Touched by The Christ

Touched by The Christ

The time matters not.
Nor the day, nor date, nor weather outside.
Neither the catalyst.
There was one
From Ancient Egypt.
Sitting on the couch surfing the web
We Googled the edicts of Luxor:
Commandments of the Hermetic Mystery Schools.
This was our catalyst,
Not a catalyst…
Not a reminder even…
A WAKE-UP CALL from the Absolute.

It begins…

Heart chakra swells
Eight, no—Eighty times
In size;
Eight thousand times
In depth.
Is it a heart attack?
Strength fails.
iPad falls.
Mind blanks.

And then
Without hesitation
Love enters us.
Love, as we have never known it.
A tsunami bursts forth from within
We slip from the couch to the floor,
This feeble animated corpse helpless and powerless
In the Light of this Love,
Love of Loves,
Light of Lights,
Would our body temple were made of stone
Great blocks would be bursting from our sides
Such is this wellspring, no—
Geyser—of Love
Exploding yet sustaining,
Imploding yet enduring,
No tsunami,
No geyser,
No eternal fountain…
A star has gone supernova!
A Sun is in our chest.
The Son is in our heart.
The Christ has come to visit.
And It burns with the Fire of fires,
Shines with the Light of lights
From behind my cold eyes I see it beaming
Brought forth from the Great Treasury of the Light
And I am blinded to all but its Glory.

Heart wells up
Throat chokes up,
Eyes wide shut,
We are a fetus curled up in the womb,
Welled up ready to burst
Walled up in our tiny apartment
Any moment now it too will burst
Just as sure as we will
And we do
Tears pour from beneath sealed eyelids
And we cry out in wailing agony of pure joy.

“Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!
We thank Thee!
We thank Thee!
We thank Thee!
Oh Divine Mother!

Thank you!
Thank you!
Thank you!”

No reprieve.
No halt in the torrent.
No pause in the fusion.

Diaphragm trampolines
And our gut is Love-punched drunk into exhaustion.
Heart beats our max into dust.
Body registering on the Richter scale.
Skin soaked in a soup of sweat and tears.

And still the Love is there.
Swelling and collapsing;
Erupting and imploding.
Boiling magma plumes in our chest,
Burns us with the Fire of the fire,
Illuminates us with the Light of lights,
And we are completely helpless to resist;
Pathetically incapable of containing
Let alone hosting even the Essence of the presence of our Guest,
The Most High,
The Chrestos Force
He who comes in the name of the Lord…

“Hosanna in the Highest!
Hosanna in the Highest!
Hosanna in the Highest!
Thy Kingdom Come!
Thy Kingdom Come!
Thy Kingdom Come!
Thy Will be Done!
Thy Will be Done!
Thy Will be Done!
So be it!
So be it!
So be it!
Thank You!
Thank You!
Thank You!
Oh God, We thank You!”

It goes on like this.
An eternity passes
With an Infinite Ball of Burning Love in our chest.
And We observe ourselves,
Filthy and unworthy of this Guest in our house!
We have no Three Kings to greet our Saviour Cometh
Among the barnyard cubby of our animal mind!
What gifts can we offer but the filth of our minds,
The pain in our hearts,
And the stress in our body?
What precious offerings can we make to Christ our Lord Cometh?
Yet still all we feel is eternal Love and gratitude,
There is no shame to speak of
Here and now
We are incapable of that shadowy pride,
Our egos have fled to the darkest corners of our mind,
Those wasps flew from the Flame of flames,
And our heart cries out only with the Joy of joys.

“It is what it is, and that is all!
It is what it is, and that is all!
It is what it is, and that is all!
I Am that I Am!
I Am that I Am!
I Am that I Am!
Aheyeh asher Aheyeh!
Aheyeh asher Aheyeh!
Aheyeh asher Aheyeh!
Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!
Thy Will be Done!
Thy Will be Done!
Thy Will be Done!
Thank You!
Thank You!
Thank You!”

It continues.
The Ode to Joy
Played by a thousand orchestras,
Sung by a million angels,
Blaring in our heart-mind;
Resonating through our Being.
Rings forth the Truth of truths no mortal man can describe,
The Love of loves no mortal man can know.
How could he?
When here we are but touched by It,
Overcome by the Glory of Glories,
Crumpled in an ecstatic heap by the Joy of joys
And the Bliss of bliss?
With naught but a drop of Its Limitless Light,
We are balling our eyes out,
Crying our heart out,
Wailing with the agony of eternal happiness!
We are reduced to a blithering child,
So weak are we in the wake of
The Resplendence of Resplendence.

“Kyrie Eleison!
Kyrie Eleison!
Kyrie Eleison!
Christe Eleison!
Christe Eleison!
Christe Eleison!
Pater Noster!
Pater Noster!
Pater Noster!
Ave Maria!
Ave Maria!
Ave Maria!
We Thank You!
We Thank You!
We Thank You!

It goes on like this some more.
Gloria in Excelsior,
Majesty Magnificence,
Rejuvenation in Resplendence
Give way to Mercy and Freedom,
And we are released in Mercy and Love.
Our visit is at an end.
Our exhausted and spent self lies helpless on the floor.
And still we can only pray
And thank
And feel
The residual Heat and Light and Love from our Cosmic Visitation,
Our Heavenly House Guest.
Who came forth from the boundless nothingness of our hearts,
To touch us,
Give us but a taste,
And let us drink from the Fountain of Sweet Ambrosia,
Dip our toe into the Ocean of Love that glows with His Golden Blue Light,
The Light of Lights,
The Light of Christ.
Who was in the beginning,
Is now,
And shall Be.
May he come again to judge the living,
These wretched “I’s” who pollute our temple,
And the dead,
Those wretched Souls suffering in hell itself.
So be it.
So be it.
So be it.

~ Attlas Allux

* * *


This poem was first published in the article: Does the New Age Deliver the Teachings of the Ages?


  1. My hand is reaching out, lost and aware of my failures in thought speech and actions; withering in a soup of seemingly all of the above, love I seek, but feel so weak at my contstant longing and sunsequant endlesss search delivers but cognitive dissonance whilst knowing what I need and seeing afraid of what will be. The battle has waged a war of torn hearts between the light and the dark. A spark to light a candle in the opaqueness of what seeming like an enternity. These words are but fumbling out of a man who seeks a clear plan of actions, a path, a love to carry my heart to the heavens like a dove. Of what chance does my heart have at redemtion when all my faults coalesce into the virtues once known shared but fell into egoic attempts to heal my wounded childhood. I call out as I feel and see the call, to rise to my potential if there is but a second chance. Wandering in the desert has created a thirst that with the all of my being is ready to let go of all I know,knew or thought. Dear God is there hope left in the scope of my existence?

    Liked by 1 person

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