Hymn I to Hekate

It is false that the grave has no victory
It is true that death has no sting
For I will lead you to live again
To the grave again
And to die

All the times of your darkest darks
The kill of the most poignant of pains
If then you dared some
Wildest gnosis
Acceptance equal to these and more
That was My tenderest embrace

Then and now are all spaces
All places turned liminal strange
Between the proton and neutron
Betwixt the quark and the quark
I arise without end
I am the world’s bones and
I am the tree of life and death
Axis Mundi is My name

I am the blade sharp to divide
Flesh from flesh
Flesh from soul
Soul from spirit
These too are roads and crossroads
I cut them
I breathe free for
I am the breath of the world
Say my name
It is Anima Mundi

Every flaw in every space
Every sob of every pain
I am hidden there for
My name is Most Lovely
And
Allwheres I dwell so allwheres is beauty and
The heart of all is beauty
Thus all things are redeemed so
Say my name for
It is Savior

I am the keeper of the four way crossroads for
I am the Goddess of death
I am the keeper of the three way crossroads for
Death is but an in between
You do not know
It is again to seek My beauty
That you awake again
So say My name, say it now
It is Psychopompos
My name, sing it from your broken hearts
It is Resurrection

It is for You we wake
That we taste again of beauty
Serpent flower in the heart of fear
Beauty whelming all but beauty
Tender Girl
Infinite Goddess
Our tears stream for You
Our sobs sing for You
We love you unbeknownst but
Else would be but empty world
Therefore we psalm Your name
A final time
Trembling and fanatic

Hekate Creatrix

—-Rachel Izabella Parker, 17 aprilis 2013

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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
Lonely

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

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

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
⸻Thine
⸻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

Hekate

Hekate

It is false that the grave has no victory
It is true that death has no sting
For I will lead you to live again
To the grave again
And to die

All the times of your darkest darks
The kill of the most poignant of pains
If then you dared some
Wildest gnosis
Acceptance equal to these and more
That was My tenderest embrace

Then and now are all spaces
All places turned liminal strange
Between the proton and neutron
Betwixt the quark and the quark
I arise without end
I am the world’s bones and
I am the tree of life and death
Axis Mundi is My name

I am the blade sharp to divide
Flesh from flesh
Flesh from soul
Soul from spirit
These too are roads and crossroads
I cut them
I breathe free for
I am the breath of the world
Say my name
It is Anima Mundi

Every flaw in every space
Every sob of every pain
I am hidden there for
My name is Most Lovely
And
Allwheres I dwell so allwheres is beauty and
The heart of all is beauty
Thus all things are redeemed so
Say my name for
It is Savior

I am the keeper of the four way crossroads for
I am the Goddess of death
I am the keeper of the three way crossroads for
Death is but an in between
You do not know
It is again to seek My beauty
That you awake again
So say My name, say it now
It is Psychopompos
My name, sing it from your broken hearts
It is Resurrection

It is for You we wake
That we taste again of beauty
Serpent flower in the heart of fear
Beauty whelming all but beauty
Tender Girl
Infinite Goddess
Our tears stream for You
Our sobs sing for You
We love you unbeknownst but
Else would be but empty world
Therefore we psalm Your name
A final time
Trembling and fanatic

Hekate Creatrix

—-Rachel Izabella Parker, 17 aprilis 2013

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

Magic Isn’t Fun Anymore

Magic isn’t fun anymore. I’m on the wrong path. I’m not having fun any more.

Magic isn’t fun any more.

I wrote a poem about it. I won’t expatiate or gall you with self-pity any more than that.

I’ve lost the Word — lost Mystery —
Imagination barren — abiding in Atrophy —
How recover the Angel in the Word? —
When Sun’s a beetle — Earth — a Turd? —
A path I — thought — would gift me the Moon —
Word & World — both sere — clashing Weeds —
Dead stalks in this blazing — Noon —
Dream has reft His very Self from — me — Woods
Call to me — no more — I
I am Poor — I am Poor —
Great Pan is Dead — They say, A Lie —
The Great God Pan — to me I know
Did surely Die —
The Path — but the Path — the very Path I — walk —
Did I — did the Path — did the Daystone stalk
The Great God Pan — and kill? —
Or was it my Will — my Will — my Will? —
The Will of the Will of the Will of the Will —
I know this — the Word is a Corpse — to me —
World without Word — this cannot —
Will not — shall not — Be —
New Paths anew — Seek them without Seek —
Thus — by Chance — again I — and by Grace — may See —

Don’t Fight Your True Will: or, Follow Your Own Crooked Path

February 2011 I was in agony. Every sound, every sight, every moment hurt. And the hurt made me behave like an asshole to my wife and children. I now believe it was entirely because I was slowly, inescapably coming out to myself as a transsexual woman and I fought that truth of who I am so hard.

Early March I packed my truck and left my wife, my children. I went back to the mountains where I’m from. I broke my family’s heart and almost destroyed myself in the process. I’d say it was stupid, useless, but I also believe that — secretly from even myself — I returned to my old home to discover who I really am. I’m a transsexual woman. In part I knew the truth. But I was so scared. I fought it.  Alone, with enormous challenges but surrounded by the sights of my childhood and the melancholy beauty of the Smokey Mountains, I was finally able to come out to myself a few months later.

Sitting on the porch of my new place, my man-cave, I wrote this poem one Spring afternoon. It’s obscure, it follows no rules. A belief in rebirth or metempsychosis is implicit. But, for me at least, it’s visceral. I reread it and I can feel the pain, distantly, again. My recommendation to you is, Don’t do this to yourself! The last two lines say as much.

The good thing is, this story has a very happy ending. Maybe I had to take the pain first and overcome it, which I did, in order to come out to myself as trans. For what it’s worth, here it is:

 When you've not much — And
 Your little agonizes —
 You'll give All up —
 You will cry —
 Keen lost agonies — As I
 Agony of agonies sup —
 Wish for — Any End —
 My beauties tore —
 My loves rent — Me —
 So poor —
 I now flee Moon —
 As Sun before —
 I seek some — Empty Tune —
 Though no End may Be —
 To Raucous Organ's score —

 The Grinder's Inept — But
 Forever the Roar —
 Awls in Ears —
 Infinite Years I'll Prance —
 Words, words — Gut
 Like trout are —
 Infinite years — I Only —
 We only mock some — Dance —
 Aeons, aeons more —

 Gnosis pays Dividend —
 I found, flipped the switch —
 Dark makes — this Sound — Stray
 Dear Friend — And
 Into Grey bend —
 Not Night, not Day —

 Stay your Hand — Let itch
 That envied Itch

Make of it what you will. An object lesson, maybe. If you’re life’s graph paper places you outside the bell curve, that’s OK. As somebody said, “Wherever you go, there you are.” Accept it. Accept it radically.

I came out during an unforgettable all night vigil in July. Five weeks later I moved back to the Piedmont region to be near my children. I thought there was a slim chance my wife would let me be part of their lives. I moved into an apartment that made the tornado-proof trailer I was living in in the highlands seem palatial, it was so bad, but I was a 15 minute drive away from my family. A slim chance, I thought … so I came out to my wife…

And, slowly, something strange happened. —I’m back home again, my real home where I belong—with my wife and children. My wife and I are more in love than we’ve ever been I believe.  I’m home again and my wife and children accept me just as I am: as a woman. I’d not have believed that possible when I first returned to town.

I’ve been full-time about three months. I’ve been on hormones 9 weeks. The morning I voted in the presidential election, two days ago now, I overheard a hushed conversation: “That person’s name is <birthname>?!”  Like they could not believe I was born in a male body.

But I had just showered and cleaned up—and I looked good.