“But seen from out here everything seems different. Time bends. Space is boundless. It squashes a man's ego. I feel lonely. That's about it. Tell me, though. Does man, that marvel of the universe, that glorious paradox who sent me to the stars, still make war against his brother? Keep his neighbor's children starving?”- Charlton Heston, Planet of the Apes.
“LOVE LIETH AT THE CENTER.”- Pascal Beverly Randolph
The space has been cleared; consecrations performed, mirror affixed above or just behind us. Petitions made and act well under way.
I can feel my partner against me, her breath and voice soft and sonorous as she leans in closer. Eyes peering upwards, into the mirror. Physiological sensation has gone through the roof; everything touched feels extremely hot or cool, but all intensely pleasurable. “What's happening?”
I am starting to hear the voice from afar as the walls drop away; the desire to dominate, control, or even shape the experience fading distantly into the background as the body relaxes. The stirring starts at the loins and pelvis; red-white-hot, coiling and slowing rising not unlike a serpent. It drifts up along the solar plexus and there's an intense sensation of glowing gold emanating from that point. It rises to the boundless field of the heart.
Something is stirring in the mirror, just behind view.
Geometric shapes and configurations are flashing from the mirror to mind's eye. Trying to focus, speak, and also experience simultaneously. She refuses to look into the mirror on this occasion; we've agreed to just focus on one of us first, with the other reinforcing. Mental and emotional insecurities are fading away, ecstatic joy surging forward as the heat and force rise. Throat now; it seems like the patterns are getting brighter, coalescing together.
A sensation like being weighted down; experiencing the moment as completely as possible. No worries left now – no more internal chatter. Am I loved, doesn't even cross the mind as there is the joy of knowing love for one's self, for another, and the recipricated ecstasy.
There is a face in the mirror, now, but it is not mine. Rather it's a mask, glassy eyes and form hidden from behind. The spirits have no back. It opens it's mouth as vines are wrapping around it; blooming flowers and honey dripping from beneath. “Ecstasy is only the beginning!”
Which was saying which? Was it saying the words to me, or were my lips forming the words in union? The sensation has crossed from betwixt the eyes and is surging towards the crown.
The movement of forms, ours together, is coalescing now. The mask has descended, and suddenly I'm out of body and almost into the mirror. I know I haven't moved much beyond the usual, but I've shot through the plane of glass and somewhere else.
Hillsides of grass. Purple flowers blooming. Ruins adjunct and off to the left. Other forms, other souls, other – fellow – travelers. Someone I knew before, in some other place or time, approaching slowly.
But it's suddenly backwards. Her voice breaching the sudden immersion. “It's... close...”
Snapping back forward, hard. Hillsides, rivers, lakes, oceans passing beneath and rapidly. Towards the end goal, the moment, the reason all has come together.
The sensation like a thousand doors are battering open and shut, all around, at once. A sound like the wind, and then, the cacophonous caws of gulls or ravens above.
Back now, mask and feeling of intense presence receding now as quickly as they had come together. Just the stirring, ecstatic, joyous love for one's partner left. Eyes peering into one another – were her's always so dark brown and beautiful?
Lips together, last words as she slides down tiredly. There will be closing to do, but it can wait. Something has to be said first.
“I love you, you know. I think I've always loved you, and even after this comes to an end, I still will love you.”
The goal of course could have been anything: healing, spiritual communion, or the grossest application of thaumaturgy possible. But the end result is always the same. Love, will, desire, momentum and expression to be combined as fit.
Tell me, O' Magus, would you incarnate a new wish? And if living in that wish was only possible by change, would you simply enjoy the experience and make the change?
Love and growth can often combine, coincide, work together. Why stick to the same stale, sad, poisonous patterns when you can look askance and elsewhere, seeking what is needed and beloved by yourself and others?
“However great your reach, whatever you touch, shall touch flesh!”- Austin Osman Spare, The Logomachy of Zos.
“Hear me, illustrious father, dæmon fam'd. Great Saturn's [Kronos'] offspring, and Sabasius [Zabazios] nam'd; Inserting Bacchus, bearer of the vine, and founding God, within thy thigh divine, That when mature, the Dionysian God might burst the bands of his conceal'd abode, And come to sacred Tmolus, his delight, where Ippa dwells, all beautiful and bright. Come blessed Phrygian God, the king of all, and aid thy mystics, when on thee they call.”- Orphic Hymn to Sabazius.
“Heav'nly [Ourania], illustrious, laughter-loving queen, sea-born, night-loving, of an awful mien;
Crafty, from whom necessity [Ananke] first came, producing, nightly, all-connecting dame:
'Tis thine the world with harmony to join, for all things spring from thee, O pow'r divine.
The triple Fates [Moirai] are rul'd by thy decree, and all productions yield alike to thee:
Whate'er the heav'ns, encircling all contain, earth fruit-producing, and the stormy main,
Thy sway confesses, and obeys thy nod, awful attendant of the brumal God [Bakkhos]:
Goddess of marriage, charming to the sight, mother of Loves [Eortes], whom banquetings delight;
Source of persuasion [Peitho], secret, fav'ring queen, illustrious born, apparent and unseen:
Spousal, lupercal, and to men inclin'd, prolific, most-desir'd, life-giving., kind:
Great sceptre-bearer of the Gods, 'tis thine, mortals in necessary bands to join;
And ev'ry tribe of savage monsters dire in magic chains to bind, thro' mad desire.
Come, Cyprus-born, and to my pray'r incline, whether exalted in the heav'ns you shine,
Or pleas'd in Syria's temple to preside, or o'er th' Egyptian plains thy car to guide,
Fashion'd of gold; and near its sacred flood, fertile and fam'd to fix thy blest abode;
Or if rejoicing in the azure shores, near where the sea with foaming billows roars,
The circling choirs of mortals, thy delight, or beauteous nymphs, with eyes cerulean bright,
Pleas'd by the dusty banks renown'd of old, to drive thy rapid, two-yok'd car of gold;
Or if in Cyprus with thy mother fair, where married females praise thee ev'ry year,
And beauteous virgins in the chorus join, Adonis pure to sing and thee divine;
Come, all-attractive to my pray'r inclin'd, for thee, I call, with holy, reverent mind.”- Orphic Hymn to Aphrodite