Wednesday, October 03, 2012

Siddhartha and the Considerate Cobra Vs. IO PAN PAN

Considerate Cobra is Considerate
Then a king cobra named Mucalinda, coiled around the Buddha seven times, to protect Him from wind and rain.

So I've been working on some inner alchemy for the last couple of weeks. I've mostly been working on retaining the forces of my sacral chakra, and then raising the pooled forces from my sacral chakra up to my throat, third eye, and crown chakras.

What I've found is that there's this electrical current that flows from my gonads to wherever I direct it. When I'm meditating, contemplating, when I'm investing my attention properly on the Work, I can feel it rise within, expand its hood, and cover me.

I read the story of Siddartha and the Considerate Cobra this morning. I've read it before, but I appreciated it more. From my Hermetic training, I read the wind as representative of the mind and its howlings, and the rain as representative of the emotions and their howlings. The unfocused Ruach and Nephesh respectively. Mucalinda's coils and expanded hood keep me protected from these things for sure. The flames are released in a beautiful, directed, controlled way that bring a sense of calm, peace, and power.

And then there's Pan.

Rushing fiery beast of passion and lust, he too can enflame and raise the forces that have been pooling in my sacral center for the last two weeks.

It's sublime, the way he starts making his presence known.
Into my loneliness comes -
The sound of a flute in dim groves that haunt the uttermost hills.
Even from the brave river they reach to the edge of the wilderness.
And I behold Pan.
Whispered notes of the flute, sounding like they are coming down the mountainside. Dulcet tones that remind me of the laugh of my lover, sounds that somehow bring the scent of her skin to my nose, the colors of her eyes to my mind.

And then, it burns. Heat... heat upon heat upon heat. I feel the god descending, and the flames within rising to meet him, to welcome him, combusting, expanding, a sustained explosion that does not stop. It grows, consuming me, releasing me, freeing me.
On all sides Pan to the eye, to the ear;
The perfume of Pan pervading, the taste of him utterly filling my mouth, so that the tongue breaks forth into a weird and monstrous speech.
The embrace of him intense on every centre of pain and pleasure.
The sixth interior sense aflame with the inmost self of Him,
Myself flung down the precipice of being
Even to the abyss, annihilation.
An end to loneliness, as to all.
Pan! Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan!
I am not gone when Pan has come, I am Pan, I am his man, and he in me and I in him, and together we burn (he is burning). 

The fires released by the onslaught of Pan are raw and consuming, but they are alchemical in nature. They are ecstatic, and lusty and visceral, don't get me wrong, they want to burst forth in glorious ejaculation, impregnating the universe with its seed. But by witholding that, conaining it within the madness, the heat is transformed into an alchemical inferno that raises your consciousness to amazing heights. Best drugs ever, and they're all right there in your brain.
Thrill with lissome lust of the light,
O man! My man!
Come careering out of the night
Of Pan! Io Pan!
Io Pan! Io Pan! Come over the sea
From Sicily and from Arcady!
Roaming as Bacchus, with fauns and pards
And nymphs and satyrs for thy guards,
On a milk-white ass, come over the sea
To me, to me,
Come with Apollo in bridal dress
(Shepherdess and pythoness)
Come with Artemis, silken shod,
And wash thy white thigh, beautiful God,
In the moon of the woods, on the marble mount,
The dimpled dawn of the amber fount!
Dip the purple of passionate prayer
In the crimson shrine, the scarlet snare,
The soul that startles in eyes of blue
To watch thy wantonness weeping through
The tangled grove, the gnarled bole
Of the living tree that is spirit and soul
And body and brain — come over the sea,
(Io Pan! Io Pan!)
Devil or god, to me, to me,
My man! my man!
Come with trumpets sounding shrill
Over the hill!
Come with drums low muttering
From the spring!
Come with flute and come with pipe!
Am I not ripe?
I, who wait and writhe and wrestle
With air that hath no boughs to nestle
My body, weary of empty clasp,
Strong as a lion and sharp as an asp —
Come, O come!
I am numb
With the lonely lust of devildom.
Thrust the sword through the galling fetter,
All-devourer, all-begetter;
Give me the sign of the Open Eye,
And the token erect of thorny thigh,
And the word of madness and mystery,
O Pan! Io Pan!
Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan Pan! Pan,
I am a man:
Do as thou wilt, as a great god can,
O Pan! Io Pan!
Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! I am awake
In the grip of the snake.
The eagle slashes with beak and claw;
The gods withdraw:
The great beasts come, Io Pan! I am borne
To death on the horn
Of the Unicorn.
I am Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan!
I am thy mate, I am thy man,
Goat of thy flock, I am gold, I am god,
Flesh to thy bone, flower to thy rod.
With hoofs of steel I race on the rocks
Through solstice stubborn to equinox.
And I rave; and I rape and I rip and I rend
Everlasting, world without end,
Mannikin, maiden, Maenad, man,
In the might of Pan.
Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan! Io Pan!

Post a Comment