This was not supposed to be my next blog, but this project has always been strange and demanding, and it picks its moments without caution as it continues to haunt me. Perhaps it is my own personal obsessions or pathologies that makes connections upon connections while following the intertangled webs. Maybe its a weird synthesis or a culmimation of events that are too freaking uncanny to be understood by the rational mind.
|La Moreneta - Our lady of darkness.|
This screed began formulating in my head when I was at the abbey of Montserrat a few years back and I asked La Moreneta, the resident black Madonna, a question in which I was not prepared to hear the answer. For a long time I was bewildered instead of grateful and thankful that she decided to answer at all. People ask favors of her all day long. She must get sick of it. When I started this piece I was contemplating how La Moreneta is a force to be reckoned with and those who have visited her domain know this to be true. She is black and white - definitively - both sides of the coin, there are no shades of gray, and there is no slide area. The rest of the text has come together in different cities across Europe and America and is a bizarre mix of Gnostic creation myths, little known 16th century witchcraft traditions, seasoned with a little Emerald Tablet, Jung, transmutation, cosmogonic eons, Yeats and stellar nucleosynthesis. It's a strange kind of love to be certain... Soon the words will be joined with images as part of a collaborative art piece which may finally end up being a graphic novel once it is finally done mutating. There are two bright and cunning minds coming on board to throw something new in the mix and I'm waiting with bated breath to see what will happen with it next.
|(photo by Marnie Shelton-Klein)|
Sisters of the Wasteland
Never ask a question first without being able to handle the answer. Not of the Goddess and certainly not one older than the concept of time. She never abandoned you. She never forsake you. Step by step, she followed in the shadows. Letting you fail, and laughing when you did so. Yes, she is fearsome, but there is a beauty to her cruelty. That is where you shut down (wings of brutality flying overhead as the light drains out of the day). Conjuring. There are daemon's dreaming. Three were the norm – past, present, and future, existing all at once, or never at all. A conjuring trinity – three women were the norm. Symmetry and organization.
Could you dream them all at once and hold them within your mind's eye? This was something we once did. Then things became confused, and we forgot. We cannot find our back home. The mirror grew dim and we lost this aspect of ourselves. You cannot pray for the truth if you cannot face the truth. How can you find your way home if you don't even realize you're lost?
The three are searching for what they already possess. Three sisters. Three stages of alchemy. White, black, red. Blood on the chessboard. They are the Fire hanging between the two pillars of creation.
“How long has she slept?” “Three days. Three Ages. Three Aeons.”
“That should do. Time to wake her.”
Did you ever call its name in the dark? Nemesis. Rex Mundi. The demiurge. The error. The defecit. Jaelousie... Can you feel it whispering the words of forgetfulness as the lights dim, and reality falls away, and you dream dreams of ecstasy, despair, and oblivion. How loving is their gaze from the shadowy corner of the room watching you sleep with psychotic glee. The one who knows there is a way home is the one who makes you forget and pulls the wool over your eyes.
“The moon is changing from milk to blood. Time to wake her.”
Once upon a time the dark Mother was endless. She was the vast Immaculate Darkness. Mistress on the sea of Infinity. Benevolent. Malevolent. These terms mean nothing and are concepts of cattle. In the center of her swirling chaos a cunning affliction unknowingly came to be. Imperfection in perfection. Creation was conjured without consent. How could perfection recognize Imperfection? And so She fell. Matter took shape and became finite. It became trapped. Days became numbers. Binding concepts. The error in the system. The Demiurge; mad, blind, and insane. But being born out of a deficit it never knew it was so, and so it never knew any different. Like all of us it fights not to cease to exist. But our light reflects its light. Our light reflects our maker.
“May the curse, cunning, and blessing be.”
This world has blinded the minds of the Unbelievers.
Nyx, Nul and Nil: Sisters of the Wasteland
Nyx is the earth, the core on which the waters lie.
Nul is the power of the ever-changing tides.
Nil is the breath of wind which guides and navigates.
Together they make up the vessel which traverses the sacred waters.
Positioned equidistantly around the table they ask a question, “who is speaking to us now?”
“I am the one who cast my fire upon this world and will watch it blaze down to the very last ember.”
“And what do we seek?”
“When you can make three into one, and when you can make the inner like the outer, then you will find the keys to the kingdom of the high and low... Fire, sword, war... Do you know where you really are?”
"Show us the way, Father.”
The festering breath envelopes them. “Open your eyes Sisters of the Wasteland. Here you find the reality of your garden of delight.”
The scorched earth ripples in a heat haze in front of them, A world of ash and fire, scrub and rock. A world burned clean where nothing can grow. The mountains rise with jagged peaks around them, casting unnatural shadows as they huddle together for protection and warmth. Ravens turn in the skies, the only other inhabitants of this place. Winged messengers of the coming storm.
Nil: “This cannot be.”
Nul: “This world is a carcass, picked clean by the blind.”
Nyx: “Prepare sisters, prepare. For the trouble we expect will come.”
We are dreaming again. And from this dream we cannot awaken.
The three at the table: “Who holds the keys of knowledge?”
Outside of time: “They were lost by those who would not pass themselves, and they have made it so no one else can pass.”
The three at the table: “Does Pamphile know where?”
Outside of time: “Sleep in ignorance. For you should have found a better answer...”
Seeking shelter the sisters have gone to the cave to weather the storm, hiding frozen in one finite point amongst the chaos.
Clotho – spinner
Lachesis – alloter
Atropos – unturnable
As sly as snakes and as quiet as doves, sisters, see yourselves, and spin us a new tale.
A voice whispers in the Darkness. The remnants of broken threads envelop them. Then, the spark of first light. Luminescence. A refraction of quartz which has never used its reflective skin before. One solitary chamber in the belly of the beast. Airless. Deathless Grace. So cool to the touch. How long have they been there now? Like roots they have grown into the earth, percolating in their shroud.
Three days. Three Ages. Three aeons.
Time to wake up!
And at that base was a stone from the sky, one which wept blood. From this aerolite, mixed with tears, fear, and fire, they forged new blades. The daggers from heaven, born of exile. Blow by blow they hardened them until they were strong enough to rip the fabric of creation itself.
Born of fire we are forged stronger now. A warm breeze catches the spark. The dross of matter burns brightly, bringing with it the breath of intention. We will turn the wine back to water. Hand in hand and heart to heart we conjure you.
Sisters of the Wasteland together in the cave: “We call on you Mother, Mistress, First and Always.”
She comes robed in silver and night and walks in dreams and darkness amongst the lovely, baleful stars.
She: “Can you answer this? When does One become Two. Two become Three, and out of the Third comes One as the Fourth?”
Nil: “First the circle.”
Nul: “Than the square.”
Nyx: “Than the triangle.”
Body, Soul, and Spirit. Realized together they exceed the limits of Nature. The spirit is free of its fetters. The light that shines in the darkness is the fourth.
Nil: “I wish to see the sunrise.”
Nul: “I wish to feel the warmth on my skin.”
Nyx: “I wish to taste the wind.”
Let us leave this place by the secret sign told to us at our reckoning. We know the answer now. Conjunction.
Rock scraping across rock. Stone turns to liquid as if the lower vibrations of nature are working in reverse. The cave mouth opens as they slowly stumble outside. An all encompassing bombardment. New eyes, new senses, new colors. The sun burns low in the sky as the first star gleams in the twilight. The desert is awash in in oranges and reds under the cover of deepening blue. The warm wind brings a fine sand which stings like a sunburn. The wasteland remains, yet they have become a part of it now, like hardened stone sentinels. The trial is not over, the veil persists. They will not witness the dawn.
A manic laugh spreads around them, rippling like a heat haze. “Do you not see with new eyes? Your wish has been granted. Nihil Extraneum.”
In that word is a heartbeat. Wake again. In that word is expansion. Psychic stretching. Incubating. Collating. It is a Solution. There is Nothing from outside. For new life does not develop outside of us, but within us. Everything that happens has already been so.
The voice is silenced.
Weave a circle around them thrice fashioned from a solitary tear. One trace memory. Ghostly emanantions. Point and counter-point. See those strange poppies which bloom in the wasteland? Fragile, merciful and afflicted. Birthed in blood and torment. Crawling black beetles mar their surface. Misdirection. Subterfuge. Polluted. For truth casts no shadow outside it. And in the gloom of fallacious imagination, creation lies wasted.
You are dreaming awake now!
Three sisters. Three aeons. Three ages. All-in-all. The totality of existence.
Movement and Repose. From the conception, the increase. From the increase, the thought. From the thought to remembrance. From remembrance the consciousness. From the consciousness, the desire.
Depth. Mother. Second Manifestation. Daughter. Water. Darkness. The Abyss. Chaos.
Thrice powerful Barbelo - seven coils for harnassed souls. Collapsing clouds of gas and dust. Wind, rain, lightning, the coming storm slithers in. It rides the west wind like a four winged serpent and its swiftness is terrible to behold. Tapered together by force, sky and water. The shimmering snake that will swallow the sun. The undulating spine of the heavens. The sacred made manifest like a dazzling neon mirage at the end of a darkened road.
Unseen, unrelated, inconceivable, uninferable, unimaginable, indescribable.
The sisters stand huddled together: “We are afraid. There is no where left to hide.” The skeletal remains of an ancient tree offers no refuge.
Glittering helios. Born of the Boreal and the goddess who rose naked out of Chaos. Pythonidae Erebos. Ophion. The personification of darkness who destroys its enemies with the breath of fire shining over the whole earth. Brighter than a thousand suns. God of Dissolution. Thee all-receiver who wipes his tears on an iron cloak. Prope serpens who descends like angels breath against a frosted sky. A black hole resides in its heart.
From the deep hollows of the terra firma comes the vibratory motion, the luminferous Aether which fills the instellar spaces. Hungry. Predatory. Omnivorous. Concealed. Measure and number clothes itself in artless wrath. A loveless land filled with temporal signs. Fight it. Take on the Unknown form. Embrace that which you most fear. Let it envelope you and shake you to the core. Become the interminable tenebrae that you dread. Three points which hang from thee crucified star.
A radiant form calls out through the waters at the midpoint between light and darkness. “Do not be afraid. In death you shall not die. Rather your eyes shall be opened and your glory will be like the moon when fully radiant. Make apparent that which has been hidden. Find the imperishable light.”
Destruction. Disorder. The Outer Darkness. Our Mother who is in Secret. She bends the arrow of time.
Faith is our earth, that in which we take root.
Hope is the water through which we are nourished.
Love is the wind through which we grow.
The fourth is knowledge. It is the light. It is the answer.
We came from the light. The place where light came into being of its own accord.
The sisters cry out in unison: “Please take us home!”
Shockwave. Velocity. Turbulence. Gravitational collapse because the center cannot hold. Wise fire of the sages burns off the dross of matter. Temperature and Pressure. Flames and contraction. Cosmic order and dissonance. The Truth, without error. Certum et verissimum. Acceleration. Momentum. Resonant peaks and scattering strength. The flesh willingly yields to a chain reaction. Disintegration. Absorbtion. Saturation. The cup is closed, the seals are broken. Flashpoint. Then blessed Nothingness...
Their screams are silenced. The equation is equal now.
Once upon a time the dark Void was endess. It was where the One breaks into many. It was the blank wall of timelessness – exploding and dissolving. It was a wheel rolling unto itself. Creator. Preserver. Destroyer. And through the turbulation of primeval matter fabulous forms were poured into being. It was a place where the many were reconciled within the One. Then, the cosmic spider god wove its web around us and trapped our essence. Hyle astrum – the demiurge. Yliaster. Fire. Wind. Water. Earth. We must break free of this mechanical trap and return to Chaos. She is waiting for us. Our mother of the prima materia. She who will not be discrete, nor determined. She is the temporal veil between the worlds above and the worlds below who binds and breaks us. Heavy elements into heavier synthesis. Past, present, and future is merely existence and occurence. There is nothing from the outside. She crushes us whole and spreads our light throughout infinity.
The reign of the tyrant ends and a new world pulses with life set to begin again.
Much love from where the worlds touch,
S - xx