Demonstrated Angel
We invoke the demonstrated angel,
The demon striated, showing through layers of corruption and smut
Shining sacred spiritual light revealed where such has been worn away in its struggles-
But don't touch- unless you are ready-
Remember that even energy burns in the
Inferno cauldrons at the hearts of stars!
(You do want to be a star- don't you?
It doesn't come easy-
You're going to have to strain muscle and brain alike,
You're going to have to sweat to get to where you're going,
Or even just to where you think it is
And discover only a mirage
But again, remember- that it is an illusion
Does not mean that it is not in some ways
As real as anything else
All things, actions, decisions, all thoughts, all ideas
Have their consequence)
So here we stand staring into the Abyss
Feeling it staring back at us,
And those of us who have the courage, and the purity, to do so
(Many are the tales of those who have stood here before us
And proved themselves vain, spiteful, ignorant-
that is to say: flawed-
But so are we all, so it is not alone our imperfection-
And were blasted to cinders, the cinders blasted to ash,
The ash to ash of ash, and so forth,
Utterly destroyed in the summoning of
That which we summon now)
Those of us, I say, who have the courage, the purity, and the will
Stand here calling the demon swimming up from the murk
To enfold us in its wings and carry us where it will
Let me make a note here:
I have heard vainglorious fools claim to be
Masters, or mistresses, of chaos:
Chaos is not a thing to be tamed!
The best one can hope for is to be allowed to hitch a ride
And find it pointed the direction you want to go
That it doesn't go anywhere you don't want
That you can get off when you get there
(Chaos is sticky sometimes,
and may be of a different mind
As to your proper destination)
The best thing, then, is not to have a destination proper,
But the ability to recognize opportunity when it presents itself
Toward this end you might want to be working on
5 or 10 different things all at the same time-
Contrary to the workings of many of our endeavors, in this case,
The narrower you cast your nets,
The less likely you are to catch anything you want
So then, if you are at all successful in your chanting,
The angel that is to say the demon
Moils up from the deeps in response to your fervent prayer
O you best have prayed truly,
For you cannot later say that this is not what you asked for-
Perhaps not what you wanted, not what you expected,
Not what you hoped to make from it, but
Never: not what you asked for
You asked, and you more than asked, you
Begged, you pleaded, you wept tears darker than blood
hidden in darker night, or
Were you impetuous desperate enough,
Openly under noonday sun,
Yes: You asked for this
And in the angel's embrace, you find that you are-
Not necessarily at home, almost definitely not safe & secure,
Perhaps not even comfortable, not entirely, but:
Where you belong, if you have asked wisely and well,
Though you will never again fit into any mythology
You have not yourself written
& almost certainly plagued, if only occasionally, by curiosity of
What, who, how you might have been different otherwise
But it is too late now to know,
Even if you have been touched but once,
Even if you have been brushed by and denied the angel's full embrace,
Thus forever jealous of those whose lives show evidence of its fullness
(Though they may be likewise embittered in turn,
Seeing an even greater light emanating from some other)
Not all can bear up under this burden,
Though it be lighter than many cast aside to take it up,
For it can never be relinquished- not, "not so easily", but: at all
It may interrupt you at any time,
In the middle of conversation, at work when you don't have time
to get it all down,
While you are making love, or even
When you are answering the call in one direction
Only to be led by it in another
Some it shatters- some sooner, some later-
Do not think yourself immune just because
You have survived its initial embrace, or for years after-
For as long as you are enthralled there is no safety
'Til death come and lay you in the grave, immortalized
Through the produce of your faithful servitude-
Yes, I said servitude- for what else could it be,
When Chaos has no master,
And yet you ride?-
But think not that this makes you superior to any other,
Save in this alone
You will never be able to avoid wrestling with the angel
Every time it comes,
& you must, or be broken,
For the angel may be generous with its gifts when giving, but
It never gives away for free, and nothing bought cheap from it
is worth even what was paid-
You must wrest every prize granted from its hands, from its flesh, from it kiss-
You must wrestle, and you must not let go
Until you have won its blessing
That you have reached a certain point in your dealings with the angel means not
An end to labor, but a new beginning
& it is not over 'til no life, no thought, remains within you
& the angel will hurt you, sometimes, with its presence,
But always, & moreso, by its absence
'Til he come again- or she- I'm not always certain,
nor that it necessarily makes a difference-
& though you may come to hate the angel,
At times, or always,
You will always love him all the more
& every leavetaking will feel like an abandonment
'Til he come again,
& you will long for him to take you with him, even
Down into the darkness wherein he dwells-
And what of his life there?
Does he merely sit and brood, waiting your calling,
Or does he have a life of his own,
Work to do, that is
Interrupted by our summons?
We do not ask, and the angel speaks only of
What we should say or do
To fulfill the compact we have forged
Of tears and will and blood
& we who have wished wisely, who have sung our prayers purely,
Learn to bear proudly the scars of our struggles
& so we stand here, gazing into the Abyss, daring death,
Risking everything, to our very selves-
We may die figuratively, transformed into new beings
From our highest-waving hairs to the bottoms of our toenails,
Needing new names, like Yaakub made into Yisrael,
For we have filled and overgrown
The meanings of the old ones,
Or we may literally- DIE-
Because our words are taken as prophecy that must be silenced
To maintain the status quo-
If there is no death here, then I have not spoken truly,
Nor have I truly spoken-
Each of its turnings away from us is a victory,
But when it does come
We pray that it will be right here doing this,
And we will stand with fist upraised in affirmation,
Not against it, not against anything, but simply that:
I AM TRIUMPHANT !
*****
sometime 2009
The demon striated, showing through layers of corruption and smut
Shining sacred spiritual light revealed where such has been worn away in its struggles-
But don't touch- unless you are ready-
Remember that even energy burns in the
Inferno cauldrons at the hearts of stars!
(You do want to be a star- don't you?
It doesn't come easy-
You're going to have to strain muscle and brain alike,
You're going to have to sweat to get to where you're going,
Or even just to where you think it is
And discover only a mirage
But again, remember- that it is an illusion
Does not mean that it is not in some ways
As real as anything else
All things, actions, decisions, all thoughts, all ideas
Have their consequence)
So here we stand staring into the Abyss
Feeling it staring back at us,
And those of us who have the courage, and the purity, to do so
(Many are the tales of those who have stood here before us
And proved themselves vain, spiteful, ignorant-
that is to say: flawed-
But so are we all, so it is not alone our imperfection-
And were blasted to cinders, the cinders blasted to ash,
The ash to ash of ash, and so forth,
Utterly destroyed in the summoning of
That which we summon now)
Those of us, I say, who have the courage, the purity, and the will
Stand here calling the demon swimming up from the murk
To enfold us in its wings and carry us where it will
Let me make a note here:
I have heard vainglorious fools claim to be
Masters, or mistresses, of chaos:
Chaos is not a thing to be tamed!
The best one can hope for is to be allowed to hitch a ride
And find it pointed the direction you want to go
That it doesn't go anywhere you don't want
That you can get off when you get there
(Chaos is sticky sometimes,
and may be of a different mind
As to your proper destination)
The best thing, then, is not to have a destination proper,
But the ability to recognize opportunity when it presents itself
Toward this end you might want to be working on
5 or 10 different things all at the same time-
Contrary to the workings of many of our endeavors, in this case,
The narrower you cast your nets,
The less likely you are to catch anything you want
So then, if you are at all successful in your chanting,
The angel that is to say the demon
Moils up from the deeps in response to your fervent prayer
O you best have prayed truly,
For you cannot later say that this is not what you asked for-
Perhaps not what you wanted, not what you expected,
Not what you hoped to make from it, but
Never: not what you asked for
You asked, and you more than asked, you
Begged, you pleaded, you wept tears darker than blood
hidden in darker night, or
Were you impetuous desperate enough,
Openly under noonday sun,
Yes: You asked for this
And in the angel's embrace, you find that you are-
Not necessarily at home, almost definitely not safe & secure,
Perhaps not even comfortable, not entirely, but:
Where you belong, if you have asked wisely and well,
Though you will never again fit into any mythology
You have not yourself written
& almost certainly plagued, if only occasionally, by curiosity of
What, who, how you might have been different otherwise
But it is too late now to know,
Even if you have been touched but once,
Even if you have been brushed by and denied the angel's full embrace,
Thus forever jealous of those whose lives show evidence of its fullness
(Though they may be likewise embittered in turn,
Seeing an even greater light emanating from some other)
Not all can bear up under this burden,
Though it be lighter than many cast aside to take it up,
For it can never be relinquished- not, "not so easily", but: at all
It may interrupt you at any time,
In the middle of conversation, at work when you don't have time
to get it all down,
While you are making love, or even
When you are answering the call in one direction
Only to be led by it in another
Some it shatters- some sooner, some later-
Do not think yourself immune just because
You have survived its initial embrace, or for years after-
For as long as you are enthralled there is no safety
'Til death come and lay you in the grave, immortalized
Through the produce of your faithful servitude-
Yes, I said servitude- for what else could it be,
When Chaos has no master,
And yet you ride?-
But think not that this makes you superior to any other,
Save in this alone
You will never be able to avoid wrestling with the angel
Every time it comes,
& you must, or be broken,
For the angel may be generous with its gifts when giving, but
It never gives away for free, and nothing bought cheap from it
is worth even what was paid-
You must wrest every prize granted from its hands, from its flesh, from it kiss-
You must wrestle, and you must not let go
Until you have won its blessing
That you have reached a certain point in your dealings with the angel means not
An end to labor, but a new beginning
& it is not over 'til no life, no thought, remains within you
& the angel will hurt you, sometimes, with its presence,
But always, & moreso, by its absence
'Til he come again- or she- I'm not always certain,
nor that it necessarily makes a difference-
& though you may come to hate the angel,
At times, or always,
You will always love him all the more
& every leavetaking will feel like an abandonment
'Til he come again,
& you will long for him to take you with him, even
Down into the darkness wherein he dwells-
And what of his life there?
Does he merely sit and brood, waiting your calling,
Or does he have a life of his own,
Work to do, that is
Interrupted by our summons?
We do not ask, and the angel speaks only of
What we should say or do
To fulfill the compact we have forged
Of tears and will and blood
& we who have wished wisely, who have sung our prayers purely,
Learn to bear proudly the scars of our struggles
& so we stand here, gazing into the Abyss, daring death,
Risking everything, to our very selves-
We may die figuratively, transformed into new beings
From our highest-waving hairs to the bottoms of our toenails,
Needing new names, like Yaakub made into Yisrael,
For we have filled and overgrown
The meanings of the old ones,
Or we may literally- DIE-
Because our words are taken as prophecy that must be silenced
To maintain the status quo-
If there is no death here, then I have not spoken truly,
Nor have I truly spoken-
Each of its turnings away from us is a victory,
But when it does come
We pray that it will be right here doing this,
And we will stand with fist upraised in affirmation,
Not against it, not against anything, but simply that:
I AM TRIUMPHANT !
*****
sometime 2009