Old Night

Thou hermit of Old Night who wadest into the turbulence

of the waters un-drowned, who verily enters into deaths

magisterium without fear, thou whose toil is the

ineffable work of the abyss that draws forth the all

slaying solve, thou art amongst the deathless race of the

kingless, beyond the provenance of god. In the light of

Lucifers dawn, thy shadow casts long and dim before

thee. In the pitch of Noctifers saturnine night thy

shadow is the very face of the abyss. Oh vajra-hearted

lord enthroned within the silence between the birth and

death of every thought, in thronismos within the shadowed

temple at the crux of the cruciform! Yet shall the very

abyss of thought be wholly illuminated by the gleam from

thy morningstar lantern, the fruit plucked from the

deepest root. To guide the pandemonion of self unto the

scarlet hill of martyrdom, upon the path that even devas

are cursed to tread. Thou hast withdrawn the husks of the

most bitter seed and the garments from the gods

themselves, to reach the hypostasis that is a black pearl

dazzling the 7 aeons. Betwixt the hammer and anvil of

becoming is thy presence eternal that is in between-ness

known as N.O.X. Self-murderer and Self-begetter, with

eyes fixed unto the cup of Djemscheed, thou breakest the

chains forged by stellar gravity. Oh, the motionless

movement of Death! With both the soberness of the

Amethyst and the mad Satyr's ecstatic thirst, leap ye

forth into the Mandala's center – The Point where sun and

moon collide, crushed to lifeless splinters before

ancient Night's hollow eye.