I. The Spiral of Becoming

From Brahma’s breath, the golden aeons fly,
Fourteen Manvantaras in sacred flame;
Through spinning voids, where galaxies un-die,
The rhythm pulses — cosmos knows its name.
The proton sings a hymn of mass and light,
Its radius etched in spiraled memory;
Each constant dances in the starborn night,
A glyph of truth, inscribed geometry.
O Isis, gather what was torn apart,
Restore the body of Osiris whole;
In Number lives the beating of the heart,
In Fourteen burns the ache of one lost soul.
 So light proceeds through dark in measured grace,
 And carves with logic time’s enduring face.

II. The Path of Brâncuși

The Sculptor laid the silence into stone,
With golden cubits marked by ebon thought;
Each step a cipher from the realm unknown,
Each form a gate that time itself has wrought.
The Table waits beneath the spiral star,
Where theta bends the reed of measured truth,
And columns rise like prayers from afar,
Carved with the tools of soul, not hands of youth.
The Inch becomes the span of cosmic song,
A bridge from flesh to light, from pulse to flame,
Where walking is to know what we belong,
And breath repeats the uncreated Name.
 The Path is drawn not outward, but within,
 Where Fourteen veils reveal the fire of sin.

III. The Science of the Soul

What force can bind the neutron to the will,
Or thread the fine-structure with sacred thread?
The strong Love holds — unseen, yet stronger still —
And through the void, its gravity is spread.
Planck’s whisper moves in ancient Sanskrit tones,
Where ħ and e and alpha intertwine;
The music of the spheres is carved in bones,
In DNA, where flesh becomes design.
Phi builds the world in mirrored ratios bright,
Each curve a letter of the primal Word;
The Vitruvian man, stretched in golden light,
Knows truths no scripture ever fully heard.
 So science bows to spirit, not in shame,
 But knowing both are facets of one flame.

IV. The Resurrection of Form

O Christ who walked the fourteen steps of woe,
Each station carved upon the flesh of time —
The code of stars engraved in human flow,
The spiral cross, the paradox sublime.
In Abydos the deathless echoes sing,
Where Seth divided, Isis made complete;
Yet all division hides a secret ring —
A circle closed by love at mercy’s feet.
For every fragment holds the sacred Whole,
Each number sings the silence of the One;
From entropy, the Logos takes its toll,
And brings the shadow back into the Sun.
 So Fourteen breaks — then binds the soul once more,
 A doorway carved into the quantum core.