The Curvature of Time

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‘The Book of Dark Things should not then be read primarily as an account of actual rituals performed & travels undertaken, but as an exploration of the role of the imagination and the power of dreams to transmute the familiar nature of our surroundings into something strange and wonderful.’

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‘The Curvature of Time’ – Preparatory Sketches:

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The Curvature of Time

wraps threads and tatters of memory

around you like a winding-sheet…

Each night that you sleep, and set sail upon Other currents,

Other tides – go down into the Darkness

as if your body had been lowered into the grave,

dark Mother Earth from whence you came

The Curvature of Time

will steer the course of your life

on mingled black currents of memory & forgetting…

“Life is a shadow with violence before and after

It is spirits, fighting”

You who were once ridden, are you now ready to ride?

Take leave of your shell – sit up, I tell you! Sit up and make ready I say!

(He folds the paper, with her name on it – he folds the paper and he draws the signs, traces the lines and makes the anointing)

The World Turned Upside Down!

The boat is coming

to carry your soul to the Other Lands,

beyond the Far Horizon,

over the Edge of the World

and along

The Curvature of Time

Like a bride called to your wedding, like a guest to the feast, raise yourself up and be ready I say!

(He draws the lines – he makes the sign – he calls and chants, starts his dance)

The portal is open and the way is clear –

And the drumming, and the rattle,

and the scourging and the song

spirit-vessel here to carry us on

The Curvature of Time

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‘She Travels’ – Study:

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‘In such moments of exhaustion & surrender, the sensible spirits are drawn in great commotion as if to quit the body corporeal for some other vessel that will carry them Up & Out & On across the Curvature of Time, White Darkness shadowed by the light of a Black Sun, strange absences made solid in unknown Spaces Between, as to make all our questing metaphysic seem but tracing childish patterns in the familiar sands of our nearest shore.’

. .  .    .        .

Images: Emma Doeve + Words: Matthew Levi Stevens

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