Initiation

I wrote the following poem in February of 2003. It’s full of classic symbolism representing aspects of traditional initiatic experience, and most particularly of the mystical sort. So it might be helpful to keep in mind that everything in this poem actually refers to the internal and not the external.

Awakening in the night’s dark midst,
From dreamless sleep we hear a call.
Then wrapped in silent deep blue mist
We pass into an ancient hall.

About us hung in golden frames,
And peering from mosaic tiles,
Loom kindred faces lit by flames
Reflected in their knowing smiles.

Around the crown in bas relief
Are carved their mythic memories,
Their wars and quests, their joy and grief,
Their treks across the sapphire seas.

Great sacrifices they have made,
Preparing this old hallowed place,
Securing with both love and blade
This Temple filled with art and grace.

Through adytum and portico
Soft voices echo from each wall.
The epic songs from Muses flow
That eons hence we’ll still recall.

Those mortals from the Earth’s damp sod,
Their fruitful legends now grown ripe,
Have each transformed into a god,
The icon of an archetype.

Within their gaze we cross the floor
To pursue our spirits’ mission.
Past azure veils a pearly door
Guards the font of all tradition.

With simple faith we strike the knocks
That sound the driven seekers’ plea.
With thunderous quakes the cosmic locks
Shake down each soul to bended knee.

The portal opens with a knell
Into the depths of virgin space,
And here dumbfounded we must dwell
Upon an ageless profiled Face.

There from its clear Eternal Eye
A cascade of light comes streaming;
As from a prism bright rays fly,
To illuminate God’s dreaming.

Now on this rainbow span of light
We find our fitting harmonies,
Wherein our flames of will ignite
And dance upon the heavenly breeze.

Then drawn within the dazzling swell
We let the current carry us
Back toward where our sparks once fell,
Though now with renewed consciousness.

Returning through our heroes’ shrine
We sense the rally of their souls,
And joining with their lodge divine
Our names are added to its rolls.

Beneath the brightest of all moons,
Across the mighty banks of time,
They pass to us their greatest boons
That we may do the Work Sublime.

So exiting our Sanctum’s porch,
Once more upon our odysseys,
We bear with us a sacred torch,
A mystic word and magic keys.

Now sailing back through night’s black mist,
As the Great Architect so deems,
We stir in morning’s amethyst
To rise awake in daylight dreams.