Maghdim, Magos, Magi

Very ancient Eastern languages used words such as Mog, Megh and Magh to define that which is priestly, wise or excellent. Thence is derived the Chaldean name Maghdim, meaning supreme wisdom or divine philosophy. Thus the Greeks had the Magos (Magician) and Mageia (Magic) and by these terms they denoted higher knowledge of nature, especially with relation to religion and the science of the stars. Magicians were, literally, the Wise, the Magi; Philosophers, Shamen, Witch Doctors, Priests, Scientists, Artists, Initiates.

A discourse on magic need not, therefore, be a code of practice for witches and yet, a belief in magic and/or a pantheistic sort of worship tended to precede a belief in one God for many people. True belief is in fact a magical experience; hope, faith and love are sacred magical processes. it is also fair to say, however, that grave misinterpretation of magical phenomena is possible and it is as well to be aware that all things natural and supernatural have really been brought about through God’s will. To separate the individual, personal power, from that of God would be divisive in essence – an act of darkness – whereas the channelling of the divine spirit through the self is a positive, light-filled action.

There is a woman with a passion for music and nature so deep and abiding that the Shaman has a sacred place in her heart; she knows that so much was, is and will be shown via his highly skilled techniques, mastery of which entails a vivid fascination of tantric dimensions with seemingly boundless proportions. The Shaman is so singular for the direct way in which he helps her access an internal rhythm and fathomless understanding of movement in connection with the eternal muse.  The Shaman may assist her in releasing bound (because dark) energy in a spiritually viable way of light. The Shaman will, therefore, be credited for eternity as a vital psychic instigator of Change.

It would be harmful to repress ancient hereditary impulses of human cultures, which in past times were psychologically dependent upon the performance of magic for various reasons. Magical rites could spring instinctively from an urge to love and be as One with the Universe, as we are all able. Subtle and manifold are the ways of magic.  On the most practical, naïve level, many are they who may unwittingly conduct spells or even sublime acts in conjunction with nature and the source of divine energy. Such things tend not to occur by chance, even in cases where a butterfly effect might be perceived. There is a code and a key behind creation: A mysterious element to the passage of time, a multi-dimensional reality behind space that we can all access if we would only remember how and why it is so.

Circle of Shamans

I felt extremely alert, nervous in fact.

Up in the sky with the eagle all had been blue day, but here on the ground I could see it was black night and that the fire was only light visible in this entire place. I could just make out a number of men – between 5 and 9 – seated around the fire watching me intently. I took them to be tribesmen/shamans, largely because of their appearance. They seemed to be of Asian stock and were wearing woolen hats covering their ears woven of multi coloured threads.

They seemed to be dressed in a combination of wool and leather and were very watchful without seeming aggressive.

They spoke to and interacted with me (I couldn’t hear anything, I just sensed it) but seemed really quite cautious. They were not hostile but they did not smile. I experienced some doubt around this point and was suddenly aware that I’d been told not to ‘play with fire’ (bearing in mind I was pretty much standing in one) and warned especially against salamanders.

I hopped out of the fire and retreated very quickly to the edge of the camp, which I circled quite restlessly for a while. Worryingly, there was nowhere to go, the darkness was impenetrable beyond their circle and I have always been afraid of the dark.

I sat out there on the edge, on my own, for quite some time, but eventually the lack of light and concern for what might have been ‘out there’ drew me closer to the group around the fire again. It seemed there was no escape.

At that point, one of the shamans presented himself as a guide, possibly reluctantly; I’m not sure if being female helped me in this respect. Nevertheless, I was told to relax and not to fear the darkness or the situation. I had little choice but to acquiesce, this being their territory after all.

Very peculiar things then started to happen.

The camp-fire was mesmerising and I found myself continually insisting on getting into it, as if hypnotised or entranced. After indeterminate lengths of time in the fire I would then worry (quite irrationally, I suspect) about salamanders, whereupon I would somehow ‘whizz’ out of the fire at breakneck speed and jump straight into the mounds of soft snow surrounding us, as if to convince myself that I wasn’t burning up.

I did this several times at explosive speed for no reason whatsoever that I can discern. I’ve no idea ‘what’ I was doing or even what I ‘was’. The movement between fire and snow was incredibly forceful and I was totally absorbed in the elemental procedure.

At a certain point I stood looking up from the centre of the orange flame which seemed to encompass everything, and wondered whether – if the eagle had indeed been shot down – I might see a phoenix. The next time I leapt out I managed to ‘cocoon’ myself entirely in fiery/watery, spinning light.

Is this how a star is made, I wondered?

Sacred Heartbeat

“What’s the use?” spoke out the Shaman,
“Each set out to meet his maker,
Now on Earth are white-washed spirits,
Blown out minds, who seem as strangers.

“And, I see, the thrall of blissful
States is tempting. Two remain there,
Lying still in deep hypnosis,
Thinking not; they’re quite unconscious!”

Chanted, then, the single Shaman
Words, recalled his greatest magic:
Brought from yonder plane of dreaming
Sages seven from the heaven.

“Make a circle, watch the fire,
Round it form a chain together,
Listen – hear – the holy drum speaks;
Rhythm forms, the sacred heartbeat.”

Thus, they made a single circle
Round the pile of glowing embers,
Let the drums recall the rhythm
Of the heart that time remembered.

“We’re as one.” They spoke in chorus,
“Though the paths we followed differed,
There was but one destination,
Stand united generations.”

Golden Feathers

As their consciousness grew thinner,
So the eagle scanned the mountains,
‘Til it spied a pair of antlers,
Saw the stag to bear the spirit.

Folded wings became an arrow
Tipped with plumes of golden feathers.
Startled though the stag was, doubtless
Is the soul that leapt unto it.

By the silver moon of Mani
Did the stag with spirit wander
Cross the deep green emerald forest,
There to find the Shaman’s body.

By the campfire, dying embers
Glowed just like the sun does setting,
Wakened by a moth, the Shaman
Tapped his drum to reach the sages.

Piled he high upon the fire
Dried up leaves and tinder-branches,
Blew upon the peaceful faces
Of the sages smoke, while dancing.

Lifeless seemed the ones before him –
‘Saw the Shaman, none were breathing,
But were bathed in light of silver –
All around them stars were gleaming.

The Shaman

On the Earth the Shaman shifted
Shape and let his song be silence.
Thus, was set a leopard’s spirit,
Loose amongst the emerald forest.

Just beneath his leafy carpet
Slipped a serpent, shedding softly,
All its skin. This eerie presence
Passed them by, the nine in heaven.

Knew the souls of all the sages –
Those who heard within the silence
Purest notes of timeless music –
Golden was the light, the silence.

Soon the leopard reached the edges,
crossed the deep green emerald forest,
Looked up at the sky of sapphire
Saw the eagle, called in spirit.

So the bird did swoop upon it,
Took the soul within the leopard,
Lifted it beyond the forest,
Past the clouds, ascending skyward.

From the greatest height a creature
Of the world might reach, the eagle
Spied a movement on the carpet
Of the Earth and dived to reach it.

The Challenge

Thus, the voices reached a clamour –
Each had made his case with vigour –
Each revealed his spirit’s armour,
Each declared his god(s) the bigger.

So the Shaman stepped amongst them:
“Let us settle this forever,
Lest in man is made a schism,
Then in woman, child and creature.”

On his drum he rolled a rhythm,
Challenged all to meet his maker,
Clear of conscience visit heaven
Then return, not less, nor greater.

As the beat rolled on, relentless,
Nine – the listeners – reach inside them,
Sought to find their soul-connection,
Straight unto the gate’s of Heaven.

First to fly, the Sufi mystic –
With his coat of many colours –
Made a spiral of his spirit,
Through his dance amazed the others.

Where he went was then a secret.
“Who’ll rise next?” the Shaman wondered.
So the Rabbi brought his deepest
Spark to life and upward wandered.

Emerald Forest

Sotheby's Collection — Emerald Lizard Brooch, image by Sotheby's

From the deep and emerald forest,
Silent as the moon in heaven,
Bathed in light, a horseback rider
Came and moved among the seven.

“One returns,” cried out the Shaman,
“He could tell a pretty story,
Judging by the hand that’s holding
Stuff of legend, history, glory.”

Robed in silence, seven sages
Watched the horseman drawing nearer,
Saw the treasure, clear as crystal,
Then, let out their breath in stages.

“Now are eight but who will show us
Where the final one is waiting?”
Spoke the Shaman, at which moment,
Something stirred within the forest.

Light of limb and swathed in mystery,
Dazzling in the emerald darkness,
Velvet steps upon the carpet;
Walked the ninth towards the others.

Sat she down beside the fire,

Tranquil as the moon at midnight
As the eight in spellbound wonder,
Took her as their inspiration.

Eyes that once were blind with wisdom
Opened then to something greater.
How it happened, none could fathom:
How the ninth became this lady.

So, there is the greatest mystery:
Free of time and made immortal,
Born to hold the key of history;
She, who dared step through the portal.