Chapter 19: Lunar Spirit
Shirley could not get comfortable; the baby was due any day. She had not seen Eagle Flying Bye for a few moons. She was feverish, falling in and out of awareness, dreaming, entering different dimensions between dreams and death …
As the shallow breath of life diminished, her perception became acquainted with the consciousness of Death, which came more and more to fill the vast empty chambers and rebuilt temples of her mind. This consciousness whispered its familiar secrets, stared at her from hollow skulls, or gazed with her at the endless vistas beyond this system of Satania, glimpsed between columns of variegated marble stained pink with the eternally setting sun: oceans of fire-kissed opal over which troops of delicate wood sprites danced; forests of violet and crimson-leaved trees, their canopies alive and swarming with iridescent winged creatures, dragonflies, butterflies, and glowworms, emitting and transmitting mysterious signals to bedazzled or hypnotized constellations.
And so she drifted in and out of imaginary worlds, down cerulean-hued rivers on ships of trumpeter-winged preternatural Barguest, with sails of billowing moonlight, then on to ebony funeral pyres bearing high- and low-borne corpses to Centaurus, Orion, and the Pleiades, their lifeless shells wreathed in thick incense, opulent lotus petals and apple blossoms trailing in their wake. She sailed on translucent sleighs of starlight, pulled by nebulous-haired djinns of deep space. She witnessed the hulls of collapsed planets and moons, formed of the burned-out husks of binary stars, on the backs of great China day dragons and the shoulders of celestial beings reflected in vast galaxies, who spread their wings that seemed to span immeasurable gulfs. She saw pixie faeries encased in a single grain of stardust as she was transported in the mouths of deities and zygotes, in the belly of Leviathan or the Behemoth, beneath the flickering tongues of ghouls and great invisible apparitions, or carrion-eating demons.
She was uncertain whether her mortal body still reclined in some trailer park in some remote wooded forest of earth, clinging to life by means of the cold washcloth pressed against her forehead at night. She hallucinated between sleeping and waking, trying to witness events unfolding around her. It being summer—a new cycle—the dark room was filled with a grayish mist, which introduced to the atmosphere a hypnotic effect. The room seemed to be moving, filled to its very perimeter with fear and dread until the walls gave way.
A voice spoke from behind the darkness; Shirley’s shallow breathing quickened.
“Where is the duad?”
A storm moved slowly across the horizon—thick, smoky clouds with five protruding funnels. It closed in on the small room, then disappeared. Three forms converged, appearing as one ghostly figure, and entered the room. Female, ghastly, but apparently human, the figure moved slowly towards Shirley.
“Where is the duad?”
The figure demanded to see a man-child. The old crone reached for an apparition, it became solidified, a boy-child. She searched its tiny body for the mark of Cain, but there was none to be found.
The three who appeared as one called themselves Norns. They disappeared into the darkness, emerging once more as five funnel clouds upon the water. Two men were in a fishing boat; the funnels lifted the tiny craft out of the water and sent it reeling to a place called Oannes, 19-66.
The men awoke and found themselves walking along a shoreline. The summer sun beat upon their bare heads and red shoulders. Around them, people wandered, milling about and looking awkward, stark, and mindless, like –zombies. The two men scrambled to escape from Oannes 19-66. They trudged through the hot sand of the beach, over dunes with withered sea oats, past the rotting carcasses of dogfish and snails, until they spied their boat floating at anchor near the shore. They jumped into it, hoping to make a getaway. Suddenly, the sky darkened once more.
The water began to swirl around, churning and rocking the boat to and fro. It pulled the craft upward into an inverted whirlpool.
Inside the whirlpool, the men could see creatures in many indistinct forms floating in the waters around the boat: half man and half fish—horrible, wretched, woebegone creatures. The men moved upward inside the whirlpool toward a distant light. It was a light enclosed in a shadow, far far away. They slowly circled toward it. Finally, they realized it was the moon, in all of its fullness, appearing as Demeter and giving birth. A form fell from the moon into the swirling waters; half man and half fish, it swam to the fishermen’s boat and flopped upon the deck.
“Duad!” resounded the cry from above. The Norns approached the boat with a lightning rod, speaking from behind the dark thunder.
“Where is the duad?”
The storm moved slowly across the horizon, just above the waters. Its thick, smoky clouds with five protruding funnels entered the swirl. The fish-man jumped from the boat into the water. The funnel clouds chased him feverishly and then shot lightning bolts upon his scaly back, hitting him in the head, throat, and bowels.
Dead, the fish-man sank into the deep abyss. A tear rolled down the face of the waning moon. One tiny drop fell into the sea and plunged into the whirlpool; down, down, down the teardrop fell, swirling among the admixed living and dead until it reached the point of the whirlpool.
Instantaneously, Shirley’s water broke. There was a showering of blood below, and then the child fell downward and out from her onto the soaked straw mat. She carefully cut the long cord with a sharp arrowhead, wrapped the child into a colorful blanket, and went to lie before the fire with him. He was beautiful, this child, with obsidian eyes and a thick swatch of the whitest hair! The small, licking fire danced off his bronze skin, and his cheeks were as full as those of a child born in summer, when the forests were thick with game and corn ripened on the stalk.
Shirley cried. The babe had been born on July 4, 2007, to the sound of liberty, unlike any man-child she had seen before.
There were things she still wanted to do. For this reason, when she heard her ancestors calling out to her, she paid the ghostly voices no mind. “Dancing Feather,” they whispered into the biting wind. “Wife of Eagle Flying Bye, your time has now arrived.”
“Not yet,” she pleaded, a vast white globe of luminosity rising in her mind and filling her vision with splendor. She sensed but tried to ignore the entrance gate to heaven as she lay in fever in the ruin of her body in the tiny shack she dimly remembered as being her home in this mortal world.
Still, she was not yet ready to meet the Great Spirit, Wakan Tanka, by the devil’s lake, though the wind whistling through the trailer park that howled across the water’s edge told her it was indeed her time.
As the brightness of the mysterious realm of heaven and the impenetrable darkness of the ultimate pit inexplicably and enigmatically became one, merging yet retaining their mutually exclusive and antagonistic natures, there could be felt the slightest brush of exquisite satin flesh against her bosom and the pressure of a tiny hand in hers—the familiar, overwhelming, joyous presence of her long-awaited newborn son, beside her and forever within her: the delicate scent of his skin and hair, the clear poetry of his breath in her ears, his tiny lips pressed to her bosom, the intimate merging of their breath.
The man-child was large, like his father, Eagle Flying Bye. He was much too large for such a small woman to have pushed out alone in her trailer bed. She had hoped that Eagle Flying Bye would be back in time, but deep within the bowels of her gut, she had known he would not. He had set out to run with the pack, being a wolf-walker; it might be many moons before he returned.
Dancing Feather’s loins still ached. She grew colder as the wetness of the fresh blood swept a course across her spreading thighs. Like a great river, it moved outward and spread beneath her there in the quiet darkness.
That the child would have no mother was a source of great sadness for Shirley; that he would not remember her was too painful a thought to bear. Her fears plagued her. Visions of the child alone until morning only added to her mounting agony. Outside, the groaning voices of the dead wept h
er name upon the boughs of pine and ash. Sadly, the moon was full, the hour just before midnight. In the midst of growing pain, Dancing Feather felt the irresistible pull but held fast to the child and to the earth, trying to grasp the coattails of forever. She cupped her hands over the child’s ears as if to keep the voices of her long-gone relatives out.
She had never prepared herself for this moment. “Glowing Eagle,” she whispered, “Pay no attention to those fawning spirits. Your father will come for you.”
Then she suckled him at her breast to satiate his newborn hunger. The child smiled afterward, but by this time, Dancing Feather lay unconscious.
The night was long and soon enough grew into pitch. An ineffable beauty and infernal night both consumed and devoured Shirley. Her spirit lifted up, borne high upon the flaming arc of eternal desire and eternal repulsion, eternal joy and eternal suffering, eternal separation and eternal unification …
The endless waves of Creation crashed upon her from every conceivable direction, externally and internally.
In the cool of this night air, Glowing Eagle tuned his delicate ears to the comforting sounds of the forest, lulled to sleep by the occasional hoot of owls and the cricket’s chirp upon the hearth. The wind died down; the fire grew smaller by degrees and eventually fell completely away. The warmth around the child faded, and in that total darkness, the child lay quiet at his mother’s breast.
Glowing Eagle heard the winds return to the tranquil lake and the cutting bite of his father’s expectant footsteps growing closer. There was a long period of silence, followed by the sound of a door opening. A long cry of grief echoed through the trailer park—a shrill far too terrifying for the infant’s ears. At once, he felt the sure hands of the medicine man lift him up to the security of his father’s arms.
“Glowing Eagle,” a cracked, raspy voice whispered. “Son of Dancing Feather.”
The man-child we wish to see.
Come, daughter of the heavens—
come into my arms and dance.
Come into my arms and one, two, three—
a waltz of far romance.
For we are called by stars above
to love across the seas
and birth a soul in depths of love
to build new galaxies.
And as we dance until the dawn
along the silver sea
in fond embrace; in never place,
we dance a one, two, three.
The love we share for everywhere
engulfs the human race,
for all the spirits in the air
come sharing our embrace.
How strange man thinks it cannot be,
two lovers called to lay
connecting worlds through ecstasy
in fiery love this way.
Two hearts now fused into one soul,
one spirit of two zygote dreams:
a child of spirit, ever whole
mending tattered cosmic seams.
Formed in love from heaven’s call
to lead the earth in wisdom’s stream,
a soul now seen to serve us all,
our child held in our sacred dreams.
A seed to plant a new wilderness
from two seeds: yours and mine.
You are the roots; I am the breast,
to blossom the divine.
And as we rise into that place
in never-never land
and build a cloud in sacred grace
to love and understand,
We call all spirits: come into
the arch above end times.
We drink the living waters
of love’s perfect spirit wine.
Definitions Chapter 1
Mullein- an old superstition existed that witches used lamps and candles provided with wicks of Mullein in their incantations, and another of the plant's many names, 'Hag's Taper', refers to this. Both in Europe and Asia the power of driving away evil spirits was ascribed to the Mullein. Being a sure safeguard against the affects of evil spirits and magic, and from the ancient classics, it was this plant which Ulysses took to protect him against the wiles of Circe.
peyote- A spineless, dome-shaped cactus (Lophophora williamsii) native to Mexico and the southwest United States, having button like tubercles that are chewed fresh or dry as a narcotic drug by certain Native American peoples.
djimson weed-This and other species of the genus contain a narcotic poison, stramonium, similar to that of the related belladonna, that has been used by many people’s for various purposes, e.g., as a medicine (now chiefly inhaled for the relief of asthma or applied externally as a painkiller) and in the past as a poison and an instrument for obtaining prophetic dreams or messages in various tribes. The amusing antics of soldiers in colonial Virginia who ate Jimson weed have been recorded for history.
Gregorian chant-is the central tradition of Western plainchant, a form of monophonic liturgical chant in Western Christianity that accompanied the celebration of Mass and other ritual service
Double headed Eagle-This double-headed eagle symbol is for the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite of Freemasonry. The number 32 inside the triangle represents the 32nd degree of the Scottish Rite. The Latin motto, “Spes mea in Deo est,” means “My hope is in God.”
Clearing the Path-Ritual practiced by some religions, Buddhism, Scientology to prep the mind and soul for its journey into the bardo state, in preparation of reincarnation.
Reincarnation- literally "to be made flesh again", is a doctrine or metaphysical belief that some essential part of a living being (in some variations only human beings) survives physical death to be reborn in a new body. This essential part is often referred to as the spirit or soul, the "higher" or "true" self, "divine spark", or "I". According to some beliefs, a new personality is developed during each life in the physical world, but some part of the self remains constant throughout the successive lives
Kabbalah- (Hebrew: קַבָּלָה, lit. "Receiving") is a discipline and school of thought concerned with the mystical aspect of Judaism.
Lucifer- is a Latin word, literally meaning "light-bearer", that was used as a name for the "day star" or "Morning Star" that precedes the rising of the sun. The name is frequently given to the Devil in Christian convention. Use of this name in reference to a fallen angel stems from a particular interpretation of Isaiah 14:3-20, a passage that speaks of someone who is given the name of "Day Star" or "Morning Star" (in Latin, Lucifer) as fallen from heaven.[2] In 2 Peter 1:19 and elsewhere, the same Latin word lucifer is used of the morning star with no relation to the devil. However, in post-New Testament writings the Latin word Lucifer has often been used as a name for the devil.
Badlands (also badland) is a type of arid terrain where softer sedimentary rocks and clay-rich soils have been extensively eroded by wind and water. It can resemble malpaís, a terrain of volcanic rock. Canyons, ravines, gullies, hoodoos and other such geological forms are common in badlands. They are often difficult to navigate by foot. Badlands often have a spectacular color display that alternates from dark black/blue coal strata to bright clays to red scoria.
Yellowstone River -The Roche Jaune, or yellow-rock river, as French trappers called the Yellowstone, is one of Montana’s best-loved waterways. The river gets a high degree of respect from anglers and floaters who appreciate the unusual circumstances that led to the river’s pristine waters and productive fishing.
Lesser Keys of Solomon- (the Clavis Salomonis, or Key of Solomon is an earlier book on the subject), is an anonymous 17th-century grimoire, and one of the most popular books of demonology. It has also long been widely known as the Lemegeton.
Kundalini-(kuṇḍalinī कुण्डलिनी) Sanskrit, literally "coiled". In Indian yoga, a "corporeal energy"[1] - an unconscious, instinctive or libidinal force or Shakti, envisioned either as a goddess or else as a sleeping serpent coiled at the base of the spine,[2][3][4] hence a number of English renderings of
the term such as 'serpent power'.
11:11 am-coincidental time of evil portent
Fire Island-The island is one of Long Island's south shore outer barrier islands, approximately 31 miles (50 km) long and varying between approximately 0.1 mile (160 m) to 0.25 mile (400 m) wide. Fire Island passes through southern Suffolk County, New York, and is southeast of Long Island separated from the main land by the Great South Bay in the U.S. state of New York, running approximately SW to NE.
Birthing the Lucifer star Page 46
