03/20/17 - TAV, Saturn (evening)
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"to await Thee is the end, not the beginning"
And now I'm stumped.
(Edit: I read the wrong passage for this. But my dreams were full loneliness and fear of the madness outside just the same. "Let me go back into the world; yea, back into the world." "Lazily, hungrily, ardently, patiently; so will I work.")
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'A wild country and a waning moon.
Clouds scudding over the sky.
A circuit of pines, and of tall yews beyond. Thou in the midst! 'With advice from 'sources' I was pointed to a reference to 'Liber Cheth vel Vallum Abiegni ' or Rampart of Firs. Rampart's etymology being = prepare beforehand (Parare ante) for the wedding , which I may take as my Motto. Especially when it was shouted into my ear in asana the night before last (after doing work to find my Motto). The curcuit of Pines and Rampart of Firs seem different poetical ways of describing the same thing.
As to what 'thing' it is, well I guess it's given me busy work to find out. -
Existence is a ravenous storm, by which the black earth we live is born. The eye of the storm is the stillness of the soul, by which we move past this dimly lit portal.
We understand that white & black are one, but to prove this with knowledge (by the intellect) is foolish. Knowledge will only show how one falsehood relates to another falsehood. It can only show you how it is NOT one. So then also be still o my soul that the spell may dissolve! Sew the seeds of knowledge and reap the harvest patiently by silence.
Seek not only the stillness. But also go madly into the frenzy of form. Dance and drink wildly with Bacchus AND seek the stillness therein. Bacchus grows old, becoming Silenus (Speech & Silence / Black & White, etc.) By the light of the rosy cross (union of opposites), the emissary of Pan, may one know the single enduring truth.
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The cubby, cozy rapture of invocation, the sensual enticement of the divine. What seems a small trinket of devotion grows immense. Work--lazily, hungrily, ardently, and patiently--but work. There is grandeur and intoxicating joy in the solitude and longing, but anguish too--Pan's mocking grin leering through cold marble. The world offers seeming succor from the desire for that which ever withdraws as one approaches, but labor on. There is an End.
