Invocation to end paranoia
Sweet mother
Awilix, you blend with the night because you are the night. You live in all darkness, watchful and
waiting, the sky: too small to hold you.
Bear your teeth to light the path, your dripping bloody tongue. Push your fingers through my chest, stop
my breath. Peel back the skin, for
the face of your drum. Roll out my
intestines and wear them about your neck. Grind my bones between your teeth to make
your children dance. My blood,
your wine. My lungs, your
trumpet. Mother of demons who live
in all dark places, all haunted places, things impossible to understand. Mother of 22,000 breaths. The animator of tissue, the origin of
the current.
A painful
birth that almost killed you, this aether. The strange place of the half formed somehow between and
inside of everything. Mother of the beetle they call Kephra a pyramid and a
world away. Where he jumps your aether
collects, the half formed transform into the darkest of things, resting finally
manifest within the five directions. Where he jumps we break through great
resistance, finding a better way.
Bring madness and break me. Change itself, your image brings pain. You drip from above to the center of
the earth, rotating behind your ribs. Calamity and fortune, twins in the same
body, your horrible child. Your
dead husband planted his seeds, twins born from a crack in the serpent who
outlives eternity. Turn the heads of your child(ren), show their face, the same
face. Their forms overlap, bend, change, but remain the same eternally. The lookout changes, the red eyes of
the jungle smolder.
Your worship beats back aversion. Fear of the dark is your yantra, the smell of disease in the
feces of an animal your mantra.
Breathe deep, stop moving
and close the eyes, wait for time to pass. Never fear the dark and she will always sit next to
you. No body remains, no mind, no
self.
A splinter in the mind, the other entered. Does it watch? Do they watch? No one watches. No one cares. The center of the universe, so
crowded. Take all for your
master. The wind whispers its
secrets across the grass. The
insects speak in the night. Find
their message in the morning, written in the language of their footsteps
describing a path to the center of the tree. People speak in fragments that combine and
instruct. Invoke often. 40 days and 40 nights of silence,
listen carefully. Daily life
becomes a dream. Soon a lucid
dream.
Be still and the bricks tell you their story, show you their
secrets. To the world you stare at
the wall, unreachable. Channel
yourself into something, changed by everything. Extract information: bits and
pieces. Silence, stillness,
gnosis. Stillness at length
resembles pain, and pain teaches. Use movement and the structure of the body to discriminate,
lose the mind. An instrument and an appendix, gets in the way. The enteric nervous system, gut
instinct, sharpen this instrument instead. The future requires preparation as it happens.
Grab hold of the strands of what may come by honing the
ability to observe what sits in front of you. Your brain projects you outward and changes how you
see. Live in the prerecordings by observing trends that occur over time in your
own mind and the environment. In
this way, the present also creates the past.
