#thelema
The shortest day throughout the year
Should leave us with but little cheer
Yet as the day turns into night
A hope lies with its dimming light
A hope unbroke through eons past
Tho doubt it often would amass
In hearts and spirits of long last
Ancestors who witnessed it's glow
For they, who didn't truly know
The secrets of the star that hides
That, as the light that shines in thee
The sun lives on, eternally
No longer will the Gods arise
For what's eternal never dies
We leave behind all fear and fright
In that long, cold, dark winter's night
And all that's left for use to do
Is wait for day, to break on through
And turn our faces to the sun
Knowing one day we'll all be one
Jun 22, 2025
Jun 22, 2025 at 2:33 PM UTC
Born Clarendon Square, 1875
11th year, father and hero dies
Mother's moniker, The Great Beast
Carries proud 'til rest in peace
Scripture's words so clearly lies
One off the wrist and women's thighs
Such morals never suit The Beast
On original sin, so does he feast
Red light women, gonorrhoea
Inhale and hold, but have no fear
Bow to none beneath the sky
Affliction, addiction, getting high
Poetry, prose, philosophy, chess
Science, literature, quite the quest
Majestic Monch without a guide
Dispel the darkness deep inside?
A new Sunrise, The Golden Dawn
To most, The Beast is but a thorn
From all the hate, he does defend
"I shall endure until to the end"
A crashing bore, The Golden Dawn
Such petty games, reject them all
Traverse the world and left in awe
In India, sombre spirits soar
The Savage Mountain scrapes the sky
Never scaled yet still must try
Brash bravery, they do not lack
No savage spoils, men beaten back
Convenience ties Beast and Rose
Affection hankers hard to show
Rosa Mundi and Love Songs
One lake of molten joy, one pond
In Egypt, Prince invokes the Gods
Great Horus comes, the Equinox
Aiwass speaks, so Beast does score
A new Aeon, Book Of The Law
On Nepal's peak, his peers they die
Attempt descent beneath dark skies
For such a loss bears all the blame
To climbing clique, ne'er the same
With Godhead now is unionised
As hashish opens the Third Eye
Meagre means and thus provides
Tankerville's peace is bonafide
A∴ A∴ heart, see how it glows
Tree Of Life they seek to grow
A flower's bloom begins to fade
Whilst sadly withers in the shade
The Beast now pens The Book Of Lies
His Scarlet Woman within resides
And for *** Magic does devise
"Contra Naturam", come inside
World War One, it rakes the Earth
While Wilhelm is as Jesus birth
Did The Beast truly betray
A country that had held his sway?
Thelema Abbey, hear its call
Lewd libertine within these walls
Loveday discovers only death
Benito brings its final breath
To man, a prophet is declared
Thelema's message, for to spread
Magnum opus, now complete
Of France, fair punishment is mete?
High on Hell's Mouth, his heart it breaks
But both black ink and leap are fake
War once again now rakes the Earth
Will Blackshirts bond Thelema's church?
War service scorned by N.I.D.
The face behind the Victory V?
Olla: Sixty Years of Song
A final book, the last swan song
Hasting's last battle is now lost
The Great Beast feels the final frost
"A Black Mass", many tabloids cry
Cold ashes now in Hampton lie
Amoral man, your heart did sing
Black ballads of the blackest dreams
Listen and there's still the screams
Of Thelema's ghosts, it seems
Copyright © Craig Detheridge.
2015 - 2017.
Nov 15, 2019
Nov 15, 2019 at 11:35 AM UTC
Carve a picture of your face into the Halls of Time
Preserve yourself forevermore
In the history of humankind
OBEY -the Universal Law
DO WHAT THOU WILT - Harm Not
Scrape the sky with your canines
Make the people sing your name
Slave for no divine reward
And fear no eternal flame
Devil may care,
Live and let live
DO WHAT THOU WILT - Harm Not
We are a miraculous animal
Tricking ourselves into spurning our own gifts
Overcaffienated/Undersatisfied
Our eyes firmly planted
In the center of the sky
We've spent so long waiting for angels
No one remembers:
We Are Divine.
DO WHAT THOU WILT; Defend Thyself
DO WHAT THOU WILT; Indulge Thyself
DO WHAT THOU WILT; Enjoy Thyself
DO WHAT THOU WILT; Respect Thyself
I Am God
You Are God
God Is A Lie
I Am God
You Are God
God Is An Idea
Born In The Minds
Of Us,
The Inventors
God Is A Tool
Used For Control
His Soldiers Are Fools
Losing Their Souls
DO WHAT THOU WILT
BUT FEAR NO GOD
DO WHAT THOU WILT
GOVERN THYSELF
DO WHAT THOU WILT
PROTECT THY WORLD
DO WHAT THOU WILT
BE WHO YOU WISH
DO WHAT THOU WILT
HARM NOT
WASTE NOT
DO
WHAT
THOU WILT
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 3:09 AM UTC
Now I lay me down to sleep,
while on a path only I can take,
If I die before I wake, then I pray my friends know what to take,
for if I am to be remembered,
then I wish to be remembered as the one who never surrendered.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
Gitano yawned,
stretching out under
the shrine of Öli.
Here he plotted
and hid a mouthful
of secrets; and the Lord
watched over him
as he slept.
He plotted,
for coyote wisdom
is disguised by folly
and cunning
and guile.
All about, the vermilion
stain of Mars. The coyote
chuckled mischievously,
dreaming at the feet
of the Master and Judge.
Above,
a ziggurat raised
to the Goddess.
Two great black eagles
circled in a sky
of dry roses and lilacs.
La Santisima Muerte
stood at a distance,
yet bore Gitano
in Her *****
His mischiefs were scribed
upon a cartouche
to amuse gods
and teach men;
Yet men are not
so easily taught
as gods are amused;
For men have not yet
learned to believe
what makes them laugh.
And so Gitano sleeps,
and talks while he sleeps;
wherefore the Ways
of mischief and trickery
were laid bare.
The secret is to teach
at the expense
of innocence.
Certain illusions persist;
they must be shattered,
but their thrall
can only be broken
by design.
Whether bitterness
takes root in the wake
of the shattering
is not Gitano's concern.
Because sometimes
realization can only come
through being made a fool,
revealed to ourselves
as absurd.
Angry at our own foolishness,
we blame the one
who denudes it.
The coyote, too, is a Fool.
A Fool can learn,
shaping destiny
by taking responsibility.
Through death a Fool
becomes wise,
seeing the joke.
The burden of karma
is left to those
who cannot laugh.
Man grits his teeth,
his brow furrowed.
He despairs.
Gitano chuckles,
unperturbed.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 3:57 PM UTC
Before there were such things as west or east,
Four Pangeaic coasts shared secrets for life.
Four chambers of a heart that pumped as one,
Connected by the tissue of an earth.
We rooted our economies in soil,
And in the warmth of sun we learned to climb.
But in winter, we drifted to the North.
We dug in deep while praying for clear sky.
And as icy Atlantis spread us wide,
Our souls sank to the cradle of red seas,
Terrifying as a medieval womb.
Volcanic tempests flared as wild as would
A child dropping stacks of plates to the floor.
A continent, torn twain by rising tide,
Divided into cents and centuries.
An unspeakable chasm, put to verb
In parts, where our voice was lost to scripture.
Instinct overwritten by memory;
Natural laws supplanted with rulebooks.
Hard-wired archetypes melted into hard
Categories and civilizations.
A terrible beauty born on horseback
Charges his chariots through deserts still,
Blinded by the glaring golden vision
Of history his-self in one image.
Temples to monumental satellites
Bleed up through our grounds, towers, and heavens.
Transhuman? Quantified Self? What's the word;
H.evolutis digs only data,
From matrices' fall to the power of ten
To trans-Pacific partnerships foretold.
The axes that spin this marble will fold.
The Old Western coast will crumble again
into red molten islands at sunset.
We'll evolve into our animal Selves,
Or be mined and displayed in museums
On red planets in the new native world.
And these words will forge, or melt into code.
Circled, triangled, squaring round again,
From decimal to digital and back,
Medial terrain falling to a side.
We can feel the core of our nerve-centre
Rotating slowly toward Oceana,
After many weighted lifetimes marooned.
Whenever and whomever left Here, Then
Will be fragile but courageously sharp.
Diamond-fueled quantum mechanified souls
Will see the golden hills they remembered.
Their mother will call them all back by force
To the source, for a global renaissance.
A stellar aeon will have passed since Death
Forced self-sacrifice on a pantheon,
And the old arms that ordered departings
Will reach for but not reach one another
From within universes to without.
The stars in an East rising in accord
Will be of all color and energy,
Generating a fused atom of light
From shared memories of metal and lith.
Warming each egg in each nest in each cave,
The heat will incubate a new blue bird
Who'll wake, and fly back home to feed her sun.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 9:59 PM UTC