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On the loins of the fever’s deliriums

I crossed the hells of opium.

Without my eyes I can see beyond all the stars.

I’m the writer of the Emerald Table,

Pythia at the Delphic Oracle,

I’m a Babylon whore.

I see the ancient races, the immigrants of Atlantis and Lemuria, the billions of lives that have preceded me.

I'm an Isis priest, a slave in Egypt,

Tarpeya crushed, pupil of Socrates;

I parade with the imperial legions,

the Aeneas descendant.

I take a billion forms, I know all the lives,

I feel the entire universe’s knowledge,

but where does the divine grace hide?

Where are the wasted prayers thrown into despair?

I exist in all beings and all beings exist in me,

I feel myself in communion with the earth,

but god isn't in me.