Surge el torbellino desde las últimas consecuencias del contacto de tu dedo con mi consciencia, determinado e imparable como la sombra de tus alas que al final todo lo cubre.
Satisfecho y exhausto en la plenitud del vivir me deslizo en la dulce entrega a la radiante muerte, y nada sino el torbellino queda. De ahí, nada.
Delicado es el roce de tus labios,
y suave el suspiro que recorre mi piel
cuando tus ojos me forman,
cuando tu aliento surge y me nombra.
From a “social contract” perspective, the source of rights is often seen as relying on the ability to enforce them. This does not necessarily mean that they have to be enforced by violent force, all the time. There are other means of coercion, depending on the situation at hand (e.g., perception control, belief manipulation, persuasion, economic threat or incentive, etc.). Nonetheless, when all the surface factors collapse, force is posited as the deciding factor under this view.
However, there is also the Kantian perspective to be considered. From a “there is no god but man” perspective, the source of a right could be a logical necessity of sorts. For example, the idea that “Thou hast no right but to do thy will,” as in Liber Oz, could be seen as implying that the right to do your will logically emanates from the pure will itself. Especially if we consider the idea that the pure will is identical with one’s true nature.
Now, continuing with a Kantian perspective, and Crowley’s discussion of this topic in the magical theorems presented in Magic in Theory and Practice, to assert one’s right to do one’s will is logically and intrinsically connected to accepting everyone else’s right to do their will. In this sense, the source of rights is the acceptance of the Law in its innermost sense. To assert my own right is to accept the rights of others, and vice versa (per Liber Nu). Of course, it could be argued that “there is no god but man” equates the “god” with one’s true nature. Viewed this way, the inner god is the source of Thelemic rights, but at the same time it can be said that there is no external source for them.
As the arrows true
your words fly from silent boughs
of Mystery’s Tree
(A haiku for Wilson Cloudchamber)
What is this time I live? Whispers on my ear from the beloved. Warm breath sending waves of time through my skin. Such is this place, unconcerned with durations and ends, where I listen to the stories that pass through me in the embrace of life.
If sin is a lowering of consciousness from divine, to human, to demonic, then God, in creating this universe, committed the first sin. God is the First and Last of sinners.
Perhaps this is why he is so obsessed with redemption. He needs to redeem himself through the passage of human history, where God finally gets to remember himself as God, as time, as Being-in-itself.
Maybe when we can finally forgive God for his fall, and compassionately tell him with hearts full of love, “It’s okay, God. I understand. I love you as you are,” then perhaps he will be able to forgive himself for his big fall and learn to enjoy his creation a little more, trusting his children a little, and allow us the space to become, as he becomes.
Cada palabra surge del silencio, y de cada frase emerge un suspiro, un aroma, un pedacito de conciencia.
Así cada memoria surge del olvido, y de cada conjunto de vivencias encadenadas en la serpentina ondulación de vida y experiencia, de ensueño e historia, emerge un yo como emerge el aroma de la flor, el esplendor de la luz, y el amor del sentir.
Bésame pues cataclismo. Roza con tus ojos el oculto centro. Toca con tus dedos de seda las notas que surgen de mi voz. Mírame, y déjame conocerte en los brillos y destellos que despierta tu mirar. Escucha el clamor que brota; manantial de rezo y poesía del olvido.
Susurra en mi oído abierto al misterio y recibe de mí todo lo que puedo ser, disolviendo cada memoria y transformando en silencio cada uno de mis actos de amor, de rabia, de angustia, y de orgásmica visión.