EMBLEM OF THE DUST

EMBLEM OF THE DUST

Erle Frayne Argonza / Ra

I am but the emblem of the dust

Blown smoothly away by the wind.

Born from out of the dust

Where rests the cosmic elements

Over a century known in all;

Nurtured within the womb of Terra

Mother of all Mothers;

Delivered as seed by Firmament’s demiurgos

The ultima pater noster;

So was I born, a dust.

Chartered was my life through sojourns

By my Self

Betwixt worlds

Of shadows and sunlit dales

I the dust, I the crafter.

Molded was I so exquisitely humane

Betwixt cast of the hardest metals

Harder than Bernardo Carpio’s will

Was I nurtured out extruded

I am my own furnace, my dust I am.

Founded was I a warrior

Crafted in the trade of the blade

Whose countenance is blanketed with Courage

A most scarce diadem;

Bear I the Will to thrust the majestic sword

Unto the fleshy morsels of obstacles

Conceived by Existence, Uncertainty, Death

That I rise, am I arisen

I a dust, yet a Warrior.

Blown forth am I the dust

Blown forth by my own Will

Astride winds sunbeams waters

Ne’er fixed and transfixed neither

By mischievous forces of diabolical climes

Now dust am I, my Will wind

‘Tis my starship to galactic

Worlds of humans.

What has come to pass in my biographic trails?

My Past and Future, of what constructs made of?

They I’ve myself made

I the baker who’s always been attending

To chores of my oven’s commands

I’ve had my whereabouts made

Even as Future and Past cancel out

In the nothingness of the Omnipresent Present:

Time is but non-Time altogether

A leaf that has crumpled in its own face

‘Tis but a premise of one who’s never lived

So is it a pest that distracts awhile

And later fornicates in its death traps.

What’s the most illustriously true

But that I the dust was ever present

In time as time to me was spent a-non

I therefore live forever.

I’d gazed at the celestial mirror

And glanced at Eternal Thou

Or was it? Eternal Thou? What’s it?

A chimera derived from my own image?

An extract from the prurient I?

Or is it the whole Kosmos focused

In the magnificent galactic lens so said?

O! Kosmos! O! Nature! You are Eternal!

Am I Thou?

Please whisper the answer softly

In my ear

Amid the hypnotic melodies

Of the celestial music…

I so earnestly await thy response!

Wherefore the dust shall have gone forth

In the tapestries and gourdian knots of Nature

To be a part of and yet not

Of elements among whom it had immersed

As the Ego does to the countless Alters

It “Is” now and yet “Is Not”

A concrete now and yet a phantom as well

The moving and the rested wedded together

It is, it is such, it is

For and only for it to scale altitudes

To where it fuses with the bounds of its source

It is the changeling, the changeling

That dons the matterly cloak: the Kosmos

Of which it Is:

The Iota and the Whole are One.

Henceforth shall it have known

The All and the Self

Finale regal of its sacred mission.

That I am: the dust

Caringly blown away by the wind.

[Writ. 19 Feb. ‘92, Cubao, Quezon City, M.Manila]

REFLECTION

Another poetic piece of mine that is deeply steeped in mysticism or the esoteric. I was already a practicing yogi at this time, already mentoring seekers for some years when I wrote this piece. It speaks of couples of core universal principles, inclusive of the Law of One. It reveals the Parabrahman (the All) and the subtle notion of Oversoul.

There is more to say about the matter, but I’d as a guru prefer to leave the archetypal and esoteric items in the poem to be unlocked by the seekers and mystics themselves. A guru must always leave some space for seekers to genuflect and meditate about rather than spoon feed them with floods of knowledge and truths.

As a matter of personal revelation, in case that I would exit physically, I wish the first lines of the poem to serve as my elegy. Humility and magnanimity are of utmost import to any Aspirant, which I strongly stressed in this poem.

Ra

April 2011

PINATUBO MOUNT OF TRIUMPH

PINATUBO MOUNT OF TRIUMPH

Erle Frayne Argonza / Ra

Petrified is our inglorious state as people

Crystallized, our hopelessness and shame

We are but loathsome slaves on Planet Earth

Unfit as subject of a stately epic.

A nation of sleepwalkers we are, unblessed

An utterly coveted and sick people of Asia

Wantonly plundered by gluttonous alien Titans

And so too by local lords of similar mold.

Need we rise up from the mortified doldrums

To get back to the folds of Rizal’s grand era

To regain the trust in self built by Bonifacio

To foster again the sublimest nationhood.

Come forth, Pinatubo!

Thunder our valleys and hills

With your majestic voice

On the day of our national freedom!

You are the longed for herald of Apocalypse

Of our dim and stinking state.

Burn down the Sodoms and Gomorrahs of ours!

Demonic icons of imperial lust.

Bury the putrid old world with pyroclastics!

We shall regale the burial with wondrous dirges.

Why ought we wish you with infinite praises?

Why not indeed when you sprinkled vast lands

With ashes: mark of holiness a la Ash Wednesday?

O! majestic mount! You’ve heralded

Soon shall arise a glorious nation in our midst.

The holocaustal tapestry you’ve evoked

‘Tis but the birth pangs of greatness.

This nation, a Sun that others seek for Light

Undying—of justices, wisdom, compassion.

Hail! Sacred Pinatubo Mount of Triumph!

[Writ. 21 June 91, Cubao,Quezon City, M.Manila]

REFLECTION

Mt Pinatubo is still remembered for its powerful eruption that spread ashes encircling the globe, thus bringing down global temperature by 1 degree Celsius. Located in central Luzon, Philippines, it was dormant for centuries, and then violently erupted in June of 1991 as we were celebrating Independence Day.

Prior to Pinatubo’s famed eruption, talks were already on-going in the Philippine Senate to abrogate the Military Bases Agreement or MBA, thus signaling American troops to leave the country. Stubbornly cajoling the executive department with carrots of aid, the US government did what it can to extend the MBA that was expiring by 1991. Pinatubo suddenly erupted, compelling Americans in the Subic naval base and Clark airbase to scamper for safety in Manila.

Pinatubo changed the equation of the US bases here. By scampering away for safety, wherefore they left so hurriedly they were still wearing pyjamas and home clothes upon departure, observers became suspicious that nuclear missiles silos were erected surreptitiously by the Americans underneath the bases area. The Americans could have been so scared to hell, they forecast greater hell had Pinatubo’s pyroclastics and magma wrought havoc on the underground silos.

That eruption event, and the yearly pyroclastic outflow that accompanied flooding in wide swaths of geography, provided a slap to the Anglo-Saxon elites, whom we know now as Reptilians in disguise. Pinatubo’s eruption also provided an opportunity for relief operators to perfect their craft, which made them stand out in the world as they are regarded today as consultants and trainors for other country’s own relief specialists and volunteers. Enterprising craftsmen made export-quality décor items out of solidified pyroclastic materials.  

Being a mount, Pinatubo is a natural energy spot like other mountains. It stands today as a wonderful tourist spot, with a beautiful resort ready to serve eco-tourists at its foot. Meditation groups can always go up there anytime to recharge themselves in its regenerative energies.

Ra

April 2011

THE PROMISE

THE PROMISE

Erle Frayne Argonza / Ra

I

Rise up, Man! Rise up!

Your commonwealth’s history had been astride

The cosmic pendulum that had darted

From yon up. Pendulum has reached dead center

And again is rising beyond the dale of time.

The center was lodged betwixt camel and palm tree.

Reckon, reckon that the East calls

‘Twain the valley of time expectant.

Respond shall the camel benignly

And twill change hands with the carabao.

Snail paced is this beast the carabao

And so is your ascent, o! Man!

To the pinnacle of your godly, godly zen.

You shall be god, your being’s made

By you a living clay molded

Millions of times by your own hands.

II

Man! The Light has come forth

In dazzling photons it fused with seawaves

And fluvial ripples. Gracefully had

It landed, guided by a dozen eagles.

Shine brightly shall the Light

Sky beacon that illuminates eagerness

The clear landscape of the Promise.

The Promise has been slumbering in a bed

Of coal and gold: ‘tis coal and gold.

The Light shall burn the coal

To be fed into the waiting furnace

Where the gold shall be molded into one

Magnificent icon as tall as the azure sky.

‘Tis the longed for icon that shall herald

The historic swing to grandeur’s height.

III

Wherefore lies the heart of grandeur?

Wert this not but a dead man’s wish

Long buried in the hovels of the earth?

Wert this not but a sweetened piece

Of bitter gourd: its stinging taste betrays

Its endless senselessness in the world sensical?

Man! This height of grandeur is the state

Indescribable to the wisest among grandfathers

A million generations stretch: ‘tis a million

Times a million times of pure majestic luster

Only but Inner Selves can comprehend.

‘tis the founded form-being of all

Sublime inner selves that have been struggling

In putrescent marshes of history.

This to the grandfathers is mere dream

Induced by the spirit elixirs of Bacchus.

IV

Rise! Rise it shall

High above the hills and valleys

‘Twards the azure firmaments

This majestic commonwealth of yours, o! Man!

For which freedom-in-life is

A concluded spell of benevolent magis.

Reside shall its spirit in people’s bosoms.

Gone shall be the seismic struggles

Alone for bread as if this were the most

Valued diadem atop the zenith of greatness:

The world shall be its own bread

And man, the luminary figure at last

Whose coming was pronounced before

By a trillion bards of eagles and doves.

Rise! Rise it shall

From where corals had made lands

Where sturdy races have eked out living

And slave they were for others;

No more are they slaves but are free cranes

Atop carabaos their benign carriers.

V

What is reality after all o! Man!

For which you have buried yourself

Millions of times in search for its enigmas?

Is it like spiral moving poles a-clashing?

Maybe, but maybe not. Maybe

‘Tis a swarm of flies that swats

Made festive killings by the dozens

And yet aren’t flies but gems.

When upon each gem Light gently touches

It brings forth radiance to all

Corners of the cosmos: it makes bounds

Anon betwixt its grounded state

And the unbrimmed infinite extent

Apast spaces: ‘tis unbrimmed space

And yet spaceless brims.

VI

Man! A promise made a million times

And delivered a million times makes a million

More than its primeval state: ‘ts a grain

Of sand and the universe made one.

The sea has recognized this secret lore

And had sung it lyrically in melodious tunes

That no one cared to listen to

Save for man-slaves on a dozen mountains.

Mushroom-eaters they are who’d sensed

What the real is: the Promise realized overboard

Its primordial state—a giant that wakes up

From zillions of earth revolutions or slumber:

‘Ti a Being stronger than ever that turns rivers

Into founts of gold, cause for merriment

Atop the nature-world the bed of bread.

VII

Happy, o! happy will be

The suns and stars and moons

And winds and waves

Over your final dawning, o! Man!

Even as the day starts on the sixth hour.

Man! You are the sixth estate:

Risen and made one, freed at last

From tsunamis of disintegrating forces.

Behold! No more forlorn are nature and cosmos

The citadels of true life.

And you, Man, finally regained, revived,

Realized as your guardian and maker.

[Writ. 22 July 1991, Cubao, Quezon City, M.Manila]

REFLECTION

This poem—with 7 parts—is largely about the New Age of Light. Writ in very highly archetypal language, it is among those pieces that fit the minds of seekers who love puzzles, notably the wiz kid types. It was written akin to Goethe’s epic, whose master piece of literature was actually a literature of cosmic awakening and the risks that can happen along the way.

The piece prophecies the coming of the new race of Aquarians or Meruvians, the 6^th ‘root race’ identified by HP Blavatsky. The Aquarians will replace the Aryan stocks that now abound, with the chief prototype ethnicities emerging in the Pacific land masses that will emerge after the post-2012 ascension. A chohan of the Great White Brotherhood was already designated as manu or ‘great leader’ of that forthcoming race.

As for the other archetypes, I’d leave this to the concerned seekers and mystics to think about. To give you hints for instance, ‘camel’ signifies the Western hemisphere, while ‘carabao’ signifies the East. I’d leave the rest for you to reflect or meditate on.

Ra

April 2011