May 1974
God’s Mountain
Come to the Mountain, my son!
Arise to the lofty heights!
No view in the Valley of Commonplace
can extend the vision of man.
Arise, come higher, and higher still!
And let the things of Earth be seen in true perspective.
Pause awhile,
And let the confusion of incomprehension
vaporise from your fevered brain.
Rest awhile
And allow the working of the Higher Mind
To pervade your lowly senses.
Re-assess, in measure slow enough
To banish human intrusion from my Master Plan.
Only the quietened mind and spirit
Can lay hold of such power for the Coming Age of Gold.
You are here!
You have responded to my call!
Abraham-like, you have quit your muddy Ur
to step upon my peaks.
You have done well my son,
Though loneliness will here be your companion,
And misunderstanding your daily bread.
No well-worn paths here
On this, the Mount of a Thousand Hills,
No certain route that eye can see,
No footing that makes for easy tread,
But he who steps thereon need fear no troubled path,
For it is the Zion of my security.
No wild beast is here to tear,
No darkness with noisome fear,
No thorny scrub nor stinging weed,
Nor yet a sharpened point of rock to bark the shin.
Press on my son!
Rise yet higher still!
For Moses knew my Mount – – –
(The arrows of light and thunder clap
were designed for lesser souls,
For those who vision lacked,
And well-worn paths preferred of tangible golden calves.
And lest they also should aspire to rise,
And in my anger be consumed I made this warning sound.
No mortal man, no child of earth-bound kin,
Can step upon my frightening crags
Save him who hears my call, and hearing,
Leaves his tools of trade awhile to join hands with eternity.)
Come, sit upon this grassy bank with me!
See, you are not filled with fear!
And neither do your knees tap out the drummer’s call!
Nor do your words rise huskily from dried-up throat!
No indeed!
For anguish such can only grip imaginations dull,
like those below,
Who even now bemoan your lot, deride your stupidity,
In braving my consuming fires,
(And yet, all these too are truly mine!)
Your calm repose is sweet indeed,
Far cry from yesterday;
A mood of tenderness, tinged with anticipation,
With heart well-tuned for songs of love.
Now take my words, prepare your mind,
Enjoy the vision of my will,
Sweet as the Queen Bee’s fare in Eden’s secret paradise.
Now go my son!
Your training thus complete, your briefing thus fulfilled,
Your heart at bursting point, you are prepared!
And take upon you this, my multicoloured garb,
The Cloak of Authenticity,
With which to change the hearts of those who scorn,
And those who once and twice and twice again
Have squashed you under heedless feet of unbelief.
Go now my son!
Be sure to mend the twisted wheel of man, and heal his mind.
Replace the violence of these battered years
With the fresh dews of heaven.
O high priest of light,
On you have I bestowed the Golden Crown of Office Royal,
In your hand the Righteous Sceptre placed,
My enemies to subdue, My children to renew,
Till all is done, when I shall call you home.
– – – – – – –
“Man’s Mountain”
Agony of emptiness;
Anguish of the neatly-vacuumed heart,
Beating helter-skelter
For satisfactions that seem to flit away
Like many mocking rainbows – – – – –
What O what is the meaning of it all?????
He has arrived!
His personal peak is here at last,
Solid and firm beneath his feet.
For five and twenty years and more,
His senses so acute
Have stretched themselves towards this day.
Every inch of the way was worthwhile battle done,
Each hurdle scaled, each trouble passed,
Was but renewal for the ones to come;
Each forward stride, each victory won,
Gave succour for the days ahead.
This man, he knew beginnings small,
But had a mind to rise,
And so he put his wits to work,
And ploughed a furrow deep through all his middle years.
And behind this steady plough
Was gathered all the worthwhile stuff of life,
(For thus he thought,)
And several little shoulders to the wheel
Made effort more enjoyable
Garrisoned the while by more-than-worthy wife.
And now, the long haul is over,
And day is done.
He sits, surrounded by all his booty fine,
The High-Flyer established firmly on his own personal peak,
His wealth the envy of those around,
Those many fellow-travelling souls
Who likewise sought a higher place,
But instead, nursed their aching shoulders
From the pitiless tread of his climbing boots.
How they wished themselves enthroned as thus he was.
Suddenly!!
To his utmost horror!!
He awakens to the basic fact,
The glaring and unvarnished truth!
The cold and sweaty beads appear upon his brow;
For he, who ran Olympic Style,
And into foremost place was cheered along,
Now found himself upon the Dais to receive his GOLD –
Only to find within his trembling hands
A MEDALLION OF GILDED CLAY.
What marathon of life is this???
What subtle rotten trick
To play upon keen aspiring souls???
O child of mine, take heed to words of wisdom,
And learn before the Latter Rains begin,
That he who makes his self-made mount
Will find it bare and comfortless, devoid of destiny,
Just like this parabolic man,
And in the sickening moment of complete awareness,
Groans within, to wish his life away.
– – – – – – – –oOo– – – – – – – –
Here is a song composed and sung by Roger Whittaker, with words that seem appropriate to the above pair of prophetic words.
SHOW ME YOUR MOUNTAIN
Well I don’t want to hear about your misery,
and I don’t want to hear you sigh,
And I don’t want to hear about the rainy days,
and I don’t want to see you cry,
And don’t tell me about yesterday, it’s gone and won’t be back,
And don’t ask me to sing the blues, the blues are off my track.
Show me your mountain, give me the time,
Show me your mountain, and I will help you climb.
Don’t tell me about life is hard, and the way it gets you down,
And I don’t want to hear about the factories that blacken up your town,
And don’t tell me about the son you lost, the one that’s gone to war,
And I don’t want to hear about misery, I won’t listen any more.
Show me your mountain, give me the time,
Show me your mountain, and I will help you climb.
If you take my hand and come along, stand on your own two feet,
Life is just a dusty road, a long and windy street,
And just in case you didn’t hear, I’ll say it one more time,
I don’t want to hear about the misery, I’m just gonna help you climb.
Show me your mountain, give me the time,
Show me your mountain, and I will help you climb.
