- Books, Literature, and Writing
Poem: "Pe, the Price"
The war-room stank of sweat and resinous wafts of rich dragons blood. Chaotic symphonies of heavy boot steps, weapons gently kissing armour, instruments of information colliding with the rustling of maps and accounts. Opinions of the mass, that hydra-cabinet of the staff called Personality, flew about the trapezoidal table with the turbulent regularity of cream in coffee - the Sovereign beheld it all in silence, holding a contemplative pose, aloof in the Triple Throne.
"News of the Kingdom?" whispered Sovereign.
Misty grey-light coiled about the sphere of sensation,, a mauve countenance coalescing in the king's khu; It sang: "Women and Men of good posts, those of Thee that hold the line in respite and non-identity - they ebb and flow as mountain over sea."
Sovereign formulated the unicursal hexagram, scarlet liquid fire in the brain, True Name showing, no deceit or game - save for his own amusement. The mauve shadow spoke of pragmatic tides of season - all things in right proportion. Very well, 'a gaze into the indigo pool then?' he thought…
To the western gate, rising floods and torrential rains wash the soil from graves, exposing bloated vestals and withered frames long buried… winding rivers cut new courses and carry away the last crops to the Sea. Lakes swell and spill their hoards, adding fury to gravity. The concourses of currents clash in clandestine coils, bringing new arrangements and refreshing idle. The ancient cold of the deep sea meets the eager heat of tropical bud-wills, and these opposites mingle in that love which moves therefore.
The eastern gate rumbles under burden of 1001 cloven hooves, drawn in mad phrenzy, ecstatic self-copulation of PAN, toward fruition inevitable. The discs whirl amid the spheres, and that which is hewn has sprung from that which has lain fallow. New seeds spill upon the ground, Azoth to azoth, dust to dust, flesh to flesh; In perspiration, menstruum and lust, the barrier drops and all is beheld in 'naked brilliance'.
(the scribe trembles as it writes, breathing hard & deep as it pens her song… the touch of a tiny hand to the left sleeve reminds, 'breathe not so deep…')
For a moment, the vision wavered in Sovereign's gaze - tormented as he was by some mad, jabbering fool in harlequin dress yammering on about the 'fluctuation of the Dow, acquisition and liquidation, consolidation …'. Yet it was his own beloved hominid hand holding a mirror betwixt he and the pool… in silence, he laid it aside and beheld again the expanse of indigo, til that silhouette of angles brought forth the message…
To the south, there was no single point to find for all wavered, rose and fell in such an esoteric manner that all became laughter of lovers… no There, no Here, no Everywhere, save in gazing back. To fix upon that movement was to dissolve in identity to the same - there was no observation here. In this gate the Way involved itself, as it were, distilled by the gravitation of bodies in victorious dance. Quantum cloud-fire. collapsed into visible memory, standing waves arouse their own curiosity - incarnation in-deed!
Sealed in the north, the circular finality of eternal-return made him laugh, then listen. The hum of deep winds gathered about and chorused in no light manner. (Frightful to the scribe, yet it scrawled on…) Hideous stench carried on breeze, betokening a certain lack of class to lazy necrophagi. But ah, such sweetness beneath! Under, there, black warmth of Time dissolved the ties like the sweep of a child's hand through a spider's web. Under, There, the stench of accumulation feeds the soil of dry imagination, that the Garden continues to grow by the Hand of No Man.
Eternal returns, to the center of all; nothing 'so outspread'. Indigo flashes oscillate into turquoise and aquamarine, settling into the familiar hum of ultraviolet concentration. That which knows has looked within, without, above, below, and proportions mapped. Actively direct, Passively flowing, the spirit of this place haunts with a song of attachment… the Sovereign, like a hanged ape to his right hand-mirror, smiled and silently rejoiced therein.
"Two arms! Two arms! I have to arms!"