Hail to the Opener of the Way

Tutanhkamun_jackal

Anubis, Master of Secrets, Guide of Souls. Known of old in the raw hills above the green Nile from remote Antiquity.  He comes bearing His staff to guide and guard and bestow grace. Far from a God who comes to my hearth only at the Samhain tide, He is a beacon of wisdom, a fount of inspiration, a mystic Companion in my journeys through the worlds and realms and kingdoms.  But in this season, when our swiftly tilting planet shifts its Northern hemisphere ever more sharply towards darkness, comes hours of dusk and dawn, most fitting  to write of my well-beloved Lord of the Twilight Hallows (a title He made known to my mind in honor of Himself).  He’s far too important a Presence in my life, home, and heart to be confined merely to a single piece of writing.  As a beginning, I offer this poem by one of his most erudite modern-day devotees, the late Terence DuQuesne… it came to me unlooked-for one evening sometime between Lammas and Mabon, and I felt as if He himself were somehow arranging for my eyes to behold these beautiful words Terence offered from a heart filled with love for this dark and lustrous Lord:

Black and gold god
Caress me with your breath
I honour you
In all three worlds
You fuse the elements
Deity of extremes

Let nothing mitigate
The love I bear for you
Time before time
Your avatar is no less
Noble and fallible
Than yourself
And is yourself

Come then wild god
Once and again
Subtle and super-male
Coy libertine
Guardian of incenses
Travel with me
Beyond your sadness
Concrete and visceral
Dreams in the netherworld

Master of Secrets
Lord-of-life
On top of your corruption
Leader of godly counsel
Spellbinder in the kingdom
Of the justified

Brush with your
Fine black fur my tears
Quell all futility
Fit me to love
Grace me to serve your name

Raise the golden
Branch of palm
From Seshat’s magic tree
Touch the caduceus
To my longing lips
Open my mouth
Spirit in sync
For praise and prophecy

Revivify this foolish king
Divine midwife and
Virile psychopomp
Burn from his essence
All that is
More than human
Or less than divine

I conjure you Anûp
Now almost lost
At the port of mystery
Black hole of the soul
Fit me to love
Grace me to serve your name

–Terence DuQuesne, Caduceus (1989, 2nd edition)

 

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