Deep within the Temple of the Ivory Monkfish it was as though a curtain had slowly parted. There was a black and white old dusty movie universal counting leader counting down from seven to one inside of a circle as a line extending from the center of the screen to its perimeter revolved clockwise releasing baby hair thin streams of light one by one until all could scarcely behold the radiant illuminated spectacle drowning out the light of sun, moon, and stars! Never before had they beheld such naked splendor! The boundless majik of this luminous radiance and the limitless mystery of this clear emptiness! As the tribe removed their hands from in front of their eyes and slowly opened up their tightly closed lids, they instantly became aware of a shape amidst the blinding solar queen of all solar queens! At first it was but a simple shape, nothing more than a shadowy symmetrical silhouette against a background of radiant luminance, an eternally infinite sea of light. Suddenly the mystery was revealed!

Seated upon a mother-of-pearl hourglass in a full lotus asana was none other than an animated multidimensional holographic image of the great sorceress known as the Opal Squid, the Divine Holy Whore of the Tantric Temple herself! Behind her head a blazing halo of firefly-filled rainbow light; in the center of her forehead between the eyes a twinkling diamond bindi; The retinas of her eyes a Mandelbrot set zoom sequence. The mother-of-pearl hourglass was filled with little white grains of sand, each of which, upon closer inspection, was in the shape of a mother-of-pearl hourglass filled with little white grains of sand in the shape of a mother of pearl hourglass. Upon each of the hourglasses was yet another appearance of the Divine Sacred Slut!

In her human form, one of a countless number of forms that she might assume at any given instant, her long flowing skirt, colorful thin transparent veils, and dangling silver jewelry remind me of a place and time where spirituality reigns supreme over the institution of organized religion. Her undulating movements and billowing color changes remind me of the very undulating movements and billowing color changes of the universe itself. The powerful urge to unite with her is the impulse to unite with the Great Mother herself, the great vaginal gate to the womb of everything and nothing! Her symphony of jangling jewelry reminds me of the music that is forever unfolding within me, desperately seeking an entrance into the world through this ancient cosmic portal. My intense attraction to her reminds me of the most pure and innocent love, bursting with the primal sexual attraction of young adolescent lust.

For countless aeons I have awoken each day with the desire and fear that our paths will cross yet again for she is the keeper of a sacred gate, an illicit or forbidden gate. She is the serpent who offers up to me the forbidden fruit. Perhaps she is the forbidden fruit itself and it is her self that she is offering up as I stand here at the threshold of what appears to be a profound inner evolutionary transformation. The name itself has come to signify the catalyst of this very change of which I speak. She is the sorceress who is the dweller on the threshold of the bottomless abyss that awaits with jaws agape in anticipation of consuming everything that is left of the false image that I have always believed myself to be.

The shining eternally infinite radiant clarity at the core of her being is the great magnetic attractor. How few of us actually get to know ourselves and one another at a depth beyond the level of the false image of who we really are? Is it not most often the case that who or what we long to unite with is not the central featureless core but rather it is the vast intricate and delicately weaved threads of an ornately patterned tapestry? A vast multidimensional web-like fabric of myriad lights, shadows, colors, and textures made up of thoughts, words, and actions wrapped tightly around the deeply hidden mysterious glow of truth?

She is covered by her layers of thin colored veils. Just below this facade is the veil of her outer physical appearance: The mesmerizing deeply set hypnotic opal magnets of her eyes; the soft pink lips that resemble the masterfully carved bow of Saint Cupid; The sharply pointed carnivorous beak of a hungry raptor; The strong high cheekbones like cathedral arches; The long black river of hair flowing through the hills and valleys of her Giaian colored flesh. The many layers of flesh; The blood, sweat, and tears; The bones, muscles, tendons, organs, veins, and capillaries; The cells, molecules, atoms, sub-atomic wave-particles, superstrings, and quantum information packets.; The infinite spectrum of emotions, thoughts, visions, fears, desires, impulses, hopes, dreams, habits, aspirations, and memories. All of these are thin colored transparent veils, layers upon layers of disguise and costume. All seductively covering the erotic nakedness of her inner sanctum.

It is the candle flame of erotic naked pure awareness that illuminates the interior of the Holy Temple revealing the hanging golden lamps, the Persian rugs, the Moroccan tapestries, the painted saints, the marble staircases, the carved wooden furniture, the porcelain plates, the gem studded silverware, the silk napkins, the crucifixes, the seals of Solomon, the moon and crescent, the pentagrams, the Buddhist deities, the Hindu deities and the Great Mother-Father in Holy Orgasmic Tantric Union.

We are seated here, now at the sacred feast. The ambrosia has been served and is fit for a Queen and a King, a Begger and a Murderer. The ornately sculpted candles are in the forms of Goddesses, Gods, Archangels, Angels, Archdemons, Demons, Interdimensional Beings, Extraterrestrials, Elementals, Gremlins, Mammals, Animals, Reptiles, Amphibians, Plants, and Minerals...all one and the same radiant emanation disguising itself as the great diverse multiplicity.

How can we feast while the Holy Temple is aflame? I can smell the dense pluming coal black smoke; I can taste the smoldering chalky grey embers, cinders, and ash; I can see the whipping dance of the flames and the shadows that they cast upon the Temple walls; I can hear the crackle and screams of burning wood and clay; I can feel the scorching heat radiating like that of a thousand suns. Does any body notice? How many are deliberately ignoring?

Our Temple is aflame and it is she who is the arsonist and the bearer of the water. She is the Temple and she is the blazing inferno. She is the dinner guest and she is the dinner. Her perfume is the scent of the dense pluming coal black smoke; Her lips and tongue are the taste of the smoldering chalky grey embers, cinders, and ash; Her thin colored veils in the wind are the whipping dance of the flames and shadows, Her jangling bells are the crackling of burning wood and clay; Her touch is the scorching heat radiating like that of a thousand suns.

Still it is her secret ardours; The deeply hidden inner sanctum; The clear emptiness; The luminous radiance; The holy orgasmic tantric ecstasy; The still, silent bliss that binds me to her mysterious and majikal majestic madness. How do I enter into her innermost sanctum? Beneath the veils I have discovered nine sacred gates that open to the tributaries leading into the heart of the water bearer's refreshing, reflective, rejuvenating, replenishing, resuscitating, remembering, returning, rejoicing, redeeming sacred erotic nakedness...her eternally infinite ocean.

Two gates through which to court and gain entry with Palo Santo; One gate through which to court and gain entry with Ayahuasca; Two gates through which to court and gain entry with images of serpents, mermaids, panthers, and iridescent green hummingbirds; Two gates through which to court and gain entry with Icaros; And two gates, the white gate of shamanism and the black gate of sorcery, through which to court and gain entry with Tantric Sex Majik.

The hourglass upon which she sat was located at the center of an old weather worn clock face that was carved in tin upon the marble floor of the Holy Temple. The circumference of its circle was precisely nine feet in diameter and all around the perimeter of the timekeeper, set upon each of the digits from midnight to midnight or noonday to noonday, was one of twelve small boxes, no more than twelve square inches in size, and painted entirely in the old black dried up blood of all her former lovers.

As my eyes grew more and more accustomed to the luminosity of her radiant halo, the quality of the environment gradually began to reveal itself to me. The clock face within which the hourglass upon which she sat was at the very center of the room, which was in a steady state of streaming flux, constantly changing its shape. At one instant it would be in the shape of a sphere and the next in the shape of a cube. Before long the room would transform into a cuboid or a rectangular prism. It would then become a cone, a cylinder, a square based pyramid, a triangular based pyramid, a triangular prism, a hexagonal prism, and an infinite variety of possible combinations thereof. The walls were constantly changing colors and hues, the delicate henna-like designs that danced upon their surfaces transforming the shapes of their patterns in a constant ocean-like sway. There were no doorways or windows here.

It appeared after what seemed like aeons that the strange space I inhabited had started to stabilize. I was now situated within the confines of an enormous pyramid with a base that was three hundred thirty three feet wide and an apex that penetrated the loftiest pink layer of clouds like a Himalayan mountain peak. The ever-transforming mosaic-like patterns slithering like the skin of a serpent across the surface of the cuckoo-clocked walls, the myriad objects, my flesh, and the self-illuminated space behind my closed eyelids was slowing itself down to no more than a snails pace.

Incalculable super-epochs and sub-nanoseconds had passed and the clock face carved in tin upon the marble floor at the center of the pyramid in the time had become transformed alchemically into iron, lead, copper, mercury, silver, and gold. The black blood boxes were all still precisely in the same positions that they where in when I had first become aware of their presence. What had changed was that each of the boxes now had one of the twelve signs of the zodiac painted on the surface facing in towards the hourglass at the center of the clock face. At twelve o’clock was Aries. At one o-clock was Taurus. At two o’clock was Gemini. At three o’clock was Cancer. At four o’clock was Leo. At five o’clock was Virgo. At six o’clock was Libra. At seven o’clock was Scorpio. At eight o’clock was Sagittarius. At nine o’clock was Capricorn. At ten o’clock was Aquarius. At eleven o’clock was Pisces. I realized now that the boxes were all made of the bones of all her former lovers and that the zodiacal symbols were smeared on to the black boxes with an admixture of fresh blood from the heart of a lion and a lamb.

Appearing three feet in from the perimeter of the clock, towards the center and in front of the Aries, Gemini, Leo, Sagittarius, and Aquarius black blood bone boxes, were yet another six that appeared identical to the twelve upon the digits along the circumference of the lead clock face. Each of the boxes had, on the side facing in towards the hourglass at the center of the clock, one of the symbols of the seven occult planets painted on in the fresh blood of lion and lamb. On the box in front of that of Aries was the occult planetary symbol for Saturn. On the box front of that of Gemini was the occult planetary symbol for Jupiter. On the box in front of that of Leo was the occult planetary symbol for Venus. On the box in front of that of Libra was the occult planetary symbol for the moon. On the box in front of that of Sagittarius was the occult planetary symbol for Mercury. On the box in front of that of Aquarius was the occult planetary symbol for Mars.

Also visible now, six feet in from the perimeter of the clock, towards the center and in front of the Saturnian and Lunar black blood bone boxes and between the Jovian and Venusian boxes on one side and the Mercurial and Martian boxes on the other, was a third circle of four identical boxes, each having painted in lion and lamb’s blood upon the surface facing in towards the holy hourglass the occult symbols for fire, air, water, and earth respectively.

The sorceress picked up the black Saturnian black blood bone box and began to turn the golden crank that protruded out from the side of the box releasing the melody for “Pop Goes the Weasel” in awkward wobbly high-pitched carnivalesque tones. At the “Pop!” of the melody, the top of the box popped open and out sprung a jack-in-the-box high up on the end of a long rusty coil, so high that the crown of its head nearly struck the roof of the temple and it could look down upon even she who was still seated in a lotus asana high atop the hourglass at the center of the room. This jack-in-the-box had the head of an owl set upon the plastic naked torso of a human body that was both male and female. A three dimensional holographic image of the planet Saturn appeared just over the palm of his extended left hand as he caressed his enormous rubber penis, around which his right hand was tightly gripped, from the base of the shaft, up to the head, and back down to the base, over and over and over again, faster and faster and faster, harder and harder and harder until his thick, hot, sticky flema, his mariri, poured out in spurts like black locust honey all over the chakrs, nadis, sephiroth, and paths of the great sorceress.

At that very instant, countless cuckoo-clocks hanging upon the walls of the temple, resembling miniature synagogues, churches, and mosques began to pop open as their second, minute, and hour hands turned clockwise and counter-clockwise faster and faster and faster. The skeletons of soul-less carnivorous craving cuckoo birds popped out screeching an endless code of ‘cuckoos’, which shot out as invisible pin-like poison psychic darts or tsentsak.

The holy scriptures dripped out from the corners of her mouth and down her chin in paragraphs made up of sentences made up of words made up of letters made up of lines, arcs, and points made out of black ink from a creature with many tentacles and many eyes, envisaging many visions, thinking many thoughts feeling many feelings, and sensing many sense impressions. It swims the depths of the darkest sea and its tentacles reach way down into the deepest, darkest illusions and way up to the highest illuminated truth beyond the murky rippling surface of Samsara. In long, hot, sticky strands the truth dripped from her chin, forming little opalescent puddles within the folds, creases, and indentations of the fresh lily white linens of other realms far, far below.

To gaze deeply into the small black puddles is to gaze deeply into the illusion of the point, purpose, and meaning of our lives. What we see within the warped pools of funhouse mirrors is an unholy grail filled with the poison wine of religion’s clotting menses. I could feel the soft, warm, moisture of her yoni swallowing the entirety of my erect lingam as her arms and legs wrapped around me like Amazonian anacondas to suffocate. Her thighs rested balanced and steady in the palms of my hands and her hair fell down upon my shoulders like vipers, eels, and centipedes. Her fiery breath scorched my ear as she whispered to me slowly, deeply, and rhythmically.

‘Let the serpent rise! Allow her to travel freely through you! Do not resist her smoothly flowing path!’

Slowly the meretrix transformed into a titanic squid-like creature wrapping her long thick black tentacles tightly around my hot, sticky sweat covered body, and with a deeply passionate kiss, the white and red fluids mixed to become the elixur of immortality. In an eternally infinite yab-yum the two of us began to merge into one and in doing so created two sets of twins, two sons and two daughters, later to become the Kings and Queens of Circadia and Infradia. As we united, our skin turned shiny black and her tentacles metamorphosed into the legs of a black widow and my arms those of a black praying mantis. With the elixur twinkling by candle light upon the surface of our lips, each of us kissed the other in the middle of the forehead just above and between the eyes creating a bindi made of vaginal fluid, menstrual blood, and semen. It was at this very moment we became, for only but an instant, fully integrated as one. And it was at this very instant that the Sacrosanct Sanitarium as the temple became entirely engulfed in flames of divine rapture and animal lust. I could now see for the first time that the top of the hourglass had the wheel-like occult symbol for the ether or the spirit etched into it.

Humbly and with boundless devotion I prostrated myself on bended knee and with a bowed head at the base of the hourglass. And with the nurturing eyes of a mother toward her newborn offspring my beloved lowered her heavy gaze to view me. Slowly she parted her legs and her beautiful pink lips to speak with the voice of a thousand angels, like that of a woman deep within the thralls of orgasmic ecstasy, whispering into her lover’s ear for him to go deeper, harder and faster, she proceeded to break the limitless silence,

“Who am I?’ Well it seems to me that I am nothing less than God himself! Herself! I am alive! I am illuminated! I am a genius! I am an ordinary person! I am an idiot! I am a hollow shell! I am dead! I am the Devil! I am all of these things and none of them at the very same time! I am the lost little child, the wilderness, the guiding star, and the home that I am so desperately longing for and never left! I am only as evil as a rose is thorny! I am also the root, the stem, the leaves, the petals, and the seeds! For I am the sun’s illumination that outshines the fireflies of the dark forest, enraptured in the ivory lantern candle’s billowing incandescence! I am the stillness beyond the murky depths where sunnies eat the guppies that eat the insects when the glimmering ripples veil the moon’s reflective luminosity! I am the secret breeze, the whirling autumn leaves, the chasing pup and kitten, the empty space between! I am the grain of sand, the pebble, the rock, the boulder, the mountain crowned with purple clouds lined with silver and gold, the fertile soil’s vast intricate tapestry of worms, seeds, roots, and mycelium! I am the little yellow weaver, in the center of your sparkling dewdrop bespeckled mandala, capturing only love, to share, in the garden of morning’s glorious vernal twilight! May the exotic, esoteric, and erotic lovers be with eyes like whirling swastikas and an ambrosaic elixir of menstrual blood and semen! May the bread wake the head, the wine stir the mind, the word replace the sword, and gnosis shine from crosses! The omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent orgasm! May your theological illusions dissolve by the irradiating allusions to a legion of Gnostic logions! May we be with eyes like whirling six pointed stars and a bindi made of vaginal fluid, menstrual blood and semen from the omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent orgasm! Amen!”

And so the Opal Squid, having returned to her original form, dissolved into the black ink of countless invisible hieroglyphs as the Ivory Monkfish threw itself aboard the small wooden fishing boat of an old vegetalista in order that each may be given a fair share of the new universal myth, a story to govern and to lead the tribe into an epoch of unforeseen and unforeseeable wonders.