Augoiedes

A black and white line drawing.

Invocation to end paranoia

Sweet mother Awilix, you blend with the night because you are the night. You live in all darkness, watchful and waiting, the sky: too small to hold you. Bear your teeth to light the path, your dripping bloody tongue. Push your fingers through my chest, stop my breath. Peel back the skin, for the face of your drum. Roll out my intestines and wear them about your neck. Grind my bones between your teeth to make your children dance. My blood, your wine. My lungs, your trumpet. Mother of demons who live in all dark places, all haunted places, things impossible to understand. Mother of 22,000 breaths. The animator of tissue, the origin of the current.

A painful birth that almost killed you, this aether. The strange place of the half formed somehow between and inside of everything. Mother of the beetle they call Kephra a pyramid and a world away. Where he jumps your aether collects, the half formed transform into the darkest of things, resting finally manifest within the five directions. Where he jumps we break through great resistance, finding a better way.

Bring madness and break me. Change itself, your image brings pain. You drip from above to the center of the earth, rotating behind your ribs. Calamity and fortune, twins in the same body, your horrible child. Your dead husband planted his seeds, twins born from a crack in the serpent who outlives eternity. Turn the heads of your child(ren), show their face, the same face. Their forms overlap, bend, change, but remain the same eternally. The lookout changes, the red eyes of the jungle smolder.

Your worship beats back aversion. Fear of the dark is your yantra, the smell of disease in the feces of an animal your mantra. Breathe deep, stop moving and close the eyes, wait for time to pass. Never fear the dark and she will always sit next to you. No body remains, no mind, no self.

A splinter in the mind, the other entered. Does it watch? Do they watch? No one watches. No one cares. The center of the universe, so crowded. Take all for your master. The wind whispers its secrets across the grass. The insects speak in the night. Find their message in the morning, written in the language of their footsteps describing a path to the center of the tree. People speak in fragments that combine and instruct. Invoke often. 40 days and 40 nights of silence, listen carefully. Daily life becomes a dream. Soon a lucid dream.

Be still and the bricks tell you their story, show you their secrets. To the world you stare at the wall, unreachable. Channel yourself into something, changed by everything. Extract information: bits and pieces. Silence, stillness, gnosis. Stillness at length resembles pain, and pain teaches. Use movement and the structure of the body to discriminate, lose the mind. An instrument and an appendix, gets in the way. The enteric nervous system, gut instinct, sharpen this instrument instead. The future requires preparation as it happens.

Grab hold of the strands of what may come by honing the ability to observe what sits in front of you. Your brain projects you outward and changes how you see. Live in the prerecordings by observing trends that occur over time in your own mind and the environment. In this way, the present also creates the past.

Don’t trust anyone who says they can see the future, even yourself. An unpredictable life is one worth living.