3 October - (Sol) Liber VII 4:9-17
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9. I am like a wounded bird flapping in circles.
10. Who knows where I shall fall?
11. O blesséd One! O God! O my devourer!
12. Let me fall, fall down, fall away, afar, alone!
13. Let me fall!
14. Nor is there any rest, Sweet Heart, save in the cradle of royal Bacchus, the thigh of the most Holy One.
15. There rest, under the canopy of night.
16. Uranus chid Eros; Marsyas chid Olympas; I chid my beautiful lover with his sunray mane; shall I not sing?
17. Shall not mine incantations bring around me the wonderful company of the wood-gods, their bodies glistening with the ointment of moonlight and honey and myrrh? -
Throughout this particular work (Liber VII), the text is so exquisitely and transparently a love song that it has been difficult to write anything distinctive - it would be more a record of my own daily fluctuations.
This one has a subtlety worth observing: The Angel is experienced not just as the inmost intoxication symbolized by Bacchus, but specifically as the ecstasy from the phallus of the Most High. "There rest, under the canopy of night." (Bacchus emerged from the "thigh," euphemism for phallus, of Zeus.)