|“Chaos is an azure line that surrounds all the world.” From the Sefer Yetsirah|
While reading the Sefer Yetsirah by the light emanating from a painting of Lucas Cranach I was approached by an angel whose wings were covered with blinking eyes. As it hovered above the table where I laid down my book, the angel offered me an envelope. Carefully opening the letter I discovered inside a single sheet of fine papyrus embossed in the lower right-hand corner with a single symbol. Not immediately identifiable, the curious figure reminded me of the Monad of alchemist John Dee, as it had been described by the polymath Athanasius Kircher. The angel hovered above me, the eyes on its wings moving in every direction until I realized the papyrus sheet was an invitation.
I hastily gathered up some bread, beer and the philosopher’s stone placing them in a small package. After donning a hat decorated with five flowers, I followed the angel as it flew out of my library. As the angel finally identified itself as Semyaza I felt an indistinct unease, like that, encountered as one begins a long journey.
Moving into the darkness of night Semyaza led me through a series of gates guarded by: An ancient Oriental man wearing a sky-colored robe; a sphinx made of mercury; the sacred painter of the profane, Father Giotto; and ultimately we passed a virgin named “The Magdalene” who was carefully extinguishing devotional candles resting on a small alter covered with a red cloth.
Semyaza bade me farewell, leaving me before the entrance to a great courtyard. Here a group of angels, whose faces were dirty with soot, bound me tightly with rope and left me alone in the darkness, awaiting dawn. The morning light revealed a gallery on the west side of the courtyard. It slowly filled with 999 sacred falcons, all bred in the gardens of the Temple of Behkdet in Egypt. A priest wearing a gold mask shaped like an ibis declared loudly that the falcons had deemed me to be not entirely unworthy. As such, I would be allowed to witness the terrible spectacle of a Chymische Hockziet. With this proclamation, the priest turned to leave as the sky filled suddenly with shrieking birds flying in every direction and I was reminded of the eyes on Semyaza’s wings. Then the ropes that had held me fell away and again I was alone.
The angels with dirty faces returned and I was given a handsome pewter goblet filled with a powerful smelling, blood-like liquor and told to drink. Closing my eyes as I slowly sipped from the goblet, a feeling of heat spread throughout my body. A vision of a royal sepulcher in all its sublime glory appeared before me. I was led to a magnificent library like that of Borges imagination and felt bliss.
Upon leaving the library I found myself in a small, enclosed garden. Spying a large three-tiered fountain, I first drank and then bathed. Refreshed, I went down a dark, spiraling stairway furnished with rare tapestries and beautiful paintings, though I was saddened to realize none were by Nicholas Poussin. The stairs ended at a great hall whose walls and high ceilings appeared to be made of flames. In the center of this awful place rested the skull of Adom Kadmon with a serpent crawling in and out of the eye sockets. The name Lilith had been painted on the snake’s back in silver.
A door at the far end of the flaming hall opened to the shore of a raging ocean. A single ship being tossed about on the waves awaited me. Boarding the boat I found no one else there. My only recollection from the voyage was passing an island around which nine muses slept fitfully as they floated upon a green foam that remained undisturbed by the rough seas. Arriving at a place very cold and seemingly without color, I was carried off by four wingless angels, each with an aleph painted in gold on its forehead. They laid me on a blue cushion in the middle of a vast stone floor that had no walls. Sitting there in the numbing cold I gazed at the endless ocean until midnight, when I fell into a troubled sleep.
It must have been very early the next morning when priests, dressed as gods from Ancient Egypt, woke me up and led me across the vast pavement. Arriving at an undecorated stone building, I was asked for my small package of offerings as well as the five flowers still decorating my hat. In return, I was given Occam’s Razor, which I carried tentatively into the building. We entered a room, identified in small letters carved above the door as the Nuptial Hall, where I took a seat among mostly empty pews.
A battered wooden alter rested against the east wall and in front of it stood Enoch, whose hat was now decorated with my five flowers. He stared intently at the opposite wall and I turned to see his bride to be, the sweet Shekinah, making her way slowly toward the altar. The room was growing increasingly hot and I realized the sun was now shining brightly through long, thin windows and casting alternating stripes of light and shadow across the room. A priest who reminded me of the Pharaoh Akhenaten rose from the front pew and turning around with his back to the bride and bridegroom began speaking in a sonorous voice of love. As he spoke, cherubs descended carrying a massive crown, made of many precious stones, that was held above the heads of Enoch and his sweet Shekinah.
Suddenly a great cacophony erupted as the angels with dirty faces flew into the room carrying the blue cushion I had slept upon the previous evening. Then just as quickly, the room became completely silent as Semyaza entered with the pewter cup I had brought here the day before. Handing it first to Enoch, and then his sweet Shekinah, the couple took turns partaking of the evil red liquid before smashing the goblet against the stone wall. Semyaza picked up the broken pieces of the pewter cup and placed them on the blue cushion. When his sweet Shekinah kissed Enoch gently on the stomach I sensed the ceremony was over. As if leading a royal procession, Enoch and his bride left the Nuptial Hall at the head of the few attendees.
Only Semyaza and I were left in a now deserted room. The angel pointed at the floor beside the wooden altar where I noticed a large, beautiful painting by Max Beckmann of a woman lovingly embracing a mandolin as she lay asleep. Semyaza asked that I lay down on the painting where I proceeded to again fall into a troubled sleep. As the sweet Shekinah and her groom sailed away aboard the ship that had brought me to this place I dreamed of my long passed youth and wept softly.
Trumpets sounded as these visions faded from my memory and all that was dark became light.