TAARP - The Corridors of Time -
Appendix D
I wrote the poem presented in this appendix in 1977. It serves as a mechanism to transform me from my everyday, societal self to that of an Occultist preparing for a ritual of High Magick. I use it as a preliminary gesture at the beginning of all invocation and evocation rituals. It is very effective for setting me in the proper frame of reference for ritual workings.
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Pot of rotten leaves and mice, Holder of the prime device; Sacred womb of Ele-a, Caldron of the dragon's ka. Fire of precious essence born, Scene of arcane knowledge torn; Blow the raging winds down true, Bring forth the seal of Abbie-gou. Hound of heaven,*Hell of night, Drawn and ready for the flight; Let us beckon now to ride, Down the hall of season's tide. See the way from whence we came, Taste the waters in the flame; With our mind and spirit too, Let us visit Abbie-gou. Let us ride the rivers past, And see the dawn of time; Touch the swamps from which we rose, And breathe upon the slime. With symbols made and curses gave, And skies grown black with thunder; Ele-a and Abbie-gou, Will dance the death song number. So ride, Ka-lib-a-lus, ride, Back, back, through the corridors of time, Let the mind ad-lib, and the soul unwind. And ride, Ka-lib-a-lus, ride. Spend the eve of glaciered dawn, In the caves by nature spawned; Bear the yoke of Sargon's rule, And learn the whys of histories cruel. Behold the old reptilian sky, And shake the hand of Set; Take hold the banner of the flame, And live what most forget. Maelstroms of the distant past, May greet us now and then; Horrors of the caverned deep, And other long lost kin. Midnight suns that burn and bake, Testy flies in typhoid's wake; All of these and angels too, Are part of Magick, and Her crew. Ever onward through the night, By the glow of Paimon's light; Let us mend the rocky road, Others follow, backs are bowed. Hear the rhythm of Her wand, Careful not to slip or yawn; Keep the stone within Her net, Well transfixed, and aptly met. Let no evil demon's eye, Catch us napping by and by; Trust no visions of the wind, Let no, unusual spells begin. Listen now and hear Her cry, Thirty-three knocks through Amon's Eye; Iffel, baffel, biffel, bou, Iblin, ablin, eblin, ou. Old gray hags do now unquote,** Toil and trouble, brim and bloat. Scalpels slice malignant dice, Sleep for those who know; Stormy seas and poisoned breeze, Oh hail the spirits low. Thirty-three knocks on the witches' bell, Ele, Ile, and Abba-dom-tel. Spider brain and scorpion dew, Green ground frog and Abbie-gou. Thirty-three knocks on the witches' bell, Ele, Ile, and Abba-dom-tel. In the cup that holds the knot, There lies the blackened blood; Stir and turn, and bittely burn, And fathom through the mud. Thirty-three knocks on the witches' bell, Ele, Ile, and Abba-dom-tel. But rivers run the moon's left eye, Aeons dance and aeons die. So, gently by the bronze age stream, Quickly through Cro-Magnon's dream; Safely over hallowed grave, Of dinosaur and warrior brave. Let us travel to the lands, Of Pleistocene and furrier man; Confirm the beds on which he lay, Try out the lengths, of his day. Let us feel the Source grown bright, By and down, the swamp road flight; Let us meet the hoared kind, Which cradled then, the living mind. So ride, Ka-lib-a-lus, ride, Back, back, through the corridors of time, Let the mind ad-lib, and the soul unwind. And ride, Ka-lib-a-lus, ride. | |
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FRED HOWARD President, The House of Thoth Yellow Springs, Ohio February 1977 | |
