Memory

Beyond the three types of memory – mechanical, logical and moral – there is still the kind of memory that we have designated as “vertical or revelatory memory.”

It is not a memory of the past in the sense of the horizontal line: today, yesterday, the day before, etc, but rather in the sense of the vertical line: here, higher, still higher, etc. It is a “memory” which does not link the present to the past on the plane of physical, psychic and intellectual life, but which links the plane of ordinary consciousness to planes or states of consciousness higher than ordinary consciousness.

It is the faculty of the “lower self” to reproduce the experience and knowledge of the “higher self” or, if you like, the faculty of the “higher self” to imprint its experience and knowledge upon the consciousenss of the “lower self”. It is the link between the “higher eye” and the “lower eye”, which renders us authentically religious and wise, and immune to the assaults of sceptism, materialism and determinism.

It is this also which is the source of certainty not only of God and the spiritual world with its hierarchical entities but also of the immortality of our being and reincarnation, wherever it is a matter of reincarnation. “Dawn is the friend of the muses” and similar popular proverbs, such as “the morning hour has gold in its mouth” or “morning is wiser than the evening”, relate to the benefits of vertical memory from which one benefits in the morning, after the return of consciousness from the plane of “natural ecstasy” or sleep.

Unknown Author, Meditations on the Tarot, Letter XIII, Death

Fan the Moonbeams

Out of this wood do not desire to go:

Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.

I am a spirit of no common rate;

The summer still doth tend upon my state;

And I do love thee: therefore, go with me;

I’ll give thee fairies to attend on thee;

And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,

And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep:

And I will purge thy mortal grossness so,

That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.

Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! Mustardseed!

Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;

Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes;

Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,

With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;

The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees,

And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs,

And light them at the fiery glow-worm’s eyes,

To haev my love to bed and to arise;

And pluck the wings from painted butterflies,

To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes:

Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.

William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream

A Soul’s Journey Through the Time-Worlds

Thrown down from my origin, I have been nursed in this miserable world by a  presence embodied in the motions of the sky.

She the same who cared for Adam, and led his children up through the scale of consciousness according to their capacities.

She is the whole within which all things grow, and the natural propagative power.

She calls to the cypress, and it rises up straight. To man, and her living fluid moves to make him erect.

So I was formed and wandered in the desert, and through the mountains haunted by wild animals around me and inside me.

Then a clarity woke in me, and I saw my soul’s face, and felt drawn upward, but I pulled down still too, by the other, contended for, bewildered, and without guidance, as I ran, as from a burning house, onto a narrow, upward-spiraling, path.

Dangerous cliffs, the summit far off. My only hope was to die.

Then, through that dim murkiness, I saw an old man with a radiant face.

“You are the moon!” I called out. “Where did you come from?”

“I am beyond substance and space. I am creation’s cause, here to lead you back to your home. Hold close, and let my fire consume you. Don’t be afraid of losing your strength here. This fire is one which has a spring of eternal water inside it. As your animal-soul dies, your new soul will be born. Live humbly with me, and I will raise you into majesty.”

He talked more to me in silence, without using syllables. He gave me love and light and eyes to see, and together we set out.

A Soul’s Journey Through the Time-Worlds, Sanai

Who put the roses on the Cross?

He saw raised up majestically the sign

That brings hope and comfort to all human souls,

The sign to which many thousand hearts ardently confess –

The sign that overcame the power of bitter death

Fluttering in so many victorious flags:

A refreshing stream filled his heavy limbs

He saw the Cross and dropped his eyes.

He felt again the salvation that sprang from thence,

He felt the faith of half the earth;

But, as he saw the image before his eye,

He felt himself inspired by new, unknown meaning –

The Cross stood densely hung about with roses!

Who added  the roses to the Cross?

The garland of roses swelled, spread on all sides

To surround the hard wood with softness.

Light, silvery clouds soared,

Rose upward with Cross and roses,

And from the centre sprang holy life –

A threefold ray from a single point.

But not a word surrounded the image

To give the mystery sense and clarity.

In the gathering dusk growing grey and greyer,

The pilgrim stood, pondered, and felt himself raised up.

Goethe, The Mysteries

Jewels from the Deep

I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again:

Mine ear is much enamour’d of thy note;

So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;

And they fair virtue’s force perforce doth move me

On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.

Out of the wood do not desire to go:

Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.

I am a spirit of no common rate;

The summer still doth tend upon my state;

And I do love thee: therefore, go with me;

I’ll give thee fairies to attend on thee;

And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,

And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep:

And I will purge thy mortal grossness so,

That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Shakespeare

The Aeon said

When the Aeon spoke it said:

“And you that we have loved shall live our dream. Lest the dream should die with the passing of our age it shall be written that destiny has flooded through the gates again of earthly paradise.

In words, thou art free, and satisfied are we that our will to be done is now in place for you to make with us the final journey.

The fortune was our dream and your most dearly beloved did taste the wine of your success, while you helped shape the future with each beating of your heart.

Always shall we remain in your mind as fulfillment for the giving of the dream.

Your gardens has been watered with the tears of earthly love. The muse of ancient melodies, forgotten when the Earth revealed her age, shall resound throughout your place, forever scented with the rose of youth.

With beauty you prayed and we could feel the love which sent homage to our fathomless place.

Whence came your yearning but from memories of the fated realms? Seven styles created in the clouds of starry skies shall be the wonder of elections made through each presiding scion of our race.

Our message is released and comes in time, the light relays the promise and yes, we are certain, the coming shall be quick.

What is seen now on Earth shall be seen again in eternity, the realm of pure being.

From the eyes of every being shines a brilliant and penetrating, silvery white light”.

Eagle ride to the Himalayas

I was staring so hard at the winged being that even in that ‘state’ I began to meditate upon it, until I was slowly drawn towards it. As I got closer it began to look increasingly bird-like.

Before I actually reached it – while I was a few feet away – it seemed as if I was somehow becoming one with it, or closely attached at least; the only thing in my mind was what was before my eye, which at that point in time was like a bird. A white bird. The only thing in my mind was ‘white’ bird and as I thought of this in my eye was a dove.

At this point  in time I realised I was actually thinking I was at one with a white dove and wondered if I was just ego-tripping. I wondered if I should stop,  but for no apparent reason a voice told me not to think about that kind of thing.

We were rising upwards vertically – floating rather than flying – and I was conscious only of the being itself and the blue sky peripherally surrounding us. As we rose higher the bird began to change into a swan and other large, white birds, until it was like an eagle in form. Maybe even a Phoenix, I wondered, but I didn’t know if this could be right.

When we finally finished the ascent – I knew it was very, very high up in the sky – the eagle began to fly in a particular direction with me on its back. I kept very close indeed to the bird’s head/shoulders, so that our faces were almost touching.

I had the distinct impression it was very cold indeed and that we were heading to an even colder place. We seemed to fly for quite a long time. I like hot climates and the cold weather bothered me, it seemed uncomfortably cold.

The sight of a huge, white triangular shape made me realise we were flying towards – and would ultimately fly above – snow-capped mountains that I was told were the Himalayas. The flight over the mountains was spectacular. We followed a very narrow ridge for a long way and there was nothing but snow and sky to be seen amongst those razor sharp peaks.