Friday, 25 January 2013


The bridge betweene hunter and farmer is the Demeter-Kore myth.

The myth becomes highly elaborate {Eleusinian} weaving sex and death together, promising re-birth, wisdom and a personal encounter with the divine.

Next Plato.

The Mysteries become as cheap thrill
Philosophy one, true and rigorous way to apprehend the truly mysterious.

And then where?
Where did Persephone go?

John Dee is as far as I've travelled: The Consecrated Little Book of Black Venus.

But now?

Now we have the Black Madonnas and onwards ever onwards to La Calavera Catrina,  and Mictecacihuatl.

The Blushing Bride.
By David Harrington.

Are you there my Blushing Bride or have you lost your way?
Is that you up ahead?
For I do not recognize you amidst such folly. Where was it you stumbled, what caused you to sway?
And where are your prophets to rekindle the flame?

The dim glow of your candle can barely be distinguished at the end of the tunnel.
You are like a ship lost at sea alone in the dark, going around in circles always missing the mark.
You were once a pretty young princess adorned with precious stones. Now you just cower in the corner like a sack of broken bones.
Lush palaces and mile long halls once opened wide to greet you. Noble kings and princes bowed their heads to meet you.
For years you endured through an incredible plight. Through tears you stood up and fought for what's right. But look at you now trembling with fear. Have you no heritage, have you forgotten your name? And where are your merits, have they all disappeared?
No fancy facade can disguise your barrenness, no towering spire can overshadow your lowliness. Your walls are shaking, your foundation is cracked: Fragile as an eggshell the blocks were stacked.
With humility you rose, in vanity you'll fall. But what's you going to do when the Master calls?
And where are your apostles, have they all gone to sleep?
When the wolf comes a prowling do they scatter like sheep?