The Mast-er

Christ, you are the mast

that holds this soul

taut, thrumming

in the great Shamballic wind

that sweeps us all

toward synthesis

I will lash myself

to you

through the astral storms

hearing the creak of

solar timbers

beneath the siren song

feeling your great spar

at my back

At night

the deep roll of centuries

lifts us

and the blue white fire

of Sirius calls.

Sailing

the indigo seas

of the fiery worlds

you hold me still

you hold me still....