Then the Supreme Lord spoke, paying homage to his Supreme lady
with five mandalas, asking her:
'My darling, my joy,
How shall the yogi know your form?
How should he show his respect, my Supreme Lady,
And how should he honour you?'
And the Supreme Lady [the Divine Mother] replied:
'All female forms in the sky and above and below the earth,
All high or low births, are my forms.
All invisible female beings are my forms:
All goddesses and demi-goddesses,
All titanesses and demonesses,
All serpent beings, nature goddesses and ghost maidens,
All lotus eaters and female devils,
And all human girls too,
All female animals and hungry ghosts,
All priestesses and high born ladies,
All trading women and working women,
All those born as writers and queens,
Teachers and scholars,
Tax collectors and gardeners,
Prostitutes and dyers,
Potters and huntresses,
Outcastes, musicians and toilet cleaners,
Washerwomen, barmaids and sweet-makers,
Blacksmiths' women, courtesans and dancers,
Bronzesmiths' and goldsmiths' women,
Fisherwomen and butchers' women,
Butter churners and flower-women,
Ascetics and conch-shell artisans,
Cane-splitters and poetesses,
Cow-herds and arrow-makers,
Wood gathers and jewellers:
I come in the form of women of all classes and trades,
And I am mother, sister and wife,
Aunt and niece,
Great-aunt and mother-in-law,
And every other kind of female relation.
And I am every tantric practitioner and yogini,
And widow and ascetic.
I take the forms of all these women
Who now live to serve all sentient beings.
'Confident each in her own mode,
Whichever form the yogi encounters
He should kiss and embrace her,
And uniting lotus and vajra in consummation
He serves and honours her.
With an altruistic desire to aid all sentient beings,
Serving women through love, the yogin gains power.
Power is bestowed instantaneously -
For that reason the yogin should serve women.
Woman is heaven and woman is truth,
Woman is the highest ascetic path,
The Buddha is woman and women are the community,
And woman is perfect wisdom.
'Women are distinguished psychologically
Through fivefold colour classification.
The blue woman is called Immutable Anger Yogini,
The white woman is called Immutable Ignorance Yogini,
The yellow woman is called Immutable Calumny Yogini,
The red woman is called Immutable Desire Yogini,
The green woman is calld Immutable Jealousy Yogini,
And the Supreme Lady Perfection of Wisdom is fivefold unity.
'Vajrayogini should be worshipped with offerings,
With wine, food and flowers and everything pleasurable,
And the yogin should array her with fine clothes,
Paying her respect with clear speech
And pressing his palms together courteously.
Regarding her and fondling her with attention
He should engage her in clear conversation,
And constantly kissing her and caressing her,
He should worship Vajrayogini.
Physically worshipped by those who are able
And verbally and mentally by those who are not,
To those who satisfy me through worship
I will grant all my powers.
'I am nowhere if not in the bodies of all women.
So rejecting all other paths, worship women!
This is the supreme act of worship of me,
And serving me in this way
The aspirant gains satisfaction and supreme power.
When he enters the path of insight
He is given perfectly discriminating vision of me,
Meditating upon all forms without exception as myself,
He should make love to his own woman,
Visualising her as my embodiment,
And uniting lotus and vajra [sexual organs] in consummation
I will give him enlightenment.
Accordingly, devoted to me in all my forms,
That yogin is supreme in every way.
And through this method, in complete consummation,
The practitioner attains total devotion.
'He should not live in fear of sin,
In fear of the lower realms like hell.
Insofar as he fears samsara's stings,
To that extent he becomes impotent.
Although sin has not the slightest existence,
And virtue and merit do not exist at all,
Sin and merit were contrived
To protect the mind from life's pain.
Mind is the measure of all things
And all things last only for the duration of the thought.
'Who will go to heaven and who to hell?
Insofar as beings die with a poisoned imagination
Those who are free of the power of poison go to heaven
And those who faint away under the power of poison go to hell.
Thus ignorant people go to heaven or hell,
While the wise, totally comprehending,
But if nirvana is taken as mere emptiness,
Like a lamp after a gust of wind,
This nihilism, like the paths of reward and retribution,
Brings enlightenment no closer.
Abandoning all such preoccupations, then,
The aspirant should devote himself to me,
And undoubtedly he will be granted power and awareness,
The powers of Candamaharosana, instantaneously.'"
Excerpted from Chapter Eight of the Sri-candamaharosana-Tantra (dPal gtum po khro bo chen po'i rgyud kyi rgyal po dpa'bo gcig pa). Translated by Keith Dowman.
'Ode to Ishtar' - a poem by Hugo
But I, lonely pilgrim, ride in out of the dust clouds
Wrecked from the trek, in the saddle I'm slumped down
It's sun down, and the orange orb at my back casts a silhouette
As I purposefully stalk past the domes and past minarets
The monasteries, the spires of the churches
The cathedrals, the casinos, the bonfires, the hearses
The circuses, the businesses, the shrines, the workers
The statues, the avenues, the finite circuits
To arrive further towards the site which inspires my higher purpose
An altar before which I falter before falling in divine service
None of the teachings of the preachers effectively entered my mind's furnace
Not did any wealth tempt me more seductively than this siren's urgings
But some ignore her magic
This goddess lightly purring, with feline grace
And strokeable fur which resulted in one of her many names
And many are the men who have attempted to tame
This lioness which resides twixt the legs of their lover's frame
All in vain, for the flames that burn within her
are hot enough to leave any sword melted, any lance burnt to cinders.
And any proud knight that charges into her, gets cooked and turned to Ashes within the
Very suit of metal, his ego wore to protect his limbs cos
This holy grail, this overflowing cup
Has caused crusades,Trojan wars, games of thrones to go erupt
As misguided men saw the overwhelming potency of such
A goddess and wanted her so much they were totally overwhelmed with lust
And they couldn't see it was magic
Having observed the potential of their own corrupt insanity to kick in
Many men saw the awesome force of this matriarchal vision.
Its power had been wielded unconsciously thus far by women
But men then colluded to create patriarchal religion
A spiritual control system, designed for limiting
Hunting down, humiliating, killing and reversing this lustful tide of indiscipline,
And use asceticism and threatening eternal damnation in fires of hell again
To usurp and curb worship of my goddess, the divine feminine.
But this crass misinterpretation of the subject
This rank hijacking and twisting of the natural energy that lust is:
A fiery force that once its repressed has to emerge in some substance
Else it leads to burning witches, burqas on women and priests who fuck kids
Because it's a powerful magic
And it cannot be suppressed, so this pilgrim doesn't attempt to
Nor does he succumb to the fire on the other end of the spectrum:
The buzzing swarm of content on the net which bombards the unwary with videos of barely aware or respectful erections penetrating the inner sanctum of Ishtar with nary a shred of tenderness
These two extremes threaten to encroach on the will of any pilgrim
But if he is able to maintain and be instilled with the vision
And navigate between these two perils of scylla and charybdis
He will stand before the holy edifice like this pilgrim and bear witness
As with breathless ease, I descend to my knees and stare
Finally arrived in the lair, I can kneel in prayer
As two bended knees form the two steeples in the air
Of the only cathedral of which I'll ever need to be aware
And many insist that it's not magic
Incomprehensible the timeless vortex of truth that this goddess's eye, all seeing, views
She's been worshipped since time immemorial too,
Before we saw the light of the orb of the moon
Before the sun light formed into view,
When we still recalled the time we all crawled forth from the primordial soup
Throughout she's provided a profound praxis
Enshrouded and resounding through a boundless axis
And no matter how lost I get in the stress lines my brow is mapped with
I can drown and reincarnate, again and again, navigating north south, up down and backwards,
Following the wispy cotton candy trails over the oceans of her Cloud Atlas
But some still can't see that it's magic
And No matter where I've gone in the day I'm back home in the evening
No matter how many board rooms I go to for meetings
No matter where I roam, what I'm seeking,
In the half light of the dawn, draws me towards her aroma that's sweetening
I, lonely pilgrim, nuzzle in to the folds of elysium
Breathe in with glistening nose like a golden retriever then
Begin to lap in her lap with a hunger awoken with fever
Delicately exploring this knowing delirium
This goddess rescues me from my dark chasm;
Any temptation I have to succumb to the numbness of sarcasm
Is remediated immediately with every morsel of charged plasm
As Gasps and hand grasps grow into vast spasms
And they still claim that she's not magic
Even as The atoms of our fibres become one system
She accepts me as Fool, and makes me Magician
She High Priestess, becomes empress high above us
While I Emperor, become Hierophant, and we entwine as Lovers
Gripping the reins of this Chariot, feeling Adjustment's turnings
We are absorbed in reflection for a momentous moment, just as Hermits
Feeling the churning of the Wheel of Fortune, dust to dust
Civilisations to ashes and back again, lust to lust
I am Hanged Man, forlorn, awaiting the depths of Death
Le petit mort, she is Art, and we detect the Devil's breath
As the Tower we've built is increasingly charged
But is struck down before its height reaches the Star
The Tower falls, but the Star is what we soon become
As one by one we ascend through Moon and Sun
Beyond Judgement, into the vastness of the Aeon
She woman, I snake, in the Universe, the garden of Eden
And as we come, to the edge of this precipice
In one holy moment, I ascend to this reverence
For a single macro second of tenderness
which stretches and gives me a glimpse of the infinite
For this is the portal and all mammalian life was sent from it
From this World which is itself a nurturing fertile crescent and
Imbued with such a gift, such a beautiful, musical, climactic, dramatic, pageant...
How can anyone look at this temple and say that it's not Magic?"