Praxis

Understand The Nature Of A Thing

As distinguished from theory Axiomata De Arte Magicka manifests at this time

as a direct consequence of a magickal working undertaken and completed over a twenty year period of time as measured upon the terrestrial sphere. Historically speaking the work began several centuries ago within the court of Elizabeth under the auspices of one John Dee who in his pursuits opened a portal upon the infinite as a direct consequence of his dealings with several spirits as described in his True and Faithful Relation published at the time. This initial working required several more centuries to pass before adepts within the sphere of science were capable of mutating the human genome through their manipulation of the atom. Notable amongst these were the Trinity project technicians and magickally one Marvel Whiteside Parsons otherwise known as Jack Parsons who as a direct consequence of his Babalon working initiated the second stage of this protracted working. The third element commenced in 1990ev when an aspirant within the body of OTO undertook its completion in the unification of the principles of Samael and Lilith who in their conjunction activate the Portal of Solus Noir otherwise known as The Black Sun. This is in keeping with ancient prophecy and whilst most prophecies remain neutral this has been activated by the principle operators in their various incarnations undertaking their particular and unique aspects of the work. These principals doubtless had their own purpose at their respective points in history and yet it is through hindsight that the pattern of their actions is perceived. The present incarnation owes a debt of gratitude to several individuals along the way, notably those who initiated him into the mysteries during his fourteenth summer. Aleister Crowley who showed him an alternative path. Kenneth Grant within the august body of OTO for introducing him to the work of Austin Osman Spare who through his Axiomata showed him yet another fruitful path. Andrew D. Chumbley who demonstrated the power of the fusion of image, sigil and text through the body of his published works.

Those with an interest in such matters might choose to explore. Emericus Casaubon. A True & Faithful Relation of What Passed for Many Years between Dr. John Dee and Some Spirits. Published 1659.

Jack Parsons. The erudite articles written and published by Michael Staley in his Journal of the New Aeon, Starfire will be richly rewarded.

Solus Noir and the body of work collected under The Book Of The Black Sun is attributed to the present scribe. 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 where the current becomes manifest in word, sigil, graphik and image.

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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

In Nomine Na’amah ! In Nomine Lucis Noir

Liber 131

The Passion & The Purity Cycle 1 1990 – 1992 The Dawn Of The Avatar

Liber Astarte vel Beryli – The Passion And The Purity

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 Namrael

The manifestation of our Grigori sister

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

Cycle 3 2006 – 2007 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 2010

We wove the matrix of our spells and seeded them into the prime elements of nature, extending our Triangle Of Arte.

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 1992

Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast

A Tale For The Unredeemed And what are your thoughts my dearest 0ne? she asked, raising her eyes to meet his, and in that moment of their eyes meeting he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt

that her question was not one for little consideration. Ah, but we race ahead and like all stories we need a beginning, a sense of time and place, of purpose and destination. Who are our characters? What of their history and what brings them to this moment in time and to this place?

Of our characters we will speak little for their story has been told elsewhere within the words and pages of another time. It is enough to know that their meeting was but a short time ago upon the shores of a wind swept sea beneath a leaden sky, waves rolling upon the stones that formed this beach that we now begin to envisage. Gulls squabbling over scraps tossed to them by wayfarers, each bent upon their own purpose. He sits, as is his habit, solitary, musing upon the times and those things which have befallen him within this his life and world. Of age, uncertain for he carries the ambience of youth, yet a youth seeded with the fires of travail, of experience beyond his seeming narrow years. Of stature, slight, as though he would erase even this presence from the recognition of others. Muscular, evidence of his pursuits within the understanding of the Greeks. His features fey, as if transported from the realm of sylph or undine. Hair, dark, hanging like a waterfall across his now bent shoulders. And yet it is his eyes that reveal the greatest mystery. Golden stained violet at their heart. The mark of his kind, a token of remembrance within this world of dream and forgetfulness.

And with these eyes he has witnessed the wonders of a child’s laughter, seen the beauty in the folds of a rose and its petals, dreamed upon the cascading fall of stars out of an indigo night and looked into the heart of another in search of belief. Eyes which, as the witness have seen history unfold between the breath of ages, history written in blood and deceit. And now he muses upon these, his last days upon this world. Yes he has known Love unredeemed, yes harvested the bounty and beauty that the world offers her errant children. Known victory and defeat, joy and sorrow in equal measure.

Once he had lain upon a golden hill, the earth beneath, embracing him as would a mother her child and above the diamond bright night sky shone, a mantle of stars, each a tiny pin prick that pierced his skin, releasing the ecstasy that dwelt at his

April Fool

very core and with each breath he felt himself erased and cast adrift upon the night air. And now, like then is his breath caught upon the tide, rolling eternally back and forth upon this foreign shore and time. A gull, insistent, gains his attention, pulls him back to the moment and his purpose and with the tang of the ocean rousing his dormant senses he begins to remember. A breeze gentle catches at the folds of his coat, which he wraps tighter around himself against the sudden cold.

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.

Pax Nobilis

A Noble Peace

I

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 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.

II

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 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 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.

III

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

Act 6

The End Of Days

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.

Portus Lucis Deum

Anathema

Per Samael Vox Lilith

Praeteritim

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.

Canto I

And upon wings of light did we descend

Lightning in our eyes

Thunder in our hearts

Seven as one, clothed in adamantine

Canto II

Watchers in the night, ancient, timeless, immortal

Each a chord within a celestial heartbeat

Behold our song, our prayer

Written in the echo of the moment

Canto III

And the dragon she rises and her kingdoms claim the world

Her tears fall and she washes away the stain

Her breath a scorching wind razes the edifice of conceit

Her heartbeat a thunderbolt the end of days

Canto IV

Bathed in his own blood was he

We carry the sword and our blood is sacred

No sacrifice as it be justice we serve

Invisible we walk sons and daughters of eternal night

Canto V

Each a toxin, Each an elixir

Choose well the bowl from which you quench your thirst

Nectar sweet, cousin to the worm

Bitter gall, a draught of ambrosia

Canto VI

Malekh, holy one, casts her veils and you behold her not

One glance and sleep is entered

One whisper and Azrael is summoned

One cry and our sister rejoices

Canto VII

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

Exodus

Canto VIII

Coagula et Solve

We strip the world, our Eden of its lie

Beneath our rays you are transformed, redeemed or not

Choose well for we dwell between you heartbeats

Canto IX

Omega et Alpha

Time bends before our gaze

As somnambulant you step from one dream to another

The unmaking unfolds as our Elohim circle your world, your life

Canto X

Space folds before our eyes and the great ones enter

Their breath creases the moment in passing

Warps memory, erases life

And casts a shadow of dust and vacuum

Genesis

Canto XI

Sweet sister are you redeemed

Your Grigori await command as you will

Your Elohim abroad command as you will

Your portal open command as you will

Canto XII

Cleansed of the lie your breath draws pure

Cleansed of the stain your heart beats rapturous

Purified your mind awakens from nightmare

Consecrated your body bears fruit

Canto XIII

And in the Night of Pan it is dawn

The Black Sun rises and its rays cast no shadow

The Blood Moon rises and casts her veil

The Grigori rise and utter a word in silence

" " "

Ode To Lost Souls

Not to you do I speak, brave of heart and firm of purpose. Nor to you bright ones within a field of light.

Not to you who walks in purpose fulfilled. Nor to you of vision strong, buoyed by life’s enrichment.

But to you I speak wanderer upon the shores of night. And to you the desolate ones outside the circles of life.

Raised upon columns of molten ash.

Your journey began with a cry and ends with a scream. Betwixt the emptiness evolved.

First a doubt becomes a certainty. Those of faith know you not.

Those of vision know you not. Those of purpose know you not.

Within the citadel of life do they dwell,

basking beneath an indolent sun.

" " "

Epiphany

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.

%&) ?0(0'" !"# %&) ?'0#

90>)6 80B044=µ 1)4 *++-&

+ C07&)6 :6'=B&- 0" B4,7& +"# (0B04. <4)(&)# >, >4''#>)+- +"# &)+6-’(

7=4(), )C&')( -&) -0µ)4)((")(( '< '-&)6. '-&)6 C+(- +#60<- =7'" 0"D >4+CD "0B&-, ,0)4#( -' (-+640B&- +"# -&) >6)+-& 0- -+D)( ="-04 ,)- +B+0" >, &+"# +"# ),) 0( '"C) µ'6) C+(- =7'" -&) )-)6"+4 +)-&,6(. #60"D #))7 <6'µ -&) (-6)+µ, 4)(- ,'=6 <'6µ )1+7'6+-)( 0"-' -&) 1'0# <6'µ :&)"C) ,'= C+µ). >6)+-&) #))74, '< -&) 0"-'E0C+-0'" -&+- &'4#( ,'= >'="# >, >4''# +"# >'"). -&0"D #))74, =7'" -&) -&'=B&-( -&+- C+66, ,'= <6'µ )C(-+(, -' )C(-+(, -&6'=B& -&) -+7)(-6, '< +77)+6+"C).

Liber Sigillum vel Daath

A cipher wrought in glyph and sigil Fleshed by bloodbeat and heart’s pulse

Echoes the timelessness of other Other cast adrift upon ink black night

Yields to starlight and the breath it takes Until yet again by hand

And eye is once more Cast upon the eternal aethyrs

Drink deep from the stream Lest your form evaporates

Into the void from whence you came

Breathe deeply of the Intoxication that holds you Bound by blood and bone

Think deeply upon the thoughts That carry you from Ecstasy to ecstasy

Through the tapestry of appearance

Octave One

Inception

F'"(C0'=( !--)"-0'" (+-=6+-)#, (-044)#. ?)6-0C+4 (=6<+C), ="(7)C0<0)#. G'60H'"-+4 (=6<+C), ="(7)C0<0)#. F'"(C0'=( #0+4'B=) C)+()(. I' 0µ+B), ('="#, '6 <))40"B. 5'0()#, +--)"-01), )µ7-0)#. 8=6<+C)( #))7)" +"# <6'µ -&) :)44(760"B + #0<<)6)"- <'6µ +60()(, +( +40B"µ)"- -+D)( 74+C). .&' 0( -&0( '")? .&+- 0( -&0( 74+C)? %&0( (&+7)? ! "): 4+"B=+B)? ! "): !6- '< J"':0"B? *0<<)6)"C) -&+- )C&')( -&6'=B& >4''#, >'") +"# <4)(&, ())D0"B "): 0µ+B)( +"# (-6=C-=6)( -&6'=B& :&0C& -' µ+D) 0-()4< D"':". J"':" -' .&'µ '6 .&+-? I' 4'"B)6 4'CD)#, + (4+1) -' +77)+6+"C), >=- B6+(70"B -&) -)"='=( <'6)(&+#':0"B '< + #0<<)6)"- 10):, + #0<<)6)"- D"':0"B. ! D"':0"B '< -&)

C)44(, + D"':0"B '< -0((=) (+-=6+-)# >, 40<) +"# 40<)’( )")6B,. F'"(0#)6( .....

8)4)C-( ..... K)C'µ)(.

Conscious Attention saturated, stilled. Vertical surface, unspecified. Horizontal surface, unspecified. Conscious dialogue ceases. No image, sound, or feeling. Poised, attentive, emptied. Surfaces deepen and from the wellspring a different form arises, as alignment takes place. Who is this one? What is this place? This shape? A new language? A new Art of Knowing? Difference that echoes through blood, bone and flesh, seeking new images and structures through which to make itself known. Known to Whom or What? No longer locked, a slave to appearance, but grasping the tenuous foreshadowing of a different view, a different knowing. A knowing of the cells, a knowing of tissue saturated by life and life’s energy. Considers ..... Selects ..... Becomes.

Octave Two

Dreamzone One

! 7'6-+4 '< +H=6) =7'" + 4+"#(C+7) '< )µ)6+4# ="#=4+-0'"(. A+C& &)+6->)+- + 60774) =7'" -&) (=6<+C) '< -&0( 40L=0#0-,. !µ'67&'=( (&+7)( (&0<-0"B, <'C=(0"B, #0(('410"B +( -&) µ0"# 0" L=)(- '< µ)+"0"B 6)4)+()(, 7)6µ0-(, C'"-+0"(. A+C& >6)+-& -6+1)4( -' -&) (=6<+C) '< -&) (D0", -6+1)4( '=-:+6#(, C'"-+C-( "'- $, +( + (&0<-0"B <'C=(, (=7)60µ7'()# =7'" + 40L=0# (&'6)40"). $"C+"#)(C)"C), 40B&-, >),'"# -&) +>040-, -' ()). 8'="# 60774)( =7'" -&) (=6<+C) '< -&+- $ D"': +( $. 9+"#(C+7) #0(('41)(, <'6 "': 0- 0( -&) (=6<+C) '< (D0". @0774)(, ="#=4+-0"B, 0"<'6µ -&) 76'C)(( '< #0(('4=-0'", <0"+44, 6)+C&0"B '=-:+6# >),'"# +44 $ +µ +>4) -' &'4#. 804)"C). ! 1'0#, 4=(-6'=(, #+6D +"# :)4C'µ0"B, 1)41)- ('<-")((, +( $ µ'1) -&6'=B& 4+,)6 =7'" 4+,)6 '< +µ'67&'=(, (&0<-0"B 7)6(7)C-01)(. M)- $ <'C=( =7'" <'6µ, +"B=4+60-, +60()( +( $ B6))- +"'-&)6 7'6-+4 -&+- C+(-( µ) 0"-' + #))7)6 #6)+µ.

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 Three

The Dreamquest of Azrael

$" )+C& µ'µ)"- #' $ #:)44 +--)"-01) -' )+C& -&'=B&-, )+C& ()"(+-0'", )+C& #6)+µ. A+C& >6)+-& )-C&)( + 40"), +" +"B=4+60-, :0-&0" +"# =7'" -&) (=6<+C) ,'= D"': +( $. A+C& >6)+-& + 7+((0"B µ'µ)"-, + "): <'6µ +"# -)E-=6), +( -&) -+7)(-6, '< -&) :'64#, ,'=6 :'64#, ="<'4#(. .+( $ "'- :0-& -&)) :&)" <06(- ,'= #6): >6)+-&? G+1) $ "'- (&+6)# ,'=6 µ'µ)"-( '< -60=µ7&? G+1) $ "'- +4(' (&+6)# ,'=6 (&+µ)? !( ,'=6 '") -6=) C'µ7+"0'", &+1) $ "'- +0#)# -&)), -&'=B& ="())", ="D"':"? M'=6 <'6µ B6+"-( µ) (=>(-+"C) +( $ L=)(- =7'" -&) :+,. A+C& '< ,'= + -0", +-'µ :0-&0" -&) (=6<+C) '< µ, >'#,. G0(-'6, D"':( µ) 0" µ+", <'6µ(, <'6 +µ $ "'- ;µ"0(C0)"-, ;µ"076)()"- +"# ;µ"07'-)"-? %&'= ())D( -' -=6" +:+,? %&)6) +µ $ +4(' N !:+0-0"B. !:+0-0"B -&) -0µ) :&)" :0-& -&) 4+(- >6)+-& #6+:", -&) 4+(- 40") )-C&)#, $ 6)+C& '=- +"# C4+0µ -&)) +( µ0"). 3'6 -&0( +µ $ D"':" +( -&) <60)"# -' 40<). 3'6 -&0( +µ $ D"':" +( -&) $"0-0+-'6. 3'6 -&0( +µ $ B6))-)# 0" µ+(D)# <'6µ, )+C& <'6µ + (&+#':, +" )C&' '< µ, "+-=6). 9''D +6'="# ,'=: -&)6) 0( "' 74+C) $ &+1) "'- >))", "' 74+C) $ &+1) "'- ())", &+1) "'- -+D)" ="-' µ,()4<. J"': -&0( +"# 401), <'6 ,'=6 -0µ) :0-& µ) 0( )-)6"+4.

In each moment do I dwell attentive to each thought, each sensation, each dream. Each breath etches a line, an angularity within and upon the surface you know as I. Each breath a passing moment, a new form and texture, as the tapestry of the world, your world, unfolds. Was I not with thee when first you drew breath? Have I not shared your moments of triumph? Have I not also shared your shame? As your one true companion, have I not aided thee, though unseen, unknown? Your form grants me substance as I quest upon the way. Each of you a tiny atom within the surface of my body. History knows me in many forms, for am I not Omniscient, Omnipresent and Omnipotent? Thou seeks to turn away? There am I also - Awaiting. Awaiting the time when with the last breath drawn, the last line etched, I reach out and claim thee as mine. For this am I known as the friend to life. For this am I known as the Initiator. For this am I greeted in masked form, each form a shadow, an echo of my nature. Look around you: there is no place I have not been, no place I have not seen, have not taken unto myself. Know this and live, for your time with me is eternal.

Octave Four

The Serpent Rises

!"# -&6'=B& -&+- 7'6-+4 #0# $ (-)7, µ, +"B)4 +--)"#+"-, + (&+#':, + (&0µµ)60"B '< 1)41)- 40B&-, + 40B&- 6+#0+-0"B =7:+6# +"# '=-:+6#, #0(('410"B +( 0- -'=C&)(, )+C& (&+7), )+C& <'6µ, C4)+"(0"B µ) '< +(('C0+-0'" +"# D"':0"B. K, 0-( >6)+-& 0( -&) <4)(& #0(('41)#. K, 0-( >6)+-& 0( -&) µ0"# #0(('41)#, +( =7:+6#( 0- C'=6()(. !>(-6+C-( +60(), 76'#=C-( '< &0B&)6 µ)"-+-0'". /)'µ)-60C+4 0"-6=(0'"( ())D0"B <'6µ +"# (&+7), ,)- µ+44)+>4) +"# -6+"(0)"-. ! (=6<+C) '< <4+-")(( -&6'=B& :&0C& $ 7)")-6+-) +"# 7)6C)01). M)- -&0( -'' 0( #0(('41)# +( 40<), +( &)+- )"-)6( + (-044 C)"-6). $C) (=66'="#( :&+- :+( '"C) 1)6#+"-, +( $ +µ (-044)# ,)- <=6-&)6. F6,(-+4( +60(). A+C& >6)+-& + (0B&-, + D"':0"B")((, >)6)<- '< <'6µ ,)- 60C& 0" -)E-=6), #0(('41)( +( ,)- +B+0" + (=6<+C) +77)+6(, + (=6<+C) '< (04)"C) +( -&) 40B&- 0-()4< #0(('41)(. $ '< "' "+µ), $ '< "' "+-=6), C+44)(- ="-' -&)), <6'µ (04)"C) -' (04)"C) C'µ74)-).

And through that portal did I step, my angel attendant, a shadow, a shimmering of velvet light, a light radiating upward and outward, dissolving as it touches, each shape, each form, cleansing me of association and knowing. By its breath is the flesh dissolved. By its breath is the mind dissolved, as upwards it courses. Abstracts arise, products of higher mentation. Geometrical intrusions seeking form and shape, yet malleable and transient. A surface of flatness through which I penetrate and perceive. Yet this too is dissolved as life, as heat enters a still centre. Ice surrounds what was once verdant, as I am stilled yet further. Crystals arise. Each breath a sight, a knowingness, bereft of form yet rich in texture, dissolves as yet again a surface appears, a surface of silence as the light itself dissolves. I of no name, I of no nature, callest unto thee, from silence to silence complete.

Octave Five

The Portal of Lucidity

!"# "': $ #6)+µ, C'"C)01) '< "): (&+7)(, "): -)E-=6)(. %&+- :&0C& #)<0")# µ) +( $ "' 4'"B)6 &'4#( (:+,. O, (=6<+C) )E-)"#)#, 6)+C&)( '=- +"# C'"-+C-( +44 -&+- µ0B&- >)C'µ). O, (=6<+C) '"C) #)<0")# >, #0<<)6)"C), "': #6+:( ="-' 0-()4< (&+7), <'6µ, -)E-=6), + 7)6C)7-0'" '< #0(-+"C), '< &)0B&-, '< #)7-& +60()(. !( 40B&-"0"B (:0<-, C+=B&- =7'" -&) :0"B( '< 7)6C)7-0'" $ µ'1) 0":+6# ,)- '=-:+6# +4('. ! -0", µ'-) ,)- C'"-+0"0"B +44. O, C&'()" 1)&0C4), 0-( +"B=4+60-0)( B)"-4), C=61+C)'=(, 7)6µ0--0"B '< )+() +"# C'µ<'6- 0" #)(C607-0'". O0") -' C&''(), µ0") -' +CC)7-. .&+- C&''()(- -&'=? O'#)4(, µ+7(, +44 -6+"(0-'6,. %&)6) 0( '"4, -&+- :&0C& 6)µ+0"( +( 4+"B=+B), +( #)(C607-0'" 0( (-6077)# +:+, 40D) + 1)"))6 -&+- C'+-( =(, -&+- ()C=6)( =(, -&+- :'=4# )"-6+7 =(. F&''() :)44, <'6 '"4, -&) (-6'"B)(- '< (:0µµ)6( µ0B&- )"-)6 -&) #))7)(- '< 'C)+"(. .'6#(, #)(C607-0'", +44 >=- +6-0<0C), + 4=6), ()#=C0"B, )"-&6+440"B, ,)- (-)604). %0µ), (7+C) +"# µ0"# (-+"# :0-")(( +"# 0" (' #'0"B, :'"#)6, +( #' $.

And now I dream, conceive of new shapes, new textures. That which defined me as I no longer holds sway. My surface extended, reaches out and contacts all that might become. My surface once defined by difference, now draws unto itself shape, form, texture, a perception of distance, of height, of depth arises. As lightning swift, caught upon the wings of perception I move inward yet outward also. A tiny mote yet containing all. My chosen vehicle, its angularities gentle, curvaceous, permitting of ease and comfort in description. Mine to choose, mine to accept. What choosest thou? Models, maps, all transitory. There is only that which remains as language, as description is stripped away like a veneer that coats us, that secures us, that would entrap us. Choose well, for only the strongest of swimmers might enter the deepest of oceans. Words, description, all but artifice, a lure, seducing, enthralling, yet sterile. Time, space and mind stand witness and in so doing, wonder, as do I.

!

Octave Six

The Realm of Otherness

F'"(C0'=(")(( #60<-( +"# '< 0-()4< <'6µ=4+-)( +"'-&)6. $-( µ)µ'6, '< -&) '") 0- D"): >)<'6) :+( &+6# '< '=-40"), C4)+6 '< #)<0"0-0'". %&0( '") ,0)4#(, 0( ('<- +"# µ'>04), (&0<-0"B <6'µ <'6µ -' <'6µ, (&+7) -' (&+7). 87+C) 0( 0-( #'µ+0", %0µ) 40D):0() + ('40# -&6'=B& :&0C& 0- 7+(()( :0-& )+(). !-+10(µ( '< + #+6D 7+(- +60(), 0"(-0"C- >'6") +4'"B (-60+-0'"( '< #6)+µ, C'660#'6(, )"#4)((, )-)6"+4. ;-&)6( +60(), )+C& '") >)+60"B + B0<-, + µ)((+B), + :)4C'µ). 8-+, :0-& =( <'6 +6) :) "'- +- 7)+C)? *:)440"B >)-:))" -&) µ'µ)"-( ,'=6 <'6µ)6 ()4< 'CC=70)#. 8-+, :0-& =( +"# #6)+µ )-)6"+44,, '=6 -&'=B&-( ,'=6 <'6µ(, '=6 <'6µ( ,'=6 #6)+µ(. .&+- :'=4# ,'= D"': '<? %&0( :) 0µ7+6-, -&0( :) '<<)6. 8-+, :0-& =( +"# #6)+µ 0" 7+4+C)( '< C6,(-+4 +"# (-+640B&-. %&) (=6<+C) '< (D0" (-6)-C&)(, +CC'µµ'#+-)(, 0('4+-)(, >)C'µ)( ,)- +B+0" +( +"C)(-6+4 µ)µ'60)( +60(). 3'6µ +<-)6 <'6µ, &=µ+", µ+µµ+4, 6)7-04) +"# >),'"#, C'"1)6B0"B 0" 1)B)-+>4) 40<), +6>'6)+4 <'6µ(, 40C&)", 760µ'6#0+4 7'"#( :&)6) 40<) 0-()4< :+( ())#)#. !44 -&0( 0( $, ,)- "'- $. $ (-+"#, $ :0-")((. .0-")(( '< -&) +B)( +#60<- 0" -0µ)4)((")((, <'6µ4)((")((. $" #6)+µ( $ 10(0- ,'=, 0"(7060"B 7+((0'" +"# 10(0'" -' +60(). J"': -&0(: %&'= +6- +44 -&0"B(, +44 -0µ)( +"# 74+C)(.

Consciousness drifts and of itself formulates another. Its memory of the one it knew before was hard of outline, clear of definition. This one yields, is soft and mobile, shifting from form to form, shape to shape. Space is its domain, Time likewise a solid through which it passes with ease. Atavisms of a dark past arise, instinct borne along striations of dream, corridors, endless, eternal. Others arise, each one bearing a gift, a message, a welcome. Stay with us for are we not at peace? Dwelling between the moments your former self occupied. Stay with us and dream eternally, our thoughts your forms, our forms your dreams. What would you know of? This we impart, this we offer. Stay with us and dream in palaces of crystal and starlight. The surface of skin stretches, accommodates, isolates, becomes yet again as ancestral memories arise. Form after form, human, mammal, reptile and beyond, converging in vegetable life, arboreal forms, lichen, primordial ponds where life itself was seeded. All this is I, yet not I. I stand, I witness. Witness of the ages adrift in timelessness, formlessness. In dreams I visit you, inspiring passion and vision to arise. Know this: Thou art all things, all times and places.

Octave Seven

The Dreaming Attention

!( '-&)6 B+0"( +(C)"#+"C,, +:+6)")(( (&0<-( -' -&0( "): 1)&0C4), D"':" -' ('µ) +( -&) #6)+µ0"B >'#,, >, '-&)6( +( -&) #'=>4), &+10"B C&+6+C-)60(-0C( '< -&) ('µ+-0C ()4<, ,)- B6+"-)# -&) <6))#'µ '< )E74'6+-0'". $" #6)+µ-0µ) 0-

'7)"( 7'6-+4( =7'" µ,60+#’( '< 7)6C)7-=+4 7'((0>040-0)(, 0"-)"#0"B :'64#(

-&+- 0- µ0B&- )E74'6) '-&)6")(( C'µ74)-)4,. %&0( >)C'µ)( -&) -6=) &'µ) '< -&) ())6. O+0"-+0"0"B -&) +77)+6+"C) '< #=+4 6)+40-0)(, ,)- 0" -6=-& B6+"-0"B )+C& 0-( 1+4=). $" )+6-&-0µ) 0- )E74'6)( -&) :'64# '< )1)6, #+, )1)"-(, (-+4D0"B -&) :'64# +( '-&)6( µ0B&- (-+4D 76),. %&) +77)+6+"C) '< ()4< +"# '-&)6 #0(('41)( +( <+µ040+60-, 0( +CL=06)# -&6'=B& -&) ('<-)"0"B '< :'64# 10):(. .&+- :+( '"C) -'-+4, C4)+6 '< #)<0"0-0'", ('<-)"(, ,0)4#(, +( 7':)6 )"-)6( -&) (,(-)µ +"# #)<0")( 0- <=6-&)6. *6)+µ-0µ) )"-)6( )+6-&-0µ) +"# -&) C'#0"B 0( C'µ74)-). $" :&0C& <'6µ #' ,'= -6+1)4? K'6") +4'<- =7'" 70"0'"( '< 10(0'", )E74'60"B =7'" -&) :0"B( '< 7)6C)7-0'", C+660)# )1)6 '":+6# >, -&) C=66)"- '< 0"-)"-. %&'= +6- "': -6=4, #0(('41)#, 4'(- -' &=µ+" <'6µ +"# &0(-'6,, + µ,(-)6, '< -0µ) +"# (7+C), <6))#'µ >)CD'"(.

As other gains ascendancy, awareness shifts to this new vehicle, known to some as the dreaming body, by others as the double, having characteristics of the somatic self, yet granted the freedom of exploration. In dreamtime it opens portals upon myriad’s of perceptual possibilities, intending worlds that it might explore otherness completely. This becomes the true home of the seer. Maintaining the appearance of dual realities, yet in truth granting each its value. In earthtime it explores the world of every day events, stalking the world as others might stalk prey. The appearance of self and other dissolves as familiarity is acquired through the softening of world views. What was once total, clear of definition, softens, yields, as power enters the system and defines it further. Dreamtime enters earthtime and the coding is complete. In which form do you travel? Borne aloft upon pinions of vision, exploring upon the wings of perception, carried ever onward by the current of intent. Thou art now truly dissolved, lost to human form and history, a mystery of time and space, freedom beckons.

Octave Eight

Daathian Intrusions

!"# <6'µ -&0( 74+C) '< #6)+µ, -&) )+6-& >)4':, -&) (-+6( +>'1), -&'= +6- 7'0()#, +40B")# +( -&) B+-):+, '< B+-):+,( +60()(, '7)"(, >)CD'"(. 5'4+60-, 40D) ="-' +" '(C044+-0"B µ+-60E ()61)( +( -&) D),. !"# 0" :&+- 74+C) :+( -&0( D), <'6B)#? .&+- µ+-)60+4 =()# 0" 0-( C'"(-6=C-0'"? O+", 0" 7=6(=0- '< :0(#'µ :+4D -&) 7+-& <6'µ -&) D0"B#'µ ="-' -&) C6':", -&), -6+1)4 -&) &0B&:+, '< >)C'µ0"B, <'6 =( -&) 40--4) D"':" 7+-& >)CD'"(. ;=6 <'="#+-0'", -&) (7&)6) '< -&) µ''", '< <'6µ=4+-0'"(, '< #6)+µ +"# -&) ()C6)-( '< 7':)6 B=0()# 0" :'6# +"# B)(-=6), <4)(&)# 0" 10(0'" +"# +>040-,, 4)+#( =( ="-' -&) 7+4+C) '< D"':4)#B), + 7+4+C) C+(- :0-&0" + 1'0#, +" +>,(( '< ())-&0"B 7'((0>040-0)(. 3'6 :) 6)C'B"0() "' (7060- '6 µ+--)6, >=- -&+- :&0C& )E76)(()( >'-& +( ="0-,. !6- <=()# :0-& D"':4)#B) >06-&( + 1)&0C4) '< -6+"(C)"#)"C). %0µ) +"# (7+C) >=- + ()C'"#+6, )L=+-0'" -' -&+- '< >)0"B. ! 7+4+C) '< µ+", µ+"(0'"( +"# 7+-&(, )+C& +" )-)6"0-,, )+C& + 7'((0>040-,. ;C-+1)( '< >)0"B C+6))60"B +4'"B -0µ)40")(, <4)(&)# +( :'64#(, +( <'6µ(. %&) D), &)4#, -&) 7'6-+4 +CC)(()#, 7':)6 0( B6+"-)#, <'6 0" 7':)6 40)( -&) +>040-, -' -6+"(C)"# -&+- :&0C& 0( 6)"#)6)# 7)#)(-60+" >, -&) )L=+-0'" '< -&'=B&- +"# -'"B=). F+(- -&, µ0"#, -&, >'#, +( + µ0B&-, (0B04 '< 7':)6, )"-)6 -&) B+-):+, '< -6=) µ,(-)6, +"# >)C'µ).

And from this place of dream, the earth below, the stars above, thou art poised, aligned as the gateway of gateways arises, opens, beckons. Polarity like unto an oscillating matrix serves as the key. And in what place was this key forged? What material used in its construction? Many in pursuit of wisdom walk the path from the kingdom unto the crown, they travel the highway of becoming, for us the little known path beckons. Our foundation, the sphere of the moon, of formulations, of dream and the secrets of power guised in word and gesture, fleshed in vision and ability, leads us unto the palace of knowledge, a palace cast within a void, an abyss of seething possibilities. For we recognise no spirit or matter, but that which expresses both as unity. Art fused with knowledge births a vehicle of transcendence. Time and space but a secondary equation to that of being. A palace of many mansions and paths, each an eternity, each a possibility. Octaves of being careering along timelines, fleshed as worlds, as forms. The key held, the portal accessed, power is granted, for in power lies the ability to transcend that which is rendered pedestrian by the equation of thought and tongue. Cast thy mind, thy body as a mighty sigil of power, enter the gateway of true mystery and become.

Octave Nine

Dreamzone Two

O)µ'6, 60()(, +C-( +( + 4=6) -&+- #6+:( µ) '":+6#( +"# '=-:+6#(. O)µ'6, '< :&+- $ &+1) >))", :&+- $ :'=4# >)C'µ). %&'=B&- )C&')( '=-:+6#(, (&+7) +"# -)E-=6) +60() ,)- ()61) +( µ)-+7&'6 <'6 + -0µ) +"# 74+C) '< -6=) #0(('4=-0'". A+C& &)+6->)+- -&="#)6( +C6'(( B+4+E0)(, )+C& >6)+-& -&) D0"#40"B '< (-+6>'6" )E0(-)"C). A+C& -&'=B&- (&+7)( 0-()4<, <4)(&)( 0-()4< 0"-' -&+- :&0C& $ µ0B&- C&''() -' #)(C60>). $ B+H) 0"-' "'-&0"B")(( <6'µ :&0C& $ -+D) <'6µ +"# #)(C607-0'". $ (-+"# =7'" -&) 7+-& :&0C& 0( -&) 7'4+60-, '< -0µ), '") B+-):+,, +" '>()61)6 C'"C)010"B '< :&+- :044 >), +"'-&)6 :0-")((0"B :&+- &+( >))". !( 4'6# '< -0µ) $ +6C -&6'=B& -&) +B)(, +CC)4)6+-0"B >),'"# -&) 6)+4µ '< (0B&- +"# ()"(), ="-04 $ <0"+44, µ)6B) :0-& -&) -'-+40-, '< +44 -&+- :+(, -&+- 0( +"# :044 >). %&) "+µ) '< -&0( #6)+µH'"), )-)6"0-,, 0"<0"0-, +"# -&) :)44(760"B '< C6)+-0'". !"# +( $ B+H) 0"-' -&) 4=(-6'=( :+-)6( '< -&0( 6)<4)C-0'", $ +µ (-044)#, C'µ74)-)# ,)- +B+0" +"# <6'µ -&0( 74+C), -&0( -0µ), 7)6C)01) +"'-&)6, :&' (-+"#( >)<'6) µ) 6)B+4 ,)- &=µ>4), >4)(()# >, D"':4)#B), ,)- :6+77)# 0" + µ+"-4) '< &=µ040-,, :0() :0-& -&) :0(#'µ -&+- (-)µ( <6'µ :0-")((0"B -&) 7+((+B) '< )-)6"0-,, -&) 7+((+B) '< (-+6(.

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 Ten

The Manifestation of Ionthe

!"# :'=4#(- -&'= :+4D :0-& µ) C&04# '< -)66+’( 0"D >4+CD "0B&-? $ B6))- -&))

+( >6'-&)6, +( 4'1)6. %&, -'04( >=- + ()C'"# 0" -&) 7+((0"B '< µ, &0(-'6,, + &0(-'6, (&+7)# >, -&'() ,'= &+1) D"':" +"# -&'() ,'= &+1) "'-. K, "+µ) ,'= µ+, D"': µ) +( $'"-&), + C'"1)"0)"C) -' µ+D) (0µ74) -&+- :&0C& 0( µ'6) ('. 90D) µ, >6'-&)6 !H6+)4 &+1) $ L=)(-)#. G0( 7+-& -' >) -&) C'µ7+"0'" '< +44 -&+- 0(, +44 -&+- 401)(. O, :+, -&+- '< -&) )(()"C). 3'6 +( + µ0+(µ+ +µ $ C+(- <'6-& :0-&0" C6)+-0'", <'6 $ +µ 0-( (7060-. ;< µ,()4< $ +µ "'-&0"B, ,)- +µ B6+"-)# (&+7), B01)" #)<0"0-0'" >, -&) +(706+-0'"( '< +44 -&+- :&0C& )E0(-(. 36'µ -&) -0"0)(- µ0C6'>) C+(-0"B <'6-& =7'" -&) +)-&,6( 0-( #6)+µ, 0-( +(706+-0'", -' -&) (-+6( -=6"0"B -&)06 (706+4( 0" C'"-)µ74+-0'" '< -&) +)'"(. 36'µ +44 -&0( :+( $ µ+#), <6'µ +44 -&0( #0# $ -+D) <'6µ, "': $ :'=4# )"-)6 + <0"+4 <'6µ, -&+- :&0C& :044 >) µ, 4+(-, <'6 $ &+1) 6)µ+0")# ="())" -&)() 4'"B +B)(, ,)- µ, :&0(7)6( 0"<'6µ -&) &)+6-( +"# µ0"#( '< +44 -&+- :&0C& )E0(-(. $ B6))- -&)) +"# 0" -&, <'6µ :044 )E74'6) + :'64# '< (0µ740C0-,, '< -'-+40-,. 3'6 µ, -0µ) &+( C'µ) +"# "': $ :'=4# :+4D :0-& -&)) >6'-&)6, (0(-)6 +"# 4'1)6.

And wouldst thou walk with me child of terra’s ink black night? I greet thee as brother, as lover. Thy toils but a second in the passing of my history, a history shaped by those you have known and those you have not. By name you may know me as Ionthe, a convenience to make simple that which is more so. Like my brother Azrael have I quested. His path to be the companion of all that is, all that lives. My way that of the essence. For as a miasma am I cast forth within creation, for I am its spirit. Of myself I am nothing, yet am granted shape, given definition by the aspirations of all that which exists. From the tiniest microbe casting forth upon the aethyrs its dream, its aspiration, to the stars turning their spirals in contemplation of the aeons. From all this was I made, from all this did I take form, now I would enter a final form, that which will be my last, for I have remained unseen these long ages, yet my whispers inform the hearts and minds of all that which exists. I greet thee and in thy form will explore a world of simplicity, of totality. For my time has come and now I would walk with thee brother, sister and lover.

Octave Eleven

Adrift Upon the Aethyrs

G+"# 0" &+"#, &)+6- 0" &)+6-, µ0"# 0" µ0"# #0# :) µ)6B). !"# 0" -&+- +C- + 1'6-)E '7)"(, +"# -&6'=B& 0-( )1)6 0"C6)+(0"B (706+4( :)6) :) C+(- +#60<-. !- <06(- -&) 1'0#, + 74+C) '< )µ7-0")((, '< 7'-)"-0+4(. F'µ76)((0'", +40B"µ)"- +"# -&) (-+6( +60(). 84':0"B N 40<) +6'() +"# :0-&0" -&) 0µµ)"(0-, >)<'6) =(, -&+- $ "': C+44 $, + #0(-+"- <'6µ, + #0(-+"- (7+6D4) >)CD'"(. !"# -':+6#( -&+- #0(-+"C) #0# $ -6+1)4, &)+6- =740<-)#, µ0"# +:+(&, 40D) 74+(µ+ C'=6(0"B -&6'=B& 1)0" +"# (0"):. 84':)# <=6-&)6 N -0µ) +6'() +"# B6+"-)# #=6+-0'", -&) 6)C'B"0-0'" '< #0<<)6)"C): #0<<)6)"C) -&+- "': #)<0")# ()4< +"# -&) C'"C)7- '< '-&)6, +( '":+6#( $ C'=6() -':+6#( µ, #)(-0"+-0'". 84':)# )1)" <=6-&)6 N 4+"B=+B), #)(C607-0'", + C'#) +60()( +"# :0-&0" µ, 10):, :'64#( &+"B0"B

:0-&0" -&) 4=(-6'=( >'#, '< '=6 &'4, 4+#,, (&) :&' 0( >=- #010#)# <'6 4'1)’(

(+D), <'6 -&) C&+"C) '< ="0'". !"# :0-&0" -&+- >'#, '< :'64#( '") "': >)CD'"(, '") :&0C& $ "': )"-)6, '") :&0C& $ "': >)C'µ). %&) 'C)+"( (-06 µ), -&) >6))H) C+660)( µ) +4'<-, +( $ )"-)6 +44 <'6µ(, +44 "+-=6), +44 (0"B=4+60-0)(.

Hand in hand, heart in heart, mind in mind did we merge. And in that act a vortex opens, and through its ever increasing spirals were we cast adrift. At first the void, a place of emptiness, of potentials. Compression, alignment and the stars arise. Slowing - life arose and within the immensity before us, that I now call I, a distant form, a distant sparkle beckons. And towards that distance did I travel, heart uplifted, mind awash, like plasma coursing through vein and sinew. Slowed further - time arose and granted duration, the recognition of difference: difference that now defined self and the concept of other, as onwards I course towards my destination. Slowed even further - language, description, a code arises and within my view, worlds hanging within the lustrous body of our holy lady, she who is but divided for love’s sake, for the chance of union. And within that body of worlds one now beckons, one which I now enter, one which I now become. The oceans stir me, the breeze carries me aloft, as I enter all forms, all nature, all singularities.

!

Octave Twelve

Emergence Into Singularity

3'6 4'"B +)'"( #0# $ 40), #0# $ :+0-. !>'1) µ) B+4+E0)( 401)# +"# #0)# :0-&0" + -:0"D40"B, + µ'µ)"- >)-:))" -&) >6)+-&( -&+- $ -''D. K)4': µ) -&) 'C)+"( 6'04)#, C+(-0"B "): 40<) =7'" -&) µ+(()( '< 4+"# $ :0-")(()# 0" -&)06 60(0"B. 3'6µ( )1'41)#, ,)- $ :+0-)# (-044. $ :0-")(()#, $ 6)C'6#)#, $ 6)µ)µ>)6)#. ! 7':)6 "': (=6B)( +"# $ +µ C+44)# <'6-& 0"-' (0"B=4+60-,, <'6 +µ $ "'- D0" '< !H6+)4, -&) D0" '< $'"-&) +"# -&) (7060- '< 40<)? $ <6+Bµ)"- +"# )"-)6 )+C& +"# +44, -&)6)>, D"':0"B µ, -'-+40-,. 9''D <'6 µ) 0" "' 74+C), ())D µ) 0" "' -0µ), <'6 $ +µ >=- +" )C&', ('40# ,)- +µ'67&'=( >, -=6", $ 10(0-, $ :0-")((, $ 7+(( '". I': $ ('40#0<, 0"-' (0"B=4+60-, <=6-&)6, + &)+6-, + µ0"#, + >'#, '< (=>(-+"C). $ )"-)6 -&) #6)+µ-0µ) '< '-&)6 +"# )E7)60)"C) #0<<)6)"C), -&+- :&0C& "': #)<0")( µ) <6'µ '-&)6. !"# "': $ '>()61) + µ'10"B &+"#, :'6#( C6+<-)# <6'µ -&) )(()"C) '< -&'=B&-, :6'=B&- 0" 0"D, )+C& '") C+66,0"B + &)+6->)+-, )+C& '") -&) <4)(&0"B '< + #6)+µ, )+C& '") )E0(-0"B 0" -&0( µ'µ)"-, -&6'=B& -&0( µ'µ)"- +"# >),'"# -&0( µ'µ)"-, +"# <6'µ -&0( µ'µ)"-, +( $ 60() <0"+44, 0"-' (0"B=4+60-, +"# (+,: :)4C'µ).

For long aeons did I lie, did I wait. Above me galaxies lived and died within a twinkling, a moment between the breaths that I took. Below me the oceans roiled, casting new life upon the masses of land I witnessed in their rising. Forms evolved, yet I waited still. I witnessed, I recorded, I remembered. A power now surges and I am called forth into singularity, for am I not kin of Azrael, the kin of Ionthe and the spirit of life? I fragment and enter each and all, thereby knowing my totality. Look for me in no place, seek me in no time, for I am but an echo, solid yet amorphous by turn, I visit, I witness, I pass on. Now I solidify into singularity further, a heart, a mind, a body of substance. I enter the dreamtime of other and experience difference, that which now defines me from other. And now I observe a moving hand, words crafted from the essence of thought, wrought in ink, each one carrying a heartbeat, each one the fleshing of a dream, each one existing in this moment, through this moment and beyond this moment, and from this moment, as I rise finally into singularity and say: welcome.

!

Octave Thirteen

Dreamzone Three

!"# <6'µ -&0( -0µ), <6'µ -&0( 74+C) +"# :0-& -&0( '"), $ )"-)6 -&) #6)+µ '< #6)+µ( +"# :+4D +µ'"B(- -&) (&+#': >)0"B( -&+- (=66'="# µ), ,)- D"': µ) "'-. ;") µ+(D 0( +<<0E)#, -&)" +"'-&)6, ,)- +"'-&)6. .0-&0" -&) C'"C)7-0'"( -&+- +60(), + µ)µ'6, '< +44 -&+- $ &+1) ())", +44 -&+- $ &+1) :0-")(()#. $'"-&) B=0#)( µ), µ+D)( #))7 +"# 60C& -&) -+7)(-6, -&+- ="<'4#( >)<'6) µ, ()"()(. !H6+)4 C'="()4( µ) 0" -&) µ+--)6 '< +#'7-0"B (0"B=4+60-,. %&) )+6-& (=77'6-( +"# "=6-=6)( µ). %&) (-+6( >)CD'" +"# C&)60(& µ), +( +B+0" $ :+4D <'6-& + (-6+"B)6 0" + (-6+"B) 4+"#. /6))-)# >, '-&)6( $ )"-)6 -&)06 :'64#(, ('µ)-0µ)( +( <60)"#, ('µ)-0µ)( +( <'). O, 7+-&, µ, 10(0'" >=6"0"B >60B&-4,, + 4+µ>)"- <4+µ), C'"-0"='=(, )1'410"B. $ >=- + µ'4)C=4) :0-&0" -&) >'#, '< '=6 &'4, 4+#,, ())D0"B -&) )C(-+(, -&+- 40)( :0-&0" 40<), )E-6+C-)# <6'µ -&) C6=#) µ+-)60+4 '< )E0(-)"C). $ :+4D -&0( :'64# C'µ74)-), +"# '<<)6 B6))-0"B, +"# 0" 7+((0"B, =--)6 + (0µ74) :'6#: +#0)=.

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.

I)µ)(0(5=>40C+-0'"( OFOPF?$

Liber Sigillum vel Daath

The Vision And The Void

A vision Of Thirteen Octaves

Consummate With The Whisperings Of Samael

! !

! !

87)(D I'- Speak Not !

Speak not of light

Shadows cast upon a skin of remembrance

Edifice of delight rent by word and deed etched in breath etched in blood

! Speak not of love

Barbed thorn tearing flesh, tender in its yielding opens to anguish

Crimson tide ebbing from open vein enters an ocean of rest

! Speak not of liberty

Illusion of freedom conceit of choice Hollow words cast upon a void Upon ears deaf to enchantment

One heart one mind one body wrapped within a tapestry of deceit and longing

Tell me sweet lies that I might yet believe

Grant tender words that I might wrap my heart within folds of rapture

Tear thorns from flesh grown weary grown sour With the ichor of barren wastelands

Silent remorse witness to decay unfolding causes breath to freeze In lungs once opened by ecstasy’s chant

Stills the heart drumbeat of time of eternity

Eyes dim portals once graced by vision grown weary jaded by witchcraft and lust Retreat and are blinded to the unfolding of splendours pageant

!

Speak not of dreams

Pale spectres alluring calling forth futures witness

One who sighs yields life to the fragmented shadows that crease the sky Obscure the sun and enters the palace of exiles

Beneath a sky bruised purple and violet

! Speak not of rapture

Of nerves that sing of breath that quickens A heartbeat that crushes life within its grasp

Whispers upon the breeze and meets a void of silence stillness

! Speak not of tomorrow’s promise

Alighting upon a seashore of hopes golden sands

Strands of memory cascade from a font grown dry Burnt upon a pyre of passion

Flesh seared within a cauldron of lust Skin yields slips from bones brittle

Turns to dust and is caught upon a breeze

Enters air and is purified within oceans tender embrace to be no more

! Speak not

Once beneath the ocean I called unto thee, reached out a hand and felt thine in mine, only to slip away. Was it but a moment ago that flesh met flesh and melded into a single heart? Through eyes yet dim did I behold thee? With ears confounded by deceit did I yet comprehend thee and upon my lips did I not taste of the nectar that drips, honeyed, from the petals of thy rose? Life steps briefly behind the veil of eternity, takes a bow and collapses into singularity. Waves resolve themselves into ripples and as the reflection settles a new form arises, takes a stumbling step and the pageant unfolds.

The Hill Of Flint

" " "

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

Forgiveness

I sought you out in forest glade limned in moonlight Veiled in beauty sylphen spectre Breath upon the chill night air

gossamer mist of rainbow

Sought you out in oceans deep Reached out a hand and drowned in your embrace

Ebb and tide eternal turning and returning

Sought you out in the caverns of the earth Where crystal adorned your body And liquid gold flowed as blood

Sought you out in starry depths

Where whispers caress the silence eternal The dance unfolding in splendour unheeded

Sought you out in leaf and stem branch and bough

Your face blessed by sunlight Your feet deep within the mother

Turned and saw before me a simple woman

Forgive my love Beloved eternal forgive

Forgive

Ely

A Grigori Tale

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

The Book Of The Black Sun

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,

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.

I

A Tale Unfolds Shadows coalesced and retreated into the corners when he entered the beach hut. Long abandoned the walls coated in mildew, the floor in dust. Shards of some long ago broken chair were all that adorned the room along with a begrimed and cracked mirror on the far wall. Surveying his surroundings with what little remained of his strength Ely feels secure enough and finally with consciousness fleeting he collapses and joins the dust, now disturbed on the floor. Let us pause for a moment and pass a cursory glance upon this our hero, now recumbent, a pile, debris of humanity returned to dust from whence he came. At first glance, a begrimed figure, emaciated to the point of being but a sack of bones. What little flesh we might see bruised and broken and yet a certain dignity informs our Ely. Aquiline features belie the wretch we might perceive, a mane of ink black hair, unkempt and yet a dimly perceived sheen speaks of better days and a finer clime. Clothed in nothing but a rag which serves as a loin cloth. Shackles and short lengths of chain around wrists and ankles speak of captivity and the emaciated condition of this one time prince amongst men. And were we to catch a glimpse of his eyes, a story they would tell, a golden sheen bruised violet at their heart. The true sign of a mage. A breed now but extinct in these enlightened times. This alone would serve us well in respect of our curiosity but there is another feature that would grip our eyes and turn our blood to ice were we gifted with imagination and the sight that sees. From the crown of his head to the very soles of his battered and bruised feet our Ely is glyphed in ciphers and images that the vulgar would call tattoos. Yet no ordinary tools and ink scribed these ancient tongues and symbols. For the moment let us leave our collapsed and slumbering hero and travel through time to a far distant shore. A marble monument, a palace built upon a cliff top overlooking the majesty of an ocean roiling in the grip of a violent storm. Clouds swift, cross a blood red moon and amidst howls of thunder, the screams of a woman in labour pierce the night. A bed chamber lit by candles, the air heavy with camphor, a woman lies upon a bed, pressure within her belly, sweat upon her body, she pushes downwards. Her breath escaping in gasps, she opens and is delivered of child, the rapture of release. Holding life within her hands, placing the child upon her swollen breast, releases liquid into the expectant mouth and knows the pleasure of union.

And in this way our Ely came to this life, cherished and nurtured by parents awash with the glow of love. Surrounded in tenderness did he thrive for seven long and rapturous summers. And what of these our loving parents? Atop their cliff top they lived in solitude and study. Morgan, a cypher of beauty, lithe in form with hair the nimbus that would adorn the sun of any world stood in majesty. Adorned in white lace with but one ruby star that hung from a chain of gold between her breasts. Again the golden eyes, a family sign also shared by Ybrim, slight of figure but possessed of a presence that would fill any hall. Muscular and yet something of the feline pervaded his form. Long raven locks adorned a face more akin to a hawk than to a man and yes the golden eyes. Long ago had our loving parents fled the shores of slavery where the new god ruled and demanded sacrifice as penance and superstition judged all to be suspect were they not of the true faith. So yes flee they did and now upon their cliff top they share their solitary existence with the wind, the stars and the moon. The beasts that would visit and the birds upon the air and here they continued their pursuits undisturbed by the travails of man. For six long summers did Ely thrive within the bosom of his family and knew only love. His days blessed by the delights offered by his cliff top fastness, his nights adorned by the majesty of moon and stars. And then on the eve of his seventh summer did Morgan, ever attentive, draw him aside and spoke of the mystery about to be unveiled. They walked the corridors of the palace and entered a portal concealed behind a hanging depicting the lady Artemis abroad upon the hunt, her hunting dogs in quest of their prey, a young maiden in the first flush of youth, delighting in the chase as Artemis unfurls her bow and sends forth a silven shaft into the night. Ascending steep steps cut into the marble Morgan and Ely sought their destination, a little used garret atop the crest of one of the many towers that adorned the palace. Upon entering candles gutter into flame and the room is bathed in lambent light. Perfume of rose and sandalwood weave themselves upon the air and in the distance a low resonant vibration fills the air. The room of bare stone adorned here and there with images and cyphers in no language known to Ely shone on the walls as if possessed with a life of their own. Low coaches sheaved in silk and velvet stood against the walls. The floor covered in the finest silver sand and rose petals barely conceal a blood red triangle at whose angles stood candles atop stands of carven wood depicting fabulous beasts of legend. In the centre of the triangle a single censer releases upon the air the perfumes that now intoxicate the senses of Ely and his gracious mother. My dearest Ely, my heart and very soul, this night you come of age and it is our custom to share our nature and knowledge with our kin when they come of age, Morgan whispered in a voice tender and possessed of power, as if the very words

caused the air itself to vibrate. It is my duty as your mother to bring you to this moment and deliver you into the heart of the mystery we are and the knowledge that informs this. 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.

What seems an eternity passes and rising as if from a swoon Ely sits in rapture as he examines the lines of his flesh. Upon his chest twin serpents, indigo and gold writhe with sinuous vitality. These, my son will grant you wisdom, swiftness and the ability to create a nectar sweet and a venom bitter as your protection. Upon each thigh etched in amber light a golden hare and a dragonfly sit gazing at each other. The golden hare will grant you the ability to travel between the realms whilst the dragonfly will gift you with invisibility. One more tattoo remains, a red inverted triangle adorns his abdomen at its centre a golden mote, the heart of a star and etched around it cyphers in a tongue unknown to Ely. Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast intones Morgan. The Elven upon hearing this coalesce into a single being, a whisper of farewell creases the air and they depart and return to whence they came. The final tattoo is the source of our power and in time you will learn of its use for the future is but dimly perceived by us at this time. Ely rises from the floor brushing the sand and rose petals from himself, wraps himself in a cowl of midnight stars and taking Morgan’s hand understands. This rite, whispers Morgan, will take place each eve of your birthtime until your thirteenth summer and then your preparations will be complete and the quickening will begin. Hand in hand Ely and Morgan leave the chamber descend the steps and passing through the wall hanging depicting our lady Artemis and leaving the palace, enter the night and on the cliff tops beneath a sky sewn with diamonds join Ybrim who sits beside a fire and upon a cloth of silver a feast is prepared in celebration of the event and the moment. On sensing their approach Ybrim rises to his feet after his long vigil and welcomed Morgan into his embrace. Feeling her softness and warmth pressed against him never failed to remind him that his Lady, his Morgan was his very heart and soul. Into this embrace Ely entered and felt the love that pervaded the night air. Greetings my beloved ones Ybrim whispers and returns to the soft embrace of the grass beneath him. Morgan and Ely join him and share in the feast prepared for the occasion. Let us offer a libation to the earth, moon and stars and once performed Ybrim speaks in soft whispers as he addresses Ely. My beloved son this night your fairest mother has brought you to the portal of our world and you have undertaken the first of many rites that will prepare you for your quest. Yes, my son you were born to a purpose and yet that is but a dim reflection in the eyes of us your loving parents and yet we will prepare you. For my part I have gifts to bestow upon you. The first I gift you this night, an ivory horn, with this you command all natures creatures in respect of both beast and elemental. Its use will become known to you in time. Meanwhile keep it safe and it will serve you well. Holding the horn in his hands Ely feels its lightness and warmth. Notices the runes carved into it and the beautiful perfume it seems to release upon the air. Hold the

image of a creature within your mind, Ybrim whispered and blow upon it. Ely pauses and then, ah yes, I know, I shall call my friend to me and with this thought clear in his mind Ely blows once upon the horn and waits. The night air still, the silence deepens in anticipation and there before the three gathered beneath the stars a beautiful white horse, her mane slick with sweat and her flanks flushed after her exertions stands the beautiful Imri. The three rise and climbing upon the back of Imri who welcomes their presence with a soft neigh, off she gallops into the night air, wind whipping her mane into a nimbus of pulsing light as she gathers speed. In this way and upon the eve of his seventh summer did Ely receive the first of the sigils and the first magickal gift. Six more summers pass and upon the eve of each Morgan takes Ely to the chamber atop the tower where amongst the perfumes and candlelight the Elven impart to him the sigils and glyphs that prepare him for his quest. During the second visit the family seals were placed upon his back and shoulders. Upon his third visit Ely received the seal of the Elohim and those falsely called the fallen ones, the Grigori. A single lightning bolt and a blood red rose. On his fourth visit his legs and feet are etched with leaves and feathers, encapsulating the elements of earth and air. On his fifth visit oceanic waves are etched upon his back and flames upon his abdomen depicting the elements of water and fire. On his sixth all that remains of his visible flesh is cyphered in a language long known but forgotten aeons ago. And on his seventh visit a web is superimposed upon the entire design and at its heart she sits feeling the vibrations along her silken web causing the entire design to connect and interact as if a conduit of power was opened and Ely’s body is turned into liquid light. And of the gifts imparted by Ybrim. A silver mask to aid invisibility. A wand to grant all that is wished for. A chalice ever flowing with food and drink. A cloak woven of angel dust to grant flight. A sword forged by the Elven to cut any object and discern the truth of a thing. A single red rose ever blooming and issuing a perfume eternal in its fragrance granting its bearer, attraction and seduction. Seven summers pass, the preparations completed and Ely attains his thirteenth summer. On the eve of this night upon the cliff tops accompanied by Morgan and

Ybrim a final invocation takes place beneath a moon now full and sending forth a light that pierces their eyes causing two mighty towers to rise from the ocean crowned by a crescent which holds the lambent moon in its embrace. Shafts of light opal and gold dance along the columns and infuse the crescent with a light dark as midnight. The portal opens and what was once a cliff top view of the ocean becomes a golden desert beneath the burning rays of a black sun. In the distance the city of pyramids stands beckoning. In this direction they advance and upon entering a golden pyramid, they lie upon three beds of velvet and dream. The remainder of this short tale is the product of their dream. The events that unfold through the appearance of time. Characters that make their entry and equally swift departure. Yes dear reader we enter the dreaming moment and cast aside the chains of meaning and speak to that silent reservoir that lies at the heart of all sentient beings, wonder and mystery. And now our Ely presents a further mystery, is he to be considered to be unconsciousness upon the floor of a beach hut, dust upon dust or does he lie with his loving parents within the city of pyramids bathed by the rays of a black sun? Ah but we race ahead, for now our hero has attained his thirteenth summer and at this point in our tale the dream begins to unfold. To begin at the beginning. She visited often. At the beginning there was the merest presence of her perfume, intoxicating. A toxin that invaded Ely’s mind and body with sweet delight. Promises of fulfillment. Promises of destiny she sewed into the web of his being. Latterly she visited him in form wrapping her long sensuous limbs around his reposing form. “And what would you have my dreaming one?” She would whisper and upon awakening the world, his world appeared hollow. And yet he persisted, ignoring her call, denying her presence until the torture of unhappiness engulfed him in its eternal embrace. This he believed to be the result of her lingering perfume and ever present whisper, “come, for I await thee.” And now our once bright Ely knew the toxin of desire and within the cauldron of his heart gave voice to the pleasure and pain he felt in her presence.

Time & Again

Once a whisper caught upon a breeze a murmur heard within the dark a glimpse etched in thorns a cry cast upon ears deafened a plea unheeded

Now a whisper unheard

a murmur eternal a glimpse cast upon a skin of amber a cry of a heart emptied a plea an ocean of dreams

Shadows, dreams, but echoes, pass along corridors unending Thoughts, architects of sorrow lay their stones And upon foundations crumbling this tower is raised Washed within amniotic oceans embrace Caressed by starlight Nurtured by Moons light Cursed by the day star Time again and yet again Once

Within a golden city he caught a glimpse of her Eyes bruised in the beholding Upon a hill beneath the moon he held her, trembling Heart entranced by ardour and pain Beneath the ocean he reached for her Grasped her hand and was lost to the waves Upon a starbeam they danced Within the embrace of fairest Artemis She a ladye fair cloaked in lace of white He a jester gold and black Their dance unfolds eternal

Now

Shadows resolve into emptiness Whispers to silence Vision to the void The heart a burning ground The mind but a dim reflection The body kindling for the fire

Time again and yet again The promise of a love The promise of a life Ashes cast upon waters turned to venom And yet this heart knows beauty, this mind knows truth And within that noble temple does reside And now the call is sent forth upon aethyrs devoid of life, Entranced by ardour grown sour, a fruit plucked corrupt Once

Hopes golden sands beneath a violet moon A starlit city of dreaming domes An ocean of promise An eternity of dream

Now

Carbon ash burnt beneath a blood red moon Miasmas of corruption sow seeds of despair A barren wasteland A fixed moment

Time again and yet again The dreaming moment evolves, unfolds And in its turning the stars do spin The lambent light rejoices The enslaved are freed The joyless know ecstasy The innocent are absolved

Once

A dream beheld A call sent forth An answer issued A mystery unfolding

Now

A dream made flesh A call yet echoes upon the aethyrs An answer yet unfolding A mystery inviolate

The son of the starbeam dreams and knows freedom Time again and yet again

Morgan sensing the change in Ely pressed him upon the matter and despite her sensitive probings Ely proved to be reluctant to discuss the matter. Resigned to silence she withdrew her questions only leaving Ely with the words, discuss what you will, when you will, I will always be there for you. Thank you, replied Ely, your grace and sensitivity are much appreciated and when there is something to discuss be assured it is to you I will turn. Having completed the preparations the next five years unfolded in accordance with the ways of this most unique of families. Morgan continued to instruct Ely in the ways of star lore and the simples that when administered served as powerful medicines. She taught him the auguries of weather and how to read the signs in omens arising from nature. Taught him the rituals that celebrated the turning of the seasons and the cycle of the moon. Ely felt that there was so very much to learn but in the caring hands of Morgan all unfolded elegantly and appropriately. For his part Ybrim instructed Ely in the arts of Mars, the forging of the heart and mind into the focus of the breath and the body and after three years Ely found himself proficient in the art at which juncture Ybrim introduced him to the use of the sword, though practice always took place with a wooden replica it was always the sword that he had been gifted that occupied Ely’s thoughts if not his hands. During this time Ely also took a liking to the composing of verse and the crafting of images and though the content of his creations often eluded him as to its meaning

Morgan was always on hand to discuss his musings and creations. One such poem troubled Ely immensely for he had no experience of what was implied nor the depth of feeling it evoked in him and the references were obscure at best. This poem he took to Morgan one morning as she sat in one of the many arbours that graced her favoured rose garden. The air heavy with the perfume of roses and alive with bird song Ely approached and sat beside her. Mother, I have a poem I would share with you and perhaps you could shed some light upon it for it speaks of things I do not understand. Morgan put aside the drawing materials she had been working with and the sketch she had all but completed and gave Ely her warmest smile and full attention. Unrolling a scroll of parchment wrapped in leather Ely began to read.

Blood Rain

Liquid tears leeched into golden sand

Rises, a mist of softest pink Borne upon breath

Etched in flesh A cascade of liquid longing

Witness to the ages thy brother calls

His call echoes upon aethyrs Bruised by love’s eternal caress

A teardrop of blood upon a waxen cheek

A breath frozen in time A heartbeat stilled, silent

Liquid words leeched into silence

Rises, a silent scream Borne along avenues of fire

Consume, transform into myriad worlds Each a mirror, carbon

Witness to the moment thy sister calls Her call, plainsong of the heart

Wounded by love’s travails

A tear frozen in blood red silence A breath, caught upon the breeze

A heartbeat, a whisper rises to a scream, silence

Liquid silence leeched into the spiral of the day Rises, a memory darkly

Borne along moments eternal Unfolds into the golden moment

Return … Return … Return

Witness to truth we call unto thee A liquid call from oceans deep

Thy lovers, spent, return

Blood rain falls Its heart a drumbeat, Its breath a triumph

Within the citadel the watchers pray And upon plains of liquid gold

Beneath a sky indigo A bright star beckons

Blood rain rises A tide, flows into liquid oceans embrace

Dark towers rise, beacons of night cast shadows deep And upon an escarpment of amber

The Grigori, legions of the night await, a vigil

Blood rain, a tide of shadows Consumes the night and casts upon the shores of time

Still, silent forms, each a cypher of promise And along corridors sulphurous does the pageant unfold, eternal

Sic transit gloria rosa mundi

Blood rain shrouds the light of a black sun Its rays a resonant thrum, a heartbeat

Beneath its rays bathed in nectar, a toxin sweet Watchers shrouded in darkness await the tide

Liquid fire consumes all to ash, blown upon winds and vacuum

Blood Rain … Blood Moon … Black Sun Holy trinity in The Night of Pan

Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast witness to the ages rise Through the portal enter this The Vale of Tears

Thy Grigori hold the pylons and summon thee

Namrael a cipher of brightest day, Samael of deepest night Their breath a toxin, their gaze a benediction

Their hearts conjoined, their minds a liquid dance upon aethyrs bright

Blood rain falls and quenches thirst, slakes appetites jaded Blood Moon rises, silence

Black Sun rises conjoined, silence The dragon stirs from her slumbers, scales vibrate

Takes flight and enters the opalescent night

Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast rises The dance unfolds and in her embrace the Grigori dance

She a ladye fair adorned in white lace He a jester in motley black and gold

And upon their cheeks a single tear of blood falls into the night

Blood rain Liquid tears leeched into golden sand

Rises, a mist of softest pink Borne upon breath

Etched in flesh A cascade of liquid longing

Ave Samael Ave Lilith Ave Pan Ely takes a breath and places the scroll on the table beside the drawing instruments and awaits words from Morgan who in respectful silence is giving honour to the words of her son. Ely, she finally whispers, my beloved, how do you know of such things? Your words are rich with the language of Love, of yearning and yet they speak of much that is beyond the mortal realm. Who is this muse that has snared you with her perfume, for only one of the graces themselves could have guided your heart and pen? She has visited me in dreams for many years, Ely replied and guides my thoughts and these my words. She has shown me such delights and graced my days with the richness of her world and my nights have been awash with longing for her. She calls herself Namrael, a Grigori name and has gifted me with one also. Yes my Ely, this I know, Morgan, smiling replied. Your true name has been revealed to you and by the one you are destined to accompany through this the vale of tears. Your muse serves as humanities archangel and as such she exists somewhere in this world and destiny will unite you.

Your poem speaks of prophecy and the unfolding of the end of days as foretold and your part within it and though there is much that is obscure to you all will be made clear with the passing of time, for now you but grow into the prophecy and this is why you have been prepared by us, in readiness for what is to come. This I understand but she speaks to me as a woman also and in this I am at a loss. What do I know of Love, except the love that I share with you my parents? The love I feel for Imri and this our beautiful home. Ah my dearest, you age beyond your years and already the world whispers to you. Her call is insatiable, a path perilous and yet the treasure that lies in the pursuit is equaled by nothing. When I first saw Ybrim, your father, I was lost to myself, never had I witnessed such beauty, such strength and I thirsted for him as one would thirst for water in the desert. He declared his love of me and yet others deemed our union to be ill conceived as the fruit of our union would be a child of prophecy and in these matters we but see through a glass darkly. For many years we met in secret for nothing could keep us apart and stole what precious moments we could. So much time and yearning passed between us that one day upon the eve of resigning myself to a life without him, Ybrim appeared one day and simply asked me to leave with him then and there. Without a second thought I left my home with only what I stood in and we rode to the port and embarked upon a ship that took us to a foreign land where we lived for many years before the hostilities began. This story you know for we have explained the circumstances of our arrival here to you. The joy of our life unfolded crowned by the arrival of our most precious Ely. As your mother I council you simply, the heart is its own vessel, its own sails and wind and steers itself truly, follow it and you will know truth. All else is a sham, an existence devoid of love, mechanical and not for our noble kind. Know the joy and pain for it will raise you to the stars themselves and will cast you into the deepest hell. Rejoice in the life that this begets. Rejoice and sing with a heart pure and innocent. The angels themselves weave the breath of those made so and of their lives make a tapestry that keeps alive the vision of this world. Ely thinks upon his mothers words takes her hand in his and places a kiss upon it. Thank you Morgan for your understanding and I will endevour to do as you suggest and now I will leave you to your drawing and seek out Ybrim who has promised to let me use the sword today, not the wooden practice sword but the one he gave me a time ago. Rising Ely leaves and Morgan casts him a smile and in her thoughts wonders, is my son equal to the task before him? I pray so. The rest of that day was spent in joyful exertion beneath a burning sun and for the first time it was not Ely that found himself flat on his back upon the grass. For the first time ever Ely had bested Ybrim and Ybrim rejoiced in this and felt pride in his son.

Time passes, the seasons unfold their bounty, the moon travels her cycle across heavens dusted with diamonds and finally it is the celebration of Ely’s eighteenth summer. Midnight. The cliff tops bathed in the silven light of a waxing moon. A solitary owl greets our family as they wend their way to the copse of trees that serves as their temple beneath the stars. The air, rich in the perfume of the ocean and the musk that rises from the earth and in the distance the susurration of the ocean beating her waves, whipped into foam against the unrelenting rocks. Moths flitter around the torches they hold for light. Cloaks wrapped tightly against the chill of the night. They arrive and Ybrim sets his torch to the firewood heaped in readiness for their arrival. As if by magick, which of course it is, the kindling catches and amidst the crackle and rising smoke flames reach heavenward in quest of the night air. Shedding their cloaks they form a triangle around the pyre and as Ybrim casts precious galbanum and storax into the flames Morgan begins to sing. A song of yearning as of a lover for their beloved. The words weave themselves into the fabric of the night air and rise into a crescendo as Morgan opens her body to the night, head thrown back in ecstasy, throat taut in invokation she utters a single word and the night stills, expectant. Thunder rolls, the sky is rent by a single lightning bolt and their before the eyes of Morgan, Ybrim and Ely dance the Elven. Seven in number, yet one. They form into a circle spinning until all that is revealed is but a circle of light increasing in resonance and hue until it is a burning light accompanied by a vibration that cracks the air itself. Our family step into the heart of this circle where stillness prevails, the heart of the tornado is still beyond stillness. Facing inwards they link hands and commune. Again Morgan sings, this time accompanied by the bass tones of Ybrim. A single word whispered and where once stood three beings, were you, dear reader to be present the sight that would greet you would be singular. Morgan transformed into a single cypher as her sigils, her tattoos coalesce and rise in a singular form as her flesh dissolves and reveals her angelic form, feline, etched in light she flows outwards and dissolves into the circle that spins around them. Ybrim, a single whispered word and he to dissolves and reveals his true form, serpentine, sinuous as he also dissolves into the circle that continues to spin. Likewise Ely whispers a single word and he to is rendered into light as the cyphers form into a singularity and upon the night air a web of gold is hung and sitting at its heart a majestic spider sits. Along the strands of silk that emanate into the night a keen vibration begins and builds into a crescendo that draws the circle into itself and at this point a final whisper is heard upon the night air. Farewell beloved Ely we enter the city of pyramids this night and await the time when you will join us. Know that we are with you and our love guides and protects you always. Silence. Ely falls to the grass and silently dreams.

II

The Dawn Of The Avatar

Rising from the grass feeling refreshed and invigorated Ely shakes off the dew that has settled on his clothing and prior to heading back to the house chooses to descend to the seashore and enter the embrace of the ocean and give thanks. Walking back the way they had come the night before he passes along a goat track which winds its way between majestic rocks which rise on all sides of him. The scree beneath his feet causes him to be wary of each step as the incline deepens and it is all he can do to remain upright and apart from one mishap that causes a painful graze upon his cheek Ely finally makes it to the seashore. The air alive with ozone and the crackle of expectancy Ely scales the boulders that separate the ocean from the land and finally immerses himself up to his knees in her liquid embrace. Closing his eyes he directs his head towards the sun and relishes the warm glow upon his face and the dancing motes of light behind his closed eyelids. In his reverie he almost misses the hint of a presence but feels it as if a magnet had entered his heart for his eyes are snapped open and there before him, rising out of the ocean itself a form breathtaking in its beauty. She is naked but for the coral and seaweed woven into her golden hair. Droplets of water sparkle in rainbow hues as they fall from her skin. 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 golden hair, bright as the sun 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 life, for her beauty, for her mystery, each of them now lay dreaming within her womb. Advancing towards Ely who now attempts to rub the wonder from his eyes only to discover she yet remains. She takes his hands in hers and gazes deeply into his eyes and in that gaze all is revealed. They embrace and in a liquid kiss melt into the ecstasy of union. She whispers in his ear, the sound of a leaf upon a gentle breeze, the sound that passes between a mother and her child and the sound that exists between the stars as they dance in celestial harmony into eternity. Yes dearest one I come as summoner and summoned by name, like you I have many but to the true I am Na’amah your Namrael. I greet thee Samael, son of the starbeam as the oceans deep to your stellar beauty. Across time and space and between the aethyrs have I

sought you. History has spoken of us many times and now, once again we manifest in this the vale of tears. Greetings my lord it is I thy ladye Fayre. Beloved.

The Ladye Fayre

Whereof the thoughts that course the heavens of her mind made swift by mercury’s quicksilver mantle?

Whereof the beating of her heart, cradled?

Whereof the tide and upon what exotic shores does she lay?

Whereof the dreams in a bed of liquid light,

carry her aloft to join the dance eternal?

Whereof the angels who upon her breath are called forth?

Whereof the faerykind, her sisters, within whose embrace she does dwell?

Whereof the goddess, her oracle does reside?

Whereof the quest, across mountain and valley, desert and ocean?

Of the Earth is she made.

Of oceanic Water does her blood flow.

Of Air, her breath passes eternal.

And of Fire is her vision made complete.

What truth does reside within her essence, what secrets within her heart

and what are the bounties her body graces and brings forth?

She travels deep and wide. Like the ocean, her tides an eternal song. Like a field of corn beneath amber skies she blesses all.

And like the passing breeze does she alight, a butterfly upon a leaf of emerald.

Reluctantly they step back from the embrace and it is then that Ely notices that like himself Na’amah is cyphered in glowing tattoos also. Beneath her golden hair her scalp is etched with runes and patterns intricate and subtle. Above her left breast she is scribed with the eye of Horus, crowned and conquering in his glory and upon her back at the base of her spine a winged scarab of Khephren holds in his horns a black sun whose rays dance upon her flesh transforming from one form to another as if etched in liquid light. In close proximity their cyphers dance upon the air between them igniting the aethyrs with fire that spirals inwards and outwards, finally resting at a stillpoint that holds their gaze. And in that gaze they are transformed for before the eyes of Ely stands a golden maiden adorned in the finest white lace and he a jester in motley of black and gold. They dance within the upturned palms of the goddess who holds them in her embrace and as they dance a single blood red tear is shed between them which falls upon a waxen cheek. Consummation. And in this form they leave the seashore, giving thanks to the ocean deep as they climb the cliffs, hand in hand and retire to what is now Ely’s home, a home he left but a night ago and yet an eternity has passed. Like children, like lovers they danced from one room to another until exhaustion claimed them and they fell where they stood upon cushions of silk and velvet. Hand in hand, heart in heart Hypnos took them into his embrace and they dreamed. For three rapturous years Ely knew peace and in the embrace of his lady sought naught but to remain so throughout the unfolding of days and into eternity itself. During this time our erstwhile lovers learned of the secrets each held within their hearts and natures. Ely was told of how Na’amah had first come to this world wrapped in flesh frail and only having a foothold in this realm for she was born of the oceans deep and the land did not sustain her. Through her art and guile she had come to immortality in a singular way. Na’amah took Ely’s hand in hers and told her tale while Ely listened attentively. I 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 sits 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. For long aeons 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. Then one day I heard your call, a call that the heart rhymes in blood and passion and casts adrift upon the aethyrs, often to go unheard but I my dear one heard and visited as I could and over the years prepared the way for our meeting, a meeting now consummated and a dream made flesh. Ely understands and shares with her all that is known to him and together they form a pact that crystallizes their purpose. Avatars upon this world, Grigori, watchers in the night abroad at the end of days to herald the passing of all that has gone before and to welcome the dawn of a new world order. Avatars of the heart baptized in blood. Conjured from the very void itself to fulfill a purpose millennia in the making Together they define and refine their art, prepare and enact the cycles of their invokations, bathe in the nectar of delight and conceive a moonchild, as is their way. And then on the eve of his twenty first summer Na’amah departs and leaves our tale. Her departure witnessed by Ely after the fashion that Morgan and Ybrim had left. They walked by the ocean, the waves lapping at their toes and turning to Ely Na’amah with sadness in her eyes tells Ely of her need to depart for she too has been called to the city of pyramids to prepare the way for Ely’s arrival. Ely is saddened and in his heart the light is extinguished. Placing a final kiss upon his lips Na’amah

lets out a piercing scream and the elven surround her and her form evaporates and she becomes limned in liquid light, her cyphers, the tattoos upon her flesh take fire and a single scarabeous rises from the ashes of her form, a whispered farewell my love, unto eternity and beyond and she is gone leaving Ely spellbound on the shoreline, tears rolling down his cheeks and in his heart a single thought is distilled, am I to remain upon this world having had my parents claimed for some higher purpose and now my beloved likewise? And in this way Ely learned the meaning of his true name, the desolate one.

III

The Decay Of The Angel

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

And they will die The Book Of Enoch

And now our Ely broods. Alone, cast adrift, uncertain but of one thing he is certain, the idyl that has been his life must end. His sanctuary now a prison that projects upon him memories unbearable. Here his beloved mother Morgan sat and told him stories of beauty and mystery. Here she held him in her loving arms and kissed his upturned face. Here in this hall Ybrim taught him the arts that made him strong in body and mind and here his beloved Na’amah granted him the treasure of her body into whose ocean he dived, weightless and free only to be bound by loss and the remorse that stands attendant. Yes uncertain Ely is but in this he finds strength and resolves to enter the mystery that is the world of man. Placing seals upon his fastness so no intruder might enter he bids farewell to his sanctuary and without a backwards glance walks the path that leads to the port that lies a days walk from where he stands. He takes little with him. He carries none of the gifts received from Ybrim, gifts that would protect him for he resolves to enter the world naked. To be but a leaf cast upon unknown winds, to drift as is the lot of those he would now join. All he carries are provisions for a days walk and sufficient

coin to book passage upon the first vessel to leave this his once blessed homeland, to wander and perhaps in time to be washed up on hopes golden sands and know some pleasure in this the vale of tears and live out his life a testimony to loss and desolation. Yet unknown to him the stars have woven their own tapestry. His destiny, his sacrifice, the seal of fate that has been his life and its preparations for what is to come. The day bright as he walks the path of his choosing and at eventide he enters for the first time the first town he has known. Struck by the run down appearance of the buildings he senses the entropy carved into every brick and the look of the lost upon the faces of those he encounters. Dogs run the streets in search of scraps and in dark corners, hidden from sight children play their games. Innocence stained by the life that is their legacy. Here a mother carries a bundle, her child who wails and Ely’s heart is torn. Here a legless man in rags begs for alms from men and women who see him not. And there a woman sells her body to the highest bidder for a crust and a draught of oblivion. Litter is blown down the streets to gather in corners where vermin sort from the detritus for something, anything that might sustain them. He turns a corner and there stands an inn. Perhaps a meal and resting place and perhaps information as to a ship bound for some exotic shore? Entering, the smell of sweat is mixed with smoke that rises from pipes and this enters his nostrils causing him to retch as if in the presence of some toxin that invades his senses and sews seeds of further desolation. Our Ely feels at home and joins the others leaning at the bar. He asks for water of the barman who with his one remaining eye sneers in response. You buy a drink or its back to the street for you. Complying Ely orders ale and asks if there is anyone, a ships captain, perhaps of whom he might enquire as to passage from these shores. The barman stabs his finger in the direction of a tall figure seated by the fire. At first glance Ely sees the man to be in his forties, tall, unlike those present in the inn and of a complexion that tells of warmer climes. His clothing reminds Ely of a military costume he saw in a book of such things. His hair hangs in dank dark locks and dresses his shoulders as if a shroud. On the table before him amidst the remaining debris of a meal sits a sword and bag of what Ely takes to be coins. Like the others he smokes a pipe that sends plumes of dark blue clouds into the air, air starved of vitality but Ely assumes this to be quite normal and approaches the man. The man looks up at his approach and Ely finds himself looking into eyes cloudy and sheened with a yellow pall that speaks of sickness. Might I join you Ely asks politely? If you must comes the curt reply. Sitting Ely surveys the table and his unfriendly companion. Do you have a ship, he asks? For those who have the coin for passage, spits out the captain in reply. Then I would book passage, where are you bound? To the northern lakes, the icefields in search of a worthy cargo. Then I will join you if I might? As I said, the captain replies, if you have the coin for passage? I

do. Then meet at me at the pier at midnight when we leave this port. Then let us seal the bargain and Ely offers the captain his hand and introduces himself, I am Ely, and how might I address you? Raspire comes the reply. Then Raspire we meet at midnight. Ely rises and leaves the inn and enters the night surrounded by the debris of this forlorn port and town. Time drags as is often the case but finally Ely heads towards the pier having received directions from a young woman heading to her place of rest. Ely heads off in the direction indicated, turns a corner and is set upon by a group of ruffians who bludgeon him until his senses flee him and he falls to the ground, collapsed and broken amidst the mud that mires the path. Finally he wakes in darkness with a head fit to burst and attempts to rise only to find himself bound and chained. The days pass and his only contact is with a cabin boy who brings him but a bowl of water and a stale crust of bread daily. No words are shared as the boy enters fulfills his task and leaves, only to return and perform this daily ritual. Ely takes stock of his situation and being unfamiliar with the ways of the world takes this to be quite normal and resigns himself to his fate. What feels like weeks later but in truth is but a handful of days the ship runs into a storm. From his prison Ely gauges it to be severe and the panic on deck stands testimony to his thoughts. Perhaps this night I die, he muses and as if by prophecy the planking of his prison is torn asunder and sea water pours into the breach. Ely knows fear for chained as he is what means of escape exist for him? The prison cell fills rapidly and in a short time Ely is submerged and water enters his lungs as he gasps out what he takes to be the last moments of his life. His adventure cut so very short, not even begun. The last seal on his desolate state and then a rending as the ship is cast upon another rock and the planking securing his chains is splintered and Ely floats free and with the last remaining breath in his lungs kicks upwards in search of light and air. And this is how he came to be washed up on a foreign shore, surrounded by what remained of the destroyed ship. He rises, no sign of life and he heads inland and this is how he chanced upon the beach hut where we left him at the outset of this our tale.

And now we return to the suspended moment and find Ely not regaining consciousness amidst the dust and debris of the beach hut but upon a bed of straw surrounded by curious and concerned faces. His body has been washed, his chains removed and he is dressed in a coarse linen garment, Eat, drink requests an ancient with a toothless grin. Her smile is sincere and Ely warms to her immediately. Where am I, he asks? Ah we found you in the abandoned beach hut and brought you here the better to tend to your wounds and sorry state. I thank you, Ely replies. As to where you are, the hamlet of willow deep in the land of Estrella she stated with an air of pride as if her home were the very centre of the world. And where do you call home, she asks? A far off land where I lived with my parents in a palace atop cliffs overlooking the ocean and latterly shared with my beloved. All were taken from me and I left and came to this state of things, a wanderer cast adrift upon the void. You are marked most strangely. Your body covered in images and words we have no knowledge of. What mean they? They are the seals of my family. My inheritance as I perform my task. Yes as foretold by our elders the ancient says with an air of reverence in her voice. We also found this upon your body as she reached out and placed in Ely’s hands an oilskin containing two scrolls. Ely breaks the seals and finds intact the scrolls he had carried with him. The first his legacy to humankind. The second his promise of rest and reunion with his loved ones. Anathema as the first scroll was called was the completion of the work he did with his beloved Na’amah. Ritual upon ritual performed during their brief time together and given voice in words Cyphered in magick. The second a poem written by her and gifted to him as a sign of the promise that existed between them. The ancient takes Ely’s hands into her own, creased and marked by the ages, he feels their warmth and is heartened by the touch, the contact and lets out a deep sigh. You have been augured and this night we assist you on the last steps upon your path she whispers. We have prepared as best we can and now await the rising of our holy lady who this night waxes full. The once concerned faces, the ancient amongst them are transformed as the light of the moon enters the room and amidst the lambent light supplied by candles and the rapture of perfumes upon the air the Elven reveal themselves. Beloved Ely, your task completed, for as our avatar have you opened the portal that now bathes this world in the light of the black sun. A light that will burn the stain from the hearts and minds of all sentient beings across time and space. Your task has been arduous but know you have been attended at all times, cradled and nurtured in the embrace of your loved ones who now await you in the city of pyramids. Join them and take your rest in eternity.

Upon hearing these words Ely removes the coarse linen garment and lies naked upon the bed bathed in moon and candle light. The Elven form a circle around him and begin their dance, a spiraling circle that creases the air, folds time and space and at the apex of their circle, now a spiral a black sun shines resplendent. Its rays pierce and enter every pore upon Ely’s body and he sees the faces of his beloved ones, Morgan smiles, Ybrim casts him a heartfelt greeting and Na’amah imparts a kiss that enraptures him as his flesh begins to dissolve and his cyphers, his tattoos take fire. His family seals, now golden turn his flesh to carbon and those representing the elements claim all that is of him that is of this world. One by one they spiral in liquid light and dissolve leaving only a golden web upon the air. A web he now absorbs into what remains of his consciousness and being and now rises the great arachnid that wove her spell and danced her web lines into being as Ely Cyphered in his true form rises, golden mist that is absorbed into the spiral formed by the Elven and they begin to sing. A song sang by stars as they pass along the corridors of eternity. The Elven rise and with Ely at their heart they soar into the aethyrs and to the ocean they return and were you see that final moment, beneath the moon twin towers rise cradling a crescent and into the hands of our lady is ElY delivered, where he dances eternal with his ladye fayre, she adorned in cloth of white lace and he in gold and black. Slowly this vision evaporates and dissolves into amniotic oceans embrace. As to Ely he dwells within the city of pyramids, his home eternal, blessed by the love of those angels amongst whom he is counted. Since the dawn of time itself have they been present and at this time, the end of days have they woven their spells and their essence into the very fabric of time and space. And now our tale concludes and we leave you with three items to peruse at your leisure. The first, the essence of our tale, cast as a stone into a pool of liquid light. The echoes reverberate throughout eternity and gift life with the jewel call the soul. Life within life within life eternal. The second and third items the scrolls left by Ely at the site of his return to eternity and the embrace of his loved ones. Perhaps they will be found by the discerning or perhaps they will remain forever buried in the hearts and minds of all sentient beings and inform the very elixir that gives rise to flesh.

In the Night Of Pan it is dawn and the Black Sun rises.

Sunset

Golden the light Velvet the air

Upon the shore a skylark sings And in the heart a ruby wine does flow

Gentle breeze, the leaves do stir

Day star descends into oceans embrace Brings light, brings warmth to the creatures below And in its cascading flow a single whisper is heard

Golden child ascend

And from the waters take flight Borne upon wings of liquid gold stained red

Enter eternity, the moment and rejoice

Namrael

Dear Reader our tale took place outside the circles of time, during the night of time itself, when dreams were made flesh and all that was, existed in the dreaming moment. Was, is and will be, in the passing of each thought and the echo of each desire. Is written into the memory time. And if, upon a night of starry beauty, your gaze be pulled to the heavens, know that the witness and his Elohim continue the unmaking through your hearts and minds, your bodies and your souls.

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