The Black Boar

Opalescences of enchanted and delectable amber, with hyaline fluctuations of a mysterious mirage…

Dilution of light like ineffable stars through a perfumed foliage...

Blond lines like lace disappear on the ground, drowned by the uncertainties of the atmosphere that draws them with its feminine capricious clouds, upon the sweet flourishing of majolica…

Aquatic transparency of spectral enchantment envelops things with a soft cosmic caress.

In the mystery of the night, the living room is drowned within a penumbra of marshy vagueness…

The columns, the amphorae, the cups indeed resemble enormous lacustrine flowers that sleep upon a milky paleness…

There exists within this environment something that cannot be defined… Presentments of anguish float in the air…

Some withered flowers die upon an alabaster glass…

The light of Selene, pale as death, taciturnly enters through the window, pretending to be a shawl of silver.

The sepulchral silence is profound and painful; it is like a great heart filled with infinite presentiments…

Upon the nocturnal sky, sprinkled with stars that sweetly twinkle, the tinges are slowly fusing...

The last solar rays resemble great red scars, which die behind the enigma of the leaves.

It is a strange hour in which the sapphire sky feels the infinite pain of dying…

The Beings and things are born and then die within the profound bosom of an obsessional dream…

The shadow grows, little by little. It becomes gigantic; it resembles a monster that swallows life…

Profound calmness, freshness of the foliage, nakedness of the flourishing night, defoliation of roses from the dusk, which palely fall upon the silence…

Foggy is the globe of the elusive moon, along with a delectable iridescence of mirages upon the cold paleness of the forest, which is filled with a tenderness impossible to narrate with words.

On this delectable night, I am neither alone nor accompanied. I find myself in plenitude. I open The Book of the Dead of the ancient Egyptians. Thus, I scrutinize the mysteries of the Region of Buto (the world of pure Spirit).

I know that region. Yes! Yes! Yes!

Down below, I opportunely left my cadaver, my cadavers, my “I,” my “I’s,” within the submerged mineral kingdom, within the underground world, within the region of Mendes. Therefore, I am a defunct one; this is why I comprehend The Book of the Occult Abode.

I know the three ineffable aspects of the Divine Mother Kundalini , the igneous serpent of our magical powers.

I do not ignore, Lady of mine, that You are the unmanifested Goddess Shutet and that You shine in the fixed stars.

I do not ignore, Queen of mine, that You are the manifested Isis, Goddess of the hunters from the region of Buto. Indeed, You persecute the red demons of Seth (our devil “I”s). You entrap them and eliminate them.

I know, Mother of mine, Your third aspect. Hail, Hekate, Proserpine, Coatlicue, Queen of Hell and Death!

Do ye know for what reason the city of Pe hath been given unto Horus (the Divine Being within the human being)? I, even I, know it though ye know it not. Behold, Ra (the Solar Logos) gave the city to him (the Being of every human being) in return for the injury to his Eye (the third eye between the middlebrow); for which cause Ra said to Horus, “Let me see what is coming to pass in thine eye,” and forthwith he looked thereat. Then, Ra said to Horus, “Look at that black pig (the ego),” and he (the Being, the Innermost) looked, and straightway an injury was done unto his eye, that is to say, a mighty storm [took place therein]. Then said Horus unto Ra, “Verily, my eye seems as if it were an eye upon which Suti [Seth, in pig form] had inflicted a blow (clairvoyance, the sixth sense, destroyed because of the animal passions).”

This black boar (the “I”) inspires nothing from Horus (the Being) but repugnance.

Only with the death of this black boar will the Eye of Horus again shine upon the forehead of the human being.

Valley of Samsara, obscure night, marvellous solitude, is where my people await this 1969-1970 Christmas Message…

Profound valley, night of the serpent, while falling in love with your silence, I suffer a lot when remembering that, around there, in the world, many people exist who adore this black boar.

Could perhaps the red demons of Seth reach perfection? The black boar perfecting himself through a “sort of” evolution? My God, what a horror! What ignorance! Poor people!

Satan evolving? What a stupidity! What an absurdity! Mephistopheles perfecting himself? The devil performing mass?

The black boar must die. Horus abhors him. This boar is an abomination for Ra. Indeed, the only fate for Seth and his red demons is death.

How deep were my own reflections on that night of mystery. Thus, the hours passed…!

The dawn began…. Upon the deepest blue of the lake, the vague profile of the clouds feigned snowy fleeces.

Finally, the day began to come into view with an indecisive light, like a caress of the moon over the ash of a newly burned mount for the sowing.

Then, the sun shone as a torch of my word, nuptial candle replete with exquisite perfumes…

It is a radiant morning, where the soar of tender doves are mixed with the fall of the dew that descends upon the earth as an odoriferous balm.

A mysterious melody sounds around the sites that are enveloped by an ineffable light, and scatters itself throughout the vast space, as a delectable fragrance, as the breath of the soul when around the sea.

All of these within diffuse clarity, filled with musical shuddering, seem prepared to listen to the miracle of the word: the Divine annunciation of the Word.

How to be Born Again: the Science to Create the Superhuman

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