Some have seen it in a dream,
a black spot of the prima materia.
A dark twisting tangle.
Its twitching threads intertwined.
It grows, and as it spreads,
the threads rub against each other.
An unpleasant sonorous sound
that it hurts in their skulls.
Awakened with an echoing pain
by this vision of nigredo.
An unseen growing darkness,
the engulfment of the order.
Smothered by chaos.
Hopeless in dust.
In another dream
the black tangle reappeared.
It was now much larger
and it surrounded me completely.
Its solid threads wrapped around my limbs
and it pulled me in.
Through wide open eyes
they stare at me from the knots.
Those who feel the same
try to understand, but it is too late to flee.
Our entanglements
were once supposed to be straight lines.
A net in which we are all connected.
Captured in the black tangle.
It holds a dark force of unlimited growth.
Every vain attempt to free ourselves
is an attempt that creates new loops
in the tangle.
So it stretches on and on.
Some see it with their eyes closed.
Captured in the black tangle.
Others can feel the fading
of the places of refuge.
Opus Magnum Nigredo.
It will leave us paralyzed
in these black entanglements.
Captured in the black tangle.
Hideous spread of the dark.
Invisible dependencies.
Opus Magnum Nigredo.
