| A spiral orbit circumnavigates the axis
|
| Fragments, threads of the origin’s shape
|
| The dreary synopsis of an aeon-old praxis
|
| Encircles the thoughts from which minds escape
|
| «And when my soul and spirit unites
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| In a oneness of the four elements
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| I’ll be the magician of cosmic rites
|
| Using astral instruments»
|
| Like the released psyche of the creator
|
| Swirling around the origin’s indicator
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| Visions from the spiral generator
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| E.S.P. |
| Mirage!
|
| I intersect the shining pulsator
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| When I travel in this spirit simulator
|
| Receiving visions from the generator
|
| E.S.P. |
| Mirage!
|
| Perplexed by the questions of our existence
|
| The patterns in external reality
|
| Secretive formulas along an unthinkable distance
|
| Force the thinking into unexplored philosophy
|
| An entity which spins in the galaxy hurricane
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| With a plasticity changing by the age
|
| The director of periodic meteor rain
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| Which seems to be framed by a mathematical cage
|
| Mother to events so violent
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| But as no one hears it, it may be silent
|
| «Therefore my thinking I’ll incubate
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| And search in the duality of I and Me
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| 'cause from trumpets you can alienate
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| But from silence you can’t flee»
|
| Remotely viewing other planes
|
| Using my mind’s eye to gaze
|
| As I detect the spiral’s stains
|
| In microbes, mountains and every inch of space
|
| Trembling before its divinity
|
| It may be larger than infinity |