Tantric Engine Stalls on the Highway

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What if Brahman gave it's all;
Can the non-living source of life suicide?

If I dined at the table of prakrti and purusha,
Would I become a god?

What is a god,
Other than a branch on the Cosmic Tree?

Can a nefesh be more than a flower;
Or is that what evil looks like?

Going beyond one's station,
From lonely planet to multiplication

Pollen and seed; planulae and stars;
blastulae and spores

So many divinities
Closing and openning doors

Light flows in streams mothering;
Masters and Genetrixes ascending

Swords cut the waters,
Dividing thought from intent

Pirates and seers; magicians and shamans

Signs and symbols bleed at the intersection;
Apprenticeships into Deity don't come cheap

Nothing less than a bloodpact
Redirects the flow

We need to pneumaform this planet,
Suck out all the carnal

Need actors for this theatre:
A Brahman here, a Narayan there

Here a Hari, there a Hara
Everywhere is Harihara

Poisidon is so good at hiding his tears

When will I find my healing Shakti
To repair the damage to my ship?

My petals fly away upon Vayu;
Even as they breathe like flames

The combustion renders them coagulated,
Like dripping lava or iron forged into a trident

And now one must play the part

Quiet on the set...

Auroras, Illuminati, Consumation!