Sunrise In New York:

Letters From A Satanic Angel

Book III

At the end of all our wide world wandering we return to the land of our fathers

and catch time in clouds of immediate fascination, prayerful anticipation of the eternities inside eternity.

"Magic is afoot," we used to say in buildings made of motion.

"The Goddess is alive," we used pray in time's forgot its ocean.

We used to city around electric fires and make up things to do with our hands

and feet.

We used to look face to face with God and wonder where we were.

We used to want more than we had and labour a child named Pain.

And then. Until. When once inside a time we waved and breathed and mouthed goodbye to love's last light's last labour lost.

What can be written that is not already rolling across the ocean, passed my rear view, my sidewards glance, our center, which is everywhere and nowhere divine - HU - Man...WU -Man, Holy Spirit, WA ... TA.

I know myself, first and foremost, as that which sings your praises in earth, air, fire, water and ...Motion... The light that illuminates all things.

The Fear. There is room for fear in all of this. The working of a truth that satisfies and delights the self in thee. Where is the truth? In deed, in thought, everywhere and nowhere, wonder-lust. The world as we know it is just beginning.

As it was begun by our fathers, by our mothers (and our fathers and mothers' mothers and fathers, and their fathers and mothers), so we begin again.

The sun, through the clouds, is still there. And even moreso when it is not.

And, thus, I, Peter Student, have reached the subject of my discontent ? namely that how I know another and what I know of another is owned by people and things who wear masks. I think these HuMense, these bleeding animal gods, are angels.

I think these people are angels.

I think these people are things well said.

I don?t think these people are beautiful.

I think that beauty is how these people talk.

I think the life of these people is the light of the world now then and forever.

There propriety, which they lovingly share through myth (and even untruth) is the health and flesh and integrity and breath of the earth, which is a "Guilty Thing, surprised"<Wordsworth, Intimations of Immortality> and the spirit of things, bodies, soul, in rest and motion. For surely story and myth differ only in what "we" already "know", which is every thing if it is no thing.

This, alas, is my vision, my breath, my world. I offer it to you as it was to me I don't know when or where. Perhaps in your when; Perhaps in your where, nowhere, nohow.

~finis.

4:43 A.D. March 11-12, 2002 dreamtime SSIsle to Fraser Valley Monastery

Follow  the yellow brick road...

...for more of S.I.N.......