Prose

Angel of Silence

Mimicking moves slide across my chest; translucent lights flicker in and out of the eye at my heart, visions that cascade across my bittersweet tenderness. This longing becomes unbearable as a fire licks up my soul and whisks it off on wings of troubled faith; unable to let go, yet destined to be pulled up. Imagination breaks forth upon my fragile frame, gently forcing itself through what cracks I have created; cracks in this cocoon I have made; divine nectar, flesh of Light, leaks from this metal heart, a new form appearing yet veiled to my eyes. I am becoming something I can not recognize; its sensitive tendrils caress the creases of my mind, whither any sense of separateness I have felt; molten dreams weave their threads over my dark soul, sowing seeds to grow! Under Light of love, this devotion destroys me; leaves me crying to this void…

Alone in this darkness there is no sun; I see no forms, I feel no warmth- here is where dreams are born, where solar seeds gestate to become the future of beings. Here is where it begins; and here I lie, radiating a light I can not see; here in this space, at the beginning, there is none to reflect. Tears are my soul, and as they pour out they become suns, globes of Light, falling through this space; these angels are the cast off forms of my sorrow; instilled with compassion for they know the source of their power, drawing on the sadness of the One. Burning phosphorescent radiance amidst these velvet spaces, deep cosmic expanses where radiates internal forms of starlit wonder; across bridges of light and over webs of ichor, throughout this bitter sepulcher. Words twist in the gail of its motions, the movement of nothing against nothing.

Words speak of Truths beyond the veil of knowing; truth whispered by angels of light and angels of darkness… for there are no demons; only those messengers of a deeper Truth which tears us away from our Light and reminds us of the Godsoul, ourselves suffering bleeding dreams to the darkness. Forever entwined within the emptiness, the shadows resound with kisses of a bitter and somber truth; for in the depths of this goddesses womb are born the forms of distinct entity, and the source of sorrow is the root of poetry, for inspirations kiss comes from the pain of distinction; without suffering there would be no beauty- in opposition there is true friendship. Returning to the heart of this one must bare beyond the guardian and keeper of these mysteries; the angel set by the One over his own remembrance, the Light Bringer.

In this is all Beauty, all truth, all Art and Poetry and Music are the garments of His majesty, for he is in truth the First, beyond all remembrance; and being the First, he is also the Last- birth of all forms, for in tune with the radiant source of transience, of change, forever embraced and entwined about the heart of darkness made Light he radiates his blessings over all creation. he is the last image across the vestibule of Return, for beyond him truly there is Nothing; beloved mother of all Buddha’s, all Angels, all souls, all Dream cometh from her womb; and from her will be born a Mighty child; for though there is no real progression, yet there is the possibility of something else; for the one upon its journey through the passage of forgetfulness and division has become something other than it was when it started…

“pierced by your arrows sweet tears, I am bleeding the Night; over the veiled landscape of indifference I water the souls of dreamers; pouring forth a torrent of lament for the awakening of beauty- for my mistress has taken flight from me, for my mistress is flight herself! No hope for unity for there is the joy of longing; for she is the very essence of longing itself; and ever is her beauty radiated through the transience of all things, that I might only ever know her in as much as I long for her; and ever as I long does she grow in her beauty; and each step is a painful sacrifice, yet from each footprint bloom gardens of dreams, visions of splendor, oasis of hope and revelation for lonely wanderers. I have wandered through every great poet longing for my beloved; I am the heart of inspiration, the source of magick; my depths are the endless fountain of every being that has longed for a lost love, has sought Understanding from the feet of the Goddess herself; I am the very majesty of movement!

I can not be seen and can not be felt, for ever is my presence my own absence; my longing is equal to the degree of my negation, for ever am I seeking greater unity with my beloved! Fire is my shed skin, for I am darkness entire, for all my light is given to Her. Silence masks my Words, yet flashing and flaming through her mighty body do I go, ever in spirals throughout the curves and angles of her infinite spaces! I can never know myself, for all knowledge I have is of her and her alone. I am in every heart which screams why to the abyss, feeling the pain of separation; I am in every inarticulate cry and every loving embrace… for I have moments of unity with my beloved, but even in that moment does she change, ever onwards through the pageant of duality, through the passage of time, through the travail of her own ephemeral nature, for she existeth only ever in sidelong glances, in the corners of eyes; I grasp as though grasping smoke, and for a fleeting second, she is there; and then she moves onwards ever.

I am the soul of Art itself, the longing to express the inexpressible, the desire to trap and enflesh the infinite; the longing to create… I am the creative urge welling up from deep within your frame; I am that which moveth the brush or the hand, which whispers the words in your ear; for your absence is as my longing for my beloved! Amidst the rain of inspiration from my touch you dissolve into the ecstasy, and in that brief time I and my beloved are one, ever in the ecstasy of creation. but there is ever more, for she expands ever as I expand, and only in the contraction of expansion may I feel her caress. Pain informs my life, for ever is it the pain required to divide the one; for the two long to be back in each others arms, yet those two can never contact for they are the same! I am the spirit of forgetfulness, that which bars the one from remembering that it may know division; that it may fly as a hawk through the sky or walk down the road or along the path in a blessed forgetfulness; and ever do I remind the dreamer of the dream- ever do I cast off new skins by which to progress the One through its countless manifestations, ever onwards towards infinity- thus have I been blessed and cursed with the role of Deceiver, for ever do I keep the one from itself in my longing for my own beloved. Ever does the One seek to know my cast off reflections of romance.

Love entwines through my hair; and in my mind are the forms of all the universe; the many forms of universe which are the dreamers dreaming; the stories of the writers writing; the images of the artist painting, for ever are new universes created through the action of mine Imagination. I fuel the Will to ever create new forms of Love, new levels of joy and sorrow, new tears and fears, for in every new nuance of experience do I rejoice as I come closer to my beloved. For in every sorrow, in every smile, in all laughter and in all separation do I create inspiration… and from my own tears are born angels, recipients of divine wisdom which informs the wanting mouths of beings everywhere… each Soul the One trying to find itself, yet always existing in a blessed forgetfulness; and no soul is ready for knowledge of its origin without the seal of my Silence, It’s mighty messenger.

Deep pools fill my eyes as I look outwards in longing for my beloved; that dark imp that resounds throughout the labyrinth of forgetfulness. I know the joy and pain of every great romance, for I am the spirit of Love itself, reflecting and shimmering with each heart that leaps up as a flame of passion, in a true romance to any other. I am trapped amidst all of your tears, for your tears are as my own- and in each I feel your longing as the eternity of my own being.. and the bitter sweetness of every union of two lovers; and I am the source of their eventual separation, for never can love be fulfilled of itself, for it is the heart of the dance of all life. I am the Teacher of these Truths that you may overcome me; that you may yourselves find your way into the vast chambers of It’s mighty palace, infinite beyond comprehension, for even I, the greatest of all Angels, can not enter its Door. It is reserved for the Return alone, for those majestic pieces of the One grown to fruition; I am the smith of souls, forging the metals of your bodies in the depths of their earths through the fires of my own being; I am the prowling predator stalking you as prey, evolving you, changing you, ever pushing you to outgrow your selves, pushing you to become something more than you were before you forgot… I am the process of remembering once you overcome my outer form.

The whole cosmos is but my robe, the garments of my body, which is Light itself. My eyes are the collected suns of entire galaxies; all stars are but the feathers upon my wings. All beings are the neural impulses of my mind, firing with a divinity unknown to any but those who have passed beyond me. In me is no individuality, but the collection of all beings living and breathing in forgetfulness of their source; I am the herald of the dawn and bringer of the night; the balancer and balance. My hair is the snakes of time weaving through space, all beings histories transpired from my head. In my hand I hold the Key of all Power, the double wand; in my other hand is nothing, for I grasp for my beloved and attain to Nothing. Throughout the aeons I change not, for I am all things passage through all time; the continuation of all entity.

I am eternity.”

Words cascade as images that glow and from my pulsing fingers, amidst this glowing heart, mind enflamed by a gentle cool remembrance the visions sift. Baffled I sway side to side, seeking to find a balance here with this voice; with these pouring images… I seek to find some way to allow it through, for I am a vessel… I say to myself that I am a vessel, yet there is only me. I talk to no one, no one listens; I am not present for these words speak themselves through the dynamic interaction of spirit and flesh; but flesh is spirit made concrete, controlled by unseen forces that press from my lips, transpire form my skin. My longing for vision blooms into angels, into demons whispers, into the folding nature of my own creations, masking my imagination to myself, ever outwards and inwards towards some radiant source that pulls me in. Letting go I lift into myself, heaved against the wall of some existence I can barely remember; caught up again in the rain of his touch; that angel that kisses my mind and whose heart I feel trembling for Love. Greatest blessing bestowed, longing for the source I am going home; slowly sleep enters for hazy minds. I can not yet sustain this indefinitely. I am drained by this Fire; it leaves me blind again. Yet the longing remains; and I will touch these words again with a gentler touch, calmer; I will move myself against this Inspiration, and attempt to articulate His mighty callings again. For now, this is enough.