Journal of the Western Mystery Tradition
No. 14, Vol. 2. Vernal Equinox 2008


by Dean F. Wilson

There was a point that came to be
From what was naught; infinity
Was too constraining. The ox
That takes a goad is God,
Yet even God fits a box,
Just big enough for us to laud
Him, for if we were to know
That the ox was but a breath,
A glottal stop to anticipate
The primal swirlings of the world,
Then we would be consumed
By inhalation and implosion.
The exhalation starts the flow
Where all the letters wake from death;
In words they all participate
In life that from the dot unfurled;
Each iota petal bloomed
On a tree; divine explosion.