The Hermit

The struggle of power to control other is senile and rude, immature and insensitive crude.

The true occultist in refined taste,considers inferiors exhibits as waste.

There is no need for desires display,like a desperate flaunt at end of day.

The wise man seeks not some part, but the whole of the living art.

Knowledge declares of what is what,wisdom knows what is not in that.

Knowledge is the price of a ring, wisdom speaks about love to bring.

He does not escapes darkness with a prayer, he lights a candle and invites into a stimulus foyer.

Dancing shadows, vanity and wounded pride, fickle creatures at the wall in the room inside.

He refuses all but truth to see, to know the self and to be truly free.

Not the self that needs to show, but the self to observe the quiet, down below.

As above, so below and brilliant law, as within, without a flaw.

The far-off cosmos so very near, the tangible light in touch is here.

To Know the impossible how dare and bold, in quite of pure gold.

In silence, wisdom learns to stay, to be calm and precise for the day.

People want to be so great, the Hermit wants to be in all awake.

In the nothing to have it all, when happiness is at heart befall.

Poverty reveals itself not by having too little, but by wanting more to become brittle.

The Hermit without force and ambition, let's life unfold in perfect condition.

With his head on the ground, he listen to the higher calling in prophetic sound.