Dreaming Peace

I don't want to stop dreaming anymore,

I can't forget the truth,

I stay with him,

get to the end and come back.

The violin of devil, sonata of evil,

song in second from the most beech.

I don't want to forget and lose,

get to the end and come back.

Mägo de Oz- The Violin of Devil

     Few nights ago, I could not say how many, the sky cried terrified and in the fury of the storm I plunged into myself seeking refuge from the cold torrent of icy water that the sky was flowing. And so, immersed in myself, maybe spoke to myself, perhaps what many call God as not a few great philosophers and men of faith presumed to have found in the austere solitude of a hermitage; I do not know either and I know that I will not ever have the certainty of being just that Secret Master residing in the consciousness of which talk The Hermetic Doctrines or some personal demon who with stubborn certainty did his work with rejoicing, bringing from the past anguish, sorrow and torment so atrocious that neither the science nor the magic of my desecrated mind have managed to purge. I do not know how to name it. Even discerning the dark realms of the occult and experimenting with the sciences of Goetia¹ and Necromancy2 I did not know him by name but something true and certain is that his imposing presence had not ever faced, neither his powerful and yet melodic voice, my heart had squeezed. If I had been a benevolent God, in so terrible tortures

to me  I would not ever have been involved, speaking of love, that forgotten force motive of the movement of the universe, deformed with cruelty by mankind. Life-creating force that for me has been nothing but a heavy shackle, the source of all my evils.

     God or unnamable demon make me face the sins and mistakes by which life had become for me in something as gray as the clouds that unleashed its lightning with unrestrained fury against the earth on that dreary night. Forced me to remember with dreadful terror, the tenderness and divine peace that my true love in this life gave me how a food of the soul in a cold night, thanks to my selfishness, passion unleashed, cruelty full of pride and intolerant rancor, rested placid, sheltered him in other arms and that God made me see the fruit of my seed lovingly calling the man who now took care of she and guided her steps with tenderness. The love of two people whom I had rejected.

     There was more sorrow and pain when I found myself leaning on a stiff bed, submerged in a chemical lethargy, imagining other paradises where the grief was less intense but He, gentle took me by one hand and invited me to stand up an follow him, I do accept with submission. I contemplated with my dilated pupils like that woman by whom I reached the limit of my actions and emotions, enjoyed her life, now secured between material prosperity and social recognition, sharing the mattress empty of mutual feelings with other men, who took her as a pride trophy and herself was granted that place; then subdued by the pain of the heart turned into pieces, I wished with all my being that every orgasm that experienced her beautiful body, was a thousand and a million times more intense, pleasant and glorious than the one experienced the last time I shared her bed for make the love would not ever again receive fullness, coarsened by pride, fear or the voluptuousness of desire. I cried like a child of an orphanage, abandoned of everything that had once invited me to live. Turning my back on the abominable vision, I tried to sing to disperse the terrible memories. In a heartbreaking and broken thread of voice, from my heart came verses that I remember with stormy clarity:

Resist more this that kills me,

the absent sound of your voice,

the ruins of my heart without calm,

this are the condemnations of my soul.

Lust unleashed by your body,

suffering every night that I don't have you.

Alone imagining your figure,

I can't quench such infamous sadness.

Gluttony, by your lips I was devoured,

not ever quenching the infinite hunger,

of your sweet honeys for me forbidden,

I don't know to who, now promised.

Greed, because I want you just for me,

to not ever let you go of my side,

because if your love is not mine,

Better dead, I cannot stand it!

Sloth or rather tired,

because my desire to fight was exhausted,

not receiving more response than complaints,

reproaches or disappointments I’ve won.

Vanity deformed,

looking at a dirty glass,

the reflection of a tortured soul,

despised of fake morality sown.

Fury and wrath consumed me.

I don't deserve more than your redolence?

It's a merciless and cruel punishment

to keep me at your feet pleading?

Envy sick,

of those who without knowing conditions,

your soul keeps sheltered

and I, waiting to see your beautiful face.

Pride mine that I will not abandon,

call me when you depend on me,

because today and not ever

you will find who, like I, loves you.

     I ran through this world of infernal memories, the grief of which made me feel as the most corrupt of Saint Peter successors or an infant rapist who had taken as a victim at the innocent, tender and unhappy reflection of himself in a dimension where time and space were altered to shape an even more cruel world on the surface of my consciousness. Cause this immaculate maiden to than I offer my life in an impossible crusade against the hardships of life, to my eyes, at that moment of dantesque lucidity, it was nothing more than a simple mortal.

     Then the indefinable entity that guided my steps through my mind disturbed by infamous memories, smiled satisfied as I looked at my face distorted by anguish and grief. At that time I defined it just as "He".

     Yes, was a God, there was no doubt in me, the same being who guided the diaspora according to The Old Testament: jealous, spiteful, vindictive and cruel; He whispered in my ear:

-Well you do have deserved!-

     It was true, the cost that I have to be paid for letting me overcome in former times for the love and passion that I knew would not correspond me, because it had ever been based on the ambiguity of a non-reciprocal utility.

     We continued walking through that universe created by the torment of my mind alienated by the ungrateful memories, the medical drugs and that God of indefinable aspect stepped forward in front of me taking me by the hand. I followed him like a child under the good guidance of his father; then the black mists that covered everything became shred in the nothing. This God, perhaps created by my conscience, whispered of my ear in a soft, melodic, sweet voice with a faint air of mocking irony, if not rather, a disguise of a cruel horselaugh:

-Here begins the true sorrow!-

     I opened my eyes in a cold sweat, the torrential rain continued out of my room and I covered just my modesty with a cotton piece; I took from the bureau a blade of sharp steel that I had warned in case of the soul pain was unbearable, with the hope and certainty that the heartbreaking caress of the cold steel on my skin would wane a little, just a little the terrible pain... but it was not like that:

     On the other side of the glass, beneath the torrential and icy rain, a slender silhouette of black hair and dazzling eyes of love and tenderness, sobbed and mourned her pain in solitude. I ran to her to take her in my arms and kiss her from head to foot trying to comfort just a little her infamous suffering. He allowed me to go to her but the doors of my room did not give in to my daring efforts, I hit the windows and broke my hands in disturbing squeaks but not ever gave up down the fragility of the place for where the sun greets me every morning.

     

     I cried with impotence and sadness to see the slender muse of the liberation of my loneliness, to cry disconsolate and was tearing her own skin hoping that the poison that was infecting her heart would escape.

On a January night

fell the tempest of a dream,

a dream that mitigated

the cold of a winter raw.

Bounded in a white room,

lying in a soft bunk

and beside me, wrapped in tears,

an angel that in my darkest fantasies,

unabashed I admired her.

The venom still ran through my veins

and in those of that divine entity,

the pain of a penalty maybe the lost,

from the sky where came from.

Her beauty wings,

white as pure snow,

that some demon, perhaps internal,

merciless has ripped off.

And seeking to comfort her,

to seeing embodied in woman,

animated, I approach.

Being a sinful man

lie would if deny

that from this moment,

In my mind, to lust subjugated.

I stripped and kissed her

in every corner of her sacred being,

not one of her hair,

escape of my lascivious touch.

And in my volatile imagination,

I made her mine, again and again,

without respect to her holy condition,

nor of her thin body of compassion.

With laborious tenderness

I took her in my arms

and at the end of the fantasy,

I could not do more

offer her some water.

That earned me her favor,

situation that not ever can be paid,

just like a glimpse of faith

for if the Creator did not exist,

To my arms not ever sent her,

although time has passed,

that angel incarnated in woman,

whose kisses taste to honey.

  

With such a soft touch

like the clouds of which,

for an infamous error,

fell into this hell,

where love is grief.

Now I just want,

have the cunning of Luzbel

to not let her go back to heaven

and like Lilith, build a paradise

for that angel by a mistake fallen.

     Desperate I cut my arms, legs and face, hands and chest but the closed door did not give up just a little, nor the in the windows crystals before my fists shattered and that damned God, smiling before my regret and pain played in his languid fingers with the key of the door that I separated me from the longed for peace.

     I woke up in a cold sweat, my eyes flooded with saline tears that mingled their diamond drops with the crimson liquid that flowed from the furrows created by my blackened claws, turning into watery rubies. Once again I was confined within the walls of a house of madness; The slender and tender Venus with black hair that in its glorious torment rose in syncretism to the immaculate Ishtar³ shrine visits me time to time as well as my anguished biological family. Meanwhile I hope to leave one day of this prison disguised as sanatorium, just one day, so that once again, that God, take me by the hand to another stormy dream and not ever again, allow me to wake up.

 _____
1.- Goetia or Goëtia (Medieval Latin; anglicised as goety /ˈɡoʊ.ᵻti/) is a practice that includes the conjuration of demons, specifically the ones summoned by the Biblical figure, King Solomon. The use of the term in English largely derives from the 17th-century grimoire The Lesser Key of Solomon, which features an Ars Goetia as its first section. It contains descriptions of the evocation, or "calling out", of seventy-two demons, famously edited by Aleister Crowley in 1904 as The Book of the Goetia of Solomon the King. Goetic Theurgy, another practice described in the Lesser Key of Solomon, is similar to the book's description of Goetia, but is used to invoke aerial spirits.
2.- Necromancy (/ˈnɛkrəˌmænsi, -roʊ-/) is a supposed practice of magic involving communication with the deceased – either by summoning their spirit as an apparition or raising them bodily – for the purpose of divination, imparting the means to foretell future events or discover hidden knowledge, to bring someone back from the dead, or to use the deceased as a weapon, as the term may sometimes be used in a more general sense to refer to black magic or witchcraft. The word "necromancy" is adapted from Late Latin necromantia, itself borrowed from post-Classical Greek νεκρομαντεία (nekromanteía), a compound of Ancient Greek νεκρός (nekrós), "dead body", and μαντεία (manteía), "divination by means of"; this compound form was first used by Origen of Alexandria in the 3rd century AD. The Classical Greek term was ἡ νέκυια (nekyia), from the episode of the Odyssey in which Odysseus visits the realm of the dead and νεκρομαντεία in Hellenistic Greek, rendered as necromantīa in Latin, and as necromancy in 17th-century English.
3- Ishtar was the Mesopotamian goddess of love, beauty, sex, desire, fertility, war, combat, and political power, the East Semitic (Akkadian, Assyrian and Babylonian) counterpart to the Sumerian Inanna, and a cognate of the Northwest Semitic goddess Astarte and the Armenian goddess Astghik. Ishtar was an important deity in Mesopotamian religion from around 3500 BCE until its gradual decline between the 1st and 5th centuries CE with the spread of Christianity. Ishtar is primary symbols were the lion and the eight-pointed star. She was associated with the planet Venus and subsumed many. Important aspects of her character and her cult from the earlier Sumerian goddess Inanna. Nonetheless, she was different from her predecessor in several notable ways. The Babylonian version of the story of her descent into the Underworld is similar to the Sumerian version, but also contains several notable divergences. For instance, her assistant in the story is the male god Papsukkal rather than the female Sumerian Ninshubur. In the standard Akkadian version of the Epic of Gilgamesh, Ishtar is portrayed as a spoiled and hot-headed femme fatale who unleashes the Bull of Heaven, resulting in the death of Enkidu and Gilgamesh rejects his demand that he become her consort. This stands in sharp contrast with Inanna's radically different portrayal in the earlier Sumerian epic of Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Netherworld. Although various publications have claimed that Ishtar name is the root behind the modern English word Easter, reputable linguists have unanimously rejected these putative etymologies as entirely false.