The Canticles Of Damiana Evohe

Volume VI

Vesica Ordo Templi Solus Noir

Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast

Sic Transit Gloria Rosa Mundi

Seven are the seals upon creations countenance

Seven the trumpets that announce the day of redemption

Seven are the visions of the dragon and its kingdoms

Seven the visions that accompany the lamb

Seven are the bowls of gods wrath

Seven the veils upon the lady babalon

And seven are the visions of the end of days

Invokation Of The Muse Alone he sits, his heart calls forth in cyphers of blood and bone, calls forth between the folds of his breath, between the beats of his heart and between the passing of each thought until finally he comes to rest in silence. It is then that he sees another. She rises as if from the oceans depth itself and walks in his direction. The sun burns its way through the leaden clouds and forms a nimbus around her casting rainbow light before her, each step she takes towards him etches memory into his awakening senses and were we to look closer, the dawn of a smile embraces his lips and eyes. Her form elven, tall and slender, wrapped in a cloak of velvet, deep as night. Sewn into her long golden hair the tokens of earth and sea. Like his her eyes, when he finally glimpses them, golden stained violet at their heart. Her features though sharpened into high relief possess a quality of mutability, as if she transformed before his eyes into all those he had known.

She sits beside him, gracefully and honours the silence that unfolds between them. A silence rich with feeling and meaning as if they communed and spoke in cyphers of understanding.

Finally she asks the question, and what are your thoughts my dearest 0ne? And we return to our moment of beginning, our tale, a tale now fleshed in some detail of character, time and place. And upon hearing this question his eyes are raised and sweeping the golden veil from her eyes, he gazes into the liquid orbs before him. I but dream, my love, dream upon the currents of the sea, dream upon the cascade of stars falling into the eternal night, dream of hope, of redemption within this the vale of tears.

Yes dearest, she replies, dream my beloved for in such ways are we united. I rise from the oceans depth this day to share a moment, stolen from the fabric of space, of time, to embrace you, as ever in this unfolding moment. She offers him her hand and he feels the softness of this fleeting embrace and clutches it in his memory, for as ever it too will pass and he will return to his slumbers within amniotic oceans embrace. My thoughts, my love, as ever dwell with you, in the steps you take within the unfolding of your days. Will greet each new morn with you in the rapture of mystery unfolding. Will catch you as you fall, embrace you beneath the mantle of the moon. Share the joy that informs your heart and the sorrow which bleaches your eyes. Will walk beside you upon clifftops and golden valley until the day death claims and unites us in eternity. She sighs and places a kiss upon his lips, a kiss that burns away the separation, yet burns away the hope and leaves the emptiness that is but his to claim and embrace. And as ever she departs, rising and entering the ocean, into the embrace of its arms she steps and upon the air a diminishing echo, remember and be at peace my April Fool.

Amor Per Cupid Sans Psyche Dreams unfold their gossamer wings Hung upon the breeze to form and permit flight Gentle breeze warm sunshine and love permit this to unfold Eternity unfolds itself before the eye of dreaming Such splendour such beauty She sings her birth song radiant in her glory Casts her gaze upon another and claims him as hers The tableaux unfolds each delicious moment Their minds caress as do their hearts and in the sanctuary of their flesh They connect and dream a dream of splendour She binds them with love and a violet cord and in the whispered breath That passes between them are they made one United in heart mind and body the spirit soars Upon the breeze of its nuptial flight She would know this one complete him in his glory that they might bask In the glory of their Becoming Storms cast their shadows and yet like the spring melt water they pass And reveal the golden son of morning the daystar Twilight their time amidst the beauty of glorious Artemis She who has blessed these ones holds them within her embrace Raises them unto the heavens where they are blessed and protected By Starbeams cascading through velvet night. Artemis her silven arrows pierce flesh Make whole the rends of times before Casts a new veil of flesh upon the aethyrs of being And rejoices epiphany She my angel guides and protects Loves and nurtures her erratic lover Heals the bruising of his eyes Eyes stained by sorrows fulfillment With spells of love and perfumes intoxicating in their beauty Does she redeem his life his heart his very life And upon the plains of loves unfolding Does he claim her His love his beloved Brightest of stars most beautiful of angels Let us walk into beauty with Power with Grace And let us sing a song of Rapture And in the unfolding of our time may we rejoice At the rich bounty the Goddess in her glory grants us The Rapture

Rachel Morrison

Interlude I If it be your will that I speak no more And my voice be still as it was before I will speak no more I shall abide until I am spoken for If it be your will

If it be your will that a voice be true From this broken hill I will sing to you From this broken hill all your praises they shall ring

If it be your will to let me sing From this broken hill all your praises they shall ring If it be your will to let me sing

If it be your will If there is a choice let the rivers fill Let the hills rejoice Let your mercy spill on all these burning hearts in hell If it be your will to make us well

And draw us near and bind us tight All your children here in their rags of light In our rags of light all dressed to kill And end this night If it be your will

If it be your will.

Leonard Cohen

Morgan Le Fay Ely sits attentive at his mothers feet, stills his mind, as taught and listens in rapt expectation. Sitting upon one of the coaches Morgan begins her tale, a tale of exploration, wonder and beauty. Long ago my dearest Ely our kind left our home in ships of light woven by the very fabric of our hearts and minds and travelled the realms between the diamond orbs of the stars. In this way our knowledge and power developed and we left the world of form. Thirteen embarked upon this journey through time and space and over the millennia our numbers diminished as our brothers and sisters sought repose in eternity and shed their form. Only two now remain, Ybrim, your loving father and I, Morgan, lady of the night sky. Now it is our time and we prepare to depart this veil of tears for history has revealed our destiny to us and our final act, an act of love is to bring into this life our cherished Ely. We will remain until the day your manhood is confirmed upon attaining your eighteenth summer. But mother, pleads Ely, hush sweetheart for my tale is yet only begun. Ely again stills his mind and Morgan speaks further. Our forms are maintained by the cyphers we bare upon our flesh. Images and spells woven into the fabric of our souls by the Elven, creatures of light and shadow who dwell between the thoughts and moments that pass between sentient beings. I will call them this night and you will enter our covenant.

Standing Morgan lets slip her robe and stands in the beauty of her nakedness, the body of a maiden and yet she carries the centuries within her flesh. She sings, tones that again cause the air to vibrate and as her song unfolds the walls of the chamber all but dissolve until finally with the utterance of a piercing scream she stands before Ely sheaved in the glyphs and images that the vulgar call tattoos. These sigils my dearest one I received upon my seventh summer and now it is your fate to join us. The air stills and Morgan opens a singularity, a portal formed of her own flesh and upon the air dancing in rapture seven Elven crease the night with their presence.

Be at ease my Ely for the ones you see before you are our kin, given form by the love in our hearts and with that love they will prepare you for their bodies are the instruments that will script your flesh and their essence the ink that will carve into your soul the alphabet of our kind. Ely feels a gentle breeze ruffle his hair as one by one the Elven pass through his flesh, travel to the very core of his being and evaporate into his form. A warmth pervades Ely as one by one the Elven begin the dance that unfolds the making and they begin to sing and join the chorus that is now the voice of Morgan.

Trinity Ascension Slumbering within her grave, pale Damiana sighs. Above, the soft pressure of leafmould, like a blanket, wraps itself around her in tenderness, a tenderness she had not known in life. Beyond that a gentle warmth sometimes makes itself known to her diminishing senses. How long she had lain here none could tell, for in truth none knew of her presence, alone within this shallow grave. How had she lived, how had her life come to end and how, within this earthy tomb could she yet continue to be? How could she still be here and not as the prophecy had foretold, released into freedom and the golden valleys beyond to join her Lord and Lover. Only in these rare moments of awareness did she wonder, for mostly she knew only the dark, the sweet embrace of oblivion. This she would have, and yet something called to her, called to her in fine sibilant whispers, seductive, enticing and beguiling.

In life she had been fine and noble of form, in stature tall, lithe, the body of a dancer, fine of feature, cheek bones a razors edge, nose aquiline above which a pair of almond eyes, stained violet at their heart, shone like bright suns. Crowned by a mane of ink black hair, dark as the night sky itself, hung in swathes across her shoulders and shrouded the nape of her neck, cascading, like a waterfall over breasts of milky opalescence crowned by aureoles of crushed peaches. Travelling downwards across muscle firm yet yielding to that secret place nestled between thighs of softness, covered in a fine down of gossamer strands of silk. Legs, long, tapering to an ankle of fine bone and sinew. Feet slim yet strong. Many had sought her through her short life, for her beauty, for her mystery, each of them now lay dreaming within her womb. Yes, she had shared her delights, only briefly and harvested the fruits of love, memories which now haunted her into the long night, unrelenting.

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

Trinity Ascension II 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? A whisper from the dark lord Lucifer, brooding within his citadel of memory, casting dreams like sprinkled stardust into the void. Dark lord of Repose. The Redeemer. The Opposer. It was for this one that she had served her dark mistress these cold, long aeons. The circumstances surrounding her death are a mystery to her as is her present condition. Of time she knows not, of reason also, little is known, only the ever dimming memories that surface to torment her within her citadel of isolation. And yet occasionally she feels, rather than hears a distant, plaintive song, a calling back to flesh and life upon the surface of the shimmering star. And how does she spend her moments of lucid waking? Remembering sweet pleasures, ones which elevated her, made her complete within her service to her dark mistress. And how had that service begun?

Alone upon a wind swept beach, hair tossed by the raging tempest, the tang of salt upon tongue, stinging her eyes. Skin, open to the elements through folds and pleats within her dress and cloak, bruised by the contact of cutting wind and occasional grains of sand, too light to retain their tenuous grip upon the surface of the beach. Walking, musing upon trifles, what was and what would be. Then turning, noticing for the first time the moon, blood red, ravaged by clouds the color of bruised flesh, waxing, not yet full. A sound, at first shrill then becoming deeper, insistent as it invades her attention. From what source, and to what purpose? Pausing to discover its point of origin, a shadow within shadows, the entrance to a cave and at its entrance a dull pulsating light, honeyed amber in color, reaches out and invades her senses, captivating, entrancing. Stepping forward, one faltering step then another and finally stretching into a run, a sense of slow motion envelops her as she moves forwards, yet moves not, a wrenching sensation in the pit of her stomach, a snap of some internal unknown and movement is granted and with lightning speed she arrives at the cave entrance. Waiting, waiting for what? She knows not.

Then the sensation of tiny fingers, touching, caressing, fingers of ice calling forth her heat and moisture as slowly she is lifted from the sand and begins to spin upon the breeze, now master of her movements. Ice enters her, touching first the surface of her skin, then penetrating inwards and meeting her fire, melts into languid and liquid delight, she glows, sweats and gentle moans rise from her throat as one by one her clothes are teased from her, opening her to the elements and the penetration of the night. Fingers slide across back, belly and breast, down thigh and leg leaving her naked, exposed within the embrace of fire and ice. She touches sand, its grains abrading soft skin, feels its coolness, its support. The sound diminishes and in its place, shadows arise, dimly seen, keenly felt and in the silence the tempest ceases

Ensemble and stillness soothes her ravaged senses. Advancing upon her, the shadows, at first fragmentary, coalesce into an aethyreal form of opalescent beauty, hues, pastel in shade undulate across and through surfaces creating a shifting plane of perspectives, “speak not” says a voice of liquid amber, “take delight and pleasure in the flesh.” Advances closer crooning a lullaby, distant memories arise, childhood, summer, a forest glade, lying at ease in the embrace of nature. Fingers touch, breath like the gentlest of breezes touches, flushing of skin, hearts blood coursing through sinew and skin causing breath to increase, as one by one each part is touched, hair stroked, teased outwards into a veil, a nimbus of dark light illuminating contours and features, eyes opened to the glories of the dark by a breath that touches lightly and then is gone. Lips brushed, the taste of almonds and orange blossom, causing the lips to part the tongue to move outward, to touch, contact lips, now gone. Breasts aflame as liquidness touches their surface, nipples harden, pulse, stretching towards this source of pleasure. Belly opens, like the womb of time itself, opens and releases moisture, demanding. Fingers touch, explore soft contours, like the petals of a rose, one by one unfolding, opening to the sensation of penetration, releasing moisture, as thighs gently bruised by a lovers kiss, back arches, stretches, the abandon of passion sweet.

Adrift upon the tide of passions velvet embrace she soars into unknown realms, realms of pure sensation, each breath etches a lambent flame upon her flesh, forming an alphabet, whose consonants and vowels are the sweet sensations of fulfillment, an orgasmic being, where only the essential, the pleasure of the moment unfolds itself to her saturated senses. Finally pausing, spent, she alights upon a barren plane and in the near distance a mountain range, a castle, brooding, casting its shadow across the terrain, staining the landscape, as if some hideous night born horror dwelt within. Rising, compelled to move towards this monstrosity. Surveying her surroundings, the barrenness reluctantly gives way to fetid swamp, her feet now awash, slime arising from the depths, ankle deep in the mire she makes her way tortuously through the rank undergrowth, the stench released by her footfalls releasing into the air the odor of decay and stagnancy, night creatures make themselves known to her sharpening senses. The slither of serpents rising along the sinews of her legs, wrap themselves around her as if they would hide her nakedness, searching, probing, exploring her contours. She advances amidst the chorus of nights purple legion.

Swamp gives way to rock and the sharpened fragments of stone now underfoot, causing her to wince, briars in profusion, unyielding meet tender flesh, barbs that enter and tear at her skin, forming fine rivulets of blood travelling along the length of arms and legs, stinging as the night breeze opens her to further sensation. She

Ensemble II gasps, her breath coming in halted gulps. Onwards and now upwards she treads, a barely discernible path, flanked by stunted trees and twisted shrubs releasing their perfumes upon the night air, finally gives way to a courtyard, an expanse of broken flagstones, limned with lichen and moss, glowing as with the presence of praeternatural light, weeds appearing in crevices formed by the passage of time. Steps rising and finally a doorway of marble embossed with plaques of metal, strange signs and images, some of nature, some of strange worlds, all carrying a sense of menace. The way is barred to her. Sentinels guard the portal, bestial forms, part human, part beast, raised upon pinions of furred talon, giving way to the torso of humanities perfection, ripe, full breasts and the softness of curves she recognizes well, crowned by a visage of bestial perfection, fangs bared as if awaiting their quarry, who even now passes between them.

A voice, hushed whispers, issues from she knows not where, “what seekest thou, fair creature, the delights of our castle, or perhaps the presence of she who dwells within?” In answer she claims her innocence of any intent, and as a simple traveler has stumbled upon this place, this castle. “Enter and know that shadows and despair await thee”. No way back, she advances to see the door dissolve before her eyes and now she is within a chamber, vaulted, supported upon pillars rising upwards into unfathomable heights, carpets scattered upon bare stone, alcoves containing statuary and images from the past of cultures divers, some human, many not. Recesses containing divans of velvet flanked by candles whose guttering flames cast an amber light upon the chamber. Pausing she takes her rest in order to better survey the immediate surroundings. Along one wall a hearth, the mantle of which is supported by angelic forms, wrapped in their pinions and gazing upwards beatifically. Within the hearth the roaring of flames fed by logs the size of small trees. She rises and advances to this place in search of warmth.

Whispered endearments meet her ears as finally she arrives and is greeted by a being who steps out of the shadows, ink black his skin, red his eyes, of form slender and sinuous, graceful, crowned by a skullcap of filigreed metal. Magnificent in his nakedness he holds within his hands a bowl of beaten brass figured in an unknown cipher. “Drink, fair one, for it will prepare the way.” Reaching out she receives the bowl, raises it to her lips and drinks deeply of its contents, again the taste of almonds and orange blossom assails her senses and carries with it a sense of well being and rapture. Emptying the contents, swooning, she falls upon a surface of furs and rich velvets and dreams.

Nike Awakes to the sound of plainsong interwoven with the susurration of flowing water and the call of night birds. Beneath her back cold stone, she is stretched, arched across a boulder, hands and feet bound by silken cords. Above her, smiling, she stands, awaiting the return to consciousness of her ward. “Fear not the bindings, for I must open your body, your flesh”, comes a whispered voice, caressing her senses with its wine rich depths.

“Long have I awaited you and now the time of waiting is past, be at ease, rest, be attentive for I have a story to tell. Like you I to, was once mortal, shared in the pleasures of the flesh, yet I knew the worm awaited me, the unrelenting passage of time would bring me into its chthonic realm, this I denied with every fibre of my being, sought long for the means of release from this curse, having searched high and low within the confused ramblings of my kind, the promise of celestial paradise, the entrance to hallowed halls of learning and becoming. I finally realized that this served to distract, assuage the inevitable which I too would come to despite my time honored and cherished illusions. Yes I learned of the sweetness that sours in the light of times passing. I knew pain, hurt as any of my kind would, for as a woman I carry the joys of the world within my womb and also its sin. In time I came to know the purity of despair and came to savor the austerity of its bitter sweet taste. I found pleasure a paltry affair, visited infrequently by moments, mere moments of anaesthetic release. No more would this be so, I withdrew and so doing ceased to be as I was, and now, would never be again. For I abandoned my kind and their ways.

And in the desert of despair left this world, leaving only a shadow self to continue the pretence. That shadow continued, retreated further then it too dissolved and joined me and became she who now stands before you. From the pit of suffering and remorse I arose triumphant and made my pact with the lord of this world, the ever present one, thinly guised as pleasure, as pain and the means of release from both. He took me into himself and shared his glory, his secrets, his yearnings, until I finally joined him and knew rapture pure, undefiled by thought and speech, the chatterings of primates scurrying from darkness to darkness complete. Long aeons have I dwelt within my fortress of night, taking my pleasure amongst the legions of the half lives. Distilling from their pleasure and their pain the vital nectar that sustains my form, form which exists within the dark cave of each of their hearts, their lives. They see only my horror and not the beauty of austerity that shines within my heart, the pulse of life that bruises my eyes, eyes that know their hearts and minds. Only suffering they know, for they have not plumbed the depths of despair and its kindred, my offspring. And now I would claim thee as mine fairest Damiana for I know your heart, your mind and now I would know your flesh.”

So saying she advances and in the silence of her passage Damiana again tastes almond and orange blossom upon her lips as a gentle breeze resolving itself into flesh touches her lips with a stroke so fine and rich. She answers the call and opens her heart to the embrace, an embrace which ignites her flesh once again into rapture, as tiny tongues of flame reach out and touch her. Breast to breast, lips to lips they meld and become one, exploring textures and shapes, tastes and odors of intoxication, lines of fire limning their every angle and contour. Caught upon a wine dark sea travelling from rapture to rapture. Gently she rises wiping the sweat from her brow, from her lips and breasts and looks upon Damiana. “Would you join me fair one and know my Art, my Knowledge?” In silence Damiana answers an assent. “I must open your flesh, let it blossom, strip the kernel that yet binds you and release you into the exaltation of the new flesh.” Advancing she utters a brief plaintive call whereupon she is transformed into the guise of the sentinel encountered in the outer hall, in shadows he advances, black within a deeper black, his eyes glowing in the darkness now all but complete and from the air he plucks a crystal which sparkles within its own light. With this he touches her forehead and she sleeps and dreams of caresses, of kisses, of passion ignited by the touching of flesh to flesh and as passion unfolds itself within the passing of their breath, one to the other he opens her fleshy veil and extracts her essence, bone, blood, organ and muscle does he excise, making of it a mannequin which dances in rapture. And of her essence he shapes a new form and inscribes upon its contours the ciphers of desire, sigils of power, of protection and eternity. Lambent light courses through this new form, sigils form and reform, dancing eternity’s dance of splendor and becoming. The sigils coalesce, writhe and finally meet at a central axis point between her breasts, then dissolve into the new tissue and flesh.

Damiana awakes from her dream to whispered words, caught upon the breeze, “in time you will know my name, for that is secret and undivided, for now go forth and take thy will and pleasure amongst the legions of the living.”

And in this way did Damiana meet her mistress and true to her did service through the flesh, opening herself to each and every delight, celebrating the new flesh. And then she met with death one ink black night and now waits for the call that will release her from her leafy grave that she might know glory and the promise of eternity in the arms of her dark lord. He who awaits her arrival on the other side of the veil called appearance.

“Go in peace and rest within the embrace of shadows tender arms”

Damiana

Grigori Invokation Γολδεν τηρεαδ αρουνδ ηεαρτ εντωινεδ ςισαγε οφ παλεστ γολδ βλεαχηεδ βψ βλοοδ Δαρκεστ βαρβ ϖενοµ σωεετ ςισιον οφ λιγητ σηαδοωεδ βψ βλοοδ µοον Στεπ βψ στεπ τηε παγεαντ υνφολδσ Εµβραχε µελτ ιντο ραπτυρε Δισσολϖε ιντο βλισσ δενιεδ Παλε γολδεν ονε α κισσ υπον τηψ βροω Α χαρεσσ υπον βρεαστ οφ σοφτεστ σιλκ Εντωινε λιµβσ σλιχκ ωιτη σωεατ Ηεατ δισσολϖεσ φλεση Βρεατη δισσολϖεσ τηουγητ Πασσιον δισσολϖεσ τηε ηεαρτ Υνιον δισσολϖεσ λιφε

Βλοοδ φλοωσ φροµ ωουνδσ δεεπ ασ τιµε Σεµεν ρισεσ χαυγητ ιν α χυπ οφ σοφτεστ ϖελϖετ βετωεεν γολδεν τηιγησ Βρεατη θυιχκενσ ανδ δισσολϖεσ ιν ραπτυρε σωεετ Βρεατη στιλλσ ιν τηε ϖελϖετ σηρουδ οφ δαρκεστ µιδνιγητ Χασχαδινγ τηουγητ τυµβλεσ ιντο οβλιϖιον, σερϖαντ οφ τιµε Να’αµαη γολδεν ονε µιστρεσσ οφ τιµε σερϖαντ οφ νονε

Σηαπεσ βορν οφ δεσιρε ρεπλαχε τηε ταπεστρψ οφ λιφε Λιφε βοωσ το δεατη ηερ µαστερ Τηρουγη σιλϖεν φορεστσ δοεσ σηε δανχε βενεατη παλε Ηεχατε Λοοσε τηψ αρροωσ δεσολατε ονε πιερχε φλεση σπεντ ιν πασσιον Γολδεν νεχταρ φλοωσ τηρουγη λιµβσ βροκεν Δαρκεστ ϖενοµ χουρσεσ τηρουγη ϖεινσ βυρνεδ υπον τηψ πψρε Ονε κισσ γραντεδ βενεδιχτιον Ονε κισσ δενιεδ ετερναλ λονγινγ

Ρεφλεχτιον δαρκ σηαδοωσ αρισε, α µιστ οφ αµβερ σταινεδ βλοοδ ρεδ Λιγητνινγ βυρνσ εψεσ λονγ ωεαρψ Τηυνδερ συβδυεσ ηεαρτ θυενχηεδ ιν φιρε Γαζε δεεπ ιντο τηε µιρρορ οφ τηψ µινδ Δραω δεεπλψ φροµ τηε ωελλ οφ τηψ ηεαρτ Βροκεν ϖεσσελ λεακινγ βλοοδ ιντο σανδ υνηεεδινγ Ονχε α γαρδεν πυρε ωηερε ιννοχενχε ωασ βορν Λεαφ ανδ στεµ εµβραχεδ ιν λοϖε Ονχε αν εαρτη µοτηερ το ηερ χηιλδρεν Χραδλεδ ιν λοϖινγ αρµσ Ονχε σταρλιγητ δισσολϖεδ τηε ϖαχυυµ οφ σπαχε Α τηουσανδ ανγελσ ϖοιχεσ αρχηεδ ιν εχστασψ Ονχε λιφε πιερχεδ τηε ϖειλ οφ τιµε Τηε ταπεστρψ ωοϖεν τηρεαδ βψ τηρεαδ

Αχροσσ τηε µουνταινσ οφ τηε µοον διδ ωε ωαλκ µψ λοϖε ανδ ι Τακινγ ουρ ρεστ ωιτηιν τηε ϖαλε οφ Απηροδιτε Ιντο τηε βουνδαρψ λανδσ διδ ωε στεπ Υπον α πλαιν οφ γολδεν σανδ τηε βονεσ οφ αλλ ωηο ωεντ βεφορε Βενεατη ουρ συν ωε ωαλκ εβον ραψσ σηινινγ φορτη Δισσολϖινγ αλλ τηατ ηασ βεεν ανδ ωιλλ βε Χρεατιον υνµαδε υπον τηε πλαιν οφ τρυτη υνφολδινγ Ναµραελ φαιρεστ µαιδεν Σαµαελ δεσολατε ονε Ηανδ ιν ηανδ εαχη στεπ α δροπ οφ βλοοδ ρελεασεδ υπον τηε αετηψρσ Ανδ ιν τηε λαστ οφ δαψσ Τωο γριγορι ωαλκ υπον τηε εαρτη Ανδ τηεψ σηαλλ διε

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

Hanna

Interlude II I've got seven ways of going, seven wheres to be, seven sweet disguises, seven ways of serving thee.

Lord, I do extol thee, for thou has lifted me. Woke me up and shook me out of mine iniquity. Oh, I was undulating in the lewd impostered night. Steeped in a dream to rend the seams to redeem the rock of right.

Swept through the seas of Galilee and the seven hills of Rome. Seven sins were wrung from the sight of me, lo I turned my neck toward home. Ah, I opened up my arms to you, and we spun from life to life, 'til you loosened me and let me go toward the everlasting light.

In this big step I am taking seven seizures for the true. I got seven ways of going, seven ways of serving you. As I move thru seven levels As I move upon the slate As I declare to you the number of my moves As I speculate the eighth

Seeking love without exception A light upon the swarm Seeking love without exception A saint in any form.

Patti Smith

Eloi Ben Grigori In the midst of his desert fastness Lucifer raised mighty Babalon, beneath a dome of rock crystal, faceted a thousand fold, so that the rays of the sun reflected upon its surface created a light, blinding in its intensity. He wove seven seals into the dome and created of them a series of portals, so that the few, the very few who knew of his presence might enter. Of these seven gateways he created seven palaces. Seven palaces of initiation, forever open, forever sealed.

The first gateway he named the kingdom of the bride and above its portal in ciphers of gold he inscribed the sigils of abundance and permanence.

Of the second gateway he created a vast ocean of amniotic fluid, wherein he placed the foundation of the world, he wove the spells of bright Diana and dark Hecate into its liquidity and above the portal inscribed in silver the ciphers of life and death.

The third portal, a double helix of time and space, wherein he wove the spells of Mercurius and radiant Aphrodite and above its portal inscribed the sigils, Solve et Coagula.

And of the fourth portal he dreamed a rainbow bridge into being, travelling into infinity unfolding its splendour in the names and spells of brave Horus and just Amoun, and above its portal inscribed the cipher, by the sword and by the sceptre, know me.

The fifth portal, a palace of force and form, a singularity containing within its heart annihilation. Into its matrix he wove the spells of Shiva and Shakti and above its portal he hung the coils of the mighty serpent, Ananta.

And the sixth portal, a vacuum, for none might enter, for it was the gateway to the overworld of heaven. Cursed as an abomination throughout eternity. No spells did he weave, no sigils, only the vacuum existed.

The seventh palace, a mighty void, the place of crossing and into its fabric he wove the spells of Uranus and the lightning bolts of his coming. And above its portal inscribed the ciphers of eternity, knowledge and mystery. And within this dome he created the majesty of the world. Great rolling plains of grassland giving rise to the majesty of mountain peaks, capped in snow and clouds. Great primordial jungles he created, steaming and abundant with life. Oceanic depths he created and raised mighty cities beneath their roiling waves. Vast plains of desert, sculpted by wind into seas of sand, burning beneath a merciless sun, he created. He sent forth the Quadra to inform the base materials of his creation with intelligence and design. And to all of this he signed his name, placed his breath within his creation and rejoiced.

Nihil Humani Est Puto I sense the deep rich loam of the Earth, steaming, releasing its heat and perfume gathered by the day and its bright star.

A soft bed of bracken, gossamer soft, amidst which grasses and flowers in profusion grow. Above, a canopy of trees, serve as a bower. The night still, expectant. The distant sounds of bats aflight, winging their way through the nights celestial harmonies. The screech of an owl pierces the silence, echoes down the caverns of twilight.

The scents of foliage mix with that of the earth. And in this bower you lie. Naked but for the garland of flowers and fern which adorn you, the torque of power around your sweet neck and rings upon fingers and toes. Your body, slick with the perfumes of musk and the heat of your body. Beads of sweet, rivulets cascade across skin pulsing with desire. The sigils of power etched in flesh, tender and yielding.

Moonlight illuminates you casting its pale, silven hue across the contours of your body. Starlight reflected in your beautiful eyes reaches outwards and bathes the scene in a soft lambent glow. As a child of the Earth you are embraced and carried aloft within the arms of the Goddess, who in her rapture causes your body to arch, expectant and soft moans to escape your lips. A mist begins to form all about, catching the silven rays of Moon and Starlight.

The rapture rises and in the rising of your heat your body sings, a faery paean, causing the very fabric of the scene to ripple, for you are rising in your power, enraptured.

This, all this I see until the song and the perfumes become an intoxicant, an exotic fluid that enters nostrils eyes and mouth, causing breath to quicken, heat to rise. I enter the scene and enter your embrace. Touch melts flesh, breath dissolves division, a melding rises as with a tender caress I enter you. Union, complete consummation. The Earth rejoices as our bodies, our hearts and minds our very souls touch. Epiphany.

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, liquefies 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.

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