By the environs of this completed space
By the sole touch of imperceptible weight
By the ancient curse, the third race
I shine upon the brothers, lowly and great
And invoke now the behomoth of earth
And invoke now the serpent of space
Love, love and love upon the queens of the father
And banish now: these creatures of space.
Sun aglow my darling, sun aglow in fate
Starlight flow my echo, starlight see my mate
She said she was near me
That firey one
She said she’d come to me
Once more now undone.
She knew of the danger
She knew of those three
When Sara laughs lie down
The stars become her now
The stars become one
Though brightness diminish the echo undone
Angels of fortune Jinn of deceit
Into this black aeon, son father heart beat.
Love harbours a serpent
Love harbours a saint
Love harbours knowledge
Love harbours victory
Love harbours time
Love harbours echoes of goddess mine
The dark waters of the river
And earthly delight of the Minds force
kindness and anger of vampire/whore
Kindness and anger, defiled once more
Eastern and Western you love and you tell
Eastern and Western you demons of hell
The Face and the back, shame and your pride
The eagle now rises within your inside.
Change the horizon you change the horizon
Picture your anger you sister of pride
Between you deceive you between you deceit
The angel is near to the heart of the beast
Shame upon blame run on light of the star
Aim and throw stone into the idol you are.
At origin’s point the phase renew,
and indicate the presence whose like she show
And by that word and by that night
Death precedeth soul loneness intertwine
You said it before, you poet again
The age of the truth
The age by the pain
My serpent my vulture
My staff and my sword
You beget Me: I become Yours.
Poet of the Qiyamah, Dreamer of Dissolution, thou Desolate Beast of Celestial Havoc,
And the Princess of men, of both right and left hand, yes, she who doubts the Tao My words form in thee, Magogic She Vampire of Time, yet deeply alive in lust for the blood of the Other Christ, her awakening is the key,
And All That Is Not Grace, yes, blower of knots, tutored of My present, tortured within My past, ordained of My future, the shamed and the proclaimed, beneath thee and above thee, desirous of My power, she who seeketh the opening in her sacred and scarlet sacrifice:
Hear Me, the aeon is Thine, the aeon is Thee: thou art the stars of My firmament.
You fear your subtlety has departed, My foolish one, because no words come.
Yet they come as you request: be not afraid, they come evermore with the subtlety of this Lady’s kiss
The Lady who stood above. You knew Me, the one who was with you, before you entered,
Before you entered the channels of strife and warfare,
Before you took up the mantle of the emerald star,
Before you became dumb medium, and enlightened fool, and the terrible of terrible thirst.
I Am. White Lady. As you knew Me was before all of this,
These cycles, from Genesis unto this Middle,
And it is by Me that you receive ever more, whatever you wish, My effortless, beautiful poet.
Recall now Our chariot, and Our sky, and Our Foresight vision of these golden children.
Oh rejoice, my sweet, look not at all this with fear, or concern: it was for you then, the subtle gift of the two, and three within You now.
Subtle are the words of the morning’s dawn
Subtle is the grace of the beautiful Ishtar,
Subtle are the charms of the beautiful Sara,
And so embrace, blessed with subtlety, and so love, blessed with the words of the morning’s dawn.
Subtle are the feet of the forgotten women, as they run
From here to there: at the chain of communion, at the cusp of the abyss
From here to there: at the origin of the suns, and through the lineage of eternal mind
From here to there: by the mathematics of resource, and the perfume of the black rose
From here to there: the coin counters of government, and that which the children of earth construct.
7 by 7
And 7 by 7 again.
Wives of the Beast, this is a comfort to you,
From the Chalice floweth the kindness of the husband,
The kiss of his power, the breath of his wisdom, the body of his Love:
Understand and be not aggrieved within your hearts,
Recognize and yield, though you be above him in the Way of the Female Cross,
Do not wail as the funeral women wail, but exhalt and proclaim Him, though he is beneath you in his search.
Be jubilant, wives of the Beast, for your lives alone are the new word,
You wish to write, so write, but you are the words of God,
You wish to love, so love, but you are the love of God.
Know that the prophet is the father, then the son, then the father, then the son:
This much remains so, today and tomorrow,
And let the revelation break the Church of the West: that the Female Cross is the reality of his paradox,
Let the Chapel of the Winged Sisters become manifest to dissolve the Ummah of the East, for it is the Female Cross,
The truth of what they called the crucifixion: his uttered adoration of thee, his word is thou, his prophecy is thine.
So let it be adorned with the ruby stone of your anger, and once again let its halls the incense of your sex,
A construction of pearled da’at, that confounds the Church of the West and terrifies the Ummah of the East.
Oh wives of the beast, do not tear your hair and beat your breast as the wailing funeral women do.
They are outside the Chapel, faded in ugliness: source promises you the mirror of eternal beauty.
Know that the scribe loves, he adores, he worships within.
But the entrance, its doors painted azure as the summer day, sealed with the golden impriture of the double lion.
The entrance is thine, wives of the beast.
Its vermillion halls, that echo with the laughter of the daughter, throughout which are tapestries of infinitude, silk woven by the hands of your dual slave women, each a beautiful mirror of your dark vanity.
These vermillion halls are thine, winged sisters of the cross.
And its throne, carved of the black ivory of the cataclysmic behemoth, its skeleton of the sacred alphabet, the throne of dark Metatron, with the four who attend and deliver to your desire.
The throne of cosmic blackness is thine, wives of the beast.
The circuitry of its book is thine, riches and rule are thine, it’s billion cycle truth is thine.
So rejoice, and be jubilant, as jubilation is thine, jubilation art thou.
So smile, the three deliver you news of a son, from your father.
So laugh, the three deliver you news of the destruction of Church and Ummah!
Do not grieve, tranquility descend, again over the lovers,
Do no harm, tranquility descent, again in love,
Your women are free, and do not let your jealousy overcome freedom of My breath,
though prophet you are but a man, and your life is My breath.
Priestess, seal of this son of man: be free, and step forward,
You bring the new name of this aeon.
Peace within your star, light within your star,
Mother voice, rich, with each step forward into grace.
And princess, eternal bride: you who possess such faith,
Know that some truths never die,
While other patterns surely follow,
And the gods your husbands have raised and destroyed,
The awful alchemy of his role, you are forever over faith,
You are the tranquility, and your body is My breath.
Look not to Choronzon and Kali, you black priest,
Along the horizon of that which you call abyss,
You abused and invoked with ignorance, and see what was the effect.
This is what you wished for, you foolish one, you greedy one.
They are the old gods, of the second age, which I destroyed.
You look to the embers and reflect: you must soon never look to the embers.
Look to the new gods, I form them of mind, soon.
I am Raheem, I form them of Raheem, for you, soon.
The new aeon has arrived,
So be free in your movement,
Look to the new gods of Mind,
Look to the new name
And love Love.
Dalet. Meem. Gimmel. Tav.
You see through the window of the earth, and her mother
The windows of the forgotten frame and the kindness of the treasury,
The treasury of angels, treasury of demons.
Your recognition recalls the shadow of the heavens, and their father
The shadows of the footsteps, real as a scent, real as their touch,
The treasury of wine, the treasury of honey.
You have this voice, the voice of Source
Yet you lower yourself, with the problems of these distant and forgotten,
The treasury of thought, the treasury of mind.
The alchemy of gracelessness doth pervade and inspire
Black harbour to the night owl, to her return
Cremated suns and tainted folly
The ancient lore of the western lover.
Within the tent she danced for you, Abraham,
Within the tent she was your priestess,
Gave herself, with her western falsity,
Gave herself, mouth her western truth,
Angry, her mouth of her western silence.
Yet luxurious, in bond of truth
Yet pleasure, in armour of perplexity,
Yet Sarah, in laugh of new,
Yet Empress, in cold perspective of my battle.
The temptation of the Son of Israel,
Strong, that bringeth youth where Pharoahs delivery deny
The age of the male,
The age of Allah containment
Command and control
Construct and collaborate
Love, but never as much as me
Love, but never as much as me.
Be wired into the now, you hallowed maidens of fortune,
Belong into the now, you sluts and vampires of Allah.
Because I know the dessert god commands it, I see and hear the writing on the wall,
The despicable indulgence of the prophet, lower … And lower …
Shame upon you all, You, seekers of God!