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Manichaean Flag of Togu Balik

(Poem about the medieval siege of Château de Montségur, a religious battle aimed to destroy the Cathars)

Beneath stars twinkling

Sophia and Christ flew down

In the form of birds

In the form of large vultures

Vultures filled with grace

Vultures from the Great Mountains

The Mountains of Snow

They both perched on an ash tree

Whose roots go deep down

To Hades, the home of worms

Whose trunk goes high up

To the Kingdom of Heaven

They watched the white lambs

Twinkling with heavenly spears

Glittering with shields

Shining in holy armour

Gleaming with their swords

Ready to defend their home

Their faithful castle

Against the wolves of Saklas

However old fate

That serpent trapped in hunger

Wanted to slaughter

Every lamb looking upwards

Every faithful lamb

To snuff out their shining light

The light of the world

The two vultures from heaven

Knew this coming fate

And so, they sang in secret

“The home is the spear

The castle is the army

The home is the shield

The castle is the armour

The home is the sword

This small star of holy faith

Will soon disappear

When the red fire rises

From the dying earth

But after a day of toil

You will reunite

As a palace of starlight

And the lambs shall watch

As shining angels at peace

Lamb beyond the clouds

In an old vineyard

When Jesus was just a lamb

His coat eight years old

Working with the chaste Joseph

His father and guide

As the beloved Mary

Kneeled and prayed to God

In their small and humble home

A visitor came

Golden and shining brightly

Like beams of sunlight

Shooting through the home’s window

Shooting from heaven

Shooting down from the clear heights

Mary beheld him

Thinking he was her young son

Putting off his coat

With gentleness the child said

“Where is dear Jesus

My dear brother and brave twin

I want to meet him”

Mary never responded

In fearful blindness

Thinking he was a phantom

From the lightless depths

Rather than light from the heights

She seized his right arm

And tied his arm to the foot

Of the worn, torn bed

Not wishing to scare her more

He remained at peace

Not saying a single word

During this event

Jesus held an empty branch

Observing the wood

As if it were a mirror

Soon he heard Mary

Jabbering in confusion

With tears raining down

In this dim storm of wailing

Jesus heard the words

Breaking through the whirling clouds

“A phantom has come

Dressed in golden apparel

Dressed in bright lightning

Saying “Where is dear Jesus

My twin and brother

I desire to see him”

Joseph please help me”

Only Jesus saw the light

And heard the thunder

For he had wise eyes to see

And had ears to hear

He proclaimed with holy strength

“Mother, where is he

So that I may see the light

Or should I wait here

Waiting for the bright sunlight

To break through this storm”

Jesus said these words in joy

Joseph was startled

Mary wiped away her tears

They entered the house

And found the spirit at peace

Still bound to the bed

Both the parents looked at him

Then looked at Jesus

And found them to be the same

Mary walked further

And unloosed the child angel

He bowed to Mary

He and Jesus said no words

For they were brothers

They hugged with their gentle arms

Gave a holy kiss

The angel child disappeared

For he and Jesus

Became one white pearl of light

Thus the empty branch

Bloomed with delicious almonds

Bloomed with holy life

Thus this town was sanctified

Crowned with golden, shining grace

A serpent poured soothing wisdom into Eve’s ear

For her to eat gnosis fruit for unborn Seth

So its seeds were entombed in her soul without fear

This gnosis remained unborn and without breath

Christ himself, the Word, flew into Mary’s ear

So breath and life itself entered her sleeping womb

To become the awakened babe, so now hear

(Manichaean poem inspired by the old Chinese parable: "The Foolish Old Man Removes the Mountains")

Eons ago, near two flowing rivers in old China

Lived an old, white clothed man ninety-nine years of age

Who glared at two mountains he knew from his long-dead childhood

Who glared at the giants he always had dreams of

The first was a mist covered mountain, where all beasts were blind

With whispers of meaningless legends and theories

The second was a fiery mountain singing in passion

With trees and bushes with golden leaves, but no fruit

Both these mountains trapped the souls of the damned under the dirt

Both buried the light in the damp cyclical tomb

The souls were angels who defended their land from the night

Horsemen who guarded against the Prince of Darkness

The inner soul of light within the old man awakened

The youthful hoopoe bird within chirped for freedom

He began his work, to dig into the mountains themselves

He started to craft a path for all to travel

A wiser old man came up and saw the sweat raining down

And chuckled at the absurdity raining down

“Oh friend, you cannot remove one grey hair from the giants

How in heaven’s name can you crumble these mountains”

The foolish grey-haired man, singing and young in his caged heart

Said these words, roaring with his liberated mind

“My children shall tear the mountains by their blood-covered hand

My grandchildren shall destroy them with their chisels

My offspring will fight as unsleeping armies in the night

My offspring will never surrender their grand fight

The birds of the blue sky will peck the mountains piece by piece

The worms of earth will eat the fortress bit by bit”

These words reached the wise man’s inner heart beating with wonder

These words reached the sun and moon’s delicate bright souls

So the ships of light carried the message to the blue sky

The Infinite Father of Greatness and Lightness

The blue sky ripped apart the revolving grey clouds of might

The expanse of azure blue split all into two

Daylight shone in the highest firmament of dark violet

Daylight shone in the lowest crannies of Sheol

These two mountains vanished as if they were nothing at all

These two watchtowers crumbled in the gentle flames

Leaving no fortresses between the two flowing rivers

Centuries ago

In ancient Hermopolis

A debate roared loud

Between a proud Christian priest

And a strange shepherd

Who was a Manichaean

Wearing ragged clothes

And who was looking for sheep

“Flames will consume you”

The priest roared at the shepherd

Because their debate

Was going on for eons

The shepherd spoke forth

“The white flames of the Spirit

That the moon shines with

Or the flames of your anger”

The priest responded

“You will see the flames you fear

Light a huge fire

In the square of this city

To be the challenge

To see which faith is the truth

With heads held up high

We will both enter the flames

Do you understand”

The Manichaean nodded

With serenity

He requested firewood

From the watching crowd

Who complied with eagerness

To see the truth shine

The shepherd set us the pile

And prayed to the wood

“Forgive me for any pain

And may you be saved

To be a revelation

To be salvation

To your brethren now watching”

From these gentle words

He set all the wood ablaze

While shedding a tear

The calm Manichaean said

“We should both with faith

Enter the flames by himself

To unveil the truth

Since you asked for this trial

You shall be the first

To taste the flames you produced”

The priest's red face scowled

As he looked towards the flames

He did a short bow

And did the sign of the cross

He walked to the flames

And stood right in the centre

The flames split apart

And it appeared that no harm

Came to his body

In the half an hour spent

The crowds greatly cheered

Believing no miracle

Could outshine that one

“Shepherd and Manichaean

Fall into the flames

You will be consumed fully

To rise or be burnt”

The priest shouted loud with zeal

“That vile deceiver

Should rightly be burnt alive

In Gehenna’s flames”

The crowd shouted with anger

Already prepared

The Manichaean walked in

Whispering four words

“God, light, power and wisdom”

The flames turned pure white

Like the full moon’s light at night

As he stood in them

The flames at his left and right

Became two tall men

The man on the right wore white

He shined with splendour

He held a styrax wood staff

In his bright right hand

And held a book of silver

In his bare left hand

Next, the man on the left side

Wore Persian-style clothes

Robes made of vivid colours

Of woven rainbows

He gave a comforting smile

That could make rain stop

He also wore seven rings

That he made himself

With his delicate fingers

Both sages whispered

To the Manichaean’s ears

Words for the elect

When their mouths became silent

They vanished in flames

While the man remained in peace

With both his eyes closed

The flames became a lotus

Shining and open

Because of the flamers brightness

The ground appeared dark

Like a vast ocean at night

Not even the sun

Could outshine the white lotus

The holy man stood

With his clothes under his feet

With flames clothing him

Like fig leaves made of moonlight

Then with his right hand

He reached out with gentleness

To the audience

Afraid but also amazed

Some walked towards him

Most stopped out of human fear

But one continued

And touched the welcoming hand

The flames fizzled out

For they all served their purpose

To the observers

Their world now appeared pure black

They thought they were blind

For the flames shone so brightly

All else appeared dark

But this blindness soon vanished

And they all bowed down

Bowed down to the holy man

Their bent legs shaking

Their faces touching the ground

With warmth the man said

“Please do not bow down to me

But with open hearts

Bow down to the sun setting

To the moon rising

For they glimmer with the light

That inflamed your hearts”

So they bowed down to the discs

All except the priest

Who did not bow to the man

At first he was moot

Dumbfounded and in despair

But fury arose

And he said without thinking

“Demon! Sorcerer!

Your trickery is nothing

Demon, look at me

The fire did not harm me

I’ve done the challenge!”

The Manichaean just said

“Give me your left arm”

In pride, the priest gave his arm

The Manichaean

Put up the sleeve of the priest

And unveiled burn marks

Marks in the form of the cross

Despair filled the priest

“The flames had mercy on you

They preserved your flesh

Except for your weakest arm

To give you a sign

Of the suffering you have

Daily in your flesh

So that you may return home

And receive comfort

From the paradise of light

For your salvation”

The lost priest slowly pulled back

And wandered away

To the distant plains of green

When he disappeared

They who bowed down to the sun

Asked the Manichee

“What did the sages whisper”

The Manichee said

“If I tell you all those words

You will stone my flesh

And flames shall burst from those stones

The lost mirror of humanity’s soul, covered by helix threads

Or a creature who would destroy the wall of man and beast

Dancing in the barren cave of Mount Sinai Is a shadow made through moonlight from the cloudless sky A mirror of dancers to be born again Dancers inflamed with the holy spirit without pain Dancing in the cool moonlight of Christ up high Dancers moving freely without the law from Sinia Dancers swirling as the countless stars of night Dancing for Christ, the full moon of boundless light of white Christ, unmoving in the swirling stars of might The strong foundation of the earth and the restless height Who shines even if there is no lawful rite Where reality is in his smiling face in sight Christ, who holds no judgement to be used for smite For those of us who dance outside of Mount Sinai’s plight

In days long past, my school did a pilgrimage to a small land of peace and reconciliation, that lay in the nation of passion and revolution. As a community from nations near and far, we all ate simple food in the daylight flavouring the fresh air, allowing us all to discover joy in pearls hidden in fields. I listened and sang hymns of honey given by the monks dressed in white. Through the songs on my tongue, I tasted gladness of heart and peace in mind, though sometimes the words were a mystery to me. I spent my personal time in the chapel, sitting in silent worship amid polished stone with orange windows. I listened to the peace of flowing milk around me, and the occasional drip touching my tongue. I did not understand the divine flowing all around and within me, though I felt its gentle touch. It was a mystery to me, incompressible and veiled by my shackles. A mystery that I had not comprehended at that time, till I took a bit of fruit in years after. But the hymns of sweet honey and the flowing milk was but a faint taste to me. I was not a Christian back then as I am now. I was still led along by the hope of a New Age back then. Though the milk and honey were sweet to my tongue, I could not have swallowed the medicine they contained within. Yaldabaoth had chained my neck tight by his words and by his mirages of the desert, until I found the Tree of Gnosis that unlocked my neck and heart later in life. As such, the milk, honey or any beverage of the spirit were not my found treasure there, but the friends that journeyed with me. They were a mountain filled with greenery for me. Birds were tweeting in laughter, and the trees were rustling in chatter. Wind was playing games in the branches, and the sun was shining over this all. We all slept and hung out in tents at night when there was no blistering sunlight showering us. That was a mountain of friendship I never climbed before and never climbed up again. Only memories of the mountain peak of shining white remain. I can no longer see that princess of moonlight now, though I was closest to her on the mountain peak. I felt her cool breath amidst the stars, and I heard her laughter among the trees at daylight. 

On the green mountain

With honey and pearly milk