And now perhaps they’ll understand, but comprehend nothing. These two sons of Ra hanging on the inferior abyss, glued to the physical internal firmament. Steeped in pitch. With a kind of symmetrical regularity wandering each and every day in one same place! Entrancing. And harmoniously unmingled. The same ancient synchronistic prison pace advancing!
The gods muttering relentlessly, again and again.
On the palm of the Al-Father’s left hand. Suspended between the higher and the lower waters within the deep void of his incommensurable heart. Luminous and sad darkness glitter together and apart.
This is Balder. And this is Loki. Horus and Set. Mimir’s Well the eye that knows deep from beneath. The other, on up high, the supernal wisdom kept for frolicking and new joys of detached beatitude. The sage’s eternal present to himself…..
Odin hanging from Yggdrasil. 9 great spheres with every one its own personal amniotic sea: the Mead that flows without ceasing into the Grail Cups of those who’ll be slain, for their God!
The Demiurge is but Wotan’s dark backside. His eyes are the sun and the moon watching continually, save when the clouds of mankind’s ignorance saturate the Aryan Way with useless hustling, bickering and mean backbiting.
His eyes are the sun and the moon. Bestowing plethoras of two creature kind. Together they project human destiny and fussy conceited social busy business. Quarrels and plight. Hate and anger. Jealousy and spite.
It is from those two mobile pools in the sky that all distraughtness and heart hardening are emanated.
As & Vanir.
The earth and its baneful woeful womb is Shiva’s supper: a meaty repast for the Aesir Thor who hungers for battle as well as to no purpose.
