I am resonant as I re-read something that struck chords in me 20 years ago. It stood and still stands as one of my faves, and of course it feels different this time. No longer an Initiate, I initiate myself, feel a new charge cascade in tingles throughout me like when you hear someone sing in just that way that wonderfully waterfalls an ablution inside you.
This time around, my Hermit-Devil character, assemblage of Magician on the Right, Priestess on the Left, this time with them married within me form is again made from the formless. The cairn on the path of this passage is not unconsciously passed by this time with sparkly eyes drunk on wonderment. To clarify, that was a good thing. To enter. To enter from a place inside where reasons are unreasonable. To enter fully, because my I Am must, I had to, and so I did. I had a choice, though I am My Am. I did not bow my sovereignty to Must then. I stepped into the unknown with it bringing in Tarot full force alongside Architecture,Art, Alchemy, Poetry, and Psychology. It may have been one of the most important and courageous things I’ve done. Fears then were simply signs to inform my awareness. Acceptable risk was even off to the side behind me, left somewhere in the dust. Being afraid was like anxiety and worry, a waste of energy. I had plenty of fear, though being afraid was not a quality of them. Being aware in a manner where fear was simply the wise Counsel of Nature, of what was, is, and potentially will be. I entered fully, without a net. I stepped past my own steps.
As I immerse in the fresh discovery of my previous, first footprints that began an important cycle back then, I pause in respectful Silence and cherish the wild intensity of my creativity then. I steep, aware and conscious of this milestone moment of a new cycle, passage into a new orbit. I feel like the serpent maybe does just before it bites its own tail. I live in the meditative moment where the world of the serpent experiences that quark of a millisecond AS it bites its tail, becomes the Uroburos, and disappears Forever to bleed itself out of the serpent, out of the tip of the lead into the circle.
New circles, such as the one I have just had the honor to experience, make all things go ‘round. Awake again, I step more fully into into my previous footsteps, their paired and alive, talismanic artifacts, and stand like a Temple on their unseen stylobate, their fecund made-of-earth foundation. We stand together as I breathe the joy of being refreshed. As we stand together, One, my heartbeat fuels the next evolution, the earth’s presence rises from my feet with their groundgrabber toes up and throughout me, and my future orbits begin to present themselves to come more into focus. I will not describe them now. That would be a disrespectful irritant of a grain of sand, an undue influence to their soft oyster newness. As a Creator, I am deftly familiar with the responsibility to be the rock under which freshly molted ideas hover under my watch as they acclimate to move and make form from the formless. No irritants allowed. No grain of sand. I’m not out to make a pearl. Here, in a new circle, the snake his skin shedded to artifact steps, the snake his skin not missed Moves forward.
Enough about me. Back to the book that transported me above to right here. As I immersed into this book this time, a particular line struck me as one of my favorite assemblies of words to date. It may stand as the most concise and clear statement about creativity and divination that hasn’t lost its heart to the analytical, hasn’t divorced beauty to forsake its heart for a mistress of structure. For sure it’s no skeleton in a biology class used with overt irony as fact to discuss living things. It’s skeleton, it’s structure, is embedded within it like a 4 of Pentacles hidden bridge, and it’s still possibly an invertebrate. I needn’t know that distinction. The snake, his skin not missed resonates throughout with the chords struck by what i will refer to as The Astral of Ancestral Divination, and Forensic Archeological Empathy. No old, desiccated Hermit sitting in a Hierophant throne here. This is the Hierophant, wisdom from experience immersed in the throne of the heartfelt. Enjoy this assembly of words, this quote from someone whose politics in life I firmly do without, whose work I respect and value to the utmost. If it whets your whistle, enjoy!:
Symbolic representation and imagistic writing are the pure hieratic forms of esoteric expression. Through symbolism, and through it alone can we read the thought of the Ancients. It is only through the symbolical that we will be able to coordinate the known elements of this great civilization and that the writing may take on its true meaning. ~ R.A. Schwaller de Lubicz — The Temple In Man, p. 19
May you wake to The Sun of who you are with actionable and clear purpose comfortable with the not-knowing.
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