The Magician

The Magician points to Earth and Sky;
a banded piece of agate – a looking glass – rests in hand.

I am cradled between a nurse log and the tangled roots of an ancient tree;
birth and death are one here, our mother makes no distinction.

The forest exhales deeply into my lungs,
expanding them until, I am lifted.

A glass portal appears before me, nestled in soft folds of old growth.
I enter.

The cloud-sky space between fractal lines suddenly darkens;
my eyes begin to pulse, the world is bathed in emerald-green drops of dew.

My Heart is all that remains,
the rest – disintegrates into a swirling prismatic void of fern and cedar.

I can hear the voice of matter here.
Everything is vibrating.

Warm-green Goddess,
I hear you, I am you.

The Tower

Le M[onde]at

The Syzygy

A braided river runs through the secret garden of my mind.
Whose hand dost paint this river?
It’s banks, by which The Aeons come and go, are muddy and fertile.
This is the Art of Black Soil,
Black Earth.

From a pinpoint drop of her blood
(blood of water, blood of wine)
A wellspring flows unbridled.
Arcane knowledge explodes in all directions.

Arcanum – tomb of secret knowledge,
Whose whispering images speak paintings,
Stroke by stroke,
Upon my mind.

Here you will find Archangel Raphael and Azazel
(The Watcher who, bound hand and foot, was cast into darkness forever);
Mercury , son of Maia and Jupiter, reconciler of all opposites;
The Word Dreamer, Surrogate-Nurse of all things Material;
The Poet Ennoea, lost in reverie.

Ennoea beget Nous;
A Cosmic pair – Lovers, Siblings, Mother, Father.
The Syzygy (Ultimate Androgyne),
At once an infinitesimal dot and omnidirectional, infinitely vast plane
(through which my braided river runs)
Is both Source and Destiny.

Alas, this Divine Zygote has cut itself into pieces;
Nous – flawed, sick and insane,
Bit and clawed at the underbelly of her beloved twin.
Spit out like the poison from a wound,
She fell to Earth, to Black Soil;
The Logos – The Word,
The Immaterial Manifest.