The Blizzard Of The World Has Crossed

In Our Rags Of Light, All Dressed To Kill.

At The Very Center Of Our Culture Is A Crucified Man, A Tortured Man Hanging On A Cross Of Wood. You Have An Image Of Violence At The Very Center Of Our Spiritual Investigation.

Except For A Couple Of Hours In The Morning Which I Passed In The Company Of A Sage I Stayed In Bed Without Food Only A Few Mouthfuls Of Water “you Are A Fine Looking Old Man” I Said To Myself In The Mirror “and What Is More You Have The Correct Attitude You Don’t Care If It Ends Or If It Goes On And As For The Women And The Music There Will Be Plenty Of That In Paradise” Then I Went To The Mosque Of Memory To Express My Gratitude

There's A Deep Tribal Aspect To My Own Nature. So When I'm In Contact With Those Deep Resources, Of Course I Feel A Very Special Kind Of Nourishment.

G-d Is Alive. Magic Is Afoot. G-d Is Afoot. Magic Is Alive.