Hel

A dark star explodes showering me in its fiery brilliance. A sharp knife makes the incision and the blood flows - an offering to my Mistress. Before Her I am humbled - a mere servant-slave - yet at the same time I am all-powerful, a gift bestowed to Her plaything. Lately my mind has wandered, often, to thoughts of Her, for she subtly twists the hands of fate, teasing me, testing me, loving me and hating me. Her violent - paradoxical - sense of humour half drowning me in rivers of sensory deception. A violent - non-consensual - mind-fucking or the bitter sweet caress of the harlot of the night, prompting me to play DeSade in a psychedelic - dissociative - Shakespearean play.
The Black Sun congeals the Air, and at once ignites the Fires of lust, jealousy, guilt and madness. Again the stones slip from my twisted grasp, falling for eternity in patterns of force, spelling out my destiny in a cryptic illusive instance. Her laughter mocks The Fool, while Her fingers pull the strings contorting his body, stripping him naked before the watchful eye of the Hanged Man.
This is change, the never ending cycle, the comic-tragic interplay - a confrontation of the Self. Egos are flayed and baked in a relentless desert, before being cast into the unfathomable void of the Abyss.

This crossing has been done before, but now my feet are slipping upon stones of torment. Struggling to regain a footing She cruelly continues the test, my trial by Water, making my nightmares - my deepest fears - a reality. Holding my head under now, I wonder if this is the end, but no, it is only the beginning. Afloat I know it is Her.

The madness continues - obsessions, self deception, lost at the edge of despair.

The Scarlet Woman, the Semitic aspect of She who is dark - all-powerful - loving for a night, yet years of unspoken, unthought, unknown, empathies are shared. A conquest, but am I Everest? Accusations, yet did the comtemplative - primal - exchange kindle a loyalty? Honour shining through, conquering all bounds.

The fine net of guilt entraps - entangled in a karmic horror show where the voyeur is forced to watch his darkest, deepest fears lived out before him in the broken glass reflection - the sands of time scattered uselessly at his feet.

Through the destruction the creation can begin again - anew - the spiral downwards also ascends. From Her home...

The Nameless One, 6th January 1998

aeclectic · more writings