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.

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.

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.

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!

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?