"He who acts placing all actions in the Supreme, abandoning attachment, is not touched by evil, just as the lotus leaf is untouched by water."
(Bhagavad Gita, Chapter 5, Verse 10 — translation by Sir Edwin Arnold, 1885, public domain)
Arjuna and Lord Krishna before the battle
Preludium
Fiery Rintrah clenched his fists:
their smoke was a shadow among the mists.
Then, runic stars were full of gore,
of raging flames in the lore
for all of us walking now and then
barefoot in the dirty path of men.
You follow me, as I follow you:
the road may lead us to the true
light beyond Leela’s play,
where things are done before day.
True eyes are indeed—dark
before the steep, stark
climbing hills, leading
us to Eden’s deep.
1.
The Eternal’s voices weep
through chambers of the morning’s sleep.
A thousand voices rising in the noise
thunders in autumn, summer in disguise.
Fuzon was chained to the Mystery Tree
five hundred years ago; he became free:
when proud Urizen surrendered
to gracious Aeronwen, the branches tendered;
he walked free, passionate and unbent
among the human visions of torment.
Fuzon then acted out of rage,
to blooming tyrants infesting every age.
He met the walking Rintrah, untamed,
into the vineyards of the thunder’s mane.
Rintrah harvested blooming voids,
turning each drop into a living grape—
those grapes were many, bending into coils,
cracking in terror the shady void of space.
“O fiery Rintrah,” Fuzon thundered,
“What doest thou, then?
Among the meaningless
wordy coils of me?
Of dark, their vain a dress,
of sand they build a moor
Walking above a dead stone floor.”
“O brother Fuzon,” fiery Rintrah said,
his hair was a shaking flame raging red,
“ask us not why we work, but for whom—
as men do nothing, yet may become a bloom.
For the great secret about this gold
is that it is not for them to behold;
rather for her, who sits in the Lotus throne—
the one who enjoys and joy again bestows.”
Fuzon thus cooled down,
looked at the heavens then:
“I do see light in your words, now,
they are describing to me Aeronwen.
Teach me the way, beg you,
for I know not
the shadows that walk true
in fields I forgot.
Thus make them starry.
Thus let me vow,
the runic stars marry
humans to here and now.”
Rintrah then smiled,
“I’ll show you then—
with you the starry mile
in the world of men.”
From thunderous vineyards
joined sweet Ololon,
they walked the backyard
in the dream of Avalon.
Rintrah then opened
the words of years
by Aesirion’s music
etched in tides and tears.
Those tears that Aeronwen
once for humans shed:
they became tides,
then golden threads.
Those golden threads
then opened the doors
of true perception
for those twice born.
2.
From the thundering vineyards, fiery Rintrah
recounted his story to his fellow wanderers.
A story of time and seasons, that bore no wrath:
“I—the once just rage, the thunderer,
I—the once beholder from my rock of darkness,
unlit solitude, bathed in the spring of sorrow,
undated hope sown in my morrow.”
“Teach us, o fiery Rintrah!” pleaded Fuzon, rebel.
Ololon nodding beyond the shouts of ravens:
“We need to know what moves the fates of men,
unknown to self-righteous Satan, in Urlo
taking seat. Guides us through the undaunted
waters of Udan-Adan, to blessed Golgonooza.”
Her eyes shone like promises of heaven,
in far-away dunes of an endless desert:
the desert of labour and human work that then,
eternal pillars of void—as science lay Urizen.
“Then you must know that all work is blind,”
said fiery Rintrah, “self-righteous action—Satan’s mind.
With those whirling deeds the city of Urlo was born,
we shall say true, though unto Udan-Adan.”
Those Rintrah spoke, the fire from his fists
became red wood, then hull of their own ship.
Rintrah’s blue eyes told waters to become sea,
the sea divided in seven rivers and a lake.
The lake’s water was not yet still,
and vineyards furrows turned into waves.
The thunderous grapes, true fruits of Fuzon’s labour,
to wondrous fishes transformed,
and the moon’s silver armour shimmered.
“Let us sail now, o sister, brother’s awe,
fear not the voids that claim to be our shades.
For as sweet Ololon confessed,
self-annihilation is life’s greatest bless.
Leave here the sword, the flame and golden chains,
the revolution is not to men’s avail.
Rather it is everything now left to her—
Her, lotus blossom—we can’t understand.
But that fear not, trickle mind’s not a clue,
as dawn with flowers: let us fade in the hue.”
And as he spoke, they saw fires of Orc
turning to white in a shimmering porch.
Orc raised a sword—a flower became:
“Not for my wrath, be thus in her name!”
They knew in shadow, even back then,
there is no road—but to Aeronwen.
3.
Orc joined the ship as a wondrous fish
out of the dark waters; to the boat he climbed;
and as he reached brother Rintrah,
in his true shape again transformed.
The boat was heavy, yet waters light,
like these were rain singing delight—
they landed before the mystic lake
to a giant rock, blocking their way.
The water rotted and took a lonesome hue:
the rock was Satan’s self-righteous clue.
He looked at them, in gloomy glass:
“This way is mine, you shall not pass!”
Orc and Fuzon then drew their swords:
“We won’t surrender to your vile thorns!”
They struck him hard, over, again,
but like a sunset the rock remained.
Rather, like rivers in a downpour,
it grew much thicker, darker and sour.
Ololon took her secret flute,
sweet melody played, almost mute:
this cooled down spirits, she blew the wind
Orc and Fuzon then dropped their swords within.
“Look!” Rintrah said, pointing to the sky:
the northern lights were beaming a sunrise,
while above them rode untamed Caerwen,
shimmering light—they saw Aeronwen.
She sowed like stars seeds of light in the dark,
falling like snowdrops in the stark
abode of void whirling in chains,
called by Satan as humans’ domain.
The seeds sow light, in wildflowers grew
opened the dams, new rivers flew.
Satanic rocks then melted in dawn—
He became wordless breeze caressing lawns.
Thus once again the river could flow
to the free lake, where their souls would glow.
Ololon laughed, a rainbow she stretched
to Milton’s hands forever connected.
4.
The rivers are eternal.
Thus as they find their mouth,
they embrace indeed—us.
Like the four Zoas, falling to the south,
to the false shiny hills of nocturnal
reason, fallen comets in secret yards.
The river took the boat in the lake
of Udan-Adan, where water is calm and deep.
And there Rintrah foresaw the miracle in the making:
a shiny city rose before them—steep
among the canyons of celestial water.
It was the dreamy city of Golgonooza.
In it, crowds of men were working,
loading and unloading heaviness.
Were born and dying, thus secretly devouring
their life energy in whirlpools of unrest.
The harbour breathed departing ships,
the farthest one was sailing to the sky,
not from a dock, but from the highest tower,
its sails—shimmering sunrise;
its crew, the time devourer—
in tiny raging bits.
Because each city cart
was the individual moment:
pulsation of the heart.
“O, wonder to our eyes!” Ololon rejoiced,
lulling her rainbow in Milton’s hand.
“But wait!” Rintrah realised—true:
“This city is an illusion, it’s all built in the blue.”
In fact, the marvel they just saw,
was not on shores, rather in the lake’s own glow.
The immortal shores were home to Golgonooza land,
but that was empty, no human soul to stand.
Los then saluted them—white-hot was his anvil:
“Rintrah, you saw through the endless waters of the will.
Humans work duly, yet nothing they achieve.
Their work is a shadow of the divine liege.
In truth, what they were building on the water’s mirror
was nothing but a shadow of the city’s morrow.
Streets, palaces, colleges,
pillars of science—
were nothing but knowledge
on the shore side.
“Who lives the city then?” Asked Rintrah.
“As human’s labour is truthfully none?”
Just as he spoke, the boat landed
in the true harbour, their hopes almost stranded.
Aesirion greeted them inside
Golgonooza with Los, grandfather;
their presence unfiltered,
yet bright as sunrise.
Aesirion were many, in the streets losing sight,
all of them different, yet all made of light.
That was the moment Rintrah’s reason did bend:
spiritual humanity is the child of Aeronwen.
And in that moment he thought of her name,
the city’s streets to the sky bridge became.
The boat harbouring up in the sky
truly was Urizen’s vehicle of rise.
The old man descended the gangway above,
his eyes meeting Fuzon’s look—his own son.
No words were needed, not anymore,
in peace they hugged—Ahania’s song.
