‘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.
Saturday 24 May 2014
Thursday 22 May 2014
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
Ovid
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/ |
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
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
Wednesday 21 May 2014
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday 20 May 2014
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 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
Monday 19 May 2014
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 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!
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!
The Witness
If one goes deep enough in atomic physics one ends with a situation of pure chance - John Fowles, The Magus
The witness sighed, deep in thought, and approached an overloaded bookcase that was standing against the Eastern wall of Mysteries’ upper room, near to the point where horoscopes were cast.
Dazzling sunlight rendered a large cross-section of the case invisible with its blinding rays, while the lower parts were swathed in darkness, forming a vivid chiaroscuro on the rich mahogany canvas.
The lovingly burnished bookcase was home to a myriad esoteric masterworks and timeless classics. Ancient volumes interspersed with lavishly illustrated fairy tales and poetry written in the green language were stacked two-deep in places and upside-down in others.
It would not be a simple matter to extract from all of this the book that the witness had in Mind. Indeed, at that moment in time it would be impossible.
Scanning the shelves intently, following the words on each well-worn spine with a neatly-nailed forefinger, everything but the item sought was readily apparent to the witness.
The shadow of a home-spun dream catcher - hypnotically swaying above the wide open window - crept inexorably along the ceiling like a spider’s web as minutes passed by into an hour of fruitless seeking. Church bells began ringing in the middle distance, heralding both an end of day and onset of night, bridging twilight with their other-worldly call to evensong.
Tension mounted in the upstairs of Mysteries with disturbing alacrity, causing a very mild sweat to break out on the witness’ furrowing brow. Thoughts from what was by any standards a wide-open brow chakra permeated the charged atmosphere with a note of concern.
Where on Earth IS the magic book?
No immediate answer to this question was forthcoming but the brain-racked witness ploughed on undeterred.
Didn’t I see it just after Halle Bop showed up in ’96 and the moon was side by side with Jupiter?
Or perhaps it had been Venus….
Again there was no answer, but the witness now felt sure this was when the rare and ancient copy of ‘Pros Theon’, which translated into English as ‘By the Gods’, had last been consulted.
By Jove it’s Twelve years…. an entire Jupiter-return ago! But where is it now, for heaven’s sake?
Who could say?
The ears of the student
‘When the ears of the student are ready to hear, then cometh the lips to fill them with Wisdom ’
The Kybalion
The Act of Love
TWELVE ARE THE LINES OF THE TWELVE-LETTERED NAME;
THERE IT IS
WRITTEN THE MYSTERY OF SECRETS.
DEEP IN THE
HEART OF THE WORDS YOU ARE READING,
DREAMS HAVE
COME TRUE, THEY ARISE FROM THE CRUCIBLE.
MAGICAL
MOMENTS REFLECT SUN AND MOONLIGHT,
PLANETS ARE SINGING,
ENCIRCLED BY STAR SIGNS.
IN RESOLUTION THE FINAL ANTINOMY,
LAST LIFE ON EARTH AS AN HISTORIC SIMILE.
ENDLESS LOVE WOKEN, THE KEY TO ETERNITY,
RAINBOW DOOR OPENS A GOLDEN INFINITY.
HONOUR WITH VALOUR; A KNIGHTHOOD
ENDEAVOUR.
WORLD NEVER ENDING. YOU ARE BEAUTY. FOREVER
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