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TASTING THE FORBIDDEN FRUIT
DEEP CLEFT PEACH
Ah, the sensual bliss of a symphonic musical infusion,
I went to see death to find out what was going on,
Once upon no time, it was the wish of the universal mastermind,
Is what brings joy the best thing to do?
The virtue of the initiate’s journey alchemy extols,
* illustration *
The Mountain of the Philosophers is an interpretation of the initiate’s journey based on an enigmatic engraving found in an old occult manuscript entitled Secret Symbols of the Rosicrucians, from the 16th and 17th centuries. It was used to conceal and reveal the unique hermetic, alchemical and spiritual meaning of symbols and philosophical principles
Was it an apple that Eve offered Adam within reach,
Herein lies a challenge to those things we all deeply believe,
There are things only the dark-adapted eye can acutely perceive.
Succumbing to blood lust creates a most arcane powerful force,
Which lies sleeping, long buried within in a deep unknown source.
Could a substitute sacrificial victim be the prescribed counterplot,
To finally protect yourself, unknoting fierce love for children unbegot?
This most concrete action we would very willingly abhor,
It is certainly not for the sqeemish, this blunt end metaphor.
It is both a prayer and sacrifice to placate gods abysmal,
Assuages lust for burnt offerings or bloodly baptismal.
In modern times, the victimized victimizer appears as a rogue,
Since this literal kind of human sacrifice is no longer in vogue.
This endarkenment lies at the far end of the spiritual spectrum,
And draws its energy and fury from the legions of pandaemonium.
Once enacted it creates and perpetuates irresistable force habitual,
Which is the source and goal of a most ancient bloodletting ritual.
It can manifest full-blown and apparent in anyone, so blatant,
While at the same time it is that which within us all is latent.
The shadow always urges this final transgression to transact,
The physical abuses of violence and war we once again re-enact.
Memory of an old assault makes vile and angry emotions bestir,
Which no other passion, channel, or fulfillment can ever deter.
At the dynamic fury of this ferocity the weak will only tremble,
And assume the demeanor that ancient human sacrifices resemble.
Can even self-sacrifice contain these mightiest urges bestial,
Which in their transcendental form create connections celestial?
In truth, they spring from our collective common heritage,
Your ancient blood calls you to enact the old familial lineage.
Those very traits which make you tall and strong and striking,
Come from the wrathful energy of the wild berserker Viking.
Indistinguishable from religion’s history, full measure of devotion,
Sacrifice channelled the passion of manhood’s brutal emotion.
Self-sacrifice is an addiction for this particular intoxication,
A recurrent, unresolved yearning for renewed sanctification.
An impulse that started off as bold, reactionary, and curious,
Consecrated in a dedicated warrior and protector is not injurious.
It’s OK to let that drive arise and that anticipation savor,
As knight of the garter, sacrificial martyr, for a daemonic favor.
Calm that urge which rudely intrudes, rends and tears you up inside,
In utter futility within yourself you try but you cannot hide.
So, should you “lose it,” then do it in the name of something,
Channel that drive and offer to the gods a fine burnt offering.
On an adreneline-driven vision quest still searching for an answer,
Looking for signs in the netherworld like an ancient necromancer.
Going straight for the jugular makes even the stalwart shiver,
The merely valiant and valorous recoil in a cowardly quiver.
Left bottled up these sensations can only boil over and intensify,
They will inevitably themselves somehow ultimately satisfy.
The archetypal shaman enters it aright, so it not be done vainly;
Done without understanding it can only be conducted profanely.
Is it the fullness of that emptiness that keeps you spellbound,
Fascinated and mesmerized by that living bloody compound?
That linking with the spirit world and fateful action society inhibits,
Not just the apparent violence so-called normal revulsion prohibits.
But in a not-so-bygone era, it was an act supremely priestly,
Reddening with blood was never considered brutal nor beastly.
In natural sites of peculiar sanctity mankind has sought immersion,
Spring’s sacrifice insured fertility freeing us from introversion.
In olden times, all sin and guilt informed the scapegoat’s transfixion,
Taking the blood of goats and calves conferred the highest benediction.
Thought so perverse that most it would only frighten,
But the twisted primal urge can also readily enlighten.
All who fight the good fight each and every day and knightly,
Have earned respite from that awful vigilant duty done rightly.
Boiling emotions dark and gritty, awash in a bloody ablution,
Every year need be relived to find craved morbid re-solution.
If you can make that serious sacrifice, I can too and I implore,
That you, yourself the wounded soul of mankind help restore.
The blood offering of life maintains order in the universe,
Giving that gift insures the collective debt is reimbursed.
The pressure of that emptiness means living stoic and austerely,
Lips, eyes, and tongue constantly giving, yielding most sincerely.
If you need a substitute victim, I’ll be your sacrificial lamb,
A sacrificial banquet to quell the depraved lust of ancient man.
Senses keen with a palpable sense of heightened victory and valor,
Please forgive my uneasiness and slightly frightened pallor.
A million ancestors watch your mock sacrificial food despoiled,
While you are roasting on the grill of torrid passion, embroiled.
The sorrow and sickness unto death of your soul I would cure,
And gladly set free my ready, willing, and able paramour.
Moving into a darker place in an unbridled embrace we crush,
Hidden deep within a living cave that wellspring’s uprush.
A genuine human sacrifice, marked with mendi, made of henna,
With sacred offerings from smokey eyes, dark as burnt sienna.
If I would die for you, would you die for me?
Here I am naively offering myself as quarry, passively.
How many ways you can “kill” me! I’ll be neatly gored,
Blood sacrifice of the bearer of life offered to a sacred sword.
Yielding, pierced and run right through with a sturdy rapier,
Assassinated by a stalwart, trustworthy jade warrior.
Burn, bury, smother, slaughter, over a precipice we hurl,
Never knowing what acts of contrition relinquishing will unfurl.
Two human victims immolated on a passionate flaming pyre,
Torn from ordinary consciousness, totally consummed by torrid fire.
Though in today’s world it may be thought an experiential rarity,
To ancient shamanic rites it rightly bears a striking similarity.
Slaughtered with love as though I had been forcefully slain,
Murdured softly, I remain, and a moment of peace you obtain.
The spasmodic movement of briefest ecstasy to peace offering,
“This is peace, isn’t it?”; dead calm which assuages all suffering.
That fabled ambrosia drips down to the lowest depths of hell,
A dew-drop elixer that makes us dream, forget, or remember well.
Since you, my love, must have pain and death to have life,
I’ll be your gateway--magical and therapeutic sacrificial wife.
Even though you may have forfeited all your children to the knife,
Through understanding deeper meaning comes the end of strife.
So let me now just hold you gently, wild one, slender and beatific,
For both of us have surely been slain and rendered soporific.
The universal phenomenon by which we acknowledge dependence,
Can be found in man, myth and magic and frees us of our sentence.
Tangible evidence of the symbolic nature of ancient religion,
Frees us from banal conformity to praise an everlasting legion.
Sacrifice is that mysterious point of contact between worlds apart,
Killed and consummed on the altar for gods' nourishment, our heart.
Dependence on the supernaturals insures continued benevolence,
Antidote to acting out inappropriate aggression and violence.
Seriously expressing our in-tensions, acknowledging proper position,
Constantly reminds us of unseen powers, our duty and mission.
In a sacrificial system, that which has been made holy, consecrated,
Is, at once, the ultimate gift--that devotion the act of atonement.
It drives away evil cravings, spiritual rather than physical,
Translated now from vision into live performance ritual.
You and the Other are one; two aspects of the same life,
Out of death springs new spiritual life, to ease emotional strife.
Depression, rage, and violence will find their own honorable cure,
Protecting and serving keeping us sheltered from carnage and secure.
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