Blog

ANOTHER EXCERPT FROM JONATHAN’S UPCOMING NOVEL Narcisa- Our Lady of Ashes TO BE RELEASED BY HEARTWORM PRESS THIS SUMMER.

In Tibetan myth and iconography, the Dakini superficially embodies the spirit of female wrath and fury.
Her image is depicted as a savage angry she-devil. She dances in a wild frenzy, seemingly bent on destruction, chaos and violent upheaval. She is naked but for a necklace of human skulls. In her right hand she holds a vajra or dagger. In the left she caries a skullcup filled with menstrual blood which she drinks. In most images of the Dakini she is seen dancing on the corpse of a man.
The Dakini may appear along the path of one treading the archetypal journey of trials and purifications. Her purpose is not to destroy the seeker himself, but to be a living manifestation of his own inner battles, a sort of Exterminating Angel who exposes and challenges that in his nature which is impure, weak. Only to his lower nature is she truly bent on annihilation, not on mindless destruction or chaos for its own sake. The wrath the Dakini embody is towards our own states of anger, greed and delusion, which they and their practitioners seek to cut out and transform.
Great energy and determination is needed to achieve this, and the violent imagery used represents the fervor necessary to vanquish the low natured roots of fear and ignorance and want. Just as St George cuts the head of the Dragon in icons throughout Christendom, so the Dakini severs the heads of beings who are none other than our own inner demons. Our attachments. Hers is not a glorification of anger and violence but an alchemical transformation of it.
—
Journal entry – 2 May 2007
It hasn’t rained in Rio in over 2 months, sixty days or more. Since before Carnival, not a drop of water from the skies. Sterile, cold, cloudless skies. Cold and barren as Lunar dreamscapes.
Two months into this cosmic indignity I sit by the shore of moonless night, scratching old mosquito scars on my sad cold feet, smoking a cigarette, tasting the bitter chemical burn on my tongue from desperately kissing Narcisa.
Narcisa, whose blistered pink lips suck on a Crack pipe all day and all fucking night.
The waves are cold, frigid as this shitty comatose April sky. They hold no answers for me tonight. So I sit here one more time, exposed to the ceiling of frozen, unblinking stars. Waiting for a shit storm of Mercy to rain a heavy hail of spirits, showing me the ways of Armageddon.

Copyright Jonathan Shaw 2008. All Rights Reserved.

NOTIFIÇAO: Os eventos neste site são contos de ficção - registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor, Jonathan Shaw. Os personagens mencionados são interamente ficticios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa vivo ou morta se trata de pura coincidência.
As vários fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.