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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