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Black Books

  1. VII. 18.

Oh you mystery of the summer morning! Men and Gods greet you when you rise. I speak-is it you who speaks, I? is the I born?

10 VII. 18.

My soul, what is happening? What sets me at odds with myself? What tears asunder?

S. Poisoning by the earth spirits.

What do you mean by this?

S. The black one has an earth spirit with her, a spirit of the dead, who would like to live. He sucks force from you.

He would like to come to life. She can’t help it. She can do nothing about it, only you can. It is to be stood up to.

You have still not tried everything, you have still not done everything.

I. What more can I do?

S. You can love still more.

I. I don’t know how.

S. Through the act.

I. Through which act?

I. Is it not a mirage? Does the black one have a spirit in her? Or is not rather something in me?

S. Spirits are always between two people. They live from the relation of two people.

Spirits are also dead without relation, not only people. But spirits must be removed from a relation, so that they can die.

I. But how, that is the question!

S. I know, but the how is not easy. It turns around and around and seeks an opening and doesn’t find it.

The spirit is this how. The spirits of the dead live from this how.

Where there is a how, the unredeemed spirits gather.

They suck it in, they live from it. Where the question how? is, there they find nourishment.

As long as men do not know the how, the spirits devour it.

I. So help me find this how.

S. First and foremost, you should see that you are behind. Why did you give me the two kinds of properties?

Why did you not separate the opposites?

Why did you leave me mixed? This creates the trouble of the standstill.

The opposites cancelled each other out. My other half, which is on the side of the earth, is another soul than I.

She is between things and you. I am between the eternal images and you. I am mind, she is feeling.

I am light, she is dark. The black one is her symbol. You have still not released Salome from her.

She is the spirit of the earth that dances poisonous dances, that bewitches and intoxicates, that drinks blood and causes magical sickness.

If she were released from the symbol, she would give form, substance, and actual life to the eternal images.

But she intoxicates herself in the blood of the holy one. Why? She has not been released from the human symbol. Why do you love the black one?

Because she is the dancer-(there is a scratching on the door).

I. Who was that?

S: Spirits of the dead accompany her,w6 spirits of the earth, buried ones-not the spirits of the eternal images.

They bear claws like dogs and cats, they have feet like black night birds, carrion birds, since the dancer rends, she has claws and sharp teeth, behind her lie bloody torn ones, blood pools and spirits of the dead gorge themselves on this.

She makes one drunk and she is drunk from the blood of the holy one, she pours poison into the entrails.

She is a fire of voluptuousness and torment of voluptuousness.

She is beautiful like hell. She gives pleasure and the craving for poison. She makes men poison and eat poison. She is hellish temptation.

She is the compulsion of suffering. I am eternal contemplation.

I carry up into eternity, she drags down into the mystery of matter, into the beauty of the earth, into the death of everything earthly.

I am the daughter of the eternal mother, she is the daughter of the eternal father.

She is the earth, I am the vessel of heaven. Yes, she is the womb of the earth.

Actual forms grow from her, but the eternal images grow from me. Yet how can I release her?

S. How did you release me? Only through differentiating me from reality. How will you release her?

Only through differentiating her from reality. If you experience torment, then call her, and ask her, as you call and ask me.

What did I give you? I gave you the eternal images.

She will also give to you, if you differentiate her from reality and ask her and force her to speech and answer, as you forced me.

I tormented you with impotent rage.

She torments you with impotent pleasure and helpless longing. Call her and listen to what she says.

I. I’ll do it, and on the spot, since the torment is too great. Salome, heinous dancer, you tiger with the bloody claws-come, listen and speak. What do you want?

S [al]. What do you want? You know what I want.

I. I know it. But I no longer want it.

S[al]. So you want no more? Do you believe this? You want sensuality and its torment, you wanted the longing, the consuming fire.

I give you what you want.

I. You deceive yourself. The not wanting awakens. It is still small and weak. But it will grow. There should be a hero who strikes you.

S [al]. Where? A hero? Has someone seen this?

I. I will show him to you.

S [al]. A fool, a prophet, an ascetic?

I. No, certainly not, but one who does not let himself be smothered under wet kisses, a man who wants to live and refuses to be consumed by longing.

Rage has not killed me, no less should longing succeed in this.

Sal. You already regret it. You want to miss the beauty of the earth?

I. I will not be your slave-what is the fortune of the earth when it burns like hellish fire? When it makes sick, like poison?

The struggle against you is accepted. I will not rest until you have handed over your power to men. Man must live.

You should obey.

I do not want to do without the beauty of the earth, the fragrance of the fields should not evade me, but the serpent poison should be slain, so that man can wander among the :flowers.

Sal. You have great plans. So get down to the work of heroes. You are laughable.

I. listen, Salome, your magic will be broken. I will snatch the mystery of your magic. You teach me your mystery.

Sal. Nevermore. I have no mystery. My mystery is your weakness, and that is no mystery.

I. You’re not confusing me. Weakness is a strength. Weaknesses are the strongest
powers of human life. I will wrestle from you the mystery of weakness, my weakness.

Since I want man to become strong so that he can live on the earth without succumbing to the earth spirits.

Sal. I will take care not to give up the mystery of weakness to you, since it is my strength.

Fight against your weakness according to the old pattern.

You will see that you lose and if you overcome it, you will be even more miserable.

Do you see my strength and invulnerability? He who fights against me fights against himself. Each wound strikes you.

What is better, to be torn apart by suffering or to tear oneself apart?

I. I will take care not to tear myself apart for the sake of :fighting my weakness.

I will live my weakness so that it becomes my strength. I am already so far that my weakness would like to become a strength.

Therefore I take hold of you and you must speak. I broke your compulsion.

Sal. Do you believe this? Will you bet something?

I. You will speak. You will answer me. You will yield up your mystery.

S. What is it to me? I give the mystery cheaply. It is not mine, it belongs to the black carrion birds. Ask them if you want to know something.

I. You don’t escape me. The black birds are your retinue, they live from your sacrifice. It does not lie with them. It lies with you.

You don’t confuse me through feigning the spirit of the dead to me.

They are prophets who have become dumb, eviscerated by you, by lovers choked by longing or hate.

Circe alone possesses the mystery, not the miserable swines of her garden.

Attempt your magic-he who lives his weakness, because he calls it holy, pries loose the rod108 from you.

Sal. Why do you want to hassle me? What should I say? I know nothing. My magic is no mystery. It’s just a happening. What’s left to ask?

I. I ask for reasons, since this happening is not from eternal necessity. Happenings can also be different.

You know about reasons, you know how happenings are made.

Do you not have magical potions, evil herbs, sinister formulas, night bird screech, ominous gusts of wind, serpent tracks and rats teeth?

Sal. So try to extort the mystery from me, if you lust after it.

I. You should speak.

Sal. You should obey my command.

I. Willingly. But I will break compulsion.

Sal. Should I speak? I will scourge your ears, stab your heart, tear apart your diaphragm, tangle your intestines.

Brown eyes? Don’t you have brown eyes? Hot lips? Don’t you have hot lips? The mystery of the womb? Are you not your womb?

The lust of giving birth receiving and giving birth? Yes, your mind gives birth. Isn’t your body infertile? Does it long for fertility?

Does it long for procreative embrace? Do you want to truly enter into your own womb? For the conception of your self?

I. What is this devil’s speech? You torture in vain. You should hand over your power. Enough oppression!

Sal. So it tortures you. That’s good. Do you taste what it is like when someone tackles me?

I. I don’t give in. You should speak.

Sal. I must say: you are no better than the others. You are less than the others. You are a weakling, a coward. What are you good for?

What have you contributed to the world’s riches? You deceive and are deceived, a fool fooled by his weaknesses.-

I . You forget: your strength, your damned power. But speak, I listen.

Sal. What can you do? You are powerless, you are limp, a rag :fluttering in the wind. Recognize my power. I can speak evil. And you?

Does your word have force? Fight against your weakness, you weak boy.

I. My weakness is a strength, one that you claim for yourself.

It is my strength, which you wrestled into your~ claws and which now overwhelms me. A retinue of spirits serve you.

Who serves me? I am alone, one man among many and fight the struggle for my life, for the life of humanity and for a better humanity.

No one is with me. No one can support me. No one hears my cry, since my voice is weak. And moreover, I remain silent.

It is easy indeed to denigrate me. But I don’t let you, since I will snatch your secret away.

Sal. Have you not had enough? Do you see the ridiculousness, the craziness of your endeavor? Who then are you?

Do you not see that sadness and hopelessness feed on you? What wonder that the vultures gather, when you ready yourself to be carrion?

You want my mystery? What use is it to you? Do you want to enchant humanity? Or do you want to force the daimons?

You’re turning into a laughingstock.

I. Stop this talk. You’re not fooling me. I know these traps from before.

Sal. It bores you. At bottom you know very well how stupid all this is. A mirage, nothing more. Obviously, a fata morgana-my art of dance-do you want still more?

I. This fancy footwork doesn’t scare me. I already see the fear behind it.

Sal. You can’t mean however that I would be afraid. Yet this is what I must realize.

I. There are things which you don’t see.

Sal. You have seen fear in me-do you have the evil eye? This is Philemon’s work! He gave you the evil eye. That is his late revenge for the fact that I broke his wing when he was Simon. Why did I have to help the Christians?

I. You give yourself the impression that you didn’t know that it was the Christians who moved you out into the superhuman and exalted you to the black mother of God, to the hortus deliciarum.

Sal. How do you know that? That is Philemon’s revenge. He has betrayed me.

I. What’s going on? What is hidden from me?

Sal. I lent him Simon my magic and Philemon  he ruled me: but I broke his wing, the deceitful one. He couldn’t keep his mystery from you?

Who are you? Are you a God? Who gave you the power?

I. Necessity.

Sal. Necessity usually teaches begging-

I. Not me-it gave me power. And you shall feel my power. You will yield your mystery.

Sal. I can’t. I don’t even know it myself Does pleasure know itself, has blindness ever divined itself? ~The Black Books, Vol. VII, Page 185-190