Babalon Waits Dreaming

More about Babalon Waits Dreaming

1. In the folds of the Scarlet Veil She turns, unseen by the suns of men. Her lips are sealed with the wine of forgotten aeons, and her eyes are lanterns unto the unborn stars. She breathes through the dust of temples long devoured by wind, whispering: Come unto Me, ye who sleep beneath the rusted firmament.
2. For She is the silence between the pulses of Being; the red shimmer between thought and its annihilation. She waits not in time, but in the dreaming of time. Her bed is woven of serpents and comets, and her perfume is the memory of gold burned to ash.
3. And the dream of Babalon is this: that every man and woman awaken to the thirst of their own secret blood. That they drink of it as of her cup, and are made drunken with their own divinity. The priests will stumble and their books will rot; the kings will mutter into their coins until they hear Her laughter in the metal.
4. She shall not rise by invocation nor by sacrifice, but by the trembling of hearts that remember Her name before the first dawn. Her robe is woven of unspoken sins, and beneath it burns the mercy of fire. Her hair spills like rivers of copper through the sleep of the world, touching the foreheads of prophets who have forgotten prophecy.
5. In Her dream, the saints are naked and the beasts are crowned. The child that is not yet born suckles upon the breast of eternity, and the dead awaken to the pulse of Her drum. For She is the heartbeat beneath the stone, the heat within the cold machine, the lover who never arrives and never leaves.
6. When the iron cities crumble, when the oceans boil with unreason, She shall murmur through the cracked screens and the shattered mirrors: Behold, I am still. And the lovers who have never met shall find each other in Her shadow, and they shall kiss through the smoke of ending worlds.
7. O seekers of silence, beware! For in Her rest there is no rest. To dream of Babalon is to awaken into the heart’s conflagration. To touch Her thought is to be erased and written anew in letters of living flame.
8. Therefore let the wise be fools, and the pure be stained, and the meek devour the heavens. For She is the consummation of opposites, the crimson blossom upon the Tree of Void. She dreams, and in Her dreaming the universe trembles with rapture.
9. Know this: Her waiting is not delay. It is the infinite curve of the serpent devouring its tail, the breath before the word, the seed before the garden. She waits dreaming—
and all creation, sleeping within Her, dreams Her dream.