Wednesday, 29 March 2017


One more precious story I had preserved on my hard drive.

SOON after the creation of the world, God created a fair maiden and gave into her charge all the birds beneath the heavens. This was Lindu, the lovely daughter of Uko, who knew the paths of all the birds of passage, whence they came in spring, and whither they went in autumn, and appointed to each his dwelling. She cared for the birds with  a tender heart, like a mother for her children, and gave them her aid whenever it was possible; and like a flower in the morning sunlight under a thousand dewdrops, so brightly shone Lindu in her motherly care for the birds.

 Therefore was it not surprising that all gazed upon her and loved her. Every one desired the maiden as a wife, and suitors came in crowds. The North Star drove up in a grand coach drawn by six brown horses, and brought ten presents. But Lindu gave him a sharp answer. “You must always remain at your post, and cannot stir from it,” said she.

 Then came the Moon in a silver coach drawn by ten brown horses, and he brought twenty presents. But Lindu refused the Moon too. “You are much too changeable,” said she, “and yet you always run in your old path, and that won’t suit me.”

 Scarcely had the Moon taken a sorrowful departure than the Sun drove up. He rode in a golden coach drawn by twenty gold-red horses, and brought thirty presents with him. But all his splendour and magnificence and rich presents went for nothing; for Lindu said, “I don’t like you. You always run on the same course day by day, just like the Moon.”

 At length the Northern Light came from midnight in a diamond coach drawn by a thousand white horses. His arrival was so splendid that Lindu went to the door to meet him. His attendants carried a whole coach-load of gold and silver, pearls, and jewelry into her house. And the bridegroom and his presents pleased Lindu so much that she accepted him at once, saying, “You don’t always travel the same path, like the others. You set out when you will, and rest when it pleases you. Each time you appear in new splendour and magnificence, and each time you don a new robe, and each time you ride in a new coach with new horses. You are the fitting bridegroom, whom one can receive with joy.”

 Now they celebrated their betrothal with great splendour. But the Sun, Moon, and Pole Star looked on sadly, and envied the happiness of the Northern Light.

 The Northern Light could not tarry long in the bride’s house, for he was obliged to journey back towards midnight. But hefore his departure he promised soon to return for the wedding, and to carry p. 150 the maiden to his home in the North. In the meantime she was to prepare her trousseau and get everything ready for the wedding.

 Lindu now waited and made everything ready. One day followed another, but the bridegroom came not to hold a joyous wedding with his bride. The winter passed away, and the warm spring adorned the earth with new beauty, then came the summer; but Lindu waited in vain for her bridegroom; nothing was seen of him.

 Then she began to lament bitterly, and sorrowed, day and night. She sat in the meadow by the river in her bridal robes and white veil and the wreath on her head, and from her thousand tears sprang the little brooks in the valley. She did not heed the little birds who flew about her head and shoulders, and sought to soothe her with their soft blandishments, nor did she remember to direct their migrations to foreign parts, and to care for their nurture and food. So they wandered about and flew from place to place, not knowing what to do or where to remain.

 At length the news of the maiden’s distress and the needs of the birds came to the ears of Uko. Then he resolved in his heart to help them all, and ordered the winds to carry his daughter to him, away from the misery of the world. While Lindu was sitting on the ground weeping and lamenting, the winds sank down before her, and lifted her so gently that she herself perceived it not, and bore her away to heaven, where they set her down on the blue firmament.

 There dwells Lindu still in a heavenly pavilion. Her white bridal veil spreads from one end of the heavens to the other, and he who lifts his eyes to the Milky Way beholds the maiden in her bridal robes. From thence she still directs the birds on their long migrations; from thence she still gazes towards midnight at the other end of the heavens, and waves her hand in greeting to the Northern Light. There she has forgotten her sorrow, and her former happy life reawakens in her heart. And when winter approaches, she sees with joy that the Northern Light visits her as a guest, and asks after his bride. Often he rises up to her, and, heart to heart, renews the bond of their love. But they may not hold their wedding. Uko has stationed the maiden in the heavens with her bridal robe and veil, and the bridegroom cannot carry away his love from her seat. Thus has Uko in his wisdom determined, and thus has the Milky Way arisen.


October 7th, 2009.

I saw Death.

He sat alone at a table in McDonald's; I was there because my daughters then aged three and four both thought The Happy Meal a truly happy thing.

And Death was there.
I knew it was he because of the black line around him, the intensity of darkness, the excessive gravity.

I ignored him, but was secretly pleased to see the guardian of dissolution. A reminder that the gates may be located in the most unlikely places.

In my dreams Death's servant took me to the Golden Man. In real life I watched the Golden Man step across a cable -a sizzling line of high frequency- and transform into Lucifer.

Alas, just one more fallen angel seeking transcendence: the Lord of Absolute Zero, the beloved of god in exile, promising unimpeded gigavolts...


Heaviness and talk of plutonium, the symbol of the black hole (a modern version of the older black sun). I think the first thing I ever read by Maggie Macary was an untwisting of its heavy braids of darkness, she wrote the black hole into meaning, portraying the horror of the frozen images, and forever located *The Palace of Stasis* on the event horizon.

Maggie never wrote out the other symbol of plutonium, the blue fire. James Hillman mentions it, but never directly.

I quote from James Hillman:
Building the psychic vessel of containment, which is another way of speaking of soul-making, seems to require bleeding and leaking as its precondition. Why else go through that work unless we are driven by the despair of our unstoppered condition?
The shift from anima-mess to anima-vessel shows in various ways: as a shift from weakness and suffering to humility and sensitivity; from bitterness and complaint to a taste for salt and blood; from focus upon the emotional pain of a wound - its causes, perimeters, cures - to its imaginal depths; from displacements of the womb onto women and "femininity" to its locus in one's own bodily rhythm (Blue Fire 161).

I am wary of doctrines that seem to elevate suffering, the metaphor of beating gold to increase its purity and yet it is true; writing is hard work and I know of no other way to see in the dark.

But back to the subject; psychic plutonium has two allotropes, the first ascends from the realm of Pluto, it is found on the earth anywhere; even in McDonald's. It is experienced as a force acting upon the soul. It compels the writer to write, it compels the victim to turn to the doctor and ask for help, it is the sensation of wolves and smells of decay.

It is not Prima Materia.

Psychic plutonium is rich and powerful, lethal and deceiving. Prima Materia is found within oneself, plutonium exists outside of oneself and within this world and when a woman goes to bed with it, she sleeps with Death. She is his partner.

All who walk between worlds must sleep with death.

Of course in the past there was no word for plutonium, no dreaming of the spinning atoms, the fragile neutrons and their demonic transformations, no image of Hiroshima, no knowledge of black rain (I don't mean the film....).

But there was always an apprehension of luminosity within darkness. The periodic table sets out many rich dishes of metaphor...

The second allotrope is a transformation of state -from solid to plasma- the atoms no longer arranged in universes, instead there is a cloud of bright energy.

When people find plutonium some consume it willingly, others in ignorance; I belonged to the latter. I had been contaminated, experienced the heavy-black line that signals its presence, but I had no idea that I'd been so fortunate; for plutonium brings ghosts in its wake. Its gravity warps the borders between the worlds, and the colours I tasted were mauve and pale blue, silver and black; the taste was of smoke and metal, sandalwood and orange. I let ghosts slip between my legs, my subtle channels enriched with the gift from the underworld. Within me plutonium existed as plasma; blue fire.

But something happened and the plutonium switched states; became the heavy-metallic form.

When I lost my Beloved.

Hard drive lost restore to the Net.

It seems fitting that Persephone / Inanna stories are lost from the Net, but remain preserved, hidden in hard drives until the time is right and someone (me) inadvertently stumbles upon a dusty file and re-posts!

The following piece is a creative interpretation of the myth as recorded by Raven Grimassi in Italian Witchcraft.

The world seems to me to be a colorless place, bereft of yellows and blues, greens and reds. Gray and brown is all that remains, pieces of dark color that blow and crumble in the fading light. No color here, just death’s rotting hunger consuming what remains of the light. Each day, the light dims more and more, the splendor of the great sun bleeding away into the sunset. Dim also are my emotions; they bleed into the sunset, the colors of love and joy fading, dead flowers on the barren ground.

I do not feel the pain. I feel nothing, no grief or pain, no joy or merriment.  And I too, feel as if my life is sinking into the dull, empty dust, crumbling like the faded leaves as they drift in the wind. No purpose. Profoundly alone with no direction, just a single leaf carried from place to place, losing bits and pieces as it slowly disintegrates. Why am I here in this liminal world of decay? Why remain in a place that is fractured in the fading light. Why be here?

He is gone. The words escape the clinging tension of my teeth. The emptiness of my breath fills for a moment the space and then withdraws, leaving more of nothing behind. I am alone - my love, my life is gone, taken by cruel death far from me. I ache inside, but the emotion cannot be released. There is no outlet here for such as I, no place to cry, no ears to hear the scream, no witness to the pain. I need darkness to enclose me, a forgetting of the dim light for a time. I need to know why. Why he is gone? Why all light fades and dies? Why life itself no longer holds pleasure? There is no answer here and I am half-sick of shadows[i].

“I would know of all things”, I think to myself, “ of death and life and why the light fades and joy is gone”.  So in my boat I climb, the boat we had made in the joyful light amidst the flowers and new growth of the season. Cut from the sturdy oak of the primal forest, it surrounds and comforts me as if I am still in his arms. I lay down as if to sleep, perhaps as if to die, the dead leaves dressing my hair, a bridal veil[ii]. I gaze up into the sky, my own skin pale now as the dying sun, tears falling yet not warming the coldness of my cheeks. With the river I slowly drift from this world, descending down, down to the land of no return, the region of darkness, to the house whose enterer goes not forth, to the road whence the wayfarer never returns[iii] My limbs grow heavy , my breath icy and labored, the blessed boat stops.

As one asleep, I climb from that sweet vessel, stumbling over hard rocks and dust, never noticing their bruising impact on my soft skin. In front of me now stands a fearsome stone gate, with cruel iron locks and a demon so fierce that I tremble under his gaze. In my hand, tightly held and forgotten was my scepter, a simple wand of willow, cut long ago when life still seemed green. I stand at the gate and command with my wand, “Fearsome guardian, open this door, for I will know of death and all things in the darkness.” He merely laughs, a low, rumbling laugh as he stares at me. “Give me your scepter Lady,” he demands, “your power must be handed over if you are to come before the Dark Lord!”  I pause but a moment and then with a soft gasp and a trembling hand, I hand the guardian my beloved willow wand and felt the powerlessness of all those who come to this dark realm of death.

Quickly now, I pass through the gate, descending down a long, narrow path, its edges precarious, but I do not care if I fall. Deeper and deeper into the darkness till once again, I stand before a large stone gate, the guardian sitting high atop a pylon, his red, red eyes burning into me.  Tall and regal, I stand before him and command with all my authority, “Fearsome guardian, open this door, for I will know of death and all things in this dark, desolate place.”  He merely laughs at me and whispers seductively, “Lady, you may not come before the Dark Lord bearing the crown of upper-world authority. For kings and queens of that world are as peasants in this world as all must bow to death.”  I pause but a second and removed the crown of dead flowers and myrtle leaves from my brow. I no longer care for such trifles and am weary of its weight. He smiles slyly and opens the gate, the iron hinges creaking and crying in this dark soundless place.

I pass on, feeling those red, red eyes on my back, and yet never turning.  The air feels heavier to me now, as if the pressure of so many drifting, listless spirits close around me. Then suddenly, looming out of the darkness is yet another gate. Like the others, it was heavy stone and now carved with curious runes and symbols that I fear to understand.  My hand goes to my throat, clutching the necklace of pearls that feel so warm in my hand, a remembrance of sunlight on the water. A guardian tall and broad stands blocking my entrance, a smirk on his face.  I hold the precious pearls against my throat, their radiance shining even in this gloomy darkness and quivering before him, I command, “Third guardian, I do not fear. Open this door, for I will know of death and all things in this dark, desolate place.”  He smiles, a slow, grim smile and smirks again, “Lady, you must surrender those precious pearls for no one may come before the Dark Lord touting vain symbols of worldly wealth.” Softly I gasp and then quickly unclasp my necklace and hand it to him, wishing to be far away from this loathsome one. The demon laughs as his dirty hand grabs the shimmering pearls and  he opens the gate.

This time I rush forward, my courage beginning to fade as I fall further into the darkness. I can hear the sounds of restless ones around me, begging for me to see them, and yet I dare not look. I move as quickly as I can, stumbling yet again over the rough surface until I once more come to a cruel, stone gate.  Its guardian sits cross-legged, sharpening a barbarous blade. He looks up at me curiously as if I am no more than a beggar and barks at me, “No one enters the realm of the Dark Lord bearing tokens of another world,” and he points the blade at my ring.  Tears fall from my eyes as I remove the precious ring from my left finger, the token of love that is forever  lost and can never be regained.  I throw the ring at him and command, “Take this token, cruel one and open now this gate, for I will know of death and all things in this dark, desolate place.”  He places my ring in his pocket and slowly opens the gate, his blade pointing threateningly at the way down.

I choke a cry, not wanting him to know how fearful I am as I move forward into the darkness.  Nothing is left, I think to myself, for all I love has now been taken. To the fifth gate I run, determined now to end this journey and find the answers I seek. Once more, I stop at a large stone gate, and demand of the guardian, “What must I give you to pass, for I will know of death and all things in this dark, desolate place.” He calmly smiles at my breathless demands and whispers, “Your starry girdle, Lady, that sash which binds you to your world. For none may stand before the Dark Lord who is still bound to the upper world.” I quickly untie the sash and hand it to him as he moves aside and lets me pass, his filthy hands fondling the soft silk.

This time, I do not stop, running as fast as I can till I come to yet another guarded gate. Weary is my pounding heart, the sound filling the emptiness of the gloomy tunnel. Tears stream down my face as I beg, “Please, I will know of death and all things in this dark, desolate place. How can I pay you to pass this gate?” “Your sandals, Lady,” he smugly replies, “for the only path you walk here is the path of death.” With trembling hands, I unfasten my sandals and throw them at the monstrous guardian, rushing quickly by him, fearful that I can go no further if I pause but a moment.

At last, I come to the final gate, it’s stone portal higher and stronger than any I had yet encountered.  Barring the way is the captain of all guardians, his helmet encrusted with skulls, his sword bloodied and drawn.  I cry out in anguish, “Let me pass, for I will know of death and all things in this dark desolate place.”  “Your gown, Lady,” he growls, “ for no one approaches the Dark Lord with such artifices and coverings.”  Slowly I remove the gown, stepping out of it and handing it to him. For nothing may be received unless something is given in returned. He moves aside and I pass into the Underworld.

In the world of shadows, I stop.  There, there in the darkness is the He who is the Shadow, the dread Lord of all death and decay.  I tremble, as I stand naked before him, flinching as he approaches me. I do not understand when he suddenly kneels and lays his crown and sword at my feet.  He begs me to stay with him and feel his touch upon my heart, and I move back from him repulsed.  I cry out a curse to he who causes all to wither and die, he who has taken all that I love from me. How dare he think that I could ever love one such as he?

Sadly, the great Lord shakes his head and whispers that I know him not, that he is not responsible for age and fate which causes the withering of life and the death of all men and all things. “Lady,” he whispers to me, his dark, dark eyes filled with sorrow, “I give them rest peace, and strength so that they may dwell with the spirits of the moon for a time and then return once more to the world of light and life.”  The great Dark Lord pleads with me to stay and love him.

But I cannot love him. I can never love one as loathsome as he and standing haughtily before him, I deny his request.  He whispers, “then you must kneel and accept death’s scourge.”  I fall to my knees with no hesitation and I demand my fate, for I have come to know death and death I will know.

Oh! Oh! With such a tender hand, the Dark Lord scourges me and I suddenly feel for the first time the pain I have hidden from myself.  I am alone, totally and profoundly alone.  And in this pain, I look into his dark, sad eyes and I realize that he too is profoundly alone.  In that moment of recognition I see that he and I are indeed different and yet the same.  My heart suddenly bursts with love and compassion for one so tender and yet so profoundly alone.  I cry out with love, “I know your pain.”.

Gently he raises me up and makes me his queen. Five kisses he places upon my body in the form of a star, opening the way to knowledge and joy.  Then he takes me in his arms and teaches me the mysteries of life and death as I teach him the mysteries of rebirth through the sacred chalice of love.

“For there are three mysteries in the life of Man which are, Sex, Birth, and Death (and love controls them all). To fulfill love, you must return again at the same time and place as those who loved before. And you must meet, recognize, remember, and love them anew. But to be reborn you must die and be made ready for a new body. And to die you must be born, but without love you may not be born among your own.”[iv]

Together we join in love. For a time, I stay with him and in that dark, holy place, I learned of death and love and joy. So, I teach you now, how death reveals the way to love and union and how the circle is the mystery, which lies between the world of men and the gods. Love and be loved, children and live in joy and peace. But know too the profound loneliness of death and the sweet, healing surrender of darkness.


[i] Like the Lady of Shallot, who can only see the world of shadows, this Lady is also weary of being in a shadow land.

[ii] There is an older mythos at play here, one that is an ancient primordial motif of the bridegroom, who is death, abducting the virgin. “Seen from the viewpoint of the matriarchal world, every marriage is a rape of the Kore the virginal blossom by Hades, the ravishing earthly aspect of the hostile male” (Neumann 62).

[iii] Taken from the myth of Ishtar and her Descent.

[iv] Raven Grimassi – Italian Witchcraft

The Decent of The Goddess

Tana, our Lady and Goddess, would solve all mysteries, even the mystery of Death. And so she journeyed to the Underworld in her boat, upon the Sacred River of Descent. Then it came to pass that she entered before the first of seven gates to the Underworld. And the Guardian challenged her, demanding one of her garments for passage, for nothing may be received except that something be given in return. And at each of the gates the goddess was required to pay the price of passage, for the guardians spoke to her: "Strip off your garments, and set aside your jewels, for nothing may you bring with you into this our realm."

So Tana surrendered her jewels and her clothing to the Guardians, and was bound as all living must be who seek to enter the realm of Death and the Mighty Ones. At the first gate she gave over her scepter, at the second her crown, at the third her necklace, at the fourth her ring, at the fifth her girdle, at the sixth her sandels, and at the seventh her gown. Tana stood naked and was presented before Dis, and such was her beauty that he himself knealt as she entered. He laid his crown and his sword at her feet saying: "Blessed are your feet which have brought you down this path." Then he arose and said to Tana: "Stay with me I pray, and receive my touch upon your heart."

And Tana replied to Dis: "But I love you not, for why do you cause all the things I love, and take delight in, to fade and die?"

"My Lady" replied Dis "it is age and fate against which you speak. I am helpless, for age causes all things to whither, but when men die at the end of their time, I give them rest, peace and strength. For a time they dwell with the Moon, and the spirits of the moon; then they may return to the realm of the living. But you are so lovely, and I ask you to return not, but abide with me here."

But she answered "No, for I do not love you." Then Dis said "If you refuse to embrace me, then you must kneel to death's scourge." The goddess answered him: "If it is to be, then it is fate, and better so!" So Tana knelt in submission before the hand of death, and he scourged her with so tender a hand that she cried out "I know your pain, and the pain of love."

Dis raised her to her feet and said "Blessed are you, my Queen and my Lady." Then he gave to her the five kisses of initiation, saying: "Only thus may you attain to knowledge and to joy."

And he taught her all of his mysteries, and he gave her the necklace which is the symbol of rebirth. And she taught him her mysteries of the sacred cup which is the cauldron of reburth.

They loved and joined in union with each other, and for a time Tana dwelled in the realm of Dis.
For there are three mysteries in the life of man which are: birth, sex, and death (and love controls them all). To fulfill love, you must return at the same time and place as those who have loved before. And you must meet, recognize, remember, and love them anew. But to be reborn you must die and be made ready for a new body. And to die you must be born, but without love you may not be born among your own.

But our Goddess is inclined to favor love, and joy and happiness. She guards and cherishes her hidden children in this life and the next. In death she reveals the way to her communion, and in life she teaches them the Magick of the mystery of the Circle (which is set between the worlds of Men and of the Gods).

Above Stories from Ways of The Strega By Raven Grimassi

Tuesday, 17 January 2017

AltaVista Pentagram.

 DooM 3 pentagrams.

The blue one is the orange one Paintshoped.


I wish that I'd taken a screenshot of the ghosts corridor full of pentagrams / spawn points, it really was beautiful.

As to the meaning of the pentagram symbol?
Well in Doom3 and in Quake3Arena, the pentagram, the five-point-star, is a type of portal.

Regeneration: Spawn point in Q3A.

In Doom, the nasties warp in from hell on these red-orange devices, whilst you warp into and out of hell via blue ones.

In Q3A, spawn points spawn power-ups, the Quad etc. This indicates that the Quad is a demonic gift...Or some such...That the demonic power of the ID [see Forbidden Planet] can be used to great advantage by one fast and sure enough to seize the opportunity.

It is a lot of fun to treat all things as metaphoric-symbolically true and imbued with great and wondrous meanings.

But if you take another look....

From Wiki: The Dopefish is a fictional fish that originated in the fourth Commander Keen video game, Secret of the Oracle, released in 1991. The character has since evolved into a PC game industry in-joke, making appearances in games from Apogee's 1994 Wacky Wheels as well as titles as recent as the 2006 SiN Episodes: Emergence and 2007 Chili Con Carnage and more recently including 2011's Deus Ex: Human Revolution and 2012 Natural Selection 2.
Id logo.
ID actually stands for- ideas from the deep.
UAC logo.
From Doom Wiki: The Union Aerospace Corporation is the fictional multi-planetary conglomerate (possibly a megacorporation) that operates facilities on Mars and its two moons, Phobos and Deimos, where Doom takes place.
Original Doom  guy.

Grant Kendall.

We were trying to
KonMarie some more.

Photos and letters
And I found
A eulogy for Grant Kendall

Which ended with these words:
Most of us can not appreciate that which drove him to the desperate act of this week. We can pray that he has found the peace that has alluded him for so long.
I don't know who Grant Kendall was.
I texted my friend, because his eulogy was among the letter that she sent me...

And she doesn't know who Grant was, either.

I will never know how this man's life history as told at his funeral, has become tangled up with letters to me...

He was born in New York on May 8 1952.
He died on Tuesday January 23 in 1990 at the age of 37, in San Jose CA...

He left a poem
The least I can do is spin it forwards:

The Rain Tree.

There was a long hallway to the rear door
And in the door there was a small window
about six by six with wire mesh in it
so it couldn't be shattered.

And through the window I could see
A big field of cut dry grass and a large rain tree.
I would stand at the door for five minutes, maybe ten,
And then I would walk down the hallway
And through the rec room to the opposite side of the ward
Where there was set a bookshelf
-and a potted plant a top of it of the wondering jew
- variety.

There was a courtyard outside the barred window where
someone parked a motorcycle.

I would stand there before the window in an ache of
loneliness and desperation and solitude
And without words pray a longing to be released
To be well. 
To be free.

At times earlier in my life
When I had been institutionalized and found occupation
in my loneliness by standing in the sunlight
before the alter of a barred window
I would only ask in prayer for the freedom to enjoy a cup of espresso.

I would think how the coffee tasted
How the coffee house bustled with Bohemians
and of the comrades I had there.

But now there was none of that
No visualization of any object of desire
Only deliverance.

The drugs they had me on made it impossible for me to stand or sit still.

The short pause I made at the window before the courtyard

And the doorway down the long hallway was all I could manage.

After the passing of months the rain tree became God for me
And I would direct my wordless prayer to it.

The rain tree was majestic, and towering, and beautiful
in its complexity of knotted branches.

It seemed eternal.
And all knowing.

A witness to the comings and goings of these four walls.

Grant Kendall. 13th November 1989.