In the realm of the deathless a realm of light. The serpent is the garden of paradise. I who have lived submerged, a thousand feet beneath the ground. Hemmed- in- on -all – sides, yet embraced . . . by the heavens, look! See, the brilliant gold of...
In the alchemical tradition of Maria Hebraea, “Two are one, three and four are one, one will become two, two will become three, and out of the third comes the one as the fourth.” [1] Of things seen, of things heard, Touched, perceived, of things so deeply...
My house with its myriad altars, the ancestors, and the hearth fire burning, the darkness no longer as impenetrable a barrier for crossing over. The turning about, the moon, outside, a sliver of cool white fire, an edge through which midnight imperceptibly enters....
I imagine the ancestors, as fragments of the dead, an old story. The bits and pieces of their remembrance. The blue-black body of one long gone, who year after year, in his dark embrace. each night, the myriad ones who, take me down. I, who am absorbed, soaked...