11 October (Mercury) Liber VII, 5:15-21
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15. Yea, Thou wast a strange scarlet bird with a bill of gold. I was Thy mate in the forests of the lowland; and ever we heard from afar the shrill chant of mutilated priests and the insane clamour of the Sacrifice of Maidens.
16. There was a weird winged God that told us of his wisdom.
17. We attained to be starry grains of gold dust in the sands of a slow river.
18. Yea, and that river was the river of space and time also.
19. We parted thence; ever to the smaller, ever to the greater, until now, O sweet God, we are ourselves, the same.
21. I love Thee, I love Thee. -
Has it occurred to anyone that there might be times when there is too much consciousness, too much sun, too much analysis?
When the dark or bright mother turns your alchemical apparatus upside down making everything all cloudy, and just when you thought it was about time to rack the contents in bottles of smokey glass, and then to hide them away in a cool dark place for a few months?
In such moments no one will fess up and explain why or how this happened, the workmen are silent, though you suspect them of complicity. I think they are movers by trade—readjustment, realignment...
It produces worry, anxiety because the process is no longer on track to follow the traditional recipe. You know in your heart that the sun is too warm, and the delay will most likely force you to improvise. But now you are gun shy of the sensitive observation that is required of improvisation.
That egg shaped stone of lapis that is my aura has cracked, and the Governors are leaking out the top like drops of semen into a viscous black.
This last part is fun, at least.
Love and Will