The Hierarchy of Darkness
The Hierarchy of Darkness
Not the bleeding flesh is the enemy that bites in sleep, but thought—
archai on high thrones where light is forgotten shadow.
The principalities don't wear crowns, but carry the age in their palms,
sit on thrones of celestial ash, luminous from so much night.
Exousias—physical power is shadow that is light,
and minds are empty temples where gods sleep in chains.
Orders flow downward as springs flow upward,
and who carries the scepter carries the wounds of the voiceless one.
Kosmokratoras—masters of the world that doesn't exist yet,
coordinate darkness like a symphony of extinguished stars.
Saraba choshekh—princes of night conduct light in chains,
and in heavens below they live, in depths above they breathe.
Pneumatika—evil spirits are angels with pure wings,
ben-beliyyaal, sons of Satan, with saint's hands on man's forehead.
Shedim in epouraniois—fallen in righteous elevation,
shamayim is hell above, and hell is heaven untouched by clay.
The hierarchy falls upward—Satan is the root of the inverted tree,
fallen angels are branches that grow in heaven's soil.
Political leaders, religious ones—leaves that tremble from wind,
and people in the chain of command are dew that climbs back up.
Each category executes the orders from below,
for the pyramid stands with its peak in the deep and base in heaven.
Who fights against flesh fights with his own echo,
the true enemy is light that pretends to be darkness too well.
In the heavenly places where heaven is earth and earth is ether,
live the spirits like bodyless people who wear faces.
Vazdukh shamayim, earth eres, depth sheol—
three worlds in one single, the shattered mirror in three whole pieces.
Melancholy isn't sadness, but lucidity without cure,
to understand that the fight is lost before the triumph begins.
Paul prisoner in Rome knew what stones also know:
freedom is a cell smaller than the prison that liberates you.
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