It seemed to B.W. LaMorte, that in discovering his True Will, the Will is found to be a pathway facilitating the manifestation of N’aton (Nuclear Atom/Nuclear Atman). This manifestation is the apotheosis of the Crowned and Conquering Child, lifting his double head into the aethyrs beyond AOS’s Neither-Neither. The Scales of Libra indicate that (-1)+(+1)=0. The most fierce declaration of in-dividuality possible is the absolute negation of individuality…
This is an absolute negation. I am not, therefore I am.
Tipharetic consciousness, which comports the transmutation of lead into gold through the activation of the Fire Snake, is the level of consciousness necessary for metaprogramming. The Programmer is the HGA, and the Will (or Inherent Dream) is the Loom of Lila and Web of Wyrd – the time-spanning matrix of scripts fashioned and edited by the Metaprogrammer like the computer programmer causes a webpage to manifest. This is the experience of the unity of individual and cosmic will. The inter-face between the two is the True Will. It is for this reason that, having become God of their own reality tunnel, the Magician is then prepared to traffic with entities from “Outside,” as they are capable of changing the script and thus avoiding dis-memberment in the Abyss by their own demons. When the seeker becomes the Path, the Tao, they are beyond the reach of any harm.
I am the result of the mages of the past. Their magics shaped the future, allowing the Shadow to bleed in and dissolve the boundaries of Time. They created me, through the vibrating of occultish words, the publishing of books, the surrendings to ecstasy. I am a point – like them – in the web of power that uses us as a medium. Their astral currents dance across my Inner Eye, to enter “I.” The Owl flies, the seer in Darkness. Nothing obstructs his flight to the Darkness beyond the Sabbath. Bathe in the blood spilled: it is our own! The light of the flames dance across the flesh, transforming lust into wonder into dissolution. I am the heart of the flame. The “Heart Girt With a Serpent” is my name. I am the bornless one. I speak for no-one. Don’t ask any more. My teeth are clenched shut, the serpents lick at my feet.
Please, please jewel-encrusted Mother, the skies are abundant with your splendors. Tell me the answer! I implore you. I am your humble servant, the egg in your ovaries still yet to be fertilized. Call forth your mate, cast me out onto the Earth so I can see your body in its entirety!
…No. Fuck. That wasn’t such a good idea. I want back in! It’s hot down here and there are spiders. I can’t stand this shit. The brochure gave a very different impression. I’m going to call my agent. What a bunch of assholes.
“Tommy, it’s so good to see you again. I thought they had sent you down the can.”
“I was pretty close, John. You’ve got to understand, I’m not paid to convince any-one of any-thing. All I do is write the reports. It’s for the public to decide whether I’m right or wrong.”
“That’s all very true, but the word on the street is that you’re not doing so well. Your old girlfriend said you were on the down-current, weren’t keeping up with the books.”
“That’s all rubbish. I keep it up as good as anybody. Why, just look at the new watch I bought! You can’t imagine that I paid this kind of money just for my own amusement. I’m keeping up appearances.”
MENE MENE, TEKEL UPHARSIN