Friday, June 12, 2015


       This is a continuation of my efforts
to share a manuscript of mystical writings
I call the Clifftop Writings.
       At the time of writing these passages
I was convinced I was writing the
New Testament of the Lord of Hosts.
        I ask you to reserve judgment
on what these writings might be. Even
though I have moved on in my life,
I have not moved that far along... I
know these writings are too fine
to be destroyed.


  (C) 1974 to 2015 by W.G.Milne and
         by the Author.
   The paragraph and word order is maintained
    on the typed page as it was in the manuscript,
    written mostly in pencil. Ballpoint pens
     often don't work in freezing or windy
             Most of the clifftop writings were
      written outside. I wrote in a variety of
       notebooks, keeping several pencils
       in the breast pocket in my tweed
       coat and vests. I wrote with a pencil
       in one hand and "The Nag Hammadi
       Library", edited by James. M. Robinson,
       in my other hand. I always started
        meditating on a passage on one of the
        fifty-two holy books contained in that
             When words became the Word,
       I didn't have time to go back inside
       the hut to get supplies. So I sharpened
       the pencils again and again on the granite
       rock of the Laurentian Shield. 

Clifftop Writings:

"The poet knew that he had
            tasted the Mind of God
He had been taught and schooled
             by the Lord on cliff tops,
promontories into deep lakes
and wild seas. In many such
places the Lord of Hosts revealed
the eternal presence of His seeing
in His holy light.
           The poet had been astounded
repeatedly and anointed as a prophet
of the Lord, through none of his own
doing, but by Grace only.
            That all things are of God:
matter and soul and spirit originate
in Him, and all returns to Him.

All is in the crystal shower
of the incandescent throne,
The holy fountain that erupts
and subsides again: the awareness
which is the eye of the seashell
And of the hurricane and the tornado:
The burning blaze at the heart
Of the atom; the restless charge
That leaps throughout the adhesion
Of molecules; the pure eye of the
Baby child newly in her cradle:
The leap of a bright butterfly off a
          summer branch,
The yellow eye of the sun
The eye for which all all time
                            is present
The past and the future exist
To the Mind of God:

"I see Moses in his day and
Adam and the birth of my son
In whom I am well pleased;
I am Alpha, Omega, and I am
the unity of the Universe."

"I am  the living and fiery essence
         that burns in the light of the stars;
  I am the white light of holy dreams
         and realities,
The chastity of the bride
The white wedding of the Mind;
I am the poet's poetry
The prophecy of the sage
I am the potter,
You are my clay:
I give to you, even this
New heaven and earth
Born again in this page;
Verily I say
And listen carefully to
          this phrase:

'I do not send my Son
To be crucified among men:
Rather now, in this new age
Behold him in whom I am well
Even here, the fructification
          of my seed,
The Seed of David in this new age now
          men shall be
Crucified upon the Christ
In this age, and through these
The second coming has come,'
The father says.
So it is written
So shall it be."

The poet lay down his head
          and gave thanks to the Lord
For His holiness, His chapel of light
The sight of a star across worlds
          from a holy promontory
To another, sun beckons to intergalactic sun
           to son;
The poet thanks God, Lord of hosts
That he should live to see
            this day.

For it had been foretold by the
It had been spoken by the Father
That the prophet should not
             live to see
The flowering of this prophecy;
Yet the world would come to see
The blossoming of his poetry.



The fact of the matter - it doesn't matter what I am
- this talk about prophet or poet, it misses the
point. It's not about me.
I was concerned about the weight of the manuscript on my own shoulders,
that I had to finish it and share it before I died.
      I prayed to the Holy One and asked
what I was to do to protect the Grace
contained in this book.
        The answer that came, without a word
being spoken was this... the answer to my
prayer was:

"Grace is not contained in any book.
Grace is mine alone," sayeth the Lord.
" I am the Lord of Abraham,  I AM,
I AM THAT I AM.  I alone am the source of
Grace. I alone may bestow it."

        So I needen't have worried about my own
status. The best way to convey my status
is to remember the words also of the Lord God:


        This is what I am. And this also is what
I am not.

I know longer know what all of this
means - likely, I never did know.
For a wind blew through me,
And blew the cherries from the trees.

                              (C)1990-2015 by W.G.Milne