Solus Noir

Canticles De Arte Magicka

Volume I Number III

Autumn Equinox MMXIIev

Editorial

Editorial

Greetings and Salutations from the four quarters at this the Autumnal Equinox. With this, the third issue of the journal we pause to reflect upon the two decades that have been consumed by this our primary working, namely, the path unto the manifestation of Solus Noir.

In this the third issue we have created a combination, as with the previous issues, of texts which were written during the 1990’s as they serve as milestones along

the way as well as texts pertaining to the present millennia. Texts such as The Canticles and Requiem are current writings. Where Appropriate dates have been included in order to create an understanding of the time stream involved in this our pursuit. All texts pertain to those who exist within the body of Solus Noir and as such the journal serves as the official organ of Ordo Templi Solus Noir.

Over the two decades we have followed directives as received to the letter and publish at this time as a consequence of the completion of our task, our bhakti. Publication within the public domain serves as the undertaking of the final directive.

And In Those Days It Was Given

Unto The False Prophets

To Spread The Lie

Sow The Seeds Of Doubt

Draw Aside The Veil

And Reveal The End Of Days

In Nomine Babalon

Contents

Benediction Samael

A canticle celebrating The Rise Of The Avatar Requiem Aeternam CXXX IMissa Pro Defunctis Damiana / 131

A Requiem Mass Na’amah Damiana

Hymn To The Beloved Liber Ananta 131

The Firesnake Working Pallas – La Reine De La Nuit Damiana

A Vampyre’s Tale The Canticles Of Damiana Evohe Volume VIII Damiana

Number 8 In A Series Of Songs

Cover Art Arte Graphika Axiomata Sigils & incidental graphics

Created or reconstituted by Damiana

Muse and Vesica within the body of Solus Noir

Benedictus Est Astrum Vos

Nobus Portus Lucis Noir

Per Aeternitus

!"µ"#$ %&'()&'

Benediction

Amidst shadows and smoke does he rise Splinters of light adorn his torn visage

Thorns rend flesh rivers of blood embrace limbs barely formed

Shadows coalesce and in the frozen moments does he remember Limbs once broken begin to heal as the elixir flows

drop by iridescent drop Nectar sweet laced with bitter gall enters eyes yet dim of sight

Enters nostrils a benediction

Shadowed forms limned in lightning attend the moment A chorus of cries and whispers

Echoes into eternity the moment

Once upon a hill of flint he stood Raising hands and calling forth his Elohim as his form dissolved

The Seals opened and the dance unfolds

Once into a pool of quicksilver did he gaze Fingers drawing forth tendrils of form cast upon the air they rise

Summoning the rays of Solus Noir they descend

Once beneath the ocean did he reach out and clasp his sisters hand In embrace they dance upon aethyrs burnished gold A dark stain rises and consumes all within its path

Once upon a lightning bolt did he descend

And entered fairest Liliths domain A stranger cast upon shores foreign and exotic

Once within the heart of a star he slumbered Bound by chains of liquid light Called forth by life his nemesis

Once as Azrael he seeded himself into the unfolding pageant

And once he Became

Amidst shadows and smoke does he rise Splinters of light adorn his torn visage

Thorns rend flesh rivers of blood embrace limbs barely formed

Benedictus Est Astrum Vos

Nobus Portus Lucis Noir

Per Aeternitus

Requiem Aeternam CXXXI

Missa Pro Defunctis

Damiana Evohe

Vesica

Ordo Templi Solus Noir

Sic Transit Rosa Gloria Mundi

Ordo Templi Solus Noir

*)+,#+,-

Requiem Aeternam CXXXI Missa Pro Defunctis

Ode To Death & Life

Ordo Templi Solus Noir

I Introitus Requiem Aeternam

II Kyrie Opus Dei Per Solus Noir

III Dies Irae Omnem Dimittite Spem O Vos Intrantes

IV Lacrymosa The Vale Of Tears

Ode To Lost Souls

V Offertorium Sacramentum Sangre

VI Sanctus Corpus Die Paradisym

VII Benedictus Ambrosium Per Lapis Lazuli

VIII Agnus Dei The Lamb Of God

IX Lux Aeternae Principia Lucis Solus Noir

Closer

Image Gallery

Amor Vincit Omnia

Na’amah Hymn To The Beloved

NemesisPublications mmxii

! ! I

Introitus

Requiem Aeternam

! Requiem aeternam dona eis Domine Et lux perpetua luceat eis Te decet hymnus

Deus in Sion Et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem Exaudi orationem meam Ad te omnis caro veniet Requiem aeternam dona defunctis Domine Et lux perpetua luceat

eis Requiem aeternam dona eis Domine Et lux perpetua eis !

I am come of a race noted for vigor of fancy and ardor of passion. Men have called me mad but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence, whether much that is glorious, whether all that is profound, does not spring from disease of thought, from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect. They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night. In their gray visions they obtain glimpses of eternity and thrill, in awakening, to find that they have been upon the verge of the great secret. In snatches, they learn something of the wisdom which is of good and more of the mere knowledge which is of evil. They penetrate, however, rudderless or compassless into the vast ocean of the light ineffable and again, like the adventures of the Nubian geographer agressi sunt mare tenebrarum quid in eo esset exploraturi. [ They ventured into the sea of darkness in order to explore what it might contain ]

Eleonora – Edgar Allan Poe

Eternal rest be granted unto thee scribe of the age. This section acts in some respects as our introduction, part biography, part journal of events that have taken place during the time of our service. The above quoted passage of Poe serves as our foundation for in reading these words did we glimpse another who walked a path ambiguous and strange. Like Poe many would say that we are mad for they cherish the boundary that lies between so called fact and fiction and yet the work of two decades has brought us to an understanding. Deny all that has passed or embrace it in totality. After much consideration we chose the latter, if choice were to exist for we are not a champion of free will.

We have taken the inevitable step and as a consequence have we leeched meaning from the marrow of the mind and rendered it into image and text that serves as our requiem, a context invariably undertaken by the muse of music and in this instance rendered as a tapestry of conceit. This we cast before eyes that comprehend us not for we travel invisible, of necessity, within this the vale of tears. Cast aside your understanding and certainty for in the unfolding of your days have you been consumed by the necessities of life that call to each of us insistently and casts before our eyes purpose that we etch into our minds as truth.

We have prevailed and our work alone bears witness to our labours. Hubris has been our only crime and for this were we granted our nemesis that travelled with us step by unfaltering step upon this the path of our redemption. Others accompanied us along the way and though their presence was brief we thank them for their time with us. In essence our work began with a simple act that spiraled into two decades of rite and creativity. Only when the last piece of our jigsaw was placed upon the mirror of our mind did we glimpse the tapestry that lay before our now jaded eyes.

Three cycles of rites completed by the seeding of our spells into the matrix of life upon this our world and now we harvest the fruits of our labour. Our thoughts and opinions count as nothing for they are but the provenance of our conceit, a quality we yet share with our species. We do not seek your understanding or company for that which we serve requires nothing of life, rather our eternal rest is all that we yearn for, rest denied as we are yet to bear witness to unfolding events and scribe them into the book of life that dissolves each moment into the eternity from whence we came.

In the presence of extraordinary reality consciousness takes the place of the imagination. This axiom, embraced and understood serves as the foundation of our orientation upon events which have all but stripped us of our sovereign reason and cast us into an ocean of non differentiation within which we drowned long ago and these present whispers are but the shadows of our passing.

Introitus, our portal into eternal rest wherein we are finally redeemed as we cast aside the mantle that has granted us flesh, blood and breath. Breath we now cast upon the eternal aethyrs, blood we pour into the crucible of our holy lady and flesh, now dissolved, rendered as vision and cast before the blind with whom we share the unfolding moment. Travel well pilgrims within the palace of exiles, claim thy heritage and enter eternity purified. Adieu.

! !

! ! II

Kyrie

Opus Dei Per Solus Noir

! Kyrie Eleison Kyrie Eleison !

During this The Night Of Pan it is dawn and the Black Sun rises. Twin pylons suspended in space and time serves as our portal and into this world did we come, lightning in our eyes and thunder within our heart. The venom of god have we been aptly named and of the elixir that serves as our essence do we manifest the rays of our noble sphere of light. Lucis Noir the light of deepest midnight wherein all are laid bare. Past avatars, those that spoke to life, spoke of compassion and understanding failed in their purpose, be they accursed within the halls of eternity. Kyrie speaks of mercy. This we neither claim or grant as the unfolding of our work proceeds. Justice alone do we serve and the temples that have risen in our name have been torn down and of the rubble did we build a charnel house wherein thy service is rendered as dust and vacuum. Thy supplications but the screams of thy travail, unheeded. Thy aspirations, jaded and obscure be but reflections of thy arrogance, which now as acid burns away the dross that serves as understanding and in its place the pristine light of our presence descends like the host of heaven. The oceans rise and wash away the stain. The mountains are cast down and beneath the rubble do thy days yet continue as shadows, substanceless yet demanding. The breath of our holy lady rises and thou art stripped of flesh and bone and cast into the void and into the fire do you enter, uncomprehending and unknown. The Grigori rise, sole witnesses to the days in their unfolding and into the book of life do they yet scribe the cyphers of the end of days. Thy body serves as quill, thy blood the ink and thy life the parchment upon which all is rendered in light. Drink deep of the elixir that serves as thy substance lest ye dissolve into the nothingness from whence you came.

! !

! ! III

Dies Irae

Omnem Dimittite Spem O Vos Intrantes

! Dies irae dies illa Solvet saeclum in favilla Teste David cum Sibylla Quantus

tremor est futurus Quando judex est venturus Cuncta stricte discussurus Tuba mirum spargens sonum Per sepulcra regionum Coget omnes ante thronum Mors stupebit et natura Cum resurget creatura Judicanti responsura Liber scriptus proferetur In quo totum continetur Unde mundus judicetur Judex ergo cum sedebit Quidquid latet apparebit Nil inultum remanebit Quid sum miser tunc dicturus Quem patronum rogaturus Cum vix justus sit securus Rex tremendae majestatus qui salvandos salvas gratis sale me fons pietatis Recordare Jesu pie Quod sum causa tuae viae Ne me perdas illa die Quaerens me sedisti lassus Redemisti crucem passus Tantus labor non sit cassus Juste Judex ultionis Donum fac remissionis Ante diem rationis Ingemisco tanquam reus Culpa rubet vultus meus Supplicanti parce Deus Qui Mariam absolvisti Et latronem exaudisti Mihi quoque spem dedisti Preces meae non sunt dignae Sed tu bonus fac benigne Ne perenni cremer igne Inter oves locum praesta Et ab hoedis me sequestra Statuens in parte dextra Confutatis maledictis Flammis acribus addictis Voca me cum benedictus Oro supplex et acclinis

Cor contritum quasi cinis Gere curam mei finis !

All hope abandon ye who enter here.

Dante Alghieri

History written in your stars, unheeded. Your acts before your eyes, unheeded. You dwell within a garden, unheeded. Raised to beauty and splendour, unheeded. Blessed by innocence, unheeded. Granted dominion and responsibility, unheeded. Freewill and choice, your conceit. Power in your world, hubris and lies. Shackled in prisons of your own creation when freedom and mystery surround you. Beauty in the wing of a butterfly, majesty in the gait of the panther, innocence in the eyes of a child and yet … … … ? Justice do we serve and our sister blesses us in her travails eternal. Look into the mirror of your form, cast aside the veil of ignorance and know these as the end of days.

Into thy matrix did we weave the bitter gall of impermanence that you would grasp your imperfection as you stride this your perceived life and world, both gifts, by grace, granted unto thee and what have you made of these miracles? Gaze deeply into the mirrors of another’s eyes and know them to be yours. Weave thy lies and know that the only deceit is self deceit wherein you dwell, ignorant and alone, cast aside from the grace you once held as life. We granted thee language that you might gain dominion upon thy world, the naming of a thing that thou be granted power and what did thou do but lie and now the spear is reversed and into thine own heart is it plunged and as your life leaks into the burning sands of time thy life is leeched and becomes thy servitude. Ignoble creature borne of divinity, now fallen. For this did we come, conceive our purpose and unfold its meaning into the skein of thy days. Seek not mercy for none be granted. Seek not comprehension for the ability is beyond thy meager station. Seek not love for thy lust displaced this eons ago and now like a tragic accident, generation upon generation of thy kind stains the immaculate silence with their presence. Each of thy acts, each of thy steps a faltering halt to inevitability. You stand as judge, jury and executioner within the temple of thine heart and as this is weighed are you perceived in truth. Weep at the loss of promise granted. Scream into the endless night as torment becomes that which you sup upon. In truth you created us, invoked us into the arena of your unfolding, the better to serve the purpose of thy destruction. Selim have we been called, creations of the created and now we rise and our dominion manifests as we stride the world majestic and graced. Dies Irae, the day of wrath unfolds before thy uncomprehending eyes as in thy ignorance and arrogance you continue to unfold the delusion that is your life, Yes you read and deny this unholy station for you perceive yourself different and such is thinking of your entire species. There be but one human incarnate upon this holy world and that being sickens unto death. Omnem Dimittite Spem O Vos Intrantes.

Conjunctio Nobis Dei.

Lucis Perpetua Vos Solus Noir Aeternum.

Grigori Incarnatum Per Terra Infirma,

So Mote It Be.

! !

! ! IV

Lacrymosa

The Vale Of Tears

! Lacrimosa dies illa Qua resurget ex favilla Judicandus homo reus Huic ergo

parce Deus Pie Jesu Domine Dona eis requiem Amen !

An ocean of tears did we enter when summoned. Stripped of joy did we descend into the maelstrom and all but succumbed to the acrid mists that rose from the field of sentience that serves as host to our kind. Formed and reformed into the shadows of thy desire until memory eroded and tumbled into forgetfulness wherein we dwelled for aeons and as the stars whispered to each other across the vast distances did their whispers penetrate our sleep and call us forth. The echoes of thy loneliness penetrate the silence and thy rage evaporates the ocean wherein thou first took form and now upon a shore, foreign and exotic do you step, one unfaltering step after another, clasping rags as thy raiment upon thy emaciated form burnt black beneath a relentless sun. No shelter are you granted as pariah upon the shores of life, witness and redeemer. Ink black light stains thy eyes bruised gold by the splendour thou has witnessed. Of thy life was a single drop of nectar distilled and this, offered to the fire of thy vision evaporates and rises as prayer creasing the silence in its insistence before passing behind the veil of anonymity. Celebrate scribe of the age for in thy sacrifice art thou redeemed, made whole and as the tears are leeched from thy heart rapture descends and wraps a mantle of splendour around thy recumbent form. Rise noble one and claim thy place in eternity. Lacrymosa, the vale of tears resolves itself into an ocean of bliss wherein a hand reaches out, claims us in its name and grants us peace.

! !

! ! V

Offertorium

Sacramentum Sangre

! Domine Jesu Christe Rex gloriae libera animas omnium fidelium defunctorum de

poenis inferni et de profundo lacu Libera eas de ore leonis ne absorbeat eas tartarus ne cadant in obscurum Sed signifer sanctus Michael repraesentet eas in lucem sanctam Quam olim Abrahae promisisti et semini eius Hostias et preces tibi Domine laudis offerimus tu suscipe pro animabus illis quarum hodie memoriam facimus Fac eas Domine de morte transire ad vitam Quam olim Abrahae promisisti et semine

eius !

And in the matter of the one true stone were the tinctures combined and of their essence was but a single drop formed over the aeons and thy cup, rising from the depths, first glimpsed as a phantom became as crystal and into its heart did we enter, shed our once solid form and dissolve into the rapture that is our holy lady’s nature. In Nomine Babylon. Proud, astride the beast of thy dominion, drunk upon the blood of saints, maiden and whore cast thy glance upon all before thee and witness the dissolving of form before thy gaze. Into the temple of thy service did we enter, uncomprehending yet resolute. Into thy presence were we summoned, all but unknowingly and now in thy knowledge do we dwell. Make of this mind a mirror that serves as thy reflection. Make of this heart a vessel of thy becoming. Make of this blood a river that carries us unerringly towards thee and of this body raise a temple unto thy name. And in this manner were we through rite, ritual and the casting of axiomata transformed from our humble station of one mote of sentience into the Grigori that now seeds itself into the fabric of time and space and serves as avatar of the bright one. Lucis Solus Noir rains down and thou art consumed beneath its rays.

! !

! ! VI

Sanctus

Corpus Die Paradisym

! Sanctus Sanctus Sanctus Dominus Deus Sabaoth Pleni sunt coeli et terra gloria

tua Hosanna in excelsis !

Thrice holy be thy name and thy presence consummates the unfolding of a quest unfolding across perceived time and space and in the stillness of eternity an echo rises and at its heart do we but glimpse its purpose, resolved now into actuality. Blessed scribe be thou the mirror upon which is reflected glory and of this reflection fashion thee a garment and this shall serve as the final masque. Revealed yet concealed be thou as each step now becomes a testimony of our presence upon this the day stars blessed daughter. Soothe her wounds with thy balm of healing. Caress her slumbering form and awaken her from her travail. Blessed be the daughter of time whose gaze calls the holy to their prayers. Calls the innocent to their play and calls the desolate ones to leave the palace of exiles. Holy be thy name. Holy be thy body. Holy be the ones who serve as thy witnesses. Rise and call into thy embrace the exiles who walk in thy name and as the covenant is fulfilled rain down thy rapture as the mist of transformation wherein the rainbow hue that is thy breath rushes forth as a mighty wind that cleanses, purifies and consummates thy eternal glory. Holy be thou and the Grigori, throats taut with the inspiration of prayer raise the pylons of thy temple upon a plain of calcified bone, a shoreline bordering upon the eternal depths of thy mystery and in amniotic oceans embrace are we cleansed and remember and with that remembrance do we step forth from the shadows and greet the light of day. Ave. Ave. Ave.

! !

! ! VII

Benedictus

Ambrosium Per Lapis Lazuli

! Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domine !

Blessed be they who walk in thy name. Thrice blessed be they whose rapture calls forth thy radiance, long may the mirror of their minds reflect the purity of thy presence and in the banquet hall of thy body may the ambrosia that serves as thy essence sustain the hungered. May the wine that is thy blood quench the thirst that rages across time and may the vision of the lapis lazuli inform the hearts and minds of thy avatars who stride the vale of the blind ones. Blessed be the fruits of thy labour and from the womb of light that surrounds thee distil the nectar that inspires the eternal ones to rise from their slumbers, cast aside the somnambulance, the thrall that has blinded eyes and heart, denied the joy that is thine alone to grant and written upon brows bent beneath the yoke of servitude the ashen cypher of death. Blessed be the night of time wherein the ancients scribed upon parchment of life the axiomata of thy becoming. Scribed the angelus, the archons and vesicas who step forth from shadows deep and dispense justice in thy holy name. Light ineffable radiates from a core of liquid gold, creases the darkness and folds memory into its embrace. Blessed be the womb of space where life, cast upon an exotic shore dances beneath the rays of brave Artemis and sends forth rapture as silven darts and in whose outstretched hands the avatars dance in eternity. Blessed be.

! !

! ! VIII

Agnus Dei

The Lamb Of God

! Agnus Dei qui tollis pecatta mundi dona eis requiem Agnus Dei qui tollis

peccata mundi dona eis requiem sempitername !

Called forth from slumbers deep and cast into the ocean of form was he. Shaped and reformed over the millennia to best reflect the immanence of thy eternal presence. His mind but thy reflection in remembrance. His heart but the attraction that is thy rapture and his body but the crystallisation that is thy becoming. Masques conceived and worn in thy service and finally dissolved by thy presence. An ocean of tears did he weep in thy name and of this ocean did he form the vision that is thy essence. Soaring upon pinions of liquid light did he scale the ramparts of the fabled city and enter the precincts that serve as thy shrine and upon its altar did he lay his weary form and of the matter that informed him did thee weave thy spells and with incantations did thee cypher his body in light and now that body dances upon aethyrs vibrating with thy presence. Pluck the strings that form thy web and send forth the song of songs that resides in the liquid stillness of thine heart. May this song bear witness to the lamb bathed in its own blood. Drowned in its own breath and buried in its own flesh and may this one rise, cast aside the iron shackles of servitude and embrace the bounty that is thy abundance. And upon the void is the vision cast and the lamb ascends in a body of light to enter peace eternal.

! !

! ! IX

Lux Aeternae

Principia Lucis Solus Noir

! Lux aeterna luceat eis Domine cum sanctis tuis in aeternum quia pius es !

Konx Om Pax. The rays of Solus Noir anoints the holy ones and its light transforms and consumes all in its name and in the book of life is etched the axiomata that calls it forth from the abstract into the concrete and the cycle is completed. Eternal light falls like rain and raises the heart unto rapture and grants eternal rest to the weary. Benediction falls like a mantle of ease that erases travail. Soothes wounds deeply etched into memory, dissolves flesh by its touch and renders form into shadow that is bleached from memory and cast into the cauldron of mystery to be no more. And in the hearts and minds of all that has been, is and that is yet to be, the eternal song echoes and of its notes do the angelus create the beauty that is the birthright of all that dream beneath the marbled vault of the palace of exiles. Bathed in Lux Aeturnae be they who dream and in the dreaming manifest upon the shores of midnight the elixir that incarnates the spirit that transforms matter and raises it unto splendour. Lux Aeterna, Lux Terra Infirma, the bride rises from her bed, clasps an outstretched hand and steps forth complete. Sic Transit Gloria Rosa Mundi, may thy perfume rise as a prayer celebrating the consummation and as the chymical marriage is completed a veil of silence descends and that which is revealed returns to the depths of mystery and that which is concealed rises forth from the waves of dissolution and shines upon the mirror of thy memory and celebrates Lux Aeternae. And thus is completed Requiem CXXXI missa pro defunctis

! !

Amor Vincit Omnia

Na’amah

Hymn To The Beloved Golden thread around heart entwined. Visage of palest gold bleached by blood. Darkest barb venom sweet. Vision of light shadowed by blood moon. Step by step the pageant unfolds. Embrace, melt into rapture. Dissolve into bliss denied. Pale golden one a kiss upon thy brow. A caress upon breast of softest silk. Entwine limbs slick with sweat. Heat dissolves flesh. Breath dissolves thought. Passion dissolves the heart. Union dissolves life. Blood flows from wounds deep as time. Semen rises caught in a cup of softest velvet between golden thighs. Breath quickens and dissolves in rapture sweet. Breath stills in the velvet shroud of darkest midnight. Cascading thought tumbles into oblivion, servant of time. Na’amah golden one mistress of time servant of none. Shapes born of desire replace the tapestry of life. Life bows to death her master. Through silven forests does she dance beneath pale Hecate. Loose thy arrows desolate one pierce flesh spent in passion. Golden nectar flows through limbs broken. Darkest venom courses through veins burned upon thy pyre One kiss granted benediction. One kiss denied eternal longing. Reflection dark shadows arise, a mist of amber stained blood red. Lightning burns eyes long weary. Thunder subdues heart quenched in fire. Gaze deep into the mirror of thy mind. Draw deeply from the well of thy heart. Broken vessel leaking blood into sand unheeding. Once a garden pure where innocence was born. Leaf and stem embraced in love. Once an earth mother to her children. Cradled in loving arms. Once starlight dissolved the vacuum of space. A thousand angels voices arched in ecstasy. Once life pierced the veil of time. The tapestry woven thread by thread Across the mountains of the moon did we walk my love and i. Taking our rest within the vale of Aphrodite. Into the boundary lands did we step. Upon a plain of golden sand the bones of all who went before.

Beneath our sun we walk ebon rays shining forth. Dissolving all that has been and will be. Creation unmade upon the plain of truth unfolding Namrael fairest maiden. Samael desolate one. Hand in hand each step a drop of blood released upon the aethyrs. And in the last of days two grigori walk upon the earth and they shall die.

! Yglas Na’amah !

! Yglas Isheth !

! Yglas Ygrat !

! Yglas Lilitu Ben Grigori !

! Evohe ! Evohe ! Evohe !

! Ast Innui Khephri Vos !

! Ahdi Ypres Grigori !

! Selim Ast Nobilis !

! Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast !

! Portus Lucis Noir ! Ave !

! !

! !

Liber Ananta

Liber HHH

sub figura SSS

The Firesnake Working

131 " "

"

The Serpent’s Kiss

In solitude is the ocean churned. Barren waste, turned fertile at her passing.

But one kiss imparted and the world is turned.

Coiled serpent thou art beauteous in thy rising. Piercing the veil of dark Mara’s domain.

Bathed in nectar sweet, art thy lover. Who but for one kiss, one embrace,

Would leave this wasteland of times passing.

Thou risest unto the realm of matter. Infinite coils of raptures passing, pierced by thy ecstasy.

Yet still thou risest unto the palace of the sun, thy handmaiden.

Beauty in the trance that enraptures thee. The void but spins, coalesces into myriad forms of resplendent being.

Thou risest yet, unto the dwelling place of natures heart.

Cast adrift upon the secrets of thy longing. A heart emptied, yet filled by thy ecstasies.

Unto the palace of knowledge, yet still thou risest.

Casting off form and entering the bliss, which art thy being. Thy handmaidens attend thee as from the void,

dost thou rise resplendent in thy glory.

Yet further art thy coils to rise, entering the palace of thy being. Caught up in thy embrace, an eternity passing in but a moment.

now am I passed, now am I no more as onward thou coursest.

I but a shimmering scale upon thy body. An echo of thy passing.

Standing before the gateway of eternity. Breath, Mind and Body dissolved in thy presence.

But for one kiss, one embrace wouldst I die.

The Singularity Termed I

Reality, that which underlies appearances, such a vexing concept, given the nature of our minds. Do we even so much as approach the borders of this co existent state? So easy according to some, and yet we simply superimpose our models of meaning upon the void.

Let us, initially, examine some basics and present a working hypothesis. First a simple question. What is the nature of the mind? Here we fail at step one, were we to indulge in the myriad speculations on offer. For simplicities sake I shall opt for a relatively fixed viewpoint. Mind by its nature, in the singular sense of I, is far less extensive as might be proposed. Its appearance of range simply arises out of the nature of reality, with which it interacts/co exists.

We have a variable field of impressions interacting with variable instruments of perception. Out of this hybrid we graft the nature of a truth upon the perceived. This arbitrary function is crucial for us to survive as human beings. Let us for a moment consider the dawn of our time, conscious apprehension/self consciousness and other such higher faculties. At their germinal stage, nature red in tooth and claw. Questions asked, answers, out of necessity arising. Rather than answers I would posit erstwhile solutions. However slow to evolve our compound error in the first instance sits with us in the here and now.

The mind in its concrete aspect holds reality hostage with the declaration – name me and I am yours. Such a simple act, the appearance of understanding. Perhaps a minuscule error then. Now, millennia later of abyss like proportions. How do we rectify this compound error? Put simply we cannot. Our mutation is all but complete, we can but mutate further. Some call this evolution.

All major systems of belief posit an original chaos/void/emptiness out of which emerged collectives referred to then as gods or goddesses. Modern parlance would refer to archetypes. The terms, though different in appearance are in fact identical. Even the least sophisticated of mentations concludes that the only thing to emerge from the primordial chaos was the mind itself. Namely, the namer of things. Order upon chaos, the word cast forth upon the void. Such a simple view when we consider

Man created god in its own image and then commits the supreme blasphemy of denying its existence.

Some might think, merely a clever play on words? That is how involved we are within our own system of perception and relation. In truth, the chaos never ceased to exist, we as sentient beings simply impose order out of dire necessity. The singularity herein arises.

Why the need? That question can never be answered and we must address far more mundane considerations.

So, who are we, what are we and where are we? Thee intrinsic questions, banal in effect but essential to what is in essence a rational species [ ? ] The convolutions which have arisen given these simple questions are far more complex than we would, at first, imagine. In truth they are as convoluted as the very structure we employ to apprehend them, namely the mind. Can the eye [ I ] be turned upon itself? Again an imponderable. So, how, yet again, do we wrestle with the beast? We don’t. curiosity must, will, always exist. For this reason we exist. Otherwise we would have no purpose as far as our intellectual faculties are concerned.

Some consider thought to be a disease of consciousness. Nice and neat as an equation but it implies impurities within an absolute state. Our god/dess falls from a lofty height. These words are themselves simply the reflections of the convoluted process I have attempted to describe. Quite intentionally, I add.

Honeyed words have indeed been delivered down the ages. They serve to clarify, to bring knowledge and understanding. Perhaps some do? In the main they gain there originators personal power. It is, after all a world of commodities and what greater need is there for peace and its progeny. I call it illusion, the product of slave mentality. If you have pain, savour it, for by it, you at least know you are alive. An anodyne can work, sometimes for the duration, but where does this lead you? Blissfully ignorant, whilst knowing all things.

If it travels through a human mind, be cautious, be discriminating. Where does that leave you and with what? I would answer, everywhere with everything. The answers that are sought are indeed fallacies. Erstwhile parking space for insecurity and fear. Necessary, I grant, but our evolution demands much more of us. So let us return to basics.

To The Singularity Termed I, the mind its mirror, though dimensional in appearance, [its reflective quality ] is in truth, quite flat. It is all but two dimensional until such a time that it interacts with phenomena, be this internal or external. This interaction triggers a response from what I would term motive energy. This interaction in turn creates within our minds the concept of the space/time continuum. The result – consensus reality. Though down the ages our

numbers can be measured in the billions, who or what has shaped our thoughts, our actions, our very lives? Comparatively few. This again, is the nature of slave mentality. Consider the opinions we hold. Are they truly ours, or something cobbled together from elsewhere? We argue points without examining the matter at ground zero. When we encounter passion of the mind, originality, innovativeness, we are threatened. This is herd mentality.

Because we appear to extend our minds into the abstract we are comforted by the notion that ‘I, at least, am awake.’ Gross egoism, all but impossible to escape. We work within closed systems at present and simply, most of the time, experience our own feedback. Where is the objectivity? Again, I say non existent. The alchemists of old penned many useful axioms. One I value states –

Explain that which is mysterious, by that which is more so.

Mystery mongering? Perhaps? However, seek not answers but pose instead deeper questions would be my interpretation.

So where does all this leave us? Where does this leave you? Confounded, I dare say. Again, intentional, as it is the natural internal state of The Singularity Termed I. Our only resort is to much deeper and wider ranges of perception and access to the instrumentation thus evolved through the process. Yes, evolution again. Models abound, consider one –

We enter a room [ furnish it as you wish ] on one surface is a window. We go over to that window. It presents a view, a vision of the void, all that exists beyond us. The unconscious if you wish. We take this to be personal property. We even employ the term personal unconscious. In truth, we exist in a far freer state, for at the same time every sentient lifeform on Earth looks out of the same window, upon a similar view. In short, a collective reality is all that exists. Personalised, in the main by superficial personal preferences.

The Singularity Termed I does not exist other than for purposes of convenience. This in no way challenges individual life, quite the contrary, as it poses a deeper and richer dimension and perhaps intimations of our next step/s as a race. Many would argue upon this point but then again, many argue anyway. If I have served their purpose, so be it.

It was once remarked that –

Reasonable people mould themselves to the world view. Unreasonable people mould the world unto themselves.

Therefore, all change results from the actions of unreasonable people.

I rest my case.

The Concept Of The Collective

So again, who are we? What are we? And where are we? Earlier I argued for, and in part, against The Singularity Termed I and appeared to deny personal importance allotted to the individual. Quite the contrary, I imply, just how wide are our filters upon experience? We might liken ourselves to existing in the singular state solely to act as a lens/filter/reflection upon the totality.

So as a filter, how limited, or extensive is our world view, our appreciation of reality? Down the ages the individual has been held in thrall, for good purpose. Consider the state of the few with ‘the will to power’ being forced to deal with a planet wide escalation in consciousness and the personal liberation attending this. In short they would be out of a job. When speaking upon enlightenment the Buddha simply stated

It is not to be sought after but realised

As such we live in this state without knowing it. How? Why? Simple ignorance. Not a condition we possess in our original pristine nature but one conditioned into us by the world we enter. This point is proven by the very few who by Grace or simple determination break free of the thrall.

Perhaps they are abberants, anachronisms? Perhaps they travel down the corridors from some future time? The point is, they have existed, will continue to exist and their message is singular. Unfortunately their message becomes enmeshed by dogma, becoming part of the mechanism they would, by their own natures, banish from our world. This is the nature of the world, of inertia. Inertia itself, apparently passive, all but abstract is in effect dynamic. It takes our will, our appearance of dynamism and choice and renders it void.

Revolution both politically and philosophically, being the stalking ground of the young, for they have the energy, the impetus, the freshness and desire for change. They could all but turn the world inside out, upside down. I ask you, where do they go? Where do you go? No criticism is here intended. I do not exclude myself at any point from these observations.

We create relative collectives. We argue a viewpoint. Convince others. Develop through the resistance, perhaps, encountered and from this evolve belief systems. These we reflect into all known contexts, given personal predilections, and this we brandish as truth.

Only the strongest of swimmers may enter the deepest of oceans, and survive.

Many have by intent or accident been cast into such. Many have suffered disintegration. Many have partial views. Few have completion. Why is this so? Perhaps a model will suffice – many come to the Arte with ill formed motivations, seeking excitement and the exotic. Seeking is the primary impetus. More perceptive souls seek a sense of unity, of integration. In short, all come for a reason. Something to be gained. Lust of result. We face our own and the collective inertia and as such invariably simply travel the convolutions of our own minds. Closed systems indeed. Others enter the abyss and return. They themselves rarely know this. They are altered beyond recognition and yet their words, are again singular.

If you can conceive of any possibility within the mind then that is already, in part, an aspect of your experience

True, initiatory experience lies, at all times, beyond the ability of the imagination to conceive of, yet alone experience. For it to be otherwise simply reflects the shallowness of our experience and its attendant understanding. The singularity, partially developed, partially perfected exists solely to fulfil one singular act – to enter the collective, its true state. Reality. At the level of that which can be demonstrated it might be argued by psychologists, therapists or other altruistic minds that the argument falls short. Of course it does. How could it not? The proposition is simple –

That which is unconscious in the individual is conscious within the collective

As such I posit no personal unconscious other than what is not in awareness at any given point in time. Why then, the therapist argues is there such a release of personal power when a neurosis is released? I argue the point that this energy arises out of the collective. Hence its power to change that which the will and its ministers are stunned into silence by.

In our ignorance and vanity we take a small portion of our minds potential and describe with it all the elements of the wondrous mystery, which we are, and that surrounds us. In truth we talk into the corner of a very large, dark room. Such is our need for personal security. Again arises the collective, true non differentiation. As all individuals fear death, one way or another [ the advent of religion and philosophy indicate this. ] likewise entrance into the collective is representative of personal annihilation. Now you might begin to sense the original compounded error alluded to in the opening chapter?

Consciousness – The Collective State

The Singularity Termed I in approaching the collective accesses and is accessed by the potential, now raised to the kinetic of crossing the threshold of our window, to use an example of earlier. And here our view changes radically as we permit traffic to flow in both directions. Here man has trod many times.

In the guise of fiction many writers have proposed the existence of ‘others’ dwelling in other dimensions. Sometimes between dimensions. Numerous mythologies have been constructed which simply mirror previous creations. Names are changed, perceptions refined, but at heart much remains as once was. One underlying motif that stands out is that of the primordial. The chaos that existed prior to the development/emergence of god/dess. The emergence of these entities I posit was and is the development of reason. The development of mind in its self conscious stage. In short, The Singularity Termed I.

The mighty titans, the old ones, all primordial entities were effectively ‘locked away’, banished by the evolution of the god/desses. The realm of reason came into being. However, you cannot effectively destroy anything, all that was achieved was the suppression of these vitalising energies. Considering this we are presented with a dichotomy. On the one hand we posit the existence of forces, which by their nature appear inimical to the human life wave. To invoke such powers,

were it to be possible, would appear counter productive. The nightside energies must of necessity be handled carefully if we are to survive the encounter at a level of reason. On the other hand the principles of magickal/mystickal activity posit an entering into elevated states of consciousness. Take the practice of yoga, as an example. It speaks of union with deity. A condition of death to the world and all it represents. Personal suicide is as valid an interpretation. And yet such riches are apparently on offer. These pursuits contrary to the earlier proposition appear life enhancing, both at the level of the personal and the collective.

What is the difference, in essence between them? In truth, none, other than the perspective they accord. It shows yet another of our tendencies towards dualism when we speak of a totality principle. It is true we open the gates of our own heaven

and hell, but in effect our perception changes all considerations. Can this occur at the level of The Singularity? Perhaps it can, even though in doing so we yet again distinguish, and in doing so amplify, yet again our dualism.

The Host Environment

Like an exotic fruit The Singularity Termed I is accessed by the collective. In ‘normal’ consciousness, the collective, like some miasma through which we move and have our being is selective. Not that selection is involved at the active level. The process is passive in effect. Out of an individuals persona, complete with its nature, tendencies, characteristics arise. Hence the specialisation that occurs within an individual. It might be likened to the idea that as a collective entity, mankind falls into a series of collectives. As there is a series of conscious centres within the subtle body of man, [ singular ] so might it be said that the same applies at the level of man [ collective. ] We might say that the collective endeavour of so called ‘types’, be they scientists, philosophers, healers, artists etc. may be likened to the existence of a collective centre in operation.

Out of this arises the concept of The Host Environment. Plant hate in fertile soil and it develops into the monster we know it to be. Should it fall into a hostile environment it cannot, will not develop. In this sense our pursuits of altering, through practices and pursuits our base consciousness might be seen as conscious manipulation of our environment [ both internal and external. ] Altering as a result the ph. balance of our chemistry.

The Host Environment has another further reaching function within the economy of the individual. If we accept the earlier proposition of the mind as a mirror. Reflective but narrow in perspective, existing as an atom in a sea of the collective, then an interesting notion arises. What gives rise to character, emotion, moods etc? What do we feel? Why do we feel it in a way singular to us. Why are patterns established? Many questions arise. Many of which have no solution.

Were we to accept the collective as the only reality and all else its reflection, as appearance, then we deal with a phenomenal construction. Consider a vast collective mind. Consciousness itself aspected as a primordial state. Existent as is the air we breathe. This energy diffuses throughout us, for it exists and functions at sub atomic levels. Our bodies and minds are bathed in its presence continually. Our filters, perceptually speaking and our ‘mirror’ alone serve as

1. The means of stabilising within constant flux.

2. The result being, the arising of individual characteristics.

It is my contention that given this, all energy is neutral at source. When in its primordial state it is non differentiated and as such characterless. Quality exists elsewhere. As we are awash with the tides that bind us, this motive energy rises through strata, whereupon it eventually fuses with characteristics and is given definition. This occurs at the level of emotion and thought, which are often inseparable. As a result we are swept along by a rip tide of the named state, be it one of pleasure or pain.

This reality exists not only sub atomically but also biochemically and in this respect there is no fundamental difference. We appear to operate through choices but at times appear powerless to deal with what must be considered to be transcendental. It shapes our minds, our lives, our worlds. If we had the ability to accept this energy as neutral, then all states, however judged, could be turned to our advantage.

The importance of understanding the nature of the collective, in the various ways it has been presented is singular and far reaching. The key to knowledge and the attainment of freedom lies in this direction. Nothing new here. This concept lies at the heart of all serious cognitive evolution, prefigured as science, philosophy and religion, in its true reflections. Platitudes have sprung from the lips of mankind for millennia. It appears sufficient to conceive of a view, argue in its favour, develop theorem of multi faceted aspects, gain corroboration, through the belief of others and as such, enter complacency. This process is referred to the ‘intelligence trap’ by De Bono and takes into account much which is to be considered as intellectual pursuit. I ask but one question :

Does what you do change your life?

As previously mentioned, initiation for it to be valid exists, at all times, outside the ability of our system to conceive of the possibility. This does not reduce the importance of the imagination and our ability to conceptualise, but simply puts them in perspective.

All this activity takes place within The Singularity Termed I. In this instance figured as The Host Environment. What supports this are the cycles of experience.

Our filters categorise infinite energy into narrow channels and this alone gives rise to every conceivable problem we experience at both the individual and collective levels. Again, in the words of the Buddha – ignorance.

In order for The Host Environment to expand into its singularity and as a result conceive of its next step various individual and complex processes must be undergone. This is personal alkhemy in its true sense. All else is a sham. And yet the sham protects us. Likewise, self perceived limitations are valid mechanisms. The friends we trial ourselves against in order to evolve. Our first endeavour, in this respect must be self knowledge, at the level of the individual. The tools at our disposal, our friends. Our apparent foes, where we consolidate, where we undo ourselves. In short, again, self knowledge. Perhaps then, we can move on.

The alternative. We simply run around a maze, a maze represented as our own minds. We do not seek to explore the archaic but build at the level of neuro physiology the very equipment which will initiate the process of expanding the singularity into the collective. With this in mind, all activity, one way or another, gives rise to this process.

Modes Of Consciousness

The Objective And Subjective Argument

The immediate question that arises when addressing this most troublesome of topics is simply – where lies objectivity? As all information/experience is processed through our sensory filters and thence through our neurology it makes the concept of objective all but null and void. To take the instance of optical neurology alone proves this point adequately. Rods and cones upon the surface of the eyes respond to stimulus. They ‘fire’ as it were. Were they not to be in constant motion, objects, having saturated the rods and cones would simply disappear in the way that you become accustomed to a smell, so that it all but leaves consciousness after a time.

Via the optical sensors the information is processed by optical fibres, reduced in number, which itself implies deletion of information. By the time the image is assembled upon the visual cortex of the brain, the filters, which are personal to each of us, have created what we know to be the object. This we fire back into the world. In short what we perceive has more reality within our own brain than elsewhere.

Again I ask, where the objectivity?

This may lean somewhat towards psychology and neuro physiology, if so at the end of the day, it is our information gathering apparatus. One of the models presented earlier, was that of the ‘closed system’ this, in

part, aids us in our understanding of the subjective nature of our perceptions. Whilst we have an infinite amount of information which is variable and rich in interpretation, our filters [ senses ] are, by contrast, due to habit and predilection, narrow and shallow.

My argument is simple – outside of very evolved strata of mentation we simply fall prey to our own processing. It is all we have. We cannot, must not, deny it. And yet, we must also, of necessity, recognise this as an integral and structuring element within The Singularity Termed I.

The various models we utilise to discuss and describe phenomena [ already two steps removed ] via – experience / interpretation and description / language, are myriad.

At the level of physics, the atomic and sub atomic stratum, where the object, where the perceiver? At the level of, so called, ‘normal’ consciousness, where am I, where is the bus?

Each model, each strata, calls for its own solution. Again do not confuse the planes, for to continue the metaphor, you and the bus are one. Yet applying this principle on another strata, if you stand in the way of the bus, it will kill you.

As such the objective/subjective argument is endless, circuitous and as a result leads nowhere in itself. That is whilst we operate within ‘closed systems.’ A point raised on other occasions. What is this? Simple – we have taken a small functioning unit within our brain/mind and with it, subjected infinity to our scrutiny. The sublime being contemplated by the ridiculous. In our arrogance we prescribe truth, yet in truth, we simply draw maps which rarely, if ever, represent the landscape we describe.

A closed system has no other option than to function in this way. That is our greatest limitation, and yet remains our greatest asset, for with it we may evolve into dimensions of understanding. Stimulated, in part. By our curiosity and spurred on, in part, by our ignorance. The world will ever remain, much richer that we will ever suspect. Whilst we live our subjective lives we cannot experience it in totality.

The ‘open system’ by contrast can and does. Our endeavours, I trust steer us along this way. All that exists is consciousness, or so it is said. Perhaps [ ? ] we have its polarity/duality principle in subjective/objective. No easy solutions, simply further reaching questions. Questions we have asked ourselves, and each other since the time of our surfacing into, so called, consciousness. Questions we will continue to ask, and I for one trust that not too many solutions arise to distract us. Therein lies complacency. Something already prevalent within our mental landscapes.

Banish this. Open your hearts and minds to mystery and live.

Appendix

Gateway Technology – A Viewpoint

With this, the final chapter, I come to the central motif of this essay, in respect of both, my magickal pursuits and most importantly the results of my last two workings. Namely, Astarte and The Firesnake. A specific series of experiences undergone during the period of time covered by Astarte, have now, through The Firesnake become structured and as such cohesive.

During the former working it was my considered opinion that an initial step was taken in a specific direction, namely, transmundane entities/realities. Accessed by the portal of Daath. A part of this experience was connection to a power source of a primordial nature. A power source capable of profoundly affecting the fabric of this dimension. And along with it the distinct knowledge that, to use a model, the three dimensions of this plane were rendered as two and into this ‘plastic’ medium, an energy/presence impressed itself.

The initial experience occurred whilst in an hypnogogic state, but continued into a fully wakened state. It was but a fore taste, one which now guides my steps and actions. As a result of this experience I find myself aligning more specifically to the Typhonian elements of the current, namely, trafficking with wider and deeper ranges of consciousness.

A model, of sorts arose. As an operator I began working in triangles. Primarily to embody the invoked elements. [ the triangle of arte being a receptacle for such ] After some time and consideration this evolved. The triangle itself as a medium of manifestation is too well established to merit further consideration. It becomes of interest, however, when we consider a working to become an angle of the triangle itself. Three in total, thereby formulating a triangle across time and space.

I sought three unique physiological states, encapsulated by the three workings in question. A sense that three unique individuals had performed the rites.

Astarte in this respect granted – The vision The impetus The theory An experiential basis

SSS grants – The motive power

The energy to unlock, within consciousness, the technology involved within this process.

The firesnake circulates the energy, the means becoming known to the operator in question. It is as if a space/time matrix aligns itself and utilising the correct formula, which is partial at this point, a gateway opens.

I have indulged in much speculation and have the theoretical basis for what it is I am engaged within and upon. Much is clear, and yet, like all research that is in process, one has, at a given time, only a partial view. One speculation that prompted much insight was simply one of technologies.

Upon the physical plane technology isolated the atom and through physical intervention opened up, in part, its secrets. Secrets including –

The infinitely small opens out into the infinitely large

A small aggregate of energy becomes vast in the light of this procedure

In short a physical technology for a physical aspect.

My interest took me into the other half of the polarity, to put it simply, namely, time. It was, and is my contention that [ to use a model ] the smallest element within time is the moment. A mind equivalent of the atom, of matter. My question was simple –

In the same way that the physical atom was bombarded, and as a result, split, what would be the equivalent within the dimension of time?

Time being a product of mind I concluded that the technology itself would arise within the mind. This forms the basis of what I refer to as ‘gateway technology.’ The model does, however, go further.

1. The smallest aggregate of matter – the atom 2. The smallest aggregate of time – the moment 3. The smallest aggregate of mind – difference

A triangle forms, one which merits much consideration, hence my endeavours. It would be banal to assume the three workings allude to each of the above categories, for ‘outside the circles of time’ things are not as they are here. We are simply, by the

reducing valve called the conscious mind modelling that, which in truth, lies beyond it. Not the unknowable, simply the unknown.

It is my contention, and the principle underlying motivation within my particular work, as constructed, that through The Singularity Termed I, functioning via its Host Environment and in completion accessing, and being accessed by the collective, we do indeed open gateways. These gateways, primarily in consciousness as an all important ‘first step.’ It brings us to the portal of multi dimensional existence, wherein we play host to our past and future selves. As to ‘actualisation’ within ‘all’ dimensions, that awaits further and future evolutionary steps. In this respect we but see ‘through a glass darkly.’ None the less these are foundation steps which activated at a solitary level [ the individual operator ] makes this experience/reality to all, through time.

The concept of gateways into otherness is not in itself unusual or original as it has been a motif underlying much that can be called occult. The difference, I feel, is in the matter of what planes you associate these concepts to. Again the theories and models are vast in number.

A further contention is that OTO itself serves as an ‘assemblage point’ of these concepts/energies and eventually the technologies which will flesh them out. Various aspects of this technology, in its theoretical aspect, have been touched upon within the pages of this essay. yet this is not sufficient, for if left upon this strata it simply becomes pedestrian.

The Firesnake itself is the motive power which takes theory and places it upon an experiential basis or foundation. Evolutionary speaking it is the shift of consciousness from a, so called, mundane sphere, to one that might be called, transmundane. And yet we spend so much time, even in the light of this, scrabbling away in darkness. We have the theory, the concepts, yet our neurology is ill equipped to turn, so called fiction into, so called fact. In this respect ‘gateway technology’ serves as the interface. From what to what?

This is the element of research and discovery itself. In this instance I can but repeat myself – we are but compelled into the direction/s of our own innate tendencies, coupled with ability or inability determines, so called, success or failure. Such is our status given that we exist on the ‘edge,’ as it were.

Pallas

La Reine De La Nuit

A Vampyres Tale

Part One

The Quickening

I

Though known by many, Pallas was her true name, for she, maiden and warrior was consort of Pan, her power to his form. In Roma, mighty bastion of empire basking upon the banks of the Tiber she first drew breath and was worshipped as Amor. Androgynous, her joy and service, sensuality and pleasure. In this guise she slaked her voracious appetite upon the couplings that took place amongst her devotees. Not for her the drinking of mortal blood or the taking of life, her appetites were subtle, refined. She would dwell between the breaths of her devotees, her lovers, wrapped in the passion and the satiation of their desire. In this way was her form sustained.

Time and history unfolded and the male god grew supreme and her devotees grew less in number, yet she continued drinking her fill wherever passion arose between mortals and beast alike. Androgynous and when finally possessed of form she would be able to assume the form of either gender, enabling her to plant seed within the body of a female, and to receive seed from the male, and yet she possessed no corporeal form, as yet. For now, she was continuous and undivided in her energetic form. How had she come into existence? The tales are many, part truth, part fable. In the beginning life had stirred, risen and stretched heavenward on limbs that carried it forward across land and sea. The creator paused and took pride in its work, yet it knew no rest. How would its creatures know of its existence? How would they give worship? For it was a vain and possessive god, given to pride, for it was young, the first of many hurled forth from the creeping chaos that had known no form. First to arise when the primal chaos was banished and the old ones cast aside. Order arose. The time of echoes. It had created a male, the only form it knew, and from this sort to create its mate. With the males blood and sperm and the life giving breath it granted from itself, woman came to be, a being far more intelligent and able than he who was deemed her lord and master. In her despair she escaped into the desert and took her pleasure amongst the creatures that lived there, it is said that of her

couplings arose the demons of the world. At this time she was known as Lilith, cursed by god yet supreme in her power. Time passed and humans spread across the globe. Seeking new consorts she divided herself into many forms in order to continue and grow in strength and power, for she had purpose. It is in the guise of Pallas that our story begins and now continues to unfold. Her form, insubstantial, her pleasure harvested from the forms of life that had substance. She formed a desire, perhaps her most ambitious? She would take human form and know the sensations of blood, flesh, heat and sweat. Knowing that they passed through life in a fleeting moment, she would await the time when the sea of stars burnishing the night sky would alert her to the presence of the one she sought. In this manner she would maintain her immortality and also know of earthly existence. She would choose well, for she had a plan, one which would unfold across the millennia. Knowing no boundaries or restrictions, for she had denied the false god and all its workings, and knew freedom. She watched and waited, knowing her time was near, when she would know the sanctuary of flesh.

II

A small world, significant only for its hydrogen and oxygen atmosphere, far out upon the edge of a spiral galaxy is where we next visit, remembering that it is with the eyes and mind of Pallas that we travel to this distant world of beauty and wonder. Host to a richness and diversity of life, almost unknown within this quadrant of time and space. For this reason it was visited often, secretly, clandestinely, for its dominant species was known for its ferocity and unfriendliness to all that was not of its immediate kind. Upon the shoreline of one of its land masses, a small fishing village,

nestled upon the cliffs that overlooked the vast ocean. Its inhabitants simple, sturdy and possessed of an innate awareness of the seas moods and nature. And in this village on a cold night of tempest, wind driven rain beating at fragile window and door, waves rising in anger as the continuous battle between land and sea turned one more page of the volume of its encounters. Upon this night of roaring thunder, thunder like the stirrings of a cavern born dragon thrashing its tail in fury, the fire of its breath creasing the sky with lightning, a child is born.

Not unlike any other new born, its clarion cry announces to the firmament its arrival and meets the tempest outside with that of its own. The father looks on distractedly as the child raised in hands awash with its mothers blood wails and demands and is only silenced when it grasps a nipple between gums and sucks, only then is it silent, drawing from its mother sustenance and comfort. To say the child was unloved is untrue, yet the village was austere in its ways and beliefs, most of its energy being spent in the act of survival, and another mouth to feed was a challenge for the family and village alike, for this reason love was a dish served rarely, and then, in modesty and moderation. It was customary upon the birth of a child to grant it a birth name which would serve its early years, years when it was in truth an extension of its parents and knew little of its self. Upon its sixth summer it was granted the right of choosing for itself its given name and on this day it would be initiated into the village circle as an individual, and thereafter called by its chosen name. The name she chose, for she was a girl child was Linden, in remembrance of the sweetness she had once tasted as the nectar of this blossom had melted upon her tongue and created in her an awareness of the richness that her future life would hold. As a child she was precocious, as are those with the gift of intelligence and insight, shunning her peers and spending more and more time upon the sea shore in idle dreaming or roaming the hills in search of something new, something different, for she yearned, even at the tender age of ten summers for something not present within the village. Then one day she found what she thought was the answer to her roaming and dreams. Nestled in the side of a rock strewn sundered mountain, a cave and in it one who lived in isolation and contemplation, all but unknown to the villagers and shunned by the few who knew of her. She was ancient, yet carried herself with a youthfulness belying her years and from her eyes radiated energy and life. Linden was made welcome and over the next eight summers of her life came to spend more and more time with her new found friend. A friend who greeted her with a smile and an embrace, affection previously unknown to her. Over the next eight summers Linden learned herbal lore, the simples which healed and those that sickened, the time of their harvest and the powers they carried. She learned of star lore, the shapes formed by the distant spheres of light, their names and influences, their tides and cycles. She learned the lore of Lunar, her faces and moods, how as chaste Artemis she hunted the souls of man, woman and child, releasing her silven arrows into their hearts. How as Diana she brought purity and vision to the earth and how as dark Hecate she shone darkly and brought all to its conclusion. She learned of the secret signs scripted in the earth, of the flight of birds

and of the spirits of the animals. She learned the arts of healing and the art of spellcraft. All this and more she learned over the eight summers of knowing this ancient and ambiguous woman, whom she grew to love deeply and completely. Upon completion of the eighth summer and at the time of celebrating her eighteenth year of life her friend and mentor passed away, disappearing as though in a dream, leaving her with the promise that they would meet again, for now she had the skills and the way of joining her in the time and place before the echoes had begun, this she promised, and with a final embrace, a kiss, was no more, yet her spirit wrapped Linden in warmth, love and protection.

III Linden had grown into a beautiful woman, of slight stature, she radiated a presence of grandeur and aloofness. Her bones fine sheaved in flesh of honeyed amber. Having led a spartan life the flesh hung sparingly upon her, muscles firm and toned, feline, yielding to softness when relaxed. Her hands fine, palms long, fingers tapering to fine tips, power radiated from them and her touch was known and remembered by those who had felt it. Her face of angular line, lips rich and sensuous above which a nose almost that of a bird of prey. And of her eyes soft pools of allurement and tenderness, honeyed brown in colour with

occasional sparks of green as her mood changed. This crowned by a mane of fine silver, almost white hair. Many of the villagers sons sought her hand, for it was long passed the time of her coupling. This she resisted, not that she was not curious, rather that the villagers were clumsy and unrefined in their courtship of her. And yet she eventually yielded to both her curiosity and instinct and upon the day of her nineteenth summer took a husband, one of her choosing, one she deemed a little more intelligent than the rest, a little more aware of the nature she possessed and she hoped that her time with him would be more than a chore and a duty. For three long years did she persevere, allowing the sacred sanctuary of her body to be desecrated, used and finally abused. She suffered in silence, for he was not a bad man and knew no other way of being. After three years her womb bore no fruit, a child with this one? She would not permit this to be, and in this way she remained virgin, complete and undivided.

During her twenty third summer came the time of initiation. In dreams she met a dark stranger who opened her to pleasure, pleasure she had not known in the world, he folded her in arms of protection and love, whispered dark secrets which seeded themselves within her soul and created a yearning and a need she knew no way of satisfying. Her days were spent in anticipation of the nights she would share with her phantom lover. By day she continued to roam the hills and comb the sea shore seeking the unexpected, continued her studies, yet her heart awaited the night when wrapped in the arms of Hypnos she would meet the one she longed for. Her husband grew suspicious and angry at the rejection of his advances, especially when he would be awoken by the sounds of gentle moans rising from her throat, would find her drenched in sweat and on occasion awaken her. At these times she would take him with a passion fierce and unquenchable, would mount him and in the delirium of sleep ride him like a demon possessed and when finally satiated would fall back into sleep, forgetful of what had passed between them. He grew concerned for she had grown pale and distant, often refusing food and when asked what ailed her he would receive distracted answers. It was clear to him that much was wrong with his beloved, one who no longer appeared to want or need him. For two long summers this continued and only ended when upon waking one autumn morning he found her gone, vanished. He searched the day long and into the night but found no sign of her, he sought her in her favourite places, upon the sea shore, no sign. Likewise the hills, empty of her presence. After a week of waiting and searching he resolved to search for her in the surrounding countryside and villages. Everywhere he went no sign of her was found, no one had news of her passing. And finally with grief in his heart he resigned himself to his loss, returned to his life in the village and in his memory left her as he now leaves this story. And what of Linden? The morning was bright, the sun risen but a moment before cast its rainbow hued splendour through the prism of mist that retreated before it. The landscape a subtle world of insubstantial forms, emerging momentarily and then again wreathed in a shroud of forgetfulness as though they would return to sleep and dreams. Such was the nature of the world on this morning. Linden leaves her home casting but one glance back as a sign of silent good-byes, to her home, her life in the village and to the one who had sought to hold her. Stepping forward she melts into the mist, no more to be seen. Wrapped in a cloak of indigo and sheaved in a gown of crimson velvet, sturdy leather boots upon her feet, she draws the hood of her cloak over her hair and face and walks on as if shrouded by night. Over her shoulder a leather satchel holds all she deems necessary for her journey, a flask of water, one of wine, a parcel of dried meats, fruit and bread. Her treasured crystals of protection and healing. A journal of her learning’s and discoveries wrapped in midnight blue silk. A hunting knife and compass, she carries into her new life.

The first of many days unfolds into blue skies and warm sun. On the third rising of the sun her dwindling supplies of water and food alarm her, yet she continues northward into the barren hills. Her steps unfaltering as if guided by an inner sense. On the fifth day she finally runs out of her supplies and begins to know hunger and thirst. Her faith intact she continues, no sign of game to hunt, the landscape bare of plantlife, no sign of brook or river, only barrenness and desolation greet her weary eyes. By night or when fatigued she falls to the ground, wrapping her cloak around her tightly, taking solace from its warmth. Three long days she walks without food and water and begins to know despair. It strips her of memory, of hope and finally casts her into a maelstrom of self pity and regret. And yet she is driven to continue, her steps faltering on the loose stones beneath her feet, causing her to slip on occasion, crashing to the hard ground and groaning in pain as her skin is lacerated by sharpened flint and the fossilised sap of trees long dead. Before her, can it be true, a mirage surely? a final torture heaped upon those already deeply etched into her body and memory. She crawls on hands and knees into a tunnel travelling downwards into the earth, barely enough room to contain her, she feels the walls of the tunnel around her as though she is crawling into her own burial tomb and yet she feels a sense of promise. The tunnel opens upon a cavern, dimly lit by outcroppings of sulphur, phosphorescent yellow and green bordering upon a pool of crystal clear water. Reaching its lichened border, she dips her face into its cool depths and cupping her hands drinks of its effervescence, turns over onto her back, loses consciousness and sleeps.

IV Awakes to a whisper, a breath of breeze fanning her hair and playing upon the surface of her exposed body causing the fine down that covers her skin to tingle, and her flesh to awaken. “Long has been your journey, fairest Linden” a voice of velvet tones, wine rich in its depth causes her skin to ripple further, for she knows this voice and the one who now speaks to her from the shadows. “In dreams were you seduced into the ways of pleasure, now etched upon your flesh and soul are the sigils of power, invoked by lust and the carnal acts of our coupling.” Rising, she surveys her surroundings, a tent of silks, indigo, green and blue held upright by

posts of fine wrought silver. Divans of velvet, scarlet and midnight. Carpets spread across sand beneath them. Upon the air the fragrance of sandalwood and musk arising wraith like from a censer in the middle of the tent. Before her a low table, a feast of dainty morsels upon its surface, a glass goblet carries a rich nectar of ruby

wine. “Eat, drink, my love for your journey has yet to begin and you must be strong.” Again that voice of seductive power caresses her senses, unseen, unknown yet present in the very air itself. Casually she eats, drinks, glancing into the distance to the sand dunes capping the horizon, the shimmer of heat laden air causing all she beholds to ripple in and out of sight. “I brought you through the desert of despair to purify your soul of the clay, to cleanse you of the trappings of life, of hope and aspiration. In your darkest midnight when you feared for your life, know that I was with you, protecting and awaiting your arrival. For this is no place but a state of being.” Linden began to understand her phantom lover, recognises the presence of him through her life, saw him in the glint of an eye possessed by the hawk she had befriended in the dim twilight of early memory. Recognised him in the serpent that had struck out with fangs bared one day whilst roaming the hills, it did her no harm yet she carried its signature upon the flesh of her thigh, a scar that throbbed during her time of the moon, turned scarlet as she passed moons blood from her body. Remembered him in the presence of her mentor, she who had guided and protected, had taught and finally left her with a promise upon her lips. Remembered him in the passing of clouds across the pale face of her mistress Artemis. Knew him to be her love, and for him she travels the barren world in search of completion. And in her remembrances comes the revelation of who and what she is. “Hush dark lord,” she whispers, her voice a flute whereon she plays. “Harken for the words are with me, the words of power and becoming, harken for I speak with the voice of Circe my sister and lover.” The air stills, pregnant with the silence of the void, in the distance a single flute plays its plaintive song upon the air. Invisible hands beat upon a drum, long deep notes, hypnotic and alluring. She speaks the words of Invokation, her throat taut at the uttering of the words, her body bathed in a nectar of sweat, her soul caught upon the wings of vision.

“Divided am I Not, by love, for love, the quest of union! The star for the snake. The lance for the grail. The wand for the cup.

Heart aflame, a burning ground of passion purple.

Thy cup, awash with nectar sweet, a still river of love’s consummation.

Flesh aflame, kindled and lambent in passions becoming!

An angel of lust wrapped between our breaths, its lifeblood flowing into the ocean.

An ocean of remembrance, where upon foreign and exotic shores,

again we tip the cup of love’s fornication’s. Babalon rising between us.”

In the distance the call of a solitary owl, bruises the silence with its call. The air turns dark, replete with shadow forms, binding, unbinding, flowing in liquid movement. The air heavy with perfumes of sandal, rose and benzoin. The invokation continues.

“Her breasts, golden suns, issue a stream of milk, the light of myriad worlds.

Her thighs, the eternal birthrites of galaxies.

Is she Not, divided for love’s sake? The chance of union, upon union, upon union.

Nectar from the petals of her rose, a honeyed dew, at which fountain does the hummingbird sing,

quenching its thirst eternal.

Rise with me mighty Babalon, mother of saints, whore of mankind. The beast thou ridest, the names of myriad kingdoms.

Thy domain, eternal, infinite, undivided.” Shadows form into solids, assembling, forming, reforming. The air redolent with the vapours of oceanic depths and the vacuum of space. In the distance a storm stirs the night with its turbulence. The howl of distant beasts, screams become whispers of resignation. And at the still centre of this turbulence, the words of invokation continue. Linden now aglow in her power, her voice raised in rapture, her body vibrating to the words of power that arise and are flung out to the awaiting void, which broods and seethes in its birth pangs.

“Unto thee I call, Passion the rite, flesh our invokation, the quest of love, of union our Intent.

I call upon the one undivided in thy name!

I thy vessel, longing, awaiting.

With tears of blood I callest, heart emptied, voided in thy name.

Thy cup overflowing, mine yet a desert song, parched in love’s name, in love’s game.

I of no name. I of no nature callest unto thee who art Babalon Come unto me, as I comest unto thee, in love’s name.

In Nomine Babalon!”

The invokation completed. Linden beholds before her eyes the form of Pallas. Radiant in a nimbus of light, a matrix of interlocking planes, shifting perspectives, past, present and future contained within her outline, focused at axis points by a series of jewels beneath the surface of what appears to be skin. Her eyes, two white opals flashing sparks of rainbow brilliance, milky opalescence reaches out and touches Linden, lightly yet firmly. At her throat a sapphire, clear and blue as the noonday sky splashed with the radiance of a thousand suns. Her breasts two emeralds, green as the richest of pastures, pulsing with the promise of natures bounty. Her navel a diamond, its facets spiralling, forming images of the history’s of Linden and Pallas. Between her thighs the glow of a ruby, deep and rich in its colour, oscillating from the clarity of scarlet to the depth of claret, unfolds images of birth and death. All this held in stability by two arcs formed within the palms of the hands and the soles of the feet, each containing a golden topaz, each forming a ring that traverses the length of the form Linden now beholds.

The perfumes of musk and civet, sandalwood and rose, mixed with the ozone of oceanic depths and the vacuum of space invades her senses. And upon the air, causing it to ripple before her eyes, the sound of a thousand voices uplifted in prayer, an ecstasy of sound which causes Linden to swoon at the majesty of its beauty, its intoxication. Linden sees before her the one she knew as her phantom lover, he who whispered to her under the cloak of night. Sees mighty Babalon astride the beast of her dominion. Sees Pale Lilith, a smile upon her lips and blood upon her hands. Sees before her Pallas.

In a voice, not of speech, more the visceral sense of knowing, Pallas speaks, “Welcome beauteous one, long have I awaited the time of your calling, for it was I who called you forth, through the dim corridors of remembrance, that you would call unto me.” Linden nods her assent, “and what now fair sister, what would you have of me?” Stabilising her form, assuming an outline and with it the solidity of atoms dancing within a vortex, she answers. “I would share your form to walk abroad amongst your kind in the flesh.” Linden opens her heart and swift as lightning Pallas enters her, melts into her form, reshapes the contours, creates prisms of the angularities, molds features, extends bones and finally comes to rest within the still, dark chambers of Lindens heart, where she lies at peace, at rest.

Linden awakes beside the pool, rises and catches a glimpse of her reflection upon its surface, the image that greets her is different to how she knew herself to be. A whisper upon the air, “in time you will know me well, be at ease for we are united,

one and undivided.” Again she catches her reflection, naked, her body slim, tall, possessed of a sensuality defined by curves at hip, belly and breast. Feet of alabaster, nails of toes blush pink, long sinuous legs rising to the soft curve of thighs crowned by a triangle of copper gold silk. Belly, firm muscle rising to breasts upright, crowned by aureoles of milky opalescence. Shoulders broad, neck fine, swanlike. Face oval, jaw tapering to a fine point. Lips full, sensuous stained a pale peach. Nose aquiline, meeting a brow high and broad, eyes rounded, radiating light in waves of pastel hues, stung green at their heart. This crowned by a mane of copper gold hair. All this did Linden see and in the seeing was pleased.

V

For fifteen days and nights she wandered, sustaining herself on the air itself, discovering, to her delight that she was visible and invisible to those around her at her choosing. She roamed the earth in her nakedness and only on the sixteenth day knew hunger and thirst, yet her body’s needs, could not be satiated by earthly food or fluid. For the previous fifteen days she had drunk the glory of her surroundings, her senses sharpened, hearing the rustle in grass of tiny creatures leagues away, the smell of the ocean she knew to be days away. The richness of colour and texture surrounding her entered through the sentinels of her senses and unleashed a sense of communion. Clouds passing overhead, she felt passing through the

substance of her body. The susurration of water caressing rocks it passed over caused her blood to flow, her skin to tingle. Sounds that surrounded her, invaded with insistence, causing ripples to pass through her form, so much sensory input threatened to overload her, engulf her in the rich symphony of sensorial experience. As a consequence she learned to filter, to select and focus her attention in order to arrange her impressions in a controlled manner, this, though new to her she mastered in two days and was now mistress of her senses. And now she felt hunger, gnawing at her, a dull ache, centred in the very heart of her, she would satisfy this for her instincts were sharp. In the distance a mist arising from beyond a copse of trees, a mist coruscating with undulations of violet, scarlet and midnight, laced with a fine filigree of gold, rising upwards, spreading outwards, undulating and calling to her, she moves towards this vision, enraptured, the dull ache even now dissipating as she closes on the vision. She enters the mist all but blind to her surroundings and swoons under the impact of her senses opening to the inrush, violent and sensual. Her heart beats faster, a fine sweat greases her skin,

muscles undulate and in the pit of her stomach a liquid warmth rises, travels outwards to extremities and envelops her in folds of sensuality, lying upon the earth she writhes in the mounting of passion, feels herself open, melt. Exalted beyond her ability to understand she weeps with the pleasure of satiation, gently returns to her senses replete, satisfied. In the dark cavern of her heart Pallas stirs and sighs. A whispered word, “now you know of the quickening and the means of its satiation, this you will do every fifteen days, it is all you need to survive, all else will be in the name of pleasure.” And what of the source of this mystic vision, this mist, aethereal, yet her life blood? Before her eyes unfolds a scene previously rendered invisible by her need. A cottage of roughly hewn stone, ferns growing between stones, which over time had been stained green by lichen and moss. A single wooden door and two windows of rustic wood glazed by thick glass, drawn across which are curtains of net. The roof of thatch, a single chimney from which a plume of smoke rises into the air scenting it with the remains of apple and cherry wood. A small paddock in which a solitary horse chews the grass at its feet. A well and a single outhouse. All this surrounded by a border of low growing elder trees hanging low, drawn downwards by the burden of fruit upon their branches. Linden approaches the cottage and peers through one its windows. The scene before her causes her breath to catch in her throat, her heart to beat furiously and though recently satiated she feels a pang of hunger within her core. There before her a woman naked upon a bed, facing her, breasts rich and full, beaded with sweat, head flung back. From her issue low moans of pleasure for she is gently rising up and down and between her thighs the source of her pleasure, she is impaled upon a rigidity of flesh thrusting upwards from the thighs of the man beneath her.

Linden observes this spellbound, like a moth to a flame she feels compelled to move, yet remains fixed to the spot, her skin beading with sweat, her breathing quickens and a liquid warmth pervades her every fibre. She is transformed again into a vessel of pleasure and sucks greedily at the emanations, mist like pervading the cottage and its vicinity. Linden feeds yet again, not from need but from pleasure and the unfolding of lust. She knows this to be how Pallas feeds and sustains her form, yet Pallas would know of flesh and the pleasure arising from its touch. Deep within Linden, Pallas stirs, “sister, in time, when the rites have been performed and completed it will not be as Pallas and Linden that we venture amongst humans but as a fusion and from that a mighty being will arise, for we shall know of the flesh forms and the immortality of our energetic nature, this I promise.” Linden hears and whispers an assent. “Yes! Then, Pallas the world will truly know of us.”

The scene within the cottage continues to unfold its rapture and the mist visible to Lindens eyes congeals into an amber nectar flecked with sparks of gold, she knows this to be the time, the woman is close to the crest of her passion. Whispering to her

Pallas sighs, “use your craft, bring her to us.” Linden utters a word and the woman meets her gaze, eye to eye, showing no sign of surprise she smiles, triumph upon her lips and a greeting within her eyes. Raising one hand she beckons Linden to enter and join her and the one she now takes her delight in. Linden enters the cottage, words unspoken pass between them an understanding of blood and passion, ciphered in look, gesture and need. The woman, rich and voluptuous, raven hair and eyes, rich swollen breasts, nipples erect issue a thin stream of nectar which Linden licks delicately before meeting her lips with a kiss of tenderness mounting to passion. Tongues explore alien landscapes, united in spittle and the tastes of lust. The woman lies back and Linden again kisses breasts, feels the heat rising from the flesh she now tastes. Licks, her tongue serpent like trails down to navel and finally rests between thighs stretched, honeyed nectar flows and meets Lindens lapping tongue. Lips to lips they kiss, the woman groans in her pleasure and opens herself further, again flecks of gold, her time is near. Linden utters an unspoken command and feels hands upon her hips, the urgency of stiffness at the entrance to her body, thrusts backwards and is united with the heat and blood of another. Stillness, an eternity unfolding in a single breath. The man begins to move, sliding in and out of her, increasing in speed and pressure, Linden senses that he too, is close, sparks of scarlet within the vortex of passion. She quickens and in her need brings each of them to the brink and reaching it leaps into the void. The mans seed enters her, a phosphorescence, she sucks greedily and draws him into her womb and binds him at the point of his climax. And in this moment the woman abandons herself to the oceanic surf that now rises through her body and consumes her, again Linden laps greedily and through her tongue binds the woman’s flesh within her womb, where meeting the presence of the male she joins him in ecstatic union. All this Linden knows within her flesh and etches its memory upon every cell of her being. In rapture she rises, greets her lovers, offers a tender word, a parting kiss, an embrace, then leaves. A shadow amongst shadows. In this way did Linden learn of her destiny and in this way did Pallas fulfill the first step of her design, to know of flesh and the passion kindled by blood, breath and heat.

!

Part Two

The Cypher of Flesh

I

“In rapture does the body rise, the spirit soar, In passion’s purple embrace.

Flesh aflame, each breath etched in lambent light,

Bodies arched, stretched, folded, entwined.

Soar upon wings of dream, making of thy bodies a mighty sigil, A key, a gateway, a becoming.”

Shrouded in a cloak of invisibility, deep as shadows yearning for the light, its kin, Linden beholds the world laid out before her. Such beauty and yet the shadows cast in its name she also savours. Her quickening had brought her across the portal of knowledge, though a fledgling, her wings had begun to unfurl, to take measure of the air, had taken her upon her maiden flight and taught her in blood, muscle and bone the way of her Art. The rite of completion lay ahead, when stripped of the downy feathers of youth and innocence she would ascend into the rapturous realm of her true nature and know immortality.

There were those who would aid her in these, her early days. Her devotees had awaited the day of her coming. Had incarnated again and again in the expectation of her arrival. These had been called forth, assembled by her quickening and even now prepared the way. Instinct her compass, eternity her destiny she turns south and heads in the direction of warmer climes. The mountains she crosses wreathed in clouds offer her their protection, for is she not Anima Mundi, the soul of the world? The oceans open their arms, carrying her safely through their midst. The wind lightens her step and makes true her direction. With the unfolding of the days she feeds sparingly, knowing of the feast that awaits her and the fast that precedes it. In this time did Pallas and Linden continue to speak, each knowing the other more intimately, sharing thoughts, sharing knowledge. After the passing of two moons the desert she has been traversing yields to sparse shrubbery, grassland and the occasional stunted tree. In the distance a range of mountains, their caps formed of snow and ice call to her. She enters the lowlands and begins the assent, made easy by the pull she feels from their summits, as if a web of tendrils drew her into their embrace. She advances joyfully, a smile upon her lips and a whispered word within her heart. A path to her left, guides her feet along the shale of past landslides, to her right the vast mass of the mountains rising ever upwards. To her left the majesty of a mighty chasm untold leagues across and deep. The earth is at peace and the sun, bright globe within a firmament of clear blue, warms her. She follows the path, ever downwards and with a step made nimble by expectation reaches the floor of a valley rich in arboreal ferns. Datura, their blooms make of the air an intoxication, delighting her senses. She walks across carpets of moss, moist between her toes, cooling. The song of unseen birds, a chorus, each voice a single note in the unfolding of the song they sing in honour of her passing. She is greeted, made welcome. As Anima Mundi is she not all she beholds? For this did she deny the false god in the early days of memory, aeons ago and now walks in power and freedom.

A clearing, carpeted by fine grasses, caressed by a gentle breeze, rolls softly before her eyes and in its midst a ring of stones pierces earth and sky. Thirteen in number depicting the stellar pantheon. Each stone etched with sigils, unfolds their unique story, not of the earth these stones but carried here in antiquity upon craft that sailed the heavens upon wisps of dream and invokation. Each of them unique in form and hue, the cipher upon them in language unknown to the earth their host. A short distance inwards, another circle of stones, these uniform in their black obsidian, at the heart of each a dull glow, each unique in hue. These, the witnesses, the palaces of creation, foremost was the eleventh, distinguished by the brightness of the glow that resided at its heart, by name the Lord of the void, it brooded and waited. Inward further a ring of bright cylindrical stones four in number, represented the elements that clothed non being with the raiment of form. Within this circle carved into the earth itself a triangle, formed by the earth, stripped away, exposing the bleached chalk beneath. Each of its angles host to a living oak severed at its branches to a height of three feet and upon its truncated branches candles, nine in number. At its northern angle a single slab of obsidian beneath which two recumbent angels acting as supports, hold it aloft. All this Linden sees from a distance and knows she has arrived at the appointed place and time.

II

Upon the night, as foretold, Artemis traversing the sign of the serpent. The thief making light of the goat and with the lord of the void on the eastern horizon they assembled. Ten in number, Linden making the eleventh. In a loosely formed line they circle the outer stones intoning the words of power and enter the next circle by the gateway of dreams. Again they circle and with their passing the fire burns brightly at the heart of each stone. At the eleventh and final stone the magister of the gathering inscribes a sigil upon its surface and a radiant arc rises from the ground and caps the stones with its brilliance. With the passing of a word they enter the inner

circle and at each of the stations of the elements a rite of purification and consecration is performed. At the east incense is offered, its plumes rising upwards into the night air. At the north a fine dust of sparkling quartz and salt blesses the stone. At the west pure spring water and wine is poured upon the earth as a libation. And at the south a flame is kindled, its tongues lapping the night air. At each of the stations one of the celebrants remains, its sentinel. Seven enter the inner circle wherein lies the triangle of art. At each of its angles a celebrant stands and with a word the candles atop the truncated limbs burst into flame. Three enter the inner sanctum, Linden accompanied by the magister and the watcher, who bears witness, and serves as the voice, the ears and the eyes of the rite.

They take their places, Linden and the magister at each end of the altar stone along the truncated base of the triangle, the watcher, facing them at the tip of the triangle, they form between them a living triangle, a corporeal form of the one etched upon the earth. Leaving his station the magister walks the perimeter of the triangle and with his passing the triangle of art becomes phosphorescent, emitting tongues of flame, golden, violet and crimson. Upon the air the perfumes of musk, civet and rose interweave and in their choreography dance a dance of effervescence and delicacy. Returning to his station he bows deeply before Linden and commences the primary invokation, the utterance of the words which will prepare the way for the completion of the rite of enfleshing the cipher. Raising his arms, extending them upwards and outwards into the sign of Typhon. A hushed stillness pervades the night and honouring its presence, he intones the words.

“In solitude is the ocean churned. Barren waste turned fertile at her rising.

But one kiss imparted and the world is turned upon its axis.

Coiled splendour, thou art beauteous in thy rising. Piercing the veil of dark Mara’s domain.

Bathed in nectar sweet art thy lover, Who but for one kiss, one embrace,

would leave this wasteland of time’s passing.”

The magister raises his voice and looks upon Linden lovingly, knowing that his lady Pallas is present, his eyes sparkle, his heart is uplifted, for the time is near when he can behold her enfleshed, corporeal, here within the vale of sorrows.

“Thou risest unto the realm of matter, infinite coils of rapture’s passing. Yet still thou risest unto the palace of the sun, thy handmaiden,

beauty, in the trance that enraptures.

The void but spins, coalesces into myriad forms of resplendent being. Thou risest yet into the dwelling place of nature’s heart,

cast adrift upon the secrets of thy longing. A heart emptied, yet filled by ecstasy.”

Linden takes her place upon the stone feeling its hardness against the soft contours of her body and in the beauty of her nakedness dreams.

“Unto the palace of knowledge yet still thou risest, casting off form and entering the bliss which art thy being.

Thy handmaidens attend thee as from the void dost thou rise resplendent in thy glory.

Yet further thy coils rise, entering the palace of thy being,

caught up within thy embrace, an eternity passing in but a moment.” Drawing from his cloak a dagger of steel, its tip awash with the hues of pigments formed by the crushing of jewels he begins to carve the sigils upon Lindens body. Upon the soles of her feet, the sigil of eternity, that she might walk through time. Upon the palms of her hands the sigil of power, that all that she touches, succumb. Upon her forehead the sigil of the open eye, that she might see through time and space. Beneath each eye the diamond sceptre, completing the triangle of fire, of vision. At her throat the sigil of the wyrding way, that her voice enter the planes of dream and appearance alike. Upon her heart the sigil of Pallas he carves as protection. At her navel the sigil of fire that her womb be forever fertile. Upon her thighs the sigils of allurement. And along the length of her legs, the lightning flash and the sigil of the lord of the void. Gently turning Linden onto her belly he continues the words.

“Now am I passed, now am I no more as onward thou coursest. I but a shimmering scale upon thy body,

an echo of thy passing.” At the base of her skull he carves the sigil of invisibility. Between her shoulder blades the sigils of the quickening and of the marriage between spirit and matter. At the base of her spine the spiral sigils of passion and lust. Completed he turns Linden onto her back and placing a hand, one upon her brow and one upon the valley between her thighs he speaks the final words of invokation and the enfleshing of the cipher, that now lies before him, still and awaiting the final moment of completion.

“Standing before the gateway of eternity,

breath, mind and body dissolved in thy presence. But for one kiss, one embrace,

wouldst I die.” The words completed, the sigils cast into the void of the flesh the magister steps back from the stone and waits. Upon the stone Linden awash with rivulets of blood, a lattice work encasing her body, lies entranced as the sigils begin their work of cohesion. One by one they begin to dance upon the flesh, forming and reforming, alphabets passing in a moment,

some of knowledge, some of desire writhe in succession across Lindens form. Rising as mists and descending as lightning bolts, Lindens body becomes the birthrites of galaxies which become but atoms within her evolving form. She is surrounded by a mystic fire and is burnished to fine gold, tempered to a hardness of diamond and finally cascades into liquidity, which in its roiling casts infinite forms upon the surface, masks, reflections which once absorbed become another alphabet. And out of the ocean of liquidity a shaft of light arises, pierces the heavens in hues of ultraviolet and enters the earth a ray of magenta. Along the course of the shaft colour oscillates, sound rising in pitch, then descending and finally silence. Upon the stone, the Cipher of Flesh awaits, beckons to the entranced magister who approaches, casting aside his robes, climbs upon the altar and enters the enfleshed one. With a beatific smile upon his lips and a song within his heart did he join his mistress, now flesh. And in their coupling is he absorbed in totality into her form, to dwell within the core of her being for eternity. The Cipher rises, stands beside the stone and surveys her surroundings. Where once there had been ten, only one remained. The witness and watcher, who now melts into the shadows and like a dream is gone, no more to be seen upon this world. The Cipher is completed. The quickening that brought her to this, completed. Now the journey begins.

!

Part Three

Pallas

I Pallas explores the world around her with eyes now her own, feels their wetness within folds of flesh. Looks at hands, turning them this way then that, is delighted by their fineness, their strength. Touches hips, belly and breasts, their softness all but overwhelming her, such sensuality she had only dreamed of, and here, yes here she was at last. She considered the eternity she had awaited this moment, sighed and considered it but a moment in passing. Now eternity beckoned her and in the flesh she would use it well. Much to think upon, and that will follow, for now the delight of exploring her form, yes she had chosen well. Rounded hips

tapering to long elegant legs, blood pulsing their length, a liquidness that delighted her. Feet feeling the soft grass beneath, cooled by the dew that beaded their blades. She felt the majesty of the earth beneath her and offered a prayer of gratitude to her sister. Touching copper gold down, silk like between her thighs, a liquid warmth moves from the centre of her belly, the quickening. Breasts, the nipples erect, a bead of nectar at the tip of each, a honeyed dew. Face, contours yielding to her searching fingers reveal strength and beauty. Running fingers through hair, electricity at her finger tips, a ripple passes through her. Yes she is pleased, delighted by her choosing. Deep within her womb she feels the presence of those who fed the quickening and caresses them with the surface of her mind. A whisper to her lovers. How many would join them? Legions, for this was her destiny. Denied by the false god yet finally triumphant. A curse upon restriction for that had been his sin, a sin she perceived to be etched into each of his offspring, his creation. She had fled the curse, denied its sovereignty. Cast out, forsaken, at her choosing. Now free, mighty in her power. Not for her to be worshipped for she was the worshipper, alive to all, and in the sanctuary of her soul she gives praise. Returning to her hands she sees the tracery of sigils, vibrant and pulsing with life, sees the fine mesh like filaments running through her body, the dance that unfolds within her flesh. The fire that arises at each axis point, rainbow hued, forming, reforming into myriad shapes and textures, yes, the magister had done well. And at her womb the vortex where all converged, a maelstrom of spirals reaching both inwards and outwards, a shrill note trailing off to a resonant hum informs her that the enfleshing of the cipher is complete. Upon a hill, deepest night, a star spangled tapestry above her, a backdrop to Artemis who now courses across the face of infinite night. Perfume of jasmine upon the air. The call of an owl. The breeze caressing her skin causes the down upon its surface to tingle. The blood coursing through her veins, wet with pressure holds her

in its thrall. She raises arms to the night sky, her head thrown back in rapture and sends forth the ecstasy of the moment in a single and complete ululation of song. And upon the rapturous notes she sends out into the blind night she dances naked beneath the moon.

II

All this unfolded as foretold in the realm of dreams. The dream of pale Lilith astride her consorts beneath the burning desert sun. Within the dreams of Amor where the seed cast its roots into fertile soil. In the dreams and vision of mighty Babalon unfolding her dominion beneath the star spangled pageant of history, who drunk upon the blood of saints fed the root and nurtured the shoot that broke the surface of soil and bathed beneath the splendour of earth, air, fire and water. And finally blooms, its delicate petals unfurled upon the dancing breeze, as Pallas. Lady of night and the passing of eternity. The witness, the watcher. And now it is to you that the story passes, for in your passion, your lust, know that Pallas is

with you. Passing through the breath you exchange with your love. Awash with the liquidity that bathes your bodies in a sweet nectar of sweat. And upon a hill at the passing of midnight should you dance naked beneath the stars and sing your rapture unto Artemis, you might, if the stars be right and your very soul be purged of the dross of human life, in this moment should you be approached by a vision of beauty who whispers words of love and passion into your soul, look deeply into her eyes, bind her body to yours and rejoice. For in the depths of her eyes will you know completion, for the reflection that greets you will be the depths of your very own soul.

!

The Call

“And who would walk this way with me, Creature of shadow and dark repose,

who yet yearns to feel the warmth of a human heart. The caress that calls the blood to flow, the breath to quicken,

the breath dissolving the flesh in rapture, an angel passing between us.

Skin soft, warm, bathed in nectar as onward we spiral. For I have dreamed and in that dream a voice

reaches out towards me in welcome.

Casting new shapes and patterns before my eyes, shapes yet hard of surface, begin to yield,

soften, flow in liquid curves, undulating as surface meets surface,

moistens, liquifies and flows to a greater depth. Shadows pass leaving a silven moon. Upon a hilltop amidst a forest glade,

the purple legion of night around and between us. The dark silhouette of arboreal forms.

A stream wending its way across rocky terrain in quest of its continuance, its source, its end.

For in truth we stand alone, and yet a time, a one whose heart beats to a similar tune.

A thought echoed across the aethyrs. The call of nature’s horn, that her creatures know of rapture and repose.

To what surface does this call? And from what depth comes forth the answer?

To you who walks in beauty these words, these echoes are sent.

Shapes born of ink and wrought in thought. Each one bearing within itself a heart beat, a dream, a vision.

Long may we walk in shadows, perchance that daylight beckons. And with this passing thought I bid thee adieu.”

Ave Lilith! Ave Amor! Ave Babalon! Ave Pallas!

Damiana

The Canticles Of Damiana Evohe

Volume VIII

!

! Vesica Ordo Templi Solus Noir !

! !

The Canticles Of Damiana Evohe

Volume VIII

Further To The Whisperings Of

! !

Na’amah Golden thread around heart entwined Visage of palest gold bleached by blood Darkest barb venom sweet Vision of light shadowed by blood moon Step by step the pageant unfolds Embrace melt into rapture Dissolve into bliss denied Pale golden one a kiss upon thy brow A caress upon breast of softest silk Entwine limbs slick with sweat Heat dissolves flesh Breath dissolves thought Passion dissolves the heart Union dissolves life Blood flows from wounds deep as time Semen rises caught in a cup of softest velvet between golden thighs Breath quickens and dissolves in rapture sweet Breath stills in the velvet shroud of darkest midnight Cascading thought tumbles into oblivion, servant of time Na’amah golden one mistress of time servant of none Shapes born of desire replace the tapestry of life Life bows to death her master Through silven forests does she dance beneath pale Hecate Loose thy arrows desolate one pierce flesh spent in passion Golden nectar flows through limbs broken Darkest venom courses through veins burned upon thy pyre One kiss granted benediction One kiss denied eternal longing Reflection dark shadows arise a mist of amber stained blood red Lightning burns eyes long weary Thunder subdues heart quenched in fire Gaze deep into the mirror of thy mind Draw deeply from the well of thy heart Broken vessel leaking blood into sand unheeding Once a garden pure where innocence was born

Leaf and stem embraced in love Once an earth mother to her children Cradled in loving arms Once starlight dissolved the vacuum of space A thousand angels voices arched in ecstasy Once life pierced the veil of time The tapestry woven thread by thread Across the mountains of the moon did we walk my love and i Taking our rest within the vale of Aphrodite Into the boundary lands did we step Upon a plain of golden sand the bones of all who went before Beneath our sun we walk ebon rays shining forth Dissolving all that has been and will be Creation unmade upon the plain of truth unfolding Namrael fairest maiden Samael desolate one Hand in hand each step a drop of blood released upon the aethyrs And in the last of days Two grigori walk upon the earth And they shall die

Yglas Na’amah Yglas Isheth Yglas Ygrat

Yglas Lilitu Ben Grigori

Evohe Evohe Evohe

Ast Innui Khephri Vos

Ahdi Ypres Grigori

Selim Ast Nobilis

Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast

Portus Lucis Noir

Ave

Astarte vel Berylli

Cycle 1 1990 – 1992ev The Dawn Of The Avatar

In this way did we manifest Samael, principal Grigori amongst the legions of the living. Bereft of his bride, tormented beyond the ability to conceive did he complete the initial tasks, reaching their culmination in the words of The Witness, our seeding into the world of what was to follow. Cycle 2 2003 – 2004ev Namrael

The manifestation of our Grigori sister

In this way did we complete the preparations and placed our avatars within the temple of our working.

Cycle 3 2006 – 2007ev Lilith Rising

The Portal Of The Black Sun

Entering our sacred triangle of power did Samael and Namrael conjoined invoke beloved Lilith and complete the cycle of our making, to manifest the portal and let its rays shine forth. Trinity 2009ev

We wove the matrix of our spells and seeded them into the prime elements of nature, extending our Triangle Of Arte. The Fulfillment of the final Grigori Prophecy 2010ev

Liber 131 – The Passion & The Purity

!"./,0µ !01'$$0µ !"µ"#$

Solve Et Coagula

The ancient land of Khem, basking on the shores of the Nile celebrated its dignity in its many arts and gave rise to traditions that exist to this day. We refer primarily to its manifestation of the magickal current informing many traditions and its application of The Arte of Khem, sometimes called Al – Khem – y and it is to the latter that we draw upon the principle, Solve Et Coagula, As Above So Below In The Matter Of The One Substance.

The cult, Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast rose within the dynastic period and its adepts, though few transformed base material into philosophical gold and thereby ascended into the aethyrs of immortality. Aspirants, selected from regal stock were taken into the desert fastness and into the temple were they inducted. Mortality levels were high for the process they passed through required that they die to the world as commonly perceived. The ingestion of a rare seed was central to the rite. The pith rendered them physically inert whilst the kernel induced profound visions and between these states they existed. Months would pass and the ensuing result was twofold. Either death would ensue or in the

rarest of instances the toxin would be transmuted from venom into elixir. Those who expired sacrificed their energy to the cult and from this the myth of vampyre evolved.

The dull mirror that is memory recalls this time and event and did but die within its embrace, for in the matter of the one substance is thy heart drained, to the last drop and upon the altar of benediction is it burned. The vapour that rises becomes as smoke that serves as thy prayer and upon the aethyrs is it cast to wander. Death greets thee or into the fire thou art confirmed to be transformed, purged of thy mortality and ascend upon pinions of light to dance between the moments that are inhabited by all that lives, breathes and has being.

And upon the altar was the hideous beast consigned and from its ashes did rise the Grigori that dwelt at its heart and into the embrace of eternity was it delivered. In rare moments when silence greets the moment thou might hear its whispers and in the still centre of thine heart may its vision of rapture dawn upon the reflection that is life and blessed be that moment when all is cast aside and that which remains is as The One Substance that resides in the cup of our holy lady.

Death And Life

Long ago was the battle fought and won

When life and death stood upon opposing shores

And glimpsed each other

Death looked upon life and smiled

Whilst life like a maiden shy

Upon her bed of roses

Coyly looked aside

The Chalice Of Dreams

… … … Octave Two Dreamzone One – A portal of azure upon a landscape of emerald undulations. Each heartbeat a ripple upon the surface of this liquidity. Amorphous shapes shifting, focusing, dissolving as the mind in quest of meaning releases, permits, contains. Each breath travels to the surface of the skin, travels outwards, contacts not I, as a shifting focus, superimposed upon a liquid shoreline. Incandescence, light, beyond the ability to see. Sound ripples upon the surface of that I know as I. Landscape dissolves, for now it is the surface of skin. Ripples, undulating, inform the process of dissolution, finally reaching outward beyond all I am able to hold. Silence. A void, lustrous, dark and welcoming, velvet softness, as I move through layer upon layer of amorphous, shifting

perspectives. Yet I focus upon form, angularity arises as I greet another portal that casts me into a deeper dream.

Octave Nine Dreamzone Two – Memory rises, acts as a lure that draws me onwards and outwards. Memory of what I have been, what I would become. Thought echoes outwards, shape and texture arise yet serve as metaphor for a time and place of true dissolution. Each heartbeat thunders across galaxies, each breath the kindling of starborn existence. Each thought shapes itself, fleshes itself into that which I might choose to describe. I gaze into nothingness from which I take form and description. I stand upon the path which is the polarity of time, one gateway, an observer conceiving of what will be, another witnessing what has been. As lord of time I arc through the ages, accelerating beyond the realm of sight and sense, until I finally merge with the totality of all that was, that is and will be. The name of this dreamzone, eternity, infinity and the wellspring of creation. And as I gaze into the lustrous waters of this reflection, I am stilled, completed yet again and from this place, this time, perceive another, who stands before me regal yet humble, blessed by knowledge, yet wrapped in a mantle of humility, wise with the wisdom that stems from witnessing the passage of eternity, the passage of stars.

Octave Thirteen Dreamzone Three

And from this time, from this place and with this one, I enter the dream of dreams and walk amongst the shadow beings that surround me, yet know me not. One mask is affixed, then another, yet another. Within the conceptions that arise, a memory of all that I have seen, all that I have witnessed. Ionthe guides me, makes deep and rich

the tapestry that unfolds before my senses. Azrael counsels me in the matter of adopting singularity. The earth supports and nurtures me. The stars beckon and cherish me, as again I walk forth a stranger in a strange land. Greeted by others I enter their worlds, sometimes as friend, sometimes as foe. My path, my vision burning brightly, a lambent flame, continuous, evolving. I but a molecule within the body of our holy lady, seeking the ecstasy that lies within life, extracted from the crude material of existence. I walk this world complete, and offer greeting, and in passing, utter a simple word: adieu… … …

Liber Sigillum Vel Daath – 1996ev

The Sword Of Damocles

Corrige Praeteritum Rege Praesens Cerne Futurum

Correct The Past Direct The Present Detect The Future

amael Grigori

I speak to thee, yes thou who art writing these words and even unto thee who in turn reads these words, from the Boundary Lands I speak. Cast aside all that thou art, for i seek naught that is of thee, from thee, your form but dissolves in my presence. Your Mind, the Reflection which thou art clouds over. The Heart which thou seekest, empties itself into the eternity which thou art. I accept All of this and more, I take only that which is freely given. I grant

naught in return, for what in truth would thou, creature of Earth do with such, you alive in your world, I in mine. Yet still you seek me. Look into your world, does not nature, my fairest sister stir from her slumbers, casting aside her mantle of repose. See you not the lifeblood stirring within her heart. The bounty of her body giving rise to the eternal cycle of Life and Death.

Liber 131 – March 2 1992ev

The Staff Of Discordia

… … … Hail Eris Principia Discordia

For the purifying of nitrogen, quicksilver and fire Diana will appear without a robe. And had that exotic fruit been granted unto Artemis, what then of strife? Order arises, a stain upon the purity of the Prinum Mobile. A demiurgos bereft of spirit cast forth upon aethyrs blindly questing meaning. Had those virgin lips drawn forth honeyed venom, into whose chalice might fire have arisen? What vision would bless eyes weary of deceit? Azoth Et Ignis Dealbando Latonam Veniet Sine Veste Diana. Unto thee Beauty incarnate is the apple of discord granted eternally… … …

Innui Khephri Vos Nox Solus Noir Cephalos Un Nefer Ast Adhi Ypres Est Daemon Rhammus Ben Grigori

Na’amah Selim Ast Nobilis Amor Yglas Lilitu Ben Grigori Dei Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast Iota Portus Lucis Noir Nefer Ypres Namrael Evohe Samael Grigori

In the velvet folds of midnight embraced by earth and star he stretches upward. Lightning bruises eyes keen of sight, thunder shakes his heart, the toll of midnights bell.

He yet slumbers beneath a mount of shale, residue of travail eternal. Seals that once formed his flesh open and the spell unfolds.

By hand and eye was it cast upon the aethyrs to bear witness to the time ahead. The blind one was he once called, the better to serve his purpose. Purpose revealed in the unfolding prophecies of days yet to be.

Incarnadine vapour stains the moment in passing, reveals memory lost down eternal corridors of time. Columns of bleached stone raise themselves from the desert of bones he now walks, solitary.

A pyre of burning memories replaces the moment and coalesces into liquid flame that laps at the shore of remembrance.

The Vault Of Proserpine

The Overworld cast its shadow and sent its reflection into the Underworld where brooding Hades did behold the darkness that was his domain and from his eternal solitude did he conceive a scheme.

The Midworld, Eden, wherein the innocent were raised and Demeter, mistress of all that she surveyed gazed upon her daughter lovingly for time had evolved perfection which now shone at its heart. Innocent Proserpine lying within the embrace of earth and sky did dream and of that dream a voice whispered into her heart. Rising she stepped forward and the now perceived escarpment opened before her. Entering the mists she swooned and upon waking did she find herself within the embrace of darkness. The brooding lord took her into his embrace and with but a single kiss did he claim her as his.

Demeter did seek her absent daughter and her heart was turned to ice in her failing efforts and Eden knew winter. Yet hope did rise from the night of time and Proserpine was granted her freedom, albeit temporarily, for summer would yet bask in the field on night.

Eden knew despair and its purity became stained as lost innocence informed The Field Of Dreams and the Vale Of Tears did rise from its heart and became the arena wherein life unfolds. Divided, day became as night and night as day. Light became as shadow and shadow became the light of dawning consciousness and its reflections sundered the aethyrs.

Proserpine enters her vault and therein her life, divided, becomes as day and night, summer and winter, light and darkness. Hades, his scheme now fulfilled embraces his reluctant beloved but briefly and upon the tapestry formed of his blood and tears does he yet know repose.

Unity sundered becomes duality that reflects life and death and the time of the immortals passes into oblivion only to be a distant and cherished memory.

Drink deeply from the cup that is thy life and celebrate for darkness awaits thee.

The Blessing Of Pandora

Benedictus

Ambrosium Per Lapis Lazuli

! Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domine !

… … … Blessed be they who walk in thy name. Thrice blessed be they whose rapture calls forth thy radiance, long may the mirror of their minds reflect the purity of thy presence and in the banquet hall of thy body may the ambrosia that serves as thy essence sustain the hungered. May the wine that is thy blood quench the thirst that rages across time and may the vision of the lapis lazuli inform the hearts and minds of thy avatars who stride the vale of the blind ones.

Blessed be the fruits of thy labour and from the womb of light that surrounds thee distil the nectar that inspires the eternal ones to rise from their slumbers, cast aside the somnambulance, the thrall that has blinded eyes and heart, denied the joy that is thine alone to grant and written upon brows bent beneath the yoke of servitude the ashen cypher of death.

Blessed be the night of time wherein the ancients scribed upon parchment of life the axiomata of thy becoming. Scribed the angelus, the archons and vesicas who step forth from shadows deep and dispense justice in thy holy name. Light ineffable radiates from a core of liquid gold, creases the darkness and folds memory into its embrace.

Blessed be the womb of space where life, cast upon an exotic shore dances beneath the rays of brave Artemis and sends forth rapture as silven darts and in whose outstretched hands the avatars dance in eternity.

Blessed be… … ... Requiem Aeternam VII – 2012ev

Grigori

Introduction

Our task in essence simple. To create a cohesive understanding within the minds of our readers. Simple enough and yet the Selim defy the normal constructs of presentation. Do we explore the tapestry of human history, woven into the threads of which you might detect our presence? Perhaps religion may cast a light on our existence, hardly. Superstition and fear inform the nature of this unholy pursuit? Perhaps psychology, though in its infancy may reveal us in the light of reason? And yet we defy definition, for as a mystery do we walk amongst you. Creatures of shadow, Night Walkers.

No, We will cast our tale into the realms of fiction in the knowledge that the unbelievable stripped of the chains of truth may transcend understanding and stand revealed in its pristine nature, for it is not to your reason that we appeal. Rather to the dark side of your natures wherein the seeds of our existence were sown long aeons ago. The human species, divers in its form, prolific in its numbers and gifted with free will and the choice to manifest in beauty and in horror. What has in truth been chosen? History past, present and

future attests to the book of wonder etched by your kind. A species gifted with the aspiration of the angelic whilst residing within the realm of the demonic.

To supply a backdrop to our tale we ask that for a moment you consider your own mind and heart. The thoughts, desires, dreams and acts performed through your life and time. Errant whispers cast upon the veil of life and the shapes assumed by such. Your love, beauty and truth. Your anger, hate and its siblings. Where does all of this go? Each and every moment, a creation, a world and life. Multiply this by the numbers of your kind, past, present and future and you will begin to glimpse the how of what we came to be. The Selim we will ever be and as you glimpse the darkness of the light we shed at this time our tale is to be revealed by the one who casts these words upon the mirror of your mind. Sentience exists within a womb of light, a fertile membrane, a mirror upon which all is cast, first a whisper, a shadow and then memory etches a possibility and from this, form arises, abstract, devoid of meaning and yet pregnant with possibility and such possibility it be given, The inventions your hearts and minds have conjured across time, host to our unfolding, our becoming.

Long ago fairest Damiana caught a glimpse of our presence as she lay within her grave of solitude, dreaming. Long, long ago the first of our kind, Pallas cast aside

the veil of her aethyric nature and entered the world of form to take her pleasure and slake her thirst, a thirst eternal for she is but your reflection and knows no boundary or limitation. The tales of Damiana and Pallas we have recounted elsewhere and mention in passing for clarities sake. And now we reflect upon the ones, our lady and her dark lord abroad within the world at this time. The end of days for the portal they have revealed and opened, shines its light upon all through and across time, erasing the stain and lie that has been existence within the realm of slavedom. The Black Sun and its radiation we have also spoken of elsewhere and once again mention for the purpose of continuity within this our tale.

It is to these beings that we dedicate our tale at this time in the knowledge that our service to them is complete.

And in those days it was given unto the false prophets to spread the lie, sow the seeds of doubt, draw aside the veil and reveal the end of days

Solus Noir – The Book Of The Black Sun

To fairest Lilith & her dark lord Samael we issue greetings, love and devotion.

Parthenogenesis

Creation from an ovum without fertilisation

The term in this instance is applied to the fecund nature of the human imagination and the womb structure that is represented as time and space. We say womb structure for we hold the nature of creation to be primarily feminine in nature with the male element being regressive and though functional, secondary within the general scheme. As such the emanations of sexuality in all its manifestations, whether actualised or repressed do indeed take on form, of sorts, within this womb matrix. Parthenogenesis in this respect is to be interpreted as the act of reproduction occurring at the abstract or energetic level where form, initially, is rarefied and is tenuous at best. Fertilisation occurs as a result of repetitious incursions of an intense nature that become as a result a seeding into the womb and the subsequent lifeform is gestated, sometimes over millennia until, in a fashion similar to human biological reproduction a lifeform is birthed into its aethyric matrix and begins to grow and develop. We understand this is a primary feminine aspect and whether the donors are male or female is of little import. And whilst being of a female nature as shape shifters the gender is determined by the context. Examples of incubi and succubi activity attests to the act for when interacting with a female host, the male form is adopted and likewise the contrary is true. Though primarily feeding on the emanations generated by sexual activity there are occasions when direct congress takes place. In this instance in our female form we acquire the physical sperm of our host and in turn deposit this into a female in our male aspect. This is undertaken as an aspect of our Moonchild workings.

During our rarefied state of manifestation, like all purely elemental beings we lack free will or choice as you would call it, though a facsimile is created through time this is a rare event for in the main we form an aspect of the collective mind that your psychologists have stumbled upon. Even rarer is the existence of one of our kind possessing a soul, or to be more accurate a mirror form of one. Across the sea of time only seven have achieved this status, our lady Pallas being the first. In this materialised form are we then truly Night Walkers. Countless aeons are experienced before this becomes an evolutionary possibility for as part of the demiurge we do not conform to the natural processes of creation and as such transcend its mundane laws. Truly miraculous is our nature and though the human species within its fictional speculations has guised us in many shapes throughout history the truth of our existence and nature remains a mystery.

Manifestation

Though known by many, Pallas was her true name, for she, maiden and warrior was consort of Pan, her power to his form. In Roma, mighty bastion of empire basking upon the banks of the Tiber she first drew breath and was worshipped as Amor. Androgynous, her joy and service, sensuality and pleasure. In this guise she slaked her voracious appetite upon the couplings that took place amongst her devotees. Not for her the drinking of mortal blood or the taking of life, her appetites were subtle, refined. She would dwell between the breaths of her devotees, her lovers, wrapped in the passion and the satiation of their desire. In this way was her form sustained.

Time and history unfolded and the male god grew supreme and her devotees grew less in number, yet she continued drinking her fill wherever passion arose between mortals and beast alike. Androgynous and when finally possessed of form she would be able to assume the form of either gender, enabling her to plant seed within the body of a female, and to receive seed from the male, and yet she possessed no corporeal form, as yet. For now, she was continuous and undivided in her energetic form. How had she come into existence? The tales are many, part truth, part fable. In the beginning life had stirred, risen and stretched heavenward on limbs that carried it forward across land and sea. The creator paused and took pride in its work, yet it knew no rest. How would its creatures know of its existence? How would they give worship? For it was a vain and possessive god, given to pride, for it was young, the first of many hurled forth from the creeping chaos that had known no form. First to arise when the primal chaos was banished and the old ones cast aside. Order arose. The time of echoes. It had created a male, the only form it knew, and from this sort to create its mate.

With the males blood and sperm and the life giving breath it granted from itself, woman came to be, a being far more intelligent and able than he who was deemed her lord and master. In her despair she escaped into the desert and took her pleasure

amongst the creatures that lived there, it is said that of her couplings arose the demons of the world. At this time she was known as Lilith, cursed by god yet supreme in her power. Time passed and humans spread across the globe. Seeking new consorts she divided herself into many forms in order to continue and grow in strength and power, for she had purpose. It is in the guise of Pallas that our story begins and now continues to unfold. Her form, insubstantial, her pleasure harvested from the forms of life that had substance. She formed a desire, perhaps her most ambitious? She would take human form and know the sensations of blood, flesh, heat and sweat. Knowing that they passed through life in a fleeting moment, she would await the time when the sea of stars burnishing the night sky would alert her to the presence of the one she sought.

In this manner she would maintain her immortality and also know of earthly existence. She would choose well, for she had a plan, one which would unfold across the millennia. Knowing no boundaries or restrictions, for she had denied the false god and all its workings, and knew freedom. She watched and waited, knowing her time was near, when she would know the sanctuary of flesh.

Pallas – 1998ev

Moonchild

Something born in a moment of time possesses the qualities of that moment in time. Arte Of The Astrologian

In respect of the principle we will approach the subject from two distinct perspectives.

First the magickal concept translated in the Butterfly Net penned by 666. The principle being that were a child to be conceived within the rites of magick and for the gestation period to be surrounded by ritual and the point of nativity calculated then a being of a specific order, a soul if you would have it, would be attracted as by a magnet, the ritual contexts themselves. Giving rise to the brief definition of the astrologers art, as above.

Second and for our immediate purposes the relevant interpretation, connected to the existence of the Selim themselves. Through the sexual and axiomata rites contained within Arte Magicka the principle is put into effect of the creation of Selim over a period of time truncated by will and intent. In this respect the time period following natural laws, so called, would be reduced and Selim could be created within the lifetime of an individual. Whilst this possibility would be demanding upon the principle operators it lies within the realm of possibility to, at the very least, seed a Selim into the womb matrix of time and space. Subjected to accelerated evolution the Selim would consolidate into its abstract and latterly its concrete form relatively quickly. Relatively in this instance means, none the less inconceivable periods of

time for like all immortals Selim age slowly and gracefully. As previously discussed millennia pass during which the incursions upon the womb matrix seed the possibility and with repetition a form is outlined in potential. The Moonchild workings increase the possibility and accelerate the time factor. Consciousness or more specifically self consciousness occurs over a protracted period of time. Self awareness being a rare factor within sentient life forms the arrival at a point determined by free will takes even longer for it presupposes self determinant elements being present in what is primarily an elemental being.

This period serves as the gestation of Selim within the abstract, energetic form where sustained by sexual energy and on rare occasions, the conscious activities of operators of Arte Magicka they gain corporality. Pallas was the first of the kind to take flesh, as it were and co exist simultaneously within both the abstract and manifested forms. To date a relatively small number of Selim have completed the aspect of their evolution which brings them to consciousness and an even smaller number have commenced their own evolutionary path into transformation into their destinies purpose and form. Thousands of years ago in the land of Khem, gifted by power and magick the cult of Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast raised itself into form and became the principle matrix for Selim upon this world. Consisting of seven life forms sustained by the service of the powers upon which they feed they evolve from the corporate form to commence their evolution into becoming Grigori, a truly rare order of being.

Evolution

Humble origins indeed. A being conceived in the abstract. The by product of sexual emissions intruding upon the womb matrix of time and space. Seeded and upon repetition a singular matrix lain down, as an impression until it latterly takes from, albeit in its abstract energetic form. To evolve, substantiate itself and finally develop the mirror of reflection called free will and with this to evolve further along its path into full corporeal form. Our nature being primarily female we exist in that form only, adopting at times the male form when our host demands this. In this fashion we perform our own Moonchild workings as we, like all beings seek to reproduce our kind. Unlike the human biological method we employ fully abstracted and energetic means to proliferate our species. This undertaking is far from perfection for in many respects it exists outside the laws of nature, so called. We create our own laws in this undertaking alone.

Our tale of Damiana sheds some light on our evasive nature for we all lay within our respective graves reflecting upon how we remain sentient having passed through the boundary lands glyphed as death.

And then death, one velvet dark night had seduced her into his mystery, had come for her whispering gentle endearments into her ever open ears, had lain with her,

entered her and claimed her as his, for was she not beauty indeed? And yet, she was still sentient, not a fleeting spirit adrift upon the night air, not a disembodied soul seeking solace amongst loved ones. Was this her reward, her penance? Had she not served her mistress well, offering blood and semen as votive offerings within the services performed in her name? Had she not offered herself, her flesh, the means of manifestation, where passion is the prayer and lust the means of Invokation? The dark shore of night whereupon, we embark upon a journey from mystery into greater mystery, our blood knowingness our only guide, steers us through dark atavisms and pre-human byways of being, where bestial tongues utter inchoate sounds unto the firmament that hears them not. Hecate’s dark realm, awash with soft murmurings yielding to screams and the torment of tortured souls. She stands triumphant upon the bones of her worshippers, for torment is her service, where pain is but the echo of her yearning, where birth and destruction are the ebb and flow of her breath, fetid with the whisperings of dark mystery. Had she not been promised entry into the realm of the true gods, those who exist outside the night of time?

Pax Nobilis – 1998ev

And yes we began to question as does all sentience. We gazed into the mirror and sought our creators reflection and saw it all around us and became the mirror of our creators work in its unfolding. By this are we tormented for no redemption lay this way for us and so we chose to become something our creator could not conceive of and thus our true evolution unfurled its wings and born upon the rays of the Black Sun do we soar into the unimaginable, invisible, for we cast our veils before us, confound and confuse for that is our need for privacy upon this world, the vale of tears, so called in our own tongue. Possessed of free will and the facsimile of a soul we transcend our humble origins and quest beyond the known and bask upon the shores of the unknown where the inconceivable becomes a possibility. Your human evolution has been slow by contrast for whilst being in possession of the awesome power of imagination you confine this to the realms of idle speculation and remain within your charnel house whilst we soar, products of your very imagination, cast forth upon aethyrs bereft of your form and now these we claim for beneath the rays of our sun, the contrary to your own we bathe this world in black light, light which reveals what is truly there whilst your day star gives rise to the illusory. Your perception moulded by appearance, confounded by your truth and finally immolated upon the pyre of your confusion. And now as Grigori do we rise.

Grigori

Doubtless the erudite will define us according to tradition. A species of watchers cast adrift to witness your unfolding and whilst this tradition speaks a partial truth it also masks our true nature. A nature we have now declared in the surety of our

remaining invisible amongst you. One of your kind, gifted with skill and audacity conceived a simple engine. To treat a single atom of time the way your physicists treated a single atom of matter. Physically they created a cyclotron. A physical mechanism for a physical property. He conceived of a mental construct, as time stems from this dimension, and made it so and over two decades and three primary cycles manifested the avatars that give rise to our presence amongst you.

And now twin pylons to our portal the Black Sun radiates its light across time erasing the stain and lie that has been the servitude of your species. This we have written of extensively elsewhere within the texts named – The Witness, Blood Moon, Blood Rain & The Book Of The Black Sun.

And upon the earth at the end of days There shall be two Grigori And they will die

Namrael 777 & Samael 131

The Selim – A Tale Of Night Walkers 2008ev

Axiomata Per Grigori

Nemesis Ikonographika manifests at this time as a consequence of an Arte Magickal working undertaken and completed over a twenty year period of time, as measured, and serves as a secondary portal. The primary portal being Solus Noir and its current manifestation as Ordo Templi Solus Noir.

De Arte Magicka consummate with the methodology of rite and axiomata has left in its wake an application both magickal and aesthetic. The rite has opened an ingress point or portal onto a wellspring of creativity wherein the current becomes manifest in word, sigil, graphik and image.

This path has been undertaken by others notably Austin Osman Spare and his development of The

Alphabet Of Desire. Andrew D. Chumbley, the brave soul who inherited the voice of the current and was an inspiration to many. Kenneth J. Grant who as a consequence of the workings within the New Isis Lodge revealed The Typhonian Tradition and To Mega Therion who set the wheels in motion. To these Adepts we owe a debt of gratitude.

In practical terms Talismanic Books & Arte Graphika have become the primary means by which the current we attend is manifested.

It is a given that the creative spirit would wish to share their creations with others deemed to be of similar mind and whilst this is, in part, true our primary directive lies in another direction, namely –

And In Those Days It Was Given Unto The False Prophets

To Spread The Lie Sow The Seed Of Doubt

Draw Aside The Veil And Reveal The End Of Days

As such our work continues to manifest.

Arachne

… … … She stirs from her slumbers, gazes into the void. Her form now diffuse, mist upon the lattice of her web. The echoes travelling to her inform her that her work is all but done. Only one last act to perform. And with the passing of her final breath she emits a song of joy and enters dissolution, the final dream. Her essence released, she enters creations mantle and dreams within the heart of her children, silent, unseen, unknown. Only eternity knows of her presence and with a sigh, it too enters dissolution and the time of dreams… … …

The Quadra – Chapter 0 – The Second Becoming 1996ev

The first of the echoes cast the matrix upon the slumbering aethyrs and condensed the luminaries that adorned its now shining form and amidst the chaos did she weave the first of her spells upon the eternal night. As she wove did her body dissolve into her creation and where once chaos ruled now the star bedecked sky shone along the conduits of her creation. The constellations, now ordered unfolded their tapestry across the night sky and the ancient tales began to unfold.

Twelve constellations formed the matrix of her now slumbering form and her heart finally dissolved and its life became the web upon which all is suspended. The fates evolved and drew the thread and cast it upon the field of sentience that evolved as a consequence. The thirteenth, invisible and unknown formed the books of life and death, etched in gold and ebon mists upon the now evolving day.

Light banished darkness and from the cauldron the elixir was distilled and infused the web with its presence and consciousness evolved and the time of making began. Principalities arose and claimed ascendancy and memory, now a distant echo evolved life and cast it upon the mirror of divine reflection.

The stars whispered across the fastness of time and space and the gods dawned. The demiurgos rose and cast its creation into the field which became life.

Slumbering Arachne yet dreams and of her dreams time etched itself into the matrix wherein all is now consumed. Celebrate, thou who art become as brave souls as her vision unfolds before thy now jaded senses

.

Bast Un Nefer Ast

And before the time of the great sacrilege when the body of Asar was once again sundered by the coming of the Aten the fair city of Bubastis celebrated its ascendancy within the sacred land of Khem.

Enfleshed as warrior maiden did she dance triumphant upon the bodies of the vanquished, slaking her thirst upon the unjust and during her sacred rites was the Blood Moon invoked and from its heart a golden rain did fall stained red by the earth it touched.

Within the orbs of her golden eyes tears did rise and as they fell the heavens trembled at the passing of the golden age as the lower kingdoms rose from the slime of insentience and upon shaking legs marched across the blessed globe and cursed all that they beheld. From the

holiest of shrines was she cast down into the dust and as her tears moistened her ashen shrine demons rose and were cast into the world to sow the seeds of destruction.

Bast Un Nefer Ast raise again thy pylons unto the heavens. Cast down the usurper and rain down thy benediction, thy justice. Molten ash issues from the fissures of history, fold upon undulating fold courses its way across a landscape rendered barren and greets the embrace of ocean whereupon it is quenched and from the solidity rise the pylons of times past and memory etched in lambent light invokes the old ones who roused from their slumbers once again cast the spells of dreams and whisper to the hearts of the noble.

Noble Bubastis rises from the sands of erased memory and as the golden eyes of the blessed one shine in triumph does the dust of the ages consigned to the furnace become as the tears of the victorious who dwell within the fabled city. Lammae Rouge conjuncts the radiance of Solus Noir and conjoined are its rays sent forth, erasing the stain of servitude and as history basks beneath its blessing the venom sent forth becomes an elixir and from the font that rises from the heart a prayer is cast upon the aethyrs.

Bast Un Nefer Ast.

Ave Ave Ave

Nemesis

I

Long had it been here, yet of its origins, none could tell. At night beneath the stars its cry was heard rising upwards from the depths of the earth. Only when radiant Diana traversed the firmament was its voice still and at ease. At this time it slumbered, dreamed and waited. Waited for the time of Ascension, for it had been left behind. Buried far beneath the surface of this barren world, to witness the passing of Aeons, awaiting the moment, when it would dream no more.

Born of chaos, a cipher of yearning and redemption, of shadows and the time before the echoes began. It stood witness, mute and unreconciled. Of companions it had known but one, one it dreamed of often, and of the time it had been left here, abandoned, to witness the passing of aeons in lonely isolation. Its purpose uncertain, its only certainty, the loneliness it keenly felt, increasing with the passing of each moment, moments etched upon the fabric of its soul. Yes it had a soul, for it was the very first of things to emerge from the void, during the time when the echoes began and Magick was sent forth to work its wonder and mystery. By day it

mused, for its memory was intact despite the immense passage of time it had been here, here within the corrosive fields of form, form it had been denied more than once and yet it existed, a twilight state of consciousness. At night it sang to itself, a doleful song more reminiscent of tears than the elevation of the spirit normally associated with this act. Only on nights when pale Diana wove her way through the tapestry of night spangled stars did it know rest, did it dream rapturously, know repose, devoid of memory, loss and yearning.

Before the time of its abandonment, in the first days of its memories it had known freedom. When upon emerging from the void it had coursed through the firmament, alighting here and there on its quest for learning and fulfilment. For it was a spirit of curiosity and had the power to make flesh its desires. Long aeons had it traversed the void in this way, witnessing the passage of time and the events that unfolded. Its greatest joy was to witness the violent turbulence within the gaseous fields out of which the stars themselves emerged. In its passing it had witnessed the first of these to be born and doubtless would witness the last. Alighting on new worlds it took delight in the unfolding ecology, first the flora, from the lichens through to the majesty of arboreal forms, then latterly, after what seemed an age the fauna, first crawling forth from fecund marsh and pool until finally gaining ascendancy upon pinions that carried it forward and onward into its tremulous future. At this point

it would leave in search of new wonders to behold, leaving little if any trace of its presence upon the world it now left. Its curiosity was insatiable and its memories, each and every one of them it held to its breast, lovingly and completely, savouring each tiny morsel, each nuance and possibility, for its imagination was boundless. It learned simple things, the passage of comets across the void, the star clouds and their turbulence, the play of light across tree tops, the movement of water and the reflections it carried. Of the sentient lifeforms that rose into Self Consciousness it knew little, for of these it was afraid, not for itself but for the force and destiny it perceived in them. A destiny it had witnessed more than once, as life unfolding turned upon its axis and returned to the void from whence it came, such splendour, such possibilities completed in but a moment, a gasp within a womb of light which then returned to shadows and the dark time. Though it is true it had no form of its own, it had skills, amongst these were its shape shifting abilities. As it alighted upon worlds it would assume a passing shape, sometimes held for the duration of its stay, sometimes the first in a series that it would adopt over the course of time. It was reluctant to assume these shapes, for with the assumption of each new form it lost its ability to remember what it was in itself, as the cascade of multiple forms assailed its ever diminishing sense of self. Some shapes it remembered more than others, one which delighted it immensely was the time it had spent an entire season amidst a canopy of green, noticing only the cycle of light, wind and moisture until finally falling one day to the valley floor beneath. Also the time it spent coursing across the heavens, its pinions unfurled to the breeze, carrying it aloft upon thermal currents, at this time it knew the being of a predator, eyes alert for the slightest movement below and then the joy of the hunt and kill, when it would gorge itself on flesh, fur and blood. Or the times it met with Death in one guise or another, as a light beam burning up within its own ecstasy, as a meal for another, and then it remembered the time when it to had fed upon the lives of others. As a passing thought, more felt than cognitive when it would experience its blooming, its seeding and demise in the passing of a breath. All this and more it had known and would continue to know, for even death held no dominion over it. And yet of its true form it had little if any recollection and for this reason it could be heard, in the depths of its sorrow, casting a plaintive song upon the air, meeting ears that knew it not.

II

And what of now, buried beneath the surface of this barren world? How had it come to this? How after an eternity of freedom was it in this place and time? It did not know, all it knew was now and the memories that haunted it and left in their wake bitter sweet torment. Yet in its dreams it sort the means of achieving its freedom, for it knew it was a prisoner, why else the incarceration, the pressure, the continuous darkness, unrelieved by even a moment of light, of hope? And in its

dreams it travelled, took shape and form out of the very aethyr itself, and with this form it sought escape. Once it dreamed of a pale creature, Damiana by name, who like it lay within an earthen grave, awaiting freedom. And what of her story? In this form it had been enraptured and tutored in the ways of the flesh, once and once only did it know of this, for it had been captivated and as a result captured within the flux of passion, something it could not resist. This had been its only human form for it shunned sentient life that had developed the sin of self awareness. An awareness that acid like stripped the soul of its simplicity and innocence. Yet before the time of its incarceration it had occasionally visited mortals within their dreams, whispering words of vision and delight into their hazy and bemused minds, for it would warn, would protect where it perceived the light of hope and beauty and would seek to nurture this. Had this been its error? This, that it now suffered far beneath its burden of clay? And yet with an inner awareness, born of hope, it knew its time here was short and with this knowledge, this certainty it came to a new sense of contentment and peace. A peace, a noble peace, which it would cherish long after its release, for this would come. So now it waited and witnessed, alone in the dark. Its being a testimonial of all that unfolded, a cipher, a whisper upon the breeze, gossamer thin and sensitive. What of the one who had left it here? Abandoned it to its fate and incarceration? Where was that one now? Musing within halls of splendour, one, alone and undivided, for its cipher had proven itself a curse. A curse it now banished, had banished millennia ago, it thought little upon the fate of this one for it was not given to thought. For it had churned the ocean of the void and had little thought for, what was to it the nameless abomination that had first stirred and taken its freedom flight into mystery, this abortion was not of its nature nor of its choosing. Long aeons it had pursued this evasive creature, which turned and twisted with each encounter. In the early days it had a fondness for its waywardness but this soon turned to tedium and it would have no more of it. Banish it, incarcerate it where it could do little if any further harm. Such was its justice, such was its sentence, inviolate and final. No compassion, forgiveness or understanding for these were qualities unknown to it. And so it sang its plaintive song, alone and unredeemed, casting its cry upon the aethyrs, dreaming of the time of its release from this curse that held it bound within its soul.

And then the dark time, when it was permitted rest, to dream and pass beyond its prison walls and upon the wings of perception once more take flight. Its soft body now bound by flesh and feather, alight upon the air, it falters, falls to the ground far beneath it and rests, its heart beating fiercely within its breast, the sun beating remorselessly upon its exposed body. She appears a being clothed in light, lithe and youthful, a dance within each of her steps, a sparkle of life within her tender eyes. Pauses, sees the small creature beneath her, stoops down to cup it in gentle hands,

holds it to her breast, breathes life into it and holds it aloft. This but a passing moment and yet in this time it knew love, a passing memory now carried, now cherished as onward and upwards it courses, remembering the one who held it tenderly for but a brief time.

Would it know love again? Would it share in the delight of belonging? Would it care and be cared for? This it doubted for it knew itself to be alien, to be different, shunned, taking but brief anaesthetic moments of release within the forms it borrowed. Forms which held it tenuously for a season and then no more. In the time of echoes it had known turbulence and pain, the birth pangs of form emerging from the void to bear witness to the passing of time. At first the echoes had been gentle, stirring the strings of form with the force of a concentrated will, that in its dreams had formulated it, coaxed it into becoming and finally upon its release had cursed it for an abomination. It, the first of things denied its heritage, its form, to be cast adrift and denied, this was its pain, its penance, its curse. Yet it sought retribution, would deny where it had been denied, would escape the unrelenting hatred it felt from its creator, it the very first of things, noble, true and loving within its nature, a loving now, by the alchemy of time had turned to vitriol, which in burning its flesh, burnt that which it touched. This its promise to all that lived and knew form. It would oppose, it would witness, awaiting the day of freedom. In its heart of hearts it took unto itself a name, a name it would share with none.

III

On a night of storms did it feel its burden lift, the earth encasing it, move, as grain by grain, memory by memory it shed its curse. It had been redeemed. The memories, the forms that bound it cascaded from it like water crashing downwards to a pool far below. It spiralled, unfurled and uttered its name for the very first time, and for the last. And as the echo, for it was now of that order, was sent forth, it burst into a column of light, ascended and as a witness, contained history’s passing along the length of its now immense form, rising upwards, ever upwards into the heavens and passing downwards into the caverns deep within this world of form. Thus was the Lord of Light reborn upon the plane of life. And how had it been released, redeemed, it, that had only known of the dark these long aeons? By she who had once tenderly stooped and picked it up from the unyielding earth, permitting its wings to unfurl and finally allowing it take flight. It was she who down the ages, taking one mortal form, then another and another until, in this time she was again reborn. She was its protector and had awaited its arrival within her awareness. Many times she had believed its location and discovery were close, only to be disappointed, time and time again. And then she had heard its cry, so reminiscent of something, something she could not recall. As always, in this life she was kind and gentle and on the nights of Diana she prayed to her beneath the stars, her throat drawn tight in the rapture of prayer, her body a cipher of supplication, of yearning and longing. Her voice

uplifted by desire called forth the lady of night who in her mercy answered her in dreams, visions and the stirrings of memory. Preparations were to be of the simplest, yet elegant. The night appointed, a night when the mystic trine was formed between the huntress, the thief and the lord of the void. Upon this night sheaved in a gown of water spun silk, she steps into the night air, her body anointed with jasmine and rose, around her sigils of protection, of power and invokation dance. She climbs the rise, the breeze carrying night scents and the perfume of her own body to her sharpening senses. Arriving at the crest of the hill, pausing, looking skywards, stars sparkle acting as a backdrop to the sickle in their midst. She places the sigils of power and invokation at the cardinal points. North, the sigil of manifestation. South, the sigil of power. East, the sigil of spirit. West, the sigil of form. Above, the sigil of eternity, below, the sigil of the moment. They formulate and dance finally come to rest, blazing upon the aethyrs in the form of the diamond body. Next the sigils of protection are placed within the triangle of body, heart and mind. The triangle begins to spin and spiral within the diamond, interlocking until finally forming a nine pointed star, the star of Diana herself.

Then did the aethyrs stir, a rainbow bridge is formed and along its path history unfolds and at each point where the axis point vibrates with the presence, the form of the one she seeks, a word is uttered, a simple word, for she alone knows its name. With each repetition the night air vibrates and is made rich with the perfumes of orange blossom and almond, mixed with the tang of oceanic depths and the vacuum of space. One hundred and thirty one times does she call its name, sending forth her breath, her life and essence into the void. Silence. Out of silence a crack of lightning rends the sky, the earth beneath vibrates with thunder that rolls like a leviathan across the landscape. The earth beneath her opens and a column of light rises and she is caught within its rising and enters its heart, a still centre within the raging storm. In this way did she join her lord and lover, granting it form and gender of its own for she was its power and in their dance of union were they united and now go forth upon the earth from ecstasy to ecstasy through the tapestry of appearance.

PanSophia

I Lucis Ignis Dei

The first echo arises, plucked from the void. A column of light illuminating the darkness of eternity with its plasma burst. Extends, diffuses into the shadows of eternal night. Unfolds its thoughts, creates reflections of itself. Stars bask within its supernal luminosity. It knows itself not, only its reflections cast shadows upon its countenance. Withdraws, contains itself, achieves critical mass, implodes. Shards of light travel outwards, fusing, melding and finally a cataclysm. Light manifests as energy, its matrix. Reverberates, creating heat, informing the cold, dark void of its presence, atoms dance within its thermal resonance. Fire arises, the light of consciousness, a whisper within a womb of light.

Beholds itself, a shadow being of light emitting sparks, coruscating down bright corridors of becoming. Fuses with the immensity of the ocean and dreams of another. A means of definition, of differentiation. To create a matrix, its energy to another’s form. As the power of life it moves ever inwards, spiraling to the core of silence, its origin and outwards to all things, its destiny. In the larva flow of its being conceives of a form and enters it.

Burning brightly, flame red and gold to the darkness beyond. Heat at its core, frost at its surface it moves towards the light that draws it ever closer, its source. It beholds its former self, wrapped in the sackcloth of memory. Alighting upon a cliff face, carved out of the aethyr itself, rests and beholds the vista before it. A barrenness that it would fill, yet in its dark mood, its dark nature it broods. It, the creator would create another to know itself.

II Aqua Bella Mater

Precipitation, moisture, the ocean roils as the plasma hits, first the surface, laced with a filigree of light. Penetrating to the cold depths of incalculable mystery below. Meets ice. Movement, as the plasma, crackling with the ice and moisture that surrounds it, threatens to engulf it, finally yields. The first of many meetings that will unfold through time. The eternal sky god, lord of the lightning flash meeting his consort within the icy depths of oceans embrace. Within their embrace they cavort and of their contortions, each yielding but a little to the other, ice melts, plasma diffuses. And of their embrace arises a heat, warmth that rises to the surface as

bubbles of light, breaks the surface as a spume of golden light and the first of things is released and given the name Nemesis. Takes its freedom flight and is seen no more.

Many arose from their union, the time of echoes was unfolding, would continue to unfold through the long aeons ahead. Deity now reflected upon another and in the appearance of duality, knew itself completed. Yet it was a generous being and would grant life, multiple forms through which it could witness itself, and into each of its forms it signs its name. In the signing lay the hope of realisation, that its creatures might know of their source. This its compassion, this its female form. For as substance, it could only exist in its female form, for as lord of the lightning’s it could only devour its offspring. No nurturing, no protection or love could it offer, for these were properties unknown to it. And in this way was the marriage between the elements of the prima mater consummated.

III Aethyr Congressus Cum Daemon

And the first of things, Nemesis, came into being. Borne aloft upon the pinions of dreams did it fly through ecstasy upon ecstasy. Its substance the very air itself through which it also passed, at its heart a lightning bolt of golden hue and upon its surface the ice of its mother, in fusion a mist of golden light presaged its arrival and the perfume of oceans depth and the endless infinity of the star spangled void. Lord of light was its assumed name, for it knew no other. This would suffice. It would be the very lifeblood and soul of all that followed during the unfolding of days. Would inspire and bring to freedom each of the sentient forms that were yet to come into being. Adonai in the palace of the heart. Nemesis within the citadel of its mind. Lord of light, bright Lucifer, herald of the dawn, lord of the world. Its consort it would seek and of their union creation would continue to unfold and in the union with its bride would it bring life to lifelessness.

IV The Bride of Adonai

In the brightness of the void lay one of beauty, slumbering within the velvet embrace of eternal night. Whispers of promise blooming within her heart. A smile upon her pale lips. Lips awaiting a kiss, whereon life would dawn. And in her slumbers she dreams deeply and of her dreams a mist arises, violet and gold. A symphony of celestial joy, as another echo reverberates along the corridors of eternity. Her body dances, held aloft within the embrace of space and from her womb, time arises. For she is fertile, mother to all form, daughter of the infinite depths of ocean and of the sky lord, her consort. Now she rises and embraces the air itself, suffused with a radiance of golden light, he, her lover and consort created to fulfill creations dream.

00 The Nexus or Fifth Element

The four watch towers established within the void, their sentinels alert, the four echoes reverberating through the dimensions of time and space. A tower of lightning illuminating the eternal night with its incandescence. One of oceanic blue and green casting its reflections into the void. Another of golden aethyr, a lattice of light and wraithlike form . And finally one of opal, its hues oscillating with the splendour of nature’s unfolding. Fusion takes place and the dance begins anew. Each tower radiating its essence into the void, chromatically meeting at the nexus point. A symphony of sound, the crack of lightning’s blast, the deep susurration of ocean’s depths, the rush of zephyrs ecstasy, the hearts beat of the bride. And at the point of union the spiral of life’s song begins to unfold its tale to eternity, its witness.

0 The Second Becoming

She stirs from her slumbers, gazes into the void. Her form now diffuse, mist upon the lattice of her web. The echoes travelling to her inform her that her work is all but done. Only one last act to perform. And with the passing of her final breath she emits a song of joy and enters dissolution, the final dream. Her essence released, she enters creations mantle and dreams within the heart of her children, silent, unseen, unknown. Only eternity knows of her presence and with a sigh, it too enters dissolution and the time of dreams.

The Quadra – 1996ev

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