Another Thought

Wow, two entries in one day!  That’s become a rare event, hasn’t it?

I just had a thought a moment ago, while listening to Vaughan-Williams’ Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis (it’s still playing as I write this) and looking at photos of Salisbury Cathedral, which if I am correct I laid a foundation stone for and heavily financed in an earlier life.

It occurred to me what the message was in Salisbury Cathedral, and the fact that it has stood in superb condition while the castle I once held nearby has fallen into ruin.  The message was that what I do in the service of myself and of worldly aims will never be as lasting or as beautiful as what I do in the service of the Divine manifestation.

I suppose that’s been the message all along, the big picture I’ve missed.  And now, as my long-standing depression begins to subside (thanks to some positive changes in my life lately), I feel like I’m on the right path with my studies to enter the clergy, in a church that allows me the freedom to live and learn on a path that works for me while giving me just enough structure to hold my thoughts in order and have a clear frame of reference.

I needed to reaffirm that in myself and it feels good to keep coming home to that, no matter how many times it happens.  My depression always tries to sabotage me but something greater than my weaknesses is growing inside me.  The powers of entropy and despair try to stomp out that spark but it’s growing, it’s fanning into a light and even if it flickers in the wind, it will not be put out.

Count William is said to have seen a vision of Mary shielding a taper from the wind.  That flame was strong in me even in his life.  It remains, it grows, and I will keep it until the end of days or until I am called home from this cycle of rebirth.

Remembering Something

I had a vision a couple weeks ago- really, more of a waking dream- of Egypt.

When I say Egypt I don’t mean the later Ptolemaic kingdom of the age of Cleopatra, but the Old Kingdom, as it was many thousands of years ago.  The Nile delta was lusher than it is now, and towns of white-stuccoed buildings sprung up all along the river.  The people looked healthy and proud, and the weather was fair.

I guess I forgot about it because it never led to anything.  But at the time it felt significant, as if this was the Egypt of the time of the mystery schools, before the later kingdoms corrupted the mystery schools and then sealed the sacred papyri for all time; an Egypt from a thousand years before the arrival of Joseph.

That is to say this may not have even been a literal, historic Egypt at all, but a mythic Egypt, an Egypt that can only be reached in the mind and where something ancient lies hidden.

But my mind has not been back there, and I feel strangely desolate for not being able to return to this place if even in my mind.  I don’t want to force myself to envision the same thing again because it’s simply not the same as the wafting free association that brought me this vision, seemingly ex nihilo.

I want it to come to me again.  I want to do more than see.  I want to smell the incense in the temple of Osiris.  I want to splash my face in the waters of a Nile more crystal-blue than may have ever flowed in this imperfect plane.  I want to be refreshed there, in this land of ancient mystery.

I think this mythic Egypt is somehow significant.  In particular the forces I stand opposed to- the forces many stand opposed to- are represented by Kek, who is the thrall of Set, the god of chaos.  In Egypt lies the key to the binding of Kek and the restoration of order.

I’ll meditate on Egypt, not forcing myself to envision any single thing but letting it come to me.

A Prayer

Lord God who endurest in all things,

Thou who art both high and low,

Thou who art both night and day,

Thou who art come of Sophia just as Sophia is come of thee,

Thou who art embodied in Christ just as Christ is embodied in thee,

Thou who art the fire and thou who didst cast fire upon the world,

Thou who art the living light of gnosis and who givest gnosis to all who would seek thee,

Deliver us now in our hour of darkness

From the vanities of the archons who would occlude us,

And from the wiles of them who would deceive us.

Let not our enemies triumph over us,

But lead us from them by thy fiery pillar.

Grant us strength, wisdom, and love in abundance,

And shine forth thy light upon the world that all may see.

Amen. +

The Last One

Now, only one person remains who was born in the 19th Century.

She’s Italian. Emma Morano is her name. She turned 117 last November.

When she dies, expect me to be a bit quiet.  I had sought out people born in the 19th century as a child, not understanding why, but feeling a weird link to that era that I never fully understood until I was much older.

Soon, there will be nothing left but the debatable memories of those of us who only remember second hand, if indeed we truly “remember” anything apart from extraordinary cases of cryptomnesia.  That world, that time, has reached the horizon, and relentless entropy will not stay its hand for even our most impassioned pleas.

Telos ‘o Khronos apaitei.

Brief Note

Brief note for future reference: my first and last name together has the same gematria value as the phrase “go to the inner earth.”  I am reminded of V.I.T.R.I.O.L.:

Visita Interiora Terrae Rectificando Invenies Occultum Lapidem

It can be loosely translated as “go to the inner earth, making yourself pure, you will find the hidden stone.”

Those who know my name and the significance of this phrase will probably shit bricks.

Poi la nave bianca entra nel porto…

I feel like I’ve spent my life throwing messages in bottles hoping for a ship home and only finding fellow castaways, or ships that sail by, blow their horns in polite greeting, then keep sailing.

At least the fellow castaways are nice, but we can’t do much for each other. And when I say “let’s build a raft and sail away by ourselves!” it falls on deaf ears, or on so few ears that we don’t have enough hands to build the raft, and plans disintegrate before they can even start.

“Get me a good crew and a stout vessel, though, and I could sail around the world,” I say ruefully. If only… if only…

I don’t want to die in another war.

These headlines leave me feeling so desolate lately. It feels so fucking much like 1914.  You guys just can’t fathom.  The level of intrigue, the spiraling nationalism, the fierceness and brutality in the hearts of the ruling class, the shakeups in Eastern Europe, it’s all so familiar in a sickening way.

It’s not just me feeling it either.  A friend at church was an American civilian whose husband died in WWI in her earlier life.  She feels it too.  There’s something big coming.

I don’t want to die in another war.

Brief Thought

Just a brief thought that crossed my mind, recording this in case it turns out to be something but I’m not optimistic.

Supposing I learn at some point that Jack’s nickname was “Longshot?”  Honestly, if he had a nickname anywhere close to “Longsword” it’d really seal the connection, wouldn’t it?

Getting hold of Jack’s family is infinitely more difficult and I’d have to call much more attention to myself to do it.  I really wish there was someone in his family who might remember stories their elders told them.  It’s not like Phil where I’ve actually been able to get in touch with people who knew him relatively easily without going to any great lengths.

I guess that’s why he still haunts me.  I have a lot of memories I simply can’t confirm because nobody who knew him is still alive, and even though what I’ve been able to confirm so far is staggering, it’s mostly things of concern to bureaucrats.

Still hoping that maybe some descendant of William and Jane Harris of Yeovil, Somerset UK will find this blog and confirm something but it’s been almost five years now.