An Anthology of Prayers to The Mother
Haste is a sign of desperation, of a certain type of self-fearing ignorance. The pressure may come from within or from unexpected sources to turn oneself into an utter idiot of the imposing circumstance. That I should be blind and impossibly inflexible was a sign of a deep discord within, an amplification of it was self-demonstrated by an illogical action on the ground. That I should put somebody in a spot, especially a certain one in whom The Master manifests as if by the habit of a rising sun, was a blind mistake, and I truly and sincerely apologise for the mistake, though it may be deemed innocuous.
O Mother Compassionate, teach me how simply to be in a crisis and manifest Thy imperial will upon those ignorant and self-deluded so that they may wake up from their long slumber into the bursting daylight of Thy supreme sun.
Sweet Mother, take us into Thy arms of love, foster us of the milk of Thy gnostic spirit.
In Thee is the path to a supreme glory of the manifest spirit and the triumph of an inevitable divine victory.