Liviu

Pendefunda

Avatar in a
Stork's Beak
μετεμψύχωσις
 liviu pendefunda

avatar in a stork’s beak

2
Liviu Pendefunda

Avatar in a
Stork's Beak
μετεμψύχωσις
Foreword by
Acad. Mihai Cimpoi

Literary Destinies – Montréal

2023
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Illustration of the cover by Theodor Hueala
Illustrations of the book by Elleny Pendefunda
Book editor: Liviu Pendefunda

Copyright: © 2023 Elleny Pendefunda

Liviu Pendefunda, born on March 10, 1952, is an Academician, M.D.,

Ph.D., university professor, writer, philosopher, and esotericist in Jassy,
Romania, Deputy Director of General International Biographical Center
Cambridge, England, Executive Manager of Literary Destinies, ASRAM,
Canada and founder of Contact International Magazine, Romania, Vice-
Chancellor of the World Academy of Letters, Honorary Doctor in Literature
accorded by World Academy of Arts and Culture.

A thought is of respect and tribute to the academician Mihai Cimpoi because

he was patient in the hermeneutic deciphering of the Pendefundian lyric.

Thanks to Elleny Pendefunda, Maria Muguraș and David Paul Vnuck for
checking the accuracy of the author's English, especially on the poems
originally written in Romanian.

With special thanks to Alexandru Cetățeanu who made it possible to publish

this volume of poetry at the wonderful publishing house Destine Literare/
Literary Destinies.

ISBN 978-1-9992081-7-2
The Library and Archives of Canada (LAC) / Government of Canada

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Content
A Mixture Between Nostalgia and Divine Gifts by
Academician Mihai Cimpoi, 11

We are pilgrims, Prologue, 19

Healing poet , 27
Silence , 30
Still me , 34
Once upon a time… , 35
Metamorphoses , 38
Depths, 39
Bells at sunrise , 43
All-eternalrnal being , 44
Metempsychosis , 51
It's a shame about God, 55
Prayer, 57
April , 58
Questions , 60
In the Snake, so to say, I'm coming
back..., 61
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The Seven Babili, 67
Nest, 69
The world of living grapes, 70
Somewhere someday , 72
War again, 73
Travel, 74
The stone bridge, 76
The Athanor in the Window, 78
Banal, 79
Countless, 80
Vampire, 83
Moods, 84
The Milky Way, 86
Imaginary angels’ wings, 93
Metempsychosis, 95
Elleny, 97
Slope, 101
Traveler Train, 102
From the eyes of lights, I'm sneaking crying, 103
Verse of the Moon, 105
Tree of Life and Acaccia, 106
The Eternal Covisn’tisnt, 108
Oh my. I'm sorry, 110
The First Word, 111
Ethelia, 112
Me, baby, 115

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Night after night , 116
Sacred heart , 117
In the Oven of Light , 118
Black night , 120
Gray day , 123
Cosmic, 125
The stone bridge, 126
Miracle, 129
Visions, 130
Last will , 132
The light tower, 133
Decision, 134
Bells at sunrise, 135
Escape from silence, 136
The eyes you hide from me , 138
Hosanna! , 140
*** [Thousands of waves come toa close] , 142
Holy song, 143
Fate, 144
The Mystery of the Void , 147
The face that hurts me, 149
Metempsychosis, 150
Tandem, 152
*** [What else to rain] , 153
Runaway , 154
Ecstasy, 155
Fire from water, 156
Nightmare weather , 159
Omne trium perfectum, 162
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Moonset, 166
The spiritual beauty, 168
Ouroboros, 170
December dream, 172
The ashes of the mystery, 173
The endless mercy, 177
The Rosy Cross, 178
Cenacle, 180
Slow feast, 181
Metempsychosis , 182
Morning fate , 184
Fleeing from the troubled times , 186
Number, weight, and measure, 188
Damned/blessed , 190
Baphomet, 191
Imprecation, 195
The photon strayed into Truth, 196
Out of darkness , 197
The altar, 199
Behold! The Day is coming..., 200
Crazy traveler, 203
The Well of the Drops of Stone, 205

We are pilgrims, Epilogue, 212

By the same author, 217

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Nostalgia and divine gifts
Aiming to state that through this expression he programmatically
settled himself bringing up-to-date Novalis’ statement according to
which all ways bring us back within ourselves, the latest volume of
poetry written by the Academician Liviu Pendefunda is titled From
my Depths. The poet of The Sidereal, of The Celestial Movement,
of The Faults, of The Beggarland, of the Rondels and Ovoids has
always been the same, yet different. Structurally, he will always be
faithful to himsbut, with every new book he hhas hasbrought a
more temperamental and striking touch of originality. According to
his programmed clause mentioned in the title of this bilingual
volume of poetry, he feels himself deepened in hwn Ego, bbe inn
search of the Self (see Constantin Noica’s point of view), of the
mere essence of his being, which gathers together “Hundreds.
Thousands, Countless…” (“Countless”) of fragments of shards.
Voices, silences, permanent questions, lights, and shadows float

11
out of dreams, this being one of his frequent topoi. The poet even
speaks both of a fragment of his soul anf a fragment ofs ofe. These
syntagms, that which the seal whicwhich istiny, suggest the search
of fore Whole, sisimilaro that of Marcel Proust’s entire lost time.
We have to do with a permanent attempt ttotocuperate all that has
been hidden in the Unknown or nseenunseens which have been
tormenting higrgraduallymenting his being time, or desy, or fate./
We name those, rays, that hug me altogether/ a fragment of my
soul within myself/ that sacred spirit to whom I have always
obeyed/ playing according to an unknown annunciation,/ or
knowledge, or recollection ritual.” (“Once upon a Time”).

Liviu Pendefunda is pre-eminently a Poet of Mystery. He is the

Searcher of the Secrets whom he has been trying to enlighten with
the help of the deeds of initiation. Following those paths of
revelation, knowledge, and remembrance he has discovered an
inextricable match of the immemorial with the memorial, of the
existent with the non-existent, of the sacred spirit with nature’s
breathing, of life and death, and of the raith thereallluric. This
existential counterpoint is emphasized in the poet’s characteristic
literary and philosophic note as a perfect match between his
nostalgia and his divine gifts. One can see in it the
interpenetration of the contingent with the transcendental, of the
worldly dimension with that of sacrality.

In order to this particularly mythopoetical extra burden, the poet

has been living everything to the utmost. He prays to “the sacred
spirit” whom he feels “deep down in the depths of my soul”

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(“Depths”), goes through all metamorphoses, opens his eyes to the
floating ocean where “the mirror of the spring/ will slowly give a
sign/ and thus the eye will open/ The All Eternal Being”. He
ascends the ladder to the sky where he reads homilies and keeps
quiet among saints and gods in a tremendous way, thinking that
“I’ll be the key to depths/ open the gate/ on the first resurrection,
when sky and eearth will perish in the commencement of the fire”
(“The All Eternal Being”). He cries and he beseeches “both Jupiter
and Juno” wishing that “I’d like Him to shed His love/ His peace
and His forgiveness on the earth” (“Prayer”). He dedicates himself
to some “magic alchemical” experiments (“The Athanor in the
Window”) wishing to offer his whole being to love and looking for a
spot of light in dark demigods.

In a programmatic way, the lyrical discourse focuses on a dialogue

with divinity, on questions asked to himself in comparison to it,
this dialogue becoming the core of his visions: “Time is the
geometry of our given soul,/ it is what we hate most and beyond it
there’s the fallow/ which we expand hoping to journey beyond blue
horizons.../ Who can resemble You, God? Who?/ For the darkness
we know is not the burial vault/ or maybe it’s the wagon in which
we pass in Your Spirit/ the well where/ You put the fire/ and the
egg.// Time is the measure of light, the measure of visions./ And
on a celestial shrine it is the Maat in us,/ the superb thinking, the
supreme Benben stone, and the magic bird.../ Who can resemble
You, God? Who?/ The true beauty will never be seen in the abyss/
which will be born an abyss from Your very non-body./ And
nobody was/ and the place is nowhere” (“The Spiritual Beauty”).

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Such questions are the consequence of a logical result of the poet’s
epiphanies and they can be turned into a general theophany which
inclthatall the manifestations of divinity. All the ashes of the
mystery are thrown in an athanor which symbolizes the fervent
search for thephilosopher’ss stone identified with the supreme
feelings, with love. In the alchemists’ athanor, Liviu Pendefunda
throws all that was left from the fire of his agonic outburst:
“Whenever You wonder what You would like to know,/ don’t be
afraid./ ’Cause beyond beasts and false skies/ abandoned by the
fires, the ashes in the Athanor are scattered/ as well as clear waters
being filtered through clothes./ May you be sheltered in your sleep
and whitened in the darkness/ to manage to chase away the enemy
who carries in Light/ the venom which pierces the purest white
rose/ and then it slowly leaves it to drip down.” (“The Ashes of the
Mystery”).

Similar to his previous volumes of poetry, From My Depths is built

on a certain conceptual axis which includes symbolical archetype
representations belonging to several world mythologies. The book
is based on esoteric symbolical conceptions, and all his unrested
boiling torments are focused on the rose, the Rosicrucian kkey-
symbol keysymbol sSpeakingdiscover two different formulae of the
discourse: “Helpless to write/ in words/ the magic name of stars –
Elleny,/ a light labyrinth will be vibrating/ suchlike/ a major chord
of holy blue./ My love, you are the gift/ receiving in your heart the
shrine of your life/ which I can feel in you” (“Prier”). And others of
a hermetic intellectual notation “You give me from your heart

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anectar-likee an elixir. I kneel./ And during this unknown tim,e I
keep i citinging the fire in candels whcandlesunawareare/
whunawareofa night, a day, or years have passed. Despite my
search/ I’m able to see myself in your expectations: rhombi,
squares,/ trianglcirclingland deserted temples, those burnt
windows made of cedar/ which shelter under spheres huge and
eternally forgotten pyramids,/
those wonders of love in a simple volucris – my icosahedron.”
(“The Well of the Drops of Stone”).

The philosopher’s stone is the mere essence of light andthe of

universe that the poet would like to decipher with everything it
hides or is invisible, or deeply secretive. Appealing, as I said, to
archetypal, mythological, religious, Masonic, and Rosicrucian
representations, interesting as he stated it in one of his studies
titled Dogmata or the Freedom of Thinking, Liviu Pendefunda has
been searching with a particular passion, the eternal values as well
as the knowledge of the Absolute Truth, thinking that they have
been at the religious basis of the world.

The fervor of the search of this philforopher’s stone casts a certain

color on the existence of the lyrical discourse attracting the reader
in an intellectual debate on Man’s relationship with everything that
is around him, with everything close or far away from him i.e.
revealed, or hidden, or unseen. The ample rhythms, the run-on
sentences, their peranand d brandly imaginary characteristics,
remind us of A Song aboutAboutlf written by Walt Whitman. “And
I have often searched being enlightened by silver angels./ I knew

15
you weren’t the splendid moon, the maiden, nor were you the fairy
in tales, but only my philosopher’s stone.// And every everydaysh
passed I kept forgetting how to swim,/ however, abandoned I was
floating in my flight while darkness/ turned light into shadows.
Out of my oldest passion/ my foolishness was crying. What was I
looking for?/ Out of all stars m , look turned somber. I thought/
that my sorrow and myeve ever-livid oughtss were nothing but
emptiness./ While spinning in a spiral shape I wished, or it seemed
to me to…/ until one day when the angel whispered: “A tender
heart/ and an enlightened spirit, a mixture between divine and
yearning/ raisup or tort+9

+6 a vivid fire under the sea’s deep waters/ which are supposed to
lead you to the seventh sky through your body,/ trees, and
unicorns/ and lead you in your search to chase away this shapeless
chimera,/ the so-called stone conceived by alchemists and by
philosophers imagined.” (“The Well of the Drops of Stone”).

This volume emphasizes the representative image of a poet whose

special characteristic is existential meditation. Liviu Pendefunda
was born in Iaşi, Romania on March 10, 1952. He published more
than fifty volumes of poetry, prose, and essays which have been
imposing the image of an Astral Wanderer in a universe packed
with “unpredictable” and with “unheaThis universe is romantically
filled with love, dreams, and human breath.

Academician Mihai CIMPOI

Kishinev, Republic of Moldova

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Julieta, you are the sacred temple on whose shrine
I lay my heart worshipping forever
your immortal glory.

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We are pilgrims
Prologue
Dear children, this is the last hour;
and as you have heard that the antichrist is coming,
even now many antichrists have come.
This is how we know it is the last hour.
They went out from us, but they did n but did not
For ifad belonged to us, they would have remained with us;
but their going showed that none of them belonged to us.
But you have an anointing from the Holy One,
and all of you know the truth.
I do not write to you because you do not know the truth,
but because you do know it and because no lie comes from the truth.

How can I detach myself from the world through which I come
from the supposed paradise? Neither Virgil, nor Theocritus, nor
Dante, no one managed to escape his time. And yet utopia (I'm
not referring to Thomas Morus) tries to make us understand that
we still have a chance, through love, hope and action, to stop
being corrupte,d by the civilization whose meaning is no longer

19
normal. I sometimes wake up in the middle of a museum hall. Et
in Arcadia ego is written on the wall next to a painting by
Nicholas Poussin. Entering it with my mind and senses I go crazy.
Not because the painter is my brother, not because we both read
and studied Gnostic texts through the Rosicrucian light, but only
because through that window one enters another heaven. The
whole world is a poem, like the one written in 1502 by Jacopo
Sannazaro. But he, he also belie, that that world is lost. Tthe
dominated by the icon of the Renaissance, Sir Philip Sidney
returns, to the times from which I also emerged. Cthe ountess of
Pembroke's Arcadia, written by him, distracts the readers from
the time they are living. The pleasure of being in this place carries
in itsea lf sufficient reward for any time lost in it, or out of any
danger... Do you not see how everything conspires together to
make this place a heavenly abode? Don't you see the grass, the
way the color turns into emeralds...? Are, they not these stately
trees that seem to maintain their blooming age by the happiness
of existing in this place, because no beauty should ever fade here?
Does not the air breathe the health in which the birds (so
delightful to hearing and sight) daily officiate their sweet accord
of voices? Isn't every echo here perfect music? ... Of course, here is
the goddess who belongs to the place, who is the soul of this earth,
for there is nothing but a goddess worthy of being an altar in a
heap of happiness, nothing but a goddess who would have made
this world prfect , a model of heavenly dwellings. That miracle
can only be Lilith, It is an eternal morning. It's the beginning!
Twelve columns contain the vision of the world and the
wisdom of ten tablets are inscribed in the air with rays. I read

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them. They should be read not once but a hundred times because
only then could their true meaning be revealed. A cursory reading
would give a few glimpses of their beauty, but a thorough study
will surely open the paths of wisdom to anyone who wishes to
seek them. The information contained in the tablets can find an
echo only in those who hold the Light within them. I was not the
bearer of these treasures. But I feel that I now have the science of
revealing them. The group of priests who held the tablets in
ancient Khem migrated throughout the world and hid the Wisdom
under the altars of the solar temples. This is what I am
translating now. I was also in the Great Pyramid, the famous
temple of initiation. How long did I stay? I don't know, because I
was in a trance. What I do know is that Jesus, Solomon, Moses,
Apollonius, Pytha, gas, and many others were also there. If,
euphemistically, I were to say that I don't know what happened to
me there, few would believe me. But since then I have been aware
of Akenathon's secrets. Here, in the clearing, it's different. I
discovered the primordial world.
The engraved signs react to the brain waves emitted by the
brain of the person who reads them, releasing the associated
mental vibration in the mind of the reader. The emerald tablets
appear before me, though only physically. They do not exist, or
cannot be seen normally, they are fastened together with rings
made of a gold-colored alloy, suspended from a rod of the same
material. - Read! Believe it or not, read, and the vibration of the
tablets will awaken in you what you wanted to be in a new
spiritual world! The ancient mysteries are based on the wisdom
contained in these tablets. For the one whoread e opened and

21
eyes, personal wisdom will multiply hundreds of times. From eon
to eon, the people of ancient times renewed their lives in the Halls
of Amenti where the river of life flows eternally. Hundreds of
times and ten times I went down the dark road that leads to the
light, and as many times I went up from the darkness to the light
with renewed strength and power. All that is revealed to you are
little-known enigmas even by the servants of truth. Man's quest to
understand the laws that govern his life is endless. However, he
failed to pass the veil (called Isis's) that protects the higher planes
from his material vision of life and truth. The truth is ready to be
assimilated by those who broaden r own vision by turning to
themselves and not looking outside for the truth. That's how old
Thoth's words came to mind.
When I tell you these things, I feel that you include me among
those who belong to the followers of the fantastic, the
paranormal, magi. But I am but a poor follower, at the beginning
of a new cycle in the spiral of another bell than yours. The key to
wisdom is found in the stillness of the material senses. He who
Speaks does not know; he who knows does not speak! Supreme
laws cannot be spoken. They exist as an entity on paths that
transcend all symbols or words in the material world. Symbols
are nothing more than keys that open doors that lead to truths. It
is a truth stipulated by me in many of the previous lectures. Many
times the door cannot be opened because the key looks so great
that the things behind it cannot be seen. If we manage to
understand that all the keys, all the material symbols are
manifestations, extensions of a Supreme Law and the Truth, we
will have a vision that will allow us to pass beyond, into other and

22
other bells, i.e. heavens. All things in all Universes move
according to a law that governs the motion of the planets, as
immutable as that which governs the manifestation of man in this
world. What is interesting is how man was formed as a material
being and if this is not a real handicap for our being. The great
goal of the initiatory schools of all times was to reveal the
functionalities of the connection between the material man and
the spiritual man, that is, the intellectual man capable of
understanding the reflex arcs through which he interweaves
between spirit, sou,l ansensouleddth thcouchscnoss and the
Architect. The one who aspires to higher knowledge must access
the knowledge of the ways through which he can reach the plans
he wants.

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Healing poet
The poet seems to be the healer of the body
and the doctor a bard, with enchantments soothing
of the unsoul’soul obsessive earthly pain.
There is no storm, no tornado, no deadly wave in the spirit
but only a fragment of the divine breath accepting;
this is poetry that flows like wandemore wandering,
great and fertile, to God of man missive.

I go up a step when I dream of ideas reminiscing

an act of goodwill of a healer like
I would agree with you, that I should recite and you should listen
to me in silence
the journey of a disease that frightens us unnecessarily,
I am a healer and you, humble reader, in a perpetual role of help;
I always know I'm not alone on the hallucinatory road
which we crown we ramble but also barefoot.

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 Intellectually petty illusions seeking to bring them down,
of tears, visions, hallucinations, induced darkness,
deliberately gloomy reduce captivating words, illogical grimaces
progressive dementia, deep astonishment that postpones death;
they're taken out of the storage of a forced brain not to
be still able to defend itself in the cry of the reason of the
remaining civilization
apparently at the fingertips of the only unwanted master.

It is a passion for poetry, hen melodrama screams in the woods

and the depths
the world of monsters, parasites, and demons in hypocrisy
overwhelmed,
as the sorcerer, a poet on the slopes of the abyss in crushed
blasphemy
despises rewriting ancient recipes for asphyxiation,
vague verses from the heavens of the abyss full of remorse and
hypocrisy
they rise imperceptibly under the footsteps of long-enchanted
hands;
it is perhaps the only light that the mind still knows from the
darkness.

With the angels sitting, from time immemorial, on the frail slope,
I woke up under Jupiter, Saturn, Mercury a devil patient.
No, I didn't think light could freeze me at the same time

28
powerless in the magical eclipse with the Moon over the Sun to burn
me;
but not the light, but the darkness, the cruel one, in spells and curses,
slow
hid the protection of a knowledgeable healer in the signs of
heaven
and threw him into chains which he felt only his longing.

Coming froworldorld that seems to a dobe ctor illegal,

the one of ignorance, of delirium in horrible hallucinations
a patient's mind caresses and struggles to breathe.
I want the confession of the damned with such magic sent
in the shadow returned by the placement of the planets in the sky:
Forgive, Jesus, the folly of your humble follower and traveler
left forever in your world and healers and bards.

When the Antichrist urges us, poets, to dream hell,

the product of doubt is hypothetically the slave he gives you,
faithful reader,
the proof that only water, fire, airanarranged can save you
and just because you are a Man, prpride and curse at the same
time
of the One who gave birth to the creative code among the angels
of the first and last essence which, in treating, we will give you
to joy and sorrow, a principle and truth called a poem.

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 Silence
I sink into the darkness and wait.
I was tired of my visions
to feel the indifference
Heaven is a mockery, earth a curse.
Please, I'm telling you: speak up! Why
you show yourself to me in shapes and lights
when are you shadow and darkness?

The fire flickers from the candle and I come

to cry, to hope, and to talk.
That's why I dive into what you are
without warming the ocean
and in the depths of the mountains they hide
the seeds are thrown by you in a hole
dreams and hopes being to me.
The soul is intertwined with the game, with the vision
which you share when you go out

30
 from the temple where I worship you
and remain frozen dark in the roar of silence.
I was fed up and so please:
tell me what or who you are
an angel or a god or Him?

I was walking the dream road alone;

Lamps flickered from place to place.
We rarely confuse them with stars or the sun
and it's not a path, a road, or a sky...
Heaven is a mockery, earth a curse.
But does anyone know whether to walk or float,
swimming or lightning among the stars are...

And cold is the darkness in which I sink.

And blind and deaf now I become
but no one accompanies me, alone
I am greedy for pleasure and life
but at night colors flash in the eye
touched by storms that I could only hear
inter-universes where noises cry.

I'm waiting, still waiting for you to tell me

why are you light and why
in shadows and eclipses, you hide
and you don't speak;
but the nights in dreams and the days in visions
you crush me

31
 Thousands of people adore you
for your silence is peace to them
and I understand you without listening to you.
I still cry and my voice is holy,
it's a cramp from the cursed fire
called Earth
on which
and in reality, I pass through it.

Why, you, shadow from the mirror I enter

beyond light to look
and I can feel your voice though
I'm sure: it's just an impression that I'm covering for you
with my senses numbed by silence.

But the wars don't stop either,

even angels in wings and ideas fight.
It's a plague in full swing,
a fire that I neither see nor hear
radiating light and crackling wood
flames received from darkness in silence.

Hear!? A dream now through a looking glass

I'm sending you;
in words are my thoughts and should
how it hugs you to hear them

32
 echo from a vision that I save
in the bells that sing hopes and proofs.

I waited, being alone until what

on my fellows praying to the cross
in my soul, I felt them.
I take roses to the mountains to the crucifixion
for the waters have long wept
and they united.

And you, silence from chaos and darkness

you don't even know
that all in anticipation of the humble little sign
what maybe will clarify why
the lights are shadows and the noises an urge
to write, abandoned to be, and to listen
visions and dreams at night.

And yet, more and more darkness

and the worlds struggle
in a vain silence.

33
 Still me
I shared a soul with you,
my avatar.
In years to come, you won't remember that now
I tell you,
and you will believe
that my dream is rebellious in the footsteps of angels
with featherless wings;
but don't be afraid:
from them, in the fir,e I will interpret smoke
bound in the shadows of light,
I forgot God.

It will be a moment like a thousand millennia

and no matter how much you think you're a god
in the depths of the humus living in the spirit
all avatars you will remain:
you will accept that in immortality
It's still me.

34
Once upon a time…
In daythe s ofYoreeDeepp in my heart I cannot find a place
and in tormented whirls of imprecations and spells
I suddenly gush out in spirit and forget
all my successive lives in which
I have always obeyed a sacred spirit.

And in the blizzard of my thoughts

hidden in misty clouds
by people, I suddenly wake up
to freeze, and burn,
and thus in non-exnonexistentts
I’ll pass away like withered shades.

From times othe f yorYorehave always obeyed a sacred spirit

and in the mismidst days I squeeze
between the lines my wounded thoughts,
like throbs that truly sparkle
casting a shade on a lifetime.

35
 Oh, grumpy time, which brings
in your game funeral rituals
and sometimes puts into deep caves a spring.
My light, you are the only one to blame
for all that happened
and that will.

We name it time, or destiny, or fate.

We name those, rays, that hug me altogether
a fragment of my soul within myself
that sacred spirit to whom I have always obeyed
playing according to an unknown annunciation,
or knowledge, or recollection ritual.

From times of yore

along with the so-called abstract dimensions,
my divine light you shake
my dreams, and scatter me into the clouds
and in suave perfumes of love
you put me altogether in you as an amorphous amalgam.

As well as trees are yet to bloom

you are the sacred spirit I have always obeyed
and in tormented whirls of imprecations and of spells
I leave myself into your will
and to your common sense and wisdom,
a hidden plan of luck and complications

36
 that no longer remember dawns,
those crystal clear or all those gloomy skies,
those words gathered in rays, that I would like to share
yet I forget; incentive urges;
but in my heart I cannot find a place
from days of yore.

37
Metamorphoses
In me there’s been a mourning
an old and ancient song
which has been crossing ages
through redness and through whiteness
in all that golden treasure I’ve been inheriting

I’ve known the melting fire

and all the astral cliffs of miracles
and I’ve been sharing the body of the fish
with schools of immune thinkers.

This is the only way my heart’s been mourning

and thus I lay some roses on your cross
to you I offer all the lines I’m saying:
a shroud, a flight, a song.

38
Depths
Deep down in the depths of my soul
I can feel you
impetuous passionate spirit subduing it.
You are the secret weapon of a nightmare dream
Cherishing yourself
mysterious adorned embellished gods.
And I do lie
in order to avoid troubling those who do not know
that only God’s aware and creates
my dreams, my thoughts.
But you, begotten light, carried away on wings
of sable-colored neophytes
share with me my longing
and make me in this whirl a string and choir,
gather together among your columns meanings:
you and I,
you and I,
you and I
as well as in eternity this verse will swirl.

39
40
41
42
Bells at sunrise
The bells are beating again in the village.
Should it be for me?
I fell asleep in the spiral caravel
and I didn't get up again.
I passed through the well
in another dimension
I spun in other circles
and I sleep even now, in the morning
the clouds would be mirrored in a rhombus, in a sphere,
not in good harmony,
when the bell tongues again
on my name they would rest
and the village from nowhere helped me to be able to
beyond the atmosphere
beyond what being will not be
but will come into existence again
in another reborn evening bell
in the glory of peace let me die
in the rising of another sun.

43
The all eternal being
1.

Let those who imprecated

the King whom they have crowned with thorns
be stabbed
and raise Him to the enlightened skies.

And let the infinite and the eternal dragon

break
The Word of cherubs’ wings
free from the one who was kidnapped in Spirit.

And the old man, creator of the seven stars,

will come to show the endless infinity of lights
hiding in chandeliers
the suns.

And you will know that in the heptagram

the guardian angels will free the Word
for all who will be willing to attend
being aware that there will be no second time to end.

44
 In divine grace and peace thus listen to what’s open –
the two dozen steps
will spot like in a nimbus
the emerald of visions or of dreams.

The floating ocean, the mirror of the spring

will slowly give a sign
and thus the eye will open
The All Eternal Being.

A scroll which isn’t long or wide, written with Wisdom

in a manuscript
you’ll be allowed to see just for a second
a harbinger of spells and miracles,

as well as from the seals the King, as a stabbed lamb,

unchains our lives
– terrible prophecies and pieces of advice to keep in mind
in times of judgment.

2.

And from the plundered depths

a thoroughbread white horse
will come to carry clouds from an abyss
among the golden wreaths.

45
 Surrounded by deep silence, saddled with wild and rage
the sorrel horse comes out in peace
to name unnamed
the one who sat on the throne.

The sable-colored horse will show upon

his third and clear call
I’ve never known and never will be able to recall
what are those beings who cry

and who will bring along with the green stallion

the plague, the hunger, and the beasts, the death
they tread in hooves
humanity that runs away.

O, Lord, there’s so much resignation

in all the seven skies,
while angels gather in a cube
four pillars under pyramids
another book will open.

He’s neither wind nor is he sun,

he is a rising spirit
who barely crosses the earth
yet never touching leaves or ocean.

And every sky will play the trumpets

46
 submerging mountains in the sea
and planets in the dirt,
while people sip from stenches.

Not even hollows in the wells have echoes,

yet in the bells and in the spirals
the germs will improvise a nest of comfort
to lay the unborn eggs.

3.

By then the Euphrates

thousands of flanks of armies will display
while city walls will turn a kingdom
to dust, to blood, to ashes.

Idols of gold, of silver,

of copper, of stone, and wood
will break to pieces in the uprising of their spells
which high up on the rainbow their pillars burn.

Yet, they’ll foretell into eternity

sign after sign
a book which we’ll consider a pleasure for the soul
and wormwood poison for our bodies’ blasphemy.

47
 In tripled moans the seventh call
will open in the ark
the headless necks of dragons
ferocious beasts trying to find their ways in whirl.

Thousands of thorns and crowns will roll down into billows

in fire and in tar
and in a voice they’ll all beg us for mercy
from blood, from elixir, and poppy.

And even though he had foretold great temples in the ruins

that magus
would have carried in harmonies and numbers
the tables written in darkness and in light.

I would be gone to offer dreams of leaves

and homilies
while reading them when climbing up the ladder to the sky
and keeping quiet among the saints and gods in a tremendous way.

Drown in deep waters and spells I shall imagine

the oldest city buried in treasures
’cause I have been and I shall always be a mystery,
a skinless core of meaning.

48
 .

For the last time I stumbled

indulging in
the news that the Almighty sitting under the sign of stars
is getting married

priest was the divine spirit –

the Word preached
with a staff adorned with pomegranates,
with bread, and wine.

I think I’ll be the key to depths

open the gate
on the first resurrection, when sky and earth
will perish in the commencement of the fire

and drinking from tears, from moaning, and from pains,

a hungry snake,
I’ll enter the city which wind
will build upon the one which was in ruins.

I’ll be a steward holding the twelve keys

while pointing three of them right to the middle of the crosses
and with my golden staff an ashlar
I’ll lay at their basis.

49
 Lapis philosophorum – each gate
will be exactly as it is, or as it was
the time of a Great, Wise, and Blacksmith man
got lost into infinity of fate.

Out of two trees in Eden

nothing ever reminds
of the bride’s river which
will move away evil or curse, Sofia’s aim,

a temple in the mirror

He is the sheer light
and I shall bow and sip from astral elixirs
of the All Eternal Being

50
Metempsichosis
A stork in its beak carrying us away
often in bodies on earth
He gives us to the world through His law

I became life and in divine thought

I laughed and cried, I walked
to meet my soul mates
in the grass and among the flowers,
in birds and furred creatures
to be as good as bad.

I look at a pillar from the swamp,

an ancient place from generation to generation
with little eyes out of the nest
I was also brought from the void, from the sun;
but here I am now in one
growing body of flesh.

51
 We come, we come and after we leave
in other worlds or still here
we'll be back;
another beak of a winged angel,
seen or invisible by magic
new mission'in light repeated
give us an exhortation:
may creation always remain alive.

52
53
54
It's a shame about God
You must understand, goddess of my obscure soul,
that at night I will also sing the trill of gloomy brightness
it will not be lost
and it will be a beacon of music in the spheres
by whose accompaniment
I will rejoice, twinkling with the stars.
It's not about sleep, love
nor of the betrayal of peace in a museum
what could have guided you up in the firmament
the statues' raised on centripetal stars.

You, mother of dreams, watch over the nocturnal spells

what like a cloud surrounds you
of worries, of fatigue to forget like a blizzard
born from the impossibility of being able to among the studs
to sleep, to wake up only, floating in the evening,
when the dance of living flames will ignite it
still celestial, not ending in the earthly world
a chase in the air, wings grouped in a flock,
and brought me into the world, again a child, a soil.

55
 We will not swim past the secret bridges
even if he sees them in the dark abyss that is sifting
light under the earth and a dead dominion;
we will run away from the terrible nature
what I feel is revenge in verses of darkness
and in the blessed night that gives signs
arise out of nowhere to worship one by one
I bring you the light in my hands driven by fate;
at your breast, dorito, the angels gather.

And now, the pleading sound of listening words,

drive away the fear of the coming plague,
a huge murmur when the world still sleeps,
forehead kissing when you fly the divine buttermilk
and shout in the sails of the caravels: there is no more!
Certainly, the full waves of shadows and flowers
they open a new, unknown, immense face
of the mist that hides another world without sons or mothers,
the empty abyss you walk on without falling, without shivering.

You must understand, goddess of my soul

bright in places, in which to look:
not what you wanted It will be a disaster, it will hold you back
in flight the light of my thoughts as in stories
what often hides in the night the day of the sea stars.
And I remember the Vision. It's a shame about God...

56
Prayer

I cry and I beseech both Jupiter and Juno

to be my witnesses, Godparents in fulfillment.
Repentance is the fog, prosperity’s the cloud
a wish floating in purity.

And in as much as I’d have liked to die

I feel my heart enclosed in humbleness
and I’d like Him to shed His love from sky,
His peace and His forgiveness on the earth.
I cry on Jupiter and Juno
beseeching your wounded heart in light.

57
April
My love, I feel you here in my heart
a major chord of holy blue
where the sprightly steps of thoughts
impetuously sound today.
Today when
from the dreams have vanished
those giant silent sculptures
endued with life between the skies and earth
in flesh and in caress
a gift
with grace
sprung out from you and from the deity.
My love, you offered me today
a flight which gathers
a flame which burns and where
I shall get lost in love.

58
 Helpless to write
in words
the magic name of stars – Elleny,
a light in labyrinth will be vibrating
suchlike
a major chord of holy blue.
My love, you are the gift
receiving in your heart the shrine of your life
which I can feel in you.

59
Questions
I asked you why I feel like floating on a cloud
and why some parts of mine still burn
when bathing in its waters
the sun keeps hiding while in the depths the stars will fade
and on its face my destiny has donned its false disguise.

I asked you why I miss you and why I do keep falling

up and not down drifting along on a cloud’s waters?
You entered with your cloud in me and I beseech your beams
to give you life again, my star. But have you asked yourself?

60
In the Snake, so to speak,
I'm coming back...
At Saturn set
over Miroslava,
in the Snake, I return to say
a truth hidden in the labyrinth,
what will be noticed in Aquarius,
into the waters, I will creep to cry
those who are still lying.

It appeared in the night out of the blue

a winged creature in the air;
I don't think so even now
when I get off
as if a stranger were in my mind...

It's clairvoyance to me in the gathered dice

uncertain fate
of stars in the spirit universe
what from ether lay created

61
 to change order into chaos,
holier being the place of light
in induced darkness
than in timeless being
of darkness between photons.

And when Jupiter sets

I fall asleep ... and wake up
surrounded by angels of light
like the one that was written to me
to descend from Saturn
at midnight when they worship
and Lucifer and Lilith
to those who subjected them to reproach.

Was it just a dream?

Let there be feelings, thoughts
and liberating knowledge?
To have been nothing but words
what was the big search for?

Saturn set opened its

another world in which
in prayers analyzing,
we gather the sky deep
to find me
what the night hid from the dream.

62
 It appeared in the night out of the blue
the winged angel to which
going up from step to step
I humbly bow down
and I don't know what awaits me.

Because the night is not the same as the day

though the light then comes
and clear is my separate mind
of the chaos that will know
to envelop us in anodyne posters.

And I don't expect the day to come

to laugh in rainbows and petals
like a dying garden
falsely touched by the plasma of light,
from the shaken divine wing.

But I hope: subtle energy

from afar to remember
what is not and could be
from victims and impotence to the end,
dogmatic unnatural corseting,
that is me - crystal in the core of fire.

In the Snake, so to say, I'm coming back...

63
64
65
66
The Seven Babili
to the Divine Goddess of the Poetry Fire, Julieta

You are the sun which I shall never be able to turn away from its
path while my hands will break down mountains in order to
remove from my inner fire the lapis lazuli, the stone of your
divinity. Seven wings struggle to destroy the air which rebels in
nothingness, dissipating demons’ thoughts crowned with snakes,
lightening, and waves.

You are the ravaging of heaven and earth the one who displays her
brightness to mirror the light of the miracles in the stars, stronger
than fire. The seven ears of the valley where you raise bells will
always hide like in a prison love and hate, falling upon with fury in
a darkness with no past or future.

You are the anthem of the first rays that bring the truth and in a
feelingless empty place lacking the blessing from the abyss where I
shall raise my temple. And I shall die. The seven eyes that go
around the ocean do not remember how to see the dead brought on
the scaffold of the life and in comparison to them I’m not a
wonder-worker, nor do I know how to pray.

67
 You are the sun that I’m not able to lead astray and so my hands
destroy the last books in the library of the frozen and funereal
realms. Seven circles order the guards to open the gate while
wondering who’s going to watch them, as well as they watch us, the
shepherds of gods. Who’s going to shepherd us and who’s going to
guide the destiny of our fate?

You, the one who is lost by the guide of the worlds’ kinship, hold
my hand and lead me to be your astral sign and guardian spirit,
guiding the two of us in our fate.

68
Nest
Returned from heaven, restless and alone, I sleep no more
in the grass where hailstones dance
and thoughts slipped from a tree
cry the strange memories carried in a stork's beak.

Hence the heavy tracks from the sleep of forgotten forests

slip in the thrill by which a caravel advances,
fruited signs in the orchard of ripe messages
which you, only you spread to the dreamers.

On a pillar is the nest from which tears pour;

from the stars for a long time I flow like an oasis in flight
roam a cloud; scales, claws and an old horn,
I cling like a lost remnant of a ray.

Such is the message that I hide in the sheets

and you don't forget me when I come in the stork's beak
an avatar, wings fluttering like a shiver
in the sleep of those who still dream of me.

69
The world of living
grapes
to Juliet

One day
you will come too
in the world of living grapes
crying dust
incomprehensible
of memories and not
and you won't know
why in this world
I chose you.

I miss the simple hour

of the seized world
at sunrise he falls asleep;
you were always my corolla
cutting eternity
between one star and another
not subject to customs.

70
 so you know baby
I won't wait long
that light which
keep it near the altar
on the day of command,
another day of mine
and yours bound in the world
living grapes.

71
Somewhere someday
The world is on fire again;
the game never ends
thoughts wander the explosions in the stars,
angels return from infinity
and fires into the world again
with-poisoned rain souls ignite.

All humanity is bleeding

mothers and children run
full of blue eyes
in rows they pass over the ruins in the road
even death is drunk
and raise the angels in smoke.

Oh my God, hang up the phone!

The earth is dry without water;
angels with burnt feathers also flee
let's cry the heat of the cold
when one of us is dying
humiliated dragons and false kites.

72
War again
God, what suffering
compel the world to endure
from one end of the universe to the other;
but too bad:
does he have an end in infinity?
or like us, deprived of will
kneel before the chosen one
we wait for destiny to steal it from us.

Frightened gathering of undead

starving, poor world
what it takes away from her own being
souls that would escape
so much enmity from heaven flowed
I wonder:
Oh, God, this suffering

73
Travel
under the ion cloud in eastern Europe

From neighboring stars

pyramids light up
in the world in which water waters
insipid cliffs and beaches.

He had slipped into the wet pit

full of animals and corpses
ending in bare wings
under furrows, stubble and hills.

She looked like a deity not a fairy

frozen queen melted in fire.
Welcome, Spanish being
no claws and no body!

I rejoice, as it were, in sadness

of my astral meeting.
Do not drive me away, do not give me goodness:
is it from the future or from the past?

74
It seemed to be from a neighboring star
light in darkness extinguished;
dry is the spirit of the waters
and above it is a snowy mist.

what are you Or who? You can say

or make me understand.
It's no one's dream, no one's wandering,
not a hope to cling to.

But where are they? I can barely tell:

I myself no longer feel air.
Gentle Chimera from the mundane realm
he understood me in spirit.

75
The stone bridge
In such times
on the way I pass
as among vibrating eddies
our disasters
on a stone bridge not yet demolished.

Up between the heavens my eyes are drowning

in the radius of time that seems bent
towards the deep earth
where the indelible traces of antiquity
of those who
they trampled over the graves
still bleeding with smoke
and I swear I won't leave
on the way pain without pressing
over a secret tunnel into which they flow
time fragments
which of the bridge that will be torn down,
holy ascension of life over death,
wing lights I'll gather.

If only I were to let souls perish

it cannot be the greatest sin
like the hanging-beings
of generous shadows
from thick arms wielded by a beast
powerless of them to escape,
I wouldn't hurt myself jumping

76
 in the bell of angry words
to value his love to learn
because in the middle of summer
how wonderful it is to enjoy
of a world transformed into Eden.

But it's not.

Because behind, in the sand
cries a cut flame, missing mother...
shoots grow, but not at home
that's why I feel like I'm passing by
new grass seeds
at the edge of a tree
with deep roots, but cut,
broken nests around
and refugee orphan birds
in the secret tunnel
in which the fragments of time flow.

Meaningless, stupid they seem

the true values
while, Lord, we
Astral Travelers, Your dreams
deep in verse we slip them,
oceans, mountains, plains to cross,
terrible times
to sculpt them to remember
in the new bridge of sacred stone Your world
for those who will be.

77
The Athanor in the
Window
Through the hollows in the well, the spring.
Click on the right and then enter! There
the calash with veils that have been luring you
has been waiting for you in a different bell:
“Take this key and open the bolt.”
A new labyrinth and a map
unfolded in the sky;
they keep changing continuously
and there there is the long expected
magic alchemical wedding.

But you, illustrious spirit, click!

Your seemingly lively window
has been mixing times and bodies –
the athanor being in me.

78
Banal
Everything’s white. Banal. Light cries
in the shadows. It snows.
Fairyland around, death under heaps of snow.
From angels’ tears that drip down their wings,
browsing a book
which I’ve been writing, my body slowly has been blowing out,
whipped by the guilt,
and wounded, however full of seeds
in scattered dreams in air leading
behind a cloud of darkness
from which like light I’ve been reborn.

And everything is shining. Banal.

The divine’s shadow stopped crying.
And all who loved me once
are no longer around.
A memory – the heaps of snow
yearning again for being born.
Bloodbath is under it
while above me there’s snow.

79
Countless
Shards. Hundreds. Thousands. Countless.
You match them according to their sizes,
to their colors, and brilliance.
The history of a lifetime is written
thought by thought in eternity,
the hidden pot holistically hidden in a book
while the book is deposited
in the archives of a library.

Shards. Hundreds. Thousands of them scattered in the skies.

They cast a doubt in secret
and shafts of light in glances,
a fire which once was
a crystal clear water in oases,
the end of skies that were kissed
forever with love.

Discovering new sins you cried

with every shard of time,
with every change,
traces of wax – my life –
a candle smoke.
Shards. Hundreds. Thousands. Countless.

80
81
82
Vampire
Resignedly I waste my time away in a long line of cars.
Only the sun looks happy
chasing away the darkened curtains of the hills.
And you forgot to say “good morning”
being obsessed with
dry and unimportant things
that have been haunting you for years
– repulsive reasons to anyone of us,
silvery nails with which you crucified me.

And I have made it to the next traffic light

while in its divine spirit the sun’s been floating
while angels have been burning all my vampire body
the one which sucked the sap of all my dreams,
air which I long to breathe is denied,
being bound.
My sweetheart, you tied me up not only with this belt
although deep down in my heart
I am another one,
and on the crafted cross adorned with longing
the purest white rose I have become.

83
Moods
When I awakened the sky was spitting bitter flakes of snow.
I told myself: this weather is not good for flying
because a flight is like a dream
yet it is not a magic time for me to die in the Great Journey.

And thus all I could do was begin to write.

Some times the sky turns red at sunset.

The light sets Toaca Peak3 on fire laying down
a beautiful rainbow carpet in Gloria Pacem4
– a realm of dreams.
With my eyes widely open I would not wish to die
because I’d like to hear the scent of silence
falling from the sky bitterly engraved on a new scroll.

__________________________
1 One of the peaks of Ceahlău Mountain can be seen from Iaşi city, Romania on a serene
evening.
2 Miroslava (a Slavic toponym translated by the author in Latin), where in October, 1831 the
Institute for the Education of the Noble Children of Moldova was established in the palace of
the great Moldavian boyar Vasile Beldiman.

84
Struck by thunder a purple-reddish flower rises again;
and all that’s living freezes a world of bodies floating
in my depths and in my dreams.
Death resuscitates one thought after another
the man in love
perishing and passing through the abyss.

85
The Milky Way
Since days of yore the light has always been around
yet we grope in the dark. The proscript would like to know
how he could see and name the stars in the sky.

The poor neophyte was told

that on his way from the Great Bear to the Southern Cross
he could go only through Sirius or through Betelgeuse
and thus, in the sanctuary,
close to the hierophant
in that silence commanded by Isis
he reached midday.

With steadiness, beauty, and wisdom

he felt how fire, water, wind, and earth
gave him chills under his skin and in his bones.
O, God, the impetuous novice was amazed
when before being blind-folded he noticed
the reddish-purple column

86
 representing everybody’s utmost desire:
And for the spirit to ascend to Osiris’ light and then
to show the darkness of the pointed column
the soul is held hostage in the body.

Once he returned to the yard of the temple

where in deep silence and humbleness servants were working
he remained there for a week. When he came back
he was asked at the gate
if he agreed to be blind-folded again
so as not to see the darkness
in which he’d been plunged.

He wanted to know everything,

that was why he was there;
and he came in crossing a pitch-black hallway
having no other exit but the gate
he’d dared to come in.
Aligned on the two sides
there were statues of gods
with human bodies and lions’ heads,
bulls, hawks, snakes, and a sarcophagus.
Close to him there were this mummy and a skeleton,
and the eternal question:
will he keep going on in darkness or he’ll give up?
And if he wanted to go back
he could have done it

87
 because that gate he made it through
was not yet closed.
Yet, he, the neophyte, keeps going on.
A voice from beyond
whispered deeply, creepily whistling:
“this is the place where the foolish that long for light will perish.”
And for a moment he saw their high mountains
covered with tall fir trees and deer,
the emerald lake where he and his sweetheart
had mirrored.
She had remained at home to nurture their children.
And then the sea, the waves that swung
the ship which had brought him down to the shore
out of his patriarchal life. But he was stirred
by that desire
to hold a spark
out of that fire which
in his turn he could have offered.
And he went on.

The tunnel began to narrow

and then again it widened like a funnel
and in its middle there were a well and a ladder
descending deeply into the ground.
At the last step, close to the brink of abyss
a crevice opened to one side.
And he kept going. Little by little
after some time

88
 which one could not define and seemingly deceptive
that precipice went upward
and at its end that bridge made the connection
with an enormous hall
whose domes were supported by hundreds of caryatides.

He felt tired, yet he would have liked

to wrap in his pure and eager soul
the symbolical frescoes on the walls.
Under each painting
there were a serial number and a letter. A magus
explained to him their significance
in this divine, intellectual, and physical world.

But he
dozed ecstatically, wondering if all this,
everything,
had not been part of a dream…

It was getting dark. The High Priest’s words

reverberated solemnly. The moon ship
gushed out from the dark mirror
of the ocean which spread its waters among islands
like an enormous blue animal
disseminating its lateen sails
between celestial and earthly lives
just like those angels of the eternal spirit temples.

89
 Truth must be hidden from the weak,
otherwise they’ll lose their minds.
And only by then could he hear the voice of the world
just like Hermes did in days of yore.
Look at the first major arcana:

a magus in a white robe

jumps up on the Chariot of Osiris
through the lightening-stricken tower to the fiery star
and then back to the magi’s crown.

Arches after arches,

fires that were nothing else but illusions,
waters that had to be crossed
over bridges and deep grottoes
where temptations were reigning unconditionally.

And the knights

holding swords, torches, and locust branches led him
in front of the altar where
in the middle of the cross one could see
the rose
in a seven rayed tiara.
It was midnight. He was floating.
He had taken the oath of silence and obedience.
Now he could go home only by thinking
and naming the stars in the sky
because he knew how to do it.

90
91
92
Imaginary angels’ wing
A poem which will never come to an end
(the problem is that it has no beginning)

I’ve taken from the universe a grain of light,

the one which can create in us
that multitude of words and lines
amalgamated in a jar where they deeply throb
in all that was, will be, and is in skies, in foggy mists:
infinite spheres, crystals, pyramids, icosahedra.

There is in us that great reflection,

as one can see in the stray snakes at dawn,
the nowhere darkness is everywhere,
fed up with so much walking
adorned with wings in birth and death, unreal life
which once was incarnated in heavenly aureoles,
the gilded stars
led by their errant rays whose chills they’ll give us.

And I can feel, the I – the Word, mourned like a rain

with no beginnings and no endings of non-existent wings;
and I can feel the journey in uncontrolled shadowy games
and I can feel the way we’re born and die, this vivid burning
which offers love in hour glasses through sphinxes’eyes
or through the unicorns incensing this huge sky breathing waves,

93
the light in which for us the written message is worthy of laying down
buds and falling leaves just like those stars that people
fly with their blooming staffs
colors and harmonies to catch in copper chalices.

And I shall take a seat to let my scented body rest. Bees,

butterflies, thousands of birds swarm to me to quench their thirst.
Petals laugh, silence sings. A splendor in infinite wings,
while you breathe and enjoy tasting from me touches of light,
that rolled spiral conceived on division of waters.

You fly and I raise the earth in a high-pitched symphony,

a sound coming from the four cardinal points
and eternally called by the infinite eye
which was, yet now remained only a mere boat waiting for me
and where I shall get lost under your empty solace
and on this altar which once enchanted us, a shallow speechless
world.

Listen to this grain of light created from darkness.

inhale it as from the Spirit you got in the beginning
the breeze which brought oblivion in a flesh coat
which in a different bell beyond it showed you the way to the well
through azure and divine gift, an ascension to the unseen temple.

Between my wings I carry the written Word. But who doesn’t have
it?
And if you have forgotten it, any of us can read and utter it...

94
Metempsichosis
A stork in its beak carrying us away
often in bodies on earth
He gives us to the world through His law

There is fire between the bathed words

in deep waters by spell separated
on the day when from the Holy Spirit
we incarnated deep into a fish
and life I gave on earth
after His long dead appearance.

We were prodigies in the woods learning

the seeds to bear fruit
the frail sprout memory having
new wise rays to receive.

95
 We're leaving, we're leaving through eternal ascension
to the first Source
to share the diversity of the world
and of the longing-obsession call to stay,
do not return to the meeting place.

It's a curse, command or honor

take this journey to infinity?
Led by angels from sun to sun
we clothe an eternal cycle of to be.

96
Elleny
O, God, I thought that in spring
new millennia would reform,
that the air would bloom and that in the ground
seeds would break
the rocks in the soul
and that angels would fly.
Yet, only one popped out
(and that one was enough).
It came from love and from the most adored body
and it was named Elleny.

O, God, You created the universe

and thus the apple trees
gave Easter their offers
as well as now my lines
an ode of apple blooming
and of rosed beams
in orchards
and in gardens

97
 they fell down from the crown
alongside with the blood and thorns.

The world woke up,

a world of lights
and thus was born Elleny.

This year should have

two springs,
because at dusk
under the starry sky
you, my beloved,
a poem and a mystery,
opened your body
for the second time
to make my wish come true
and thus was born Elleny.

98
99
100
Slope
In rivers that burn under lava and brimstone,
among the flames, I bathe.
It's the dream of someone who thinks I'm still in the tree
lots of food
ripe in the wind
by which I, submissive herald
frost in the waters of Phlegeton.

I don't laugh, I don't cry; It's a real tournament

of the times to come
in light-years meeting everything that was
while nothing is as it was:
even winged blood is useless
in the waters of fire, I think I am a pony
in hel,l it will snow as it rains.

At midnight the darkness of dreams arched

bring created-hidden bells,
the certain light that worlds embroider by telling
how am I - what am I:
nothing less
a gray-haired traveler,
no more.

101
Traveler Train
Bright shimmers of light are on me
ideas arrived in long trains flew without rails,
from the sky to the sky, from the mountain valleys across
the field,
between oceans subject to darkness for me
in the ground.

Long signals will turn from the ruins,

clean blood-stained spots of an astral animal
what will give me photos from that time
go and snow in the clouds from hill to hill
a sun.

Lights that run in the moonless night

we are sacrificed to ennoble liquor in a rite,
virgins roaring hopelessly and crowning
in front of the dark train that rang the bell
it resounds.

102
From the eyes of lights
I'm sneaking crying
From behind the eyes of lights
who can know
thoughtful of you, sad to be
and feel you
assimilated by suffering -
a lost rose
on a cross between gardens
destined to be believed
muddled between lies
a lack of will
pariah killed by blue worlds.

Eyes of lights you don't know anymore

woke up in dark dreams
I was, I am
in embracing a land
lonely, winged
of closed and open steps

103
 under the eyelids degraded
with broken feathers, still alive
and no one knows me
why are the words flowing?

I was in the eyes lights

what love I cry
from behind-a ghost
and who could say
that I never understand you
contained in horseradish
and drowned in gorse
of a sky ennobled with thorns
what hurts in revenge
a cross with flowers.

From behind the eyes of lights

I rediscover myself blind
and who can know de'nvins
from below or above in the dream I sip
so sad
but driven by desires,
of love and wine
in the light of lights
what an angel you are, humble artist
a soul of the earth
to understand that I am yours.

104
Verse of the Moon
The moon is flying
Red sky
Extinguish the mystery clouds
The fruit of ancient enigmas.

Spotted harmonies
Weeping wings
Are struggling with hidden ideas
Between matching quilts.

Beyond the sky falls asleep

The soul of God
I also come out of the forest
Entwining myself in horns.

What a mystery
It's in the forest
May the horns steal them from me
A nightmare licked from the coat.

Hang in there, universe!

There are no stars and no luminary
Blue sky
Moon - verse.

105
Tree of Life and Acaccia
I was in the shade, trees full
of sap, leaves, you again,
pine, cypress, and cedar among the olive trees,
you fell without knowing it
that you are chosen to become one
a witness to heaven.

That's what he had said to the thorns

the holy acacia to be
on his forehead crown,
a weeping suffering
in tears and lights
what in bloody eyes looks like blood.

From the cross I, divine tree,

I feel it flying - but it's not hard for me.
Take me from gate to gate
with a faint soul and stumbling
reddening my wood for the plebs,
knowing that I will become the sign.

106
So there is no difference between us,
yet destiny, the Word of the Father,
said the sacred tree of wood;
you raise your forehead to Heaven
of which I land the earth
in salvation and essence.

107
The Eternal Covenant
Oh, my God, I picked you up
for thousands of years a temple
and I didn't know
that's the place
in which the sunsets.

I only understand now

that is not enough
a scepter
and a wreath of lights.

In the temple like a tent

promised by the world
I bow
knowing
I prophesied
the end of a beginning
of hidden grace
in bone shell

108
 contained by jind
trampling on scepters and crowns,
the light I lost
get it again
in the temple still standing
with the spirit I still carry
under the bell meant to ring ...
and resonate.
Oh, my God!

109
Oh my. I'm sorry
Alas, God, if I want to worship
, I will glorify thee with thy glory.
if not, he tried to slip me dead
in his hand with a cigar and a glass of wine.

Hide me and many others

to feel horrors, to see lies,
to know and not to believe what he might covet
the man created by Prometheus and the bare angels.

but looking for life in the chaos of the dream pig,

I have discovered, O Lord, in my depths
the grace of the light of the birth
like a mystery that you have closed in our bodies.

Under the Morning Star, whose nest they become,

I gather the wisdom that I strive to gather
from the shadows of sleep that in silence say:
Alas, God, if I want to worship…

110
The First Word
In the light, the rays combine,
mix colors and in their shadow
they break, for it is only darkness
their humble absence from the spectrum
visible to no one, keeping a ring of mystery
in the fire, but under the ashes
it burns and burns in hidden grace
The First Word.

Out of nowhere comes the sky to greet

in chaos not only those rays, nor traveling
mystery in hai-hui bells
on the clouds without shadows, photons chaining
what a mountechohoes, Your creation, His creation,
enigma and power, my world,
The First Word.

I'm a cave under the skies hiding

virtues and vices, multiple human clues
that I didn't, that I didn't just pick up twisted rays
sweet or bitter, with the scent of wildflowers,
hay or seaweed
in the unseen world together
The First Word.

111
Ethelia
Poems for Julieta

Why <do you think so? >

I didn't have it
what I couldn't
to want to have
when I bleached
in the waters of the egg
salt and sulfur
at the right fire
burning matter
in thformam of the world
and how I didn't cook
or rusting
I didn't stop
to fulfill the secrets of nature?

112
Why <are you onldreamingam?>
in a reddish spirit,
mixing the resin
I soaked the decoction
in standing water
of the beginning and the end
and I chose, master,
with the hidden truth
in the stone that is not stone,
in Glory that is not art,
in the spirit of brass
of the deep sun
through the heart of a cross
intermittent?

Why <do you want to forget?>

the principle of the work by which
you will unite the world
in saffron black

from the crushed flower cure,

God bless you,
in lead, in copper and living silver,
vapors from the sublimated elixir
they replace sleep with death
and wash, boil and bake the bottle
the whole fragment?

113
 Why <can you avoid it?>
I set myself on fire
the whole body to get
something that would transform
we want the unseen light
the whole body-colored
extracted from the secret Ethelie,
from my content
of spirit and substance
what sages just unite?

Why <are you just wondering? >

one purpose I will be to know
what I couldn't
to want to have:
the splendor of the great mystery,
when you are gold too
you could be silver,
if I were to test my wonder
listening children
and they are afraid
that man would not be human? Why?

________________________
Ethelia is a burnt and dry body, red and white, fire and sieve or riddle,
holding together the living water of mercury (Wikipedia)

114
Me, baby
Less common in the citrine phase
when red, black and white
it's the world of an egg
set up for a wedding
when the wet is cold
and the heat is troubling me.

My morality as a son of light

It's like a fetus in a womb
feeling his destiny of why?
what would I bother to say…

115
Night after night
With my hand, I fulfill the royal art
and ferment the abject state of diplosis,
seeing that you do not believe;
that's why I'm disappointed and I want to
to sublimate me
through a solvent of honey
put in a pot on low heat
under sweetened rays and still dew.

But even now I'm scared

that I pissed and ennobled myself
In seventy years, the tumult subsided
and I didn't find out why
only the Holy Spirit knows
what's my name…

116
Sacred heart
When I can understand
the words of the wise man in the book
I'll know it's not long
until death
and I accomplished my work
like a secret curse
and a debt
like the round
which transforms me
in five bows,
the stone being under my chisel,
volatile to fly in light waters,
starting the rosary from where
one last shout of the name
what I hid in it
in the heart of my beloved
without knowing it.

117
In the Oven of Light
In the Holy Furnace of Light
I hug you
and envelop your dense spirit
in the depths of the damaged water
he hides from the fire you dream of
the whole Adamic body
which slowly flows between the clouds
what a storm envelops us, let's become
still-baked liqueur;
but of earth and water,
in the air and with fire
let us be one soul in the ether,
photons in the transparent body
of calcination from the Sun and the Moon
to germinate in infinite love.

We are apotheotic ferment

in the mysteries of a spirit
Ros Lucis through the Ethelia of a Fruit
from the tree that
with heavenly grace nourishes
the one who will not be hungry forever.

118
 We will drink from the water of life
What a wetland
under the morning star
and turns us into an elixir.

Our color is subtle

extracted from the depths
the arcane hidden by the rostral gold:
alterius non sit qui su usesse pot est1;
you don't know or you don't want to know any more
out of the cave when I go out
why does water absorb us
and how much
in your name in the burning fire
I love you.

1
Paracelsus

119
Black night
Black night
overseas -
east of Jupiter.
No, I'm not crazy.
The waves vibrate the Greek harmonies
Saturn also precedes the eyes
on the mystery of heaven
to give birth to the mark of the beast
but we guard
as the self between the eyelashes
not to be understood
Let the spirit not say
why on a moonless night
we feel the harmonies
we hide our thoughts
under a mask,
we don't care
of false stars,
the heart prays
rows in silence
And all in this
black night.

120
121
122
Gray day
The sky cries all-day
The hidden sun roars
after the fires
and it resonates in my soul
my heart is gone.

The wind was silent for a moment

to ring the bell again;
the clouds splashed in blood
sails beat the crown again
colored arcs to pour.

Angels with defeated powers

I rinse the water in the mud.
My heart is silent again.
I speak in closed circles
in huge draconic glory.

123
 I am the sun and I am defeated
through a bed of clouds;
I'm still looking and I don't like it
why do I fly and who shoots me
from deep chains, strings.

The sky weeps all day long;

at night I am also a spring.
The secret of our existence
he revealed a broken razor
and the wonder of a longing.

This is how the wheel turns

and in the fountain, the fountain flows
from the mantle of a magician.
The wind is waiting for him.
The bells are ringing.

I stay in the summer whisper

dawn to pass through them
like a boiled chick
floating under a cloud
infinitely in the flight of fate.

124
Cosmic
I urge you to draw in the evening
from bright eyes, into angel wings
as in heaven
Jupiter, Saturn, humble run
after the cunning Venus and Mercury.

In vain. Thousands of stars are coming

the end of a road
while under the full moon
I bet.

125
The stone bridge
In such times
on the way I pass
as among vibrating eddies
our disasters
on a stone bridge not yet demolished.

Up between the heavens my eyes are drowning

in the radius of time that seems bent
towards the deep earth
where the indelible traces of antiquity
of those who
they trampled over the graves
still bleeding with smoke
and I swear I won't leave
on the way pain without pressing
over a secret tunnel into which they flow
time fragments
which of the bridge that will be torn down,
holy ascension of life over death,
wing lights I'll gather.

126
 If only I were to let souls perish
it cannot be the greatest sin
like the hanging-beings
of generous shadows
from thick arms wielded by a beast
powerless of them to escape,
I wouldn't hurt myself jumping
in the bell of angry words
to value his love to learn
because in the middle of summer
how wonderful it is to enjoy
of a world transformed into Eden.

But it's not.

Because behind, in the sand
cries a cut flame, missing mother...
shoots grow, but not at home
that's why I feel like I'm passing by
new grass seeds
at the edge of a tree
with deep roots, but cut,
broken nests around
and refugee orphan birds
in the secret tunnel
in which the fragments of time flow.

127
 Meaningless, stupid they seem
the true values
while, Lord, we
Astral Travelers, Your dreams
deep in verse we slip them,
oceans, mountains, plains to cross,
terrible times
to sculpt them to remember
in the new bridge of sacred stone Your world
for those who will be.

128
Miracle
A light, a miracle
it reaches deep,
from the depths of wisdom,
a soul flame that
among twinkling stars
decided to gather them
- baby of love
in the spectacle of the univers.
How can it be so simple
and who's in our life
to secretly bring so much happiness?
Ottawa, September 1, 2022

129
Visions
Visions imperceptibly hide
in the sky of the wind while
a soul leaves and wounded
cry and try
to swim as high as possible
in a walled ending
of waiting rats
unutterable
the child to share with
the light of your smile having
in amber eyes a thought.

It's sure fulfilling when you tell me

that in a jar you discover
my first wish
imperceptible visions
what they seem to be hiding
for thousands of years passing
in flight bound by a deep veil
what no longer wants to be a thought.

130
 I tremble to steal
from the jungle snakes to entangle
shining stars kneeling
and to be able to
create new dark worlds
with angels and fairies around,
to stop crying and forget
because in ignorance and soroc
visions imperceptibly hide

131
Last will
The umbrellas lengthen in autumn
And we become the abyss in the dark
Whispers of light.

I would like bodies to whiten in the sky

Wings full of ashes
What they grew under the full moon.

God, you cry deep in the wound,

Change the cursed world of destiny
and it turns me into a clear day!

Look, that evening coat

I miss the food of life;
Lengthening the umbrellas in autumn ...

Tears sublimate into venom

Under the roots of fire covering
Whispers of Light.

132
The light tower
Walk as light as you can!
(John 12:35)

What you see is just a reflection

of the desired dreams
or just a weeping mind
and that hurts
of angels without shadows
forever despised.

Therefore close your eyes,

the lights go out
in the dew that does not ignite
through traveling heavens
under the flickering wings!

You are the light that

you broke away from an icon,
you are the mother of salvation
rays from the sky

133
Decision
A crazy thought crosses his mind
In the light of a cloud
That shines in the night
And urges me to fly.

Butterflies seem like dripping blood

Flapping its wings to swim
Twisted on a grave.
My sky is disturbed between whispers.

Wind floating towards you...

I died: it doesn't seem like death to me.
I rather cry inside
Public dreams in the new book.

134
Bells at sunrise
The bells are beating again in the village.
Should it be for me?
I fell asleep in the spiral caravel
and I didn't get up again.
I passed through the well
in another dimension
I spun in other circles
and I sleep even now, in the morning
the clouds would be mirrored in a rhombus, in a sphere,
not in good harmony,
when the bell tongues again
on my name they would rest
and the village from nowhere helped me to be able to
beyond the atmosphere
beyond what being will not be
but will come into being again
in another reborn evening bell
in the glory of peace let me die
in the rising of another sun.

135
Escape from silence

It's hard for me to keep quiet.

I'll be damned if I keep silent
although a comfortable quilt would be silence.
And who cuts my wings in flight
when the angels of the word
does the wind give me light?

I don't want to get off

I don't want to fall into the stars
i hurt my eyes -
Photons hit by evil spirits
bend my created space
but still no tmp
wanting to twist the stars between them,
the natural order is shown to the world.

And the wind blows: it lifts me up

from mountain to mountain to nothingness.
From there they come, there they go

136
 those who never bend.
It is our souls suffering
like bodies full of shit
and far away they are in reality
from the beginning given
by the divine spirit.

I want to know,
when at night at the fountain,
that fountain through which I pass
the dying bells,
do I want to worship?; to pay attention
looking at what I hear in myself
that it is still beating, it is still struggling:
the smile of my guardian angel
guide through this world
of false prophets
and the lies that proliferate.

What else could I do?

when I'm still flying and can't shut up anymore?

137
The eyes you hide
from me
I'd be blind to see
day by day the wonder that
He sits in a full suitcase
with light banners
silver rays of the moon
and living flames from the sun.

But that's how I ask for a song

who trembles to say
after the theft of color
which hides year after year
delicate flower arms
and a free, wild dream.

Sadly I return between the trees

what the future ships look like to me
green walkers masts
what overturns the sails of the sacks

138
 with floating coffins
to the depths that draw me
in the fountain of a bell,
a cloud of fire in a miracle
renovating the eyes that
I love them without looking
for they strike me in the face
a stream of thoughts, thousands.

139
Hosanna!
Oh, my God, I picked you up
for thousands of years a temple
and I didn't know
that's the place
in which the sunsets.

I only understand now

that is not enough
a scepter
and a crown of light
to order the waters to gather
and give birth
in playful flames an imaginary world,
a tilting bridge
to pour out of Eden my vast love.

140
 Oh, my God, stop running and floating
on the clouds, in the sky, they hung nothing.
That's where I sanctify the binder in the aura
with the new dawn that grows in my soul
endlessly.
It's the same world I'm looking at,
Building a temple for him in thousands of years
infinite.

141
***
Thousands of waves come to close
of the fountain coil of fire and dream.
The elders gather in song sparks
antennae in chaos an empty spiral.

The secret of pain is the secret of a bell

what a good world - a traveling soul
returned to me, mortal angel
overwhelming the scales of pleasure in the wings.

A sad glade that lost irises

today is the bridge to the endless,
bridge through which I pass colored as a man
rainbow of tears and woven ideas.

142
Holy song
Hope is born of faith
and manifests itself through love

The weeping man is deaf and blind

when it descends into the well;
a pain washes the bells at noon
and in the hope, it flows up

the angels face angels

from clay people to make,
clothes for souls under apples
or let it fall into the heavens.

The only power, you, miracle,

giving light through whispers
you decide as they say,
to curl up like a snake.

God, you, from the light of dawn,

spirit bearer over the earth
you gave life, fire, and guilt,
you remained a holy song.

143
Fate
You have returned, Christ, morning star
oscillating between humility and fear,
divine embodied spirit, to bring to a meaning
wind and waves, a typhoon in the book of life.

You are also the key with which it opens

it is a path of hope, humble and spiral.
I trust in the Glory of Peace and in the time that flies
to spread plagues on aphid roses.

Cursed me, Lord, for dogma and thought

which I forgot to embody in the night;
you defend me, you take care of me through the seven arts
in which I hid envy but also love.

In the maze between falling asleep and waking up

a dead soul floods the universe
and the complaint remains meaningless
in my dogmatic chariot that was not to be.

144
145
146
The Mystery of the Void
Waves of the huge noetic ocean
they grimace overwhelmed by conceived spirals;
uncertainties, doubts about a poetic harbor
Sacrifice me into messianic missions
to give of a supposedly prophetic spirit
what an intellectual void they roam unfulfilled.

And then mumbling a lump of clay

which separates him in the baseness of the infinite
I know I'm caught in the snare of the woven enemy
from thoughts and sins through the hell of those who came,
brought as the last treasure, as the last kiss
which a unicorn would give to the humble.

But I ask in sacrilege and the mountains buried in the spirit

I can't stop the light from violently burning a code
misinterpreted by thousands of stars
and obedient archangels, gods who can no longer
to save the worlds in which I was born
and in the darkness, they were made wicked.

147
 Deep comfort in wide immortality
it is the living worship of my Christian prophecy.
I couldn't fly anymore, but it's not in my nature
to leave the tired wings with which I leave alive
trapped in a space, in time trapped in ignorance -
creative movement in the mystery of divine thought.

148
The face that hurts me
The face of time in a pendulum is setting
and amnesty through the mirror
rummages
in suffering love is a carol
and sanctifies it;
it is an agreement between the past and the future
capable of giving birth and killing;
the wagon is driven by memories
from my thoughts
of peace but also beginnings
to the dry ocean in which my soul grows again.

Let there be lightning, hallucination in spheres

in closed pyramids, initiations, mysteries;
to strangle me all gather
and this dying world
restless
and it hurts.

149
Metempsichosis
A stork in its beak carrying us away
often in bodies on earth
He gives us to the world through His law

Crawling through grasses, climbing trees

movement is the gift of structures
from the immutable deep blue universe.
But meeting in others as new lights
in song and harmonies new bodies leap.
In their breath then call-us-will
a duty to fulfill – sacred spirit-having
from the book in which a new word is written.

150
 I met the dark light
what is the secret of the words that were or will be
as in the obsolete ritual hides them.
There are caves that lead to the labyrinth,
in misunderstandings for us, humble crowd
fragments of frequencies, colored waves,
monads who forget everything they have learned to know.

Thus we fulfill an order of the Light

unimaginable souls of stone and earth,
they are places where newcomers marvel
how to live off a stork's beak...

151
Tandem
I'll be back if I can
from the illusory realm of Daled.
Axiologically I cry the journey
and weather and untouched spaces
in which there is nothing and no one we are all;

it is not fast, nor slow

we were
between a blessing and a curse;
I decide not to ask:
of plagues and where I go
for the verb is in the spiritual space
- tandem.

152
***
What else to rain
if it doesn't snow anymore
What else to burn
if it doesn't go out

It's the end of the fountain

of hell place
beginning of the moon
the end of luck.

What else to bring

the bell in the ring
What else to erupt
when they push us to the sky

I don't know about crazy people

I know what to choose
when the coals go out
on a weak planet.

153
Runaway
I ran from night to day
to learn
of light chimerical sense
and to be - the only way.

Traveling in the sky with Nyx

I'm hanging on
why I had and I was,
what could have been chix?

But I ran away

hidden
passing life like a fool,
a life I have no idea about.

Why did I run to the mud

anointed
covering the cost of the mistakes
and I hid in the light?

I don't know and I don’t know ...

154
Ecstasy
Ecstasy is a shadow in broad daylight
which can be hot or cold
passing under the golden lashes,
abundant white or black clouds
over the fountain that is about to dry up
and a feeling of water muttering.

The shadow breaks in the poisonous wind

getting lost in flakes,
bringing my message to the green pond
floating under swans and angels,
in the sun-soaked shadows, as then
when the soul in them is ecstasy.

155
Fire from water
I am clay and drink, you are fire
through which you turn the wings into the ether.
This is my dream
not only when
from me, you put these elements together
and bless an unreal mystery.

I find myself full of colors

truly creating a rainbow
and I wake up slipping
from dream to deep dream
in the reverie of dawn,
loving you; it's not me.

156
157
158
Nightmare weather
The twig in the crunch of the meow
locking the mask in his soul
when they had no smile
the people of this world
deceived to cry in fists
what did they have,
like me,
the holy sign given by God
burned on coals
.
My loving cat was twisting
caressing dreams and fire
which were still burning
meaning the place by the stars,
the birth of worlds
through arid summers
full of alder
and I'm still lost
to sow
in winter through the gardens.

159
 These are the times when: why do you write?
they secretly ask you
lots of kids
numb without regret,
slaves in the stable or in the sheepfold
for work,
limply
reminiscent of a mild winter,
living nothing more
to understand.

The cat spins caressingly;

the world is crying - what a nightmare.
Today he worships, but tomorrow, I know,
they had no idea either
and those in the stars
they will hide in the dark
to show
God, go through the ages
where-archangels
will wear them!

160
Disturbed by this condition I write
with a chronicler's pen.
My grace is for me, I know;
but I didn't believe
I'm going through
these times of pandemic
and nightmare.

161
Omne trium perfectum
Are all apostles? are all prophets?
are all teachers? are all workers of miracles?
(1Cor 12,29)

Aware of this world through the mirror I see myself again,

between shining walls, come back to life
between candles, desires, and soul movement
caught between the stars, eternal love, and a gentle ruin.

The door opens: my face is hidden in the water books

distorting the reflections of the dark labyrinth
a place from which if you pass, back if you want to come, you tell
yourself
that in magic is hidden another passage that seems locked.

Free-moving seems to be, pure intelligence and word,

stolen salvation to a fountain in broken wings
which chaos draws into the boundless wheel of life
like a carousel of longing that I feel and am.

162
 Blue judged in the Sun and on the Moon, being a vagabond,
I was surrounded by the old tower, a relief in one eye
bathed by snakes - dragons, in rays poking through the pits
to warn me, to tell me why I see myself dying.

It's the gloomy interpretation of a mad magician in

transformation
trying to hide pages and twists in the brain
assigning pen from the unicorn horn subjected to condemnation
when she was asleep in the holy lap unfulfilled by virgins.

Thus the arcana push me to steal the light - cloudy-season

which keeps in the fire of the lost cloud, partly rhomboid
the invisible crown of the spirit that by greedy knowledge
I am pitifully bound to waste eternity in timeless spaces.

The profane is the way I was reborn with a staff

in the hand and the back with a sack full of sacred manuscripts,
when Jupiter, Saturn greets Selena in the zodiac dance.
The madman who follows her is me going through spiral cycles,
the arc curls that decipher the mysteries of pale'ncinse
on the path of truth, floating metempsychotically, a maniacal
flight
in the reluctant air, of supposed delight and fala.
This deep wisdom, in a dark place, touched me,
where angels and demons live in harmony 'surrounded

163
I assimilate my humble mind, which has bound itself by the light of a
soul.

I had passed, I think, through the faults of the earth, the unknown
realm
which had separated the oceans from the infinity of a newly created
abyss
and my body from the Spirit stole the crumbs of raw spheres,
wars, crusades, and orgies in denied amnesias were lost.

From where the bell came to meet you in the rays of light
and in ritual to heal and forgive the wounds opened by a witch,
I always wonder. Why doesn't anyone untie me?
I slip into a dream where water loves fire and the air bathes in the
tub.

Faith in love, we are born in the most mysterious house

which penetrates the subconscious of life, the apotheosis of
mystery
of a journey through the unseen world of the sky above the sky
in which the trumpets are not, the thousands of monads do not
care.

And to those who, out of stupidity or ignorance, have confiscated the

faith
leaving the mountains powerless and surrounding them with a
cunning aura

164
the paradise of knowledge between the past interpreted under a flood
of manna
and a future of deception for anyone who wants to do their best.

Crazy as I was, I thought my mind was the reason

imagination that led me into the world - astral diffuse energies
later the angels and the angels emerged in a circle
they dressed in another incarnation to give me a name.

Magic is magic, it's not good, it's not bad. It is in the mirror of
wisdom;
a port scepter: light and dark, the chessboard being the world.
My staff helps me to climb and descend into the well
and the death of a body will be in eternity and infinite action.

165
Moonset
during fratricidal war
for Ukraine

When the Son of Light pierces

in thousands of monads
it's a sign
that the times are coming
and urge
to pray:

When the full moon sets

the fate of the hot sky
in water and dust gives birth
only to trenches and graves.

Give us a vault, Lord,

over the sky, in the fire to sleep,
wash the red egg again
and bury the man in man.

166
Constellations mysteries are moving away
deep down
whether we like it or not
and together
Christians are crying,
forgetting the words of prayer,
a blossoming curse
of a new one
moonset.
Gloria Pacem, The Resurrection 2022

167
The spiritual beauty
Time is the measure of earth, our measure.
You, God, trample the sin under Your soles
burying on the bottom of the sea
the last memory of our trespasses...
Who can resemble You, God? Who?
When You are the Word and we are the echo,
when nobody is the mirror of Your spirit
and You are nobody
and all at the same time.

Time is the geometry of our given soul,

it is what we hate most and beyond it there’s the fallow
which we expand hoping to journey beyond blue horizons...
Who can resemble You, God? Who?
for the darkness we know is not the burial vault
or maybe it’s the wagon in which we pass in Your Spirit
the well where
You put the fire
and the egg.

168
 Time is the measure of light, the measure of visions.
And on a celestial shrine it is the Maat in us,
the superb thinking, the supreme Benben stone, and the magic bird...
Who can resemble You, God? Who?
The true beauty will never be seen in the abyss
which will be born an abyss from Your very non-body.
And nobody was
and the place is nowhere.

As a legacy, You gave the measure of beauty

enshrouded in darkness. But if You lift Your veil
who can resemble You, God, among all of us here
for we are not even a memory to You.

169
Ouroboros
On this enlightened path I have been walking
and I’ve been picking among the petals ruby stones
and footsteps of atonement murmur to me in whispers
that a coiled snake’s been guarding a garden
in divine solace.

There is no sun althouth we’ve all been shining;

and our hearts’ve been fire
which has been washed by darkness
and waters in petals – storms have been rolling –
we’ve all been seeds, a cross in our arms
as a heavenly dust.

And from the darkness of the night

we’ve all come out as souls,
in bells, like errant wagons,
wells that we’ve dug in rhomboid-shaped clouds

170
 in front of the main gate they lead our bodies
towards a temple which has

a singular beginning – named Word –

inexorable dreams sipped from a chalice
displayed by an unknown compass on windy shrines
in between columns
right in the center of a rose.

Just as on this enlightened path I have been walking

and I’ve been picking among the petals ruby stones
and footsteps of atonement murmur to me in whispers
that a coiled snake has always been showing me the way
in divine solace.

171
December dream
When Mars after the Moon hides
between the warm cursing curtains
in the world between frozen houses
I persistently call you
to delight the soul floating on the waves of light
to raise for a moment the sky full of jewels
how dirty they seem in the fog of the crying times
in the infinite that is eternally wanted.

If I feel revenge in me, it's ridiculous.

I marvel at the big moon and look:
I feel peace between her, Earth and Sun;
I know that's why the moment he gets up in the flock
leaves, wings, rugs and feelings
it's because You, Lord, fill ardent hearts
the ecstasy of liberation.

The communion between the stars is certain.

Throw, therefore, the curtains in derision when
our smiles come together
faith in views having;
dawns float and nights turn blue
and auras rise, the stars-set,
we want to stay.

172
The ashes of the mystery
Why do you fall asleep over a spirit’s tomb
which you can find under the Rock of Eternity
and then you wonder when you wake up
who could have been the one who interwove the ages
at the Gates of Jerusalem whose path is crossed
through a broken fault in the depths of the Holy Sepulchre,
from the depths of a cave where flames play with shadows
and hide, crying in their hearts to be absolved.

Whenever you wonder what you would like to know,

don’t be afraid.
’Cause beyond beasts and false skies
abandoned by the fires, the ashes in the athanor are scattered
as well as clear waters being filtered through clothes.
May you be sheltered in your sleep
and whitened in the darkness
to manage to chase away the enemy who carries in Light
the venom which pierces the purest white rose
and then it slowly leaves it to drip down.

173
 I know. That day will come for you to hear what’s most holy.
And while descending from Your sky
to earth You will raise up
the clouds on cubes between the spheres and the bodies
of all wise trees and ancient pyramids.
There I’ll be the same and I shall wear the only key
to open any gate You’d like to enter
and go to the Nowhere and to the Nevermore
and on that day I pledge to open my heart.

It’s there You’ll find the ashes of the mystery.

174
175
176
The endless mercy
In Eden there are four rivers.
Only God is impenetrable and immutable.
All that comes to an end will begin.
All that disappears will appear
and all that is divisible will have a shadow.
Only He is Light of Light.

On thirty-three ways of wisdom

thoughts and mercy pour fourth in life
yet life is not a spirit but a body
while our soul is nothing but a truth.
The floating tree beneath the rainbow bridge
enshrouded in rhomboid clouds
filters the beams of stars on an ethereal triangle,
order and dream, an infinite splendor
for the spirit’s the way
yet the way is not one, but as many as we are infinite.

177
The Rosy Cross
And if on the lawland where death shadows grow
I’ll walk on magi’s invisible mountain,
it’s only for the mere fact
that I would like to feel from white to red
the rose and hold it in my heart during all this darkened year.

The shrine of occult forces that I shall bring from depths

in cross’ arms adorned with petals would lure me
while my divine gift will be the light in words
unknown and never uttered
in humble and in poor martyrdom.

And in His eye which burns among black stars and planets
there is an endless vibrating kaleidoscope of broken gems
an infinite’s the gift
which traveler will have an access to while giving
distorted images and secret alchemical teachings.

178
 Successive returns of the soul on the earth –
in me they laugh and cry when they’re aware I am a beam
of unforgetfulness and of an errant wind in universe,
a mind that has an aim while being a shining vivid cross.

For there’s no rest in me to be an artist

nor do I have a leisure time in labyrinth.
I’d rather feel a tiny piece of fate
in the main center of this blooming light in which I am
a mere symbol and a rosy cross.

179
Cenacle
Tender longing for beauty lays down
in flashes of twisted thought,
barely legible flight learning the light
children who want to be lazy
to stop in the word
a start of joined hills
towards the mountain that will be row by row
The poem that would give them floating.

This is the magic pentacle

of those who cross it in a dream
lands full of mystery and thought
through scales and feathers-clad
the magician to the disciples in the cenacle.

180
Slow feast
Rising from Mars after
Full moon in Miroslava
with Jupiter in the lead and on
left shoulder a Saturn
I wonder what I can do in this world
in the final song they gather
and they slow down on the roads in a hurry
in the unspeakable longing I avoid
next to your love to say it.

181
Metempsichosis
A stork in its beak carrying us away
often in bodies on earth
He gives us to the world through His law

I am, God, the law on earth

as you wished and no one believes anymore
although we, travel-weary souls
we are almost not hungry or thirsty.

It is the body that stirs the lights that are

stories told in homilies
and repeated for thousands of years through parables.
When did you think about asking for a transformation
with the angels subjected to appear blood
you didn't take care that the truth is stronger
and man will understand that he could not do otherwise,
without a cosmic support - the Weeping Word.

182
 I'm turning into a stork's beak a novice
as lost as I've ever been:
cat, eagle, fish or even a man,
but I feel that in a creature I will bring light,
fragment of the Holy Spirit, a point
vision, dream, reality, sleep –
Word I will be, the mission as they say.

183
Morning fate
In the depths
of a clear sky
stands the proud mother of the world
safe from the dark
safe from venom.

Good morning! I shout

to give the wide echo where,
to trouble the angels,
stars to light
and in the maelstrom of hatred
my arms to embrace them.

184
 Good morning sunshine!
an earth sifts me
let the soul fly
to the fate of the Moon
what else does he want?
the divine spirit.

I shout life in my soul,

like a vagabond to worship
the crucified rose
on a cross
which also in the stars,
like in a story
will take me
and he will give me goodness
morning.

185
Fleeing from
the troubled times
If only we could escape from bizarre times
in the depths of the sky and not on earth;
desire does not mean passion
when the fear of making a mistake is sublime,
light descending into haphazard gaps
through the blessing of a wind
sensationally vibrating the flawed
tragedy of humanity dead in the divine.

But the road would stop superficial ideas

in cold consciences circulating
when the gates will open between the wings
and too-muddled saving waters.
What would you gain by writing,
revealing the threats of a madman as soon as possible
would shoot through the blind eyes
of a bird with fire and traveling spell?

186
 So I hoped to escape from prophesied times
with a prayer in the absence of a goal,
of a path on a jungle bridge flowing into infinity
when guarded by enemies I sprinkled petals of bitterness
and I feel: my being between revolt and ecstasy today is
struggling in a labyrinth.

187
Number, weight,
and measure
I look at the manuscript which seems a mere illusion:
number, weight, and measure. These are the instruments
with which, from pitch-black darkness, God revealed
having created out of chaos, oceans, skies, and continents.

The cliffs behaved obediently

to changes and newly created forces
in letters and in numbers hidden in lights and shadows;
only through symbols and all allegories,
and through the Word
did they arrive to understand how to encumber the divine.

Thoughts, wisdom, and truth in golden hair

spilled over the imagined body from the embroidered stars
on a reliquary veil, a square surrounded by primordial soup
from which the fire of the converted scripts was born.

188
 I touch what seems to me to be a chimera
and in the numbers I mirror the love that I embrace
in all those dewdrops that to descend were meant
in all those hearts which in my dreams
I intercept as thinking.

Thus world’s creation beneath black and unembellished veils

and under which irradiating peace we smile from our hearts,
those lights and fire blending eternal dead and living
for You are God the one who’s always been creating
our finite into the infinite.

189
Damned/blessed
You took me to a world
that I only remember with my mind's eye
but that I always feel far,
further away
and that I thought was moving away into infinity
(precipitously fast),
sometimes slowly
like a snail's slide
but leaving a sticky streak
(creative or derisive)
between my thoughts.

Now I realize that it is a too-short memory

of the vibration of light
from the glory of human life in art.

Damned/blessed be the Time!

GP, 19 Avril 2023

190
Baphomet
from the Apocalyptic Cycle

O, God, there’s so much fighting in the skies

and there is so much torturous struggle in hell.
O, God, I’m amazed
at the thorn
which isn’t that of a unicorn,
nor is it that of a young he-goat
but in this world’s fire, an intense pain I can live,
staggering like a drunkard
I raise my eyes to you in different ways,
in an original form not in a draft,
twisting the thorn of a terrible Baphomet.

Oh, Lilith, oh, Lucifer,

against whom did you sow ill-blood temper
carrying to this world your wisdom and your passion for light
that ventured in the swirl of humanity

191
 you gave with the price of your martyrdom?
Or maybe you ignored that in the worlds
that have been perishing
the bodies made of flesh have been engulfing vices.

O God, I have been trying to defend myself,

an incarnated body
in this ravenous cave with shadows and mystery,
ghastly clouds’ve been dancing
imbued with excruciating pain and full of affliction,
in this cave I’ve been living
enchained by lead and altered in gold in this unseen ether
which has been giving me thrills on this immeasurable day.

However, without You, I could not understand

why my whole heart is full with bitterness
and I’ve been weakened in my pure thoughts
by a strong weird magic;
under whose spell I am even by now –
a time which hasn’t ended
an evening moment lived and relived,
nightmare of a body mastered by guilt
and a bad dream…
I wonder why on earth the devil will not show up
to steal it from me?

192
193
194
Imprecation
O, God, You are so tender and so easily fooled,
why don’t You send Your lightening
to throw the vile sorcerer in the Gehenna fire.
I wonder to what extent You are naive like me
in order to believe that sorceries do not exist
and if the foggy sky
does not light up under a stubborn sun,
and You’ll keep silent
like made of lead in a retort, nailed on that wooden cross.

You have been serving at a distance for thousands of years

creating a whole world
whom do You think
succeeded in making a fool of us, to wipe out memories
and then hide once again in chaos
all sorts of lies, hallucinations, and terrible stories?

O, God, give us Your lightening, a sorceress to burn,

a master in witchcraft
who’s meant to ruin the pure light, all shadows in our hearts,
as well as our heavy lives we have been wasting uselessly.

For You will be the only one to shield me from being cursed.

195
 The photon strayed
into Truth Who else could I dream of?
the poet wondered as he strolled down the street,
forsaken by life and the whole world,
when she under the shell they stumbled upon the core.

Cradling eon I feel

unseen light,
here, where in the dark all
they believe photons.
In what light is the truth, Lord?
Why is the sky in tatters?
a poorly sewn cloth
and where even kings
and fools are pawns?

They gather in the dark

rainbow smudges;
sublime incantations in the fire of the sea
the raven sings.
In what light is the truth, Lord?
Why is the night stormy?
not knowing what it is?
But I, caressing, kiss
the holy light.

196
Out of darkness
Out of darkness,
and out of a pathetic and bookish purgatory
enchained by sorrow, love, and a deep yearning
I trust forgiveness
and I’d not like to stain with my own eyes
this purest white snow.
However, bowed down
under the heavy burden of its sins,
I see my heart.
Because I suffer from your suffering
while anguish burns it
imprisoning the air
which love engulfs
in truth and not in lies.

Beyond horizons and distant clouds there is this streak of light;

and yet, the more I try to touch them the more I feel
there is no strength in me
and there’s no hope for me to come
to feel your spirit and your body with everything I’ve held in me,
with everything I’ve gathered and I’ve worried.

197
 There’s so much sorrow, while a whole universe of angels weep
but my purged soul which snows
will never understand how underground
the stars are able to enlighten
absolving the greatest deadly sins
now that I pray under this layer of white snow
to your holy icon
using one word which merits
a stream of hellish burning flames.
’Cause light will never be defeated
by pitch-black darkness.

198
The altar
How foolish and blind can you be not to see the altar
created from a suffering which has been lying in you?
Do you believe that pure joy in hidden caves forgot
its flint and steel
while everlastingness will show you weak and empty
in His front? Neither angels nor phantoms,
yet fainted livid creatures drowning their bitterness in swamps.

How could we ever hear the sins in our needs

and when the hearse with labyrinthic mainsails
through rhomboid clouds of legions of stars
could sacrifice the arrogance of our freedom?
For His forgiveness as well as His entire love
will always be in us.
How foolish and blind can you be not to see the altar?

199
Behold!
The Day is coming...
Chasing its tail, time
ploughs dream furrows.
Seasons are not beginnings
As well as I am not an ending.

But years, days, and seconds come

Like questions from a tempest or like
A beam which will cry out of the blue moon
After the present light in the beginning.

I’m not an end nor am I a beginning

Although I might belong to both of them
And I’ve been twisting my past into my future
Despite the fact that once I was the new-born dead.

200
201
202
Crazy traveler
After what you've done in this world, I don't think so
that we will meet again in heaven, you tell me
slamming the saw from Juliet's balcony

And I went to sing on the stage of a scammer

warp to defeat the dragons with the scythe
to caress trees in the groves of Lethe

A giant seemed in Ceahlău's shadow

that mysterious shepherd I met
brought from behind, crouched and I beat him

203
 It was a test for the road I followed
to walk my humble puppy, a dream
boundless and horrified by the secret waters

I cried. I was nothing anymore. A remnant

it became my ambition to die
to stand in the eternity of the forgotten statue of a mage

And I stole a song on my way to hell

it was a longing to waste the incomprehensible, a flight
under the earth and not in the sky of a crucified man

So if you tell me there is no meeting place

in the worlds we will pass through
not so sure that fate is so cold

And he won't understand that it's just love for you.

204
The Well
of the Drops of Stone
to Julieta, my soulmate

I am and I feel often enlightened

by silver angels, voices, and tears.
.
This mirroring of a mysterious blessed fire, which sun
I thought I was and I’ll be willing to believe
that it is not a mere light,
but only a passage through this world which now I feel
to be a carol
for the enigma of all those bodies burned under clappers,
these hollows in the well through which I can perceive
the realm bewitched by you,
through which I can hear the other falling stones –
a deafening patter,
an enigma named body while your soul tenderly tolling
can never be retreived as an experience within itself.
This eye is His or yours when in the valley full of ruins
all numbers, values, infrastructures, atoms, and a moon
wander in somber starless nights twinkling the miracles.

205
 I worship
under the torrents of leaves
mixed in disordered azure tempests
wishing for other twelve extra stars to knee in front of you
going to paths of blood, to minds, to hearts,
and to the garland.

And even if you had led me beyond my death,

a well in your beauty,
to have it always on gushing waters in hidden souls
in newly re-born leaves, like in all springs and raise me up
to other realms, to other lives,
with spirits among all flowing stones
into the endless chaos hidden in the nadir of zenith,
an endless series.
Maybe I’ll be the only one who would be able to return
from where love is sovereign.
The spring of nothingness, that nothingness
which others pretend to have perceived,
although it’s packed with butterflies, angels, and fairies
all bathed in dust of gold made by myself in an alembic
in order to worship you,
and give you that unseen and unheard nothingness
which bathes the dreams
and gathers them together shining as drops of light
into the breath in the beginning of the world:
your magnificence.

206
 I dreamed of immortality, yet my body
has still be dreaming of a stone
barely noticeable on the deep well’s bottom,
which all philosophers have been describing
as being dug beyond horizons,
far-off the more I swim and fly
and I keep reading on walls engraved and weird letters,
opening gate after gate
with keys adjusted by a snake while offering an apple.
You give me from your heart a nectar like an elixir.
I knee. And during this unknown time I keep igniting
the fire in candles while being unaware
whether a night, a day, or years have passed. Despite
my search I’m able to see myself in your expectations:
rhombi, squares, triangles, circles, and deserted temples,
those burnt windows made of cedar
which shelter under spheres
huge and eternally forgotten pyramids,
those wonders of love in a simple volucris – my icosahedron.
And I have often searched being enlightened
by silver angels. I knew you weren’t
the splendid moon, the maiden,
nor were you the fairy in tales,
but only my philosopher’s stone.

207
 And everyday which passed I kept forgetting how to swim,
however, abandoned I was floating in my flight
while darkness
turned light into shadows. Out of my oldest passion
my foolishness was crying. What was I looking for?
Out of all stars my look turned somber. I thought
that my sorrow and my ever livid thought were nothing
but emptiness.
While spinning in a spiral shape I wished,
or it seemed to me to…
until one day when the angel whispered: “A tender heart
and an enlightened spirit, a mixture between
divine and yearning
raised up in order to support a vivid fire
under the sea’s deep waters
which are supposed to lead you
to the seventh sky through your body,
trees, and unicorns
and lead you in your search to chase away
this shapeless chimera,
the so-called stone
conceived by alchemists and by philosophers imagined.

And then again I squeezed

among all these fulfilling commands and tests
when I re-read a scroll where I wrote
that everything was lived from the beginning

208
 as well as snakes bite their tails
and quickly I plunged in deep waves
in order to find out the sap in the stone
shrieked down in roots
and fusing together the legs of those creatures
who live in catacombs,
cryptic words that hide themselves in secrets
catching in their dreams
those lovers who have been waiting for their weddings.

This is the way I could discover you, a wonder;

what is the price
I had to pay in order to share with you the mystery
from under the river I’ve been drinking
to be allowed to see the being that I love
between the depths and sky,
a phoenix who struggles abnormally in this world that I need?
My heart keeps twisting, a spinning bundle in a unicorn’s mane,
the worshiping gathered together under the polished stone,
diamonds, pearls, and an egg
under whose shell the secret of the old apple melts
bathing in immortality while trying to find out the eye of love,
the most eternal truth.

And I looked in the mirror where I could see my years passing

over my love.
The bitterness of my old age would have dried out in madness
a bleeding life, broken bones, a more wrinkled skin.

209
 Trumpets were shaking the universe, the incandescent shield
protected my light while from all the burned bodies
you gave me birth again;
you are a charming moment among pieces of wood, leaves,
furs, and scales,
the stone in the temple, a white temple, the thorn of a unicorn,
while in the times of yore you’ve kept reading
those engraved words
the same foretold in the twisted walls of the well.
All those who will drink from it will be eternal
wandering nowhere;
however they’ll never recall where the stone might be.

I was so close to finding you again and even now I marvel

in front of deep waters; but life is within my reach.
What could I possibly get from a paradise
promised to me on my death bed?
And the bottom is high,
all this being repeated journeys in a well,
so deep, a stone, or a premature drop of death,
is that you or only the mirror
which I can turn around with silver angels
being so enlightened not by the moon, but by the sun.
I have the stone, and from the depths of skies I drink the water,
and I can hold you while losing you at the same time…
Shall I believe that our endless life where I can feel
that Fall fulfills the frozen lights twisted like swirling smoke?
An irony!

210
 Yet, it was not like that: knowledge, love, and a false destiny
are to be found in this great search, being a metaphor, a stone.
My wish was not in vain a lunatic utopia
’cause narrow minds would say: what’s the big fuss
in looking for and finding with your heart and spirit
the bells in the deep well
squeezing the Word, your target in the spiral, this sacred spirit,
at a heaven’s enchanted door-sill. You are
my philosopher’s stone.

And like a tender heart with an enlightened mind,

a mixture of longing with a drop of divinity
you did raise up like vivid burning flames
from under the sea waters
to your seventh sky through the tree bodies and unicorns
in an eternal conflict
which human mind will be incompetent to clarify,
the heart which has been trying to find for a lifetime.
But come what may, for me no matter what,
in temples where a throne is nothing but a second
for the blind-folded man whose hand is cramped with pain
I pull myself together
transforming me into the red rose which hangs on the cross.
You are the light, the stone that mixes my soul in an alembic
fulfilling myself in your magnanimity as your humble wanderer
so often enlightened by angels; voices and tears that are and can feel.

211
We are pilgrims
Epilogue
Fake it until you make it.

The great search for Light, Life and Love begins primarily from
the material plane. Driven to other planes, its ultimate goal is
complete fusion with Universal Consciousness. As with any
construction, this temple must be based on a solid foundation.
Laying the foundation in the material plane is the first step. Only
then comes the ultimate goal of spiritual attainment. The
Rosicrucian teachings contain all the wisdom gathered in the
crucible of knowledge, in hidden meanings that do not appear on
the surface easily, but which, in order to be wise and awaken the
light in you, the reader, I place them in front of you in this open
book. If I have awakened understanding in you, it means that you
possess an innate quality of the soul. Let's look for the lost avatar
together. Between the lines I will tell you the ancient truths from
the texts revealed in the initiatory clearing, my second pyramid.

212
However, I must be honest, the content of the last two texts I
cannot reveal, although I know them, although I see them even
now inscribed with rays of iridescent light around me, in a new
bell. It's morning. What time in the morning? It seems like a
repeatability of a time circle with what, as it were, I've
experienced before. The heat that would come during the day was
felt on the wonderful plains of the old mountains that had risen
dry from the Sarmatian waters. At the unseen altar, the scholars
who arrived through the well of time gather. Did they discover
with me Arcadia, the utopia of a delusion for those who struggle
between worlds like poets? Or is it the road to Megara? I stare in
amazement. There is no well in the clearing. It's just me. I read
and write

213
214
215
216
By the same author
Poetry
1. Sideralia, Liviu Pendefunda, Litera Publishing House,
Bucharest, 1979
2. Astral Apothecary Shops, Liviu Pendefunda, Junimea
Publishing House, Iaşi, 1981
3. A Star in an Egg Shell, Liviu Pendefunda, (illustration by
Dan Hudescu), The Culture Club, Vaslui, 1982
4. Faults 1, Liviu Pendefunda, (author’s illustration), a
collector’s edition, 1983
5. Dr. Apollon’s Office, Liviu Pendefunda, Cartea Românească
Publishing House, Bucharest, 1984
6. The Rest of the Shells, Liviu Pendefunda, Junimea
Publishing, Iaşi, 1985
7. Faults 2, Liviu Pendefunda, (author’s illustration), a
collector’s edition, 1986
8. The Fools’ Wagon, Liviu Pendefunda, Contact international
Publishing House, Iaşi, 1992
9. The Celestial Movement, Liviu Pendefunda, Contact
international Publishing House, Iaşi, 1993
10. Vrăjitorii Marelui Vid / Magicians of the Emptiness,
Liviu Pendefunda, (author’s illustration), Moonfall Press,
Springfield VA, USA,1997

217
11. The Legend, Liviu Pendefunda, (author’s illustration),
Contact international Publishing House, Iaşi, 1998
12. Faults 3, Liviu Pendefunda, (illustration by Liviu Suhar),
Contact international Publishing House, Iaşi, 2000
13. Faults 4, in the volume The Prophet at the Empire’s
Border, Liviu Pendefunda, (author’s illustration), RAO
Publlishing House, Bucharest, 2001
14. Beggarland (Faults 5), Liviu Pendefunda, (illustration by
Dragoş Pătraşcu), Timpul Publishing House, Iaşi, 2004
15. Rondels and Ovoids, Liviu Pendefunda, (illustration by
Tudor Pătraşcu), Junimea Publishing House, Iaşi, 2005
16. The Poem of the Mysteries (Faults 6) in the volume The
Prophet’s Library, Liviu Pendefunda, Publishing House, Iaşi,
2007
17. Faults 7 (the poem of the longing) in Convorbiri literare
Collection, (illustration by Marcel Chirnoagă), May, 2008
18. The Poems of Iaşi City, an anthology of poetry dedicated
by poets to this city, Alfa Publishing House, 2008
19. The Night of the Pen Holders – an anthology of the
Contemporary Poetry in Iași, volume II, co-author, Cronica
Publishing House 2008
20. The Most Beautiful Love Poems, Liviu Pendefunda,
Fundația Culturală Poezia Publishing House, 2008
21. Ros lucis – A Critical Anthology, Liviu Pendefunda,
Princeps Publishing House, 2009
22. The Poem of the Monads and of the Body (Faults 8),
Liviu Pendefunda, Timpul Publishing House, 2010

218
23. Astral Apothecary Shops 2 – Quintessences in an
Aludel. The Slavery of Time, Liviu Pendefunda, Princeps
Edition, 2010
24. The Poem of the Hearts and Stone (Faults 9), Liviu
Pendefunda, Timpul Publishing House, 2011
25. Ten Faults, Liviu Pendefunda, Tipo Moldova Publishing
House, 2011
26. The Poem of the Spirit or the Decalogue, Liviu
Pendefunda, Contact international Publishing House, 2012
27. The Rosy Cross / Croce della Rosa Rossa, Liviu
Pendefunda, Contact international Publishing House, 2012
28. The Most Beautiful Initiating Poems, Liviu Pendefunda,
Contact international Publishing House, 2013
29. L’alveare d’oro dell’invisibile, a Romanian anthology of
poetry translated into Italian by Geo Vasile, Contact international
Publishing House, 2013
30. A Manuscript from the Book of the Mystery (Faults
11) Liviu Pendefunda, Contact international Publishing House,
2014
31. An Anthology of Romanian Contemporary Poetry,
TipoMoldova Publishing House, 2015
32. Ierusalimi (Falii 12), Contact international Publishing
House, 2014, Iaşi, 2016
33. Tombé en célébrant la Paix, (Anthologie de poésie
roumaine contemporaine), Edition Thierry Sajat, Paris 2018
34. Poeți reprezentativi ai postmodernității. De la Plumb
(George Bacovia) la Gustul cireșelor (Ștefan Manasia), București,
Eikon Publishing House, 2018

219
35. Din adâncul meu/From my Depths, Gratious Lights
Publishing House, New York, /Destine literare Publishing House,
Montreal, Library and Archives of Canada (LAC) Act ,Canada, 2019
36. Truth and Grace, Adevăr și Har, Liviu Pendefunda,
Contact international Publishing House, Iassy, 2020
37. Gloria Pacem, Liviu Pendefunda, Contact international
Publishing House,2021
38. Șoapte din lumină (Whispers from Light Liviu
Pendefunda, Contact international Publishing House,, 2022
39. World Congress of Poets Anthology, Overseas Press
India Pvt Ltd, 2019
40. Souvenir World Congress of Poets, Overseas Press India
Pvt Ltd, 2019
41. Amaravati Poetic Prism 2020, International Poetic
Anthology, The Cultural Centre of Vijayawada and Amaravati,
India 2020
42. Triptic literar-Antologie -Contribuții critice, Editura
Lumina Lină, New York, 2021
43. Amaravati Poetic Prism 2021, International Poetic
Anthology, The Cultural Centre of Vijayawada and Amaravati,
India 2022
44. Atunis Galaxy Anthology 2023, Demer Press, 2023
45. Antologia Mundial de Poesia y Narrativa del Siglo
XXI, Lord Byron Ediciones, Madrid, 2023
46. Împreună, să dăruim iubirea prin vers – antologie
de versuri nemuritoare , Editura Globart Universum,
Montreal, Canada, 2023

220
Diary, Interference Studies, Essays
1. Wandering through Moldavia, Sport-Turism
Publishing House, Bucharest, 1987
2. A Wish and a Synapse, Editura Contact international,
Iaşi 1992
3. The Prophet at the Empires Border, The Reflex
Noetic Arch, A Pseudo-diary of Forest, RAO
Publishing Houise, Bucharest, 2001
4. The Prophetțs Library, The Journal of the South,
Liviu Pendefunda, Junimea Publishing House, Iaşi, 2007
5. Dogmata or the Freedom of Thinking –Essences of
the Noetic Reflex Arc, Lectures on the Spiritual
Temple, Liviu Pendefunda, Junimea Publishing House,
2007
6. The Third Bell, the Sacrality of the Reflex Arcs,
Timpul Publishing House, 2009
7. Secrets or Allegories – A Subcortical Excurstion,
Timpul Publishing House, 2010
8. The Wagon with Fools 2, Liviu Pendefunda, Contact
international Publishing House, 2011
9. The Knight with Five Ribbons, Liviu Pendefunda,
Contact international Publishing House, 2012
10. The Slavery of Time, Liviu Pendefunda, Tipo Moldova
Publishing House, 2012

221
 11. The Prophet’s Return , Liviu Pendefunda, Contact
international Publishing House, 2012
12. Enlighteners in Time, Liviu Pendefunda, Institutului
European Publishing House, 2013
13. Et in Megara Ego, Liviu Pendefunda, Contact
international Publishing House, 2014
14. The Eternal and the Infinity, Liviu Pendefunda, Contact
international Publishing House, 2014
15. Lapis philosophorum, Liviu Pendefunda, Contact
international Publishing House, 2015
16. Google Mail, Liviu Pendefunda – Nail Chiodo, Contact
international Publishing House, 2015
17. Lyrics and Spirit, Liviu Pendefunda, Contact
international Publishing House, 2016
18.Lux in Arcana, Liviu Pendefunda, Contact international
Publishing House, 2017
19. Behold. The day is coming, Contact international
Publishing House, 2019
20. Quinta Essentia. Princeps Elit Publishing House, 2019
21. Syrinx, Editura Liviu Pendefunda, Contact international
Publishing House,, 2020
22.Binecuvântarea Himerei, Hemera’s Blessing, Liviu
Pendefunda, Contact international Publishing House, 2021
23.Le Vagabond du Vide, Destine literare Publishing House,
Montreal, Library and Archives of Canada (LAC) Act
,Canada, 2021
24.Molima, Liviu Pendefunda, Contact international
Publishing House,,

222
 25. Jurnalele Profetului, Editura Contact international, Iaşi,
2020
26.Avatarul pierdut, Editura Contact international, Iaşi,
2022
27. Moștenirea Filosofilor, Liviu Penderfunda, Dan Neculai
Hudescu, Liviu Pendefunda, Contact international
Publishing House,, 2023
28. Daled, Binecuvântarea Himerei 2, Hemera’s
Blessing 2, Liviu Pendefunda, Contact International
Publishing House, 2023

Translations
from franch, italian, english

1. Antonietta dell’Arte /- TheMagic Rod, Contact

international, Publishing House, Iaşi, 1995
2. Luigi Attardi – Nail Chiodo / - Nonsens, Contact
international, Publishing House, Iaşi, 1995, 2010
3. Souleiman Awwad, Between Roses and Sky, Contact int’l
Publishing House, Iaşi, 2000
4. Nail Chiodo – Nonscience, Contact International,
Publishing House, 2010
5. Nail Chiodo , The Face of a Moment, Contact
International, Publishing House, 2014
6. Sudhokar Gaidhani, Devdoot, the Angel, Contact
International Publishing House, 2021

223
Colophon
Avatar in a Stork’s Beak was written between 2018-2023 A.D.,
under the auspices of the Universal Spirit and it was illustrated
with paintings made by Elleny Pendefunda, the poet’s daughter. A
real magician of forms and colors, only during one night of
November, did she succeed in adorning with her dreams blessed by
angels the columns of humanity’s spiritual temple on the walls of
the Great Graal cities. The book was published by Destine literare
(Montréal) Publishing Houses, and was printed by PIM Printing
House in September, 2023 in a multiple of seven copies.

224
 Bells at sunrise
The bells chime again in the village.
Should it be for me?
I fell asleep in the spiral caravel
and I didn't get up again.
I passed through the well
in another dimension
I spun in other circles
and I sleep even now, in the morning
the clouds would be mirrored
in a rhombus, in a sphere,
not in good harmony,
when the bell tongues again
on my name, they would rest
and the village from nowhere
helped me to be able to
beyond the atmosphere,
beyond what being will not be
but will come into existence again
in another reborn evening bell
in the glory of peace let me die
in the rising of another sun.

Destine literare/Literary Destinies - Montréal ISBN 978-1-9992081-7-2