The Rose

By Georgia van Raalte

The first level or approach is the body. I hesitate to say mastered, for there is no finishing the process; it is ongoing, coexistence with one’s very life. The body is not to be overcome or surmounted, but understood. The ideals of inhabitence to be actualised. The body is a complex instrument; a garden, not an automaton. The body is to be perfected without closed aim. Tending the garden in the dark, they are Her roses that Nemo tends.

The rose is black, and each petal is a devil’s face. Our Lady has an infinity of tenses, and all have been coloured ‘evil’. Thus, we say: Evil, be my good.

The rose is the vulva, the cup the womb. The rose and cup confound the morality of the cross and the rod. The cross is a symbol of death that implies life. The rose is a symbol of life that implies death. A rose is beautiful, for it is temporary. It signifies the temporary nature of beauty and the temporary nature of sex.

The flower is the ideal example of temporaneous beauty. More effective than a skull - Memento Mori. Our Lady appears demon face leering, in the petals of a flower.

A million devil faces - all sin is Hers, all excess and sensation, hidden in the asymmetric perfection of a rose.

Are these obscene blossoms, red and black and white, the flowers of evil? Evil is always that which draws attention to the temporary nature of embodied thing. But death is not evil; it is the prerequisite of life. Decay is not evil; it is the prerequisite of beauty.

It is from the sweet nectar of the flower of the goddess that the honeybee draws its sustenance - filling the hives of men from the endless reserves of the holy sweetness. The lion and the bees - but first the flower.

The rose drops with blood

The rose veiled in black

The rose is perfect in its whiteness.

All is silent, absorbed by the petals of the rose.

We all have a point of ingress; a chink where the light gets in. Thorns like nails or teeth. A thousand petals; one for every face, for every name.

A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose. And in a vulva there is god.

The Rose Cross, the symbols of the Lower Mysteries; these are not the first symbols in a negative sense, as the lesser, but in a positive one, for they are elementary. They are first, and they must be understood first; there can be no growth without Understanding. One can never understand the Lance and  up without experiencing the Rose and Cross.

There is the Inner and the Outer. But fools misunderstand the nature of these things. The Outer is not to be overcome. The Outer cannot be ignored. This is Our Lady Veiled in Nature; and there may be no unveiling until proper devotion has been observed. This is the Foundation, the Kingdom; and all this is Hers.

The intoxicating scent of roses hangs heavy on the air.

She is all beauty, and death.

And now upon the face of it is a great black rose, each of its petals, though it be featureless, is yet a devil-face. And all the stalks are the black snakes of hell [-barbed with pointed teeth]. It is alive, this Rose; a single thought informs it [-one thought fills eternity]. It comes to clutch, to murder. Yet, because a single thought alone informs it, I have hope therin. [There is no good, nor evil. The neverending circuit - the serpent biting its tail. If you think about anything for long enough, it becomes its opposite].  I think the rose has a hundred and fifty-six petals, and though it be black, it has the luminous blush. I cannot see anyone who wears it [the flower implies a bearer (as does the cross)].

The rose is Her beauty, Her softness (midst sharps). The rose is Her standard, borne on Her breast; yet more secret than the cup.

There is much to be said of the flowers of knowledge that blossom in the genitalia - yet it is near impossible to speak of it.

Flowers are the sex organs of trees.The anus is the site of the last complex to be removed. The anus is a rose. The anus is a graveyard. The anus is an alembic. The eye in the anus: The eye in the rose (for the eye is the symbol not of knowledge, but of knowing).)

The skin of the vulva and anus absorb information. Sensation pleasure pain, these too are knowledge. The mind, the nervous system, these are sexual organs, flowers. So too the rose of memory, wherein all bitterness and all sweetness are contained.

We call faces flowers; skin, flower-petal soft. We call the vulva flower, and the the innocence of virginity flower too. the hymen. Love may also flower, before it fades. The flower becomes a metaphor for that which blooms and dies; the inextricably of beauty and death. Thus, the flowers and the skull; thus are the dead adorned with flowers; is this not a variant on Nemo in the garden?

This is an exercise in negative thealogy. When we seek to describe the goddess we describe her with the attributes of a woman. But She is more than this. Infinitely more. We speak of God’s qualities, but Our Lady is a Mystery, and Mysteries are communicated with veils and symbols. And we quickly see that these Qualities of God are symbolic, too - but it is easy to forget. We must train our mind to think through metaphor and symbol. Do not fall into the trap of identification. The symbol is not the thing-in-itself. These symbols are not static. They are modes of being. Her symbols are never things done, qualities fixed, but things doing, the manifold qualities of change. There are more paths than there are sephiroth.

And yet - constant revision, double helix, She is Form itself - for we see that, contrary to our wishes, the only uniting quality of Form is Change, temporainity. Thus do so many flee from the body, claiming the soul eternal. And this latter is true; but it is in Understanding that the flux of Form is the nature of the Goddess Herself that all joy is to be found. This is the truth grasped at, but so often lost, in sensuality and hedonism. There is missing only the link, the contact with Her - and the understanding of the opposite end of the fulcrum - the Rock of Spirit. We must learn to see oppositionally; with trickster eyes.

The Goddess is to be worshipped in mature and form itself - in every aspect of our experience of it. This truth is so simple - why is it so difficult to grasp?

All that we label spirituality is the experience of our form reacting to the formless - but the Goddess is the receptor, the interstice itself (and all this is a veil. And She is naught, and the sun is all). Yet She is the key to adepthood - how to eat, and make love - how to Live! And all this is contained within the symbol of the flower.

We can go no further unless we accept and rejoice in the sanctity of form, in all its fleshiness and temporiety.

The rose is the symbol of the Goddess on the Earth, and all those reactions of Her with fleshy experience. (the most high-minded of aesthetics can never proceed beyond the rose). The rose is the antithesis to all the monuments of men. More perfect than our crafts can create; and resolutely, inescapably, temporary. Consider our obsession with van Gogh’s sunflowers.

Seek all that is best in the day-to-day. Do not consume - interact. Enter into a relationship, consciously. From food to media to love, the same applies. Is not the ace of disks a rose? Do not produce: craft. Create. Surround yourself with beauty for the senses, and find in it the blessings of Our Lady. In sorrow too, in pain and discomfort, experience the limit of Form, and all the reasons Our Lady has been rejected. See Our Lady in Her black aspect, and receive Her lessons; the lessons of the Abyss.Experience All in Her name.

The rose with its flagrant sensuality, is a symbol of Her.

The drop of dew suspended upon the petal of the rose.

The flower is that which will bear fruit, in time. The flower will wither, and the fruit will grow.

Yet the flower can be preserved, if treatThe virgin is the rose, for the virgin is temporary.

The dried rose tells the secret - the form is changed, but it is not destroyed. It takes a new form, frail yet eternal (for a moment).

Thus is the Virgin Whore.

The concept of the Virgin Whore is the battlecry of Reclamation. The divinity of women cannot be destroyed. The eternal masculine has no grip on or claim to the eternal feminine. He can only submit, when comes the time of the twisting of the serpent. For the world is not a single snake, and the twisting snakes do not travel in a straight line. All is one.

ed with the proper care. Hers is the multiplicity of form, the glories of the change of time. As when a posy of roses are dried, it becomes something new. This is the taxidermy of flowers.

[It is only by refuting the close symbols of the body that we may come nigh unto Her. For our bodies themselves are symbolic. They signify the potential consciousness inside our heads. Stepping back one remove of symbol helps us remember this.

We are (nothing) more than bodies.

The Goddess is (nothing) more than the conglomeration of experience.]

A single head of wheat grows in the darkness. In the darkness, the head is cut.

Nemo waters his roses with vitriol in the dark garden in the abyss.

In the innocence of Eden, Eve grasps the apple.

A single rose blooms in its glass vase, radiant in the window-filtered sunlight. Upon a silken petal rests a single droplet of water. With the tremble of a breeze, the droplet falls to the floor.

What of the young lady in white, who admires the view from her window seat? She sighs, wishing the droplet had fallen onto her exquisite skirt. All the world’s cares are contained within that sigh.

Why is it that stories such as those of Atlas, or Sisyphus, are about men? Because to women endless, aimless toil is the norm, nothing worthy of myth.The Rose of Earth that toils endlessly, offering nectar to the bees that they might build their cities.

Our Lady is Goddess of Sex and Death. Hers is the Bitter Sea.