Hence they go forth through two hundred
     and thirty-one gates, and thus it comes
          about that the whole creation and all
               language proceed from one combination of letters.
                                        —Ben Joseph¹

                    י • H₁₀ • Yod

One of those antediluvian dudes who has nothing to prove • but my own persistence, if the germ is in the • seed, then genius bleeds through everything I do like a • disease, I am of old, have been around since the • beginning, my existence is infinite, one half of the two • forces who course and curl through us and the Universe • like the two serpents of Hermes’ caduceus, I am wisdom’s • •

husband, the Boaz to your Jachin, the JB your BJ • enervates, a rope of salt shot into a moaning mouth • whose longing throat twists it into a pillar, more Solomonic • than shamanic, my spirit is familiar to every stranger, spitting • vitriol and vinegar onto all the builders who rejected me, • I am better unfiltered, a magus as photogenic as a • talismanic image, a scroll twisted and ’twined ’round the splinter • •

sticking into god’s middle finger, the pilum in the side • of every saviour, a thorn in the flesh, I am • his messenger who, two (or two million) years after the • deluge, has come back to tell you the truth, this • is not for those who go begging at the closed • doors of retired religions whose recycled knowledge escapes you, banging • your heads against them, your trash-can faces agape with rancid • •

vacancy, waiting to receive it, forgetting what has already been • said to every seeker in every country, in every language • and every century, to every generation since your parents first • sinned, you fools foraging for clues among the ruins of • temples only the fire of weapons sails through now, deaf • to the sound of heaven’s advice since god always enters • the room as light, you blind scoundrels who refuse to • •

                    ה • N₅ • Heh

see through old wounds whose graves you open again and • again with every mistake you continue to make, you discordant • and ignorant sowers of dragons’ teeth whose wandering hearts harden • into holiness the wood of the garden under whose trees • your ancestors sleep, ashamed, their bones are repulsed by the • hubris of your hedonist youth, restless as leaves and shifting • as if to speak, ‘Even when we were heathens we • •

knew this, before your machines did away with any need • to think,’ it is not for those groaning after gnosis • in twilit grottos as if enlightenment grows like mould on • those who sit on their asses and wait, expecting it • to without effort or debate, no, this is not a • reward for dimwits who take the bait, a banquet for • idiots who can’t afford to learn from others’ similar fates, • •

accepting as fact every last sack of bullshit they’re fed, • speaking as though they’ve never even read, beggars bereft of • the concept of thought (critical thinking, or not at all), • always asking but never investigating, ‘What does that even mean?’ • feasting on scraps, vacuous gluttons filling their heads with yet • more emptiness (collective consciousness is a bitch, especially when everything’s • suddenly offensive and everyone’s a victim—how are you not • •

yet already dead, why are you still here‽), only idiots • rely on word-of-mouth, those who know what counts work with • a vocabulary beyond numbers, it’s no wonder every time I • confide in strangers what’s really hiding behind the lies they’re • buying and living without realizing it, they find another reason • to keep believing in the needing they’re taught, indoctrinated that, • consumerism heals all ills, suffering electricity as if any effort • •

                    ו • O₆ • Vav

to feel would shock beyond all hope of any possible • repair, or recovery, those dolts a short-out of a few volts • holds captive not against their wills, but worse, in conformity • with them, a collective decision against reason to let bleed • Promethean secretions in defiant disagreement with every precept of decency • dignity demands, lo, never anthropomorphize energy as a deity, no, • lest he bring an end to your origin, I am • •

him, the stone of the philosophers, which, in the Hebrew • tongue, is rendered Aben, and contains within its Ab-Ben the • revelation of the father and the son, one word, bringing • together again the prodigal and the patriarch, returns to form, • by this art, what your giants of a far younger • science hardly touch the surface of (these secrets I impart, • no longer hidden) when, by letters, they refer to as • •

elements moments they call hydrogen, nitrogen, and oxygen, life’s fundamental • building blocks over which you all still stumble, but will • no longer once you recall what prophets encoded surreptitiously in • holy scripture for you to remember, their uncovering and reunion • brings about the completion of the Great Work, humbles princes • and stills, if only for an instant, the spinning of • planets, avers their stirring to revolution, again, the orbits of • •

luminaries whose ascents we begin to comprehend when sands of • time quit the glowering imprisonment of hourglasses (traditional or digital), • and relent to the whims of inquisitive winds, denuding what • has been whispered to you since the beginning, ‘Everything is • energy,’ god isn’t a man but an equation, a distant • figure whose calculation threads all of us into place with • the same needle, in the same constellation, of what stars • •

                    ה • N₅ • Heh

are made is that squinting essence, that same winking material, • which gives us our shape, a slight change in pronunciation which • makes a flash into flesh, creation filled space in seven • days which weren’t consecutive but simultaneous, æons equal to fractions • of minutes, billions of years experienced in seconds, expressed as • symbols, rendered as metaphors scholars can’t handle, this analogy, even • now, escapes the erudition and comprehension of greyest brains whose • •

shade is decaying, savants who want to believe but for • them faith is so alien, the greatest minds whose attention • cannot span the divide, bridge the gap, between the past • and the present, it’s all relative and relevant, a rainbow • really is black but for a reason you’re failing to • see when all the colours are stacked, what you find • in the abyss is that, as it stares back, it’s saying • •

there’s but a hand’s-breadth between earth and heaven, that we’re • the mirror of something greater than what we can even • imagine, the mystery is this: it is done when two • raise the temple in tandem, when seven are one, and • the luminaries alight, aligning to say something like, ‘There is • as much life in us as there is on other • planets,’ we’re all made of the same stuff, true magic • •

consists of using language to lift from nothing into existence • what is always becoming, never forgetting that the laws given • to Moses were expressed in sapphires, physics inscribed on crystals, • periodic tablets whose values are eternal, the Ark of the • Covenant is a capacitor, in the wrong hands this text • spells disaster, what its message portends is a potential within • all of us that’s exponential: we are our own masters.

__________
¹Rabbi Akiba Ben Joseph, “Chapter II”, [Paragraph] 5, in The Book of Formation, or Sepher Yetzirah: Attributed to Rabbi Akiba Ben Joseph: Translated from the Hebrew, with annotations, by Knut Stenring: Foreword by R. A. Gilbert: Introduction by Arthur Edward Waite, published at Berwick, Maine by Ibis Press in 2004; page 24.