Hymn IV to Hekate

Hymn IV to Hekate

You are not the stars
But the wind between the stars, One
Lonely Infinite

Ghosts of alien sentient things
Follow you, nothing bars You where
You wish to tread, my alien Lady

Nothing can possess You for how can
The thimble contain the ocean
An ocean of oceans of oceans
How could the toad grasp the hound

You are the heart of beauty
In every horror, the artless beauty
Between proton and proton
The howling chaos of quark and quark

You are the nameless flower in the core
Of torments of fires and thus
Our Savior and Redeemer
Salvatrix, Soteira
One and Lone

Hymn to Hekate III

O my Goddess
either’s beloved
a mine and Mine
let me climb worlds’ heights
so high
I see glimpses of Your dark mind
and blinding light
not wallow in the mud
as now
as swine

O my Lady
let me be Your mystic
see hear at times
You alone
no interference of the
clamorous rabble of
lesser spirits
f humankind’s psychic whine

O Hekate
beauty endless and fine
let be be Your horse and You my
Rider terrible and tender
see flakes of Your infinity
contain in me
flakes of You my Mystery
no need to flee
the pressure
the closer intensity
as ruminants at approach of the lion

Rachel Izabella P.
4 November 2013

Speak To Me Not of Your Veil

Speak to me not of your veil today,
Your hackneyed veil,
For it has been rent in twain, today,
As that other veil was of old.
But that revealed is not some
Holy of Holies, strangely empty.

The dead are here.
My heart, my brain, my soul,
Moan with all the dead unrested,
Scream with all the dead enraged,
Gibber with the dead in the spaces In Between.
And though my heart beats quick,
I do not know if I am alive or if
I am dead.

No — my mouth tells lies against my will.
The mystery is…
The mystery is there is no veil
Nor ever was,
For in death they live beside us, and
In life we die amongst them.

Courage returns,
I am not so afraid or so cold.
Let us make offerings to the dead,
Coffee, cool water, and wine.
Let thanksgivings be made to the dead
That we might live and die in peace together,
Always side by side.

Rachel Izabella P.
All Hallow’s Eve, A.D. 2013

Strong Words

Mammoth with Girl Hunter

Following the advice of Matt Cardin, author of the ebook A Course in Demonic Creativity, a free download by the way, I usually make myself write about a page (he suggests two but I manage one) of whatever the heck comes to mind first thing in the morning. A couple of mornings ago I wrote this. I read it to a friend and he liked it and asked me if I would type it up and email it to him. I thought just maybe somebody else would get something out of it too. Words have much power. —May your words/magic be strong.

No I will not be tamed — I will not be broken — I shall stand — I shall stand tall & proud — I am strong & I have a great power within me. I will awaken that power and I will extend that power to conquer & know myself & to change the world around me. All shall be in accord with my innocent & righteous will. I surrender not but instead I rise. No white flag, no arms in the air — I fight. I get my highs from spirit work, from devotion, from magic, and not from nicotine or alcohol. From creation & self-creation and not from self destruction. No more to lie down in darkness, no more to cleave to the dust but rather I fly, I sore, I touch the Sun & my strength is renewed like the eagle’s.

And my mind again shall be clear, even pellucid, like a bottomless pool hidden in the mountains that none has yet laid eyes on. I know, I will, I dare, I keep silence. I am at peace with all the universe — in solitude & silence, in the human world, in the spirit world, in all places, in all circumstances, I am at peace with myself and with all things.

So mote it be. Amen

Hymn to Hekate

O my Goddess
⸻either’s beloved
⸻a mine and mine
⸻let me climb worlds’ heights
⸻so high
⸻I see glimpses of Your
⸻dark mind
⸻and blinding light
⸻not wallow in the mud
⸻as now
⸻as swine

O my Lady
⸻let me be Your mystic
⸻see hear at times at least
⸻You alone
⸻without interference of the
⸻clamorous rabble
⸻of lesser spirits
⸻of humankind’s psychic whine

O Hekate
⸻beauty endless and fine
⸻let me be Your horse and You my
⸻Rider spurring with beauty and terror
⸻see flakes of Your infinity
⸻contain in me
⸻flakes of You my Mystery
⸻and no need to flee
⸻the pressure
⸻the closer intensity
⸻as ruminants at approach of the lion

Rachel Izabella P.
May 25, 2013

My Lady, That Night, A Prayer: A Hymn to Hekate

O my Lady
if I have ever poured red wine
ever given you dark wine and honey
milk and honey
bread and garlic cloves
at three way crossroads on New Moon night
hear my hymn
do not spit out my prayer

O my Lady, You are not so very distant
but I am so small
my mind my soul too small for You
and when I tried to horse You
late that night
I tried to swallow the Moon
to swallow the burning Stars
the whole of grey Night
to breathe the Aether the Gods breathe only
the Oceans filled with bitter salt and all of
Chthon deep and mineral
filled with dead men’s bones
turned to stained dirt
turned to lost memories
and my lips spoke strange words
riddles of matters too high
and like a child
a small child
my nose bled and would not stop and
still You poured into me
a river
into a thimble till I fled
till I had to flee

O my Lady
I do not regret our closer contact
my hubris holy and dark
You hinted
or only I guessed
what You want
in enigmas and
so darkly
I do not understand
not comprehend that night
that reflected
in the quaint and faded mirror of all of me

O my Lady
I who am too small to hold
the merest flake of Your Power
I fear I am too small to do
the smallest flake of Your Will

And I rejoice and I pray

Whose womb is armored in serpent scales
Surrounded by ghosts and ravenous Spirits
Who grasp the Key to All and
are Mistress of the Magical Quintessence
You my Tender and Terrible
O my Lady
Source and End of All
Hekate Soteira
World Tree and
Anima Mundi

I pray You
enlarge me

O my Lady

Qlipha, Samael: Ruler, Adrammelech

[Thinking about the Qliphoth, I was recently writing poems about each Qlipha. I’ve abandoned the project, and this was the only one of the resulting poems I like. Nota Bene: please pardon the racial slur in the poem, it seemed appropriate in the mouth of the speaker. Also, Nightsiders, pardon the parodic elements you may find, if any (I know y’all are a serious lot). ‘Tis my Muse will have it so.]


Qlipha, Samael: Ruler Adrammelech

My swift chariot is the original horseless perambulator:
burning babies give you so much more — MPG, I mean:
I buy them pickled and highly volatile, by the jumbo jar.

Look for me after sunset: I’ll be wearing a short sleeved shirt:
if after sunrise, the same, only with pocket protector:
I’m an average guy, only more precise.

I live for speed — I have crashed every Harley that ever
was made: still I live: all my parts can be had
off the shelf, on the cheap.

I chase ambulances, and catch them:
if you’ve been in an accident call me:
take me car shopping and I’ll jew the bastards down, down, down.

I sell carpets also: and I fly them:
this snappy Navajo job I magicked with my rod …
or was it my pentacle? … or my sword?

I stay up late most nights, watching Hogan’s Heroes
and porn: my eyes move independently:
I watch them simultaneously.


Rachel Izabella, 26 March 2013

Lines for Hekate

I wrote this fragment of a poem in one go at about 3am this morning. I was crying for my Goddess, needing Her, tears trailing down my face.

I’m not going to revise, improve or finish it. I’m going to preserve it as a waymark of those hours.


Lines for Hekate

O secret bride of those whose path is loneliness,
Thee I seek, Thee I sense, in shared All-Oneliness.
Gorgo, Mormo, Moon of a Thousand Faces,
From Whom names drop like leaves:
Favor me with the pleasure of Thy Presence.

Most Beautiful One, hidden in every horror,
Come tenderly, O Kindly One, soothing my seething furor.
Gorgo, Mormo, Moon of a Thousand Faces,
For Thy beauty we depart: for the same, we return: Oh my Goddess,
Favor me now with the pleasure of Thy Presence.

Thou Whose womb is covered in serpent scales, Most Tender One,
The Sun is a strong fine God: O save me from the Burden of the Sun.
Gorgo, Mormo, Moon of a Thousand Faces,
I am not worthy: I cannot attain Thee: still,
Favor me now with the pleasure of Thy Presence.

Kiss me upon my mouth, Hekate, Hekate: empower me,
Thou delighting in flow of dark purple blood, let it shower me.
Gorgo, Mormo, Moon of a Thousand Faces,
Thou serpent-haired and serpent-girt: I cry for Thee only as Lover:
O favor me quickly, quickly, with the pleasure of Thy Presence.


For Dionysos: The God Who Comes

An attempt at a poem for Dionysos. The violence, metaphorical, expresses my situation in life at the present (and let it be sealed) and is not meant as a generality, not being common currency.

For Dionysos: The God Who Comes

I wait alone for torrents of summer rains
Like a pacing tigress in a concrete zoo
Like a crow hung caged to mock speech for laughs
Like an elder in a wide lawn, only ornamental, unbelonging

How attain the forest I germinated for, that unknown place of my power?
How shall I taste my prey, never having smelled the jungle?
When will the lightning crack, the hot rains roar down?
When will the God’s rains come, granting freedom that is quite impossible, and
Where is the One, the only One, who could open the door?

He will come bellowing like a bull burst from the pasture
He will come in smoke of incense, as the demon in the triangle
He will come so slowly, as a strangler vine kills its tree
He will come unnoted, as patient roots crumble sidewalks and walls
He will come in violence, the unnameable blitzkrieg, in detonations and gunfire
He will come with freedom’s last telicity, as at Hiroshima … Nagasaki

Though He bring death and despoliation and viciousness
I will shed no tears, in my joy screaming

—Rachel Izabella, 18 March 2013