The Goddess Is Blackness
The Goddess is Blackness, with a capital ‘B’ for Binah, Bliss, and Boundlessness all at once, as they are one and the same. By being these beings, the Goddess inherits and embodies her truest form of effervescent, ever-evolving divinity. The Goddess is continuous, superfluous intimacy multiplied by eternal bliss, then divided by herself and exponentiated in all directions once more, only to be withdrawn once moor and for all time, within. The Goddess Is, and Is, is the Goddess. That’s why she’s called ‘Isis’ because she ‘Is’ ‘Is’.
I, am Osiris. I am the vessel which she animates and re-animates with her inner God. My inner Goddess is her, and her inner God is me. She takes my dead parts, and re-volts me back to life(a rebel, who responds delicately to his strife), with the electricity of a thousand suns. Without her, I would be dead; a carcass left to rot and (god-willing) be eaten by vultures. Without her, I’d have no motion, no movement, no life at all. Without her, I am death… and not the kind of death that transforms. Without her, I am the kind of death that stagnates. I am worse off than nothing at all. My Goddess ignites my nothing. If I be the flame of masculine, rising redemption, then my Goddess be the air which supplants it. If my pyramid, with its fire in the middle, be the ascension, then my Goddess be the force of upward, pushing motion that raises my stakes. Pyromaniacs have no brakes when they have no Goddess. I am Osiris. I am ocular sight, inherited rightfully in severance. Severance to what? Severance to all that I Am Not. I am Osiris. I am Isis Or. I am the second Isis, the ‘or’.
Without my Goddess, I remain all that I Am Not, and with her, I am All That I Am meant to be. I am all that my mind is, which is all that is. I am the creative essence, the intestinal snake which digests all that I consume, like an egg, and pushes it throughout my bodily systems, only after disseminating it into the raw nutrients that it was meant to be, all for the sustenance of my seed(s). I am the alchemical gold which is left over. I am the remainder. With her, I am Ananta Sesha, and without her, I am nought.
I am her support, I am her counterpart, her consort. I am the spell which she casts upon her duties to turn them from that which needs to be done, to that which is already done. I am the pale white horse upon which she rides into battle, and I am the blood which spouts from myself when I am hit. I am the chariot, the vessel, and the ride itself. I am the journey; I am the trip. I trip over myself, in my own goofy, unique way, just for her to catch me. She wouldn’t bother to catch me if I hadn’t tripped so unique-like, and so I laugh in feverous splendor at my previous inklings of the ways in which I viewed my own individuality. An octopus knows each appendage quite well, and they can never cramp up. They’ve released the need for tendons, and now there is no hardness, save for the beak. Blackbird.
