“There was no key clutched in my fist.
That gift was me.”
I hope you have enjoyed this story so far.
The horror now gives way as the Divine Joke reveals itself.
In Part III, I burned it all down, and re-made it in my image.
Every descent hides its dawn.
IV. Rubedo
My love overflowed, as gratitude grew That husk had taught me all that I Knew… We merged as one on that table Hallowed altar where I, born anew, stepped down to walk grassy ground In the city, black flags could no longer be found: only black and white sigils, stout emblems of vigil I ran to the bridge near the moat, To share what I learned, what I lived. Looked up to bright sky, Found her star— Mother, free, streaming afar? How had I missed it— her sterling light? Father, alone, gave a weak wave, Wondered why I had taken the path of the knave My brothers, my sisters, left the city, like me, ‘Cross the sands, twixt the towns, their brave journeys, apart Perhaps they would hear me, Playing my song Perhaps I might hear them, Humming along…
V.
Heading from the lights, city shrinking behind, I carry my light into beckoning night and I wander A smile on my lips as always on such trips The stars all glitter with me, There was no key clutched in my fist. That gift was me. There were never shackles on my wrists— Never chains across my back— Never a collar ‘round my neck, But a necklace and a strap, holding a lute in a leather sack
This concludes the Key saga.
I wrote the first half of this poem nearly 2 decades ago—
not realizing I was sketching metaphysical map of my journey out of orthodoxy, out of rigid, authoritarian light, and toward the quiet radiance of an integrated Self.
Alchemy is a gradual process. When we think it’s over, we usually have to start again. Burning off the dross is a cycle we must enter willingly, never assuming the Magnum Opus is done.