SYMPATHIES — The Aoide Protocol — This is a song book: hearing-singing the music, crafting it in voice-performance, structuring it in memory so it’s not forgot. Thus, the AOIDE PROTOCOL. — Aoide-Melete-Mneme. This is a book about magic: the magic  — of things coming into themselves by belonging together–OTCITBYBELTER. “Sympathies” has always been another word for “magic.” Thus the magic of three as two things in sympathy produce a “third.” This is why Love-Truth-Beauty are so intertwined. There are two long poems in this book: The En-choiring of the World and A Dialogue Between the Soul and the Prophet. Prayer is the main issue of the Dialogue, which becomes Player as these actors are fully staged: aoidoi – agonisti – actori. Here’s the beginning of a response from the Soul to one of the Prophet’s many questions:

Prophet: . . .

Take My Hand,

I’m A Stranger In Paradise.

All Lost In A Wonderland.

 . . . .

Time to let the ecoquantum in.

It’s the simple things that make a home:

mashed potatoes and gravy; the remote control.

Higgs Particles. Dark Matter. Peanut Butter!!

Solve, coagula. Savvy – Comprende?



O Alchemy O Alchemy return!

I need to sabsung at that ancient stone.

“Two For Tea And Tea For Two.

Me For You And You For Me.”

OK! So where, how, does the self, cum soul,

soul cum prayer, together lift prayer cum where,

once beached from the tide’s flow qua flow

of cum qua cum of tome after tome

and we’re still an unrhymed poem?

The bouncing ball’s had to follow these days.

With one eye Hubbled, the other ozone patched,

The quantum’s roll is hard to catch.

“So While There’s Moonlight

And Music And Romance,

Let’s Face The Music And Dance.”


And, IN THE SHINING — begins as follows:

Oh! I’ll never forget the time we were immortals.

We would walk together in the shining sun as one,

Wore our raiment of radiance as blessing of the blest

Woven-warm from thraldoms unbegun and ne’er undone:

Our vision-soaked eyes socketed in endless grace

As primordial, imperishable pigments peered

Through us to blazonly spindle beauty’s fiber.

Bold bathers, we, in life’s overflow from death’s cauldron.