Solve et Coagula

 

Solve et Coagula

I do not fear the night.

I return to her.

Again and again,
I return to the womb of shadow,
where silence drinks every false name,
where every mask falls willingly,
Where every certainty becomes ash.

As above, so below.
So within, so without.

The stars are not above me.
They awaken within me.

The abyss is not beneath me.
It opens behind my own eyes.

For heaven and the underworld
are but two reflections
upon the same eternal mirror,
and the soul walks freely
between them both.

I come to dissolve.

Not in defeat,
But in remembrance.

I unweave the woman
The world desired.
Thread by thread,
breath by breath,
bone by bone.

Into the black fire she falls.

The flames do not punish.

They reveal.

The serpent leaves her skin
without mourning.
The moon surrenders her fullness
without regret.
The seed breaks open
without knowing the forest
Already dreams within it.

Why should I cling
to what was never meant
To survive my becoming?

Death is no stranger.

She is the dark-veiled sister
Who has always known my name.

She waits
where roots embrace forgotten bones,
where ravens guard silent thresholds,
where ancient waters remember
What lips have long forgotten.

She does not ask for surrender.

She asks for the truth.

Solve.

Let the illusion crumble.
Let the borrowed voices fade.
Let every fear become smoke
rising toward unseen stars.

Until nothing remains
but the pulse
That has always been my own.

Then,

Coagula.

Gather the ashes.

Gather the blood.

Gather the breath.

Gather every fragment
The fire refused to consume.

From ruin,
Shape a queen.

From silence,
Shape a voice.

From darkness,
Shape a flame.

I rise
not because I escaped the abyss,
But because I became its daughter.

As above, so below.

The constellations turn within my veins.

So within, so without.

The worlds I awaken
are born from the worlds
I first dared to bury.

This is the oldest mystery.

To die
Before death arrives.

To surrender
Before life demands it.

To become both altar and offering,
both chalice and wine,
both serpent and wings,
both darkness and dawn.

I am the vessel.

I am the void.

I am the fire
that consumes illusion.

I am the womb
That conceives truth.

I am the woman
who walks willingly
into sacred darkness,
only to return
clothed in stars,
crowned with silence,
bearing the hidden flame
that no death can extinguish.

As above, so below.
So within, so without.

Again, I dissolve.

Again, I become.

Again, I descend.

Again, I rise.

For this is the Great Work—

to die a thousand hidden deaths,

until nothing remains

But Mystery.

 

By: HPS Mortisma St. Macabre