Saturday, 29 July 2017


I think it's clear to most discerning individuals that we are living through an apocalypse of sorts, a revealing.  But also - and primarily - we are living within our heads.  Our thoughts, our imaginations.  I believe that it is here, at the place of the skull, that the real war rages.  However, our imaginations are not limited to that place behind our eyes.  Our imaginations are an infinite depth travelling through infinite depths.  But the skull is in some sense the symbol of our identities as sentient beings attempting to engage and negotiate with a living, haunted cosmos.  To be headless is to be liberated or annihilated, depending on circumstance and context.  We tell stories about the skulls of men and gods, and all the darkness and wonders therein.

None of us are mere mortals.  We are myriad; serpentine, angelic, older than the earth that sustains us. Some say there was a rupture, a breach, a fall.  Some say entities dark and monstrous came from beyond the veil, to remove the eyes and tongues of men.  I know this much; at least parts of these stories are true.  I have never and will never deny my own experiences.  I cannot speak authoritatively about the greater contexts in which these pieces fit, but I know the truths of the desolate places.  I've walked there myself, in vision and dream.  The wraiths know me now.  They call me Listen, and Midnight.  They say I'm a holy fool, and perhaps they're right.  But many of them stand now with the Ragged Magi.  Many of them know full well what is coming and have chosen to oppose the darkness that claimed and shaped them for so long.  Even in Hell we have choices.

I am just one among the many Magi.  We stand at the periphery.  We guard the gates.  Mind and Heart as one, skull and soul entwined.  We bear the ancient mark of the crossing; true love's kiss.  It is to this deepest radiance that we pledge our fealty.  We are your brothers and sisters, your children, your living and your dead.  We can speak the secret tongues of the Innermost, we can read the glyphs found etched in ruined dreamtimes.  And we will not let this realm fall to horror and blindness.  Not while Love is still living.  As lightning fell, so too shall it rise.  Here, at the place the war is waged. This place called Golgotha.

Golgotha from Raj Sisodia on Vimeo.