You are sunlight, radiant,
as necessary for life to grow upwards
and yet brutal as it beats upon white sands!
Tell me O Adversary,
when is your thankless job done,
when do you rest?
Is it the period of night of the soul
when we think we are abandoned,
lost under distant light and mere reflections?
Does the Accuser rest between
each storm, each rain, each cutting,
as He shapes the experience of life?
You are life-giving, life-taker,
the creator of suffering,
the constant challenge of life.
We wander through deserts and forests
and you do your job O Adversary as always,
taunting and tempting us with visions of samsara.
With little gratitude do we see
the thankless job of the Adversary,
that puts us on task and trial while the heart yet beats.
Radiant as the sun He may be,
He is cruel suffering under the desert sun
but we are desperate for warmth as winter breathes.
No one thanks the Sun
and they take it all for granted,
only begging for its return during the long night.
Quotes
Just as a snake sheds its skin, we must shed our past over and over again.
O wise among all Angels ordinate,
God foiled of glory, god betrayed by fate,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!O Prince of Exile doomed to heinous wrong,
Who, vanquished, riseth ever stark and strong,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!Thou knowest all, proud king of occult things,
Familiar healer of man’s sufferings,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!Thy love wakes thirst for Heaven in one and all:
Leper, pimp, outcast, fool and criminal,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!Of Death, thy brave leal wanton, Thou didst breed,
Sweet madcap Hope to charm our idle need,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!Thy gift, that bland imperious glance that hallows
The damned, and damns the blest about the gallows,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!In coigns of miser earth veined with dead bones
Thou knowest what jealous God hid precious stones,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!Thy fierce eyes pierce deep arsenals in which
The tribe of metals sleep, entombed and rich,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!Thy broad palm cloaks the precipice’s edge
For sleepwalkers, poised on a building’s ledge,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!Thy magic softens bones of drunkards struck
By hooves of horses on a speeding truck,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!To cheer him, Thou didst teach frail man, Thy friend,
How aptly sulphur and saltpeter blend,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!Thou, skilled accomplice, Who dost stamp thy mark
Upon the brow of Croesus, harsh and stark,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!Thou Who didst lend the eyes and hearts of whores
Their love of tatters and their cult of sores,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!Thou, sage’s lamp and exile’s staff, serene
Guide to those kneeling by the guillotine,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!Father to those whom God the Father’s vice
Of vengeance drove from earthly paradise,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!Glory and praise to Thee, Satan, on high,
Where Thou didst reign, in Hell where Thou dost lie,
Vanquished, silent, dreaming eternally.
Grant that my soul some day rest close to Thee
Under the Tree of Knowledge which shall spread
Its branches like a Temple overhead.
Baudelaire, Litanies of Satan, trans. Jacques LeClercq
Anyone who has grown mentally, physically or spiritually knows that growth is not found in comfort.
Unknown (via deeplifequotes)
That Angel who was brave enough to buy his independence at the price of eternal suffering and torture; beautiful enough to have adored himself in full divine light; strong enough to still reign in darkness amidst agony, and to have made himself a throne out of his inextinguishable pyre.
History of Magic, Éliphas Lévi
or, when you try to show that “the Satan of the Republican and heretical Milton”, “the fake Lucifer of the hetorodox legend” sucks but utterly, epically, terribly fail.
(via vohugaona)
A moment of patience in a moment of anger prevents a thousand moments of regret.
Ali Ibn Abu Talib
(via minuty)
Peace isn’t an experience free of challenges, free of rough and smooth, it’s an experience that’s expansive enough to include all that arises without feeling threatened
Pema Chodron (via eearth)
Perhaps everybody has a garden of Eden, I don’t know; but they have scarcely seen their garden before they see the flaming sword. Then, perhaps, life only offers the choice of remembering the garden or forgetting it. Either, or: it takes strength to remember, it takes another kind of strength to forget, it takes a hero to do both. People who remember court madness through pain, the pain of the perpetually recurring death of their innocence; people who forget court another kind of madness, the madness of the denial of pain and the hatred of innocence; and the world is mostly divided between madmen who remember and madmen who forget. Heroes are rare.
James Baldwin, from Giovanni’s Room (Vintage, 2013; first published 1956) (via kuanios)
Who, if I shouted, among the hierarchy of angels, would hear me?
And supposing one of them took me, suddenly, to his heart?
I would perish before his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of a terror we can just barely endure,
And we admire it so because it calmly disdains to destroy us.
Every angel is terrifying!
Rilke, First Elegy
We are serpents shedding our skin,
in the fields of illusion.
Zisa Aziza, poet (via iopanosiris)
Church of the Morningstar 