“Oh, my G_D how profound are these mysteries!” – John Dee
Kelley holds the shew-stone with the mist forming fast. The white vapors shoot upwards around the volumes on upper shelves and form a circle as if to task. The days are still some colder but the winter will not always last, voices moving in their language, numbers show me, show me, something past.
For what is the speech of angels?
I set upon a voyage in a hinterland of sleep, a cauldron of air so cold at first, I thought I would freeze. A self-taught journey from places of the deep, to find the ever after answer in the library of John Dee. Symbols all around me some painted legend in the sky, a coat of many colors as millennium flew by. The whispers of the angels said they were drawing nigh, and then my soul dropped from the star filled sky. Like the star, not yet of morning, summoned to a rite of old, my bare feet feel so frozen in the library I well know. It is about the phantoms, and it is about the truth, the long search of the symbols to find if what angels speak is truth. Moreover, in it all, yes in it all I am speechless.
For here among this sceptered place, with pages from strange worlds, candles burn until morning light, all time has come unfurled. The figures of the two men turn as if to see, but then I see them looking upwards, they do not see me. The coven of the angels falls without light or human sound, they whisper in the shadows who is willing, to stand higher ground. Their bodies are like different lights, some common, some spark with sound. It could be some are seraphim, some light daemons who have come unbound. Moreover, in it all, yes in it all I am speechless.
I stood so indecisively, surveying an unreal play. The ghost of Dee and Kelley asked their questions from a book displayed. An esoteric experiment, to know the power of G_D, to wonder at the wisdom, imparted in what they caught. The scene of simple symbols invoking that realm in which the angels play, to not know that they had reached any reason, only the gray at the end of the day. Moreover, in it all, yes in it all I am speechless.
So, this is a little something that happens now and then, I disappear in airs of thought to a library where time stands still. I ask the light around me what is that of shapes and wills, and still I have no answer, and perhaps I never will. Moreover, in it all, yes in it all I am speechless.
For what is the speech of angels? – 01.30.2019 – דָנִיֵּאל