THE EQUINOX
So for zons three hundred and twenty and five did they
labour with all their might.
But the crack was not diminished by an hair’s breadth;
nay, it seemed bigger than before—a very gape in the womb of
the Universe.
Crestfallen, Kamael the mighty returned before the Great
White Spirit, his serpents drooping behind him; and they
grovelled before the throne of that All-powerful One.
He dismissed them with a short laugh, and a wave of His
right hand. If He was disturbed, He was too proud to show
it. “This,” he said to himself, “is clearly a matter for
Elohim Gibor.”
Therefore He summoned that divine power before Him.
The crown of Elohim Gibor was Space itself; the two
halves of his brain were the Yea and Nay of the Universe;
his breath was the breath of very Life; his being was the
Mahalingam of the First, beyond Life and Death the generator
from Nothingness. His armour was the Primal Water
of Chaos.
The infinite moon-like curve of his body; the flashing swiftness
of his Word, that was the Word that formulated that which was
beyond Chaos and Cosmos; the might of him, greater than that
of the Elephant and of the Lion and of the Tortoise and of
the Bull fabled in Indian legend as the supports of the four
letters of the Name; the glory of him, that was even as that of
the Sun which is before all and beyond all Suns, of which the
stars are little sparks struck off as he battled in the Infinite
against the Infinite—all these points the Great White Spirit
noted and appreciated. This is certainly the person, thought
He, to do my business for me.
But alas! for five, and for twenty-five, and for sixty-five,
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