Then comes Music

The golden band is shifting shape and blurs before my unblinking eye that is fixed on its centre.

I feel that a benign but wholly irresistible force is holding me still upon the stool, commanding my mind to empty as the shimmering golden snake slides around the left side of my face and cups my chin.

In the next split moment there is no face at all that I can see, simply the image of a lyre, clear as the glass itself; defined and unmistakable.

A single note – a perfectly pitched string from the middle of the octave – sounds in the centre of my mind. It radiates outwards so it inhabits every space around me, clear as light and purer than the purest gold, the herald of God’s presence.

The the snake bites its tail and the form of another inhabits my own entirely. Then comes music

Gift from the Pharoah

As Nafrini arranges my hair I sit with a cold, damp hand pressed over my eyes. I wonder if I will have the strength to make myself heard when the time comes.

She sets down the comb and places her soft hands upon my neck, gazing down at me with lowered lashes and appearing as an Oread nymph in the priceless Egyptian glass. Both she and the glass were a gift from the Pharaoh and are said to carry within them a charm of Qetesh, Egypt’s goddess of love and beauty.

She sees my anxiety and I close my eyes with relief as she gently soothes the pains from my head and shoulders. Her touch is lighter than the wings of a dove.

After a short time the pressure in my brow decerases and Nafrini bids me, in her heavily accented Greek, to ‘look into the glass again’, as she sets alight a tightly wrapped bundle of herbs and leaves from a flaming lantern which hangs beside the doorway.

The acrid scent of the smoke is not quite pleasant at first, but it is not long before I start to become hypnotised by my own reflection in the shimmering glass. Nafrini has been singing for quite some time in a low but musical voice.

The words she utters are in her native tongue – a language I know a little of – and the stream of mysterious audio symbols mingles irresistibly with the smoke, until I feel the very air about me has become a vivifying incantation.

A nightingale, herald of spring with a voice of longing, bursts into song and I feel myself grow suddenly drowsy, my eyelids flickering like the wings of a butterfly as it gathers pollen from swollen summer blooms.

Before I have the chance to drift off into sleep, the sensation of cool metal being pressed into my brow rouses my attention. I open my eyes onto the mirror and focus on the golden diadem Nafrini has placed around my temple on the piled up coils of braided hair.

I am captivated by the glittering of gold in the warm glass and when she hands the sprig of daphne to me I chew it unthinkingly, unable to tear my gaze from my own reflection. Time slows to a standstill; I see that it is changing.

Hypnosis

I think of that moment as I prepare myself for the sacred realm of dreaming, but it is a troubled brow that I lay upon the soft fleece and hypnosis does not come easily.

I have vivid memories of the autumn Tristeria – almost two years past – which left me with a sense of dissatisfaction that I cannot place. I wonder if my love for Dionysus has grown too strong. The allure of the youth has power to move me beyond my present confines and I am drawn to follow him in a way that would be irresistible were it not for my oaths to Apollo.

Whether I might share in Dionysus’ gift of eternal life without sacrificing my first allegiance to the Sun-King is a matter that occupies my mind greatly, most often when darkness falls. I cannot safely confide these thoughts to anyone, for if I do not remain true to Apollo and above the temptations of passion, then none will have faith and his rule shall end.

It is my dreams that sustain me. On nights such as this – warm and heady with the thick scent of Datura – my longing for adventure brings the dolphin to Psyche’s realm; I join him as he shoots like an arrow through the deep, swelling sea.

I am of course able to direct the course of my dreams. It is a skill that is cultivated in whomsoever holds this office, and it is upon this that the world’s most powerful men place extraordinary value.

I spread my heavy hair about the fleecy headrest and – with my hands still entwined in the golden threads – I gaze at the glittering constellation engraved above me. It is of the sun-seeker Orion, beloved of the Moon-Queen Artemis. Her love holds him there in perpetuity.

Tonight I shall dream of the huntress in the sky, who raised her bow at Apollo’s behest and claimed the life of her lover unawares. In this way i will learn from her the art of subjugating the crackling fires of desire, by which I shall make the love of my own life immortal.

Between Heaven and the Abyss

He came bearing gifts and paid in large measures of gold to have me sit before him on the tripod in my closely woven veil.

My sisters watched from beyond the darkness of the pillars surrounding me on three sides.

“It seems to me, he loves her” Whispered Erato to Calliope, knowing full well that I was listening. “I have seen how his eyes follow her form – as if she were a doe and he the stag! – and now he sets a king’s ransom before us like a dowry.

Calliope laughed in delight: “Love; ah, the story of a lifetime!” I could tell she was thrilled by the very idea.

“It will all end in tears,” checked the fateful Melpomene. “What mortal man has the right to desire one so beloved of Phoebus Apollo?”

“If it is written in the stars that they are for each other, then nothing can change things, nor unfix that which is set by fire upon the face of heaven,” my solemn sister Urania announced in portentous tones.

“We must end this speculation, which will – as soon you shall see! – disturb our peace. The fact is that every man on Earth seeks the God’s attention and it seems to me that many of them will come bearing gifts for our sister.”

Thus were the sanguine ruminations of my elder sister, Clio.

I was thankful my hot cheeks were shielded from the watching world as I struggled to breathe more easily. My almost overpowering urge to run towards him was kept in check by the force of the god holding me in place. The result was that I could neither speak nor move an inch from the position in which I found myself, suspended between Heaven and the Abyss, fixed at that point in time on solid, immovable Earth.

He betrayed no emotion at all and I wondered if I had only dreamed of his kiss with the unfulfilled desire of childhood. Too soon he was gone.

Key to the Apocalypse

The key to the Apocalypse is to practise it, ie, to make use of it as a book of spiritual exercises composed of twenty-eight exercises. For as the Apocalypse is a revelation put into writing, it is necessary, in order to understand it, to establish in oneself a state of consciousness which is suited to receive revelations.

It is the state of concentration without effort (taught by the first Arcanum), followed by a vigilant inner silence (taught by the second Arcanum), which becomes an inspired activity of imagination and thought, where the conscious self acts together with super-consciousness (teaching of the third Arcanum).

Lastly, the conscious self halts its creative activity and contemplates – in letting pass in review – everything which preceded, with a view to summarising it (practical teaching of the fourth Arcanum).

The mastery of these four psychurgical operations, symbolised by The Magician, The High Priestess, The Empress and The Emperor, is the key to the Apocalypse. One will search in vain for another.

Unknown author, Meditations on the Tarot, Letter IV, The Emperor

Papus: Magic is the science of Love

Magic is crowned, since her task is the sublimation of Nature, as indicated by the shield or coat-of-arms with the eagle in flight, that the Empress holds instead of the book of the High Priestess.

Josephin Peladan defined magic as “the art of the sublimation of man”, no other formula is superior to his. This is exactly the emblem – or aim – of magic, if one understands by “sublimation of man” that of human nature. Peladan had a very profound understanding of the emblem of magic: the shield with the eagle in flight. All his works bear witness to this. Together they represent a magnificent flight; they aim, as a whole and each taken individually, at the ideal of the sublimation of human nature.

It is because Peladan bore the emblem of magic: the flying eagle, that this is so.

Isn’t it to have the emblem of magic before one’s eyes that one is invited “to throw the eagles of one’s desires to the wind”, because happiness “raised to the level of an ideal, freed from the negative aspects of oneself and of things….is the sole triumph of this world?” It is the same emblem – the shield with the eagle – that Papus had in mind, in actual fact, when he defined magic as:

The application of the strengthened human will to accelerate the evolution of the living forces of nature.

He preceded this definition with another:

Magic is the science of love.

For it is precisely “the accelerated evolution of the living forces of Nature” that the eagle of the shield of the Empress represents; “the science of LOVE” is the sceptre of the Empress, which represents the means by which the aim of magic is attained.

Unknown author, Meditations on the Tarot, Letter III, The Empress

When Love Beckons

When love beckons to you, follow him,

Though his ways are hard and steep.

And when his wings enfold you yield to him,

Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.

And when he speaks to you believe in him,

Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.

Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

The Moving Finger

The moving finger writes:

And having writ,

Moves on; nor all thy piety

Nor wit

Shall lure it back to cancel

Half a line

Nor all thy tears wash out

A word of it.

The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

Time Present and Time Past

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden.

T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets, Burnt Norton

Divine Comedy

Because approaching the object of its desires,

our intellect is so deeply absorbed

that memory cannot follow it all the way.

Dante, The Divine Comedy