The Gnosis Of Inhumation

Death be my hierophant! Lay bare the paths to the

precipice. I would endure the torment of black Edens

thorn strewn paths of ingress. I would bask in the shadow

of the Tree of Death and pluck such terrible fruits from

its vines to taste of their soma. I seek entrance to the

Death-Mothers womb. I am compelled towards her chasm

which entraps and destroys all light and forms. Oh matron

of the aphotic and primordial night! Thou art manifest

and un-manifest, point of paradox. Thou art the darkness

of empty sky and the glutinous hollows of the earth,

bloated with corpses and slaked on blood-seed. I would

enter with thee into fatal copulations. In wrath, pray

you scourge my flesh and burn your gnosis upon my heart

until my heart is naught but flame. Black Illuminatrix!

May I shine with brilliance within your darkness, from

which my own shadow may arise, cast across your form, a

shadow that might endure in the absence of the radiant

moment of its own becoming. I desire to be washed within

the streams of the counter-current, within the provenance

that heaves with the dispersion of forms. To drink of the

lentor of this chasm is to drink the libation of the

Devils grail, for to sate ones thirst from this cup is

to gain the burning pathway that trespasses beyond the

binding circle of all eminences of an other. Only then

may one upraise ones hands towards the image of the

Great Opposer and pass through the mirror to become one

with the reflection that hath become ones own, ones

absolute divinity.