NOEMAYA

All I know is the old; not the good old garden of the perennials but the old creepers of neglect. So much vine has spread its claws over this mansion and even crawled its way to the face, the once glorious face that is now unrecognizable.  The vines of this world, of this despicable world of the last man where the opiating darkness rules, have covered over and chained down the spirit that is too grand and lively for their squinting eyes. “What hast thou done unto our Gulliver!” What has been done to the Eastern Star whose Mehr this darkness could not stand! 

The noble Spirit, bound and dormant for millennia, captured and put to sleep by those It forgave and loved! Can you hear Its heart beat again! It is getting louder and louder, and yet the last man is too deaf and too dull to even sense the vibrations of Its coming. The sleeping spirit! I have seen the movements of its eyelids and a subtle opening through which Its gaze spread across the earth. 

Hear me you sleepwalkers, those who enthusiastically accepted the veils over your eyes! I am only a messenger of good news! I’m wrung to speak, however muffled my voice may be, to say unto you that the last man shall fall and that the New is arising. What is about to shed the last man outgrows the cradle of ideology, of a crumbled world that suffocates life and beats it down to the level of his flat concepts, as if enough progress can make water mix with oil, as if the animating spirit could mix with the essentially constituted and animated forms of this cave.

Can you hear me, I who am speaking louder what has been whispered before! I am that eternal harp that must be painfully raked to announce the beginning of a new cycle. 

When mad men and women marched forward in spite of their feeble frames, when their trembling voice spoke in spite of the confusion of their time and moved you without your 18th century faculties that were hammered into you or, even better, you were hammered into them! That is the march of the spirit that is rising from the ashes of Simurgh! The loud sound of the snapping chains that held us down for the longest night shakes the bones of those who ruled in darkness since the last sunset, since the beginning of Kali Yuga.

An unsteady fledgling rises and falls ten thousand times before it takes flight. It’s time for the majesty of flight to take form again. For millennia we did our work in concealment: the mirrors we sent their way to reflect their true forms, the paths that were destined to cross so that the elect would awaken each other from their happy slumbers and march toward the east to announce and await the rise of the new sun. 

This paper-world will burn. The true world, the living world, like the morning sun, is beginning to release its rays from a horizon that has lived in concealment for the last man, the last man who is the very phenomenon of concealment. Shrunken hearts and fallen gazes! Behold my gathering in the great space of the heart, the boundless ocean of love that melts all swords.

My children! Men and women who have a trace of hearing left in you, clean your hearts and let them expand, for the new is about to land, a new form, a majestic form in whose rising all known forms bow down and break. Can you hear the deafening thunder of its wings? Can you hear the heartbeat of life, the life that this earth deserves, the life that was never truly captured and beaten into localized frames!  

This slaughterhouse of meaning, the endless gluttony of empty forms, the loud cries of the souls burning at the stake because they were too grand and spontaneous for their mechanically designated quarters, the muffled voices of the hearts that are buried alive! My children! All this is nearing the end. The resurrection has begun, and the swing of time has completed the previous cycle. 

Can you hear it? Can you hear the ancient harp that must play at the beginning of each cycle, to awaken the still living souls that will survive the dying epoch, so that they rise from the dust and march toward the site of Its re-appearance, to receive Life and its Mehr at the lotus of the heart!

You hold too much noise, and the notes of the golden melody are lost! Who among you can host our meaning? A vast heart, a boundless ocean, and an unshakable gaze. We shine from a place the last man, the happily deaf, cannot comprehend; everything in his form keeps him from looking in our direction. 

We brand our noble souls with symbols sunken deep into their timeless hearts so that they can recognize one another in the midst of darkness. The king shall find the queen so that she reflects back to him their royal heritage, under the concealed light of Khvarenah that’s recognizable only by the truthful one.

Its re-appearance is the explosion of meaning on this earth, so be prepared! Brittle vessels shall break under the weight of new meanings. 

You! If you are shaken by Its coming, then you are alive. If you feel your heart, and if you are confronting an image of responsibility larger than your current capacity, then It must pass and live through you. Surround yourself with all things grand and beautiful; the king visits only worthy mansions, and let the last man hide in the attic. We have come to set this curtain of the world to fire, so that you shall see the Real that’s been concealed behind it. We didn’t come this far to return; we have come to rise above. 

Oh Transcendent One! Hast thou set this heart on fire? Burn this house of idols and take away of me all that is not you. What sweet fever is this, their hell our garden of roses, and a love that has no bounds! Your meaning is now complete in me.