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A Grigori Text

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Pax Nobilis

A Noble Peace Slumbering within her grave, pale Damiana sighs. Above, the soft pressure of leafmould, like a blanket, wraps itself around her in tenderness, a tenderness she had not known in life. Beyond that a gentle warmth sometimes makes itself known to her diminishing senses. How long she had lain here none could tell, for in truth none knew of her presence, alone within this shallow grave. How had she lived, how had her life come to end and how, within this earthy tomb could she yet continue to be? How could she still be here and not as the prophecy had foretold, released into freedom and the golden

valleys beyond to join her Lord and Lover. Only in these rare moments of awareness did she wonder, for mostly she knew only the dark, the sweet embrace of oblivion. This she would have, and yet something called to her, called to her in fine sibilant whispers, seductive, enticing and beguiling. In life she had been fine and noble of form, in stature tall, lithe, the body of a dancer, fine of feature, cheek bones a razors edge, nose aquiline above which a pair of almond eyes, stained violet at their heart, shone like bright suns. Crowned by a mane of ink black hair, dark as the night sky itself, hung in swathes across her shoulders and shrouded the nape of her neck, cascading, like a waterfall over breasts of milky opalescence crowned by aureoles of crushed peaches. Travelling downwards across muscle firm yet yielding to that secret place nestled between thighs of softness, covered in a fine down of gossamer strands of silk. Legs, long, tapering to an ankle of fine bone and sinew. Feet slim yet strong. Many had sought her through her short life, for her beauty, for her mystery, each of them now lay dreaming within her womb. Yes, she had shared her delights, only briefly and harvested the fruits of love, memories which now haunted her into the long night, unrelenting. And then death, one velvet dark night had seduced her into his mystery, had come for her whispering gentle endearments into her ever open ears, had lain with her, entered her and claimed her as his, for was she not beauty indeed? And yet, she was still sentient, not a fleeting spirit adrift upon the night air, not a disembodied soul seeking solace amongst loved ones. Was this her reward, her penance? Had she not served her mistress well, offering blood and semen as votive offerings within the services performed in her name? Had she not offered herself, her flesh, the means of manifestation, where passion is the prayer and lust the means of

Invokation? The dark shore of night whereupon, we embark upon a journey from mystery into greater mystery, our blood knowingness our only guide, steers us through dark atavisms and pre-human byways of being, where bestial tongues utter inchoate sounds unto the firmament that hears them not. Hecate’s dark realm, awash with soft murmurings yielding to screams and the torment of tortured souls. She stands triumphant upon the bones of her worshippers, for torment is her service, where pain is but the echo of her yearning, where birth and destruction are the ebb and flow of her breath, fetid with the whisperings of dark mystery. Had she not been promised entry into the realm of the true gods, those who exist outside the night of time? A whisper from the dark lord Lucifer, brooding within his citadel of memory, casting dreams like sprinkled stardust into the void. Dark lord of Repose. The Redeemer. The Opposer. It was for this one that she had served her dark mistress these cold, long aeons. The circumstances surrounding her death are a mystery to her as is her present condition. Of time she knows not, of reason also, little is known, only the ever dimming memories that surface to torment her within her citadel of isolation. And yet occasionally she feels, rather than hears a distant, plaintive song, a calling back to flesh and life upon the surface of the shimmering star. And how does she spend her moments of lucid waking? Remembering sweet pleasures, ones which elevated her, made her complete within her service to her dark mistress. And how had that service begun? Alone upon a wind swept beach, hair tossed by the raging tempest, the tang of salt upon tongue, stinging her eyes. Skin, open to the elements through folds and pleats within her dress and cloak, bruised by the contact of cutting wind and occasional grains of sand, too light to retain their tenuous grip upon the surface of the beach. Walking, musing upon trifles, what was and what would be. Then turning, noticing for the first time the moon, blood red, ravaged by clouds the color of bruised flesh, waxing, not yet full. A sound, at first shrill then becoming deeper, insistent as it invades her attention. From what source, and to what purpose? Pausing to discover its point of origin, a shadow within shadows, the entrance to a cave and at its entrance a dull pulsating light, honeyed amber in color, reaches out and invades her senses, captivating, entrancing. Stepping forward, one faltering step then another and finally stretching into a run, a sense of slow motion envelops her as she moves forwards, yet moves not, a wrenching sensation in the pit of her stomach, a snap of some internal unknown and movement is granted and with lightning speed she arrives at the cave entrance. Waiting, waiting for what? She knows not. Then the sensation of tiny fingers, touching, caressing, fingers of ice calling forth her heat and moisture as slowly she is lifted from the sand and begins to spin upon the breeze, now master of her movements. Ice enters her, touching first the surface of her skin,

then penetrating inwards and meeting her fire, melts into languid and liquid delight, she glows, sweats and gentle moans rise from her throat as one by one her clothes are teased from her, opening her to the elements and the penetration of the night. Fingers slide across back, belly and breast, down thigh and leg leaving her naked, exposed within the embrace of fire and ice. She touches sand, its grains abrading soft skin, feels its coolness, its support. The sound diminishes and in its place, shadows arise, dimly seen, keenly felt and in the silence the tempest ceases and stillness soothes her ravaged senses. Advancing upon her, the shadows, at first fragmentary, coalesce into an aethyreal form of opalescent beauty, hues, pastel in shade undulate across and through surfaces creating a shifting plane of perspectives, “speak not” says a voice of liquid amber, “take delight and pleasure in the flesh.” Advances closer crooning a lullaby, distant memories arise, childhood, summer, a forest glade, lying at ease in the embrace of nature. Fingers touch, breath like the gentlest of breezes touches, flushing of skin, hearts blood coursing through sinew and skin causing breath to increase, as one by one each part is touched, hair stroked, teased outwards into a veil, a nimbus of dark light illuminating contours and features, eyes opened to the glories of the dark by a breath that touches lightly and then is gone. Lips brushed, the taste of almonds and orange blossom, causing the lips to part the tongue to move outward, to touch, contact lips, now gone. Breasts aflame as liquidness touches their surface, nipples harden, pulse, stretching towards this source of pleasure. Belly opens, like the womb of time itself, opens and releases moisture, demanding. Fingers touch, explore soft contours, like the petals of a rose, one by one unfolding, opening to the sensation of penetration, releasing moisture, as thighs gently bruised by a lovers kiss, back arches, stretches, the abandon of passion sweet. Adrift upon the tide of passions velvet embrace she soars into unknown realms, realms of pure sensation, each breath etches a lambent flame upon her flesh, forming an alphabet, whose consonants and vowels are the sweet sensations of fulfillment, an orgasmic being, where only the essential, the pleasure of the moment unfolds itself to her saturated senses. Finally pausing, spent, she alights upon a barren plane and in the near distance a mountain range, a castle, brooding, casting its shadow across the terrain, staining the landscape, as if some hideous night born horror dwelt within. Rising, compelled to move towards this monstrosity. Surveying her surroundings, the barrenness reluctantly gives way to fetid swamp, her feet now awash, slime arising from the depths, ankle deep in the mire she makes her way tortuously through the rank undergrowth, the stench released by her footfalls releasing into the air the odor of decay and stagnancy, night creatures make themselves known to her sharpening senses. The slither of serpents rising along the sinews of her legs, wrap themselves around her as if they would hide her nakedness, searching, probing, exploring her contours. She advances amidst the chorus of nights purple legion.

Swamp gives way to rock and the sharpened fragments of stone now underfoot, causing her to wince, briars in profusion, unyielding meet tender flesh, barbs that enter and tear at her skin, forming fine rivulets of blood travelling along the length of arms and legs, stinging as the night breeze opens her to further sensation. She gasps, her breath coming in halted gulps. Onwards and now upwards she treads, a barely discernible path, flanked by stunted trees and twisted shrubs releasing their perfumes upon the night air, finally gives way to a courtyard, an expanse of broken flagstones, limned with lichen and moss, glowing as with the presence of praeternatural light, weeds appearing in crevices formed by the passage of time. Steps rising and finally a doorway of marble embossed with plaques of metal, strange signs and images, some of nature, some of strange worlds, all carrying a sense of menace. The way is barred to her. Sentinels guard the portal, bestial forms, part human, part beast, raised upon pinions of furred talon, giving way to the torso of humanities perfection, ripe, full breasts and the softness of curves she recognizes well, crowned by a visage of bestial perfection, fangs bared as if awaiting their quarry, who even now passes between them. A voice, hushed whispers, issues from she knows not where, “what seekest thou, fair creature, the delights of our castle, or perhaps the presence of she who dwells within?” In answer she claims her innocence of any intent, and as a simple traveler has stumbled upon this place, this castle. “Enter and know that shadows and despair await thee”. No way back, she advances to see the door dissolve before her eyes and now she is within a chamber, vaulted, supported upon pillars rising upwards into unfathomable heights, carpets scattered upon bare stone, alcoves containing statuary and images from the past of cultures divers, some human, many not. Recesses containing divans of velvet flanked by candles whose guttering flames cast an amber light upon the chamber. Pausing she takes her rest in order to better survey the immediate surroundings. Along one wall a hearth, the mantle of which is supported by angelic forms, wrapped in their pinions and gazing upwards beatifically. Within the hearth the roaring of flames fed by logs the size of small trees. She rises and advances to this place in search of warmth. Whispered endearments meet her ears as finally she arrives and is greeted by a being who steps out of the shadows, ink black his skin, red his eyes, of form slender and sinuous, graceful, crowned by a skullcap of filigreed metal. Magnificent in his nakedness he holds within his hands a bowl of beaten brass figured in an unknown cipher. “Drink, fair one, for it will prepare the way.” Reaching out she receives the bowl, raises it to her lips and drinks deeply of its contents, again the taste of almonds and orange blossom assails her senses and carries with it a sense of well being and rapture. Emptying the contents, swooning, she falls upon a surface of furs and rich velvets and dreams. Awakes to the sound of plainsong interwoven with the susurration of flowing water and the call of night birds. Beneath her back cold

stone, she is stretched, arched across a boulder, hands and feet bound by silken cords. Above her, smiling, she stands, awaiting the return to consciousness of her ward. “Fear not the bindings, for I must open your body, your flesh”, comes a whispered voice, caressing her senses with its wine rich depths. “Long have I awaited you and now the time of waiting is past, be at ease, rest, be attentive for I have a story to tell. Like you I to, was once mortal, shared in the pleasures of the flesh, yet I knew the worm awaited me, the unrelenting passage of time would bring me into its chthonic realm, this I denied with every fibre of my being, sought long for the means of release from this curse, having searched high and low within the confused ramblings of my kind, the promise of celestial paradise, the entrance to hallowed halls of learning and becoming. I finally realized that this served to distract, assuage the inevitable which I too would come to despite my time honored and cherished illusions. Yes I learned of the sweetness that sours in the light of times passing. I knew pain, hurt as any of my kind would, for as a woman I carry the joys of the world within my womb and also its sin. In time I came to know the purity of despair and came to savor the austerity of its bitter sweet taste. I found pleasure a paltry affair, visited infrequently by moments, mere moments of anaesthetic release. No more would this be so, I withdrew and so doing ceased to be as I was, and now, would never be again. For I abandoned my kind and their ways. And in the desert of despair left this world, leaving only a shadow self to continue the pretence. That shadow continued, retreated further then it too dissolved and joined me and became she who now stands before you. From the pit of suffering and remorse I arose triumphant and made my pact with the lord of this world, the ever present one, thinly guised as pleasure, as pain and the means of release from both. He took me into himself and shared his glory, his secrets, his yearnings, until I finally joined him and knew rapture pure, undefiled by thought and speech, the chatterings of primates scurrying from darkness to darkness complete. Long aeons have I dwelt within my fortress of night, taking my pleasure amongst the legions of the half lives. Distilling from their pleasure and their pain the vital nectar that sustains my form, form which exists within the dark cave of each of their hearts, their lives. They see only my horror and not the beauty of austerity that shines within my heart, the pulse of life that bruises my eyes, eyes that know their hearts and minds. Only suffering they know, for they have not plumbed the depths of despair and its kindred, my offspring. And now I would claim thee as mine fairest Damiana for I know your heart, your mind and now I would know your flesh.” So saying she advances and in the silence of her passage Damiana again tastes almond and orange blossom upon her lips as a gentle breeze resolving itself into flesh touches her lips with a stroke so fine and rich. She answers the call and opens her heart to the embrace, an embrace which ignites her flesh once again into rapture, as

tiny tongues of flame reach out and touch her. Breast to breast, lips to lips they meld and become one, exploring textures and shapes, tastes and odors of intoxication, lines of fire limning their every angle and contour. Caught upon a wine dark sea travelling from rapture to rapture. Gently she rises wiping the sweat from her brow, from her lips and breasts and looks upon Damiana. “Would you join me fair one and know my Art, my Knowledge?” In silence Damiana answers an assent. “I must open your flesh, let it blossom, strip the kernel that yet binds you and release you into the exaltation of the new flesh.” Advancing she utters a brief plaintive call whereupon she is transformed into the guise of the sentinel encountered in the outer hall, in shadows he advances, black within a deeper black, his eyes glowing in the darkness now all but complete and from the air he plucks a crystal which sparkles within its own light. With this he touches her forehead and she sleeps and dreams of caresses, of kisses, of passion ignited by the touching of flesh to flesh and as passion unfolds itself within the passing of their breath, one to the other he opens her fleshy veil and extracts her essence, bone, blood, organ and muscle does he excise, making of it a mannequin which dances in rapture. And of her essence he shapes a new form and inscribes upon its contours the ciphers of desire, sigils of power, of protection and eternity. Lambent light courses through this new form, sigils form and reform, dancing eternity’s dance of splendor and becoming. The sigils coalesce, writhe and finally meet at a central axis point between her breasts, then dissolve into the new tissue and flesh. Damiana awakes from her dream to whispered words, caught upon the breeze, “in time you will know my name, for that is secret and undivided, for now go forth and take thy will and pleasure amongst the legions of the living.” And in this way did Damiana meet her mistress and true to her did service through the flesh, opening herself to each and every delight, celebrating the new flesh. And then she met with death one ink black night and now waits for the call that will release her from her leafy grave that she might know glory and the promise of eternity in the arms of her dark lord. He who awaits her arrival on the other side of the veil called appearance.

“Go in peace and rest within the embrace of shadows tender arms”

Damiana

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The Chymikal Wedding

Of Damiana Evohe

Being Seven Waves Of Ascension

By Way Of The Royal Arte Of Khem

[ Abridged Version ]

Corpus

Introitus

First Wave – Calcination

Second Wave – Dissolution

Third Wave – Separation

Fourth Wave – Conjunction

Fifth Wave – Fermentation

Sixth Wave – Distillation

Seventh Wave – Coagulation

Extroitus

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Introitus Whilst maintaining the integrity of the Arte of ancient Khem it is the present scribes intent to render an AlKhemical allegory in keeping with the current we attend, namely that of Solus Noir in the way we have, thus far addressed, The Atu Of Anpu, The Arte Of The Astrologian, The Revelation Of John The Apostate and that which has been called The Aeonic Current. The divers spelling of the word Alchemy is quite intentional and not the result of inconsistency. We have included a series of appendices for the purposes of clarification. A traditional description of the

seven stages. A translation of The Emerald Tablet courtesy of Isaac Newton. Sections of The Chymical Wedding Of Christian Rosenkreutz and a contemporary interpretation of the alchemical process by the analytical psychologist C.G.Jung a modern day practitioner of profound insight as Isaac Newton was in his era.

Also included are The Seven Waves rendered as Axiomata, the fusion of Image, Sigil and text executed by the present scribe alongside a series of traditional alchemical images. The latter serve as illustrations rather than correspondences and as such are arbitrary. Again for the purpose of clarification –

All text in this colour represents the appendices, indicated above and the description of the seven stages of the alchemical process which by way of poetic license we have called the seven waves.

All text in this colour are those of the present scribe.

In no way do we claim an authoritative position in respect of our words and the interpretation they render. Rather our words are to be perceived as those of the vision that attends both the poet, artist and initiate, descriptions we claim without hesitation.

Damiana Evohe

Vesica Ordo Templi Solus Noir

London England Tuesday June 5 2012ev 3.45pm

The Seven Waves Of Ascension

Explain That Which Is Mysterious

By That Which Is More So

Calcination

Upon commencing our pursuit of the Royale Arte the Prima Matria is prepared within a cauldron of fire seething with vitriol, for our lead both malleable and soft whilst possessing the qualities desired is made corrupt within The Vale Of Tears and must enter The Vale Of Fire wherein all impurities are purged.

Within our leaden sheaf lies the seed of the sun, our gold and for this to be redeemed the aspirant takes a journey into the heart of matter wherein dwells noble Saturnus, our patron and guide. By turn are

we exalted and cast down only to rise again and yet again. Herein the mortal enemy, Fear counsels departure from this our pursuit with the promise of riches granted. Here most fall and re enter the world triumphant. They die the death of the mortal and are remembered not.

The toxic fumes that rise, spectre like, upon the air give rise to the first of the many visions to come and we yearn for fulfillment but are denied, for as the corrosive quality of our vitriol bites ever deeper into our softening flesh are we turned into ash and caught upon the breeze, formless. Herein lies the greatest peril, for now, though prepared, it is only the beginning of that which is to come. The world slips effortlessly away as did the flesh from our bones and the marrow of our mind, now revealed, unfolds its own story as it quests upon the path of this the Royale Arte.

A mantle of deepest midnight is all that protects us from the whispers of the stars above, spiraling in their dance of eternity. Here the mask, the first of many, is donned and behind the clay of which it is fashioned burn eyes both blessed and cursed. The world, sole witness, turns its head in shame and goes about its daily business somnambulant upon a carpet of desire.

The last flickering flame is quenched and the first stage of producing the Elixir commences as venom now courses through what were once veins and vision clouds what were once eyes and in the citadel of memory the pages turn in the Book Of Life and record the passing of one more soul.

The Prima Materia now a single mote of dust is all that remains in our cauldron and this now becomes all we have to work with. It is sufficient to our purpose.

Dissolution

And with that single mote of dust that the Crucible Of Arte yet contained did we commit it to the Aqua Vitae and into amniotic oceans embrace were we received. The mote, once I, dissolved in the infinite depths and the peace of non differentiation was encompassed by an awareness that knew it not, cognition now long gone. It has been said and rightly so that – In The Alembic Of Thine Heart Through the Athanoor Of Affliction Seek Thou The

True Stone Of The Wise. Were we indeed wise this path we embrace would serve us well. Were we blessed by knowledge of this would we forge a canon of arte in celebration of our failure. It is by Grace alone that we entered here. By Grace that we survive and only by Grace will we prosper. All else is artifice, condemned to an eternity of repetition and the anodyne relief of the poppies fair toxin. By fire and water have we entered the Palace Of Exiles that stands upon the borders of The Boundary Lands wherein the Grigori, voices raised in a paean both mournful and exultant.

By the grace of Jove did we gain entrance and as the Aqua Vitae rises and is greeted by sunlight’s embrace, the infinite depths, of which we claim our form, a single drop is distilled beneath a Blood Moon that bruises the aethyrs with its presence and this drop is also offered in service to the Arte that has granted its vision, a vision of reaching out and encompassing the gentle hand of another, sister fair, who swept away upon the tide returns to her slumber atop a hill of gold, beneath an indigo sky alight with stardust.

Herein was the Elixir raised to its second station and drawn into a heart long jaded, yet beating still, a drumbeat marking the passage of time as aeon upon aeon writes its death toll upon The Book Of Death whose pages, flakes of iron, crumble to dust and enter the vacuum that awaits all.

The Prima Materia now a single drop of nectar is all that remains in our cauldron and this now becomes all we have to work with. It is sufficient to our purpose.

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Separation Herein filtration is the means by which our solution is rendered free of impurities and the process we apply is that of the intellect and the sword of discrimination for here lies the seed of the sun/son and bereft of impurities does it rise in the vessel unencumbered by the gross elements that would anchor it to the corporeal. In regard of Solus Noir it is to our first cycle that we attend for here we crossed The Mountains Of The Moon, took our rest in The Vale Of Aphrodite in preparation for entering The Boundary Lands. Here did we manifest

the first avatar and Separated from our bride did we stand alone upon the shores of midnight. Before us stood the iron gates that gave entrance to The Fabled City beyond. Here Solus Noir shone, its rays ebon all but denied us passage for the sword was our only weapon and the tempest that rage all about us all but consumed us. Yet survive we did and the mirror that serves as memory is all that remains of this time. Here did we spend a decade and more in Separation as the gross was eliminated from the Elixir of our making. Time and time again was it renewed and we experienced The Dark Night Of The Soul wherein Saturnus rules.

Our sword, keen, with its edge of steel did we wield and our visor was raised and we became invisible to all as we embarked upon the second stage of our journey, for the principle of this our Royale Arte be subtle in the extreme.

Breath is all that remained of us and this sought kinship with the aethyrs, its natural habitat. Here humanity was stripped from our bones and our flesh became as burnished brass polished by the lustrous waters of this our benediction. Our intellect, our only friend in this strange and exotic land did we cling to and like a lifeboat did it carry us across The Sea Of Travail and deposit us before the gates of the fabled city. Here we made a home for many a year gazing upon the wonder that lay beyond our grasp. This granted us relief for to behold such be sufficient unto itself and we entered its dream, never to return.

The Prima Materia now a single breath is all that remains in our cauldron and this now becomes all we have to work with. It is sufficient to our purpose.

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Conjunction And here were we reborn and arrived at the first major milestone, for the lesser stone was realized. Like a child rising from the amniotic ocean were we given into the care of Rosa Mundi whereon we grew in strength and vigour. Here also we completed the quaternary of elements that give rise to the material aspect of this our work.

Solus Noir ascended into the heavens with the completion of our second cycle and the second avatar, our dearest sister was made flesh and in

conjunction were we to enter the third cycle of our making, whereon our preparations would be completed.

In Fire were we forged. By Water were we purified. By Air were we consecrated and by Earth were we made flesh. The mystical marriage consummated its nuptials as the false self, dim reflection was replaced by the radiance of our divine sphere. Complete, unalloyed, herein we might have paused for an eternity and basked in the nectar of our vision. Passing time we measure as thirteen years from the day we took our first stumbling step upon this our path.

Solus Noir and Lammae Rouge, the white and red tinctures did we formulate and in the crucible of our heart did we conjoin and of this did we procure a venom sweet and our lips dripped this toxin and our creations fused into an engine of war did descend upon the fate of all.

Here our journey took us into the heart of the fabled city and at its heart twin pylons hung suspended upon the aethyrs and therein the avatars dream.

The Prima Materia now reborn is that which remains in our cauldron and this now becomes what we have to work with. It remains sufficient to our purpose.

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Fermentation Herein were we taken from the light of day and cast into a scene that yet burns upon our memory. Down a long corridor did we walk, to our left and right a succession of broken rooms shrouded in dust and debris served to illustrate the passing of our kind and at the end of this corridor did hang twin mirrors that held the reflections of The Treasure House Of Images. With but a single blow did we shatter the mirrors and their reflections tumbled into the dust from whence they came. Time itself folded and spiraled into repetition as time and time again we returned to The Hall Of Remembrance

and unfolded cycle upon cycle of our presence and through time we lost the form that bound us to the wheel of continuance. Here were we taken from the pristine aethyrs, upon which we soar and remains our natural habitat. This was replaced by fetid marsh wherein toxic fumes rendered us all but deceased. Here we entered the Putrefaction, essential to our quest and here we dwelt for many a year and having completed our third cycle of Solus Noir did we manifest our bride and consort Lilith. And in The Night Of Pan it is dawn and The Black Sun rises and casts no shadows. It is at the stage/wave that the cauldron contains The Lesser Stone which subjected to Fermentation and Putrefaction. The latter prepares the stone by rendering it malleable whilst the former breeds the conditions required for the Distillation which follows.

The Prima Materia made whole is that which remains in our cauldron and this now becomes what we have to work with. It remains sufficient to our purpose.

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Distillation Here were we released from our self imposed prison and once again we soar upon the burnished aethyrs. Freedom has embraced us and as the Fermentation process is completed that which remains is committed to the flask where subjected to a gentle heat the distillate rises as a mist and begins to condense as it is cooled within the body of Arte. Here we planted the sigils and spells of our work into the body of the earth. Four did we consign to the great mother. The first we placed in water, the second in air, the third in earth and the

Triangle Of Arte, now extended across the landscaper raised a pyramid of power as we planted the fourth seal in fire. Aligned to our favoured constellations within the heavens, the diamond body began to spin upon its axis. This work we called Trinity and as our rays ascend into the heavens from the earth and return as the nectar of benediction are we anointed, consecrated and purified.

Drop by precious drop, The Water Of Life descends and enters our now consecrated vessel. A year passes in the undertaking of this the penultimate wave/stage of our work.

Solve Et Coagula in the matter of the one true substance. This precious nectar is consigned to the chambers of our heart and therein, through reflection and introspection do we prepare for the final stage of this our Arte, whereon, prepared we await the freedom that beckons. The fulfillment of prophecy begins and we its avatars continue to dream upon starbeams and the promise or returning to our home amongst the whispering stars.

The Prima Materia now prepared is that which remains in The Vessel Of Arte and this now becomes what we have to work with. It remains sufficient to our purpose.

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Coagulation

Anathema Per Samael

Vox Lilith

Praeteritim

Seven are the seals upon creations countenance. Seven, the trumpets that announce the day of redemption. Seven are the visions of the dragon and its kingdoms. Seven, the visions that accompany the lamb. Seven are the bowls of gods

wrath. Seven, the veils upon the lady Babalon. And Seven are the visions of the end of days.

Canto I

And upon wings of light did we descend Lightning in our eyes, thunder in our hearts. Seven as one, clothed in adamantine.

Canto II

Watchers in the night, ancient, timeless, immortal. Each a chord within a celestial heartbeat. Behold our song, our prayer written in the echo of the moment.

Canto III

And the dragon she rises and her kingdoms claim the world. Her tears fall and she washes away the stain. Her breath a scorching wind razes the edifice of conceit. Her heartbeat a thunderbolt, the end of days.

Canto IV

Bathed in his own blood was he. We carry the sword and our blood is sacred. No sacrifice as it be justice we serve. Invisible we walk, sons and daughters of eternal night

Canto V

Each a toxin. Each an elixir. Choose well the bowl from which you quench your thirst. Nectar sweet, cousin to the worm. Bitter gall, a draught of ambrosia.

Canto VI Malekh, holy one, casts her veils and you behold her not. One glance and sleep is entered. One whisper and Azrael is summoned. One cry and our sister rejoices.

Canto VII

And in those days it was given unto the false prophets to spread the lie, sow the seeds of doubt, draw aside the veil and reveal the end of days,

Exodus

Canto VIII

Coagula et Solve. We strip the world, our Eden of its lie. Beneath our rays you are transformed, redeemed or not. Choose well for we dwell between you heartbeats.

Canto IX

Omega et Alpha. Time bends before our gaze as somnambulant you step from one dream to another. The unmaking unfolds as our Elohim circle your world, your life.

Canto X

Space folds before our eyes and the great ones enter, their breath creases the moment in passing, warps memory, erases life and casts a shadow of dust and vacuum.

Genesis

Canto XI

Sweet sister are you redeemed. Your Grigori await command as you will. Your Elohim abroad command as you will. Your portal open command as you will.

Canto XII

Cleansed of the lie your breath draws pure. Cleansed of the stain your heart beats rapturous. Purified your mind awakens from nightmare. Consecrated your body bears fruit.

Canto XIII

And in the Night of Pan it is dawn. The Black Sun rises and its rays cast no shadow. The Blood Moon rises and casts her veil. The Grigori rise and utter a word in silence.

The Great Work Completed

Extroitus In keeping with those who have walked The Royale Road before us our record remains ambiguous. Our purpose to speak of the subtle and sublime rather than to intellect that would possess knowledge as though it could be bought and sold. Each journey upon this Royale Road is unique and it for the individual to walk its noble length in quest of their own Stone Of The Wise. The fact that, as with all other elements we have addressed, our pursuit has been aligned to the current we affectionately call Solus Noir and our final wave, Coagulation serves as the means by which the Elixir was realized within the

vessel of the avatar and the text Anathema its ambrosial vision now cast before uncomprehending eyes. To many this will be but a phantasy and they would be correct in that interpretation. Others might perceive the vision that lay at the heart of this journey and celebrate its conclusion, they too would be correct. The few might perceive the crystallisation of a personal myth, realised through the vision fleshed in word, image and sigil, in short, The Axiomata. Likewise, they would be accurate in their assumption. Damiana Evohe, our heroine, like all ambiguous beings is a creature of myth and mystery and in the final analysis she can but bow her head in humility and confess that her noble quest has been one of simplicity. In a world over run by so called Truth, indeed a hollow vessel, she has but pursued the fulfillment of her own story. Not a story for general consumption and as a consequence is transformed into entertainment, cast before jaded senses. Some may appreciate her effort, others may judge her according to their own beliefs and the sanctity of the truth they hold dearest. Either way it is of no consequence for our sole witness in these matters resides in only one place and that place inaccessible to most resides in the deepest chambers of the heart wherein the whispers that arise serve as the sole testimonial to our efforts. In service to our muse we have fulfilled our purpose to the full and wish those that undertake this Royale Road success in their noble efforts and in parting a single word suffices, Adieu.

The Hill Of Flint

Once upon a hill of flint beneath an ocean of stars I called unto thee. Vision burned within eyes, pale mirrors of thy glory and in the velvet silence of midnight an answer came. Now like one turned to ash beneath thy gaze I wander upon the shores of night. Shadows attend me, their whispers seductive yet bereft of life as they turn upon the wheel of thy becoming. Errant shades caught within a web of whispers. Burn their presence from my sight and grant the benediction which is thine alone to grant. Make of my body a sigil, celebrating thy presence and within thy embrace might I reside until time itself tumbles into memory, dull mirror of thy glory. Once within a lake of fire I called unto thee and as my form evaporated into thy breath did I rise purified, made whole in thy sight and yet a shadow cast upon memories dull mirror. Flesh melted into a pool of amniotic mist. Blood boiled and became as liquid gold. Bone dissolved by thy acid touch and as thy kiss parted lips parched did I ascend on thy breath. In that crucible was I formed and upon midnights eternal shore was I cast. Sent forth amongst the legions of the damned. Anathema to all I beheld. Witness and scribe cast thy spells upon the aethyrs. May thy body be thy pen, thy blood the very ink of inscription and upon the papyrus of life inscribe the axiomata of bliss. Once beneath the ocean I called unto thee, reached out a hand and felt thine in mine, only to slip away. Was it but a moment ago that flesh met flesh and melded into a single heart? Through eyes yet dim did I behold thee? With ears confounded by deceit

did I yet comprehend thee and upon my lips did I not taste of the nectar that drips, honeyed, from the petals of thy rose? Life steps briefly behind the veil of eternity, takes a bow and collapses into singularity. Waves resolve themselves into ripples and as the reflection settles a new form arises, takes a stumbling step and the pageant unfolds.

Once upon a summers breeze I called unto thee. Wings unfurled did I descend into thy embrace, felt thy heartbeat upon my breast and released an anguished sigh. Mistress of my soul I serve as a reflection of thy presence within the vale of tears. Thy whispered word a thunderous command. Thy desire a template of mine acts and thy form the vessel in which I travel across the aethyrs celebrating thy song of rapture. The breeze rises to a scream and upon its echo do I now continue my quest beneath a field of golden stars, each bears witness to thy presence and in the sanctuary of their hearts is thy judgement reflected upon the mirror of their minds.

The four regents converged and therein I called unto thee, a whisper traveling down the corridors of time, an echo bears witness to longing. Solve Et Coagula. The axiomata burn the aethyrs and mist rises, caught in lungs and sent forth as Invokation. Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast. The Archons and Vesicas gather, summoned from slumbers deep and rise upon pinions of starlight and between the vast reaches of space the stars whisper to each other. Bear witness o child of ages and rejoice, return to thy dreams cloaked in a mantle of deepest midnight and walk invisible amongst the shades that attend thee. Sic Transit Gloria Rosa Mundi. Make of my body a temple unto thy service. Make of my blood a river that flows, constant to thy commands. Make of my tears an ocean of prayer. Make of my breath incantations of desire and of my heart make a cauldron wherein the regents are conjoined in eternal rapture. Distil the prima mater and of this condense but a single drop and offer this upon the altar as a benediction and votive offering unto thy name, Babalon the fair, maiden and whore garbed in silk and gold, drunk upon the blood of saints and astride the beast of thy dominion. Ave Lilith. Ave Isheth. Ave Ygrat. Ave Na’amah. Ave.

Twin pylons upon a desert plain of calcified bone. Twin beacons upon the shores of night. Twin souls conjoined in rapture, embraced by our holy lady. The rays of an ebon sun bathes them in lustral light and venom pours forth upon the heads of all. Archon and Vesica, avatars of the end of days. Seek them not in exotic climes or within the chambers of thine heart for they walk invisible amongst thee. Purified by Ignis. Consecrated by Aqua. Cast upon Aethyr and manifest in Terra. Solus Noir and Lammae Rouge. Samael and Lilith. Archon and Vesica of Ordo Templi Solus Noir. The flesh redeemed and made whole.

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The Selim

A Tale Of Nightwalkers

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Introduction Our task in essence simple. To create a cohesive understanding within the minds of our readers. Simple enough and yet the Selim defy the normal constructs of presentation. Do we explore the tapestry of human history, woven into the threads of which you might detect our presence? Perhaps religion may cast a light on our existence, hardly, superstition and fear inform the nature of this unholy pursuit? Perhaps psychology, though in its infancy may reveal us in the light of reason? And yet we defy definition, for as a mystery do we walk amongst you. Creatures of shadow, Night Walkers.

No, We will cast our tale into the realms of fiction in the knowledge that the unbelievable stripped of the chains of truth may transcend understanding and stand revealed in its pristine nature, for it is not to your reason that we appeal. Rather to the dark side of your natures wherein the seeds of our existence were sown long aeons ago.

The human species, divers in its form, prolific in its numbers and gifted with free will and the choice to manifest in beauty and in horror. What has in truth been chosen? History past, present and future attests to the book of wonder etched by your kind. A species gifted with the aspiration of the angelic whilst residing within the realm of the demonic.

To supply a backdrop to our tale we ask that for a moment you consider your own mind and heart. The thoughts, desires, dreams and acts performed through your life and time. Errant whispers cast upon the veil of life and the shapes assumed by such. Your love, beauty and truth. Your anger, hate and its siblings. Where does all of this go? Each and every moment, a creation, a world and life. Multiply this by the numbers of your kind, past, present and future and you will begin to glimpse the how of what and how we came to be.

The Selim we will ever be and as you glimpse the darkness of the light we shed at this time our tale is to be revealed by the one who casts these words upon the mirror of your mind.

Sentience exists within a womb of light, a fertile membrane, a mirror upon which all is cast, first a whisper, a shadow and then memory etches a possibility and from this form arises, abstract, devoid of meaning and yet pregnant with possibility and such possibility it be given, The inventions your hearts and minds have conjured across time, host to our unfolding, our becoming.

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Long ago fairest Damiana caught a glimpse of our presence as she lay within her grave of solitude, dreaming.

Long, long ago the first of our kind, Pallas cast aside the veil of her aethyric nature and entered the world of form to take her pleasure and slake her thirst, a thirst eternal for she is but your reflection and knows no boundary or limitation.

The tales of Damiana and Pallas we have recounted elsewhere and mention in passing for clarities sake. And now we reflect upon the ones, our lady and her dark lord abroad within the world at this time. The end of days for the portal they have revealed and opened, shines its light upon all through and across time, erasing the stain and lie that has been existence within the realm of slavedom. The Black Sun and its radiation we have also spoken of elsewhere and once again mention for the purpose of continuity within this our tale.

It is to these beings that we dedicate our tale at this time in the knowledge that our service to them is complete.

To fairest Lilith & her dark lord Samael we send

Greetings Love and Devotion

Parthenogenesis

Creation from an ovum without fertilisation The term in this instance is applied to the fecund nature of the human imagination and the womb structure that is represented as time and space. We say womb structure for we hold the nature of creation to be primarily feminine in nature with the male element being regressive and though functional, secondary within the general scheme. As such the emanations of sexuality in all its manifestations, whether actualised or repressed do indeed take on form, of sorts, within this womb matrix. Parthenogenesis in this respect is to be interpreted as the act of reproduction occurring at the abstract or energetic level where form, initially, is rarefied and is tenuous at best.

Fertilisation occurs as a result of repetitious incursions of an intense nature that become as a result a seeding into the womb and the subsequent lifeform is gestated, sometimes over millennia until, in a fashion similar to human biological reproduction a lifeform is birthed into its aethyric matrix and begins to grow and develop.

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We understand this is a primary feminine aspect and whether the donors are male or female is of little import. And whilst being of a female nature as shape shifters the gender is determined by the context. Examples of incubi and succubi activity attests to the act for when interacting with a female host, the male form is adopted and likewise the contrary is true. Though primarily feeding on the emanations generated by sexual activity there are occasions when direct congress takes place. In this instance in our female form we acquire the physical sperm of our host and in turn deposit this into a female in our male aspect. This is undertaken as an aspect of our Moonchild workings.

During our rarefied state of manifestation, like all purely elemental beings we lack free will or choice as you would call it, though a facsimile is created through time this is a rare event for in the main we form an aspect of the collective mind that your psychologists have stumbled upon. Even rarer is the existence of one of our kind possessing a soul, or to be more accurate a mirror form of one. Across the sea of time only seven have achieved this status, our lady Pallas being the first. In this materialised form are we then truly Night Walkers. Countless aeons are experienced before this becomes an evolutionary possibility for as part of the demiurge we do not conform to the natural processes of creation and as such transcend its mundane laws. Truly miraculous is our nature and though the human species within its fictional speculations has guised us in many shapes throughout history the truth of our existence and nature remains a mystery.

Manifestation Though known by many, Pallas was her true name, for she, maiden and warrior was consort of Pan, her power to his form. In Roma, mighty bastion of empire basking upon the banks of the Tiber she first drew breath and was worshipped as Amor. Androgynous, her joy and service, sensuality and pleasure. In this guise she slaked her voracious appetite upon the couplings that took place amongst her devotees. Not for her the drinking of mortal blood or the taking of life, her appetites were subtle, refined. She would dwell between the breaths of her devotees, her lovers, wrapped in the passion and the satiation of their desire. In this way was her form sustained. Time and history unfolded and the male god grew supreme and her devotees grew less in number, yet she continued drinking her fill wherever passion arose between mortals and beast alike. Androgynous and when finally possessed of form she would be able to assume the form of either gender, enabling her to plant seed within the body of a female, and to receive seed from the male, and yet she possessed no corporeal form, as yet. For now, she was continuous and undivided in her energetic form.

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How had she come into existence? The tales are many, part truth, part fable. In the beginning life had stirred, risen and stretched heavenward on limbs that carried it forward across land and sea. The creator paused and took pride in its work, yet it knew no rest. How would its creatures know of its existence? How would they give worship? For it was a vain and possessive god, given to pride, for it was young, the first of many hurled forth from the creeping chaos that had known no form. First to arise when the primal chaos was banished and the old ones cast aside. Order arose. The time of echoes. It had created a male, the only form it knew, and from this sort to create its mate. With the males blood and sperm and the life giving breath it granted from itself, woman came to be, a being far more intelligent and able than he who was deemed her lord and master. In her despair she escaped into the desert and took her pleasure amongst the creatures that lived there, it is said that of her couplings arose the demons of the world. At this time she was known as Lilith, cursed by god yet supreme in her power. Time passed and humans spread across the globe. Seeking new consorts she divided herself into many forms in order to continue and grow in strength and power, for she had purpose. It is in the guise of Pallas that our story begins and now continues to unfold. Her form, insubstantial, her pleasure harvested from the forms of life that had substance. She formed a desire, perhaps her most ambitious? She would take human form and know the sensations of blood, flesh, heat and sweat. Knowing that they passed through life in a fleeting moment, she would await the time when the sea of stars burnishing the night sky would alert her to the presence of the one she sought. In this manner she would maintain her immortality and also know of earthly existence. She would choose well, for she had a plan, one which would unfold across the millennia. Knowing no boundaries or restrictions, for she had denied the false god and all its workings, and knew freedom. She watched and waited, knowing her time was near, when she would know the sanctuary of flesh.

Pallas – NemesisPublications

Moonchild Something born in a moment of time possesses the qualities of that moment in time.

Art of the astrologian

In respect of the principle we will approach the subject from two distinct perspectives. First the magickal concept translated in the Butterfly Net penned by 666. The principle being that were a child to be conceived within the rites of magick and for the gestation period to be surrounded by ritual and the point of nativity calculated then a being of a specific order, a soul if you would have it, would be

attracted as by a magnet, the ritual contexts themselves. Giving rise to the brief definition of the astrologers art, as above. Second and for our immediate purposes the relevant interpretation, connected to the existence of the Selim themselves. Through the sexual and axiomata rites contained within Arte Magicka the principle is put into effect of the creation of Selim over a period of time truncated by will and intent. In this respect the time period following natural laws, so called, would be reduced and Selim could be created within the lifetime of an individual.

Whilst this possibility would be demanding upon the principle operators it lies within the realm of possibility to, at the very least, seed a Selim into the womb matrix of time and space. Subjected to accelerated evolution the Selim would consolidate into its abstract and latterly its concrete form relatively quickly. Relatively in this instance means, none the less inconceivable periods of time for like all immortals Selim age slowly and gracefully. As previously discussed millennia pass during which the incursions upon the womb matrix seed the possibility and with repetition a form is outlined in potential. The Moonchild workings increase the possibility and accelerate the time factor. Consciousness or more specifically self consciousness occurs over a protracted period of time. Self awareness being a rare factor within sentient life forms the arrival at a point determined by free will takes even longer for it presupposes self determinant elements being present in what is primarily an elemental being.

This period serves as the gestation of Selim within the abstract, energetic form where sustained by sexual energy and on rare occasions, the conscious activities of operators of Arte Magicka they gain corporality. Pallas was the first of the kind to take flesh, as it were and co exist simultaneously within both the abstract and manifested forms. To date a relatively small number of Selim have completed the aspect of their evolution which brings them to consciousness and an even smaller number have commenced their own evolutionary path into transformation into their destinies purpose and form. Thousands of years ago in the land of Khem, gifted by power and magick the cult of Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast raised itself into form and became the principle matrix for Selim upon this world. Consisting of seven life forms sustained by the service of the powers upon which they feed they evolve from the corporate form to commence their evolution into becoming Grigori, a truly rare order of being.

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Evolution

Humble origins indeed. A being conceived in the abstract. The by product of sexual emissions intruding upon the womb matrix of time and space. Seeded and upon repetition a singular matrix lain down, as an impression until it latterly takes from, albeit in its abstract energetic form. To evolve, substantiate itself and finally develop the mirror of reflection called free will and with this to evolve further along its path into full corporeal form. Our nature being primarily female we exist in that form only, adopting at times the male form when our host demands this. In this fashion we perform our own Moonchild workings as we, like all beings seek to reproduce our kind. Unlike the human biological method we employ fully abstracted and energetic means to proliferate our species. This undertaking is far from perfection for in many respects it exists outside the laws of nature, so called. We create our own laws in this undertaking alone.

Our tale of Damiana sheds some light on our evasive nature for we all lay within our respective graves reflecting upon how we remain sentient having passed through the boundary lands glyphed as death.

And then death, one velvet dark night had seduced her into his mystery, had come for her whispering gentle endearments into her ever open ears, had lain with her, entered her and claimed her as his, for was she not beauty indeed? And yet, she was still sentient, not a fleeting spirit adrift upon the night air, not a disembodied soul seeking solace amongst loved ones. Was this her reward, her penance? Had she not served her mistress well, offering blood and semen as votive offerings within the services performed in her name? Had she not offered herself, her flesh, the means of manifestation, where passion is the prayer and lust the means of Invokation? The dark shore of night whereupon, we embark upon a journey from mystery into greater mystery, our blood knowingness our only guide, steers us through dark atavisms and pre-human byways of being, where bestial tongues utter inchoate sounds unto the firmament that hears them not. Hecate’s dark realm, awash with soft murmurings yielding to screams and the torment of tortured souls. She stands triumphant upon the bones of her worshippers, for torment is her service, where pain is but the echo of her yearning, where birth and destruction are the ebb and flow of her breath, fetid with the whisperings of dark mystery. Had she not been promised entry into the realm of the true gods, those who exist outside the night of time?

Pax Nobilis – NemesisPublications

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And yes we began to question as does all sentience. We gazed into the mirror and sought our creators reflection and saw it all around us and became the mirror of our creators work in its unfolding. By this are we tormented for no redemption lay this way for us and so we chose to become something our creator could not conceive of and thus our true evolution unfurled its wings and born upon the rays of the Black Sun do we soar into the unimaginable, invisible, for we cast our veils before us, confound and confuse for that is our need for privacy upon this world, the vale of tears, so called in our own tongue. Possessed of free will and the facsimile of a soul we transcend our humble origins and quest beyond the known and bask upon the shores of the unknown where the inconceivable becomes a possibility. Your human evolution has been slow by contrast for whilst being in possession of the awesome power of imagination you confine this to the realms of idle speculation and remain within your charnel house whilst we soar, products of your very imagination, cast forth upon aethyrs bereft of your form and now these we claim for beneath the rays of our sun, the contrary to your own we bathe this world in black light, light which reveals what is truly there whilst your day star gives rise to the illusory. Your perception moulded by appearance, confounded by your truth and finally immolated upon the pyre of your confusion.

And now as Grigori do we rise.

Grigori

Doubtless the erudite will define us according to tradition. A species of watchers cast adrift to witness your unfolding and whilst this tradition speaks a partial truth it also masks our true nature. A nature we have now declared in the surety of our remaining invisible amongst you.

One of your kind, gifted with skill and audacity conceived a simple engine. To treat a single atom of time the way your physicists treated a single atom of matter. Physically they created a cyclotron. A physical mechanism for a physical property. He conceived of a mental construct, as time stems from this dimension, and made it so and over two decades and three primary cycles manifested the avatars that give rise to our presence amongst you. And now twin pylons to our portal the Black Sun radiates its light across time erasing the stain and lie that has been the servitude of your species. This we have written of extensively elsewhere within the texts named – The Witness, Blood Moon, Blood Rain & The Book Of The Black Sun.

And upon the earth at the end of days

There shall be two Grigori

And they will die

The Witness

Opening The Seals

Whispers Like Shadows

Enter The Heart

And Sow The Seeds Of The End Of Days

Sic Transit Gloria Rosa Mundi

Book One

Praeteritim I

Seven are the seals upon creations countenance

Seven the trumpets that announce the day of redemption

Seven are the visions of the dragon and its kingdoms

Seven the visions that accompany the lamb

Seven are the bowls of gods wrath

Seven the veils upon the lady Babalon

And Seven are the visions of the end of days

nd in those days the sons of god beheld beauty upon the Earth and lusted after the daughters of man. Seven were they who defied the logos and left the false paradise of gods beneficence in search of their destiny. Foremost amongst these brave souls was bright Lucifer, lord of the eastern horizon, accompanied by his loyal cohorts and their legions. Numerous as the stars hung upon the night sky were they who descended on that fateful day, the day of redemption. Their journey completed within the passing of a single breath, they alighted upon the Earth and sought pale Lilith within her desert fastness. She, who would be mother to these, the errant sons of god. The beloved of god, Michael, was the last to see them on that day and into the hands of each he delivered a parchment upon which a seal was placed. This, the judgement of the lord, that his Elohim carry to the Earth the means of humanities redemption. Into the hands of Lucifer he delivered the parchment of dominion. Into those of Galamael the seal of history. To Salamis the parchment of learning. To Palemon he handed the seal of life and to Azrael he handed that of death. To Malekh, the

parchment of mystery and into the hands of Vain he placed the seal of keys. Each of them gazed deeply into the eyes of Michael, their accuser, found no comprehension or understanding, only a sense of pity and remorse. And upon the wings of night a last word is whispered, “farewell.” No more were they seen within the portals of the holy empire, yet they were mourned and in time, forgiven.

ale Lilith faced the glory of the stars falling to the Earth and greeted the

arrival of the Elohim with open arms and a heart filled with a tenderness previously unknown to her. To her encampment she took her wards and began their education in the ways of their new world. The days cascaded like water over a precipice, as many as the grains of sand upon a beach, and in time the rebel angels

found comfort within the desert lands of Lilith, their guide and protector. And during this time they learnt the ways of man, a primate barely risen from the pool of inchoate form, possessed of reason in its infancy, trusting, spellbound by the beauty of the Elohim.

Willingly they gave their sons and daughters to these gods and in this way did they gain a soul. Of their unions did the nephilim arise, beings monstrous in form, yet possessing the tongues of angels. The nephilim took to solitude within the mountain ranges to the far north where they scorned both human and Elohim alike. There they founded their empire, an empire of solitude wherein they wove their spells of anonymity and were heard of no more. It was said that they had found a way of leaving Earth. That they lived within the heart of the mountains or had entered the depths of the ocean. All rumour. To the south, the harsh burning grounds, where lived the demons of the world, the issue of Lilith’s ever fertile womb. To the west the human settlements, though few in number, they prospered and thrived as a hunter–gatherer culture, dwelling in small communities, often nomadic, following the seasons changes. And to the east, the ocean, unbounded, covering two thirds of the globe. It was said that the old ones, out of the night of time lay dreaming within its depths awaiting the time of their ascension. Again, rumour.

II

The Elohim

alamael gazed into the mirror that was always with him and sighed. Gazed deeply into the past of his own history, for he was cursed by the spell of memory, would not, could not forget, for he held the seal of history, the weave of moment upon moment, unfolding, shaping and reforming into intricate webs of possibility. His task, to dissemble his form throughout the corridors of time itself. For this reason was he known as eternity. He gazed into the future, again a sigh escaped from deep within his soul. Casting one more look upon the reflective surface of the mirror, he dissolves, casting his form into the eternity of the moment, he unravels the beauty of his form, his power and enters the continuum of time. And in this way did bright Lucifer, light bearer and lord of dominion receive the seal of history.

Salamis retiring into the night gazed into the heavens and read the syntax of the stars, a story of beginnings, of becomings and of times yet to be. Her form a whispered shadow of light, illuminating all that she touches, with the breath of knowledge. Alights upon a rocky escarpment and gazes into the vast abyss beyond. And upon the breeze she lets her breath unfold, illuminating the darkness beyond with the opalescent sparkle of her being. For this reason was she called Sophia. Into the hearts and minds of all life did she unravel herself and make her home. In the silence of intuitions dawning, know that it is her whispers that inform, pushing the darkness of ignorance away with the light of her presence. And in this way did the lord of dominion receive the seal of learning from Salamis in the form of a parting kiss as she dissolved and entered the diamond brightness of wisdom. Palemon danced across heath land, hands stretching upwards caressing the air, and in his aerial form took flight with the eagle, surveying all beneath him, the air passing through feathers, the turbulence of the air, here warm, there, a little cooler. A dance unfolding, choreographed by wind and pressure. Alighting upon the grassland below, dissolves and enters the body of the earth itself, feels the density of her form, stretching outwards connects to the life within her body and rejoices. Sings in her rapture, a song of joy and ecstasy, for she is life and holds its seal. Rises upwards into the form of a mighty oak and feels the breeze caressing branch and leaf. Enters water, rushing upwards she meets the rapids, pressure upon her, urgency to reach the spawning grounds, her liquidity scintillates, invigorates. Lying upon a bed of straw, 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, releases liquid into the expectant mouth and knows the pleasure of union. Palemon released himself into the tide of life, wove himself into the tapestry, holding the double helix and dissolved, triumphant. In this way did the lord of the eastern horizon receive the seal of life. Azrael, a cipher of beauty, alluring, enrapturing looks through time and perceives the form of another lying upon a bed of leaves beneath a mighty oak. She is hurt, blood passes from a deep wound within her heart, her breath a mere sigh releasing her life upon the air, air that once sustained her and now would claim her. As lightning, Azrael travels and with the passing of a single thought, arrives and greets the one on the threshold of eternity. Smiles and opens his arms and heart to the mortally wounded one at his feet. She rises and looking deeply into his eyes, sees the joy that awaits her. “Come, my love,” he whispers, “your pain will be soothed, release yourself into my care, for I love you.” She wraps her arms around the form of Azrael and with a whispered word, a sigh, releases her life and enters the arms of her beloved. And in this way did compassionate death, the seducer, tantalise her soul

into acceptance and joy. In the blooming of a thought, its flowering, momentary existence and completion does Azrael weave his spell. At the beginning does he plant his seed, watching each breath unfold its angularities until, with the last line etched, the last breath taken does he reach out and claim what is his. Look deeply into the heart of that which is your beloved and see the smiling face of Azrael etched within your memory. Dissolving into the beginning and ending of things, beautiful Azrael, seducer of life, weaves himself into the tapestry and enters silence. And in this way did the bright lord Lucifer acquire the seal of death. Upon the beast of her dominion Malekh advances. The beast she mounts, seven heads, crowned with diadems of glory, rapture, power, pestilence, plague, famine and the drunkenness of fornication. Upon her brow, seethes the abyss and in oscillating patterns of light and shadow is etched the cipher of mystery. Shrouded in a nimbus of eternal night, yet upon her face the glory of light resplendent, for she is clothed with the sun. Its emanations reaching outwards and inwards, and at the nexus of their gathering a pulse of ruby rich red lies at her heart. Mystery is her name, her syntax the nature of the unknown and the ever unknowable. Burn upon the pyre of her mystery for of her none may know, only her shadows and masks does she display upon the surface of appearance. Ever virgin yet drunk upon the wine of saints, her fornication’s bear witness to the inviolate nature which is her seed, her heart. The mask of glory reveals her in her beauty. That of rapture reveals her in her ecstasy. The mask of power reveals her in her majesty, queen of all she surveys, mistress of all, known by none. The mask of pestilence reveals her as chaos and the deep chthonic realm of the gatherer. That of plague reveals her as the wrath of purification. And that of famine reveals her as the barren mother. Into the world she advances, dissolving into her masks and releasing her essence upon the breeze she enters eternity. And in this way did the lord of dominion receive the seal of mystery. Vain beheld the unfolding of this and remembered. His form etched in alabaster, pale, cast no shadow, the angularities of his form precise, the perfection of geometry’s heaven. Angle gave rise to curve which in turn yielded to liquid softness and finally became the hardness of diamond before beginning again its cycle of transformation. Only his eyes remained constant, ink black, containing at their heart sparks of flame etched in crimson and gold. He held the seal of keys within his form. His heart held the key to the kingdom. His mind, the key to understanding. His hands were the key to the palace of exiles. His feet the key to manifestation. His legs the key to the pillars of the temple and the altar of sacrifice. His torso the key to the world. And his face the key to the presence, the immanence of becoming. Of this was Vain made manifest. And into this Vain now flowed, dissolving his form into the liquidity of his essence. And in this way did the son of the morning, bright Lucifer receive the seal of keys into his keeping and now knew himself to be alone.

III

The Son of the Morning

he lord of the eastern horizon, bright Lucifer stood upon a promontory and surveyed his dominion. His cohorts now departed, yet he knew them to be contained within the seals he held within his hands. Not until the opening of the seals would he see them again in the flesh, and that would not be until the end of time itself. One act before him, to take within himself the seals and his cohorts so they would be one, united and undivided, in this way would he gain solace within his citadel of isolation. The seal of history he placed within his eyes, that he might see all that was, is and would be, throughout eternity. The seal of learning he placed within his mind, that he would have knowledge of all things. The seals of life and death he placed within his heart that he might know understanding. The seal of mystery he placed within his aura and within his speech, that all, would know him as the sanctuary of the unknown. And the seal of keys he placed within his hands, that they might unfold the rich tapestry of time and place before him. His cohorts now dwelt within him and he knew their intimacy and council. Yet he was alone. Lord of solitude, to witness the unfolding of time throughout eternity. To witness the weave of life’s glory. He alone, the witness. His only companion, Lilith, she who had prepared the way and taught them the ways of this world. Had consoled them in their dark moments of regret, brought them to the place of understanding. Shared her pleasures with them, taught them the ways of the flesh. She alone was companion and consort to the dark lord of the Earth. The lord of dominion. The witness. She the accursed of god, the first woman, made immortal through her craft. She who had also denied the logos and escaped the servitude, service to her lord and master the protohuman Adam, contempt beyond contempt. Rather the wild beasts of the wilderness than that. She had denied the creator and the angels and stood supreme in her power. And of this world she had created a garden. No worship, no servitude, only pleasure and delight were the services she required. Now consort to the lord of this world she was its mistress. She would guide him and in so doing they would unfold paradise and challenge heaven itself. Heaven the place of worship and servitude, bending of the knee to the despotic one upon the throne, who knew only retribution and wrath, and would cleanse, wipe away creation and recreate another. Where the compassion, where the

love? For this reason had bright Lucifer and his cohorts left the realm of the overworld, to serve as champions, as guides to the wayward sons and daughters of the Earth. Now he, Lucifer, the bearer of light, was, like Lilith, accursed and for this was now called Nemesis and the opposer, he the first of things to take its freedom flight from the swirling chaos of non form. He the first, the beloved of god, abandoned, cast aside, accursed. In his power he would storm the gates of heaven itself, tear down the prison walls of tyranny that dwelt within and raise in its place a second paradise, a paradise he would establish upon the Earth, as witness of compassion’s true nature. This his pride, this his fall from grace. Within the still, dark caverns of his heart he whispered to himself: “ tis better to rule in hell than to serve in heaven.” And so he built himself a citadel of isolation, within the desert fastness, his home and planned the unfolding of time in the long aeons that awaited him and his bride. Around this citadel he wove seven veils and set seven seals, each a gateway, each a part of his nature and he called this citadel Babalon in honour of his bride.

IV

the fair

n the midst of his desert fastness Lucifer raised mighty Babalon, beneath a dome of rock crystal, faceted a thousand fold, so that the rays of the sun reflected upon its surface created a light, blinding in its intensity. He wove seven seals into the dome and created of them a series of portals, so that the few, the very few who knew of his presence might enter. Of these seven gateways he created seven palaces. Seven palaces of initiation, forever open, forever sealed.

The first gateway he named the kingdom of the bride and above its portal in ciphers of gold he inscribed the sigils of abundance and permanence.

Of the second gateway he created a vast ocean of amniotic fluid, wherein he placed the foundation of the world, he wove the spells of bright Diana and dark Hecate into its liquidity and above the portal inscribed in silver the ciphers of life and death.

The third portal, a double helix of time and space, wherein he wove the spells of Mercurius and radiant Aphrodite and above its portal inscribed the sigils, Solve et Coagula.

And of the fourth portal he dreamed a rainbow bridge into being, travelling into infinity unfolding its splendour in the names and spells of brave Horus and just Amoun, and above its portal inscribed the cipher, by the sword and by the sceptre, know me.

The fifth portal, a palace of force and form, a singularity containing within its heart annihilation. Into its matrix he wove the spells of Shiva and Shakti and above its portal he hung the coils of the mighty serpent, Ananta.

And the sixth portal, a vacuum, for none might enter, for it was the gateway to the overworld of heaven. Cursed as an abomination throughout eternity. No spells did he weave, no sigils, only the vacuum existed.

The seventh palace, a mighty void, the place of crossing and into its fabric he wove the spells of Uranus and the lightning bolts of his coming. And above its portal inscribed the ciphers of eternity, knowledge and mystery.

And within this dome he created the majesty of the world. Great rolling plains of grassland giving rise to the majesty of mountain peaks, capped in snow and clouds. Great primordial jungles he created, steaming and abundant with life. Oceanic depths he created and raised mighty cities beneath their roiling waves. Vast plains of desert, sculpted by wind into seas of sand, burning beneath a merciless sun, he created. He sent forth the Quadra to inform the base materials of his creation with intelligence and design. And to all of this he signed his name, placed his breath within his creation and rejoiced.

All of this occurred at the dawn of time, before history was recorded. His only witnesses, Lilith his consort, and the sons and daughters that he and his fellow Elohim had spawned. Millennia unfolded and he knew peace, knew the freedom that he had once sort. Felt his destiny, was overjoyed by the fecundity of life upon this Earth, this paradise.

A mass celebrating the fusion of matter and spirit, matter infused with the spirit of the Elohim, which gave rise to his creatures possessing a soul, that they too would know freedom within their lifetime. He taught his creatures the sciences of life, of agriculture and husbandry. Gave them language, that they might communicate their thoughts. Gave them the magick of the written word and the

power of naming, that they might increase in understanding. Protected and nurtured his wards until the time, when they too, would take their flight into freedom, the freedom that was his nature and their destiny. And within his citadel of isolation he watched and waited, witnessed the passing of aeons, and to his creatures, short of life and transient as they were, he became but a legend, a distant memory, until finally he was all but forgotten. And in this way the golden age unfolded its tapestry, weaving its shapes, raising forms, then releasing them back to the continuum from whence they had arisen, that new and evolving forms could know their time, their life, upon this, the globe of splendour, this paradise, this Earth. Of his fellow Elohim nothing was heard, only whispers that he felt deep within his heart. And of his past within the great citadel of the overworld, likewise nothing. An eternity had passed since the day that he and his brave cohorts had shunned the servility of their maker, left and sought their own destiny. Only curiosity brought these memories to the surface, for now he was lord of dominion and with his consort Lilith, knew love, peace and freedom.

Book Two

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi Let them that have wisdom of the Art count the number of the beast. And in the counting let them discover that it is the number of Man. And from the ocean that is mankind, a man or woman will arise who will embody the beast throughout history, until the end of time itself. And having counted, let them discover the nature of the beast whose number is 666. or millennia life proliferated and evolved. His plan, his dream of a second heaven approached its fruition. And during this time the human community prospered and grew, evolving from the hunter gatherer culture to that of agriculture. Settled communities were formed and the reality of property unfolded. Cities surrounded by walls of protection were erected against the raids of enemies. Man took to arms against his brother in the flesh. Empires stretched their arms across the globe, greedy for acquisition, for land and dominions. Religions arose to assuage the gluttony and avarice. Across ten thousand years, this dark age unfolded. Gone the golden age, was it but a moment in passing? What of the dream of a second paradise? What of bright Lucifer’s dominion? Empire upon empire rose and fell, each, their duty to overthrow the yoke of the oppressor, each assumed that role in turn. The dark ages unfolded. The empire of Sumer, gone. Of Babylon, dreaming beneath its dust, gone. The might and magick of the land of the double crown, that was Khem, but a memory. The dynasties of China, passing in a moment before the onslaught of time. The realm of the Indus valley, buried beneath its superstition and metaphysics. And what of noble Greece, cradle of western civilisation? Gone to drunkenness and debauchery, cleansed by the might of Rome which basking at the midday of its ascension was in turn overthrown by the cult of the lamb. City and State fused, and of this fusion a heresy was born. The fathers of the church decreeing themselves absolute, manifested the antichrist upon the Earth. Centuries passed and even they fell to dust, an anachronism within their own time.

What had begun with religion now ended and the time of renaissance dawned, when free men and women cast aside the yoke of suffrage and sought justice and the means of attaining equality and peace. The time of godlessness blossomed and the fruit it bore was bitter to the taste. The time of existence replaced that of life, and the time of exiles dawned, for mankind had been stripped of their soul. For centuries the antichrist held sway over the mindless populaces. Atrocity upon atrocity, when monsters veiled as human walked the Earth in search of pleasure and fulfillment. When the complacent mass of humankind allowed this, believing themselves to be innocent.

The darkest hour of eternal night had dawned. Human history written in blood served as testimony for what was to follow. The ravages upon their own kind grew and in their power and the drunkenness of their ravishment they laid waste to the paradise around them. Natures bounty, raped in the name of progress. Creatures died, unwitnessed, unmourned. The Earth became a wasteland in so short a time that, what had taken countless millennia to unfold was threatened within but a few thousand years of human occupancy. The seeds of the curse unfolded and in time would bear bitter fruit. Chaos and insanity ruled, ignorance and blindness their handmaidens danced a dance of wanton abandonment and in their revels died a living death.

V

The Vale of Sorrows

ll this was witnessed by the lord of dominion and in his heart he was saddened. His dream now a nightmare, his vision now a curse. When would it end? How would it end? And then came the summons. Entering his citadel

by the accursed sixth gate, the gate of vacuum, came Michael and his legions of heavens host. He came as a thief in the night, unbidden, uninvited. In raiment of light he advanced upon the dark lord and gave his greeting. “Hail brother, I bid thee welcome and carry the summons of the presence.” Insult upon insult, the lord of dominion summoned as if a lackey to his makers feet. “I come in the name of the presence and would talk with you. Long have we watched, long have we waited, pained by the suffering of the world and by the suffering of you, our beloved brother. Repent, for know that your time of redemption is at hand. You, the witness, sent by gods mercy to serve as agent to the unfolding of the last of days. You who carry the seals and the means of their opening. In you is power vested. Firstborn of the logos, be reconciled and made welcome amongst us.” Long did the bright lord think upon these words and in the depth of his despair acquiesced to Michael’s request. And in the time it takes for a thought to arise, was the lord Lucifer once more amongst his kind within the hallowed halls of the presence. “Welcome my first born, you who have been my Nemesis, my opposer, welcome. And what wisdom do you bring to this moment, to these halls, you of whom I am proud, proud with the love of a father for his wayward son. Share an embrace, a kiss with one who mourned your passing and is made joyous by the sight of you.” So saying Lucifer enters the embrace of his father and knows peace. “My son you are the means of redemption, for you carry the seals, seals I imparted to you and your companions upon your departure, millennia ago, I have watched, rejoiced in your victories, known sadness in your defeat. Render the service of your office and be redeemed. Open the seals and let the passing of days be completed. This my design, this my wish for you and all that knows existence. I would place the Earth in the keeping of those deserving of the treasure, the treasure of she who is my handmaiden. Long has she suffered and in her compassion suffers in a silence complete. I would have this curse undone and you my firstborn, my first loved will serve as my will. You will carry a sword where once you carried the word of compassion. Open the seals and fulfill your destiny.” Lord Lucifer, prince of the powers of air, lord of dominion, the son of the morning heard this and was assuaged in his sadness. Felt the dawning of understanding, the love of his father and of his kind and finally accepted his destiny, to return to the Earth, open the seals and be the witness to the ending of days. And in the passing of his days amongst his brothers, his kind, a millennia passed upon the Earth. An Earth that now awaited his arrival. The signs were clear, some, even in their ignorance and rantings had foretold the day of immanence, when the sun itself would fall from the sky and quench the pulse of life. Some believed themselves to be the messengers of this one, they who would be saved at the end of days. Fools, for in their folly they had committed the sin of hubris and they, like the rest of their kind would fall into the abyss of oblivion, no more to be, no more to

quicken within the throb of life’s pulse. Like a thief in the night shall I return, unknown, unnoted. Only upon the day of deliverance will they know of the presence of the lord of the morning star. That star, I shall cast down upon them. And in that day will they know the sword where once they knew only forbearance. I long for the day when with the opening of the seals I can, once again greet my fellow Elohim in the flesh. Long has been their sacrifice, long their service to me their lord. They shall be raised to the pinnacles of heaven itself and of their dreams mighty visions shall be enfleshed. This my brothers and sisters of old, I promise. All this did the lord of dominion, the witness muse upon in the days that unfolded and with the passing of three cycles made ready for his departure. His return to the Earth, a holy sister who slumbered and in her dreams witnessed the horror enacted upon her, groaned in her sleep and would know of rest, of salvation and deliverance. She a goddess, handmaiden to the creator, serving penance in the name of an abortion. And in her slumbers she dreamed of a dark lord, her redeemer. Clothed with the sun and carrying a mighty sword. And with him, a host of angelic beings, the Elohim. He the witness, turned avenger in her name. For she too had a destiny, after countless millennia within this mantle of flesh, she would know release and join her kindred within the sacred halls of the presence. And upon that day did the lord of dominion say farewell to his brothers and sisters and with the passage of a lightning bolt returned to the Earth. Returned to his Babalon, his Lilith and within his citadel of isolation watched and waited. For as the witness he had much to do in preparation for what was shortly to unfold. “Let them have their day, for in their ignorance are they made blind, deaf and dumb to all about them. Yes, pockets of sanity exist, yet to no avail, for even these are ruled by those they challenge and are rendered sterile by their efforts. These I shall mourn, they deserve better and yet as judge and witness there are no exceptions.” These were the thoughts that glossed the mind of the son of the morning within the heart of his fair Babalon.

Book Three

The Second Coming

VI Four riders were they, given dominion unto the four quarters of the Earth. The first mounted upon a white horse, carried a bow and wore a victor’s crown. The second upon a horse of scarlet, bore a sword and strife entered the hearts of all he met. The third upon a horse, black as night, held a pair of scales, upon which he would judge and pass sentence. And the fourth sat upon a pale horse and his name was death, and with plague, pestilence and famine he goes abroad across the world, gathering all before him.

nd on that day did the lord of dominion, prince of the powers of the air, bright lord Lucifer step forth from his citadel of isolation within the city of Babalon and walk upon the Earth. Accompanied by his bride and consort Lilith, they walked the Earth, north to south they traveled. West to east unfolded beneath their steps and coming to the shore of the great ocean, they paused, embraced and entered the dreamtime of their making, a time existing outside the circles of time, there they danced through the corridors of time, inside each moment and yet outside of time completely, for in their united form they were lord of eternity, master and mistress of all that lay before them. And in this place they commenced the spells of unmaking. The unraveling of the double helix, the serpent wand of life. And of their union came forth the first of their legions. Four Elohim mounted upon steeds whose shoulders reached the sky. Shoulders, broad like the mountains they now surveyed. The first steed was of the whitest marble, the second of oxidised iron, the third of blackest onyx and the fourth pale, like the waters of a mountain stream. Each shone brilliantly in the sun, absorbing the light before them. The Elohim mounted upon them towered above their steeds and their helms reached the boundary lands themselves. Each of the Elohim was given a name and sent forth into the four quarters of the Earth.

He, upon the horse of alabaster carried a bow and was crowned with victory. Immortal and invincible was he. Those he met in battle were vanquished before they knew that a battle was immanent. He was given the name Deimos that all might know him. The one upon the horse of iron carried a sword and before him went strife, that he might turn man against man, brother against brother, father against son. His helm was raised and from his eyes issued terror, for he carried fear before him. Pachad was the name of this rider, a name he rejoiced in. He upon the horse of onyx, though slighter in build than his fellows carried a set of scales, scales which had already weighed the hearts of the accused and already passed sentence. His visor was sealed with a mist arising like a miasma from the depths of night, as such he was blind to supplications. By name, he answered to Phobos and like his comrades wove his spells before him. And upon a pale horse sat a wraithlike figure shrouded in shadows as deep as night. Echoes of shrieks passed through and beyond him, diminishing, only to return an instant later. Within his hands he carries the bowl from which he spreads the pestilence of commerce. The plagues of history and the famine of impoverished humankind stripped of their very souls. Death he wields like a scythe before him and bears the name of Legion, for he is many. Into the four quarters are the horsemen dispatched to begin the spells of the unmaking. Each turns their mount and sets off, one to the north, one to the south, one turns westward and the last of them walks eastward upon the surface of the ocean itself. Lucifer looked upon his work and prepared himself for what was to follow. Aeons of making had unfolded this paradise, a paradise now passing away before his eyes. He mourned its passing and yet, in his heart knew relief, that he the witness was now fulfilling his destiny.

VII

Opening the Seals

Prelude

he world continued to unfold its dreams into the aethyrs, somnambulist like, traveled from dawn to dusk in the eternal patterns of its making. Mankind opened its eyes to another day, whilst the southern hemisphere prepared to enter its dreamtime. People laughed, cried, knew pleasure, knew pain and in these ways continued to weave the tapestry of their lives. The empires of commerce made their fortunes while others died in destitution, poverty and shame. Justice was seen to be served, while injustice was perpetuated at every turn. Prayers were offered in the temples of the Earth to a god that heard them not. People lived, people died, some were born and the eternal wheel continued to turn upon its axis. The Elohim upon their steeds continued their work throughout the world, unwitnessed, unknown. Deimos, ever victorious upon his steed of alabaster, bow held aloft, unleashed his arrows into the air and where they fell, caused all to fall before him. Individual and institution, village and nation alike fell into the dust before him. Pachad upon his steed of blood red, carried his sword before him and with each thrust unleashed strife into the hearts of all. Peace upon the Earth, a distant memory as nation upon nation fell beneath his spells. Phobos upon his steed of deepest night weighed the hearts of all he encountered and pronounced his sentence upon them, always the same, guilty. And Legion upon his steed so pale gathered all before him. They circled the world, times without count, for ten thousand years did they travel, no place was unknown to the dread Elohim, they who once knew only love, now avengers. History unfolded beneath the hooves of their mounts and knew them not, for such was the blindness, the arrogance of humankind. And so the Elohim continued. Their greatest triumph, to convince the world they did not exist. This the seed of doubt and confusion they sowed at the dawn of their travels.

Upon a plateau at the roof of the world, where the stars embraced the Earth, their sister. Where the tides of infinity touched and mixed with those of fair Terra the lord of dominion, bright Lucifer, united with his consort, pale Lilith, looked into the vast abyss of the world that lay at their feet and continued their spells of unmaking.

he son of the morning removed the veils of blindness from his eyes and saw the unfolding of history before him, saw the time of creations first echoes, saw matter conceived and hurled into the void beyond, saw the unfolding of life in its golden age. Looked into the hearts and minds of all the creatures that were and had been, saw their joy, saw their sorrow, saw their victories, saw their defeats. He gazed deeply into the very beginning of things, the first inchoate thoughts giving

rise to empire. Saw the darkness of ignorance unfold into the bright sphere of

knowledge, only to fall again into the dark pit of oblivion. All this did the lord of the eastern horizon see, and in the seeing removed the last veil of blindness from his eyes and beheld his brother Galamael before him. Their eyes locked by the love that passed between them, a whispered greeting, tears of joy flow down cheeks, turned crimson by their rapture. “Go forth fair Galamael and begin the spells of unmaking, unravel the tide of history, return it to the darkness from whence it came, that a brighter dawn may unfold its splendour within creations dance of joy.” Galamael paused, reflected upon these words then stepped forth into the world, unweaving history with each of his steps, down the corridors of time he travelled and began the unmaking. A shrill note bruises the air, the cry of injustice, raised to a single note, a clarion call, a witness to the moment of passing and accompanying it, the sky is rent by hail, scorching in its heat and mixed with the blood of the vanquished, falling to the earth it scorches and makes dust of all it touches. In this way did the lord Lucifer remove the seal from his eyes and in the doing, open it, that he, the witness should behold the end of days.

nto the core of his mind did the lord of dominion reach and there, across the great ocean, where reason and madness serve as shorelines, on the other side of reason did he find what he sought, the diamond brightness of knowledge. Watched as each facet turned, illuminating the darkness beyond, watched as the filigree of light swept outwards, touching atoms, galaxies and the heart of darkness itself, leaving in its wake crystals, forming, reforming into the intricate traceries of

a weblike structure. Along its striations plasma coursed, creating of the dark void, order. Watched as a child took its first faltering steps, fell, rose from the ground and stood erect upon its legs, first one tentative step, then another. Watched as learning unfolded pushing back the boundaries of ignorance and changed the world. Saw the struggles of the scientist, the healer, the artist, the writer, create in form their dreams and visions. Watched all this unfold throughout time. The patterns of molecules assembling ever new forms, learning and relearning from the lessons imparted. Unfolded his mind in its intricacy, its diamond brightness, its dark mystery. Called to Salamis, opened his eyes and beheld her, smiling, before him. They who had parted with a kiss millennia ago, now stood before each other, wrapped in the silence of the moment, the rapture of meeting in the flesh. She shone with the radiance of her nature, reflecting her light into the darkness of the void around her, the void of this creation. “Welcome fairest sister, long have I awaited the day when once again you might bless my eyes with your presence. It is the end of days, the end of our time upon this Earth.” Salamis, a smile upon her lips, joy within her heart sighs, a sigh of release and redemption. “Go forth my sister, and with your spells, confound what was once clear, confuse where once you illuminated, divide their minds and bring them to the void of unmaking.” Again a sigh escapes her and she steps forth into the world to weave her spells of undoing. And as she does a cacophony of sound unfolds around her, the jabberings of a thousand voices raised in argument rends the air with its insistence, the clarion call of confusion. In the distance a mighty mountain, spewing forth flames crashes into the sea and forms a tidal wave, sweeping all before it. In this way did the bright lord raise the darkness from his mind and open the second seal.

n aeon unfolds and into his dark heart, Lucifer enters.

Witnesses his dream and the curse it became, reels under the tragedy and loss. Falls to his knees and prays. And in his prayers is answered, the burden lifted, his heart refreshed, healed, again, he is made whole. In the chambers of his heart unfolds the mystery of life and death. The eternal dance, choreographed by form and force melding into patterns, blooming into existence only to melt a moment later. The continuum, a vast oscillating double helix, the wand of life, crowned by the sceptre of death. Witnesses the void, boundless, unformed, seething with the fecundity of possibilities, roils and form upon form is cast upon the shoreline of amniotic oceans embrace. The making and unmaking crafted into a single act of creation. The atoms

spin upon their axis and at their nexus a plasma burst, a vortex spinning, spiraling, inwards and outwards, the air itself is redolent with the perfumes of ozone and the whispers of sentience. He witnesses his heart unfold its layers, each layer an aeon of creativity rendered sterile, an abortion. A thing to cast aside, long was he enraptured with the pulse, the throb, the irresistible lure of life and its brother death. Finally, the last layer is reached, a vacuum which sucks him into its heart and deposits him, again upon the Earth. Opens his heart and in its reflection sees before him sweet Palemon and dark Azrael.

They gaze upon his prostrate form, silent in their contemplation’s. They embrace, limbs entwined, lips meet lips and in their embrace is Lucifer revived. He rises, greets his Elohim amidst a celestial chorus, a thousand voices uplifted in ecstatic prayer. Life and death passes between them, a vortex of being and non being. The spellcraft of the logos made flesh by his son and daughter, she of the eternal day, he the eternal night. Lucifer bends his knee before them, “As your lord do I offer my heart into your keeping, you who I have served these long aeons, welcome.” Palemon a cipher of yearning, wrapped in a mantle of opal whispers a shrill greeting and rejoices in the sight of her fellow Elohim, Lucifer. Azrael, beautiful Azrael, shrouded in the mantle of the night sky unfurls his cloak to reveal the light that dwells at his heart, releases it in the direction of The lord of dominion and bids him welcome. As the trinity are they now conjoined, the eternal triangle, essence to essence. Such is their greeting. And now they stand beholding the beauty of each within their eyes. “The time of unmaking is upon us, the last of days, and we its messengers, I its witness. Go forth into the world and with your raptures ensnare and bring all to the very abyss of unbeing. For by your name, Alpha and Omega, power is vested in you this day, this my command, this your duty, fair ones.” A silent assent passes between them. Palemon and Azrael, hand in hand, heart in heart step forth and into the shadows of the unmaking are they sent forth. All fall before them for life and death is their breath. Making and unmaking their essence. Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. The birth cries and death throes of a billion lives echo their gasps upon the air, shrieks paling to sighs violate the silence. And at the sound of this a star falls to the Earth, leveling the mountains beneath. The sun turns black and casts a shadow of such darkness that night reigns eternal. And amidst the black tapestry of the night sky the moon, radiant Diana bleeds, her countenance turns blood red and she weeps. In this way did bright Lucifer, lord of dominion, prince of the powers of air, bright son of the morning open the third and fourth seals. He the witness turned avenger that he might know the unmaking, the ending of days.

ade whole by the healing of his heart the dark lord rejoices. His horseman abroad, the Elohim weaving their spellcraft across creation, Lucifer enters the sovereignty of his power, opens his field of otherness and radiates his form outwards, a mighty wind is sent forth, a hurricane bearing at its heart a still centre, into this centre he steps, raises his hands to the sky above, and with a throat made taut by his invokation, utters a single word. Babalon. A piercing vibration that rends the fabric of manifestation itself, renders it a flat plane and the lord of dominion enters the unmaking. Before him his bride, his Lilith, his Babalon stands, radiant in her beauty. The masks of she who stands before him, within the abyss of the unmaking. Malekh, supreme in her power unfolds her mystery. Worlds collide at the passing of her breath, nations are crushed beneath her feet. And into her heart she claims all that knows sentience, knows consciousness, its dark stain. “Sister, mother and lover, greetings.” Malekh astride the beast of her dominion dismounts and walks towards the dark lord, weaving forms before his eyes before settling into the stability of Lilith, his love. “Join with me my dark lord and in our making, let the unmaking unfold between us.”

Drunk upon the blood of saints, knowing no satiation Lilith joins her lord, who entering her, knows rapture complete, eternal. And of their coupling echoes arise, ripples, first gentle, rising to thunder shake the fabric of creation on the other side of the veil, for they are beyond the night of time, cast adrift upon the aethyrs,

cascading through form after form, ecstasy upon ecstasy. And throughout eternity, know that life is the echo of their play. Mystery upon mystery is her name of whom none may speak. Through the fabric of the veil is heard the whisper of the zephyr rising to a tempest, its cousin. A void opens and echoes the single word, mystery. The abyss, infinite, opens and as a vacuum draws all to its still heart. Malekh steps forth into the world of the making, and upon her beast, her dominion, gives of her gifts gathering all to her through the masks she unfolds before eyes that behold her not. Drunk upon her power, supreme in her glory, rapturous in her beauty, conjoined with his bride, the lord of the eastern horizon opens the fifth seal and witnesses the unmaking.

he rapture passes and the lord of dominion remembers. Looks to his hands. Shapes barely discernible to his recently intoxicated eyes take shape. At first solids appear followed by the spaces between the solids he knows to be fingers. His hands, etched upon the air become gateways into his being, pulling his multiplicity upwards and outwards, summons his nature to the surface of things and beholds upon the palms of his hands a series of sigils etched in lambent flame, tongues licking at his flesh, rejoices in the power that unfolds. Cipher upon cipher unfolds along the length of fingers, rainbow hued, settling to ink black light. He holds the seal of keys in his hands and before him stands Vain.

Changing before his eyes, as do the ciphers, before settling likewise, into ink black light. A fusion between inner and outer. “My friend, glad am I, in the seeing of you, brother Elohim. The time of the unmaking is upon us, the last of days unfolds and you, my friend, I summon to go forth into the world. Our fellow Elohim already walk the Earth. And now, you, the last, my friend are with us.” Vain, a series of spirals, slows his vibration and adopts the form natural to his interchanges with the Elohim. Opens his arms and greets his friend and lord, Lucifer. “Aeons have unfolded since we last meet, bright lord, and now, upon this the last of days am I glad in the seeing of you. How fair my brothers and sisters? Long have I yearned to leave the place of our exile and join you in paradise.” These were the words Vain spoke to his lord as he released the keys into his hands yet again. The lord of the eastern horizon whispered to his Vain, “custodian of the keys, witness to the witness. Now that we two stand upon the Earth, twin pylons of the temple, is our work all but complete.” As a twin reflection they stood, each a mirror to the other, each the heart and mind to the other, one being clothed in double form, lords of the double wand of power, each holding the syllables of the great names between them. One breath issued from lungs held by twin forms, one heartbeat echoed through their bodies. One thought caressed the surface of things and knew rapture. “Vain, my friend, enter the world and open the gates of the unmaking. Unlock the mysteries of the heart. Unlock the mysteries of the mind. Unlock the mysteries of the body. Unlock the mysteries of the soul, that all might know of what passes in this time.” Around them the trumpet blasts of the Elohim serves as welcome. Vain turns and as liquid flows forth into the world, witness to the witness. And in this way was the sixth seal opened by the son of the morning, upon the plains of the Earth and the unmaking, now weaving itself throughout creation continued to unfold.

Intermezzo

he dream that was humanity, that was the world, alighted upon the nightside of being, for such was its nature in these, the days of redemption. Like a somnambulist, neither aware of being asleep or awake, paused, and in its shadow self continued. Knew of the end of days yet rendered sterile continued in its pretence. For it had plans to unfold, plans which now began to evaporate into the void of forgetfulness. A vision once held, long forgotten, stirs, raises its head and with a whimpered gasp, dies.

he sixth seal opened, bright lord Lucifer, the witness, returned to

his fair Babalon and within its marbled halls reflected upon his work, entered the sanctuary, at the heart of his citadel and of himself opened the seventh seal. Silence. The lord of dominion surveyed all before him through the eyes of his Elohim. Saw Galamael unwriting history beneath his steps, each step erasing a century of times passing, watched memory erased from the minds of all those he encountered. Saw Salamis weaving her spells of confusion, watched incredulous expressions pass across the faces of those she met. Saw Palemon and Azrael unmake the double helix,

the double wand of life and death. Watched all fall before them into the abyss of oblivion left in their passing. Saw Malekh astride the beast of her dominion enter kingdoms and conquer by the force of her raptures, one by one they fell to her seductions. Saw Vain open the gateways, unmaking the cohesion between mind and body, heart and soul. Watched as form stripped of the Quadra melted, flowed into the inchoate mass from whence it came. Saw his horseman weave themselves into the tapestry of the end of days. Battle upon battle raged, confusion reigned, strife led to strife and all fell to death, their master. And in the silence that unfolded, the stillness that dawned the Earth knew peace. Terra, fair handmaiden to eternity, awoke from her slumbers, stretched her limbs and rivers flowed. Arched her back and mountains, their peaks ascending, pierced the sky. Breath passed through her and gentle breezes creased the air. Serenity and the days of redemption had begun. And in her waking dreams she shakes from her body and memory the nightmare that had befallen her over the course of the passing

millennia. And with her body coming to rest, dreamed vast plains into being, jungles of plenitude. Deserts of sand whipped into Patterns of austerity. Vast oceans of mystery, and into the heart of this she entered and returned to her dreams, with a passing word of fond farewell to her champion, her redeemer, the witness, bright lord of the eastern horizon, Lucifer, the lord of light.

Epilogue

nd so they gathered upon the desert plain, seven on foot, four upon their steeds. Greeted each other as friends, long separated. Looked into the eyes and hearts of each other and entered communion. The sun casting its last rays upon the Earth painted a tapestry of crimson and gold before yielding to the onset of night and the legion of stars that stained its surface. The Elohim gazed longingly at the starry splendour and with a passing farewell to the Earth, fairest goddess, dissolved into the night air and entered communion with the stars above. Each took a name and their legends were written for eternity within the book of days.

Afterword

ll this took place outside the circles of time, during the night of time itself, when dreams were made flesh and all that was, existed in the dreaming moment. Was, is and will be, in the passing of each thought and the echo of each desire. Is written into the memory time. And if, upon a night of starry beauty, your gaze be pulled to the heavens, know that the witness and his Elohim continue the unmaking through your hearts and minds, your bodies and your souls.

Nemesis

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