|
And
thus I went out in that night (it was the second night of
the year 1914), and anxious expectation filled me. I went out to embrace the
future. The path was wide and what was to come was awful. It
was the enormous dying, a sea of blood. From it the new sun
arose, awful and a reversal of that which we call day. We
have seized the darkness and its sun will shine above us,
bloody and burning like a great downfall.
***
We sacrificed innumerable victims to the dark depths, and yet it
still demands more. What is this crazy desire craving satisfaction?
Whose mad cries are these? Who among the dead suffers thus? Come here
and drink blood, so that you can speak. Why do you reject the blood?
Would you like milk? Or the red juice of the vine? Perhaps you would
rather have love? Love for the dead? Being in love with the dead? Are
you perhaps demanding the seeds of life for the faded thousand-year-old
body of the underworld? An unchaste incestuous lust for the dead?
Something that makes the blood run cold. Are you demanding a lusty
commingling with corpses? I spoke of "acceptance" -- but you demand "to
seize, embrace, copulate?" Are you demanding the desecration of the
dead? That prophet, you say, lay on the child, and placed his mouth on
the child's mouth, and his eyes on its eyes, and his hands on its hands
and he thus splays himself over the boy, so that the child's body became
warm. But he rose again and went here and there in the house before he
mounted anew and spread himself over him again. The boy snorted seven
times. Then the boy opened his eyes. So shall your acceptance be, so
shall you accept, not cool, not superior, not thought out, not
obsequious, not as a self-chastisement, but with pleasure, precisely
with this ambiguous impure pleasure, whose ambiguity enables it to unite
with the higher, with that holy-evil pleasure of which you do not know
whether it be virtue or vice, with that pleasure which is lusty
repulsiveness, lecherous fear, sexual immaturity. One wakens the dead
with this pleasure.
***
[T]ake hold of the divine whore who still
cannot recover from her fall from grace and craves filth and
power in raving blindness. Lock her up like a lecherous
bitch who would like to mingle her blood with every dirty
cur. Capture her, may enough at last be enough. Let her for
once taste your torment so that she will get to feel man and
his hammer, which he has wrested from the Gods.
-- "The Red Book: Liber Novus," by C.G. Jung |
