The Book of Rosiah – STONE OF XAVIER

Now Available on Amazon.com

There is an excerpt provided below the link.

https://www.amazon.com/Book-Rosiah-Johnathan-Abraham-Antelept/dp/1732600910

On page 7 of The Book of Rosiah, Enoch speaks:

“There is a King that has come from underground,
That will rise to the peak…
Where the pyramid will be placed on his back upside down,
The foundation for generations to come…
Rosiah Rose Rephaiah.”

Below is an excerpt from pages 3 to 24, which includes the table of contents and the first three sections. The book is 65 pages long.

———–

Table of Contents

I. HERALD
II. ODYSSEY
III. KINGSHIP
IV. ZION
V. THE HOUSE OF DAVID
VI. THE THIRD TEMPLE

————

I. HERALD

Mysterious Origins

From whence did he come?
Why is favor shown upon him?
When it’s all said and done,
All the trial was favor…

As the mission kept its call
Ever-pressing, ever-present.
At the source of the seed
Bears the fruit of dedication,
At the root unto all.

Born on the plains,
His mother was waning,
Complications from labor…
Running from strictures
Her heart had grown warmer,
Yet the risk was much greater.
Roaming the land in search for a freedom…

She nestled him close to her bosom and knew,
As told by the visions, the feeling transmitted.
Not quite knowing why each action was needed,
Yet guided by sentience of higher ordering warble…

Blooming with blue,
Everesce was her name,
Ice crystals forming on lips of fragility.
A pulse that was wavering like American hegemony,
A new era was emerging from her womb…they shall see…
She died in the midday sun of deep autumn.

Everesce, at home in the whistling wind,
In the forests and the streams of Ancient Man’s Dreams.
Freed from obstruction to herald the highlands,
A cooling splash dousing the countryside wondrous.

Unsure, the populace all felt it within,
Yet obscure and somewhat distant from them,
They kept it hidden and for many it passed by without awareness…

Two days and nights,
Wrapped in the cloth of its milky supreme,
Of the stars that dripped eons more ancient than Earth.
He suckled its breast,
But the wind parched his lips,
While vultures took heed and hovered with hunger.
His eyes wide like gates opened everlasting confession…
From before the birth of light to beyond the end of time.

Farmer John and his dog came passing in route.
Standing before him, slackened, entranced…
The baby with eyes like an owl,
Orbs of black wellspring, twinkling inklings of otherness…
Of brotherhood, of sisterhood, of marvel and majesty,
Like standing before his father just born…
An eerie sense of forefather younger.

John carried the baby to his house for some water,
Golden sashes bristling in the briskness of November.

Upon returning to the field his mother no more,
No trace or indentation in grasses…
The sweet smell of lilac arousing an awe.

A Message from Enoch

That night John dreamt of a vision.
There appeared a glowing emerald
Set in a golden diadem
Off in the distance where all else was dark…
Then it vanished…

From forth there was a shimmering,
In a robe of scarlet red,
A hooded figure named Enoch…
His face could not be seen.

He spoke with a heavy tongue,
Of an Ancient Melody,
While he held Rosiah tenderly…

In the arms of Enoch, Rosiah was handed to John.

II. ODYSSEY

On the Plains

John taught Rosiah how to fish, to build, to hunt and to farm.
He taught him how to fight and how to be fair,
But more importantly, how to love and how to make peace.
He fed him with heartiness and loved him with wonder,
But never told him of the vision he had,
Nor of the mystery of his mother.

Rosiah sensed silence impregnated with truth.
Silence he tried to pierce, but could not rip the bubble.
He suspected he came from afar,
But more so he felt an immensity within.
His hunger was deeper than John’s wisdom…

In the 15th year of Rosiah,
John was approaching his death.
Lying weak in his bed nearly left from the pain,
He told Rosiah he was King,
But had no time to say more.
Rosiah stood over his head, with eyes like an owl,
Humming the songs he had sung since he was young,
Songs which John had never taught him.
The songs carried John’s spirit away…
Rosiah drifted deeper in wildness of heart.

John had no family besides Rosiah,
So after his passing Rosiah took responsibility of the farm.
He planted wheat, tended chickens and goats by the pasture.
He fished to let his mind settle and ease,
His confusion arousing his anger,
Of some knowledge beneath a shroud which was calling,
A knowledge which underlay all.

Soon thereafter, a hunger to know compelled him to go.
He felt in his heart that the sun would not set
If he kept in motion towards the West and beyond.
Maybe motion and time would bring truth.

Rosiah Roams Westbound

He spent years on the road singing songs.
On the corners of small towns he would lay his hat down,
Then vanish just as quickly as the wind he rode in on,
Following his spirit.
He travelled down the coast and saw the cities in sprawl,
And sat his hat down just the same.

For years he fled, from city to city,
Eating scraps that they tossed him to appease,
For his money grew thin much too quick;
Working odd jobs fixing drains,
Repairing porches and changing tires…
Walking barefoot at times just to breathe.
Relieving the strictures they placed abound,
Like Everesce, he wanted to be free.

He had a woman or two lay inside of his bag for a night
With the heat combining in swirl…
He dreamt that he’d find an Ancient Poetess
To share his songs with,
And bare his heart to by the fires.
He looked in their eyes,
But the horizons kept calling his gaze.
His eyes like an owl, piercing like flame,
Burning with a hunger for ultimate wisdom,
As if he were destined to seek it.

Mexico and the Desert

Rosiah grew tired of cities,
And the consumption abound.
He set his sight south towards the desert.

His eyes became hawk-like, more hungry and slender,
With the whipping wind making his vision only clearer.
To the interiors of Mexico he travelled by foot.
To the interiors of his being he sought.

For years he wandered through the desert.
His confusion was the reason, commanding his attention,
Putting him plush against self.
He examined his corridors, his dreams and desires.
He cast off influence from all he had known.
He looked for The Source in silence and scorching sun.
He waited for moons and seraphs to invite him
Up higher to give him a view.
All the while Rosiah sang and his songs only deepened,
Like a hawk in the day and an owl through the night.

Settling into the Forest

Slowly he journeyed in deep.
He made his way south to the tropics.
The forests arose with magnitude and magnanimity, of flora and fauna.
The stark contrast put oil upon his lips.
He entered the forest with wet ears.

Night after night, he bore the night…
His eyes like an owl…aware of what lurked.
Predators were entranced by the scent of his flesh,
Yet repelled by something that aired through their marrow…

Through time Rosiah approached them.
He made friends with the panther and befriended the jaguar,
And gained respect of the puma just by locking its eye.
Their lust for his flesh turned into love.

The forest seemed endless in scope.
For a while he thought this was so,
And found a home in the roughage of fecundity,
And richness of dankness.

Rosiah oozed with the sweat of immersion and lust.
He was musky with the fermentation of his songs.
His voice grew husky in the humidity of the plushness,
The rush of the jump from the waterfall to river,
The swimming cacophony of amphibians
And brightly plumed toucans weaving through branches,
The wind wafting romantics, whispering secrets,
Telling of hillscapes with bounteous foliage…

Rosiah remembered the terraces, the terminals,
The shining night lights and amenities,
But he thought of expenditures and the adventures were contrived,
Always with a dollar sign nestled thereunder.
He remembered the cityscape…never settled,
Always restless unless subsumed with some other affliction.
There were prices to pay for ‘freedom.’

Rosiah made woodwork and even a flute
In the dank ambiance of the forest.
For hours he enriched the trees and the fauna
With otherworldly dreams he was instilled with from birth.

Every now and then, he remembered his beginnings with his father,
And remembered the diligence and stalwart regard,
The clear-eyed focus and attention,
And the fairness he laid down on the fields that came before him.

Again he felt the sting of not knowing where he came from,
Not quite knowing where he stood,
And rather for the matter, unclear as to exactly where he was going.
Society had told him what to say and how to be,
What options there were for what to do…
Though this was not enough for Rosiah to rise
Into true awareness of all that surrounded him,
And to root himself to the source deep inside of him.

Love and Lust

One day Rosiah lay on a ridge
By the waterfall
Flowing into a basin…

There appeared in the basin a woman
With ripped cargo pants and a backpack.
She was dripping wet with sweat…
He felt love for her instantly.

She put down her pack and took out some soap,
Then undressed herself slowly…

Entering the water, she began to bathe,
And Rosiah could not look away…

She was almond eyed,
With almond colored thighs and black hair.
He fell entranced by her beauty,
And his heart swelled with song!

His flute began to sing of a hovering dove,
Floating and diving in oil and wine,
Softening the skin the softer…

Hearing his song, like honey on her ears,
And a presence that was prescient,
She was not afraid.

Rosiah emerged from the trees slowly,
Watching her watch him,
Watching her wondrously…

And her eyes were pools of raspberry rose,
Drowning and rising.
And her heart was mango melting,
Watching Rosiah.

Her eyes were like marshmallows melting before…
Rosiah Rose Rephaiah.

Passion and Pain

Many days and weeks passed,
Maybe months or a year,
Time was the time between lovemaking
And the time of the love they expressed went on well,
For days and weeks,
Maybe months or a year,
The swelling and throbbing of attachment.

But as things progressed, the woman began to wonder,
What it was to be loved by someone else.
She wondered if her beauty could inspire even more.
She wondered what other men might do,
What wealth it would bring,
What power it would hold in the cities.
Could it be the key to her dreams?

Rosiah sensed a tenuousness…
But just as soon as they loved,
He needed her skin, her soft moans, her warm touch once again.
Her eyes were filled with love, and her lotus bloomed for him,
She loved him, her heart overflowed.
Still, love was just not enough.

One day Rosiah awakened to find the woman gone.
He turned toward, inward with shock and dismay.
His heart then felt caved and crumbling stone…
Like the sweets on the tooth,
So sweet when she left there was holes.

Rosiah went on and still sang a deep song,
But it wasn’t as before.
The forest he had called home was not calming to him.
The home he had known wasn’t there.

And the love he had known made it bare,
Removing the aura of rubbing on stones
For hours, skin pressed against skin.
Her flower made nectar that would drip down his mane
Staining his memories with addiction.

Rosiah felt again, a confusion, interrupted,
His clarity removed by the absence of her,
But weeks turned into months and months into years,
As he wandered the addiction grew dim and he wondered…

He wondered what lie on the edge of the forest,
If he kept moving away from where he had begun in the fields,
In the pastures of wheat yellow bronze in the sun,
Father John in the wind looking over.

Out of the Forest, Southbound

Rosiah rose and took straight to the South,
To the mouth of the beast which many tried to run from;
The yawning unknown where his dreams cast adumbrations from.
Something kept calling, cajoling and crying.
A hunger he’d known now resurfaced more forceful.

He saw on the edge of the forest, the dozers,
Steadily encroaching upon the nests
And leveling ponds to compress an ounce of gravel
Into profits much less than which stood in nature
With more silver and splendor.

As he walked through construction sites
He saw the workers sweating
And directing operations with weary concern.
As Rosiah stood watching,
His soul felt a pang at the sight of them burning in plight.
They worked unbeknownst to the stillness of his stance,
His eyes like an owl, absorbing their burning.

He kept moving south
Through cities and villages singing his songs,
Playing mellifluous, melodious flute for a meal,
Shaking hands, looking long in their eyes,
Loving that moment…
Yet always watching it fleeting
Like butterflies dancing in winds
Of some impending engagement
Or fear of a stranger’s presence.
With eyes of black wellspring
He drunk of it well.

One day in travelling south…
Something came bellowing;
A sharp like contusion hit him below,
His eyes opened evermore…
Stopping on a dime
Like father time whispering some soliloquy more ancient than tongue.
Knowing he must move east towards the rising sun,
For the dawn of a new day and New Era!

Eastbound, Towards the Rising Sun

Rosiah walked for weeks,
Singing songs where he could to get sustenance
Or money for some food,
More intensity in his eyes,
More hungry for what was calling.
Making it to the shore, he saw it stretched endless in both directions,
And the sea spanned infinite.
He stood for a while and reflected…

Something was drawing his soul into the sea…

He sat down and looked out towards the sea,
Trying to pierce through to the end of eternity.
For hours he sat and looked on.
He came from so far,
For so long he had travelled…
Feeling dejected he fell asleep on the beach
As the waves rolled and receded with ease.

Soon the night swelled upon,
And the winds picked up.
The rains began to pound,
But Rosiah found it enlivening, awaking and rising,
Standing amidst the sirens of the lightning.
He cackled and howled in unison with the storm.
It kept his mind clear from a tearing confusion.

Through the lightning blanching the grey sky swirling,
Rosiah apprehended a mountain way off in the distance,
An island of a mountain.

The splendor of it took him and poured in trepidation.
It rose from the depths of the ocean,
Piercing past clouds jutting space.
Standing, residing…presiding.

It called his name repeatedly.
It explained to him of greatness.
It chastised his fear and awed him to tears.
In his dreams it spoke to him and told him:

The Word of the Summit

“Only the King of Kings could understand the vista my summit gleams! Only the most diligent could weather such a trek! Only the hungriest to see would succeed. I stand here for a reason, and my reason is often feared. I am placed outside of boxes, on horizons unimagined, my air so rarefied that the breath cannot sustain, only if the air is rising out of you which gives life.”

“Demons have tried to conquer my heights, but found lost in themselves as they tried. Adventurers have risen to the challenge to accomplish, but ceased to remain stalwart when they realized what they saw. They receded when understood no one would greet them with applause, and the jaws of life were dormant, trembling on their heads, waiting for another meter or more to awaken….Wizards looked for incantations in the crust of my ridges, but found it was a code that couldn’t be cracked. I’ve stood here for ages never swaying from men, only watching them meander around me. Watching them watch me and believe it wasn’t real, that the path to rapture lay in what could be explained.”

Crossing the Sea

Awakened like stranded seaweed,
Sea wreck from the sea,
His spirit began to bleed a fire to reach it…
Rosiah desired to see what the mountain peak spoke of…
And if he died in the climb he wished…
“May another man find inspiration in my corpse for ascension.”
He rose.

Rosiah swam east toward the rising sun’s glow,
In the mellowing waves flowing and throwing his soul,
In a motion of circular emotion, feeding his hunger.
His pace never wavered.
It was pure.

Through the sea he swam for the day,
And night came upon him,
Still he was miles and miles from the mountain.
Thousands of feet the water swooped deep,
And miles, stretching miles all around him.
This made Rosiah smile with confoundment.

Like a fountain that flows from the source and back into,
The waves fed him strength and his strength replenished them.
Rosiah’s mind began to swivel on the hinge of a speck,
Opening doors through the ozone and beyond.
He felt a sense of knowing come upon…

For days Rosiah swam, with no water or lamb,
No supper or ale, for fortitude or strength.
He moved and was fed through the food that he fed to the sea;
The Stasis of Ultimicity…
The surrender to a power immeasurably much greater than his limbs Could much muster,
So his limbs became the other,
And in the other there flowed all immensity through his limbs.
Rosiah could swim for a century or two.

For weeks Rosiah kept pace in this mystical stasis
And approached the mammoth of a mountain.
Its craggy shores were not sweet to the sores on his feet
Which were ripe from exposure.
Blood trickled down into the sea…

At the Base of the Summit

Rosiah breathed deep and took hold of a fish,
Removing the spine with the flick of his wrist,
Watching it wriggle and understanding its pain,
Suckling the flesh of even the eyeballs.

He looked up the monster which arose above clouds,
His eyes in amazement.
The mountain chuckled a bellow
At something he was yet to grasp and maybe never ever…

Rosiah responded with song, and the mountain listened,
Smitten in wondrous extension of apprehending,
Extending since the time it was created in stars,
When the iron was forged in explosions.

Rosiah had found that passion relieved his pain and confusion,
Resolving to climb the horizon to see over the cliff…
Diving without knowing into the unknown,
Not knowing what lies waiting in the abyss.
Still his hunger had led him to an unexpected absence…

Stranded on the mountain’s craggy shore, he could only climb higher.
He could not go back for he knew not how to desire,
The shores and the fields where he left long ago.

Each time the confusion rose within him exorbitant,
He thrashed and writhed to subside it.
He was that lone pilot
Flying madly into the center of the iris of the swirling conundrum…
As the winds rushed around it increasingly quick,
The jangled and jiggled rhythmically rickety airliner,
Rushing into the center just to see what was there.
It was absence, so bare and confounding.

But this mountain presented a vision unimagined,
Unimaginably grander in scope than could be fathomed.
He began to drip and ooze with awe more fervent than ever,
That the highest heights may unfetter the feeling of confusion
Which enveloped the soul of his skeleton.
Leviathan was writhing in front and he wanted to wrestle,
Even if it meant he’d be torn by the muscle,
That immensity that suffused through his mind…
“Douse the mind in lava drinks and mold the mountain while it glows!”
Rosiah removed all his clothes and began the ascent
To the clime of the unknown,
Hopefully the most meaningful zone…

Making Music

His climb began jagged,
Piercing his hands and feet plenty,
The sweat stinging his eyes with frustration.
He cried and stammered to climb.
No matter!
Rosiah pushed forward and fierce,
Gouging the mountain to show it who’d come.
Rosiah punched a hole in its side as he lunged,
And beat the mountain like a drum.
He made music!

Singing his songs,
The songs only deepened to express what he was reaching to be.
Expanding, for what he was reaching to see was unplanned
And his steps were taken towards it
Even though he didn’t understand it,
But he knew it was grander than grand and must be apprehended.

Ascending the Summit

Rosiah’s beard grew.
Yearly it dangled lower,
Till he wrapped it around his own torso and loins.
His hands were like rock and his toes were like rock.
Rosiah Rose Rephaiah, the rock of the righteous!
He slept like a rock, and even ate rocks,
Grinding them to dust mixing with the rain and some seagulls.

For years he climbed harder.
The grey in his beard turned to snow,
And he wearied a little from the harshness of it all.
He began to doubt that he would understand
What he thought he could use to relieve his confusion, from it all.

III. KINGSHIP

The Eye of Yahweh

In the 80th year of Rosiah,
He sat on the edge of a ridge overlooking the expanses for days,
Still unable to apprehend the summit.
It seemed as if he would never reach it,
That his corpse would lie there and maybe another man would find it,
And use it as proof of his worth.

In the weeks thereafter,
In reflection and song, somber and sulking of how long he had writhed,
And how he still pushed,
But something which burned in his soul was flickering,
Fluttering, falling in forcefulness…

Yahweh watched close and had watched him for years,
Watching him climb and make music on the mountain.
The sky opened wide and it shone to the center of the Universal eye,
With purple and orange,
With white, grey and golden billowing pillows
Of clouds as lining to tunnel.
Yahweh gazed at him, iris to iris.

Rosiah peered looking into the eye for a lifetime, doubling his own.
Time took him in and swallowed him whole.
He lived for eighty more years,
Reflecting on the nature of existence,
Staring into the eye which just hummed.

When he snapped back he was filled with a wisdom beyond him.
His thoughts hummed much closer to the source of Earth’s seed.
He gasped for breath and looked around him.
The sea stretched infinitely.
The mountain spanned downwards.
Though the depth of his mind stretched much deeper than the ocean,
The confusion at the bottom spanned deeper.

He blinked for a moment to feel his beard wrapped around him,
No longer white, but what it was like in youth.
The lines which he had felt on his face were now smooth.
When he blinked it was like the space between centuries.
Time had changed him and Yahweh had saved him.
His soul burned a slow inexorable fuel,
With an ozone glowing around him.

Rosiah sat cross-legged and soaked.
His hands touched the jagged rocks and they smoothed.
Love was like a wheel spinning endlessly up.
Rosiah sat and listened to everything for a week,
From across the seven seas,
From the alleyways and boroughs,
From the deserts, forests and rivers.
He could see past the ocean, past the land and beyond,
Until he saw his own self sitting there from abroad.
In that he smiled, and his smile turned to laughter,
A laughter which sprung from a well of depth deeper.
He simply opened his mouth and it flowed.

The Vista of the King of Kings

Rosiah looked upwards…
And saw the top of the mountain just a mile above him.
At the peak was a tree with purple fruit blooming.
Filled with awe at what he saw
He began to climb without rhyme or a reason…
Just the awe of the jaws of life yawning…

His wisdom was rich,
Yet it paled without fruit which called home such a vista.
The ice of crags sizzled his flesh,
So he wielded the flame of his own to address this,
His soul meshing well with anything oppressing.

The wind whipped and snapped him, pushing and pulling even more.
The clouds circled round, enveloping.
Lightning ripped right beside him and all around,
The thunder shaking his skeleton and loosening ligaments from fixings.
Still he climbed as if there were no sound,
Just a silent glowing, a pulsating peace, a flame of inexorable life.

Rosiah reached the top of the peak, with barely footing to stand.
The sky became luminous,
Shining a lustrous light.
He felt a love, he had never known approaching…

The Fruit of Persea, the Tree of Vitality and Destiny

Looking upon the tree
He sensed the roots sinking deeper than the mountain,
Into the ocean, to the bottom of sea,
Into the center of the Earth, deep entwined with her heart.

He kissed the base of her trunk with a tear.
The trunk was furry green, covered in moss,
And the fruit was swollen, ripe, looking like midnight purple pears.
Several dangled from branches with leaves of fresca blue.
The smell of the fruit overcame his elevation.

He picked a pear and held it.
It was heavy with juice.
It was thick and condensed.
It pumped and pulsed like a heart.
It beat like a heart!

He looked closer and examined its skin…
It was living.
The juice pulsed through its membranes…
It was living!

Rosiah placed his teeth on the edge of its skin.
It recoiled in reaction.
Watching it tremble, he could not devour.
Closing his eyes, he clutched it in tighter…
Taking a bite the juice rushed in flooding his mind
With a vortex of purpling, tunneling insight.
Through the eye of his Father he looked down below…
His head cocked back,
And his black eyes of orb turned golden with shimmering glow.
Tears of joy streamed his face with understanding.

Rosiah’s confusion was gone…
Beholding the map of destiny,
From primeval time, to when time swore cease…
Allness, Nothingness and Simultaneity…
Infinite threads of the carpet enmeshed,
Turning in majestical fields of fresh herbs…
Lapis Lazuli descended on him.

From above came a bass, a hum which aligned:

“I am Yahweh…The Living One…eternally luminous. The Almighty, Most Gracious, Most Merciful. The One and only God. I am the creator of all. The storehouses of infinite bounty and vaults of ever-deepening wisdom reside in the timeless palace of my righteousness. All praise and worship is due unto I. All grace, wisdom and help is through me. In seeking wisdom…you have found me.

Rosiah, I have given you the Blueprint of Destiny and the Vista of Eternity. Go now and plant your seed in the soil of Earth. On every land and country your dreams shall manifest, but not every man will recognize your word…for your word is my word, and men have lost silence in cities and streets…Go now and carry forth my will from your loins.”