inviting the breaking of bonds that bind, yet all the while uncertain in the realms of the unknown, yet daring to travel on. We wait and see - meanwhile take note of Christopher Fry's magnificent "A Sleep of Prisoners"
I am eternally in the debt of Sir George Trevelyan, the grandfather of the New Golden Age, and with whom I had the profoundest priviledge to spend a moment in eternity. He introduced me to this stunning verse, among so much more.
This volume is dedicated to his visionary genius, a droplet of divinity and its brilliant mind - surely a Mind of God and one come home.
"The human heart can go the lengths of God.
Dark and cold we may be, but this
Is no winter now. The frozen misery
Of centuries breaks, cracks,
begins to move;
The thunder is the thunder of the floes,
The thaw, the flood, the upstart Spring.
Thank God our Time is now when wrong
Comes up to face us everywhere,
Never to leave us till we take
The longest stride of soul men ever took.
Affairs are now soul size.
The enterprise Is exploration into God.
Where are you making for? It takes
So many thousand years to wake
But will you wake for pity's sake?"