I come now into your presence in darkness,
returning to the wet womb of my mother;
to swim in the flood of the First Beginning
where rose the Primordial Gods upon the sacral mound.
The flood has taken me by the hand and from the veil of death,
which blankets the stars and seeks life’s consolation;
but I have swallowed down those wandering constellations
to become an imperishable star;
darkness, I wander no longer in your void.
The Gods have kept their mount in secret;
within the hallow of all hallows embracing the ancient earth.
Below, black earth, the traveling companion of my bare feet;
Father of all my fathers who alone was with the Sun-God
when He uplifted his brightening eyes from the waters.
I have seen those waters now with my own two eyes;
churning and crashing with terror before the emerging mountain.
These are the secrets of the First Beginning in my keep,
memory being in my confidence, language being my beloved.
Above, sky of lapis lazuli, thighs of gold of my Goddess suspended;
Her belly the dancing ground of myriad constellations;
Her navel the shrine where the Sun-God dazzles in turquoise mantle;
Her black cleft the Mooring Post of the sun’s twilight barque;
Her flooded gap the eastern portal where ascends the nascent sovereign;
Her breasts the Twin Sycamores, the pylons where the Sun-God is suckled;
Her dusky throat the boughs of the tamarisk in which the wind resides;
Her hair cast out into the void as a net of gilt stars;
and these the places where the earth longs to stride,
where all those born of creation’s mound struggle to ascend.
Bellow my feet is that black earth whose arms stretch out to meet Her;
She being the starry Mother from whose flooded thighs we wander.
Born of soil is this corpse we borrow from the hands of our Father;
but we are the sparrows who alight for a precious time,
until the voice of the constellations calls back our stellar body.
We know the ancient language of sparrows passed down
from time’s beginning;
which gave the Gods from their own tongues before our star descended.
Our portion is to recall the language of that First Occasion,
hurled by the Sun-God into those turbulent waters of the void;
His speech becoming the shimmering dance of millions of stars.
These stars belong not only to the primordial Gods;
not only to the Sun-God upon His ocean lotus;
not only to the spray of water making love to the void;
not only to the wind whose kisses find the water wanting;
not only to the blue-black sky hurled far above the soil;
not only to the turquoise beams striking the breast of the earth;
not only to the moon whose crescent lips call out the seasons;
not only to the desert mountains of piercing spires;
not only to the river at flood time following in their wake;
not only to the rosy-gold dawn making ruddy the horizon;
and not only to the Mistress of Heaven in whose keeping they shine.
These stars are our inheritance before earth’s soil knows us;
our two feet hailing from above before they know below.
Our first language is a stellar memory woven from the net of stars;
our heart the Mooring Post where the Ark of the Sun is fastened.
Our first words are that bull’s thigh through which we ascend;
we follow in the luminous entourage vitalizing the dark waters of the sky.
Our first body is that holy star becoming horizon’s guide;
the east which hails us at the breaking of dawn, calling the New Year Home.
Our life upon the earth is the mirror of the Unwearying Stars;
day and night behold our comings and goings in the upper and lower regions.
Our climax of yearning loins is the Milky Way, ornament of heaven’s veil.
This is our veil of our astral wanderings, to which we may return;
these are our stars, our bodies, our Mother’s net of our birthing;
and these are our first words, our first language, our many;
before the coming of one.
My portion is now to remember the reading of the stars,
in whose net of language the memory of humankind is kept;
where we have journeyed in their footsteps,
gathering the knowledge of the Gods;
where we have traveled the course of the Sun-God,
making passage through the waters of the hours below;
where we have become swallows nesting on the Sun’s golden barge,
the keepers of His secret language maintained by heaven’s hallows;
where we have received the cleansing of the Milky Way;
its milk my Mother’s breast, its flood my father’s seed.
Having made my passage through the body of the vault,
I now come to the leaves of earthly doors where the voice of heaven follows.
The scent of myrrh knows my skin and my sweat is its savor;
this fragrance of verdant land and desert;
this embrace of the sycamore and tamarisk;
this love making of earth and sky;
this breath of the morning dew and night wind;
this diadem of the triumphant sun and swollen moon;
this eye of the upper world in its wholeness;
this eye of the lower world in its divisions;
these names of the primordial Gods hidden within the keep of the mound;
I am all of these powers of theirs inherited by the stars of my body,
which shine in the night sky unhindered by the shadows.
See me shine you Gods of the indwelling magic,
and receive this body of light within your bodies of light!
I come now to the leaves of heavenly doors,
entering through the earth of my ancient Father;
His flesh the black soil between my naked toes.
I bear upon my arms the fresh dew of the ruddy dawn,
making me as a babe suckling at his mother’s breast.
The flood of her thighs has brought me to the hidden mound,
where the language of swallows fills my empty ears;
these wet ears of mine now swimming in the primordial chorus:
We came first from the ocean of many
where all stars have their home;
from millions in a net of lights
these swallows alight alone.
Return to the mound of beginnings
is the destiny of the one;
where one becomes the many again,
where the journey is undone.
All text copyright © 2016 Ptahmassu Nofra-Uaa