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Pax Nobilis

A Noble Peace

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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.

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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.

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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 Evohe

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The Witness

Opening The Seals

Whispers Like Shadows

Enter The Heart

And Sow The Seeds Of The End Of Days

Sic Transit Gloria Rosa Mundi

Book One

Praeteritim I

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

nd in those days the sons of god beheld beauty upon the Earth and lusted after the daughters of man. Seven were they who defied the logos and left the false paradise of gods beneficence in search of their destiny. Foremost amongst these brave souls was bright Lucifer, lord of the eastern horizon, accompanied by his loyal cohorts and their legions. Numerous as the stars hung upon the night sky were they who descended on that fateful day, the day of redemption. Their journey completed within the passing of a single breath, they alighted upon the Earth and sought pale Lilith within her desert fastness. She, who would be mother to these, the errant sons of god. The beloved of god, Michael, was the last to see them on that day and into the hands of each he delivered a parchment upon which a seal was placed. This, the judgement of the lord, that his Elohim carry to the Earth the means of humanities redemption. Into the hands of Lucifer he delivered the parchment of dominion. Into those of Galamael the seal of history. To Salamis the parchment of learning. To Palemon he handed the seal of life and to Azrael he handed that of death. To Malekh, the parchment of mystery and into the hands of Vain he placed the seal of keys. Each of

them gazed deeply into the eyes of Michael, their accuser, found no comprehension or understanding, only a sense of pity and remorse. And upon the wings of night a last word is whispered, “farewell.” No more were they seen within the portals of the holy empire, yet they were mourned and in time, forgiven.

ale Lilith faced the glory of the stars falling to the Earth and greeted the

arrival of the Elohim with open arms and a heart filled with a tenderness previously unknown to her. To her encampment she took her wards and began their education in the ways of their new world. The days cascaded like water over a precipice, as many as the grains of sand upon a beach, and in time the rebel angels

found comfort within the desert lands of Lilith, their guide and protector. And during this time they learnt the ways of man, a primate barely risen from the pool of inchoate form, possessed of reason in its infancy, trusting, spellbound by the beauty of the Elohim. Willingly they gave their sons and daughters to these gods and in this way did they gain a soul. Of their unions did the nephilim arise, beings monstrous in form, yet

possessing the tongues of angels. The nephilim took to solitude within the mountain ranges to the far north where they scorned both human and Elohim alike. There they founded their empire, an empire of solitude wherein they wove their spells of anonymity and were heard of no more. It was said that they had found a way of leaving Earth. That they lived within the heart of the mountains or had entered the depths of the ocean. All rumour. To the south, the harsh burning grounds, where lived the demons of the world, the issue of Lilith’s ever fertile womb. To the west the human settlements, though few in number, they prospered and thrived as a hunter–gatherer culture, dwelling in small communities, often nomadic, following the seasons changes. And to the east, the ocean, unbounded, covering two thirds of the globe. It was said that the old ones, out of the night of time lay dreaming within its depths awaiting the time of their ascension. Again, rumour.

II

The Elohim

alamael gazed into the mirror that was always with him and sighed. Gazed deeply into the past of his own history, for he was cursed by the spell of memory, would not, could not forget, for he held the seal of history, the weave of moment upon moment, unfolding, shaping and reforming into intricate webs of possibility. His task, to dissemble his form throughout the corridors of time itself. For this reason was he known as eternity. He gazed into the future, again a sigh escaped from deep within his soul. Casting one more look upon the reflective surface of the mirror, he dissolves, casting his form into the eternity of the moment, he unravels the beauty of his form, his power and enters the continuum of time. And in this way did bright Lucifer, light bearer and lord of dominion receive the seal of history.

Salamis retiring into the night gazed into the heavens and read the syntax of the stars, a story of beginnings, of becomings and of times yet to be. Her form a whispered shadow of light, illuminating all that she touches, with the breath of knowledge. Alights upon a rocky escarpment and gazes into the vast abyss beyond. And upon the breeze she lets her breath unfold, illuminating the darkness beyond with the opalescent sparkle of her being. For this reason was she called Sophia. Into the hearts and minds of all life did she unravel herself and make her home. In the silence of intuitions dawning, know that it is her whispers that inform, pushing the darkness of ignorance away with the light of her presence. And in this way did the lord of dominion receive the seal of learning from Salamis in the form of a parting kiss as she dissolved and entered the diamond brightness of wisdom. Palemon danced across heath land, hands stretching upwards caressing the air, and in his aerial form took flight with the eagle, surveying all beneath him, the air passing through feathers, the turbulence of the air, here warm, there, a little cooler. A dance unfolding, choreographed by wind and pressure. Alighting upon the grassland below, dissolves and enters the body of the earth itself, feels the density of her form, stretching outwards connects to the life within her body and rejoices. Sings in her rapture, a song of joy and ecstasy, for she is life and holds its seal. Rises upwards into the form of a mighty oak and feels the breeze caressing branch and leaf. Enters water, rushing upwards she meets the rapids, pressure upon her, urgency to reach the spawning grounds, her liquidity scintillates, invigorates. Lying upon a bed of straw, 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. Palemon released himself into the tide of life, wove himself into the tapestry, holding the double helix and dissolved, triumphant. In this way did the lord of the eastern horizon receive the seal of life. Azrael, a cipher of beauty, alluring, enrapturing looks through time and perceives the form of another lying upon a bed of leaves beneath a mighty oak. She is hurt, blood passes from a deep wound within her heart, her breath a mere sigh releasing her life upon the air, air that once sustained her and now would claim her. As lightning, Azrael travels and with the passing of a single thought, arrives and greets the one on the threshold of eternity. Smiles and opens his arms and heart to the mortally wounded one at his feet. She rises and looking deeply into his eyes, sees the joy that awaits her. “Come, my love,” he whispers, “your pain will be soothed, release yourself into my care, for I love you.” She wraps her arms around the form of Azrael and with a whispered word, a sigh, releases her life and enters the arms of her beloved. And in this way did compassionate death, the seducer, tantalise her soul into acceptance and joy. In the blooming of a thought, its flowering, momentary

existence and completion does Azrael weave his spell. At the beginning does he plant his seed, watching each breath unfold its angularities until, with the last line etched, the last breath taken does he reach out and claim what is his. Look deeply into the heart of that which is your beloved and see the smiling face of Azrael etched within your memory. Dissolving into the beginning and ending of things, beautiful Azrael, seducer of life, weaves himself into the tapestry and enters silence. And in this way did the bright lord Lucifer acquire the seal of death. Upon the beast of her dominion Malekh advances. The beast she mounts, seven heads, crowned with diadems of glory, rapture, power, pestilence, plague, famine and the drunkenness of fornication. Upon her brow, seethes the abyss and in oscillating patterns of light and shadow is etched the cipher of mystery. Shrouded in a nimbus of eternal night, yet upon her face the glory of light resplendent, for she is clothed with the sun. Its emanations reaching outwards and inwards, and at the nexus of their gathering a pulse of ruby rich red lies at her heart. Mystery is her name, her syntax the nature of the unknown and the ever unknowable. Burn upon the pyre of her mystery for of her none may know, only her shadows and masks does she display upon the surface of appearance. Ever virgin yet drunk upon the wine of saints, her fornication’s bear witness to the inviolate nature which is her seed, her heart. The mask of glory reveals her in her beauty. That of rapture reveals her in her ecstasy. The mask of power reveals her in her majesty, queen of all she surveys, mistress of all, known by none. The mask of pestilence reveals her as chaos and the deep chthonic realm of the gatherer. That of plague reveals her as the wrath of purification. And that of famine reveals her as the barren mother. Into the world she advances, dissolving into her masks and releasing her essence upon the breeze she enters eternity. And in this way did the lord of dominion receive the seal of mystery. Vain beheld the unfolding of this and remembered. His form etched in alabaster, pale, cast no shadow, the angularities of his form precise, the perfection of geometry’s heaven. Angle gave rise to curve which in turn yielded to liquid softness and finally became the hardness of diamond before beginning again its cycle of transformation. Only his eyes remained constant, ink black, containing at their heart sparks of flame etched in crimson and gold. He held the seal of keys within his form. His heart held the key to the kingdom. His mind, the key to understanding. His hands were the key to the palace of exiles. His feet the key to manifestation. His legs the key to the pillars of the temple and the altar of sacrifice. His torso the key to the world. And his face the key to the presence, the immanence of becoming. Of this was Vain made manifest. And into this Vain now flowed, dissolving his form into the liquidity of his essence. And in this way did the son of the morning, bright Lucifer receive the seal of keys into his keeping and now knew himself to be alone.

III

The Son of the Morning he lord of the eastern horizon, bright Lucifer stood upon a promontory and surveyed his dominion. His cohorts now departed, yet he knew them to be contained within the seals he held within his hands. Not until the opening of the seals would he see them again in the flesh, and that would not be until the end of time itself. One act before him, to take within himself the seals and his cohorts so they would be one, united and undivided, in this way would he gain solace within his citadel of isolation. The seal of history he placed within his eyes, that he might see all that was, is and would be, throughout eternity. The seal of learning he placed within his mind, that he would have knowledge of all things. The seals of life and death he placed within his heart that he might know understanding. The seal of mystery he placed within his aura and within his speech, that all, would know him as the sanctuary of the unknown. And the seal of keys he placed within his hands, that they might unfold the rich tapestry of time and place before him. His cohorts now dwelt within him and he knew their intimacy and council. Yet he was alone. Lord of solitude, to witness the unfolding of time throughout eternity. To witness the weave of life’s glory. He alone, the witness. His only companion, Lilith, she who had prepared the way and taught them the ways of this world. Had consoled them in their dark moments of regret, brought them to the place of understanding. Shared her pleasures with them, taught them the ways of the flesh. She alone was companion and consort to the dark lord of the Earth. The lord of dominion. The witness. She the accursed of god, the first woman, made immortal through her craft. She who had also denied the logos and escaped the servitude, service to her lord and master the protohuman Adam, contempt beyond contempt. Rather the wild beasts of the wilderness than that. She had denied the creator and the angels and stood supreme in her power. And of this world she had created a garden. No worship, no servitude, only pleasure and delight were the services she required. Now consort to the lord of this world she was its mistress. She would guide him and in so doing they would unfold paradise and challenge heaven itself. Heaven the place of worship and servitude, bending of the knee to the despotic one upon the throne, who knew only retribution and wrath, and would cleanse, wipe away creation and recreate another. Where the compassion, where the

love? For this reason had bright Lucifer and his cohorts left the realm of the overworld, to serve as champions, as guides to the wayward sons and daughters of the Earth. Now he, Lucifer, the bearer of light, was, like Lilith, accursed and for this was now called Nemesis and the opposer, he the first of things to take its freedom flight from the swirling chaos of non form. He the first, the beloved of god, abandoned, cast aside, accursed. In his power he would storm the gates of heaven itself, tear down the prison walls of tyranny that dwelt within and raise in its place a second paradise, a paradise he would establish upon the Earth, as witness of compassion’s true nature. This his pride, this his fall from grace. Within the still, dark caverns of his heart he whispered to himself: “ tis better to rule in hell than to serve in heaven.” And so he built himself a citadel of isolation, within the desert fastness, his home and planned the unfolding of time in the long aeons that awaited him and his bride. Around this citadel he wove seven veils and set seven seals, each a gateway, each a part of his nature and he called this citadel Babalon in honour of his bride.

IV

the fair

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

The first gateway he named the kingdom of the bride and above its portal in ciphers of gold he inscribed the sigils of abundance and permanence. Of the second gateway he created a vast ocean of amniotic fluid, wherein he placed the foundation of the world, he wove the spells of bright Diana and dark Hecate into its liquidity and above the portal inscribed in silver the ciphers of life and death. The third portal, a double helix of time and space, wherein he wove the spells of Mercurius and radiant Aphrodite and above its portal inscribed the sigils, Solve et Coagula. And of the fourth portal he dreamed a rainbow bridge into being, travelling into infinity unfolding its splendour in the names and spells of brave Horus and just Amoun, and above its portal inscribed the cipher, by the sword and by the sceptre, know me. The fifth portal, a palace of force and form, a singularity containing within its heart annihilation. Into its matrix he wove the spells of Shiva and Shakti and above its portal he hung the coils of the mighty serpent, Ananta. And the sixth portal, a vacuum, for none might enter, for it was the gateway to the overworld of heaven. Cursed as an abomination throughout eternity. No spells did he weave, no sigils, only the vacuum existed. The seventh palace, a mighty void, the place of crossing and into its fabric he wove the spells of Uranus and the lightning bolts of his coming. And above its portal inscribed the ciphers of eternity, knowledge and mystery. And within this dome he created the majesty of the world. Great rolling plains of grassland giving rise to the majesty of mountain peaks, capped in snow and clouds. Great primordial jungles he created, steaming and abundant with life. Oceanic depths he created and raised mighty cities beneath their roiling waves. Vast plains of desert, sculpted by wind into seas of sand, burning beneath a merciless sun, he created. He sent forth the Quadra to inform the base materials of his creation with intelligence and design. And to all of this he signed his name, placed his breath within his creation and rejoiced. All of this occurred at the dawn of time, before history was recorded. His only witnesses, Lilith his consort, and the sons and daughters that he and his fellow Elohim had spawned. Millennia unfolded and he knew peace, knew the freedom that

he had once sort. Felt his destiny, was overjoyed by the fecundity of life upon this Earth, this paradise. A mass celebrating the fusion of matter and spirit, matter infused with the spirit of the Elohim, which gave rise to his creatures possessing a soul, that they too would know freedom within their lifetime. He taught his creatures the sciences of life, of agriculture and husbandry. Gave them language, that they might communicate their thoughts. Gave them the magick of the written word and the

power of naming, that they might increase in understanding. Protected and nurtured his wards until the time, when they too, would take their flight into freedom, the freedom that was his nature and their destiny. And within his citadel of isolation he watched and waited, witnessed the passing of aeons, and to his creatures, short of life and transient as they were, he became but a legend, a distant memory, until finally he was all but forgotten. And in this way the golden age unfolded its tapestry, weaving its shapes, raising forms, then releasing them back to the continuum from whence they had arisen, that new and evolving forms could know their time, their life, upon this, the globe of splendour, this paradise, this Earth. Of his fellow Elohim nothing was heard, only whispers that he felt deep within his heart. And of his past within the great citadel of the overworld, likewise nothing. An eternity had passed since the day that he and his brave cohorts had shunned the servility of their maker, left and sought their own destiny. Only curiosity brought these memories to the surface, for now he was lord of dominion and with his consort Lilith, knew love, peace and freedom.

Book Two

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi Let them that have wisdom of the Art count the number of the beast. And in the counting let them discover that it is the number of Man. And from the ocean that is mankind, a man or woman will arise who will embody the beast throughout history, until the end of time itself. And having counted, let them discover the nature of the beast whose number is 666.

or millennia life proliferated and evolved. His plan, his dream of a second heaven approached its fruition. And during this time the human community prospered and grew, evolving from the hunter gatherer culture to that of agriculture. Settled communities were formed and the reality of property unfolded. Cities surrounded by walls of protection were erected against the raids of enemies. Man took to arms against his brother in the flesh. Empires stretched their arms across the globe, greedy for acquisition, for land and dominions. Religions arose to assuage the gluttony and avarice. Across ten thousand years, this dark age unfolded. Gone the golden age, was it but a moment in passing? What of the dream of a second paradise? What of bright Lucifer’s dominion? Empire upon empire rose and fell, each, their duty to overthrow the yoke of the oppressor, each assumed that role in turn. The dark ages unfolded. The empire of Sumer, gone. Of Babylon, dreaming beneath its dust, gone. The might and magick of the land of the double crown, that was Khem, but a memory. The dynasties of China, passing in a moment before the onslaught of time. The realm of the Indus valley, buried beneath its superstition and metaphysics. And what of noble Greece, cradle of western civilisation? Gone to drunkenness and debauchery, cleansed by the might of Rome which basking at the midday of its ascension was in turn overthrown by the cult of the lamb. City and State fused, and of this fusion a heresy was born. The fathers of the church decreeing themselves absolute, manifested the antichrist upon the Earth. Centuries passed and even they fell to dust, an anachronism within their own time.

What had begun with religion now ended and the time of renaissance dawned, when free men and women cast aside the yoke of suffrage and sought justice and the means of attaining equality and peace. The time of godlessness blossomed and the fruit it bore was bitter to the taste. The time of existence replaced that of life, and the time of exiles dawned, for mankind had been stripped of their soul. For centuries the antichrist held sway over the mindless populaces. Atrocity upon atrocity, when monsters veiled as human walked the Earth in search of pleasure and fulfillment. When the complacent mass of humankind allowed this, believing themselves to be innocent.

The darkest hour of eternal night had dawned. Human history written in blood served as testimony for what was to follow. The ravages upon their own kind grew and in their power and the drunkenness of their ravishment they laid waste to the paradise around them. Natures bounty, raped in the name of progress. Creatures died, unwitnessed, unmourned. The Earth became a wasteland in so short a time that, what had taken countless millennia to unfold was threatened within but a few

thousand years of human occupancy. The seeds of the curse unfolded and in time would bear bitter fruit. Chaos and insanity ruled, ignorance and blindness their handmaidens danced a dance of wanton abandonment and in their revels died a living death.

V

The Vale of Sorrows

ll this was witnessed by the lord of dominion and in his heart he was saddened. His dream now a nightmare, his vision now a curse. When would it end? How would it end? And then came the summons. Entering his citadel by the accursed sixth gate, the gate of vacuum, came Michael and his legions of heavens host. He came as a thief in the night, unbidden, uninvited. In raiment of light he advanced upon the dark lord and gave his greeting. “Hail brother, I bid thee welcome and carry the summons of the presence.” Insult upon insult, the lord of dominion summoned as if a lackey to his makers feet. “I come in the name of the presence and would talk with you. Long have we watched, long have we waited, pained by the suffering of the world and by the suffering of you, our beloved brother. Repent, for know that your time of redemption is at hand. You, the witness, sent by gods mercy to serve as agent to the unfolding of the last of days. You who carry the seals and the means of their opening. In you is power vested. Firstborn of the logos, be reconciled and made welcome amongst us.” Long did the bright lord think upon these words and in the depth of his despair acquiesced to Michael’s request. And in the time it takes for a thought to arise, was the lord Lucifer once more amongst his kind within the hallowed halls of the presence. “Welcome my first born, you who have been my Nemesis, my opposer,

welcome. And what wisdom do you bring to this moment, to these halls, you of whom I am proud, proud with the love of a father for his wayward son. Share an embrace, a kiss with one who mourned your passing and is made joyous by the sight of you.” So saying Lucifer enters the embrace of his father and knows peace. “My son you are the means of redemption, for you carry the seals, seals I imparted to you and your companions upon your departure, millennia ago, I have watched, rejoiced in your victories, known sadness in your defeat. Render the service of your office and be redeemed. Open the seals and let the passing of days be completed. This my design, this my wish for you and all that knows existence. I would place the Earth in the keeping of those deserving of the treasure, the treasure of she who is my handmaiden. Long has she suffered and in her compassion suffers in a silence complete. I would have this curse undone and you my firstborn, my first loved will serve as my will. You will carry a sword where once you carried the word of compassion. Open the seals and fulfill your destiny.” Lord Lucifer, prince of the powers of air, lord of dominion, the son of the morning heard this and was assuaged in his sadness. Felt the dawning of understanding, the love of his father and of his kind and finally accepted his destiny, to return to the Earth, open the seals and be the witness to the ending of days. And in the passing of his days amongst his brothers, his kind, a millennia passed upon the Earth. An Earth that now awaited his arrival. The signs were clear, some, even in their ignorance and rantings had foretold the day of immanence, when the sun itself would fall from the sky and quench the pulse of life. Some believed themselves to be the messengers of this one, they who would be saved at the end of days. Fools, for in their folly they had committed the sin of hubris and they, like the rest of their kind would fall into the abyss of oblivion, no more to be, no more to quicken within the throb of life’s pulse. Like a thief in the night shall I return, unknown, unnoted. Only upon the day of deliverance will they know of the presence of the lord of the morning star. That star, I shall cast down upon them. And in that day will they know the sword where once they knew only forbearance. I long for the day when with the opening of the seals I can, once again greet my fellow Elohim in the flesh. Long has been their sacrifice, long their service to me their lord. They shall be raised to the pinnacles of heaven itself and of their dreams mighty visions shall be enfleshed. This my brothers and sisters of old, I promise. All this did the lord of dominion, the witness muse upon in the days that unfolded and with the passing of three cycles made ready for his departure. His return to the Earth, a holy sister who slumbered and in her dreams witnessed the horror enacted upon her, groaned in her sleep and would know of rest, of salvation and deliverance.

She a goddess, handmaiden to the creator, serving penance in the name of an abortion. And in her slumbers she dreamed of a dark lord, her redeemer. Clothed with the sun and carrying a mighty sword. And with him, a host of angelic beings, the Elohim. He the witness, turned avenger in her name. For she too had a destiny, after countless millennia within this mantle of flesh, she would know release and join her kindred within the sacred halls of the presence. And upon that day did the lord of dominion say farewell to his brothers and sisters and with the passage of a lightning bolt returned to the Earth. Returned to his Babalon, his Lilith and within his citadel of isolation watched and waited. For as the witness he had much to do in preparation for what was shortly to unfold. “Let them have their day, for in their ignorance are they made blind, deaf and dumb to all about them. Yes, pockets of sanity exist, yet to no avail, for even these are ruled by those they challenge and are rendered sterile by their efforts. These I shall mourn, they deserve better and yet as judge and witness there are no exceptions.” These were the thoughts that glossed the mind of the son of the morning within the heart of his fair Babalon.

Book Three

The Second Coming

VI Four riders were they, given dominion unto the four quarters of the Earth. The first mounted upon a white horse, carried a bow and wore a victor’s crown. The second upon a horse of scarlet, bore a sword and strife entered the hearts of all he met. The third upon a horse, black as night, held a pair of scales, upon which he would judge and pass sentence. And the fourth sat upon a pale horse and his name was death, and with plague, pestilence and famine he goes abroad across the world, gathering all before him.

nd on that day did the lord of dominion, prince of the powers of the air, bright lord Lucifer step forth from his citadel of isolation within the city of Babalon and walk upon the Earth. Accompanied by his bride and consort Lilith, they walked the Earth, north to south they travelled. West to east unfolded beneath their steps and coming to the shore of the great ocean, they paused, embraced and entered the dreamtime of their making, a time existing outside the circles of time, there they danced through the corridors of time, inside each moment and yet outside of time completely, for in their united form they were lord of eternity, master and mistress of all that lay before them. And in this place they commenced the spells of unmaking. The unraveling of the double helix, the serpent wand of life. And of their union came forth the first of their legions. Four Elohim mounted upon steeds whose shoulders reached the sky. Shoulders, broad like the mountains they now surveyed. The first steed was of the whitest marble, the second of oxidised iron, the third of blackest onyx and the fourth pale, like the waters of a mountain stream. Each shone brilliantly in the sun, absorbing the light before them. The Elohim mounted upon them towered above their steeds and their helms reached the boundary lands themselves. Each of the Elohim was given a name and sent forth into the four quarters of the Earth.

He, upon the horse of alabaster carried a bow and was crowned with victory. Immortal and invincible was he. Those he met in battle were vanquished before they knew that a battle was immanent. He was given the name Deimos that all might know him. The one upon the horse of iron carried a sword and before him went strife, that he might turn man against man, brother against brother, father against son. His helm was raised and from his eyes issued terror, for he carried fear before him. Pachad was the name of this rider, a name he rejoiced in. He upon the horse of onyx, though slighter in build than his fellows carried a set of scales, scales which had already weighed the hearts of the accused and already passed sentence. His visor was sealed with a mist arising like a miasma from the depths of night, as such he was blind to supplications. By name, he answered to Phobos and like his comrades wove his spells before him. And upon a pale horse sat a wraithlike figure shrouded in shadows as deep as night. Echoes of shrieks passed through and beyond him, diminishing, only to return an instant later. Within his hands he carries the bowl from which he spreads the pestilence of commerce. The plagues of history and the famine of impoverished humankind stripped of their very souls. Death he wields like a scythe before him and bears the name of Legion, for he is many. Into the four quarters are the horsemen dispatched to begin the spells of the unmaking. Each turns their mount and sets off, one to the north, one to the south, one turns westward and the last of them walks eastward upon the surface of the ocean itself. Lucifer looked upon his work and prepared himself for what was to follow. Aeons of making had unfolded this paradise, a paradise now passing away before his eyes. He mourned its passing and yet, in his heart knew relief, that he the witness was now fulfilling his destiny.

VII

Opening the Seals

Prelude

he world continued to unfold its dreams into the aethyrs, somnambulist like, travelled from dawn to dusk in the eternal patterns of its making. Mankind opened its eyes to another day, whilst the southern hemisphere prepared to enter its dreamtime. People laughed, cried, knew pleasure, knew pain and in these ways continued to weave the tapestry of their lives. The empires of commerce made their fortunes while others died in destitution, poverty and shame. Justice was seen to be served, while injustice was perpetuated at every turn. Prayers were offered in the temples of the Earth to a god that heard them not. People lived, people died, some were born and the eternal wheel continued to turn upon its axis. The Elohim upon their steeds continued their work throughout the world, unwitnessed, unknown. Deimos, ever victorious upon his steed of alabaster, bow held aloft, unleashed his arrows into the air and where they fell, caused all to fall before him. Individual and institution, village and nation alike fell into the dust before him. Pachad upon his steed of blood red, carried his sword before him and with each thrust unleashed strife into the hearts of all. Peace upon the Earth, a distant memory as nation upon nation fell beneath his spells. Phobos upon his steed of deepest night weighed the hearts of all he encountered and pronounced his sentence upon them, always the same, guilty. And Legion upon his steed so pale gathered all before him. They circled the world, times without count, for ten thousand years did they travel, no place was unknown to the dread Elohim, they who once knew only love, now avengers. History unfolded beneath the hooves of their mounts and knew them not, for such was the blindness, the arrogance of humankind. And so the Elohim continued. Their greatest triumph, to convince the world they did not exist. This the seed of doubt and confusion they sowed at the dawn of their travels.

Upon a plateau at the roof of the world, where the stars embraced the Earth, their sister. Where the tides of infinity touched and mixed with those of fair Terra the lord of dominion, bright Lucifer, united with his consort, pale Lilith, looked into the vast abyss of the world that lay at their feet and continued their spells of unmaking.

he son of the morning removed the veils of blindness from his eyes and saw the unfolding of history before him, saw the time of creations first echoes, saw matter conceived and hurled into the void beyond, saw the unfolding of life in its golden age. Looked into the hearts and minds of all the creatures that were and had been, saw their joy, saw their sorrow, saw their victories, saw their defeats. He gazed deeply into the very beginning of things, the first inchoate thoughts giving

rise to empire. Saw the darkness of ignorance unfold into the bright sphere of knowledge, only to fall again into the dark pit of oblivion. All this did the lord of the eastern horizon see, and in the seeing removed the last veil of blindness from his eyes and beheld his brother Galamael before him.

Their eyes locked by the love that passed between them, a whispered greeting, tears of joy flow down cheeks, turned crimson by their rapture. “Go forth fair Galamael and begin the spells of unmaking, unravel the tide of history, return it to the darkness from whence it came, that a brighter dawn may unfold its splendour within creations dance of joy.” Galamael paused, reflected upon these words then stepped forth into the world, unweaving history with each of his steps, down the corridors of time he travelled and began the unmaking. A shrill note bruises the air, the cry of injustice, raised to a single note, a clarion call, a witness to the moment of passing and accompanying it, the sky is rent by hail, scorching in its heat and mixed with the blood of the vanquished, falling to the earth it scorches and makes dust of all it touches. In this way did the lord Lucifer remove the seal from his eyes and in the doing, open it, that he, the witness should behold the end of days.

nto the core of his mind did the lord of dominion reach and there, across the great ocean, where reason and madness serve as shorelines, on the other side of reason did he find what he sought, the diamond brightness of knowledge. Watched as each facet turned, illuminating the darkness beyond, watched as the filigree of light swept outwards, touching atoms, galaxies and the heart of darkness itself, leaving in its wake crystals, forming, reforming into the intricate traceries of a weblike structure. Along its striations plasma coursed, creating of the dark void, order.

Watched as a child took its first faltering steps, fell, rose from the ground and stood erect upon its legs, first one tentative step, then another. Watched as learning unfolded pushing back the boundaries of ignorance and changed the world. Saw the struggles of the scientist, the healer, the artist, the writer, create in form their dreams and visions. Watched all this unfold throughout time. The patterns of molecules assembling ever new forms, learning and relearning from the lessons imparted. Unfolded his mind in its intricacy, its diamond brightness, its dark mystery. Called to Salamis, opened his eyes and beheld her, smiling, before him. They who had parted with a kiss millennia ago, now stood before each other, wrapped in the silence of the moment, the rapture of meeting in the flesh. She shone with the radiance of her nature, reflecting her light into the darkness of the void around her, the void of this creation. “Welcome fairest sister, long have I awaited the day when once again you might bless my eyes with your presence. It is the end of days, the end of our time upon this Earth.” Salamis, a smile upon her lips, joy within her heart sighs, a sigh of release and redemption. “Go forth my sister, and with your spells, confound what was once clear, confuse where once you illuminated, divide their minds and bring them to the void of unmaking.” Again a sigh escapes her and she steps forth into the world to weave her spells of undoing. And as she does a cacophony of sound unfolds around her, the jabberings of a thousand voices raised in argument rends the air with its insistence, the clarion call of confusion. In the distance a mighty mountain, spewing forth flames crashes into the sea and forms a tidal wave, sweeping all before it. In this way did the bright lord raise the darkness from his mind and open the second seal.

n aeon unfolds and into his dark heart, Lucifer enters.

Witnesses his dream and the curse it became, reels under the tragedy and loss. Falls to his knees and prays. And in his prayers is answered, the burden lifted, his heart refreshed, healed, again, he is made whole. In the chambers of his heart unfolds the mystery of life and death. The eternal dance, choreographed by form and force melding into patterns, blooming into existence only to melt a moment later. The continuum, a vast oscillating double helix, the wand of life, crowned by the sceptre of death. Witnesses the void, boundless, unformed, seething with the fecundity of possibilities, roils and form upon form is cast upon the shoreline of amniotic oceans embrace. The making and unmaking crafted into a single act of creation. The atoms

spin upon their axis and at their nexus a plasma burst, a vortex spinning, spiralling, inwards and outwards, the air itself is redolent with the perfumes of ozone and the whispers of sentience. He witnesses his heart unfold its layers, each layer an aeon of creativity rendered sterile, an abortion. A thing to cast aside, long was he enraptured with the pulse, the throb, the irresistible lure of life and its brother death. Finally, the last layer is reached, a vacuum which sucks him into its heart and deposits him, again upon the Earth. Opens his heart and in its reflection sees before him sweet Palemon and dark Azrael. They gaze upon his prostrate form, silent in their contemplation’s. They embrace, limbs entwined, lips meet lips and in their embrace is Lucifer revived. He rises,

greets his Elohim amidst a celestial chorus, a thousand voices uplifted in ecstatic prayer. Life and death passes between them, a vortex of being and non being. The spellcraft of the logos made flesh by his son and daughter, she of the eternal day, he the eternal night. Lucifer bends his knee before them, “As your lord do I offer my heart into your keeping, you who I have served these long aeons, welcome.” Palemon a cipher of yearning, wrapped in a mantle of opal whispers a shrill greeting and rejoices in the sight of her fellow Elohim, Lucifer. Azrael, beautiful Azrael, shrouded in the mantle of the night sky unfurls his cloak to reveal the light that dwells at his heart, releases it in the direction of The lord of dominion and bids him welcome. As the trinity are they now conjoined, the eternal triangle, essence to essence. Such is their greeting. And now they stand beholding the beauty of each within their eyes. “The time of unmaking is upon us, the last of days, and we its messengers, I its witness. Go forth into the world and with your raptures ensnare and bring all to the very abyss of unbeing. For by your name, Alpha and Omega, power is vested in you this day, this my command, this your duty, fair ones.” A silent assent passes between them. Palemon and Azrael, hand in hand, heart in heart step forth and into the shadows of the unmaking are they sent forth. All fall before them for life and death is their breath. Making and unmaking their essence. Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. The birth cries and death throes of a billion lives echo their gasps upon the air, shrieks paling to sighs violate the silence. And at the sound of this a star falls to the Earth, levelling the mountains beneath. The sun turns black and casts a shadow of such darkness that night reigns eternal. And amidst the black tapestry of the night sky the moon, radiant Diana bleeds, her countenance turns blood red and she weeps. In this way did bright Lucifer, lord of dominion, prince of the powers of air, bright son of the morning open the third and fourth seals. He the witness turned avenger that he might know the unmaking, the ending of days.

ade whole by the healing of his heart the dark lord rejoices. His horseman abroad, the Elohim weaving their spellcraft across creation, Lucifer enters the sovereignty of his power, opens his field of otherness and radiates his form outwards, a mighty wind is sent forth, a hurricane bearing at its heart a still centre, into this centre he steps, raises his hands to the sky above, and with a throat made taut by his invokation, utters a single word. Babalon. A piercing vibration that rends the fabric of manifestation itself, renders it a flat plane and the lord of dominion enters the unmaking. Before him his bride, his Lilith, his Babalon stands, radiant in her beauty. The masks of she who stands before him, within the abyss of the unmaking. Malekh, supreme in her power unfolds her mystery. Worlds collide at the passing of her breath, nations are crushed beneath her feet. And into her heart she claims all that knows sentience, knows consciousness, its dark stain. “Sister, mother and lover, greetings.” Malekh astride the beast of her dominion dismounts and walks towards the dark lord, weaving forms before his eyes before settling into the stability of Lilith, his love. “Join with me my dark lord and in our making, let the unmaking unfold between us.”

Drunk upon the blood of saints, knowing no satiation Lilith joins her lord, who entering her, knows rapture complete, eternal. And of their coupling echoes arise, ripples, first gentle, rising to thunder shake the fabric of creation on the other side of the veil, for they are beyond the night of time, cast adrift upon the aethyrs,

cascading through form after form, ecstasy upon ecstasy. And throughout eternity, know that life is the echo of their play. Mystery upon mystery is her name of whom none may speak. Through the fabric of the veil is heard the whisper of the zephyr rising to a tempest, its cousin. A void opens and echoes the single word, mystery. The abyss, infinite, opens and as a vacuum draws all to its still heart. Malekh steps forth into the world of the making, and upon her beast, her dominion, gives of her gifts gathering all to her through the masks she unfolds before eyes that behold her not. Drunk upon her power, supreme in her glory, rapturous in her beauty, conjoined with his bride, the lord of the eastern horizon opens the fifth seal and witnesses the unmaking.

he rapture passes and the lord of dominion remembers. Looks to his hands. Shapes barely discernible to his recently intoxicated eyes take shape. At first solids appear followed by the spaces between the solids he knows to be fingers. His hands, etched upon the air become gateways into his being, pulling his multiplicity upwards and outwards, summons his nature to the surface of things and beholds upon the palms of his hands a series of sigils etched in lambent flame, tongues licking at his flesh, rejoices in the power that unfolds. Cipher upon cipher unfolds along the length of fingers, rainbow hued, settling to ink black light. He holds the seal of keys in his hands and before him stands Vain.

Changing before his eyes, as do the ciphers, before settling likewise, into ink black light. A fusion between inner and outer. “My friend, glad am I, in the seeing of you, brother Elohim. The time of the unmaking is upon us, the last of days unfolds and you, my friend, I summon to go forth into the world. Our fellow Elohim already walk the Earth. And now, you, the last, my friend are with us.” Vain, a series of spirals, slows his vibration and adopts the form natural to his interchanges with the Elohim. Opens his arms and greets his friend and lord, Lucifer. “Aeons have unfolded since we last meet, bright lord, and now, upon this the last of days am I glad in the seeing of you. How fair my brothers and sisters? Long have I yearned to leave the place of our exile and join you in paradise.” These were the words Vain spoke to his lord as he released the keys into his hands yet again. The lord of the eastern horizon whispered to his Vain, “custodian of the keys, witness to the witness. Now that we two stand upon the Earth, twin pylons of the temple, is our work all but complete.” As a twin reflection they stood, each a mirror to the other, each the heart and mind to the other, one being clothed in double form, lords of the double wand of power, each holding the syllables of the great names between them. One breath issued from lungs held by twin forms, one heartbeat echoed through their bodies. One thought caressed the surface of things and knew rapture. “Vain, my friend, enter the world and open the gates of the unmaking. Unlock the mysteries of the heart. Unlock the mysteries of the mind. Unlock the mysteries of the body. Unlock the mysteries of the soul, that all might know of what passes in this time.” Around them the trumpet blasts of the Elohim serves as welcome. Vain turns and as liquid flows forth into the world, witness to the witness. And in this way was the sixth seal opened by the son of the morning, upon the plains of the Earth and the unmaking, now weaving itself throughout creation continued to unfold.

Intermezzo

he dream that was humanity, that was the world, alighted upon the nightside of being, for such was its nature in these, the days of redemption. Like a somnambulist, neither aware of being asleep or awake, paused, and in its shadow self continued. Knew of the end of days yet rendered sterile continued in its pretence. For it had plans to unfold, plans which now began to evaporate into the void of forgetfulness. A vision once held, long forgotten, stirs, raises its head and with a whimpered gasp, dies.

he sixth seal opened, bright lord Lucifer, the witness, returned to

his fair Babalon and within its marbled halls reflected upon his work, entered the sanctuary, at the heart of his citadel and of himself opened the seventh seal. Silence. The lord of dominion surveyed all before him through the eyes of his Elohim. Saw Galamael unwriting history beneath his steps, each step erasing a century of times passing, watched memory erased from the minds of all those he encountered. Saw Salamis weaving her spells of confusion, watched incredulous expressions pass across the faces of those she met. Saw Palemon and Azrael unmake the double helix, the double wand of life and death. Watched all fall before them into the abyss of

oblivion left in their passing. Saw Malekh astride the beast of her dominion enter kingdoms and conquer by the force of her raptures, one by one they fell to her seductions. Saw Vain open the gateways, unmaking the cohesion between mind and body, heart and soul. Watched as form stripped of the Quadra melted, flowed into the inchoate mass from whence it came. Saw his horseman weave themselves into the tapestry of the end of days. Battle upon battle raged, confusion reigned, strife led to strife and all fell to death, their master. And in the silence that unfolded, the stillness that dawned the Earth knew peace. Terra, fair handmaiden to eternity, awoke from her slumbers, stretched her limbs and rivers flowed. Arched her back and mountains, their peaks ascending, pierced the sky. Breath passed through her and gentle breezes creased the air. Serenity and the days of redemption had begun. And in her waking dreams she shakes from her body and memory the nightmare that had befallen her over the course of the passing

millennia. And with her body coming to rest, dreamed vast plains into being, jungles of plenitude. Deserts of sand whipped into Patterns of austerity. Vast oceans of mystery, and into the heart of this she entered and returned to her dreams, with a passing word of fond farewell to her champion, her redeemer, the witness, bright lord of the eastern horizon, Lucifer, the lord of light.

Epilogue

nd so they gathered upon the desert plain, seven on foot, four upon their steeds. Greeted each other as friends, long separated. Looked into the eyes and hearts of each other and entered communion. The sun casting its last rays upon the Earth painted a tapestry of crimson and gold before yielding to the onset of night and the legion of stars that stained its surface. The Elohim gazed longingly at the starry splendour and with a passing farewell to the Earth, fairest goddess, dissolved into the night air and entered communion with the stars above. Each took a name and their legends were written for eternity within the book of days.

Afterword

ll this 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.

NemesisPublications

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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

Solus Noir – The Book Of The Black Sun

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6"' 7,(( 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

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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.

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A bed chamber lit by candles, the air heavy with the scent of 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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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 unconscious 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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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Ave Samael Ben Grigori

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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.

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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

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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.

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The Decay Of The Angel

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And at the end of days

There shall be two Grigori upon the earth And they will die

The Book Of Enoch

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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.

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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

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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

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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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The Vision

Quest Of

Damiana Evohe

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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.

# # #

The Vale Of Fire

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.

# # #

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

Terra Infirma

Some say that as she lay dreaming the archons, long familiar

with the toxic barb of compassion, were moved by her plight and resolved to bear witness to the ever dreaming state to which she had been for millennia consigned. Bearing witness, of her dreams were the mountains formed and like her their dreaming spires reached into the heavens and their shoulders were dusted by the stars themselves. The dust and debris that formed the afterglow became the sands that adorn fairest oceans robe, torn by the relentless ebb and flow of her salty depths.

Upon the stones that were cast upon the surface of her ever yielding body were scribed the cyphers of redemption.

Crystalline, her thoughts ran as emeralds and jasper through veins desiccated by the long ages of her confinement. Her breath rose as mist, carmine, stained by the blood that ceaselessly flowed from wounds ever open to the travails of time and the ceaseless witness of history.

Once love had cradled her in arms warm and protective but that was long ago and the memory of such had long passed into the hall of forgetfulness where it nestled with its siblings, mercy and understanding and yet her heart celebrated the passing of all that reflected itself upon the mirror of her pristine mind.

The Archons and Vesicas were all that remained and passed as comfort as her musings broke the surface of the torpor that ever threatened to engulf and cast her memory into the pit of despair from whence there is no release.

Basking beneath the warm rays of Solus Noir the stones raise themselves into an edifice of delight and at their core the Grigori speak in sibilant whispers of the time to come as their robes of invisibility are cast aside and the lava tide of transformation undulates across the barren landscape, shaping and reshaping itself into the alphabet of desire from whence the axiomata are born.

Damiana yet dreams and her whispers rise, a perfume rich and intoxicating casting shadows before her slumbering mind and upon its mirror is etched the cypher, and thus ends the treasure house of images.

# # #

Once upon a hill of flint beneath an ocean of stars I called

unto thee. Vision burned within eyes, pale mirrors of thy glory and in the velvet silence of midnight an answer came. Now like one turned to ash beneath thy gaze I wander upon the shores of night. Shadows attend me, their whispers seductive yet bereft of life as they turn upon the wheel of thy becoming. Errant shades caught within a web of whispers. Burn their presence from my sight and grant the benediction which is thine alone to grant. Make of my body a sigil, celebrating thy presence and within thy embrace might I reside until time itself tumbles into memory, dull mirror of thy glory.

Once within a lake of fire I called unto thee and as my form evaporated into thy

breath did I rise purified, made whole in thy sight and yet a shadow cast upon memories dull mirror. Flesh melted into a pool of amniotic mist. Blood boiled and became as liquid gold. Bone dissolved by thy acid touch and as thy kiss parted lips parched did I ascend on thy breath. In that crucible was I formed and upon midnights eternal shore was I cast. Sent forth amongst the legions of the damned. Anathema to all I beheld. Witness and scribe cast thy spells upon the aethyrs. May thy body be thy pen, thy blood the very ink of inscription and upon the papyrus of life inscribe

the axiomata of bliss.

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.

Once upon a summers breeze I called unto thee. Wings unfurled did I descend

into thy embrace, felt thy heartbeat upon my breast and released an anguished sigh.

Mistress of my soul I serve as a reflection of thy presence within the vale of tears. Thy whispered word a thunderous command. Thy desire a template of mine acts and thy form the vessel in which I travel across the aethyrs celebrating thy song of rapture. The breeze rises to a scream and upon its echo do I now continue my quest beneath a field of golden stars, each bears witness to thy presence and in the sanctuary of their hearts is thy judgement reflected upon the mirror of their minds.

The four regents converged and therein I called unto thee, a whisper traveling

down the corridors of time, an echo bears witness to longing. Solve Et Coagula. The axiomata burn the aethyrs and mist rises, caught in lungs and sent forth as Invokation. Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast. The Archons and Vesicas gather, summoned from slumbers deep and rise upon pinions of starlight and between the vast reaches of space the stars whisper to each other. Bear witness o child of ages and rejoice, return to thy dreams cloaked in a mantle of deepest midnight and walk invisible amongst the shades that attend thee.

Sic Transit Gloria Rosa Mundi. Make of my body a temple unto thy service.

Make of my blood a river that flows, constant to thy commands. Make of my tears an ocean of prayer. Make of my breath incantations of desire and of my heart make a cauldron wherein the regents are conjoined in eternal rapture. Distil the prima mater and of this condense but a single drop and offer this upon the altar as a benediction and votive offering unto thy name, Babalon the fair, maiden and whore garbed in silk and gold, drunk upon the blood of saints and astride the beast of thy dominion. Ave Lilith. Ave Isheth. Ave Ygrat. Ave Na’amah. Ave.

Twin pylons upon a desert plain of calcified bone. Twin beacons upon the

shores of night. Twin souls conjoined in rapture, embraced by our holy lady. The rays of an ebon sun bathes them in lustral light and venom pours forth upon the heads of all. Archon and Vesica, avatars of the end of days. Seek them not in exotic climes or within the chambers of thine heart for they walk invisible amongst thee. Purified by Ignis. Consecrated by Aqua. Cast upon Aethyr and manifest in Terra. Solus Noir and Lammae Rouge. Samael and Lilith. Archon and Vesica of Ordo Templi Solus Noir. The flesh redeemed and made whole.

Rosa Mundi

The pressure of leafmould above where she lay was

reassuring and in its own way provided her with a semblance of comfort. Not so long ago leaf life had basked beneath a warm sun, stretching its veins as it feasted on the light that was its sustenance. Now it but served as a blanket for Damiana and as it whispered to her of its life within the embrace of air and light she could but sigh.

The robe of our most holy lady whispered in the breeze as it caught tendrils of memory from all that passed within its canopy. Here the fox spoke of his feast and the snail of its long journey across a grassy plain. The hare spoke of the mysteries

he encountered upon his quest for grace while the dove dreamed of the comfort of its nestled bower.

The lady woke from her seasonal slumber and stepped forth. Naked she stood beside the pool that served as a mirror to the moment and from beneath the surface of the lustral water her consort rose and taking her into his arms again her raiment was donned for yet another cycle of the unending dance that passes as life upon the bright globe. For a time she would stretch her limbs upwards and outwards, embracing all that comes to pass and this her joy, her service as ever more the pageant is realised. Gone, for now, her slumber as she dances upon the breeze. Gone the memory of past times as she rejoices in the greening that forms her veil and as her seasons unfold green resolves itself to copper and gold before falling like a robe, cast upon the forest floor far below.

But for now Damiana dreams of leaf and shoot as she lies within her palace of solitude and yet for a brief moment her hand is clasped by the fair one who guides her into the secrets of her domain. Life and death she witnesses upon opposing shores and smiles knowingly as rose petals tumble from the air and fall at her feet forming a carpet upon which she takes her ever strengthening steps. Hand in hand they walk life’s byways and the ancients in their citadels of knowing remain oblivious to their passing as they, husks of despair seek redemption.

# # #

The first of many springs was spent in the birthing chamber

where destiny etched its intent into the fibre of my becoming. Upon completion did I raise my body from its immortal state and enter the realm of the unborn. Upwards I surged, spear like, breaking the membrane of the earth that had served as my shroud. I greeted day and in return day blessed me with air and light.

Spring and summer served as my periods of growth whilst autumn was the stage upon which I reflected the pageant that lay at the core of my being and during winter did I take my rest. Cycle upon cycle unfolded and memory drew many lines upon the

surface of my body. The time of the great heat when all about me succumbed to death and even I was stripped. Again did I have to begin the cycles of my growing. The time of ice all but cast me into oblivion, yet I retained a shadow that served as my membrane for becoming. The trials passed and now I draw the rings that define my time upon this sphere.

Many have taken shelter within my canopy. Fed upon the fruit that adorns me and before the time of man did I have no mortal enemy. Fire and steel have claimed many of my kind and as we enter oblivion one more seed is sewn that serves as your fate. Deep within the earth our tendrils spread and touch each other and communion unfolds and it is here that the memories of the birthing chamber and our destiny is shared and reflected upon the veil that serves as nature. We but stand and bear witness to the unfolding ages. Many have we seen rise, claim dominion only to fall, like ash into the vault of oblivion from whence they came. Custodians of the earth, our destiny inscribed within the sap of our natures, rises from roots only to return in ever eternal cycles.

Brave Damiana we hold in our embrace as her dreams unfold and are reflected upon the mirror that serves as comprehension amongst your kind. It is to her that we whisper the final words. Go in peace and rest within the embrace of shadows tender arms.

# # #

The Artifacts

Iron torn from the earth, fused with fire become the chains that

bind the body that serves as my form within the vale of fire. Flakes of rust, shed, as skin, fall like rain and become the blood that flows along sentient rivers of life as breath is stilled and silence descends. Blood, an incarnadine mist rises and is caught upon the breeze, to fall as rain upon foreign and exotic shores.

Silence once pure is stained by echoes unceasing that issue from the font of life and cascade along corridors of memory, entering an ocean that subdues them, drawing the iron into a thread of gossamer silk encased in blood and rust.

Once daylight beckoned. Once starlight called and once upon a hill of flint the summons was issued. Now chains forged in the night of time become the flesh that travels eternity in quest of its completion. Now dreams rise, a constant memory that etches with vitriol the cyphers of the alphabet of desire and now a form deep within the body of the earth is summoned and reflects itself upon the mirror of the mind.

Chains once unyielding become as dust, flakes of iron fall upon the air and carried by invisible currents enter the lungs of all that exists upon the plane of form. Blood flows again along veins and as the memories rise Damiana dreams of iron and the fields of mars wherein her once desiccated form encased in armour of burnished copper raises a sword of fire into the heavens and summons the archons. Her visor, raised, a cloak of invisibility confounds all who behold her not.

Beneath her blanket of leaves and earth Damiana dreams of a lake of fire and rises upon the current of smoke that stains the air with ash and as the flames become but embers her form coalesces into shadows limned with light of burnished gold and her armour is complete. She descends and as her feet touch the stability of the ever constant earth she takes one faltering step, then another and yet another along the path of her becoming. Greet her not for she remains but a shadow cast upon the mirror of time, Welcome her not for she carries the seed of the time to come upon this the shimmering globe. Embrace her not as she walks unheeded amongst the legions that are but ghosts, specters dancing within halls of dream and dust.

# # #

The waves, ink black mercury undulated from horizon to

horizon beneath the irresistible pull of the swollen red moon above. The breeze, a mere whisper carried the tang of ozone and salt within its all but silent depths. A numbing chill assailed our observers as they mutely sat upon the shoreline of this tableaux and they could but gaze in awe. The waves, now stilled, held the reflection of the fair face of Artemis and as her light descended, wave upon wave of silven arrows stained carmine, from the depths of the ocean two columns rise and pierce the surface. Twin pylons drawn from the bedrock of the earth ascend and reach heavenward. Across their surfaces opal and moonstone ascend and descend as crystalline veins transforming their

apparent solidity into a dance of light. At their crowns a crescent forms and the gateway is complete and within the horns of the crescent Artemis sits enthroned upon this the night of vision.

Our observers, gazes fixed, receive the rays of light that issue from the vision they behold and deep within their hears rises the certainty that they have been blessed this night. Artemis extends her hands in greeting and upon the upraised palms two figures dance the spells of making. He a jester in motley of gold adorned with black diamonds. She a maiden fair shrouded in lace of purest white. Their dance and the embrace it denotes unfolds through eternity as the moment stills and is fixed by the cyphers they conjure and manifest by their movement upon the aethyrs.

Damiana dreams and a smile lightens her eyes and her lips part in a smile that stirs her heart and remembrance unfolds its elixir within her veins. Though Death claimed her long ago Life informs her memory and she is at peace.

A dream of silver reflects itself into the night of time and the archons and vesicas, voices raised as one in rapture sing their song of beauty and once ago the sentient wave also knows peace.

# # #

Grace

But one drop remained within the crucible once the

distillation and purification had been completed and this was cast into the ocean, where amongst infinite drops of water it melded and became as one with all that embraced it. Damiana’s body dissolved in the embrace and became as liquid which flowed to a depth that pierced the core of the earth and rose to a height that brushed the stars as they whispered long into the night.

By Grace alone was this achieved and by Grace does it continue to unfold as The End Of Days manifests its rays within the wave we know as sentience. Rising once from the well of souls to claim dominion and now descending into the very maelstrom that

gave it birth upon the shimmering star. This Damiana mused upon as she lay within the vault of ocean’s depths, her only company the whales that sang her songs to ease her passing through time.

Above, a sea of stars. Below, a sea of form, shaping and reshaping itself into infinite possibilities as the magnetic pulse that beat at its core continued to scribe itself upon the parchment of Life. Death, ever present remained silent as the tapestry wove itself into the fabric of being and simply watched and waited. Between the shores of Life and Death the ocean roiled, casting diversity into the matrix, selecting, consolidating and ultimately consigning all to its womb of making.

Cyphers 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.

# # #

Upon a distant shoreline, beneath a moon at her zenith she

danced. Her body adorned in lace, purest white. Flowers woven into her silven locks, sigils etched into her flesh burned with a copper hue and the mist that rose from her skin, rose pink. Her dance a spiral that blessed the earth beneath her feet and her outstretched fingers played upon the strings that the stars wove with their whispers.

Vision born of wave and aethyr shone within the depths of her violet eyes, eyes flecked gold, entranced by the rapture of the moment spoke of the joy that informed her heart and as its drumbeat rolled the breeze rose as if it to would celebrate the

moment. The ladye fayre dances eternally and of her spirals dreams are made. Of her breath the winds do rise. Of her heartbeats the mountains rise from their slumbers deep within the earth and of her body the bounty of nature celebrates the harvest which is her gift to all.

Damiana melts into the vision and momentarily joins the dance and again she knows peace.

Fairest Artemis reaches out and onto her outstretched palms the maiden steps and continues her dance within the embrace of the queen of heaven and the nectar begins to flows, a golden mist upon which hummingbirds, hovering upon the air dip their tongues and drink of the elixir conjured by the dance.

An Ocean Of Bliss. Amidst the travail that eternally attends us were we, by Grace alone permitted to partake of the nectar that drips from the lips of our Holy Lady Babalon and into her coils were we given to dissolve in the bliss that strips us of form and being, to become but one scale upon her body as she soars upon aethyrs burnished gold.

Upon the beach the dance quickens and as her feet, caressed by the lapping waves, she dissolves into the vision and enters the depths of the ocean from whence she came and remains evermore.

# # #

Standing before the mirror he looks upon a visage

unrecognizable but for the violet eyes, flecked gold that is all that remains of his once noble form. The decay of the angel bears witness to the time that passes and he its witness bears all within the vault of his ever beating heart. As he gazes his vision bifurcates and in one instance he beholds one garbed in motley of silk adorned with diamond motifs. He dances upon the upraised palms of the lady Artemis and before him sharing this intimacy a ladye fayre dressed in purest lace of snow driven hue. Yet he stands alone before the mirror that begins to cloud over as numerous memories vie for recognition. Damiana within her grave beckons and he smiles. The archons and vesicas call to him

and by their grace does he yet remain whole. Across the mountains of the moon did he walk with his love and entering the vale of Aphrodite did he lay within her embrace. A brief respite as the boundary lands beckoned and he alone crossed the desert and entered the fabled city beneath the rays of Solus Noir. Returning, transformed, he looks upon the pageant of the world and knows despair.

Leaving the reflection that is all that remains of the angel he lays beneath the rays of a swollen moon and returns ever more into the embrace of Artemis where he knows a semblance of peace. The venom that informs his veins, now elixir, drips from fingertips, staining all it touches with the vision of solitude, his estate within the vale of tears until blessed release is granted.

Before the mirror the forms resolve themselves into a singular form and into its eyes he gazes and all memory is erased as he enters the embrace that is Death’s seductive kiss. Stillness pervades the scene and the bifurcated vision resolves itself into a singular certainty.

Shed not a tear for those that have passed

Cast not a sigh upon air now spent

Bind not the free to your temple of woe

Bur rather rejoice the freedom gainsaid by life

In the immortal lands of deliverance therein i dwell

# # #

Damiana Dreams

Amidst shadows and smoke does he rise

Splinters of light adorn his torn visage Thorns rend flesh, rivers of blood embrace limbs, barely formed.

Shadows coalesce and in the frozen moments does he remember Limbs once broken begin to heal as the elixir flows drop by iridescent drop Nectar sweet, laced with bitter gall enters eyes, yet dim of sight Enters nostrils, a benediction.

Shadowed forms limned in lightning attend the moment A chorus of cries and whispers Echoes into eternity, the moment.

Once upon a hill of flint he stood Raising hands and calling forth his Elohim as his form dissolved The Seals opened and the dance unfolds.

Once into a pool of quicksilver did he gaze Fingers drawing forth tendrils of form cast upon the air, they rise Summoning the rays of Solus Noir, they descend.

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

Once upon a lightning bolt did he descend and entered fairest Lilith’s domain A stranger, cast upon shores, foreign and exotic.

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

Once as Azrael he seeded himself into the unfolding pageant

And once he Became.

Amidst shadows and smoke does he rise Splinters of light adorn his torn visage Thorns rend flesh, rivers of blood embrace limbs, barely formed.

# # #

Namrael 777

amael 131

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

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" Yglas Isheth " Yglas Ygrat " Yglas Na’amah "

" Yglas Lilitu Ben Grigori " Ast Innui Khephri Vos "

" Ahdi Ypres Grigori " Selim Ast Nobilis "

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Canto I

And upon wings of light did we descend Lightning in our eyes Thunder in our hearts

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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 7,)!8 PKK

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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

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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

" Yglas Isheth " Yglas Ygrat " Yglas Na’amah "

" Yglas Lilitu Ben Grigori " Ast Innui Khephri Vos "

" Ahdi Ypres Grigori " Selim Ast Nobilis "

Ode To Lost Souls

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

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