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.
Showing posts with label witness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label witness. Show all posts
Wednesday, 21 May 2014
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!
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