أُم

Womb Confessional is open for nectar.

In the Mother’s throes of merciless ecstasy, the devotee expectorates clods of viscera. To the crystalline cuore, She bestows the reward of clotted vision.

The Great Goddess’s red wisdom is in the riding crop. Eye pin the slave of love with my inner occhio. Eye take his pulse with the intensity of my reptile gaze.

Under the Red Iron Moon, God is the Queen Cobra. The voice of God reverberates against the inner walls (endometrium) of the uterus cathedral. The grace of God is uterine renewal.

Madre Natura did not design womban to work for the Machine — the pursuit of red passion is divine order. Madre Natura did not design womban to fast — crystalline abundance is divine order. Madre Natura did not design womban to abstain from the sacred raptures of the Venusian flesh. Womban (the Mater-Matrix of God) is not a miniature man. Sanctuary is womban’s foundation of miracles; comfort is man’s castration. Easeful luxury is the Shakti-womban’s natural state of existence. Virile stress is the Christ-gentleman’s natural state of existence. Womban is Venus; man is Mars.

The man who cannot submit to womban cannot submit to God.

Goddess is the one who demands absolute love and devotion.

A gentleman in red tears reaches the Great Goddess’s lotus feet.

The Word of God is the elevation of womban. The Good News is Her Blood Bible.