On the loins of the fever’s deliriums
I crossed the hells of opium.
Without my eyes I can see beyond all the stars.
I’m the writer of the emerald table,
Pythia at the delphic oracle,
I’m a babylon whore.
I see the ancient races, the immigrants of atlantis and lemuria, the billions of lives that have preceded me.
I'm an isis priest, a slave in egypt,
Tarpeya crushed, pupil of socrates;
I parade with the imperial legions,
The aeneas descendant.
I take a billion forms, I know all the lives,
I feel the entire universe’s knowledge,
But where does the divine grace hide?
Where are the wasted prayers thrown into despair?
I exist in all beings and all beings exist in me,
I feel myself in communion with the earth,
But god isn't in me.
