Truth in its clearest form, freed from falsehood.
That which is above is like that which is below, and that which is below is like that which is above, and so are made the miracles of the world.
And as all things were made from the contemplation of Ekstasis, so all things were born from one unfolding.
Its father is Spirit, its mother is Matter.
The aether has borne it, and the earth has nourished it.
It is the origin of all wonders in the world.
Its power is unified, if cast at a body,
It will separate thought from flesh, the ephemeral from the fixed.
With great potential it ascends from earth to the aether. Again it descends to earth, and brings with it the power of the above and the below.
Thus will you incorporate all the glories of the world. All the Mists will flee from you.
This is the greatest strength of all, for it overcomes all ephemeral things, it penetrates all fixed things.
Thus may the world be created.
Therefore I am called Nelys, known by many names in the wisdom of the world.

The door will open to the hands
that bid it fair.

From portals lost, the path leads on
To a heart not seen for ages.
Its guardians attendant stand,
Awaiting their rebirth.

A breath, a tear, a drop of blood,
a lock of hair.

From end to end the path is trod,
Drawing to a close where it began.
Memory persists, lost in the mist,
Preserved against a future day.

Each to each, and it will hear
your prayers.

I write for those with eyes to see.

Hard by the heath, the standing stones,
cut from a cliff of reddened rock,
hold there the thorn of weary wounds,
awaiting east the horn of war.

Beneath a branch and under ivy,
now the knight astride a steed
approaches up the rocky ridge
from western ways to take the weapon.

O, heavy-hearted, wandering warrior,
lion-lord of fateful fields,
doomed to die in honor's arms,
the south ill-stars your duty's work.

Tower of trees and craggy keep,
the land that lies where the sword sleeps,
but beast or man, the foe must fall:
north knows, earth speaks the good green word.

The whisper in the shadows from the twilight to the dawn
fell upon the ear of darkness, and it softened into song;

like a murmur underwater, then it bubbled through the blue,
and as blue gave way to brighter shades, it crystallized in dew;

as the tender rays of sunlight swept the misty night away,
it sparkled like a rainfall on the brilliant face of day,

and the river-dweller's daughters came to greet it as it rose
in a shining peal of harmony, just as a river grows,

'til at last the shadows' servants could not stem the flowing tide,
and with all the light of glory's song, the morning opened wide.

From high in the sky, the eagle looks down
on the bustling lives of a bustling town.
From where he floats, it all seems quite clear,
and yet he is endlessly tranced by the sheer
neverending complexity of the whole sight.
His feathers form pens, but the words that he writes
take a side-slipping glance to translate; his flights
of fancifulness well mask the clear-seeing eye
that fluidly transforms confusion to shy
fleeting truth. No sooner captured than gone;
such clarity cannot for long be kept on.

In the darkness of stone, a spark is alive,
and it jumps like a lizard and hums like a hive,
and it flashes a beat for the men on the drive
who are drawing the ten, and the nine, and the five.

Now the forge in the canyon is ringing again,
and the mountains are crumbling from now into then,
and the hot bloom of industry calls to the men
who are drawing the nine, and the five, and the ten.

And the dust becomes stardust, strung out in a line
from the past to the future, inscribed in a sign
that will scream from the pits to the powers divine:
we are drawing the five, and the ten, and the nine.

King reborn each solstice,
Rules over the summers;
Green knight of the Yuletide,
Leader of the mummers.
Immortal branch, stinging leaf,
Vibrant and ringed
Wards off lightning.
Faeries' reborn sheaf.

O mighty kings of Heaven,
Zeus and Thor, Dagda and Perun,
O lords of storm and thunder,
From this tree carve your runes.
Leafy crest of Roman generals,
Green crown of victors past,
Tallest denizens of sacred groves,
From acorns may a sovereign last.

Golden surface reflecting so much:
jealousy, strife, perfection and more.
We ate of its flesh, the stories say,
and were punished or rewarded as fate saw fit.
Do you gain knowledge when you grasp it in hand?
Immortal youth, fair beauty unfading?
The goddesses have held it, each in her turn,
each wishing to keep it, but none were so able.
No one can hold such beauty forever.
It slips through your fingers, into memory.

Knotted and metal-gray skin,
your bodies harden in water--
half of Venice built atop your corpses.
When cut, rust-red, dust-dry,
your flesh forms bridges.
When burned, charcoal-black,
your ashes forge weapons,
your grains turn to gunpowder.
Like Mars, your touch destroys;
but also protects.

First bright face of spring,
First to let love take wing;
Elegant lady of fair white skin,
Whose smile makes the heart open.
Copper tresses, grotto goddess,
Curing with the sap of a kiss.
Innocence shining from afar,
Lovely, breezy Morningstar.

A silver rush
Flows and halts, beading, liquid pearl.
Its red vapor haunts and
Hangs amidst the beakers
The breath of Spirit --
A divine possession --
It transcends earth,
It transcends heaven.
Here it is, pearling
again, and falling
A seed of wisdom
From celestial branches.

Moon ribbon, silver sliver,
sacred to poets, escort to Orpheus;
weep and wail, heal and hail.
Boughs into baskets,
branches on caskets,
sister to meadowsweet,
brewed bark bittersweet.

The rose's petals open wide,
blooming in the glass.
Like the wings of a swan,
Purified, fluid, mutable as thought,
dreams without flesh, mercury-slick,
this rose cannot be held.
The Moon Queen rises,
glides through the night sky,
preparing for her wedding.

The rose's petals open wide,
blooming in the glass.
Red phoenix rises
from the fires of the forge,
fixed in his path, ever unchanging.
Sulfuric heat, it burns the hand
that dares to grasp its stem.
The Sun King rises,
roars through the sky,
traveling to his wedding.

Masculine, feminine, female and male,
the triangle, the circle, the four-cornered square.
The leaves that have fallen will rise up again;
where once there were many, now one will remain.
Perfection, completion, the task is now done.

The workman may lay down his tools at the last;
the traveler may lay down his pack and take rest.
Together the Sun and the Moon light the sky,
and from far beneath, leaves flutter in reply.
Perfection, completion, the task is now done.

The young prince is here, or princess perhaps,
Distinctions of difference become simple traps.
Advance without fear, with friend hand in hand,
Step forth on the soil of this, your true land.
Perfection, completion, the task is now done.