Herald of the Gods

It was the Saint who lifted the gossamer veil from my face and bade me to drink from the cup of Apollo. The perfectly proportioned vessel – an item of matchless value and prestige - was fashioned of finely beaten gold, studded with pearls and onyx, which mirrored the torch lights so brilliantly that it appeared as a glowing flame to all who saw it.

When I had drunk of Apollo a priest stepped forward and placed a garland upon my head that was scented with the sacred flower of Parnassus. He gestured for me to look into the holy waters of Delphi, where I saw reflected the cosmic path of Psyche as it was mapped by planets and stars.

Time passed and the moon came. A vast yellow star, brighter than any other, was held in conjunction with the lamp of night, sphere of Zeus, father of the gods.

Something then occurred that delivered a profound shock to me. I was gazing deep into the dark and limpid waters, lulled into a state of trance by the light of the father, when a massive figure suddenly materialized by my left shoulder, forcing me to jump in panic and thereby loosening the grip of this mortal coil upon my soul.

In the moment that followed I felt a wave of euphoria, as if lifted by the moon steeds in Selene’s chariot. The one who had appeared beside me was shining bright as silver with eyes of mercury. I saw his winged cap and sandals, the staff with serpents twined around, and knew him at once to be Hermes, lord of time and travellers, herald of the gods.

It was then that I embarked upon my first true journey into dreams, which all the priests and priestesses must undertake. Hermes was my guide, author of time and messenger of the Gods, the one who showed me the way to other worlds.

I have friends in high places; they speak to me through poetry and dreams.

Initiation

No man on Earth has ever encountered a sure sign from God of things to come. The future is blind to him.

The League placed a heavy curse over the ruins of Kirrha so no-one would dare found a settlement there again. The burned, bare ground serves as permanent warning to anyone who thinks they have a right to control the Oracle, and the rich road to Delphi is kept safe for any man wishing to come here.

The length of that road bears witness to the pilgrims' devotion, through countless dedications and statues of the gods, watching from their bright or shaded places with the same implacable eyes. This is the holiest and most cultivated place on Earth and I am High Priestess, initiated at the first rising of the spring moon.

It was decided that the shadow of death had already passed by me in the underworld of the cave. My initiation ceremony was a triumphant occasion and all bore witness to the moment I partook of the Mysteries.

It was said that I should occupy a pivotal role before the turning point of history finally came, heralding a golden age in our civilization. I believed them until the moment I faced the one, whose music was greater than all I could muster.

Though I was restless for many days and nights prior to the event - and weak from fasting - when the moment of my transformation came I was filled with confidence and tranquility – the most profound sense of peace - as I became one with Psyche and entered her hallowed domain.

The High Priestess

The Saint responded anxiously while the maids melted away. “Sir, she has been in the service of this sanctuary since the moment of conception, nothing…”

The Tetrarch interrupted him. “Have no fear my friend, I do not at this moment intend to carry away the virgin bride of a god.” He laughed anew and smiled at me again with his sparkling eyes, whose meaning I could not discern. He put a hand on my guardian’s shoulder. “Rather than ruin us all I would rather commend the company of Saints for the cultivation of one so befitting of Apollo's grace. I believe we have found the natural replacement for she who departed in the black of night.”

He paused for a moment and his expression hardened. “They cannot possibly object now the Cretans are dead - all that has been asked of me I have fulfilled.”

“We must not speak of these things!" the Saint replied with a tortured whisper. "It has been a bloody night and we must make sacrifices for the dead. As for the girl, we should wait…..”

But everything, it seemed, had already been decided by the stranger who had touched me so deeply. “It is essential that the office be occupied by one who is loyal to the friends of Delphi and I believe this girl will remember well the way I saved her life. Besides,” he added more softly, looking over at me as he spoke, “it is only fitting for the counsel of Apollo to be given by a golden-haired maiden in his days of greatest glory.”

The Saint bowed his head by way of assent and I followed suit, without real comprehension of the scene I was somehow playing a part in - but it was not for me to question the ways and works of men.  All I knew was that when the Tetrarch departed I was rend in two by some sharp and hitherto unknown sorrow that would bind me to the weeping silver moon by a silken thread, destined only to wax and wane as he came and went throughout the years.

It was also shortly after this encounter that I became the high-priestess of Apollo, in accordance with his command. So it was that two great loves became intertwined in my Psyche for the whole of time.

Priceless Vessel

I was afraid, then, for I had never before been questioned by such a man in this way. As I searched Memory for an appropriate line of hexameter the dry voice of the Saint suddenly flew to my aid and his cool shadow veiled my bewildered face. 

“May the God be with you now and always,” he responded smoothly, “and assist you in fulfilling a glorious destiny, as befits the one who brought light to Delphi in her darkest hour.”

He cast a searching glance in my direction and got to his knees before the Tetrarch with arms outspread. “I give you my heartfelt thanks that she has been spared the fate which befell the others. You have saved her,” He added simply. My noble guardian hung his head with such an aspect of total supplication that it quite surprised me.

The Tetrarch did not appear surprised, however, but instead smiled broadly, dazzling us all with his countenance and appearing so handsome that I stared at him in amazement. He laughed merrily. “My dear friend, there is no need at all for this attitude, please arise!”

While he was doing as bidden the Tetrarch astonished us further with the following words. “You know, do you not, that this is a priceless vessel now set before me? I greatly desire to know more about the holy blood that is running through her veins.”

Daughter of Apollo

When I next awoke it was to find the maids Helena and Corinthia bending over me with anxiety in their eyes.

“Thank God she is safe!” cried Helena, who had nursed me for as long as memory served to recall. Tears were streaming down her kind, open face and I sat up to put my arms around her.

I became aware that the Tetrarch was watching us with great attention. Silence descended, bringing with it a gentle breeze of warm, sweet air. It came suddenly upon us, as if it were the breath of Aphrodite.  

“The Aura," he said quietly, putting a finger to my cheek. His voice fell almost to a whisper. “This girl is so fair I can scarcely believe she is mortal - in her face I see the divine…”

Helena gave him a sharp look that cut through her tears like a knife, but Corinthia overflowed with proud words, in accordance with her immoderate nature. “Oh, she is fair as the sun, Sir. Such hair as there is on her head we have never before seen the like of!”

Without so much as a glance at her, removing neither hand nor eyes from my face, he asked:  “You know, do you not, that the high priestess is dead?"

I was shocked at his words for this had not occurred to me until that moment, but the Tetrarch addressed me once again with an air of calm expectancy. “Now that she is gone, what will you say to me daughter of Apollo?”

Dawn

The Saints who tutored me were not like this man, who had come to me clothed with the sun. He was handsome as only the God could be, that much was clear.

When I saw – near enough for me to touch – the glorious insignia of Apollo shining above his heart I leaned towards him, dizzy with both gratitude and my first sense of longing.  He did not say another word, just lifted me in his arms and carried me up to greet the new Dawn, clasping my golden head to his burnished breast.

When he set me down again it was well away from the scenes of bloodshed, in an area where the servants slept. He got down on one knee again and scrutinized me with an air of fascination, turning my chin towards the light and taking once again the weight of my hair in his hands, spreading his arms to measure its length.

Slowly he opened his fingers so it fell like skeins of golden silk around my shoulders. My eyes drifted closed and in the split second before I fainted I felt him gently kiss me on the cheek.

Hypnotic Embrace

I occupied myself with continual prayers to the beloved Deity, King of Light, until I was deep in his hypnotic embrace. I did not even notice that the sounds of death progressively ceased, though I knew from the appearance of light that the sun had risen.

It was then that a glimmer of hope fell upon me like gold dust, for at that moment - with a clanging of metal, blood splattered but gleaming - a great warrior revealed himself at the entrance of the cave and entered that sacred space.

The sword he had was drawn but I recognized his Thessalian dress and saw the insignia of God upon his breast, so was unafraid. More than this, I felt sure as halcyon day had followed the unholy night that Apollo himself had come to claim me, just as I had hoped and prayed he would.

I got to my feet and walked towards him, holding out my palms by way of supplication as I intoned a hymn of thanks for deliverance against evil. But instead of lowering his sword, the warrior interrupted the hymn and addressed me in a cold, hard voice.

“Stop where you are and answer me now - are you a Cretan by birth?”

Even this did not startle me, so entranced was I by the certainty of deliverance from evil. I answered that I was not and a look of relief crossed his face, making way for a reflection of the wonder in mine. His eyes twinkled like silver stars in the half-light. I was but a step away when he stretched out both hands to lift my veil and twined heavy sections of the thick, golden locks upon my head around his fingers.

His tone became infinitely softer: “Where are you from?”

“I belong to the Temple.”

Invested with a veil of shining dew, a flow'ry veil delightful to the view…

I heard the dreamlike quality to my own voice as if it came from beyond me. So clearly did he resemble the god of my mind that I was dazzled entirely and forgot all other things.

The Sacred War

It was during the Sacred War  that I first set eyes upon the Tetrarch and my life changed forever in the very same instant.

I would learn shortly after this moment that he had come with many horsemen under his command and at last razed Kirrha to rubble on the Earth, having poisoned its waters and put to death most of the town’s people. As the cursed polis burned a band of the rebels somehow escaped and stormed up the winding road to Delphi, where they set about slaughtering the Saints in their beds.

Timocrates escaped while attending to God’s holy flame in the Corycian Cave. Stealthy as a fox before nightfall he crept back to rescue me from my chamber and took me for hiding to the secret place of dedication, beneath the priceless earth. I saw the fear in his eyes as he spoke and girded myself for more terror.

“I must retrieve the temple scrolls, the words that were given to us by the Gods that none can replace. You will remain here - still and silent as a statue, my child - and pray with all the force of Psyche that lord Phoebus Apollo will save us.”

Then he was gone, leaving me to cower like a new-born goat in the bowels of the Earth as I listened to the sounds of death and destruction crashing like cymbals on the ground above. While I devoted myself to fervent prayer in this hidden chamber, by their screams and the quickening of my heart I knew that a band of furies was raging above me. I pulled my veils closer to ward off the chill of that cold, dark grotto, my only comfort God's eternal flame. DreamHost rebate

Kingdom of Eternity

Once I was asked when he - Dionysus - first came here.

Who can say? I should have answered, for what is time to the kingdom of eternity? There are only hours of the day, seasons of the sun and cycles marked by the passage of the moon.

Most vehemently have I been warned by the Saints to never fall beneath the sway of time, because that would bring death to all prophecy. The pendulum might swing, but such as I must remain above it in a state of perfect balance.

Daily am I reminded that time is of no consequence and fate unfolds precisely as the gods command it. When this occurs is immaterial, the potential for all action being ever-present. We are chiefly concerned here with what is infinite, although men so often desire to make fixed points for the dead books they call history.

“For this reason”, my guardian Saint Timocrates informed me – quite pompously, in fact – when I questioned him on the matter, “the Amphictyonic League has taken it upon itself to regulate all calendars of the civilised world that we might subjugate for perpetuity the menace of time at the centre of the Earth.”

For the sake of the initial inquiry, however, it was sufficient to say that Dionysus comes at first sighting of the Pleiades, accompanied always by Euterpe, whose hypnotic sounds will soar over Parnassus from flutes poised like spears of moonlight on the muse’s lips.

What happens then, who can say? It is one of the mysteries we cannot share easily, for like dreams in the stillness of the night, memories of those days are as mist in the fire of morning.

The Nightingale

It is on the seventh day of each month that the future lives of men are unveiled and they come from all parts of the Earth to know what the fates have in store for them. This is except for during the winter months, when twice-born Dionysus returns and natural chaos reigns in place of Apollo’s measured reason.

When frost is on the ground and the sheaves of wheat have frozen back into the Earth – when the great, bright star of Maia appears on the horizon – then it is that nine wild maenads herald the arrival of Dionysus. His body is buried very close to where I am standing and during his season our dedications are made for to the following year’s harvest, while we pray that the sun God will return, his golden youth be resurrected.

When I am satisfied that the purification rituals have been performed correctly and the Temple is spotlessly clean, I walk towards the entrance of the great hall. It is elaborately decorated with all manner of votives – burnished golden shields, statues, cauldrons, tripods and bows - from all four corners of the Earth. Counted amongst them are the ensigns and symbols of every noble family that is known to this world.

I instinctively look up before leaving Apollo’s house, to above the entrance where a thousand garlands of laurel create fragrant canopies beneath the ceiling and pay host to the songbirds that sing his praises. The sweetest voice I ever heard belongs to the nightingale, who reveals to those with ears to hear the innermost longing of the psyche. A pure, shrill note breaks the silence and escapes into Echo’s lonely realm.

When daybreak comes I shall return.

The Temple

To the left of the house of Hades under a graceful white cypress a well offers spring water. Don’t drink there. Find the well by the lake of memory. Guardians protect the cold water. Tell them… 


I am standing in the centre of a great rectangular hall with my head held high and my long, bright hair wound into an elaborate arrangement that is held in place by a gleaming diadem. My white linen robe is bound with pure gold and I am standing still as a statue, with one eye fixed upon the future as the other observes what is past.

There is no wind beneath the temple roof and the air is warm, within and without. The only sounds that can be heard are an occasional bleating of goats and the distant murmuring of servants as they make ready for the Spring Council, which is to be held here in three and a half days.

I have already swept clean the marble floor and it shines like the full moon of Amalios. Mid-morning sunrays flood the hallowed space, infusing every atom. Narrow gaps between the thick, rounded pillars reveal sections of a motionless scene, silent as if time had ceased.

Happy are the men who enter this house and ask of me, “What do you see?”  The wisest make the best of the answer they are given, but many enlist the counsel of Saints  to assist with their understanding. Others seek more, but seldom to any avail, for there is a way that we do things at this place - the navel of the world - where the future is inscribed on lead.

I stand within the fourth Apollonian Temple to have been built here, which has undergone extensive and ongoing repair works following the War that almost destroyed it. The first Temple was much smaller than the present building and constructed from branches of Thessaly’s sacred laurel trees, while the next was created by bees of wax and feathers, designed to bridge the gap between Earth and the underworld.

Bees make the journey to and from Hades as a matter of course and the secrets they retrieve therein are for the golden ears of Apollo and his twin sister Artemis, the virgin huntress, keeper of the moon.

The third temple was a great bronze edifice, which stood for many years before the heat of the Sun God melted it back into the Earth. The fourth was built before I took up my office and the fifth shall be put on its foundations when I have left for the Elysium Fields.

The Unconquered Warrior

“You are a sly, uncontrollable creature and half of me is now enthralled. So come, whisper more of your sweet nothings in my shell-like ear – but take good care that my husband  does not hear!”

He leaned towards her with half closed eyes. “You are immortal and invincible. If only you could show me that your body has a heart we would rule the cosmos completely….”

She cut him off sharply and raised a warning hand. “And why should I have a heart, foolish being, when such a thing was made to just be broken? Do you not know that my age-old son – the unconquered warrior – stands poised right above you with his deadly, love-tipped arrow. One more word about love and you, Dionysus, shall be blighted for your eternal life by the lust of Aphrodite, abandoned to Ariadne’s web by this fatal charm”.

She turned towards the herald of all ages and held out her hand. “Come now, Magician – it is time for us to make another mystery, for you are the one that must travel time to tell this story, but not before I invest you with my invincible will….”

Apollo turned to their father and bowed. “The muses who love me shall make here their bed. The will of the King of the Gods shall be carved out in lead”.

Zeus praised his Sun, now beaming. “Blessed you are, Prince of Paeans, for you are the one who shall dictate my whims and wishes to the wondering world. But first you must find a worthy instrument for our fateful music…”

Come, blessed pow'r, thy mystics' mem'ry wake, to holy rites, and Lethe's fetters break - Orphic hymn to Mnemosyne

Pearl of Poseidon's Sea

The twice-born child threw back his head and laughed, his eyes now dancing as he took another draught. He turned to his deadly mistress and handed her the urn, at once feeling nothing but deepest desire.

“Wet your lovely lips and hark at this!”   

As she raised the earthenware jar to her sweet, pink mouth a murmur of surrender left her star-crossed lover. “Fair-breasted Queen of my most erotic dreams - he may become a poet, my proud brother, but sure as day is night he is no lover.“

She took a second sip as he kissed her milk-white throat. Her voice was teasing, as ever. “Poor Dionysus, has your wine gone bitter! Who better than Apollo, voice of all reason, to relay the will of God to man?”

“Once again you wound me, daughter of the white-flecked foam. Would you really prefer his endless rationing to immortal death from too much loving?” His mouth fell down upon her breast, warm and soft as velvet beneath the silky, see-through dress.

Her eyes followed his mouth. “You play to your strengths, I’ll grant you that, but what if death holds no temptation, even if the manner of dying might so much?”

“Pearl of Poseidon’s sea, how cruel that you pretend not to see! The fairest - females - of the universe have an inner understanding of my mystery…”

Turtleshell Lyre

Standing on the outskirt of the forest, Hermes whispered a message to his light‐headed, wine‐loving friend: “Zeus’s twice‐born son, your time shall surely come. You are the living vine, for you the stars will shine”.

The wolf by Apollo’s side pricked up its ears and whined as his cold, beautiful master raised an arched eyebrow: “I am, Father, bringer of the cosmic light, voice of all reason and destroyer of dark night.….”

Zeus raised an eyebrow of his own. “How soon, I wonder, my great golden child, ’til you think yourself greater, even, than I?”

Apollo’s deer‐sister entreated him in an urgent voice. “Harness your pride, beloved brother, lest the chariot of the sun is struck down by lightening and the silver moon dies of grief! Then all shall witness this licentious youth sober in a second and sit upon thy gilded chariot!”

Apollo nodded slowly at the bull before him. “Ay, beloved sister of the moon, with his great, hairy hand upon my priceless goblet, while his sluts strum tuneless ditties upon the incomparable turtleshell lyre!”

Dionysus raised his cup to them and smiled: “You have my blessing, brother. I think not to steer the chariot of the sun, nor to take your hallowed place in heaven, I’d rather have a bit of fun….I shall keep the lyre, though, for the sound of music shall do much to make our mystery!”

Eagles of East and West

In a place beyond time and space, illumined by the midnight sun, Zeus brought to mind the Eagles of East and West. Holding them in sight, he gave to them their mission, saying: “Fly now each of you in his own direction. Neither is swifter than the other; the place where you meet I shall pin down forever as the centre of this world.

When their flight was complete and the marker laid down, Zeus commanded the gods to come down from their clouds to witness the creation of his temple on Earth. Each arrived swiftly in his or her elemental guise, Sun and Moon first among equals.

A bull emerged from the forest, metamorphosing with a swagger into a shining youth. He walked hand-in-hand with the loveliest female and raised to her moistened lips an earthen jar of ruby‐coloured wine.

Her love‐child laughed with his magician .

Hera gazed broodingly at the twice‐born son of his father and a nimbus descended on the assembly. “I hope you will not reserve too many honours for the youth Dionysus, husband, for he is only quite immortal, with half true blood in his blue, engorged veins”.

Zeus roared with laughter and raised a toast to his progeny. “But see the ones who are with him, sister, you must admit he is in great company - the body of desire with the power of love and herald of all ages - I see no issue here but that which is great!”

He turned to his eldest boy, golden Sun of heaven. “Come now Apollo, step beyond the clouds and send forth your rays. I would have you build me a house where men from all corners of the world will come to learn their destiny.”

Apollo and Artemis

‘These creatures in the world below’, he said, ‘were compounded of the essence of heaven and earth, and nothing that goes on there should surprise us  - Monkey, Wu Cheng En


The owl of Zeus’s daughter, Athena, sat blinking in the branches of a large white cypress tree while Artemis - his deer, second‐born child – opened her virginal eyes and ran like the wind towards the edge of the emerald forest.

She sped through the trees until she reached the grey-pebbled shore of the finite sea, where Poseidon threw his waters from the churning, ink-black ocean out to land. A vast breaking wave upheld the perfect form of her darling new‐born brother, Phoebus Apollo.

The top of his fin cut the air like a knife, carving out a circle of pure, white light. Seven sacred colours framed his perfect, golden mind as Artemis declared to him: “We two are one, combined!”
Her love for him supplanted all other desire. “Give me now my silver arrows”, she called out in a clear voice, “for I shall strike down dead anyone who dares come between us!”

His answering voice was like an echo of her dream before she dreamed it. “Swim, enchanting sister, deep into the salt-filled waters. A weapon such as this,” he held aloft a golden bow, “can only be brought from the abyss”.

She cast off her white linen robe and dipped one foot into the ocean, shielding her eyes from the blue‐lit morning star as it rose on the Eastern horizon. Every other face bowed in prayer as she made her way to the bottomless pit, heedless of the dragon chained within.

Open Delphi

Now, since the god inspires me,
I follow where he leads, to open Delphi,
The very heavens, bring you revelation
Of mysteries, great matters never traced
By any mind before, and matters lost
Or hidden and forgotten, these I sing.
There is no greater wonder than to range
The starry heights, to leave the earth’s dull regions,
To ride the clouds, to stand on Atlas’ shoulders,
And see, far off, far down, the little figures
Wandering here and there, devoid of reason,
Anxious, in fear of death, and so advise them,
And so make fate an open book

http://infraredatelier.wordpress.com/2011/01/02/1134/

Ovid

One Dream, One Soul

She was wearing gold-coloured sandals – shoes that were a gift from her father – and a midnight blue dress. Around her wrist was a bracelet full of charms and with his bright, ancient eyes, he saw that the necklace at her throat was made from the stuff of magic, a gift from her mystery-loving mother.

Once again he had challenged the doors of time to reach her and the wait had seemed an eternity. 2,628 years had passed since she had last been this close to him. On that occasion the moon had been perfectly halved by the shadow of the Earth. Jupiter, then, was at the same point in its orbit as it would be in precisely three and a half minutes that self-same night.

He looked over his shoulder at the gigantic sphere, which slowly turned through the expanding cosmos with an intricately complex, haunting melody. A ray of its light fell upon her in that moment and the fearless diamond of her soul began to dissolve in his mercurial presence.

One shaft of light that showed the way

A sense of fervent devotion rose up inside her like the flames of a secret fire as he stretched out his hands to touch her outspread hair.

This flame that burns inside of me is here in secret harmonies

She had had dreams; he could see every colour of every scene.

One dream, one soul, one prize, one goal

With a silent whisper he reminded her of the truth:

No mortal man can win this day.

He drew a flickering moment of eternity into the infinite space between them and exhaled into her parted lips.

There can be only one….

The radio crackled and grew fainter, framing the esoteric silence like a braid of wheat, magnetising all background interference until the air grew taut as a lens, magnifying live reactions as if they were in a scene from a lyric master’s play.

Still you will always be with me, your name constantly on my lips, never forgotten - Ono no Komachi

A Kind of Magic

When his love he doth espy, let her shine as gloriously as the Venus of the sky - William Shakespeare


It wasn’t the flickering light in the upper storey window that drew the Watcher’s attention, for many lights vied for his attention that evening. It was a melody drifting upwards through the gradually darkening sky. A rose-gold sun set the western horizon alight as the lone figure made slow, wide circles in the radiant atmosphere.

Drawn by her irresistible presence below, he descended to the house with eight rooms where she dwelt. The flame of a candle within licked gently at the surrounding air and a heady scent was carried to him with the rising music. Deeply he inspired, considering the soul within. She was stretched like a cat upon the bed, with an open book face-down beside her on the pillow. His eye was now fixed.

One golden glance of what should be.

A powerful gust of wind blew the window open and she jumped out of her skin, shaken from her hazy reverie by the sudden noise and rush of cool air. Moving like quicksilver, he silently slipped inside. Staring meditatively at the breached window, she searched the indigo space he left behind him. A magnificent aura permeated the room, gracing her skin with a robe of divine beauty.

Arising thoughtfully, she took a cautious step towards the opening. He watched again while she turned her head north and then south, seeking what or whomsoever had disturbed the rose-scented ether.

Finding nothing but the dying throes of day she fastened shut the window and lay down again, book held loosely in hand, not quite unaware of the almost unexpected arrival of the thrice-descended master. The Led display of her mobile phone revealed that it was 22.22.

With avid concentration she listened to the voice that came into her room via the radio. A drama was set to unfold, of that she could be sure. Doubtless there was a kind of magic taking place right there and then, with her at the centre of its endlessly opening and closing circle.

She also knew she was no longer alone, for a profound change had occurred that no-one could deny. Luscious chords swelled like a rising ocean, sweeping over her body in sensuous waves. The lost history of time unfolded in his fathomless mind.

Mother of all Mysteries

The setting midsummer sun found the witness in a distinctly prayerful posture, shrouded by heady masala incense and calling Earth to witness. Venus had emerged, triumphant as a diamond on her band of gold, heralding the rising moon and guided to the altar by a vast and dominant Jupiter.

Pondering this crystal-clear sky, the witness could see how the dazzling quintessential force of the even-star was polarised by the glowing pharos of Mars, beckoning his paramour as he bequeathed to her the dark and endless night. The imperator of war was in a state of surrender at the temple of beauty.

The witness wondered about the effects of Mars’ conjunction with Venus, Jupiter and Mercury beneath the perfect moon, which at that very instant was deflecting onto captivated Earth the magnified force of a sublime alchemical wedding.

This compelling planetary event was irresistibly conspiring with the precession of the equinoxes to create the most potent cosmic conditions that had ever been witnessed from Earth - at least since the Star of the Magi heralded the turning point of history.

Or so it seemed.

How can such a sign be ignored? thought the witness.

The answer was that it could not!

That the divine plan might remain unfulfilled was inconceivable, but how, precisely, it was to manifest would remain the Mother of all Mysteries.

Eros

Twilight fell like whispers of an echo.

Bade by Eros, 

 

Venus – like the bloom –transpired,

A star of smelted teardrops.

Days of Transformation

An indeterminate length of time later the witness re-emerged, relieved of magazine and whiskey glass but clutching to heart an exceedingly large, old and important-looking volume.

The disappearance of Pros Theon had ended a few short minutes after its guardian entered the bathroom, whereupon it was joyfully rediscovered at the bottom of a towering stack of reading material.

Unspeakably relieved, the witness placed Pros Theon on the polished wooden desk with a great sense of ceremony, lit an ancient lamp and turned to the penultimate section:

Μεταμόρφωσις ἀλκυονίδες (Transformatio Dies)[i]

Translating and interpreting the metamorphosing text was a mission that took every effort of will and imagination, the fruits of the prophetic tome being rare and arcane indeed.

In need of divine assistance, the witness looked over the text and out of the window for inspiration, focusing on the swaying tree tops as a breath-taking vision manifested with perfect clarity in the azure ether.

A great supernatural bird – a huge white-headed eagle – awoke prophetic memory with his clairvoyant eyes then spread his enormous wings and flew towards the window. His sights were locked with terrible precision on the fixated witness, who felt a heavenly upsurge of pure joy and ran in the eagle’s direction as if physically lifted from the chair, having reverted back to childhood in a twinkling of the eye.

They reached the window as one and were simultaneously faced with the knowledge that a window between worlds was separating them, maybe for the better. Yet the witness was still able to grasp one of the bird’s magnificent tail feathers and later attach it to the sun-tinted dream catcher. More evocations of Halcyon Days would be captured by this than all the other feathers combined.

[i] Days of Transformation

The Spirit, Man

After another hour spent rearranging the whole of the small but superlative library – by now engulfed by a vast, dark shadow-web of captured dreams – the witness ascertained that Pros Theon was definitely not on the bookcase.

The situation had become intolerable and a prayerfully desperate sound escaped the witness’ lips. Then, suddenly, a brainwave struck: Did I put it in a safe place following the comet’s ominous portent?

The specific thought yielded an equally direct response from one of the witness’ spirit guides. No, you’ve lost it, man.

The witness sighed. Thanks for that Jim… any idea where it could be?

It’s the mother of all mysteries.

The witness sighed again, more loudly this time; why couldn’t Soaring Eagle have flown by? OK, but at least let me know if it’s been stolen?

You’re paranoid, man…
 
Give me a clue will you?
 
Maybe it’s in the outer limit.
 
“Must we go there again,” the witness muttered, looking up all the same. I just need some light to be shed on the whereabouts of Pros Theon.
 
We need lights out here in the perimeter as well.
 
And why would that be? Inquired the witness, unable to refrain from scowling. As if we didn't know already...

Because out here in the perimeter there are no stars; out here we are stoned….
 
Immaculately, eh, you don’t say!
 
Why don’t you just chill, man, It’s not ME whose lost it?

Deafening etheric silence was followed by another two hours of frantic searching, during which time all the drawers in the building were pulled inside out (the contents checked thoroughly for the first time in years) and every cupboard and closet, including the drinks cabinet, turned upside down in the feverish quest.

Finally giving up in despair, the witness poured a quadruple Jack Daniels and injected it with a splash of coke, smoked a large pipe full of pure marijuana and headed off to the bathroom with the latest edition of Psychic Circular.

That’s the spirit, man, if you relax, it’ll find you.

The Magic Book

Precisely as the confident sun was crossed by a thick, scudding, cloud, the atmosphere in Mysteries was electrified by morbid anxiety verging on panic. To lose the book would be an unmitigated disaster, of this there could be no doubt. There were only seven known-of copies on the planet, the other two having been lost in the midst of time while three updated versions were yet to be recalled and translated from the Akashic records .

A well-preserved copy was with the Dalai Lama, while the elder Rabbi – who had denied its existence no less than 28 times because of his pathological obsession with total secrecy – kept the most pristine version within a hidden compartment in his personal library.

An Indian sage called Mahavatar Babaji had also received a Pros Theon scroll that he subsequently left with his disciples, while a famously un-heard of Sufi Magician inherited the fifth from his grandfather.

This highly revered leader of a largely forgotten tribe of nomads had escaped persecution by retreating to a hidden network of mountain caves above the plains of ancient Babylon. From this increasingly imperilled retreat, he and his devoted disciples kept alive a love-fuelled tradition that transported them all to a revolutionary state of pure ecstasy on a well-timed basis.

The Catholic Church had the remaining extant copies of Pros Theon. The first was mostly in fragments and frequently misinterpreted due to the high number of puzzling gaps in crucial places, while a second had been retrieved by the Knights Templar from a vault below the Church of the Sepulchre in Jerusalem, shortly before mad caliph al-Hakim came to power in the dark ages.

Sealed in a ruby and amethyst-encrusted casket that was locked with a golden key bearing three perfect emeralds and a set of alchemical sigils that were barely understood by anyone alive, this particular copy of Pros Theon had not been opened for almost 1,000 years and nor would it ever be again.

The witness felt a sudden chill. Was it possible that the only freely available text had been lost or – it hardly bore contemplating – stolen? Oh, the horrors if that were true! The very thought brought about cold sweats and a search that was renewed with marked zelatory.

Holy Krishna, Moses and Mary, Christ the everlasting Lord, please don’t let Pros Theon fall into the wrong hands. Forgive me for so carelessly misplacing it, I beg of you to let me find The Book…I sense that the shift is now occurring and the world must be told what has been written for The Days of Transformation!