|Resurrection of the Word : The Book of Hham|
I HAVE a book to write that is terrible and pitiless, because the hour has passed: there is no time anywhere. The Era of Aquarius and the beginning of its work of demolition are here. Now, I am old and intoxicated. On the eve of my ignoble death I am attempting to muster my strength. I am collecting the debris of my religions on the Continents. I cannot be criticised for the effort. Do away with me if you can!
When, of yore, I heard Canaan cursing me, I was sad, surprised, shocked. I was told: 'You are the youngest and therefore more rational; Canaan is your junior and therefore the more rational: cursed be he!"
Indeed, I was rational. I knew everything without having been taught. When the Voice spoke to Noahh, my father, I felt it was me who had revealed to him what I had already seen. I knew the mystery of the Earth and the blood of the grapes, the mystery of the body and the blood of the Spirit. I knew I was twofold, perfect in body. I was like those boys resembling girls and those girls resembling boys, who nowadays exchange characteristics.
When I saw my father (of whom I am now an old and drunken image revealing to me the origin of his power) I was, alas, afraid. Hastily I called to my elders, Shem and Japhet, and watched them playing their everlasting walking-backwards performance, as if time could be reabsorbed by reversing its movement. In this manner they made duration.
They delayed the birth of something that was born in me. I was their beginning and their end, and my insight gave knowledge that they could not see. On the other hand, I was rendered powerless: the living seed of the Intemporal, at the mercy of Number, defenceless among Number. I was the seed nurtured by the Earth, born of the refusal to be born,
total of my victorious evasions. Being that which would be, how could I have been under an obligation to pledge myself to be that which would have existed previously?
|Carlo Suares, Resurrection of the Word, Shambhala, 1974, pp. 93-94|