Nightbringer The Gnosis Of Inhumation
Death be my hierophant! Lay bare the paths to the
precipice. I would endure the torment of black Eden‟s
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-Mother‟s 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
Devil‟s 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 one‟s hands towards the image of the
Great Opposer and pass through the mirror to become one
with the reflection that hath become one‟s own, one‟s
absolute divinity.
