The Dreamer sees all.
He lives within the dreamworld,
The convergence of all sacrificed ones
Who have given their blood for renewal.
He is humanity’s connection with the gods.
His holy head is buried beneath hills to honor life.
His horns are hidden under black mountains.
His skull is gripped by roots of the world tree.
Cool moist winds blow from his open mouth,
His curving horns express drops of blood,
Always giving his all.
His honorable head lives in the Sun too,
Crowned with light rays, uttering streams of harmony.
His shining face of beautiful gold,
Blesses our earth with justice and power.
His warmth pulsating in rays of light and peace.
Call upon his hands – he has millions.
Call upon his beams – endless strands of love reach us.
Call upon his blood – countless drops of life attend us.
The Dreamer is celestial, terrestrial, chthonic.
He lives in Sun and Wind, Rain and Lightning,
Delivering the power to live and love.
His day is a cosmic fourfold heart:
flying, alighting, falling and hiding.
For he is born, grows, matures and dies
Rhythmically, graciously for us all.
He is Child of Light, World King,
Ancient Sage, Dreaming Mariner.
He dives into cold abysmal waters,
comforting our honored dead.
He is Black Sun of Midnight,
fighting demons, wrestling monsters for us.
Our Dreamer is Fallen King, Just Warrior,
Navigator of Death, Prophet of Rebirth.
From every death he brings himself back.
He swims out of dreamworld, refreshed at dawn.
Serpentine, he coils in green trees,
Flourishing as grain and flowers, feeding us.
He lives with us in our human field,
Friendly lover, princely, brotherly.
He dies like a god into our humanity,
humbled, bleeding in solidarity.
He is Life Giver, Lord of Karma
Master of Death and Rebirth.
Today his head is a sprouting bone,
A buried spirit seed, bright and shining,
Power of all progressing spirits.
Behold him, the slain and risen one,
sprouting tendrils of bliss from curving horns!
Grab hold of these stems of life
Feel the moving sap of creativity!
He dances secretly inside the human soul.
Let us find him in the dreaming moonlight
Even as our own thriving imagination.
Let us recover the Dreamer in his true-love tableau.
Behold the new and old pictures of the Horned One
Whose kingly blood is shed on fields to enliven us.
Let his sangraal permeate the soul with joy and pain,
Pulsing through four red chambers of life
In the cry of human loving-kindness.
In the shadows on his left hides his executioner -
Wielder of a sharp severing scythe.
This killer is hated for his betrayal of our god,
Yet the king reaches out to murderers -
Our god is too strong in love to refuse the blade
Regardless of the sorrows of the past.
In the obscurity at his right hides the fugitive,
Bearer of the smoking torch of lies.
This fraud is scorned for his deceptive stories,
But our king reaches out to crush the deceiver.
God is too luminous in truth to allow the liar,
Even though the future may be painful.
Our god takes scythe and torch
into his own firm-hearted center.
Shielding us from the severing blades
And the glare of untruthfulness
In the reverent singing of his voice.
His just heart is our pure guide
In all unfolding, emerging and rebirthing.
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