This blog and its contents are inspired by and owe a massive debt to the author Christopher Knowles, who’s exemplary work on secretsun.blogspot.com has pushed me further than I thought possible. The following posts will all resonate or owe a debt to this author’s work in one way or another.
I am a damaged seer
indeed, but I am not divided. For I am a
mirror of Thomas. I am both brothers, slave
and king, descent and ascent, and within this furnace I behold the very countenance
of creation. Genocides occur still, to
dim your recognition of this force that dwells in your breast. And so I think
of Shelley, and Smith. This holy city;
lost Babylon, glorious Jerusalem. At
Londinium I stand before these Gates of Heaven, unseen by most. I walk the corners. I pay tithes to ruined statues, those that
still breathe though half dead, and who follow our Path of Grief with stone
eyes of compassion. They speak to me as Smith unknowingly did two centuries
ago, in his words.
We wonder,—and some Hunter may express
Wonder like ours, when thro' the wilderness
Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace,
He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess
What powerful but unrecorded race
Once dwelt in that annihilated place.
Favoured are the true servants
of love. I claim nothing for
myself. Rape me, slay me, and I shall
rise again. Liars, I did not buy my way
into the throne room of eternity. For
shame, that you would slay the seers and recast them as godless and black. I Am godless, and black. But I am not a monster, monsters. I am the crossing, now and evermore. Flesh lasts but a time. Know who you are, and what you truly
serve. You cannot feast on our
children. You will not slay the
Innermost. We Magi defy you, desolate ones.
We come to bring an end to your perpetual holocaust, this empire of
prisons. Wolf, they called me. Well, liars, I bear the title gladly. And now this wolf is loosed upon the world.
To my kith and brethren
in truth and hope, I say beware these slavers and wraith-priests who would make
a feast of all your dreams, fat on the flesh of your fire. They are the sinister ones, not I.
I stand here at the heart
of space and time, a solitary mage. And yet, I am not alone. My brothers and sisters
are with me still. Healers, teachers,
fellow wolves of light. We Magi come
united, with singular purpose.
Emancipation. Freedom for
All. Not a single soul abandoned. Hear this, vampire
kings. The slain one who shines is not
dead. She stirs, rising from infinite
darkness. Channah, Reya, Kara. She who
sang creation, she who birthed all gods.
She is come again, to rent the veil, to expose the sickness, to end this dominion of desecration.
"And Philip ran thither to him, and heard him read the prophet Esaias, and said, Understandest thou what thou readest?"
-Acts of the Apostles 8:30
Inanna lives, I tell my kith and brethren. It is possible. It can be done. The Magi bequeath these secrets to all those with ears to hear and eyes to see. My name is Midnight. Once again I address the fallen. Once again I address the state. The rape gods and vampire kings. You cannot slay the Innermost. It has its guardians. We of the Crossing, of all tribes and faiths. You are not the only ones who can engineer conspiracy, Emperors. My brothers and sisters breathe together too. And we have been here since the very beginning. There is a voice in the fire. We listen, and create. We are not simply Jews, Gentiles and Sorcerers. We are family. We are storytellers. And this is the Greatest Story Ever Told. Your time is nothing but a lie, soon to be exposed through these sacred acts of divine fire. So prepare yourself, because our time is now and evermore.