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A Terrible Fire Burns Inside Me

           A terrible fire burns inside me, such that I once rationalized all of my outrage and discontent as being the by-products of some great cosmic injustice or of a fundamental flaw that’s buried deep within the world itself, but now I can see the actual truth of it; I’m quite simply a natural born trouble maker. I was born to burn and rage and set lots of other things ablaze because that is simply who I am. We will never really be at peace, no matter who or what you may one day become, and for that I sincerely apologize. I had once thought that all of you could somehow be fixed, but now I see that all of this will only ever really end once either you or I have been broken.


           That’s really all I wanted to say tonight; that my general state of dissatisfaction is, ultimately, my own fault and no one else’s. Of course, that’s not to say that there aren’t truly egregious flaws to be found in this world, but I can understand and accept that there are a great number of beautiful things here as well; enough that one could, at least in theory, live so firmly entrenched among all of these wonderful things that he or she would almost never directly encounter, or even have to perceive, the bad.


           Yet what I want to explain is that this is an impossible dream for those like myself; we who were built to crave that which is forbidden, to fall in with bad men, to stay up far too late, to test our grace with drink and hard drug, and to never afford ourselves the plebeian luxuries of faith, trust, or optimism, and all other such petty panglossian assurances which are so readily relied upon by those whose insides don’t seem to smolder as ours do. We will be dangerous, increasingly more so in fact, until the day we die, and, even after that, I, at the very least, sincerely hope to remain so, here, or in any hell or heaven that will have me.


           Seen through my burning eyes, this world absolutely needs the contention we offer, and that’s why we must refuse to be calm, cool or collected; we must refuse to be complete; and we must most certainly refuse to be content. Contentment is the cowardly aspiration of the self-satisfied and the self-absorbed, those who fail to appreciate the fact that their discontent flows directly from the stillborn divinities that have been left to die inside us all; titanic forces that, despite these slow and painful suffocations, and the lack of any conceivable midwife, are somehow still gnawing and clawing at so many human hearts today.


           It’s not something that’s active in all of us of course, or even most. As a matter of fact, these days I don’t think many of the Old Ones survive the sterile pedagogies of most people’s childhoods. However, those who still know and who still experience the enormous hunger of which I speak can tell that something inside them is desperately fighting for its continued survival. I wrote this just to let mine breathe a little bit.


           The real question you all should be asking is, “What’s going to happen (or already has happened) to my own black flame?” I sincerely hope, if it's not too late, that you can also find some small way to let your own fires breathe. Namaste.

A War Hidden Inside Aquarius

           This morning I saw the Morningstar. It seemed so strong and noble; the last holdout of a proud celestial army of lesser lights, uncontested occupants of heaven under the gentle permissions of a lunar ruled night now all but rendered invisible before the fiery return of the Sun, with even this proud morning star soon to be snuffed out as well. What I find more intriguing is that, despite its name, it isn’t even really a star at all, but rather the planet Venus inflamed with the Sun’s glory. Whether one looks up and sees Venus, Jesus, Lucifer, or any of the other mythic figures that have been attributed to the Morningstar, one can’t help but take comfort from it’s lonely vigil at the sun’s inevitable return, at this typically peaceful moment in time when most people’s days will just be beginning, or, in the case of the Morningstar and I, where a long and licentious night finally comes to an end.


          Lately I’ve derived a great deal of comfort from the solid dependability of the sidereal cycles in general; from the moon’s wax and wane to the sun’s far slower journey from winter’s frost to summer sweat. I’ve been studying the myths and celestial forces associated with the cycle of the zodiac in great detail, unlocking a rich interplay of elements that seem to be engaged in an eternal struggle between darkness and light. Let me share with you a few of my impressions of this cosmic struggle.


          Most of the myths associated with the zodiac, particularly the winter signs, have to do with the gods various attempts to escape a great and terrible monster called Typhon (a titan often equated with the Egyptian god Set) by turning themselves into animals. The goat-fish of Capricorn is said to be the amphibious disguise of the god Dionysus, the fish-fish of Pisces are supposed to be Eros and Aphrodite, and even Zeus is said to have transformed himself into the ram of Aries in order to avoid the fight. Of course it is said that Zeus eventually rises to the challenge, yet then only to achieve a temporary stalemate, burying the Great Beast beneath an entire mountain until what I can only imagine to be the twilight of the gods.


          The myth behind Aquarius, the sign we find ourselves in right now, is even more interesting, as it’s about a great world flood. The story goes that this flood is caused by an abducted prince named Ganymede, who as a young boy found himself enslaved by Zeus to be his personal cupbearer and concubine. One day, when he had had enough, he poured all of the god’s ambrosia and all the waters of heaven out onto the earth. This flood myth, although seemingly unrelated to the deicidal threat posed by the titan Typhon, fits in nicely with the aquatic myths attributed to the other winter signs surrounding Aquarius. After all, how could the Gods have hidden from the final conflict with the great dragon if they didn’t have all that water to help conceal them?


          Ironically, I currently seem to only be able to underhand half of the zodiac’s cycle very clearly, as if my understanding of the parts of the year that rest on the other side of the sun are somehow obstructed by this temporal and spatial distance. I get a sense that there’s a battle to be fought between the Lion and the Scorpion, who appear to be symbols for the powers of both God and Man respectively, and it seems that this coward’s flood that we find ourselves in on this side of the wheel currently submerges both sides equally in the darkness of a temporary ceasefire.


          You may also find it interesting that it was the Archangel Uriel who was said to have warned Noah of the coming flood recorded in Genesis, a flood that was meant to wipe out the bastard children of the Nephilim and cleanse the world of their nigh-uncontrollable titanic power. What’s interesting about that is that the people of Noah’s line were hardly untouched by the otherworldly inheritance of these concupiscent angels and some scholars mark the preservation of his family as a last minute escape for these alien abominations from the flood’s almost certain destruction. Of course, I’ve always seen the effects of the flood as being more spiritual than physical, with the name Noah being simply a corruption of the Greek word for mind, Nous, and the ark serving more as a repository of secret and essential knowledge than as a literal ship, but that's just my take on things.


          A few weeks ago I mentioned the Ascension Day of the Archangel Uriel, who's a very interesting Archangel if I say so myself; it certainly makes sense that he, if anyone, would take a very strong interest in preserving the Nephilim’s offspring. Despite being known as both the Light of God and the Lion of God, he found himself reprobated by the Vatican High Council in 745 A.D., cast down with seven other angels for their parts in an old heresy that was regaining popularity at that time. Unlike Michael, Gabriel, or Raphael, the other three of four great Archangels said to stand before the throne of God, Uriel is nowhere to be found in the Bible, and today he is remembered by students of such things not only as an Earth Elemental but as the Archangel of the Underworld as well; how the mighty have fallen indeed.


          However, in the second book of the Sibylline Oracles, a blend of early Christian, Jewish and pagan prophecies, Uriel is still recognized as one of the “immortal angels of the Undying God,” who on the Day of Judgment "will break the monstrous bars framed of unyielding and unbroken adamant of the brazen gates of Hades, and cast them down straightway, and bring forth to judgment all the sorrowful forms, yea, of the ghosts of the ancient Titans and of the giants, the Nephilim, and all whom the flood overtook…and all these shall he bring to the judgment seat…and set before God."


          Clearly Uriel has an important role to play on Judgment Day; what is not clear from the wording of this particular prophecy is whether the Archangel Uriel will be breaking into Hell at God’s behest, or breaking out on behalf of the Titans, the Giants, the Nephilim, and all the rest who've been hidden away by the wrath of the flood for all these many years, bringing their undeniable dismay to divine consideration.

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