The Word that New-Creates

Too frail our language still to speak of love

Or God or Joy, too wanting are our words.

A language growing by experience

We must expand our vision and the sparse

Vocabulary of impoverished phrase,

Supplant with new-formed terms by light defined

That vibrate with the syllables of truth

Descended from those greater atmospheres

We seldom glimpse and yet must claim as ours.

An etymology by God revealed,

Our leaps into the unknown conscious grow

And all our being vibrate with the Word.

We shall one day all nations understand,

No language closed to the enlightened mind,

No tongue obscure to one who hears behind

The speech that cannot catch the Spirit's voice

Expressed the thought that lies within the soul.

Till then we must aspire and delight

In moments when the muse of poetry

Descends into our struggling mental sphere

Enabling us to hear the mantric strain

And glimpse the wonders of the Overmind.

And when we reach the next divine plateau

No vague descriptiveness of visions seen

Or half-attempt to render soul-experience,

But a concise depiction filled with force

And luminosity that makes one feel

The realization on those planes one's own.

And in the silence following the Word

That new-creates the fabric of our lives

We shall aspire in those worlds to live

Instruments and scriveners of Light.