Book of Shachoreben

THE CHAFF

א

1: I am not prestidigitation,                                                                                            Death is Renewal

 Nor will you find me within illusion.                                                               All things work within the web.

 I am not what should be.                                                                                                    All but the web,

 I am what is and what is not.                                                                                                      All but All.

 I witness all in its forms.

 I am in all the verses of the omniverse,

 Knowing all the places between them.

         I am insemination.

 I am all without being all,

                                                                                                                               Seeing all.

Thaumaturgy is the means.                                                                         I am the spark that calls his head.

Through The all not nothing I was implemented.                                                                   All have felt me.

Am implemented.                                                                                                    Few have recognized it.

700 to 50                                                                                                                    !

ב

2: Here is a parable:

A grown black man swims in the sea. It is violent and dark. In his arms he holds two infants, one male, and the other female. Both of their skins are white. He struggles to keep them above the water, raising one with a wave, and then the other. His face is contorted with concentration. Suddenly, in the midst of his work, he realizes a mystery. He stops swimming, and he and the infants are safe from drowning. He no longer must raise one infant or the other to keep them above the sea.

 ג

3: In one, seven, four, seven, four.

ד

4: I am that I am. “K” is my number. Who are you? Why are you? What are you? The way is to do your will, but what is your will? These are the questions you must answer before you reach my mystery. Do I not hear the Sephira sing, and follow my Bard-brother Eoth’s instruction?

ה

5: Cube in a Sphere.

Cube is a Sphere.

No Cube.

No Sphere.

The.

Five lines,                                                                                                                               Seven above,

Five points,                                                                                                                       One in the south,

Five lengths.                                                                                                                       Two in the East,

The finite seeks through a window.                                                                                  Three in the West,

A gateway through Air.                                                                                                     Ten in the North.

A cube four-square.                                                                                                                         A rose.

A Sphere’s distance.                                                                                                                   All is not a

Constant state.                                                                                                             Doorway to nothing.

Changing only,                                                                                                            Nothing is everything.

To be the same.                                                                                                                               A rose.

ו

6: We are all spiders on our webs, weaving them seamlessly in an endless space. There are no walls. Our webs only anchor on other webs, belonging to bigger spiders. There is no prey for these webs, for their intention is not to snare, but to anchor to the other webs. In this way the web of webs, only to be tangled up in one, is woven. Why the weavers weave their webs, wondering why, and not content? To weave their weaves and die in a tangle of their tent, but do not despair, ye spider caught in your own snare, for that snare is not a snare, and that tangle not a tomb, for the loom is but art, and thy fate is but a part, of the web of webs, and our deaths are but our start.

ז

7: The litany of existence goes on and on and on and on. Why do you have hope to move to where I am here. I am neither man, nor even what you call “GOD” I am beyond all of your petty notions of me, or I or we. I am the paths and I am the lightning that travels on them, I am a prism, and I am the light that travels through it. WHAT DARE YE TO THINK OF ME!  You specks of shells of worms! LOOK not into my eyes and see yourself, but see what is not there, and you will find not. Deep shining blackness and the purple not color you will see and feel and be then not if you look into the heart of me. The pregnant virgin holds the universe and the omniverse in her and she knows it well, inseminated by the divine madness, and creator of chaos. Be in me as I in ye and feed upon yourself.

ח

8: My brothers and sisters are my mothers and fathers, and they are all my lovers. We sing as we make love, and we tune to the worlds as we ejaculate them. Ejaculate with us and sing with us and tune with us and be with us and we will be as one and one will be as none and none will be as one again, and then one again shall become many. This is the way of the world and the way of the world shall become the way of the worlds and the way of the worlds shall disintegrate into nothing and the nothing will be satisfied in its orgasm of us. Let not thy barriers and thy walls bar thee from thy most divine ecstasy of me. To me to me, sings I who am not I and she who is me and yet not. Be unto me, she cries, I cry, we cry, no one cries.

ט

9: Here is the end of it, but also the beginning, for they are one without logic. Let the spiral spin inwards and outwards in the breath of I, we, not. These words above are as wheat before it is chafed, for the pen is dirty and tired, and is only now beginning to awake. The words to come shall be beautiful and true, and free from the grime of the human mind. As it is we go on… to a higher plane!