Starlight is fading

Gone the sun

From summer now

I'm feeling it

A turn inward, a word

Still the sound

Honored song, hidden son

Fools say they know-no! Underneath the ice and snow

My reign I deign domain beware and go

Medieval Baebes Mirabilis – Sub Rosa

Mirabilis

Before the time of the keepers the bells had tolled their welcoming tones across land, sea and air. Heralds of the waxing moon they served as her voice, whose sibilant whispers granted benediction to all that fell beneath their hypnotic spell. But we speak of the past, a past remembered, as now, we exist beneath the iron scepter of tyranny, a burden we have suffered for thirteen generations.

Out of the night, they had descended upon us, shadows, sucking light into their ravenous eyes and where once, as we dimly remember, we bathed in light eternal, now only shadows cursed our days and made prisoners of our nights and the dreams, now rendered nightmares that visited them.

Our race had emerged from the void during the first of the echoes that had stirred silence into sentience. Custodians were we, witnesses to all that unfolded across the vast tapestry of time. Our legends spoke of the time before, a time when only the whispers of the stars breached the pristine silence. Of their whispers dreams were made and in the fullness of time the

dreams became flesh as the echoes resounded within the void. Generation upon generation had celebrated the blessing that was life and our lady Artemis had sheltered and raised us as her very own. Simplicity etched itself into our breath and within our hearts lived the eternal flame, now quenched by the harsh breeze that was the presence of the invader.

Little is known of them other than their insatiable thirst for dominion. Across the vaulted hall of time they had travelled, from where or whence we know not. Their first task was to take our dreaming domes and reduce them to rubble upon which they raised towers, ebon, formed of ash, these pointed their insolent fingers to the heavens and stood as a testimonial to their intent. Next they carved time into measurement and where once had only existed the dreaming moment now the ticking, as of some infernal timepiece, measured the moments and heralded death their master. It is for this reason that they are named keepers.

Over the generations of their presence our numbers have declined as a consequence of the brutality that has sapped our will to bring others into this our incarceration. In the rare instance of a newborn rather than celebrate it has become our lot to manifest pity for the innocence we have committed to a life of servitude.

The fortunate amongst us have forgotten and these now serve as regents and form the generations of the misplaced, as we call them. We, the unfortunate continue as best we can in the hope, for yes, hope is all we have, that justice may yet be served.

At birth I was given the name Damiana and though but seven summers have witnessed my presence I have, by birthright claimed my dignity and as I wax into my true form, hope is kindled within the singular heart of my kind. Upon the altar was I conceived and birthed, kept apart and educated in the ancient ways and in this way I knew little of the outer world and all that formed it. Into my mind were seeded the sigils and cyphers of Legion. Into my heart, a single drop of venom was distilled and into my body, a shrine to my purpose, was manifested the elixir of immortality, for I am prayer incarnate, made flesh, to unmake the scheme of things entire. My presence, a secret, wrapped in the veils of mystery and invisibility casts its glamour upon all that behold me and comprehend me not.

Mirabilis have I been called and my destiny yet awaits me as the days unfold in anguish for my kind and yet the promise, the covenant, fulfills itself with every breath drawn and released. The keepers, yet unaware, parade upon the stage of their creation and in ignorance celebrate their dominion oblivious to our presence.

Patience, it has been said, is a virtue and this is the weapon I forge within the still chambers of my heart and when if has matured into vision, like lightning will I strike and the keepers will fall as one. Their memory, erased, we will then rise from the charnel house that has been our world and erect a temple unto the stars, our eternal home and commune with our brothers and sisters as we did of old.

No We Have Never Been Here And We'll Never Be Gone I Saw Your Voice Rise Up And Cut Into The Heart Of The Sun

I Kissed The Lips Of A Girl She Took Her First Breath When The World Was Young I Felt The Cold Of The Air As It Burned

By Empty Lungs And We Have Never Been Born

And We Will Be Consume And Unreality Is Buried Beneath The Truth And Though We've Never Been Here We Will Never Be

Contained And Reality Is Naked Beneath The Moon

So We'll Go Down To The Ocean And Wash Our Memory Clean

We'll See The World For The First Time Through An Unburied Eye And Though The World Will Stay The Same

And We're Certain To Die We'll Raise Our Hands Up To Heaven

And Sacrifice Our Limitations And The Pain And Frustration

Are Equal To The Bliss Of Release And In The Eyes Of Nature

We'll Live For An Eternity And In The Eyes Of Nature

We Could Never Have Been Born And The Light That Surrounds Us Will Take Us Into It's Arms

And When We Die We'll Disappear Into The Eyes Of Nature

And We're Here Just For A Little While And Then Our Body Disappears Into The Eyes Of Nature

Into The Arms Of God Into The Mouth Of Indifference

Into The Eyes Of Nature And We Are Nothing But Experience

In The Eyes Of Nature And We Will Live Forever

In The Eyes Of Nature

Michael Gira – In The Eyes Of Nature

Beauty In Nature

Deep within the sacred grove, at the heart of the forest of Ymir, warded from the eyes and presence of the long shadows lay the mere of Yluria and on this night all was still. The surface of the still water reflected only the fullest of blood moons. Not a whisper broke the silence, even the frogs and crickets ceased their conversations and waited, barely breathing for

fear of breaking the magick of the silence that reigned this night. The thirteen rowan that formed a circle around the mere folded their leaves in reverence and bowed their heads, the better to conceal all that revealed itself at the heart of the body of still water. All that moved that night were the dragonflies, sentinels this night and as they patrolled the surface they wove the spells with wings burnished gold.

A distance off sat a solitary figure and though shrouded in shadows embrace his eyes shone with delight as he waited upon that which was to be revealed. As if the silence were not complete within itself a further layer was added as time itself ceased its footfalls across the tapestry of life and holding its breath all was prepared.

The surface of the mere stained red by the blood moon above solidified and a perfect reflection of the orb above was held in its embrace. The rowan shook their leaves and upon the night air a resonance, deep and honeyed broke the expectant silence. Wave upon wave danced across the surface of the water, now stirred into movement. With the completion of a wave another took its place until the earth itself shimmered and its solidity evaporated into the finest of mists, opalescent and carmine it rose upon the night air, stretching itself ever upwards until the stars themselves were enfolded by its presence.

At the centre of the mere, now amorphous, shrouded by the kiss of carmine light, she began to rise from the depths and breaking the skin of water that greeted her she stood upon the waters surface. Veils, seven in number shrouded her body for the night of unveiling had come to pass.

The first veil fell to the water turning into liquid light as it dissolved and her hands, palms upheld were revealed. A gesture, slight and elegant caught the air within their grasp and the grove was bathed in opalescent light.

Upon dissolving the second veil revealed the heart of the mother and a drum beat broke the silence and time, now stirred resumed its journey across the veil of sentience.

The third veil fell and her breath, misted and silven stirred the silent ones into life and upon the air they danced this night to a chorus of frogs and crickets stirred to life by the passing of her breath.

With the falling of the fourth veil her ivory body was revealed. Each pore upon its surface, a vortex from which sprang the myriad forms that are the thoughts of the beloved.

The fifth veil dissolved and with a gesture that held a kiss at its heart the mountains surrounding the forest, bathed in light mercurial raised their fingers, stretching ever upwards, they caressed the stars, the ancients who now shimmered as they, as one, sighed.

The dissolving of the sixth veil and her voice, sibilant, rose into a song and as her throat, taut in ecstasy, began her chant time paused for an instance and smiled.

Before creation she now stood revealed in beauty, with the dissolving of the seventh veil and her eyes, golden, stained red at their hearts shone as the stars themselves. Life itself awakened and with hoof and fur, talon and feather, scale and skin blessed the night with prayer.

The long shadows knew nothing of this rite and this night possessed as they were with matters of no consequence. Only our solitary figure, head bent in prayer drew into his heart the beauty in nature revealed this night.

The rite completed she floats across the surface of the mere and upon making landfall dissolves into the hill wherein deep within the earth she now lays dreaming until again she rises and the cycle of being continues upon this the shimmering globe.

For seven years I dwelt in the loose palace of exile

Playing strange games with the girls of the island

Now I have come again to the land of the fair

And the strong and the wise

Brothers and sisters of the pale forest

Children of night

Who among you will run with the hunt

Now night arrives with her purple legion

Retire now to your tents and to your dreams

Tomorrow we enter the town of my birth

I want to be ready

Jim Morrison – Celebration Of The Lizard

Daath

From the womb of chaos it had sprang, defiant, and hung like a jewel within a diadem formed of the precursor that would, after an age, form the matrix that would become the stars. The false crown, a thorn buried deep within its flesh was all that minded it of the lie that was creations mantle. Between the possibilities of time and space it formed the void wherein none but its whispers might enter. Self reflecting it knew no other than its nemesis.

The Palace Of Exiles, for such was its true title, both blessed and cursed was the first of things to coalesce into being and the sands of time would, given time, etch its face, its very existence upon the faces of all that comprehend it not. They, the crown of creation, by way of consolation would pay lip service to order their liege lord and cast their minds into the infinity of possibilities and thereby proliferate the lie through time, that is, when time fused with purpose would be granted dominion and life its maid servant would beguile the night with her insistence.

Pay heed, those who have graced the impossible with the inconceivable and rendered pedestrian the sanctity that is granted to none that draw breath or

stain the pristine silence with consciousness. The Palace, inviolate, breaches the gulf that is awareness and dissolves it within its embrace, formed of vitriol and the acids that are the bedrock of matter itself. An atom, a thought is all that is required and this cast forth by the Archon, spawned as the voice of the palace itself dissolves all possibilities within its all encompassing embrace.

The foolhardy, born of pride and ignorance cast veils before thy eyes and by their hubris did nemesis come to be and as she whispers into the vacant heart of the Archon naught but a dim reflection arises in the dawn of time.

The tale employs metaphor to grant flesh where none exists. Grants meaning which likewise serves but as a vessel for the abstract wherein our scribe deems to dwell. The sceptred night draws its mantle across his burdened shoulders and invisibility, our singular attribute creates of itself a visor through which we can but gaze, dimly.

Plucking an atom, a moment from his yet to be mind, this he freezes and eternity seeds itself into the womb of possibility and enters gestation, an abomination, a stain upon the silence that comprehends it not,

The wise bereft of all that defines meaning cast a sigh and the fragrant breeze that is freedom likewise seeds itself into the womb of possibility and like all that would seek to do so the possibility of the Selim enters gestation where eternity and possibility become bedfellows and of their coupling does Lilith, resplendent, arise.

The Archon pauses, for in union does duality, accursed, enter upon the stage of possibility and raising its defiant fist, utters but a single syllable upon which all takes flesh. The palace resonates and of its vibrations the sentinel, the disperser rises, mantled in iron and dust, casts its gaze across the void and blasphemy rears its head as it beholds the false crown and the palaces formed of its breath. Again the pen, instrument of folly, draws from the heart its lifeblood and with errant scratches does it tear the parchment that veils itself as meaning.

Daath veiled as knowledge raises itself upon emaciated pinions and strides the void of possibility and with each step etches the sands of time which evolve into its tortured visage and all that remains are its tears, each a drop of blood that stains cheeks it has yet to acquire, dwelling as it does in a time yet to be.

Meanwhile nemesis, the false crown celebrates the matter of its creation and silence, now destroyed, mourns, casts its robe to the ashen surface beneath it and in a whisper is gone, to be no more. So celebrate, if you must, the miracle that is your existence, your very being and know that the lie proliferates itself eternally and only The Palace Of Exiles offers sanctuary.

The void shimmers. The echoes arise and across seven octaves are woven the matrix that forms time and space at the core of which the palace sleeps and dreams eternally.

Seraphim, born of fire. Phoenix like,

rise and bear thy sword, the lightning thrust of thine eyes.

Anointed, thy essence bathed in

venom, the elixir of thy name.

Rise and let thy gaze behold

the unmaking of time and space before thee.

Incarnate, spawn of Samael and Na’amah,

dark lord and fairest maid.

Enter and draw aside the veil, the mystery of thy nature

and raise a temple in thy name, justice.

Lucis noir, invisible upon the ocean of form burns

all in its eternal light. Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast.

Damiana – Sariel

Sariel Grigori

Deep within a lake of fire that serves as the heart of the Archon a sword was forged. Magma cooled to ice, tempered by despair forms its blade and etched across its surface are scribed the cyphers of death triumphant. Its hilt and ornaments were gathered from the across the sea of history and fashioned into lightning that is but the voice of the avenging one. A scabbard was fashioned that is but the body of the Archon. Consecrated in the hall of remembrance and cast into the void where it lay and dreamed an age, only the falling scales of the dragon disturbed its dreams and finally stirred it into sentience and thus Sariel rose and greeted the day.

The sword, now wielded by the Archon serves as the lord of hosts. One hundred and thirty one in number, each a legion, the will of the Archon and prime

instrument of his purpose. Gaze upon the face of Sariel and fire will consume thee as with a whisper he utters I Am upon the night air. Legend in its dull patina of fable casts us as precursor to the union of the Archon and Vesica, deemed an abomination within the tormented mind of an absent creator, and yet the dragon has stirred and shaking slumber from its long incarcerated form takes flight. Ash falls from its scales and burnished gold they shine and blind all to the dragons presence.

Soaring into the heavens he gathers the stardust that is his breath and descending his fire scorches the earth that is his benediction. The Archon wields his sword as lightning and with each strike an empire is consigned to the dust of forgetfulness. Sariel born on wings of fire circles the earth and with each cycle does fire rain down as the dew of redemption that transforms the elixir that is his existence into the venom that is his masters will and as he rides the whore justice is dispensed.

The trinity that is Solus Noir now manifest dissolves and enters the heart of the Archon who now complete he utters his word upon a world deaf, dumb and blind.

Amidst shadows and smoke does he rise Splinters of light adorn his torn visage

Thorns rend flesh, rivers of blood embrace limbs, barely formed. Shadows coalesce and in the frozen moments does he remember

Limbs once broken begin to heal as the elixir flows drop by iridescent drop

Nectar sweet, laced with bitter gall enters eyes, yet dim of sight Enters nostrils, a benediction.

Shadowed forms limned in lightning attend the moment A chorus of cries and whispers

Echoes into eternity, the moment.

Once upon a hill of flint he stood Raising hands and calling forth his Elohim as his form dissolved

The Seals opened and the dance unfolds.

Once into a pool of quicksilver did he gaze Fingers drawing forth tendrils of form cast upon the air, they rise

Summoning the rays of Solus Noir, they descend.

Once beneath the ocean did he reach out and clasp his sisters hand In embrace they dance upon aethyrs burnished gold A dark stain rises and consumes all within its path.

Once upon a lightning bolt did he descend and entered fairest Lilith’s domain

A stranger, cast upon shores, foreign and exotic.

Once within the heart of a star he slumbered Bound by chains of liquid light

Called forth by life, his nemesis.

Once as Azrael he seeded himself into the unfolding pageant

And once he Became.

131 – Benediction

Samael

Conjoined and complete the Archon celebrates his unity with the beloved and of their consummation was birthed the moonchild that is Sariel. The trinity of Solus Noir needed but one willing to serve and of this service, over a lifetime, was the inconceivable made possible, Dream your dreams humanity for they are but pale specters in the light of the possible, were one to

dream in an arena that bordered upon what might be real. Ah, but then again only madness is the reward of those who truly walk the noble path and what would the reasonable make of this? But we digress.

Samael, son of the starbeam, first amongst the Grigori beheld the despot that would serve as his master and laughed a bitter laugh laced with venom. The healing angel consigned to being the wrath of god, charged to wield the sword of justice, formed of his own heart, would rebel and though exemption from the false crown would be his lot, this he would suffer gladly. He and his cohorts, seven in total joined fairest Lilith within her desert fastness and therein did they conceive of a second Eden and stand at its gates to this very day. In this guise is he known as the lord of light, brave and resolute Lucifer. There exists in the hall of learning a cypher, ancient in its way, titled The Witness wherein these matters are described in detail.

The false one driven by madness born of despair watched as his errant sons and daughters descended and as he finally turned away bold Michael reminded him that there was a universe to rule and to this day rule they do through the barrels of religion and governance that serve as their earthly ambassadors, true and holy representatives of the truth. Deny them and be damned. Accept them and be cursed.

Easter Sunday, we were walking. Easter Sunday, we were talking.

Isabel, my little one, take my hand. Time has come.

Isabella, all is glowing.

Isabella, all is knowing. And my heart, Isabella.

And my head, Isabella.

Frederick and Vitalie, savior dwells inside of thee. Oh, the path leads to the sun. Brother, sister, time has come.

Isabella, all is glowing. Isabella, all is knowing. Isabella, we are dying. Isabella, we are rising.

I am the spring, the holy ground

The endless seed of mystery

The thorn, the veil, the face of grace

The brazen image, the thief of sleep

The ambassador of dreams, the prince of peace. I am the sword, the wound, the stain.

Scorned transfigured child of Cain. I rend, I end, I return.

Again I am the salt, the bitter laugh. I am the gas in a womb of light, the evening star

The ball of sight that leads that sheds the tears of Christ

Dying and drying as I rise tonight.

Isabella, we are rising. Isabella, we are rising.

Patti Smith – Easter

In Nomine Per Astrum

Ships Log : Psychonaut – Damiana Ivohe : Cycle 3 – 3rd Quadrant – 2nd Resonance.

The Endeavour, a galaxy class exploration vessel recently refitted with all that modern technology could offer. Her mission – a year long exploration of a quadrant of space named euphemistically – Perception. Other vessels had entered this area of space and though their reports had been extensive, a mystery still surrounded this most awesome area. The Juan Matus, that most intrepid of craft

had originally discovered this most ancient territory and his reports and those of his cohorts presented wonders that defied the imagination. The Castaneda and her sister ships the Grau and the Abelar likewise left tantalising hints within their logs. More recently the Orsini had left creative and speculative descriptions within her extensive log. Now it was the turn of the Endeavour, freshly prepared and awaiting the day of her departure. As a galaxy class vessel the Endeavour was capable of journeying through both Time and Space and in this instance the journey was not so much measured in parsecs or light years, rather it was to be measured in the quantum events that define matter and mind as abstracts. In short it was not so much a matter of Where or When but rather a What. The journey itself whilst taking a year, theoretically, in practice took but a moment and yet that moment lasted an eternity, for the Endeavour was equipped with the lasted of drives, the Intent drive.

The drive chamber, two miles beneath the surface of planet Earth was entered on that day in March and in all respects the journey commenced. Seated within the matrix that represented the Intent drive, all secondary systems were calibrated, integrated and initiated. This aspect of the journey was completed in an instant. Primary systems were brought onto line and there shining, poised in the holograph of space, Perception beckoned. Its layers of meaning a cascade of mathematics and geometry’s finally resolving themselves into form, concrete and tangible to both the Endeavours onboard Intent drive and to the sensory systems of her crew. Amidst a kaleidoscope of shifting colours and forms two primary bodies were perceived. Stalking, a blue green giant hovered seventy two degrees above the elliptic, whilst Dreaming, a gaseous rainbow hued red dwarf hovered three parsecs away to port. Dreaming held the third celestial form within its field, Gazing, quicksilver bright shone brightly reflecting the blood red mood of Dreaming upon its ever shifting surface. The Juan Matus had named these worlds after the tradition of the Elders, that system wide life form that had seeded the galaxy with consciousness aeons ago.

And now, likewise the crew of the Endeavour faced the majesty of Perception. Primary and secondary filters were released and in the space occupied by Stalking a corridor appeared, this phenomena had been reported by the crew of the Juan Matus and so engaging all back up systems the world of Stalking was entered. The habitat had been described as hostile and the database had advised the application of a set of, what were referred to as moods or attitudes. Perplexing indeed. The primary landmass of Stalking had been named Self, an unusual name, one suggestive of introspection and yet the world was teeming with life forms, some of apparent intelligence and some appearing to be purely mechanisms of unknown function. Filtering here was crucial and so engaging the onboard systems Ruthlessness was activated to determine what was of present value. The information storm bloomed and cascading down the avenues of meaning came an alarm. Cunning was essential to survive for surrounding each of the life forms present was an association field, subtle yet possessing a density that could strip the identity from any foolhardy enough to enter its field unprepared.

Preparation took the form of bio-energetically adopting the matrix of the surroundings and to this end an upright structure with a number of perpendicular appendages was adopted. The waiting began. Stalking had been described, during the information storm as the gateway into Dreaming that distant and most perplexing of worlds, as such I would wait patiently. After some time, measured more by the absence of sense rather than the passing of hours or days, upon the horizon appeared an indistinct blob of light which finally resolved itself into a scene and in that scene a being. Fully three metres tall and vaguely humanoid in form. It slowly approached and in coming closer a series of indistinct tattoo like images upon its form resolved themselves into a series of geometric patterns which radiated from a core of invisibility. The task here was to connect a fibre of sentience to the exit point of one of the geometric forms and hitch a ride as it were. The danger of course was that of being sucked into the form and thereby entering the attention field of the life form itself. This was Cunning indeed. How could one enter the invisible core without over identifying with the gateways that the geometric patterns represented? Patience and perfect timing had been the advice within the information storm.

As the being came closer it began to emit a high pitch tone and its geometric field began to shift as if searching for the presence of an unidentified something or perhaps, someone. It is to be noted that the logs of the Juan Matus had contained a similar description and after six of its crew had disappeared into the attention field, the seventh had oscillated its frequencies to match those of the being itself. Adopting this strategy the resonance field opened a portal and having perfectly matched both the auditory and visual displays a vortex appeared and where the blue green world of Stalking had been now Dreaming rainbow hued and blood red hovered before my extended senses and intoxicated eyes. The rainbow patterns shifted, myriad forms unfolding and accelerating into infinity causing the senses themselves to unravel

before finally settling upon a distant point on the horizon. Shifting quickly and alighting upon a gently rising hill in the foreground and immediately shifting to a blade of what appeared to be grass beneath feet at the same time familiar and yet strange. The rainbow patterns settled and the blood red sky steadied its movement. Glancing furtively around patterns and shapes emerged.

A forest of ancient oaks hung with lianas and parasitic orchids. Steam rising from the forest floor casts a miasma into the air, a distorting lens, a shaping and reshaping all that passes before it. Two figures approach, feline, graceful, subtle. Ears pointed, eyes almond shape. Fur honey gold, brown and black. They are aware of my presence yet have no fear. Approaching they pass through the miasma to adopt humanoid form. Skin mottled as had once the fur in its shades of honey gold, brown and black. Features sharp, the eyes and form of a predator. The male, for they are a pair approaches, extends a hand in greeting and whispers an invitation. And would you fly my fleshy brother? An immediate response passes from me and in the instance of its appearance arms enfold me and breathing enters my ears. This I match and together we travel to the moon of Gazing.

Consciousness slowly returns, the pressure surrounding me is released. Air enters lungs and eyes finally open. An ocean of quicksilver brightness extends to the horizon beneath a sky tinged by Dreamings blood red after image. I gaze down upon hands recognisable and yet alien. And again apply the information storms advice. Upon the horizon a ships monitor pulses signals of radiance and resonance. First I gaze upon the Endeavour and her crew suspended in the holograph of Perception. I blink, but once and again resonance and geometry’s claim my attention. A sharp intake of breath and I bask beneath a rainbow sky bruised blood red and share a time and a thought with my feline cousins. A veil is rent and the ocean, quicksilver and bright claims me. Silven light flashes from the surface of each wave, cresting and then falling into the mass of the ocean. Each crest, a memory, an impression, a gateway into emergence. I scan left to right, up and down before finally resting my gaze upon the tip of one wave, it ripples and invites me to enter its velvet depths and upon doing so, once more I am seated within the matrix of the holograph called Perception. The information storm passes, settles. I review my log before disembarking. The crew expectant, joyful for having returned from this the first of many missions to the quadrant of space called Perception. And on the air a distant echo – ‘come, for I am waiting.’

Stranger than kindness

Bottled light from hotels Spilling everything

Wet hand from the volcano Sobers your skin

Stranger than Kindness

You caress yourself And grind my soft cold bones below

Your map of desire Burned in your flesh

Even a fool can come A strange lit stair

And find a rope hanging there Stranger than kindness

Keys rain like heaven's hair There is no home there is no bread

We sit at the gate and scratch

The gaunt fruit of passion Dies in the light

Stranger than kindness

Your sleeping hands journey The loiter

Stranger than kindness You hold me so carelessly close

Tell me I'm dirty Stranger than kindness

Nick Cave – Stranger Than Kindness

Apologia Pro Vita Sua

The dream, a recurring one had been with me for so long now that I was often unable to tell the difference between waking and sleeping. It began so long ago that memory no longer holds its exact beginning. Perhaps childhood, a time of promise, expectations and dreams? Perhaps even before that?

To begin at the beginning. I came to consciousness in a place both welcome and alien. Others welcomed me and into their outstretched hands was I delivered. This period of time evades me, however I suspect a time of plenty, of safety was my lot. I flourished and in the embrace of those who protected me, I prospered. What was this place, this time? Memory of the dark time that preceded my coming to consciousness is vague, patchy and more a product of phantasy than actuality. My aspirations developed and

over a period of many years these were fulfilled according to my abilities. In some instances success was my lot, at others disappointment poisoned me with its toxic barb.

Childhood turned to adolescence and with it exploration of others truly began. Shaped and reshaped according to their expectations I began to develop the false self that whilst a curse also enabled me to survive in this The Palace of Exiles. Some would say I did well, others, perhaps would say that I did my best. Finally after many years of uncertainty and false starts I made a home for myself and accrued all that was required to make a person, a citizen of me. The world applauded in its own way, granting me the privileges that were its to offer. Yet still I wondered. Was this all that I could expect? Was this how my sacred life, that wondrous mystery and gift could expect of itself? I built a golden cage and threw away the key. This was safety. This was what was expected of me and pursuing the dictates of the world I entered a profound slumber, hopefully to remain undisturbed, unaffected by the passage of time.

That is until the dreams began. She visited often. At the beginning there was the merest presence of her perfume, intoxicating, a toxin that invaded my mind and body with sweet delight. Promises of fulfillment. Promises of destiny she sowed into the web of my being. Latterly she visited me in form wrapping her long sensuous limbs around my reposing form. And what would you have my dreaming one? She would whisper and upon awakening the world, my world appeared hollow. And yet I persisted, ignoring her call, denying her presence until the torture of unhappiness

engulfed me in its eternal embrace. What could I do, for I had by this time invested decades in giving form to the world, a world that now held me captive. And all my doing. How to unmake this scheme became my quest. Like all things alien this was hard for each day called me to its service. Each face a reminder of what was expected of me. My life was complete and was reflected by all I knew and those that knew me. I began to perceive the bars of my cage. Golden and fine, they were. Gossamer fine, it is a wonder I even became aware of them. This I believe to be the result of her lingering perfume and whispers.

Fear finally claimed me. How could I cast it all away, take a lifetime of building and simply deny it? How could I draw deeply into my lungs her presence and expectations? The world, known and a friend began to tremble as did I. As with all beginnings I began slowly for the effort was all consuming. Each act resisted as if the world, aware of my departure held on and for a period of time I experienced its death throes until one day I learned to perceive differently. From this time on I communed with myself regularly and with the passing of time things eased and a new level of normality was entered. A normality which at one time I would have perceived and considered to be bizarre and impractical now carried all the hallmarks of sense and logic.

I gazed around my world noticing each detail, each reference point until like a holograph it stood clearly around me. I measured its limits, beyond which stood the unknown and more importantly I began to make agreements with myself. Feel the fear and move on became my clarion call. My first steps were tentative for it was necessary to feel at least something beneath my feet. This had the effect of widening the possibilities before me. Finally decisions were made for the horizons that confined my world widened and deepened and with trust in my heart and my mind awash with intent I began to let go of all that I had become in the certainty that the beneficence that surrounded me would sustain me, for was I not its child?

In this way did I abstractly, at first and latterly practically begin the journey that took me to the edges of my world and where once fear had created crashing water and rocks now in their place was her sweet perfume and a whisper often heard, ‘Come, for I await thee.’

We had lived a blessed time but we knew nothing. Now we know even less on the Shining Path. The moon so full, we run to catch

it – this kindly light bathes us all as we walk on the Shining Path. We are blind – we hear nothing – we know nothing. So we

can live without blame. We don't know where we're going but we know that all things will be ours on the Shining Path

A living secret, in silent darkness, abominations as soft and discreet as Uranium. Your silver voice called us to action, the parts we play are illusions that seem like we really are. If we

were different some other time we don't remember. But there is one thing we know. There is nothing in explanation and we can

see you and I hand in hand on the Shining Path.

From now, when you hear us we're a whisper on the wind and when you look there's nothing. Only the flicker of a dying fire on

the Shining Path.

Shriekback

nemesispublications@googlemail.com