The Quiet

Dreams within dreams, and dreams walking in the daytime.  It’s a strange thing when you eventually realize that you probably overdid it a little, and that maybe you should’ve eased in a little better.  Fatigue is like that.  You don’t realize it’s really there until you’re subsumed in it.

So the Quiet has moved in, and it holds things in place.  It nags and says “move, act, untie yourself.”  And still, I balk.  With the whisper of the Quiet on my neck I wonder why it took me so long to see how spiritually fatigued I made myself.  How far I ran myself into the ground.  The Quiet tells me “Because you tired yourself out, duh.”  The Warmth Beneath tells me “Shhh, you must recover, you should cleanse yourself, and you must rest.”  And yet I hesitate.  So I let myself be lulled, softly waiting between two points feeling rather directionless and slightly guilty.

Is it weakness to rest, or is rest human?  Is it weakness to be comfortable in pianissimo dismay, or is it (again) just human?  Is it weakness to try and brace myself, to try and keep myself from harm, or is it still human?  Is it weakness to be mild, or is that human too?  I see myself changing in the Quiet.  Do I dare assume I am changing for the better?

And who planted this FEAR?  Questions questions questions always questions.  The further into my head I fall, the less I seem to FEEL with gusto, and the more quickly the FEAR grows tall.  Perhaps it’s time to start listening to the Quiet and make a fucking break for it, huh?

09/09/09 Ritual Day Review (Pt. I)

May this dawn bring a great union upon us. Let the current overflow its banks in a raging torrent and carve the path to a greater existence. Be hardy and steadfast in your efforts and maintain the strength to endure this journey. Travel well and with clear sight. The 999 surrounds us. The 999 sustains us. The 999 is us.

–Brother 4o4

Well, seven hours and twenty-five pages of notes later, I have worked through the seven major points laid out yesterday in my intended plan for today as a ritual day, and to be honest I’m a mixture of pleased, exhausted, and confused.  Some endeavors seem to have produced rather successful results, whereas others still remain obscured.  Perhaps things will become clear in the coming days.  Since the material I wish to go over is a mixture of open-to-the-public material and Initiates-only material, I will break this post in two: the publicly visible portion, and the hidden portion.  Part II will obviously be the password protected portion.

I began my day with a short fifteen-minute stint of meditation and pranayama, to get the juices flowing.  I made myself a sturdy breakfast to work from, and then went back to the pillow and continued meditating for another forty-five minutes or so.

I progressed next to the preliminary overview of the Heavy Current to this point, which revealed that I did not have a full set of notes on the Goa Trip trial and what occurred there.  So, during the review-overview section of today I spent about 45 minutes recording in minute detail the goings on of that oh-so fateful night/morning.  I also collected and organized all other notes pertaining to the Current and put them (at least in short form) in a hard copy.

After this I got back on my pillow and did an alternating vipassana and samatha/zazen meditation session, going for about five to ten minutes on one before swtiching to the other and then back again.  I followed this up with yet-more pranayama. I then Aum’d to even-clear-light levels.

When I felt satisfied with my calmness, I progressed on to the invocation of my Holy Guardian Angel (Augoeides) or HGA.  I took a ritual bath, Auming all the way, and then dressed in my regalia.  I banished with a typical banishing, and then sat and did some meditation to prepare myself for performing the Liber Samekh Ritual for the first time in over a year.  I then proceeded into the ritual, intoning the proper names, and reading the liturgy in my body of light.  Upon completing the ritual, I sat down and meditated, waiting to see if anything came to the surface.

Of the things that did, two seem worth mentioning here.  I had a vision of the classic two interlocking pyramids–male pyramid red, female pyramid blue.  The other vision worth mention here is that of a constellation I cannot name, but which is made up on nine stars and looks vaguely like a two.

I took a break here, and then went back at it again, meditating before jumping into the next point on my list.  One pathworking seemed a successful formulation, the other was incomplete though some new vistas seemed opened.

I then performed the Invocation and Evocation of the Tesseract, and applied it to the Chronotome.  This seems to have gone quite well.  I meditated again, and then went into the power day divinations, which were confusing and bewildering, while also hopeful and illuminating at (some) times.

I concluded the days work with visionary endeavor that involved the use of the Dragon’s Breath technique, which was mildly successful and ultimately relaxing.  I am, however, rather drained.  I haven’t done a marathon like this in quite a while.

For those of you who wish to be privy to Part II, contact me with an email address.  Part II will take much more time to write up than this one did, and may in fact have to wait until tomorrow.

Happy 09/09/09

Protected: 9/9/09 Plans

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999

The Heavy Current entered my life over a year ago, as a vision which visited me in a concussed half-sleep after a trip to the most active (and largest) temple complex in India, Tirumala.  The Current is a complex issue to unpack, so forgive me if not all of this makes complete sense.  In the most likely case, nearly everyone who reads this entry will be confused save the few who are already inside.  This is one of the greatest aspects of the Current, it is invisible from the exterior.  Even having disseminated this tasty bit of information over the Intarwebs, I know positively that none who are not to enter the Current will, this again is the nature of the Current.  So, in this instance, most of this content will be lost to most readers (if that is in fact something out of the norm).

The 999 Current is a three-staged work that focuses on an ultimate alchemical marriage of cosmic and intercosmic forces, negentropically, to produce a new set of unified divinities.  These divinities operate at a higher dimensionality than the constituent components that comprise them.  The work is inherently nonlocal, moving omnidirectionally through time in a simultaneous manner.  The operative numbers are Seven, Eight and Nine, each number correlating to a set of divinities.  The nonlocal sum total of the work, thus, is Twenty-Four.  Beyond this, the content of the work is for initiates only.

This webpage gives one gematria analysis of 999 (which is a conspicuous hole in Liber 777), and that website gives another.  Here is a pertinent synopsis:

This:

999 = 27 x 37

27: Teleportation~Legend (mirror 72: Sparkle~Sparkle)

37: Bard~Priest (mirror 73: Goddess~Widow)

–Gematria:

• “As silver tried in a furnace of earth,
purified seven times.” [Ps 12.7]

• “The Spirit saith” (Gk) [Heb 3.7]

• “After Godliness” (Gk) [1Tim 1.1]

• “But the meek shall inherit the earth” [Ps 37.11]

• “Door of hope” [Hos 2.15]

• “God Almighty” (Full*) [Gen 17.2]

• “KEY” (Full*) [Is 22.22]

• “I Love the LORD” (Full*) [Ps 116.1]

* Full refers to a gematria cypher in which the letters of the Hebrew word are spelled out in full with Hebrew letters.  This would be executed as “אל” being spelled “Aleph-Lamed-Peh(sofit) Lamed-Mem-Dalet” and then calculated from this value (831 + 94 = 925)

That:

• The justice, the truth.

• By undertaking circular permutations of the numbers composing the mysterious number 153, this gives place to six possible combinations: 153, 315, 531 and 351, 135, 513. And:

153 + 315 + 531 = 999
351 + 135 + 513 = 999

And then as a final, independent note:  if we are going to inspect the I Ching for any possible enlightenment, 999 is three Old Yangs (yang becoming yin), which in a coin toss method would be nine heads in a row.

——— ——— ———

Ramble-One on Sierra Echo Papa Tango Four

Those sad eyes, I still see them following me through the room.  Brown by masks, green by birth, and old in youth.  I see them as they were when he was younger, and they were brown even then.  How did he come into them so young?  I scold myself, And who are you to talk? I’ve tried to mold it to something it was not.

We tangle like wisps of fog meeting the shore, and burn away by morning the same.  I guess half the beauty is knowing it’s only here now.

The brass bell tolls out a dull tone across the wet grass, and the cup tips over into the pool (only to fill and tip again).

And then I am back again, waxing in the moonlight. Always a flurry, it seems.  The external calm lets on little of the raging torrent beneath.  In those sudden moments of clarity it seems I always run away from, the tragic beauty of our comedy seems the most visceral truth.  Still, this world bucks at a single truth, and doesn’t suffer it alone for long.

In disgust, I scold myself again, it’s all just so overdone.

Whatever.

In my mind, I see kaleidoscopic chance shifting moment to moment.  Here a fractal dowsing rod, ever-splitting further out and in.  Here a trident, kissing its sides into a psi below the fiery gaze of Siva’s third eye.  Here a tree, casting shade over a man seated in perfect stillness.  Here a long mountain meadow, holding a nearly monochromatic sky.  Here a victory of hooks, burning itself red like lightning striking a mirror.  And eyes, illuminated in the darkness, looking deep.  A cat in the night, moony-gazed and silent.  A fence.   A rock, on the edge of town, and a tree in the distance.  An invisible old man, waiting.  A nail, a dish, a tooth, a nesting doll.  A placid vertical body of water, ever-rippling like just one drop is out of place.  A smile on the velvet blackness.  Brightness, and a choral sound like acid earmuffs after a night on the floor.  Green, electric green, and whistling like a train.  And a maze before the setting sun.  A harvest man, made of straw and X-eyes of black yarn.  And a gravel road, leading over a rolling empty orchard hill.  The humbled glory of a ruined mountain, and a rhesus monkey with her baby.  The ocean glittering like blue topaz.  A beach of stardust.  A wide diamond sun that bleeds into a ruby and sets the water ablaze.  And four, four in the distance, walking at the water’s edge.  And a yet-more distance heat mirage.  A  night sky, and a forgotten tale.  And those sad eyes.

I feel my dragon rising, and I know he wants to make a chemist of me yet.  And I resist.

And I still hold a seed of disparagement for the poison.

And I still somehow hold onto it.

And want to push it away.

Having made a point a smear, should I have settled for not trying to make the point at all?  No…

This is not a legitimate update

I went back to good old analogue pen-and-paper for the last month, so perhaps I’ll transcribe things tomorrow.  It’s no fair just giving you one crummy password protected poem after a whole damned month, now is it?

Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll get more things in here tomorrow.

(that’s what she said)

Protected: Thunder

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Directions for Shadow

Don’t fear it.  Shadow needs a friend.  Respect gets respect.  Play, give love, feed him something small and tastey.  Let him calm down.  Don’t get walked on, but give him ample patience.  Never lash out at him.  He’s never seen real joy, or love, or compassion.  Be gentle, and show him shiny things, and be his friend.  That’s all he wants.  Fear has no place.  Both sides create beauty, we all strive for beauty.  And if you can reconcile Shadow with Self, if you can build those bridges in friendship, then the best things will come of it.

Shadow and Thunder

Running through my life in twisting raging helix pattern,

with sudden outbursts and long waiting dragon stealth,

It’s all hot short malicious disconnected gleeful loathing.

It must be supposed not as idle coincidental manifestation.

This is Shadow.  He brings Thunder.  He roars lightning.

With him unbound and rolling, you must face yourself again.

No longer docile child making bread and looking down, no,

No more muted unspoken softly and confused mild boy,

This is the boy who walks confortably in terror, all claws;

This is the white-eyed boy in the static sandstorm, washed out

and furiously happy, like an all-consuming glee which knows

no limits has him dancing trouncing by the ears and snear.

His story isn’t yours, but his story is not-yours, and you tell it.

This is another storyline in your life.  This is the Dark.  This is.

It is, too, and you always knew it was.  It’s -so- ironic, isn’t it?

You tell -his- story too.  The Dark Sun crawls across his solid

starless sky, misty roads worn craggy, shifting ground paper dead.

He wears his way through the world, a joyous whorl of terror and death,

Annihilation, deconstruction, decomposition, disintegration and pain;

Uprooting, taking, unsexing to the soil, past the greater forms of life.

You know his gnosis, seething fast and torrid, bleaching the ground -with pleasure-.

Bleaching the ground fucking dry.  In momentum you are unstoppable.

Immobile, purest incapable misery.  He holds the white-eyed curse.

He will take the ground away.  And terror will consume the land.

And the whiteness will consume everything, up to the highest high

and beyond, past the blackest black, till there are no more eyes to see.

With him unbound and rolling, you must face yourself again, boy,

Oh! you must face yourself again.  And to succeed you must kill a man again, boy.

You must kill a man, again.

Do you smell him yet?

He smells like blood.

Gimme a grin, child…

Gimme a grin.

Dreams

An alien race had brought an alien plague that caused excruciating agony for a day, and then you fell apart on a molecular level, turning into gray-green gasses and black ash.  My brother got it, and fell apart on my bed.  My friend was considering cutting off limbs, since he had been touching him.  I jumped.

—

I was partaking in a clandestine academic meeting.  There was a test of sorts that made no sense, no reason for the test (it seemed), and no way to study (though you were supposed to).  I had shaved a felon (you read right, i shaved a felon for this test), and kept him locked in my bathroom until the point at which I would show him off.  As I walked along an old paved path toward the even older building I began to study some.  Many of my friends were there, also trying to take the test.  They did not get in, and had to be bystanders.  I began to study the black leather folio in my hands, which bore a rather grewsome picture of a demon torturing something (people?).  As I read the first page and began to flip through it, the priest walking next to me said “Don’t read that.”  I got to the back cover, which had “1111″ rivetted to the folio in heavy gray metal numbers down the cover, and said “What?”  “Don’t read that, it’s black magic.  You don’t need that.”  I replied, “I’ve read plenty of black magic already sir,” with a smirk “The Black Pullet, The Goetia, The Keys of Solomon, The ###*###*###.”  He thought as we walked.  “Meet me after you have finished, and we shall discuss.”

After the test, I met up with him and we walked the compound grounds and discussed secrecy and honor, criminality and purpose.  “You see, very frequently when dealing with the trafficking of crime, there are two houses and not one.  Take this house for example, perhaps they are running an orphanage without permits.  They do not keep the children there, at least not during the day.  They keep them in a house down the row, so as not to attract too much undue attention.”  We kept walking.  We took me to a larger building which had been sectioned off by two chainlink fences.  It had a large, unused fountain in the middle of this gravel drive, and sweeping marble stairs leading up to its glassed-in foyer.

“Do you understand now?  Secrecy and criminality, it’s almost the same coin.  They would not let you in, unless they knew for a fact that you could protect their assets, their knowledge, their trade secrets.”  It seemed more and more obvious, this man was a Mason.  More than a Mason.  More than just something clandestined, something truely and seriously occulted, right beneath the noses of the people who feared them most: the Church.

—

I was running on an aquaduct, I was dancing with drunken friends, I was criminal beyond all ties, I was bounding between houses.

—

I was taking the test again, and no two questions seemed at all connected.  I did not understand why i had to shave a felon clean, I did not understand where his face had seemed to seam to mine, I did not understand where these word problems factored in, but it all seemed so easy…confusingly easy.

I remembered someone telling me that the indiginous big cats were dying, and that to prevent two species from going completely extinct they were attempting to breed them together.  One was a big tall cream-colored cat with white accents and black stripes and a lot of extra neck skin, and one was a golden stalking cat with a mane like a horse.  We didn’t know if the combination would work, but “here’s to hoping it will.”  Cheers.  Champagne.