Chronicon

Chapter 6
Lanthanein

Sigurðr kvað:
12. "Segðu mér, Fáfnir,
alls þik fróðan kveða
ok vel margt vita,
hverjar ro þær nornir,
er nauðgönglar ro
ok kjósa mæðr frá mögum."
-
Fáfnir kvað:
13. "Sundrbornar mjök
segi ek nornir vera,
eigu-t þær ætt saman;
sumar eru áskunngar,
sumar alfkunngar,
sumar dætr Dvalins."
-Fáfnismál



"sirenum Sirenes secundum fabulam tres, parte virgines fuerunt, parte volucres, Acheloi fluminis et Calliopes musae filiae. harum una voce, altera tibiis, alia lyra canebat..."
-Maurus Servius Honoratus, Commentary on the Aeneid of Vergil, 5: 864


In the dark grey dawn of ages long ago when heart and mind were
spellbound, before fate had breeched the threshold of night and clawed
its way to the summit of day, restless spirits lay fallow in the spool
of an incantation vessel; unruly filaments twined, plaited and netted,
subverting the inflexible pretzel of change.
Votaries of it's secret Temple and those who found their way to it could
join in the invocation whose refrain returns, in a beautiful psalm:
'O Lord of every Lord! Make the litany of the Light arise'.

Contained in a kettle bound to boil, after a pace past the gremlin of time, it burst in a red shift of burning rubies, burst and set infinity to fathom the finite and foist a shell game of shadows upon the third dimension; this - our inexplicable predictament.

The shattered vessel containing divine sparks became
conduit to the infernal felly of maelstrom's ouroboros below, escaping the
the imaginal temple into movement of the crab and the rhythms of geometry,
tide and topology of escape, releasing the alchemical potency of the
Shem ha-Mephorash boustrophedon. Roly poly, roly poly, roly poly, poly
singing songs of love, rewinding the covenant till time be ceased; Aldina and
Strannik's restoration of Eiderdown's incantation bowl modified via Aldina's recitations from James Bonaventure Hepburn's manuscript, Virga Aurea was complete but for a single letter of Transitus Fluvii which Nightingale in the grey mists of morning, with obnubilate ritual, delivers unto the Cailleach.

The hieroglyph of water weeps upon its release into the antediluvian confluence of the river's illegible font, run round the circuit, ambulatory processional pathway around the central shrine;
axis of the splintered gimbal, blown windrose.
This luminous hieroglyph appears a moment later at the nombril within the chamber, with centrifugal pulsing coriolus force;
the husk of the true-rune crowned with lily-bud pirouettes, its gyre evoking the dead abandoning their prescripture of stupor.

The Cailleach phiseogach: Vanadi, Iridi and Yttri, working the alloy of their voices,
pursue time to her extinguishment; threading their Ars Transmutationis Metallicae through creation's veins in a sequence of melting slip-knots, their mingled ore bold admonitions to the sons of Dawn.

Calla lily towheads from birth, Eiderdown's triplets kept their milkweed hoarfrost as they hit the white-heat of adolescence and beyond; the intensity of their blue eyes only increasing, blue as the blossoms of echium that drew the moth to Hinba. These three refugees survived the amorous wasteland deficits of skinny tall scornful boys who look like bitter discount Buddy Hollys and the epidemic of Men-With-Shaved-Heads-On-Cell-Phones, whose brevity of attention span bore amphibolous implication to their other endowments as well.

The Cailleach sightread from skaldmaers' caul, voluspa frayed and threadbare, thin tattooed skrim testament of time and indecipherable as a fleeting whim,
their thrice great threnody entangled with mantic persuasions
outsings what lies beyond, between or within the lines we muse; the light gone dim
our magic carpet worn, our purchase grim.

Equipped with full throbbing quintephone, topshur and their Father's heirloom harmonica, a rolmonica model with built-in moebius rhapsody honeycombed into its bakelite and battered tin; Vanadi, Iridi and Yttri shod in their velvet Avery 1460's climbed Beinn Shiantaidh, slender legs threatening their already ripped fishnets. The conical quartzite holy mountain was steep-sided and 2,500 feet high to the beacon summit.
Gone to the top to sing an overdrone harmonic ululation of cranes, cantering rhythm of unicorn and breathing of bear held vibrating in the aural conservatory of their ventricular folds; an ark textured of fugue for the final deliverance.

Their trance-a-billy spectralist biosonic electrogrind, gone darkwave to the Antarabhala realm of in-between births, gone to the Antarala, the in-between or transitory state, the stretched out dream-time between movements and thoughts; the vast antechamber of nested interval between action and reaction where the elements of the four quarters dissolve contracting to a point generated from the singularity in flux.

Gone to the continuous fall of drops flowing, deeds of the Templeisen embedded between the two interpenetrating mirrors of Madimi and Kolbjorn; black volcanic glass below immersed of Darkness, tomorrow's uncharted face of the moon.
Above, the Sun's theophanic modality, the virility and fecundity of the triumphant Light forever rising through the florid door of yesteryore.

Gone, past the lapsed Hereafter.

Days following days, night swallowing the lot only to belch forth Eureka! and inside out rolls the sun.

Having examined the past, and knowing the things to come, most luminous of beings endowed with life and thought, brightest of stars, hail to thee! May the salutations and benedictions of the Aeternal be upon thee, sublime luminary, most august of the moving stars; You who are moved by the ardor of love! Most powerful vanquisher of darkness, author of day, soverign of stars! You reign with powerful force over the lights incarnated into bodies! Dispensation of light, vanquisher, brilliant one and sage, light that culminates in victory! Most magnificent of offspring from the spiritual world through your incandescent splendors! Image of grandeur, exemplification of beauty, flame of the faithful! Mover through shadow and theurgy's ardent desire for glory, form and light.

The immaterial Intelligences pray in their turn, in that form of prayer that belongs to the eternal world bereft of change and alteration, through the mystic orient triumph to the one love; most august of beings of primordial birth, light closest to the principle Intelligence of the universe!

Eternally subsisting light in every soul, of every ethereal and elementary body, simple or composed. Necessary being! Illuminate our temple with the originating splendor, with theosophic knowledge and superior powers! Account us amongst those who have that nostalgia for light, making immune to all infirmities of soul and body, bless them holy roly poly for ever and ever. Amen!

Chak Tulix lifts his stormy bio-exorcist's ruddy armpit and dips an oar, paddling in the stern for Ixchel and Kinich Ahau eloping in their canoe.

An instant hovers, quavering at the yawning precipice of a blink; stretching out in the lo-o-o-ng, languorous asana of teddy bear yoga, the drowsy fur of consciousness tingling all over; headdress of feathers erect.

"World-Honored One, after the Thus Come One has entered extinction we
will travel here and there, back and forth through the worlds in the ten
directions so as to enable living beings to copy this sutra, receive,
embrace, read and recite it, understand and preach its principles,
practice it in accordance with the Law, and properly keep it in their
thoughts."

Year: 2012
Winter solstice
As Betelgeuse achieved its midnight culmination,
Madimi closing the lid, let her round notebook lapse asleep to the snoring of a bear.
Maximum headroom forever.

"Now the Sirens have a still more fatal weapon than their song, namely their silence. And though admittedly such a thing never happened, it is still conceivable that someone might possibly have escaped from their singing; but from their silence certainly never."
-Franz Kafka: The Silence of the Sirens, 1917