Deathspell Omega

Deathspell Omega - Diabolus Absconditus lyrics

rate me

"Death is the most terrible of all things; and to maintain it's works is

What requires the greatest of all strength." - Hegel

Would it all be absurd? Or might it make some kind of sense? I've mad

Myself sick wondering about it. I awake in the morning - just the way

Millions do, millions of boys, girls, infants and old men, their slumber

Dissipated forever... These millions, those slumbers have no meaning. A

Hidden meaning? Hidden, yes, "obviously"! But if nothing has any meaning,

There's no point in my doing anything. I'll beg off. I'll use any deceitful

Means to get out of it, in the end I'll have to let go and sell myself to

Meaninglessness, nonsense: that is man's killer, the one who tortures and

Kills, not a glimmer of hope left. But if there is a meaning? Today I don't

Know what it is. Tomorrow? Tomorrow, who can tell me? Am I going to find

Out what it is? No, I can't conceive of any "meaning" other than "my"

Anguish, and as for that, I know all about it. And for the time being:

Nonsense. Monsieur Nonsense is writing and understands that he is mad. It's

Atrocious. But his madness, this meaninglessness - how "serious" it has

Become all of a sudden! - might that indeed be "meaningful"? My life has

Only a meaning insofar as I lack one: oh, but let me be mad! Make something

Of all this he who is able to, understand it he who is dying, and there the

Living self is, knowing not why, it's teeth chattering in the lashing wind:

The immensity, the night engulfs it and, all on purpose, that living self

Is there just in order... "not to know". But as for GOD? GOD, if he knew,

Would be a swine. He would entirely grasp the idead... but what would there

Be of the human about him? Beyond, beyond everything... And yet farther,

And even farther still... HIMSELF, in an ecstasy, above emptiness...

Cognitive activity: God comes to be known in ways that originate in God

Solely

God is nothing if He is not, in every sense, the surpassing of God:

In the sense of common everyday being, in the sense of dread,

Horror and impurity, and, finally, in the sense of nothing...

He is mystery, indeed he is the absolute mystery

Divine disclosure is in direct proportion

To the degree of divine concealment

Intensification of revelation equals

To increasing of God's hiddenness

Descent of the Deus Absconditus

Vere tu es Deus Absconditus

The unreservedly open spirit - open to death, to torment, to joy -, the

Open spirit, open and dying, suffering and dying and happy, stands in a

Certain veiled light: that light is divine. And the cry that breaks from a

Twisted mouth may perhaps twist him who utters it, but what he speaks is an

Immense alleluia, flung into endless silence, and lost there.

Shall my only victory be available in conscience?

Why is absence the proof, when I demand palpable presence?

There is enough light to enlighten the elect and enough darkness to humble

Them.

There is enough darkness to blind the reprobate and enough clarity to

Condemn them,

And make them without excuse.

Our perception is subject to the fissure of concupiscence

Woestruck am I realising that the light cast on this

Chiaroscuro world is partial and selective

Division, election and predestination

Enabled by grace or left to one's own device...

Anguish is only sovereign absolute. The sovereign is a king no more: it

Dwells in low-biding in big cities. It knits itself up in silence,

Obscurring it's sorrow. Crouching thick-wrapped, there it waits, lies

Waiting for the advent of Him who shall strike a general terror; but

Meanwhile and even so sorrow scornfully mocks at all that comes to pass,

And all there is.

From very high above a kind of stillness swept down unpon me and froze me

It was as though I were borne aloft in a flight of headless and unbodied

Angels

Shaped rom the broad swooping of wings, but it was simpler than that.

I became unhappy and felt painfully forsaken, as one is when in the

Presence of God.

She was seated, she held one leg stuck up in the air, to open her crack

Yet wider she used fingers to draw the folds of skin apart.

And so her "old rag and ruin" loured at me, hairy and pink,

Just as full of life as some loathsome squid.

"Why", I stammered in a subdued tone, "Why are you doing that?"

"You can see for yourself", she said, "I'm God".

No use laying it all up to irony when I say of here that she is GOD. But

GOD figured as a public whore and gone crazy - that, viewed through the

Optic of "philosophy", makes no sense at all. I don't mind having sorrow

Derided if derided it has to be, he only will grasp me aright whose heart

Holds a wound that is an incurable wound, who never, for anything, in any

Way, would be cured of it... And what man, if so wounded, would ever be

Willing to "die" of any other hurt?

If there is nothing that surpasses our powers and our understanding,

If we do not acknowledge something greater than ourselves,

Greater than we are despite ourselves,

Something which at all costs must not be,

Then we do not reach the insensate moment towards we strive

With all this is in our power and which at the same time

We exert with all our power to stave off.

I can utter no word, O my God, unless I be permitted by Thee,

And can move in no direction until I obtain Thy sanction.

It is Thou, O my God, Who hast called me into being through the power

Of Thy might, and hast endued me with Thy grace to manifest Thy cause.

The act whereby being - existence - is bestowed upon us is an unbearable

Surpassing of being, an act no less unbearable than that of dying. And

Since, in death, being is take away from us at the same time it is given to

Us, we must seek for it in the feeling of dying, in those unbearable

Moments when it seems to us that we are dying because the existence in us,

During these interludes, exists through nothing but a sustaining and

Ruinous excess, when the fullness of horror and that of joy coincide.

As I waited for annihilation, all that subsisted in me

Seemed to me to be the dross over which man's life tarries...

"Diabolus Absconditus": the conjunction of intellect in

Psychotropic-altered

Senses supported by insinsted and archaic sounds.

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