The Mysticism of Queermale Sexmajick

This poem expresses the spirituality of Queermale Sexmajick, the mysticism of Man-on-Man sex. It is a vision I had during a particularly powerful sexual encounter with my then-Master, Jack, who was my lord and god, who, "in pitch black room, in pitch black womb" did appear to me as Shiva Lord elevated one foot off the floor with the Kundalini Serpent coiled at his crown chakra. Avalokitsvara, the Buddhist bodhisatva of mercy and compassion, sat in the room with us, keeping watch and blessing the Sacred Rite. The poem was written in September, 2003, but I wanted it to be in the blog revised with one clarifying line in 2010, because it speaks so much to who I am as a Sexmajician and Tantric Mystic perhaps even more now than it did then, although I am no longer a slave, but a Queerman of my own making. The time of the slave is ended. As I had to be a Master in years gone by, so I had to be a slave as well, so that now there is no need for either, but both as Yang and Yin, to be neither one and yet both and bigger than both, as one makes two makes One, and the Totality of Queer Spirit Dances in my veins, my semen, and my sex. I laugh with joy at such a blessing. I laugh the laugh of the great horned male god as He Dances with His Queermale children, laughing with the joy of Queer Spirit.

And Not A Candle Lit (A Hymn for Jack in Praise of the Mother)

Pitch black the room it was,

and yet a brilliant light to flood

the naked body there,

and not a candle lit.

Pitch black the room it was,

and every inch of Sir I saw

in naked splendor there,

and not a candle lit.

My god, my lord who lay supine

whose scent, whose taste was only mine

to praise, and sing, and magnify

I saw in naked glory there,

and not a candle lit.

Pitch black the room it was.

Pitch black the womb it was,

the womb of Kali Ma who births

with skulls of death around her neck,

and God lay on the bed,

and Light abundant showed Him me

as I saw Him, an ancient tree

of life, of love, of ecstasy,

and not a candle lit.

And yet each hair and each fine line,

each crevice by divine design

in God's great Work of Art

who lay supine upon the bed,

who shot into my heart a dart

of ancient make and Mystery,

and not a candle lit.

Incense burning in the air,

a soft yet keening cant

for Brothers dead who knew our Truth,

from AIDS and HIV,

who knew the hidden Mysteries

of Atum and The Mother She,

who sang and praised and glorified,

who danced and leapt and magnified

the Cosmic Dance of Shiva Lord,

and our two bodies' blended spirits,

two but One, and yet the same,

and each just like the other,

yet one is Master, one is slave,

but both bound to The Mother.

Avalokitsvara sits and watches

in the dungeon black

which floods with tears of mercy,

of great compassion for the boy

who's now a Man, a slave, a toy

and yet a Man and still a boy,

a boy with life and soul abounding,

loving, feeling more astounding

than he's ever felt before.

Pitch black the room it was,

Tibetan chant of Buddhist lore

did spin around and spin around

in still black air that hit the ear,

and hit the walls, and hit the ground,

in still black air that touched the nose

and taken into lungs as black

with darkness as the room of pitch,

and from the lungs a Light forth shown,

breaking out through muscles rich,

through sinew, organ, blood, and bone

to light the room as black as pitch,

and not a candle lit.

And then the light of Light

flared forth from Heart to heart,

from lord to slave and back again,

a golden bridge between two hearts,

creating majick, birthing life,

blue Shiva with the coiled snake,

the Kundalini sitting there atop his crown,

my lord thus sits in lotus full.

God's Light descends on slave bowed down.

A golden bridge between two hearts,

my Lord's and his disciple's.

Sweet lord is raised above sweet slave

by just a foot to show the Way,

but just a foot, for Lord and devotee

are but split by inches high

the one above the other.

Yet face to face,

and breath to breath,

all three eyes to all three eyes,

each looking deep in self for Self,

each searching god for God.

And then I knew that I, the slave,

my Lord I found, the one I've craved

who gives me life until my grave,

a life in Light, in pitch black room,

a Light which floods the naked One

who's lying there as if the sun, as if the Son

Transfigured was in pitch black room,

who births a slave in pitch black womb,

Ma Kali's womb, Lord Shiva's room,

God's Light so bright, it blinds my sight,

and not a candle lit.

soli Deo gloria