Twilight

Twilight Fell.

A veil drawn across the face of the daystar whose last breath burst from lungs, a golden glory.

The velvet touch of advancing night drew shadows into its heart and rendered hardened edges soft, shaped the glade to its will and called down the moon, who rose a sickle, blood red.

At the heart of the glade wrapped in a mantle of silven light the mere reflected the stars that now gave of their light to the earth below. The softest of breezes etched ripples upon its mercurial surface before finally coming to rest and amidst the reflected stars the sickle moon hung as a diadem.

The willows that stood as sentinels upon her banks bowed their limbs as if offering a prayer to the fathomless depths and deep within their roots they drank of the nectar which sustains all things. The leaves which covered their nakedness rustled in the stillness and sibilant whispers, barely audible, spoke of the times that had been, were and were yet to be.

Station To Station

The heavens touched the earth, a single arc upon which shrouded in ebon light a small group gathered, The only connection between them their common humanity which shone as a seal upon their furrowed brows.

A king mantled in power held the scepter and staff of his office in hands that trembled with the burden that his birthright had granted him.

A pauper, soiled rags were the robes of his office and these he wore with dignity and deep within the orbs of

his eyes a light shone. His hands clasped in prayer were strong and true.

A concubine adorned in silks drew her mantle of velvet around her naked shoulders and a tremble passed through her body as ecstasy claimed her once again.

A mother ripe with another life within her womb clasped the hand of a child of seven summers who extending his other hand gently held a dragonfly and wondered at the beauty that surrounded him.

Twilight Deepens Into Night

Twilight opened the portal and Night entered.

The daystar rose in another land whose mysteries paraded across the surface of his mirrored eyes and called forth memory.

Night clenched its fists and the shadows fell to silence, retreated and awaited the time when once again they would claim dominion but for now they could but wait as their master surveyed the vista before him.

The mere, the body of our holy lady at its heart formed a vortex which spiraling upwards and outward drew from the air substance that would serve as robes for the one who rose from the depths. Her breath, pine and Jasmin perfumed the air, now tinted carmine.

The willows deep in thrall arched their boughs and their robes trembled as a song broke the silence that had reigned until this moment and as it gathered itself its tempo rose into a cadence of cascading tones that swept the scene as the wind might play with all it encounters. Honeyed wine poured from the stars and mixing itself within the mere, the elixir was formed.

A Sovereign’s Tale Deep within the citadel far from the prying fingers of light the oubliette, a chamber of darkness once more greeted the awakening of its sole occupant. Cast into it he had been long ago when the tyrant armed with cross and sword had breached the shoreline of his domain and cursed his people with the word of god. Exactly how long ago he had no way of knowing for no light or shadow determined the passing of time. Darkness, his only companion punctuated by the occasional opening of the trap within the door through which was passed food and water, this he rationed

and barely ever escaped the pangs of hunger and thirst. Each offering he deemed his last for it was only a matter of time when one day, having been forgotten no offering would appease his solitude.

Clinging to the memories of the time before, this and this alone held the balance of his mind within its tenuous grip. Thought of escape, a notion he long ago dispensed with for in the darkness he had felt his way across walls and floor and found them seamless and unyielding. The door, of iron, he assumed, gave no sign of vulnerability and as to the ceiling too out of reach to measure.

No human face had he seen, no visitor, no interrogator or torturer, even such would have been relief from the isolation and in his heart he held the feeling he had been abandoned, forgotten.

Even the time before was slipping from his grasp as the unrelenting silence and darkness claimed his soul, sliver by sliver. Only one thought remained clear to him, the day when his father had died and he had ascended the throne. Dressed in his robes of office he held the scepter and orb of his office and was anointed by the priests of his kind as regent, to rule all that he surveyed. The memories of this time are scant but he recalls that compassion was the signature of his rule and he believed that he was loved by his people. Was this true? Was this hope tormenting him with its toxic barb? In truth he would never know for truth and fiction were mere words he barely recognized.

The tyrant he remembered well enough, fair of complexion, blue of eye, slight yet tall and crowned by a mane of silver golden hair. A smile ever upon his lips he had seduced the king and at a banquet he had been poisoned and here he found himself upon regaining consciousness.

There was a time when concern for his people had possessed him but this like everything else had slipped from his grasp and stripped bare he now lay upon the hard, cold stones and mourned the life he had never had. Sovereign to all he surveyed, indeed.

Night’s Errant Children

Night shook his robes and his children gathered.

The daystar now a thing of distant memory entered the underworld and slumbered in the embrace of sister moon.

Night’s errant children gathered about their lord and told him of their travels in far distant lands. Ergos whispered of dappled unicorns taking flight amongst the stars that knew no number.

The mere now a mirror reflected the wings and hooves of the unicorns as they danced across the void. Endymion whispered of the birth of stars within a galaxy of mercurial dust and of the creatures that rose from the ashes of an extinct volcano and of Damiana who deep within the earth dreamed.

This the willows drew into their roots and etched the memories into the rings that formed their bodies and the sap that rose within their veins. Veins that fed leaves and from them they exhaled a mist, intoxicating. The mist, a veil that our lady donned as raiment that her nakedness go unobserved as she entered Night’s embrace.

A Pauper’s Tale

The citadel stood at the heart of the maze of streets and alleys that surrounded it and along one of its darker byways he walked. Shoulders hunched, barefoot and dressed in nothing more than a soiled cloth that did little to maintain his modesty. In one hand he held a begging bowl and in the other a crude staff that served to keep him upright. His only utterance, alms and blessings for the one before you, a constant dirge that escaped his lips and fixed the moment in stone.

Fixing his one true eye on the scene before him he paused for there amongst the acacia’s hidden from common sight sat a regal beast the likes of which he had never seen. Feline, dappled spots covered its sleek fur and its eyes, the purest amber shone with a light of preternatural intensity. Rising it glided towards him and rubbing his legs with its head it transformed and there before him, as if out of legend stood the most captivating creature he had ever seen. Female in appearance, skin of cinnamon dappled with copper spots, sinuous and possessed of a power innate. Her face held within its features a thousand promises and her eyes the purest amber. Whispering into his ear she dissolved and entered our pauper who now transformed smiled as looked out upon the city before him and upon the air, the perfume of her presence and a sibilant whisper, “ come for I await thee, beloved.”

Casting aside his begging bowl and straightening his once bent shoulders the pauper threw away his staff and stood tall in the mid day sun. The citadel, a short distance from where he stood called to him and as he approached its portal sentinels bowed and he gained entrance. The pauper, now a creature of mutable intent entered the private apartments, the door of which depicted a scene of Heaven’s Gate and as he reclined upon the cushions upon the floor he caught a reflection in the mirrored wall. The pauper smiled for he had, by his guile, defeated a sovereign and usurped his place for in the mirror reclined the tyrant who now mused upon the one he held deep within the citadel in his oubliette. Sovereign to all he surveyed, indeed.

Midnight

Night entered his lady and life was seeded within her womb.

The daystar though far away shivered as it recalled the time when it too had sprang from the font of life.

Night deep within the embrace and the intoxication of his lady’s embrace drank of her nectar and where once his visage had been stern, now a smile creased his brow and upon his lips a single word, Beloved.

The mere stirred as consummation unfolded and from its depths arrows of light broke the surface and were gathered into the quiver strapped across the shoulders of the huntress, Artemis and with these arrows she pierces the heart of all that exists.

The willows feeling the silven shafts enter their bodies knew ecstasy as placing her lips upon his the lady sighs and knew contentment. Night in union rose through the veins of the sentinels and took flight upon wings of vision and this vision and the cauldron from whence it sprang became the soul of Gloria Mundi.

A Concubine’s Tale

Cinnamon skin, the signature of her kind, distinguishable only by the pattern of copper spots that cover her head to foot, these her personal signature, here name. upon her thirteenth summer she had been consigned to the house of whispers where for the next four years she was taught the arts of the flesh in all their myriad manifestations. The first year she studied philosophy, music, art and literature and became adept upon the flute and her etchings drew notable attention. The second year she studied history, geography and the tongues of the inhabitants

of the shimmering sphere she called home. The third year she studied the various heresies wherein god was enslaved and during this time commenced her weapons training, foremost of which was the crafting of her slight form into an instrument of war. The sword she mastered with ease but her weapon of choice was the stiletto with which she had became lethal. It was during her fourth year of training that she studied the Tantric arts and became proficient within the realm of the senses wherein she swam with the elegance and grace of a dolphin. Dedicated upon the altar of passion where pleasure and pain are but the adjectives of a language ancient as the stars themselves.

Initiatrix incarnate. Many patrons sought both her hand and body upon the completion of her training, these she refused as was her right for as a true daughter of Lilith no man or woman could claim her. It was for her and her alone to choose if such was her will. For two decades she remained solitary slaking her thirst occasionally as the need took her. During this time she also perfected her studies and training and even the house of whispers courted her for her skill, knowledge and expertise. They would have her as their Reverend mother but this offer she also refused.

The concubine sought her equal and during her thirty ninth summer upon a foreign and exotic shore she encountered what was to become her lord. Upon an ocean, wine red, aboard a craft of ebony with sails of silk they were transported half way across the world and disembarking the tyrant held her in his arms and conveyed her to the citadel which was now to serve as her home and latterly her prison.

Seven Bells

Night felt the first shadow advance across the mere.

As the daystar began to rise it shook off its slumber and from deep within its heart it released the shadows as dawn banished darkness.

Night began to dissolve as once again his twin grasped the moment and with the rose of her lips upon his he softly slipped into the shadows to dream of the time yet to be when once again he would rise.

Across the surface of the mere light rippled and the rainbow dance began. All around life stirred shook feather and fur and ventured forth. Dissolving into the embrace of the rainbow dance the ladye fayre descended into the depths of her memories to dream of her lord and lover.

Unfurling their leaves the willows drew nectar from the advancing light and once again they had borne witness to the mystery that is Night. Turning their faces east they greeted the twin who rose a golden splendour tinted rose. The stars retreated as light bleached their presence and now their whispers were all that could be known of them.

A Mother’s Tale

Her husband and father to the child in her womb gone beneath the sword of the invader. She struggles to keep both herself and the slumbering child alive and safe within a kingdom at war. Survive she must for like any mother her child is all that is important. Shelter she gained in one of the outlying farms as yet unmolested by the horde. The farmer and his wife took pity upon her and gave her what food and shelter they could provide and in return she performed such tasks as she was capable of. The months passed peacefully and her time came upon her.

A bed chamber lit by candles, the air heavy with the scent of camphor, she 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, she releases liquid into the expectant mouth and knows the pleasure of union and in this way another innocent was born to this life.

He grew strong over the coming weeks and as the weeks became months he attained his first summer and upon this day a party of skirmishes, the tyrant’s mercenaries, came upon the farm. Putting the kind farmer and his wife to the sword. His mother raped and hung form the oak tree that wept at the violation performed upon it, the child now orphan was taken to the encampment and thrust into the arms of one of the whores that attended the camp. Reluctantly for she was but a child herself the young woman did what she could to keep the infant alive. Stealing milk and scraps when she could, the child prospered. Bastard was his given name but she whispered Aidan into his ear when their captors were absent. The surrogate mother did well and raised Aidan for the next five years until claimed by fever she died.

Orphaned again the child now five was sold and met the woman he would call mother. Of barren womb she raised him as her own and named him Ymir after the last of the dragon lords. Three mothers had raised him. One gave him his body, another his mind and the third his heart. Some might say he was fortunate but in his heart he remained as he ever was, the bastard.

Mid Day Upon A Foreign Shore

Night slumbered beneath a mantle of stars.

The daystar lord of all he beheld called his children forth and cast them upon the tapestries that were their lives.

His twin, now but a memory awaited his time as the cycle, the dance would turn once more upon the ocean of existence. Night and Day, Light and Dark, eternal change, eternal moment.

Dragon flies, light cascading from their wings skipped across the surface of the mere in celebration of the day. A choir of frogs began their recital and around the mere life gathered to bear witness to another day. Deep within her slumbers the lady smiled as she witnessed her children at play.

The willows raising their heads bathed within the light that now coursed through their veins and from their roots released the elixir into the air and their raiment shivered as a breeze rose from the south and its warmth shrouded them in a veil of bliss. Life bore witness to itself once again and celebrated the turning of the wheel.

A Child’s Tale

The bastard, for such was his preference nurtured a dark shadow within his heart and in time it grew and consumed his innocence. Looking out upon the world he saw nothing but the enemy, an enemy to vanquish and yet he was but a boy. This, he knew would change and that time he awaited, eagerly, expectantly. Solitary for he sought no company only the woodlands and the surrounding hills brought him peace of a kind and in their embrace he schemed and dreamed of the life he would have.

No longer a boy he fled the imposed sanctuary and joined the mercenaries that had killed both his mother and father and amongst them he learned to rape and kill and these acts alone brought a smile to his lips and lightened his heart. Noticing his relish for war his superiors took him under their wing and in time became sentinel of his own cohort. Ferocious they proved to be and among men accustomed to committing the vilest of crimes, they were feared.

The bastard found god or perhaps it is god who found the bastard and a pact was formed. Signed in blood and with his newly gained vision, his sense of purpose, his conscience was appeased for he was now performing acts on behalf of a higher authority and as the instrument of his will the bastard would bring all to the cross that they know truth. Those foolhardy enough to denounce the one true word would feel the keen edge of his blade which separating body from soul would commit the former to the earth and the latter to heaven. Amen.

It was in this fashion that the bastard took upon himself his true name and from that day and ever onwards he became the tyrant.

Station To Station

The Mirror’d Sceptre

The heavens touched the earth, a single arc upon which shrouded in ebon light a small group gathered, The only connection between them their common humanity which shone as a seal upon their furrowed brows.

I

The Outpost

To say he lay within the citadel dreaming would not be an inaccurate turn of phrase, rather he lay scheming and the stuff of his schemes was woven into a web that spanned the empire, an empire forged in iron and blood. Custodian of the mirror’d scepter he had sworn to bring peace to the troubled time in which this present body had incarnated and to this end he wielded both the sword and the cross. The arc he had been told had birthed the mirror’d scepter and the one who possessed it, albeit briefly, would be granted dominion in both time and space. Space, the empire he held and time granted him the reflected masks of his various incarnations within a singular mind and body. In this way he could be both mother and child, sovereign and pauper, concubine and all the forms that lay inbetween. The outpost, once an Eden had been called the bride but now she lay violated within her chambers, stripped bare, she wept. The throne she sat upon, once a golden aura within the void now, threatened by the encroaching darkness gave off an aura of bruised tears and these the tyrant gathered within his heart and fueled the vision that was his alone.

II

The portal Of Dreams

The group gathered upon the arc turned and directed their gaze to the one garbed in the mantle of kingship and entered his golden palace. Herein tales were written upon vellum, scribed in ink of gold and cast before the uncomprehending eyes and ears of the tyrant’s subjects that they know the word of god. Facet by facet the mirror’d sceptre turned as it hung within the void and the tyrant laughed. Upon his bed the tyrant within the grip of restless sleep turned, called out and felt the warmth of the concubine’s body within his embrace. Upon hearing his call she reached out and whispered into his ear “be at ease my love” and with these words now etched into us mind he returned to his schemes. The web tightened and she, ever vigilant, silently sat at its heart.

III

The Magus Rises

His education proved equal to the task. From the sovereign he acquired nobility and from the pauper humility. From the concubine, her learning and arte formed the bedrock of his ability. From the mother he learned of the impermanence of all things and from the child innocence. Station to station the tyrant ascended and granted dominion bent the world to his will and the magus was born in blood. In one hand he held the mirror’d sceptre and the other remained empty for a universe he had crushed within his unrelenting grip. Only the stars witnessed this and their whispers may be heard once the mind and heart are stilled.

IV

The palace Of The Vesica The dream, a recurring one had been with him for so long now that he was often unable to tell the difference between waking and sleeping. It began so long ago that memory no longer holds its exact beginning. Perhaps childhood, a time of promise, expectations and dreams? Perhaps even before that? To begin at the beginning. He came to consciousness in a place both welcome and alien. Others welcomed him and into their outstretched hands was he delivered. This period of time evades him, however I suspect a time of plenty, of safety was his lot. He flourished and in the embrace of those who protected him, he prospered. What was this place, this time? Memory of the dark time that preceded his coming to consciousness is vague, patchy and more a product of phantasy than actuality.

His aspirations developed and over a period of many years these were fulfilled according to his abilities. In some instances success was his lot, at others disappointment poisoned him with its toxic barb. Childhood turned to adolescence and with it exploration of others truly began. Shaped and reshaped according to their expectations he began to develop the false self that whilst a curse also enabled him to survive in this, The Palace of Exiles. Some would say he did well, others, perhaps would say that he did his best. Finally after many years of uncertainty and false starts he made a home for himself and accrued all that was required to make a person, a citizen of him. The world applauded in its own way, granting him the privileges that were its to offer. Yet still he wondered. Was this all that he could expect? Was this how his sacred life, that wondrous mystery and gift could expect of itself? He built a golden cage and threw away the key. This was safety. This was what was expected of him and pursuing the dictates of the world he entered a profound slumber, hopefully to remain undisturbed, unaffected by the passage of time.

That is until the dreams began. She visited often. At the beginning there was the merest presence of her perfume, intoxicating, a toxin that invaded his mind and body with sweet delight. Promises of fulfilment. Promises of destiny she sowed 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. What could he do, for he had by this time invested decades in giving form to the world, a world that now held him captive and all his doing. How to unmake this scheme became his quest. Like all things alien this was hard for each day called him to its service. Each face a reminder of what was expected of him. His life was complete and was reflected by all he knew and those that knew him. He began to perceive the bars of his cage. Golden and fine, they were. Gossamer fine, it is a wonder he even became aware of them. This he believed to be the result of her lingering perfume and whispers. Fear finally claimed him. How could he cast it all away, take a lifetime of building and simply deny it? How could he draw deeply into his lungs her presence and expectations? The world, known and a friend began to tremble as did he.

As with all beginnings he began slowly for the effort was all consuming. Each act resisted as if the world, aware of his departure held on and for a period of time he experienced its death throes until one day he learned to perceive differently. From this time on he communed with himself regularly and with the passing of time things eased and a new level of normality was entered. A normality which at one time he would have perceived and considered to be bizarre and impractical now carried all the hallmarks of sense and logic. He gazed around his world noticing each detail, each reference point until like a holograph it stood clearly around him. He measured its limits, beyond which stood the unknown and more importantly he began to make agreements with himself. Feel the fear and move on became his clarion call.

His first steps were tentative for it was necessary to feel at least something beneath his feet. This had the effect of widening the possibilities before him. Finally decisions were made for the horizons that confined his world widened and deepened and with trust in his heart and his mind awash with intent he began to let go of all that he had become in the certainty that the beneficence that surrounded him would sustain him, for was he not its child? In this way did he abstractly, at first and latterly practically begin the journey that took him to the edges of his world and where once fear had created crashing water and rocks now in their place was her sweet perfume and a whisper often heard, ‘Come, for I await thee.’

V

The Dream Of Adonai

The arc still, silent, dissolved as rapture claimed the small group gathered upon it and their essence, as a perfume, rose upon the aethyr. The mirror’d sceptre turned another facet and beneath a dome of lapis the lord lay within the embrace of sleep. Aeons had passed since he last drew breath for his children had consigned him to the vault wherein he lay. What became of his children is uncertain for only he remained. Crowned and conquering he had once spawned a race of giants who dwelt within the hills. Once he had conceived man and into its frail body had breathed his essence and thus formed its soul. Witnessing their triumph and failure he mourned and now all that remained to him was the sweet nectar of oblivion and this he drew into every pore upon his golden body as he lay dreaming.

VI

The Field Of Mars

She had by her skill acquired the mantle of Vesica. Her blades, two in number hung at her side. The first crafted within the isle of the rising sun bore the sigil of her house, a serpent entwined around a globe. The second needle fine, she favoured and with it many a life had given its last breath to its silken embrace. Adorned in leather, blood red, her mantle drawn across her shoulders she stood overlooking the chasm spread before and beneath her. Her only adornment the helm which she currently held in her hands. It bore the shape of the head of an eagle. Its eyes forming the visor. Placing it upon her head she drew the visor down, drew her sword and swore her oath. Raising the visor she became invisible and ventured forth.

VII

The Citadel

Rising from his bed the tyrant glanced to his side and there upon the bed of rumpled sheets and quilts watched as his concubine drew gentle breaths into her sleeping body. Placing his morning around his naked form he left the sleeping quarters and made his way to the council chamber and took his place at the head of the ebony table that stood at the centre of the vast hall. Gathered around the table the arc had assembled the small group it held in its care and these spoke their tales to the tyrant as he sit and attentively listened to each in turn. The only absentee, as ever, the pauper who even now dwelt far beneath them in the oubliette. Standing the tyrant cast his glance across the group before dismissing them with the merest of gestures. Left alone he mused upon their words and drew his schemes, like a mantle around his shivering body.

VIII

The Palace Of Exiles

Though darkness engulfed him as he lay upon the stone floor of his prison his mind burned with vision. Perhaps due to his thirst and starvation? Perhaps due to the arc sustaining his mind if nothing else or perhaps he had pierced the veil and experienced what lay beyond the veil of appearance? He walked across a trackless waste of golden sand, the bleached bones of those who had been here before him. Above him shone the ebon sphere whose acid light stripped all beneath its rays. The air shimmered and mirage claimed his mind, yet onward he walked, one faltering step and then another. Consigned to the palace of exiles long ago he walked, eternally, its featureless expanse. His skin burnt black by the relentless rays descending from above had long ago reduced his clothing to rags and these soiled by sweat and blood are all that remained of his past life.

IX

The Boundary Lands

Desert gave way to beech and in its turn to the sea whose salt tang revived him as he fell into its shallows and as the waves gently ebbed and flowed he was revived. Rising he walked the shoreline and upon the horizon a vessel sailed towards him. In time it grew close and features could be determined. Its hull of ebony shone and the wind was caught within its silken sails of gold. It appeared unmanned and traveled with a will of its own. The arc turned a spiral and upon its deck he lay, carried to, he knew not where. Rain fell from the sky and this he gathered within his cupped hands and drank. Thirst, quenched he went below decks and into a state room he entered, upon a bed clothing lay. A jesters motley of black and gold. This he covered his naked body with, sought food and found it in the galley. A feast laid out upon a table of oak and this he fell to devouring until sated. Above the of his vessel was bathed in the light of a moon at its zenith and as the daystar broke the horizon land he saw and the towers of a city. Into port, he disembarked and made his way through he maze of streets and beheld the citadel. Approaching the guards bowed and he gained entrance for was he not the tyrant?

X

The Fabled City

The arc and those gathered turned a revolution and as the sovereign looked into the mirror’d sceptre the bustle and commerce of the fabled city assailed the senses of our gathered group. The sovereign knew himself to be home. The pauper, lost to anguish could but weep. The concubine excited by the challenges before her drew a breath deep into her lungs and sang. The mother offered thanks for their deliverance and

the child now a boy of eleven summers looked upon the scene and could but wonder as to how they had arrived here. The tyrant gathered his masks and placed that of the sovereign upon his face. The pauper he donned as robes. That of the concubine he wore as a seal upon his heart and of the mother, she became his eyes whilst the child assumed the form of his body.

XI

The False Crown

The mirror’d sceptre hung in space above the arc and its final facet opened and from its centre a single ray, bleached white dissolved all before it. Station to station it travelled at increasing speed, erasing each as it passed through. Its journey would encompass all that will ever be and from its matrix it drew the gods that shone as jewels upon its evolving form. History shaped by its passing left whispers and in into the heart of all that came to exist it sowed its seed of doubt.

000

The veil

I

Lucis Ignis Dei

The first echo arises, plucked from the void. A column of light illuminating the darkness of eternity with its plasma burst. Extends, diffuses into the shadows of eternal night. Unfolds its thoughts, creates reflections of itself. Stars bask within its supernal luminosity. It knows itself not, only its reflections cast shadows upon its countenance. Withdraws, contains itself, achieves critical mass, implodes. Shards of light travel outwards, fusing, melding and finally a cataclysm. Light manifests as energy, its matrix. Reverberates, creating heat, informing the cold, dark void of its presence, atoms dance within its thermal resonance. Fire arises, the light of consciousness, a whisper within a womb of light.

Beholds itself, a shadow being of light emitting sparks, coruscating down bright corridors of becoming. Fuses with the immensity of the ocean and dreams of another. A means of definition, of differentiation. To create a matrix, its energy to another’s form. As the power of life it moves ever inwards, spiralling to the core of silence, its origin and outwards to all things, its destiny. In the larva flow of its being conceives of a form and enters it.

Burning brightly, flame red and gold to the darkness beyond. Heat at its core, frost at its surface it moves towards the light that draws it ever closer, its source. It beholds its former self, wrapped in the sackcloth of memory. Alighting upon a cliff face, carved out of the aethyr itself, rests and beholds the vista before it. A

barrenness that it would fill, yet in its dark mood, its dark nature it broods. It, the creator would create another to know itself.

II

Aqua Bella Mater

Precipitation, moisture, the ocean roils as the plasma hits, first the surface, laced with a filigree of light. Penetrating to the cold depths of incalculable mystery below. Meets ice. Movement, as the plasma, crackling with the ice and moisture that surrounds it, threatens to engulf it, finally yields. The first of many meetings that will unfold through time. The eternal sky god, lord of the lightning flash meeting his consort within the icy depths of oceans embrace. Within their embrace they cavort and of their contortions, each yielding but a little to the other, ice melts, plasma diffuses. And of their embrace arises a heat, warmth that rises to the surface as bubbles of light, breaks the surface as a spume of golden light and the first of things is released and given the name Nemesis. Takes its freedom flight and is seen no more.

Many arose from their union, the time of echoes was unfolding, would continue to unfold through the long aeons ahead. Deity now reflected upon another and in the appearance of duality, knew itself completed. Yet it was a generous being and would grant life, multiple forms through which it could witness itself, and into each of its forms it signs its name. In the signing lay the hope of realisation, that its creatures might know of their source. This its compassion, this its female form. For as substance, it could only exist in its female form, for as lord of the lightning’s it could only devour its offspring. No nurturing, no protection or love could it offer, for these were properties unknown to it. And in this way was the marriage between the elements of the prima mater consummated.

III

Aethyr Congressus Cum Daemon

And the first of things, Nemesis, came into being. Borne aloft upon the pinions of dreams did it fly through ecstasy upon ecstasy. Its substance the very air itself through which it also passed, at its heart a lightning bolt of golden hue and upon its surface the ice of its mother, in fusion a mist of golden light presaged its arrival and the perfume of oceans depth and the endless infinity of the star spangled void. Lord of light was its assumed name, for it knew no other. This would suffice. It would be the very lifeblood and soul of all that followed during the unfolding of days. Would inspire and bring to freedom each of the sentient forms that were yet to come into being. Adonai in the palace of the heart. Nemesis within the citadel of its mind. Lord of light, bright Lucifer, herald of the dawn, lord of the world. Its consort it

would seek and of their union creation would continue to unfold and in the union with its bride would it bring life to lifelessness.

IV

The Bride of Adonai

In the brightness of the void lay one of beauty, slumbering within the velvet embrace of eternal night. Whispers of promise blooming within her heart. A smile upon her pale lips. Lips awaiting a kiss, whereon life would dawn. And in her slumbers she dreams deeply and of her dreams a mist arises, violet and gold. A symphony of celestial joy, as another echo reverberates along the corridors of eternity. Her body dances, held aloft within the embrace of space and from her womb, time arises. For she is fertile, mother to all form, daughter of the infinite depths of ocean and of the sky lord, her consort. Now she rises and embraces the air itself, suffused with a radiance of golden light, he, her lover and consort created to fulfil creations dream.

The Nexus or Fifth Element

00

The four watch towers established within the void, their sentinels alert, the four echoes reverberating through the dimensions of time and space. A tower of lightning illuminating the eternal night with its incandescence. One of oceanic blue and green casting its reflections into the void. Another of golden aethyr, a lattice of light and wraithlike form . And finally one of opal, its hues oscillating with the splendour of nature’s unfolding. Fusion takes place and the dance begins anew. Each tower radiating its essence into the void, chromatically meeting at the nexus point. A symphony of sound, the crack of lightning’s blast, the deep susurration of ocean’s depths, the rush of zephyrs ecstasy, the hearts beat of the bride. And at the point of union the spiral of life’s song begins to unfold its tale to eternity, its witness.

The Second Becoming

0

She stirs from her slumbers, gazes into the void. Her form now diffuse, mist upon the lattice of her web. The echoes travelling to her inform her that her work is all but done. Only one last act to perform. And with the passing of her final breath she emits a song of joy and enters dissolution, the final dream. Her essence released, she enters creations mantle and dreams within the heart of her children, silent, unseen, unknown. Only eternity knows of her presence and with a sigh, it too enters dissolution and the time of dreams.