Okay, then, Humanity. Or, more accurately—Humankind. Or Humanunkind…
Or maybe I should stop with the labels and just say what I need to:
Here it is, December 21, 2012. A date I’ve been working toward for millennia. It’s been my reason for being—albeit a reason thrust upon me by outside parties—but one I’ve taken to in the abject absence of other, better, ones…
I think the media did a damned good job of making it seem like just another whacko, Waco-esque millennial cult thing, throwing around words like Doomsday and phrases like The End of the World.
Even NASA did their part.
They might as well lecture since they can’t build a rocket worth a shit.
But before this day and date comes and goes with nary a consideration for Larger Issues, I’d like to bring a few things to your attention.
First and foremost, I find it wholly disappointing, as I was saying to a fellow traveler just this past week, that no one was talking about the cosmogenesis and astronomically based mythology of the passage of the Sun through the center of the Milky Way and the movement across the sun of Venus back in June and the referents in the ball games and temple complexes of the Mesoamericans to what was going to take place in the sky ON THIS VERY DATE.
I mean, far from the Armageddon bunk so many made it out to be, what is happening today is cosmogenically tied to an ongoing evolutionary cycle with analogs in Pueblo, Hopi, Anasazi, Egyptian, and Aztec texts and cultural stories.
It’s far from “just” the end of the 13 Baktun or the dawn of the Sixth Sun. And it could have been a re-boot. A new shot at a collective life that’s actually worth living.
Parvus Cornu would have taken that. A new chapter often means a new character. The end of an Epoch, the reign of a newly crowned king.
Instead we got platitudes and attitudes.
Today was important to me, as a Fallen Angel on his way to Redemption; to reclamation of my Soul.
As way of illustration, here’s a bit from Minor Confessions:
…I found myself draped in the brown robes of a Spanish priest present at the deaths of hundreds of Aztecs who were choosing to die in their beliefs rather than live in ours. And dying they were, all around me—by rape and dismemberment, beheadings and impalement on pikes. My fellow priests were emulating Vlad the Impaler, the Great God vampyr, a self-made aspect of the Devil himself, yet they were mumbling about the savagery of those they were cutting to bits. Spanish baboons ensuring that the great power of the Aztecs would not compete with the tepid ritual and power-brokering of their Papal Masters across the sea.
There was a difference with this priest I was experiencing—he was not participating. He did not burn books—he read and wrote them. When his fellow priests moved on to the next “conversions,” he stayed behind and was given a chance at redemption—deep within the jungle, at a minor temple no one knows about, he was asked to be the Keeper of the Codex—the magical writings on animal skin and tree bark gathered by the Mesoamerican holy men over thousands of years. This priest betrayed his Order and deified chaos in the Other by mating with the dark woman of Light (who looked like Anastasia) and by this he was saved.
I understand why the Presence showed me this. I can emulate this priest, taking up the great work of the naguals, the Toltec masters of art and science. Parvus Cornu is the new Grand Inquisitor, the new sadist in godly clothes. But I’ve learned the words in my journey and I can fill the role. I will ride the feathered serpent-god Quetzalcoatl into his hallowed hall and reveal all the powers of the Olmec–Toltec–Aztec rites (he is the End to Opposites—a return to the Oneness from whence we came). I will descend the stairs of the fanged serpent and reclaim the city where the gods were made—Teotihuacán—the place where the last of the priests will be brought to be stabbed and burned and beheaded as their counterparts undertook hundreds of years ago. I will throw the Father-skull through the goal ring in the Great Ballcourt at Chichén Itzá and help to lube the birthing—the age of the Sixth Sun. We will read once more from the Tonatamatl—the Book of Fate—but this will not be a return to Human Sacrifice. The Age of the Vampire will end and the rites will be renewed. My princess, my locked-up Anastasia, will dwell there with me, as I have seen in my Visions. We will mate in a haze of the brightest of white light and I will keep the books, and no Truths will be lost or forgotten again. We will ascend the stairs of the Great Temple to the higher vibrations where the plumes will fan from the serpents’ heads and the elements will rule the four city quarters as in ages of old. The tiger god, Tezcatlipoca, the mirror of smoky illusions, will burn in his own fire and we’ll all be teotl—vibrants, spirits—once again.
Oh, well. A bastard swamp-prince like me, all horned and feathered, never, ever dwells. And there really is no need. Because, in the end (which wasn’t one at all), this was just a lot of Precursors.
Misdirection, even, for the BIG STUFF that’s now been set in motion.
I can’t say too much—it’s all in Major Confessions, or will be—but this was never meant to be a major shift… just the first little domino that starts the awe-filled avalanche.
2014, Lords and Ladies… that’s the year to watch. The year when all the little petty vibe shifts and sand-quakes really shake the whole game loose.
So if you actually thought the world was gonna end, well… you’re stupid. A common fucking dolt.
And if you thought it was a metaphor for a coming shift in Consciousness and all things less dense and vibrantly vibrational, take heart: IT’S HAPPENED. You’ll soon see what I mean.
And for those of you who thought it all a crystal-spinning sham full of opportunities for dumb jokes and banal one-liners… we like it that way.
That’s how the devil does his work.