Orgone Grids and Pyramids

I fill the jug and pour it out,
Resin, metal – what it’s all about.
Crystals, carbon, touch of 88°,
All you need to make you sneeze.

The mixture sets with heat and smell,
Magic is fashioned; the energies tell.
The shape is formed, all compressed,
Crystals energised – hold to your chest.

Ice-mould blocks upon the floor,
Waiting to be joined by just a few more.
Clean the edges, make them smooth,
Transmute the negative, make it move.

You have the cure, transmute to clean,
Negative energy, now positive gleam.
Place the blocks in sacred pattern,
Watch the world become more certain.

Pyramids placed in perfect square,
With one in the middle to make it pair.
Energy calls out to negative vibe,
“Come here, good boy – transmute or die.”