15 May - (Air) Liber LXV, 2:10-11
-
10. But she stirred not; only by my kisses I defiled her so that she turned to blackness before me.
11. Yet I worshipped her, and gave her of the flower of my youth. -
10. But she stirred not; only by my kisses I defiled her so that she turned to blackness before me.
11. Yet I worshipped her, and gave her of the flower of my youth.I love the image of nature and she corrupts, and I experience it as my own corruption; I am the image of nature and I am loved by Adonai, and I corrupt, but Adonai loves me though all of these trials even to the point of being totally repulsive; the soul loves the image of nature believing her to be the beloved, and faithfully follows her through all the transformations of her corruption; or it is all of these...
In my loneliness I worship and love an image of my beloved, but it is only a dead thing, was always so. Even when it is clear that this thing has become disgusting, that it is broken, that it is anything but the immortal beloved, even then, why do I continue to love and to devote all that I am and all that I have to it? What foolishness to practice 'magick' when my peers are going to business school and getting rich, raising families, and providing for their retirements?
It is darkness, the purchase of a perfectly black hen without haggling. On one side my life is banked by an abyss of emptiness and absurd pointlessness, on the other is a real hunger that will not go away no matter how repulsive the image becomes.
I am done with wondering if this is the right thing or not. To doubt is the sin against the holy spirit, the only unpardonable sin. But it is not fear that keeps me here, it is love, and I would rather be lost in this madness than to go without this hope.
Love and Will
-
As opposed to surrender into the river that is the stream of consciousness (a bit of the subconciousness?) the voyager embraces the image upon the steel boat of consciousness. The image has no life and stirs not. Furthermore, it reacts by turning black. The image didn't last and never was what it seemed. Even so he still gives to it the beauty of the flower of his youth.
Whether submerged in subconsciousness or focused within consciousness there is still a further and more subtle layer of existence that awaits. A place of origination beyond the images and at the core of existence.