Wednesday, 27 September 2017

The Black Wedding

I hear a lot of bullshit about love.  That it's fleeting, or merely chemical, or wholly illusory.  We hold it up as something sacred, something truly beautiful, yet many of us spend much of our time ignoring, debating or squirming around it's existence.  In this age of cynicism and apathy talk of true love and its kiss are seen by many as cringeworthy, far too earnest and naive. Something for silly teenagers or woolly-headed hippies, or, at best, something for poets to wax lyrical about.  Fuck that noise.  To hell with that imperious, cowardly dismissal of Grace and her divine wisdom.  Whatever else I may be I am a romantic at heart.  I love passionately, without inhibition or apology.

Because I've seen love do amazing things.  Since I was a small child I've been fascinated by love, and love stories.  For me all stories are love stories.  And while romantic love is the jewel in that spiritual crown of mine, it is by no means the only form or power of love.  The deep and often painful love between family and friends, the delightful, unexpected tenderness that can be found between strangers.  Love is physical and spiritual all at once.  For me love is the kiss, the sword, the cross that unites Heaven and Earth.  It is the tangible and intangible working in concert.  It is a force and an outlook and a series of actions, emotions and ruminations that always expands the consciousness of those experiencing its mysteries.  And I've seen it.  I've felt it.  I've held that shimmering star of creation in my palm.  It burned me.  It scarred me, but it made me greater, wiser.  It made me a better man.  I would not still be here without its tempering, empowering grace.  

I don't know about you, but in my world darkness finds a way to invade and sully almost everything, but it cannot slay my love. That innermost radiance is beyond destruction.  Sure, the object of our affections can be taken from us - we can be agonisingly parted from our beloved - but nobody can tell us that radiance isn't real. Like all precious things love can be lost, it's true.  But through the honouring of that love - memory and experience made sacred - it can attain an immortality.  It's this incorruptible immortality that comes to you in the night, kisses your cheek with unbearable sweetness, bids you safe journeys and whispers that you are never alone.  Upon waking we often think such things are mere wish fulfillment, foolish romance.  Your love often smiles at this, knowing the depths of this secret that we try so often to deny, lonely but bashful in our innocence.  We can be broken, we can be damaged, we can be toxic and spiteful and raging.  But love saves us.  Love tells us that we are not reducible to a mere cliche, or a quirk of biochemistry, or a brief and meaningless swirl of carbon and starlight.  We are connected to the source, always.  So yes, love is dangerous and transformative.  It threads subject to object and nucleus to star.  It traverses veils and boundaries. Love is necromantic.  It can liberate the enslaved.  It can bring the dead to life.  And here, now, at this time, we are in need of the passions and wisdom of the dead, of those who still recall love's flame. Till death do us part, my beloved.  And even then, eventide presents no obstacle.  For in this marriage we find each other always, and ourselves.  Now, and Evermore.

Monday, 18 September 2017


Fallen, you wonder where we reside.  I shall tell you.  We reside on the very edge of promise, in telling stones, in mouths of weavers.  We reside in all the hopes of the faithful.  Do you think the kind-hearted are not cherished?  Did you think your dominion of desecration would last forever?  We have come among you.  Your absence idols lie bleeding upon your shattered altar.  What know you of the Magi?  Know you that we have angels in our midst?

To those suffering in darkness, to those righteous voiceless enslaved by monsters, we cry you are not alone.  We Magi tend your wounds.  We give you strength from an authority higher than these desolate archons.  You are not alone, beloved ones.  You shall be delivered from bondage into freedom.  Into the loving arms of your Creator.  Not death, but Life eternal.  Believe.

We Magi are not gods. We are but humble servants, warriors of the Innermost.  Callous Ones, you still don't understand.  Our Mother and Father made us of fire.  Child-killers, wraith-priests, vampire kings, ye pretend. Snakes, ye know nothing of Light.  For we are the true serpent kings, illumined.  And we have been serving God all along.  Holy holy holy

empyrean from Raj Sisodia on Vimeo.

Tuesday, 12 September 2017

The Cross of Ages

The truth of creation, as much as it can be put into words, is that spirits are using images and thoughts to either uplift or suppress other spirits. Concealing the divine fire that generates this imagery behind the images and thoughts themselves. Or revealing it, in the name of love and truth in every language. In my own personal Gnosis this fire is the true God and self and spirit. Ennoia, Logos, the Word. Thoughts and images are the dreams of that holy, radiant fire. So we find ourselves in a situation where the lowest individuations of God - the demonic archons as Gnosticsm calls them - are trying to pull the middling individuations towards themselves always, like the ravenous gravity of a black hole. But all is dreamtime, all is chorus and choir. The divine spark isn't absent from the heart of a vampire. The vampire merely wishes desperately that it was - in a futile and extended attempt at spiritual suicide. This can lead to monstrous imaginings; experiences, actions and hellscapes of all kinds. But the vampiric entity cannot sever itself from its own source. There is nowhere that is not here, not centre, not infinite. I tell you now in all seriousness this is a truth that drives demons mad, for they know the Creator hasn't forsaken them. For they are the unknowing Creator. As are we all.

All murder is suicide. Now and evermore. How many masks do you suppose an infinite being might adopt, having an eternity to imagine? So, you see, Samael is not God, but God is Samael. The devil and all his fallen angels are utterly blind, debased imaginings orbiting the dim but eternal star of Christos within them. We who are kind and good rage against the dying of the light whilst those who are full of evil rage against its quickening and rebirth. They cannot remove the crossing, all they can do is ignore it or weaponize it. Attempt to turn it into a tool of slavery and torture rather than the aperture of emancipation. The cross is the eye and mind and word of the true God, greater than all our dreams and stories of him, or her. It is that which imagines, and feels, and loves. One cannot become a monster without weaponising it. An act of self-blinding. There is no place that spirit is not. Therefore, there is nowhere to hide. There is no imagined place that Spirit and spirits do not reside. A void or absence is dangerous and real however, because all images are real. A story within the dreaming of holy fire. There is no discontinuity in the flame. Dreams are literally real, but as we know they are also fictions. Know this and you can know all things. Know this to your very depths and you will love your brothers and sisters fiercely. Know this and you will dedicate your life to protecting them, to liberating them from the labyrinth of false imaginings imposed upon them by other spirits. The truth is that You and the Other both exist. You are both real. But you are both dreaming each other, in the heart of the fire. This is not to say that these dreams are not often incredibly intricate and horrifying and painful and seemingly mechanical, because they are. As I said, they are real. Dreams of universes, multiverses, worlds within worlds. Hierarchies are dreams too, but unseen spirits often employ them within their greater dreamtimes for social cohesion, just as we do here.

We the human race are not God. Not quite yet. We do not Know him well enough yet. But God is us, living and loving and laughing with us.  Weeping for our hideous cruelties and all we have forgotten. God is an interventionist. Terrible things happen because he values our freedom and our ability to choose even if we do not. Every day he dies for us. He protects our sovereignty and the thrill of discovery at all costs. But he is always intervening. In a smile, a kind word, a caress, a work of art, an inspiration. In this sense God is never distant. He and she is the most human of humans. Good-natured, a little saddened perhaps, but desperate to love and be loved. Brothers and sisters, go to your mirrors. Look deeply at your reflections and you will find him and her there. Battle-scarred, weary, mysterious, but still kind. Still playful.

Sunday, 3 September 2017

The Midnight Hour

Hi friends, welcome back to Amid Night Suns.  I’m sure that many of you feel like the world is a crazy, ugly place right now.  The world seems more divided and vicious than ever.  Dubious politics, engineered racism and hate, natural disasters, wars and black ops that we are so numb to by now that they kind of fade into the background. A friend of mine recently said something to the effect of, “Ugh, fuck all that shit.  Seriously, I can’t look at it anymore. It’s all so ugly and brutal and cartoonish.  This is the twenty-first century, for fuck sake. I thought we were all collectively better than this.”  It’s a sentiment I’ve heard from a lot of different people, in a variety of forms.  I feel your pain, people.  Always.  The world seems crazy and nightmarish at the moment.  I’m not surprised that many people feel like their hope and sense of purpose is at an all time low.  I can totally relate to that feeling.  The world I live in, from my own personal perspective, is far uglier than the world of my closest friends and family.  They want to believe that those with true political and economic power in this world have our best intentions at heart.  I wish this was so, but it hasn’t been my experience.  I live a fairly simple life.  I’m not really interested in money, acquisitions or status.  I’m interested in two things, I suppose.  Knowledge and Passion.  These broad terms cover a number of expressions.  Reading, writing, learning, creating art.  Figuring out how to be even more fiercely passionate, how to be kinder, gentler and more playful with those I hold most dear.  Trying to understand how I can best make people feel empowered and meaningful and truly loved.  You are all so cherished. 

I don’t know about you, but when I’m making art, or sharing laughter and food and drink with my dearest friends, or peering into the smiling eyes of a lover who feels both comfort and excitement in my presence – that’s when I feel closest to God.  Call it what you want.  Love, Empathy, Kindness, mutual recognition and affection.  It can take your breath away.  “Holy Fuck, this person actually sees me, and wants the best for me, and I feel thrilling and dynamic and accepted in their presence.”  This is the stuff that dreams are made of.  It’s the Creator’s holy elixir, I suspect.  None of us know how much time we have left on this Earth.  So, try to be kind.  Try to be graceful, and wise.  Don’t let predators and bullies abuse you, or those you love, but otherwise treat everyone with as much respect and camaraderie as you can muster in any given moment.  We all know that this is the real path of truth and light, and authenticity. You don’t need me to tell you that.  Don’t let politicians and charming sociopaths turn brother against brother, and brother against sister.  Fight for those you love, but always remember that cruelty is not strength. Cruelty is never necessary, but strength is always necessary.  Be a protector, not a hateful, divided and broken soul.  Time is precious, as is the warmth and hope and joy of your friends and families.  Go to them, break bread with them.  Kiss your lovers.  Be playful.  Laugh and fuck and dance, and recognize every measure of grace.  And make art.  Paint pictures, makes movies, write songs and poems and novels.  Make things with your imagination. Your loved ones will thank you for it, in time, even if now they appear disinterested or busy with their own struggles.  Because art is meaning, right?  Meaning bestowed by beauty, grace, elegance, intelligence and wit.  And these times might seem incredibly dark and scary and confusing, but we're all in this together.  Our selves and experiences are so, so meaningful.  Be of good cheer, if you can, even in your darkest moments.  All this too shall pass.  It might sound like an empty phrase, but it's not.  Everything changes.  Everything and everyone is struggling towards Light, whether they know it or not.  We are immortal beings, so even death and time are no match for this radiant insight, this holy gift.  Because in the end, Love conquers All.