Tag Archives: mother

Egyptian Magic in Egyptian Magic by Florence Farr.

“Here we have a representation of a fully initiated ruler. Her Divine Powers are represented on her head-dress by the feathers of the Celestial and Terrestrial Truth; the orb of the Sun; the two Goddesses ruling the commencement and the fruition, represented by the horned and orbed uræii, symbols of beauty, life, and fierce protective motherhood; the ram’s horns of all-penetrating potency; the nemeses with the fiery serpent of prophecy and protection upright before her face.” [via]

In Nomine Babalon, XII

XII

O Babalon! Babalon! Thou mighty mother

That ridest upon the crowned Beast and no other!

Drunk on the wine of Your fornication,

I raise up the cup and adore Babalon!

In Nomine Babalon: 156 Adorations to the Scarlet Goddess

 

The Hermetic Library arts and letters pool is a project to publish poetry, prose and art that is inspired by or manifests the Western Esoteric Tradition.

In Nomine Babalon, X

X

Thou art one earth, the mother of all!

Thou art the womb from where man did first crawl

And where he returns when his life is gone!

I raise up the cup and adore Babalon!

In Nomine Babalon: 156 Adorations to the Scarlet Goddess

 

The Hermetic Library arts and letters pool is a project to publish poetry, prose and art that is inspired by or manifests the Western Esoteric Tradition.

In Nomine Babalon, VII

VII

Thou virgin so pure, it is Thee I adore,

Thou art seven in one and one in four!

O mother of nature, I thee call upon;

I raise up the cup and adore Babalon!

In Nomine Babalon: 156 Adorations to the Scarlet Goddess

 

The Hermetic Library arts and letters pool is a project to publish poetry, prose and art that is inspired by or manifests the Western Esoteric Tradition.

The Nameless Quest in The Gate of the Sanctuary from The Temple of the Holy Ghost (Collected Works, Vol I) by Aleister Crowley.

“The king did start,
Gripped my strong hands, and held me to his heart,
And could not speak a moment. Then he set
A curb of sorrow and subdued its dart.
‘Go! and the blessing of high God attend
Thy path, and lead thee to the doubtful end.
No tongue that secret ever may reveal.
Thy soul is god-like and thy frame is steel;
Thou mayst win the quest—the king, thy friend,
Gives thee his sword to keep thee—Gereth, kneel!
‘I dub thee Earl; arise!’ And then there rings
The queen’s voice: ‘Shall my love not match the king’s?
Here, from my finger drawn, this gem of power
Shall guard thee in some unimagined hour.
It hath strange virtue over mortal things.
I freely give it for thy stirrup’s dower.’
I left the presence. Now the buffeting wind
Gladdens my face—I leave the court behind.
Am I Stark mad? My face grows grim and grave;
I see—O Mary Mother, speak and save!
I stare and stare until mine eyes are blind—
There was no jewel in the ring she gave!” [via]

The queen has tipped her chalice …

The queen has tipped her chalice to my lips and her intoxicating contents run down my chest soaking my body in her scent

I have been anointed by the daughter of heaven and been named by her heir apparent to the kingdom of her for this moment

She is the mother of my lust and my tower topples under her toplessness only to rise again in anticipation of another impending confusion of tongues

And the babel of the workers as they rush in becomes a ritual song rising and descending without and within, above and below, solve et coagula

At her next touch I dissolve into nothing and then surge forth resolving into pure gold

She is an inspiration to greater and greater intention and the mystery of her religion is the secret sanctuary of my excess

Her dance inspires me to religion within the pylons of her temple and the hieroglyphics there in her inner precincts teach me all the secret spells necessary to survive another afterlife

I am her rememberer and she is my passage to the underworld, and we abide in the darkness lit by an inner light

My negative confession is nothing but stuttering and slips of the tongue in the shadows of her inner temple where the sacred waters are stored for the worthy worshippers to wash themselves

Going down in the dark, I am drowning in light

John Griogair Bell

 

The Hermetic Library arts and letters pool is a project to publish poetry, prose and art that is inspired by or manifests the Western Esoteric Tradition.