The story Samael told puts me deeply entranced into a shoal of silver fish like stars, swimming through the galaxy.
It is almost like all I do these days is make love, feast, and dream…
The dream unfolds:
Lucifer cuts across the emptiness, that great Void that birthed God, the Trinity, the Deep, and all teeming things within the soup of chaos. A Bright Morning Star, first light in the cold universe, Phanes Protogonos, Creator beyond all time, and he says:
ADORE ME.
I do not bow. I do not worship.
Coy, he smirks, that Protoevanglion figure, and suddenly his blond hair is like poetry and he is clad waist down in a toga, white as a dove, wings imprinted on the cosmos, pouring Aquarius water from the center of the universe from that great clay amphora of Life.
I stretch with need, my angel hot and heavy, and we dance under his pinions, the water pooling on my collarbone, down my left arm, onto my wrist.
ADORE ME.
I do.
