The Adventure of the Apocalypse

Mirror and knowledge

All mirrors in which we seek the bliss

Of our small self are an abyss

At the bottom of whose night

Is a mockery of light,

A tiny stagnant pool

Where darkles the flattened face,

With gaping empty gaze,

Of the demon and the ghoul.

But when the Great Self glows

Like a golden cosmic rose,

The petals fanning out from one sweet core,

No strangeness anywhere

Remains for stare and stare

Seeking to itself a door

The central Eye of eyes

Can shut in all-repose,

For the Great Flower knows

Its perfume of paradise.

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