Category: Erotic Gnosis
Amongst the corridors of flesh and thought lives a hunger that surpasses reason and limit; the ancients named it the Divine spark, a thunder that splits the silence of mortal form. Tradition whispers that the seventh completes and the eighth ruptures; the septenary cycle of planets and powers closes its ring, only to open a…
Night leans over the garden; dawn delays behind a horizon of stone. Within the hush that veils the tomb, a figure pauses, unadorned by myth and yet unclaimed by history. Her hands carry myrrh, her eyes the ache of having seen what is forbidden to name. It is she whom the scriptures conceal and, yet,…
Across the centuries, a delicate mist has hovered between the world’s altar and the human heart. One side speaks the name of Theotokos, trembling before Her, robed in doctrines and caution; the other side burns with longing, with memory of a fire older than the Creed. Where Sacred longing brushes the Divine threshold, there arises…
The Book of Ezekiel sits among the wildest precincts of Sacred scripture; a temple of riddles, a furnace of vision, a monument to the soul’s estrangement and the anguish of the city. Every line carries the scent of exile and fire; the prophet speaks from the shattered threshold, when nothing of the old world remains…
To approach the Feast of Saint John is to enter a layered territory where rural festivity conceals ancient codes, where Christian hagiography shadows older mysteries, and where the masculine blaze of the solstice meets a hidden feminine threshold. Officially anchored in the figure of John the Baptist, this midsummer ritual has been absorbed into folk…
In a culture paralysed by its own irony, where the sacred is either aestheticised or annihilated, the mere suggestion that a nightclub could function as a church is met with a sneer. Cultural critics and self-declared rationalists mock the notion as delusion, as metaphor stretched beyond its capacity. But what is being ridiculed is not…
Every sacred feast is also a map of absence, a liturgy of what remains at the threshold: longing, hunger, and exile. In the drama of Corpus Christi, as in the entire Western tradition, the body has so often been the absent guest: spoken of, disciplined, abstracted, and yet never fully welcomed to the centre of…
Beneath the shimmering surface of Corpus Christi, a feast that proclaims presence and unity, there lingers a drama of estrangement whose chief victim is the body itself. For centuries, the body has been the shadow-guest at the table of the Sacred, acknowledged in symbol but disciplined in practice, spoken of in ritual but denied in…
There is a strange dignity, even a peculiar radiance, in those who keep faith with the lost cause. In every spiritual tradition worth its salt, there is a space reserved for the moment when every rational hope is exhausted, when prayer turns silent, and even the Gods seem to have abandoned the seeker. To persist…
Hidden beneath the clatter of ecstatic tongues and the blaze of Pentecostal fire, a subtler current moves through the feast, one older than the Church, deeper than doctrine, more patient than miracle. Pentecost, in its forgotten strata, is the holy consummation of a cycle governed not by thunder but by moisture, darkness, waiting, and ripening.…
