ॐ & Omen

Augury, Sign or Omen 

For Binary Answers

Or a biased ॐ • ओम ओ (o) + ँ (एम/m̐) in cursive

Therefore, neither quantic nor significant or genuine

 ⮩ within the Belief System (Territories or else)

                             ⮩ where m̐ (mind as an intellect) rules

 ⮩ Omnia Vincit Amor.

        Love conquers all.

• An omen (also called portent or presage) is a phenomenon that is believed to foretell the future, often signifying the advent of change as they bring divine messages from the gods.
• Ancient authors derived it from ōs (“mouth”).
• Ominous, from Latin ominosus (“full of foreboding”), from omen (“forbidden fruit, omen”), from os (“the mouth”) + -men.
• 預兆 ㄩˋ ㄓㄠˋ, omen or ōrāculum, from ōrō (“plead, beg; pray, entreat”) +‎ -culum (diminutive suffix)
• 兆, omen, also trillion (million of million), tera-, 10¹²  (chiefly in Taiwan)

Tyger, Tyger, burning bright,

In the forests of the night;

What immortal hand or eye,

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

— William Blake

I will not cease from Mental Fight,

Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand

Till we have built Jerusalem

In England’s green & pleasant Land.

— William Blake

To see a world in a grain of sand

And a heaven in a wildflower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.

— William Blake

The Pickering Manuscript by William Blake

The Grey Monk→Auguries of Innocence

The Grey Monk

I die I die the Mother said

My Children die for lack of Bread

What more has the merciless Tyrant said

The Monk sat down on the Stony Bed

The blood-red ran from the Grey Monk's side

His hands & feet were wounded wide

His Body bent his arms & knees

Like to the roots of ancient trees

His eye was dry no tear could flow

A hollow groan first spoke his woe

He trembled & shuddered upon the Bed

At length with a feeble cry, he said

When God commanded this hand to write

In the studious hours of deep midnight

He told me the writing I wrote should prove

The Bane of all that on Earth I lov'd

My Brother starved between two Walls

His Children's Cry my Soul appals

I mocked at the wrack & griding chain

My bent body mocks their torturing pain

Thy Father drew his sword in the North

With his thousands strong he marched forth

Thy Brother has armed himself in Steel

To avenge the wrongs thy Children feel

But vain the Sword & vain the Bow

They never can work Wars overthrow

The Hermit's Prayer & the Widow's tear

Alone can free the World from fear

For a Tear Is an Intellectual Thing

And a Sigh is the Sword of an Angel King

And the bitter groan of the Martyrs woe

Is an Arrow from the Almighties Bow

The hand of Vengeance found the Bed

To which the Purple Tyrant fled

The iron hand crushed the Tyrants' head

And became a Tyrant in his stead