“Didn’t I tell you to love everyone?”
Love everyone.
That’s my only business.
No small feat,
but I have all of eternity.
No more of the
even though I’m right
Even though nothing!
What can you say?
Was a thing good or bad,
who can say?
Being that IT IS everything,
the paradox is that the Fountainhead
does ask of us,
does mind.
The no-mind seems to mind.
If I imitate it
then I can’t ask anything
from anyone.
It’s senseless surrender,
just Love everyone
without judgement,
Tis’ the occult shield.
Who are they surpassed predilection?
They appear ordered,
burned astral effigies,
ashen holograms,
in a row of frosted memory,
of perfect perpetual preservation,
a city of pyramids,
a habitation of superintelligences.