The Soul Vampire 1919

The Soul Vampire

By Teasdale Randolph
Author 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