The Soul Vampire 1919

The Soul Vampire
By Teasdale RandolphAuthor of “The Monarch Soul” — See Asoth, September, 1918(The conversation between the Soul Vampire and the Monarch Soul)The Vampire speaks:
Enchantress of the Nethermost am I,
Hierophantria of the Ebon Realm
Where Cerberus, with jaws tripartite, stands
Black Gaoler of the Night.
I am the reincarnate Fiend,
Escaped from mummified imprisonment,
Who gave the gleaming serpent-thrill
To Egypt’s dazzling eyes. I was the dart
And tincture of the Borgia’s cup. I was
The soul of Messalina who seduced
The hearts of Claudius and of Silius.
I stroked the curls
Of Israel’s Strong Man with my ivory hands
And cast him, helpless, to Philistia’s dogs.
’Twas I who set Salome’s sensual pace
That cleft the Baptist’s neck.
Those were my Phallic days.
I caught men-flies with spider-like delight
And in the web of passion held them fast,
The prisoners of my lust. __
Today my mask is Eleusinian.
I garb myself with mystery, and prate
The cryptic wisdom of the wandering stars,
Perchance, with show of tinseled knowledge, I
May full impress some sweet, confiding soul
And thus, with arts vampiric, ravish it.
I talk of horoscopes and zodiacs,
Of color schemes, of mystic numbers and
Equations wonderful, significant.
I cremate mortared incense and declaim
The potent action of its secret charm.
I ape a Master’s power,
And strut, unchallenged by the multitude
Of silly novices whose ignorance
Gives my pretensions all the stride of Truth.
My trade is profit-bearing; freely all
The simple victims shower me with gold.
It doth remind me of the merry days
When Antony, for just one glimpse of flesh,
Bestowed on me the jewels of his realm.
It is to scream in merriment!— that I,
The Priestess of Perdition, redolent
With virtuous fragrance, now should oversway
The souls of men, as once I ruled their hearts!
The Monarch Soul speaks:
Now, let the Master speak; and Vampire, list
To Him who KNOWS, and speaks whereof H e Knows:
Thy mummeries are vain to move or mould
The Monarch Soul submissive to thine arts;
And vain thy astrologic jargon to impress
Or fashion him, or incense to subvert
His sense of Truth and Right.
Why prate ye of the stars?
As if the movements of the creature orbs
Could circumscribe the Everlasting Soul
Who fixed their courses and prescribed their bounds!—
That All-Potential Spirit whom I AM ;
Who wrought each star from substance by My Will;
That I, the Maker and the Master, I
Should be impacted by their aspects, or
Disturbed or fretted by conjunctions, nodes
Or short or long ascensions of My Worlds!
Know it is I zvlio speak—
I, the Incarnate Master in the flesh—
A Soul like unto thyself in form
And aspect physical, but knowing full
The compass of my throne, I who have come
With princely footsteps down the trackless way
Of the Eternal Heights!
I taught the stars
To sing the symphonies cosmogonal
When they were cradled in their infancy.
I traveled with the speed of living Thought
Ten thousand million years in primal space
And quickened Chaos into Motherhood
Ere yet a sphere was born!
My stars go on their courses foreordained,
Nor mystic nod nor beck can misapply
Their movements fixative. I ’stablished them!
’Tis well to know that I have other worlds,
Unnumbered and unnamed by ’strology;
I wist not, if thy ken could seek them out,
They, too, would swagger in thy witchery.
Astronomy has mapped my skies in part,
But still, beyond, there lies the gaugeless realm
Of My Infinity!
Why vulcanize the resin?
The incense which gives life is Oxygen,
Elixir pure of Heaven’s chemistry;
’Twas made for all forms animal to breathe
And thus secrete their pabulum of life.
No sap acaciac, e’en by witches charmed,
Can add one jot to its vitality.
My earth-borne perfumes are
The spirits of the Rose, the Violet,
The Sweet Carnation and the Asphodel—
All their companion Floras of the field.
I gave them odor and their form of life
And colors exquisite to charm and bless.
No weird initiate’s rostrum, though consumed
’Mid charlatanic chanting of the night,
Can ever rival their pure innocence.
The burning wax is sheer impuissance,
And hath nor force nor fragrance natural.
Thy crematorial act?—
Hath it a purpose disinfectant, or
Hath it some fell design to soothe and charm
And fashion to thy will the trusting soul,
So thou canst batten on it like the bat,
Black, hideous and profane? If fell, then know
The perspiration of the toiler’s pores
Is sweet as zephyrs of the rose’s breath
Compared with thy foul odors, and it tells
The task of honest labor which to thee
Seems stranger than an undiscovered love.
The Vampire speaks:
Dost thou deny, Sir Monarch Soul, the fact
And power of the Eleusinian cult—
That this which men call Myth is very Truth—
The synthethis of Past and Future Life?
And that the Lesser and the Greater lead
By mystic paths to aporrheta and
The state ineffable which Paul declared?
And dost thou doubt that knowledge of the stars
And transits of the planets through the House
May serve full well the persons who engage
Such wisdom and with care apply their lore?
The Monarch Soul speaks:
Nay, Vampire, I do not deny the sign
And symbol of the Ideal in the cult
Which Plato deemed profound. I full respect
The Truth, which oft was veiled and mystical;
The solace for Achtheia in the gifts
Of mullet and of barley, and deem high
The principle petroma which the grave
Hierophant disclosed on pledge of death.
Nor do I doubt
That knowledge of the stars will give the Mind
Both exercise and poise, if rightly used;
Though, for the Soul who has discovered full
The glory and potential range of Thought,
Such knowledge serves no purpose as a chart
Of circumscriptive destiny.
Th’ Imperial Soul is Lord
And Master of His Realm and all the vast
Equations of His schools. No signet tau,
Nor pi proportion, nor the Huramon,
Nor any problem of Euclidian lore,
Nor alpha-beta-delta-gamma rays
In transit aspects of his galaxies,
Shall for an instant stagger him. HE WILLS,
HE CONQUERS AND HE REIGNS, AND EVERMORE
IS MONARCH, CALM, INVINCIBLE, PROFOUND!
His Kohinoor is Love,
Which is his signet and his diadem,
His sceptre and his throne— his wealth, his all.
The Love which suffereth, and yet is kind;
The Love which envieth not, which doth not vaunt;
Is not inflated, nor unseemly, nor
A seeker for itself; is not provoked,
And hath no evil thought; the Love that sings,
Rejoicing in the Truth; that beareth all,
That hopeth all, endureth all; that gives
Its very life a ransom for its friends,
And yet lives on eternally— the PLEDGE,
THE SEAL, THE CROWN OF IMM ORTALITY!
Stars rise and set but light remains where the mind is serene and the soul is bent on righteousness. The selfish man has no hope of seeing heaven because he has no share in its service, which is allcomprised in the word “charity.” Reason has her throne in the highest heavens, her sceptre rules the mind of man, her hand raises the slave and dethrones the tyrant. Mean lives have never sensed the divinity of man but wear only the robes of mortality. They are as land which has never given life to vegetation or delighted the earth with the sweetness of the rose. Learning makes service more helpful, love renders it more beautiful, sacrifice transforms it into all that is ennobling.
==Print Info==
*The Soul Vampire
*By Teasdale Randolph
*In: Azoth
*Vol. 5 No. 3 SEPTEMBER, 1919
*Editor: MICHAEL WHITTY
*Publisher: AZOTH PUBLISHING COMPANY, Inc. New York City
*ppg(text) 137-141
*ppg(pdf) 7-11
==Images==
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