A common misconception? — The Silent Eye

A timely find! Sumeria is the focus of the journey next year.

“….so, this year it is Shakespeare and the Elizabethan Court, and next year we’ll be in Sumeria.” Running around getting things organised for the workshops always involves the attempted acquisition of some strange items. I frequently get asked what I’m hoping to use them for and that inevitably leads to questions about what we […]

via A common misconception? — The Silent Eye

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Resilience of the Emboldened Spirit

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Yuri_B, Pixabay

Templar Knights, Cathars, Priests, Priestesses, Mystics, Ancient Gods and Magicians have wandered in and out of my stories on a regular basis. For the Silent Eye’s April workshop in Derbyshire I shall take on a role that’s in keeping with the spirit of these characters. As yet I can’t reveal what that role will be, my perception of their persona will change as I inhabit the skin of this individual.

In Mystery Schools (both ancient and modern) the enactment of mystical dramas amongst other things, served to elucidate profound knowledge; as well as initiate psychological and spiritual processes within the individual. Change in whatever shape and form acts as a catalyst to transform consciousness and reveal insights, regardless of whether we’re ready to accept them! That’s the way of personal growth dear readers.

These words are a reflection of my personal explorations on a mystical and magical journey that has continued for over 30 years. I’ve endeavoured to pass on any knowledge and insights gained to help others, one can only try. It’s a journey unique to me, the ultimate destination being to regain wholeness and reintegration with the Cosmic Consciousness. My truth will not be someone else’s truth, my perception of the manifest world will be exactly that, my perception and not anyone else’s.

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Myriams-Fotos, Pixabay

As for the strange and colourful figures wandering through the virtual landscape of my blog, they’re more potent and real than you can ever imagine. Okay, they’re products of a creative process, imagination is an incredibly powerful tool. It can be wielded with a deft hand much like a surgeon’s scalpel, at other times either like a paintbrush or pencil. Dion Fortune defined magic as “the art of causing changes in consciousness in conformity with the Will.”

Important to keep that in mind and not jump to erroneous conclusions.

Now, back to the focus of my little foray into the minds of the fantastical characters I mentioned earlier. All the human entities are searching for the god of their heart, wanting union with the indefinable and apparently unknowable Creator of all life. They’re seeking to part the Veils of Mystery separating human experience and reality from that of the Divine. For Divinity, the journey into manifestation is to gain understanding of its creations, to take to its heart the beauty and subtleties of material life.

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Pezibear, Pixabay

To look upon the face of Divinity and live is to finally achieve true gnosis. Life is never the same, the world is then viewed through a lens of supreme clarity. Some of my Seekers have passed through the Veil and lived, others have undergone the transition from the material plane to immaterial plane. Wisdom has been the fruit of their experiences and I think a sense of great inner peace, of a reconciliation between human and divine consciousness. Therein lies the key, for me, to understand the motivations of my character in the Workshop. Therein lies the meaning of resilience for an emboldened spirit. In the words of the wonderful Captain Jean Luc Picard of Star Trek fame, “make it so.” I go with those words into the depths of Derbyshire.

Mímir’s Well – Thursday photo prompt – Carved #writephoto

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Image: Sue Vincent

Once again Sue has provided a powerful image for the Thursday Photo Prompt, and once again Odin’s Seer has appeared to peer into the waters of truth. I hope my words reflect her visions as she saw them:

This place is known as Mímisbrunner (Mímir’s Well), one of three wells found beneath the roots of the World Tree, Yggdrasil. Within it are contained great wisdom and knowledge, lusted after by many who know not the depth of its waters and sacrifice demanded for even one sip. Even gods are not exempt from paying a price for the secrets it offers. Odin knew this well, and felt the agony of giving up what was most precious. I too have sacrificed much, stepping beyond the realms of all that is safe and known, for knowledge forbidden to the living and dead alike.

Our kind are called to this path, never being freed from its duties and burdens, that is if we care to accept the calling. If not, then the sight is dimmed, and we are blinded to the other worlds. Yet, they still call to me in dreams and visions, as the magic is potent and eternal in my blood and soul. I am here on this windblown and rain blasted place because they sought me out, urged travel from the western lands. Something is afoot, it stirs in the depths of the well. The One-Eyed One came to me as silent and swift as a shadow, brought portents of things incredible and filled with awe. This is a time of rising, of secrets being unveiled, of choices offered and fates spun. I prophesy for him and send dreams to the chosen.

The stone feels alive against my palms. It resonates with the power of gold and fire, falling like a waterfall into the great darkness and silence of Creation. I see that place of beginnings and eventual endings, have seen it reflected in my eyes since the time before birth into this world. Fire and Ice fall towards each other, both sentient and holders of secret knowledge. The first parents, sole inhabitants of what is sometimes known as the Great Silence. The veils shroud my eyes now and so it begins, I peer into the well as the time of recounting approaches.

I am blinded, consciousness retreating to the back of my skull and then, beyond into other places. I ask whether to go either backwards or forwards, left or right. My inner vision sees ephemeral shapes linger behind, hiding within sight. They hold questions that need to be asked and answers to be given. I feel the breath of anticipation brush against my cheek, it brings whispers of new beginnings waiting in the wings. They are silhouetted against the doorway, a portal carved with precision and beauty.

The waters clear, a head rises to the top. Mímir speaks in riddles, “the time of release and self-awareness await” he utters softly. The soul unravels, falling away to float away in the winds of change. All must face the time of reckoning, falsehoods and darkness confronted. The beasts wait on the periphery, thirst for your blood and flesh. What is your path of escape? What choices do you make, the same mistakes or new ones, step outside perceived reality? He pauses and then opens his eyes. I sink into them, falling, falling with no end in sight.

I utter many things, words that remain hidden from my conscious mind, they are meant only for you to understand. Ancient seas stir with the breath of winds, and waves break upon shores unknown. The skies shimmer with an obsidian light, illuminated by a pearlescent moon. A figure stands on the shore and stares out into the distance. Their heartbeat echoes loudly, it calls a name repeatedly, “Faith.” Only they know its significance. What does it mean to you Seeker? That is all I can tell you, the rest you have to seek out, offer a worthy sacrifice for what is to be conveyed. Give it to the waters, as Odin gave his eye. Go now.

As for me, our kind are called to this path, never being freed from its duties and burdens, that is if we care to accept the calling. If not, then the sight is dimmed, and we are blinded to the other worlds. Yet, they still call to me in dreams and visions, as the magic is potent and eternal in my blood and soul.

Eve of the New Moon

Ponciano, Pixabay

Emotions well up, overflow and settle. The Chalice awaits, receptacle of the Soul, Holy Grail unveiled, bathed in silver.

What is it that you seek? Such questions must be asked, such questions must be answered. Choose the path to walk, choose the fate offered.

Visions cross deserts of the mind, appear as mirages. They carry meaning lost to conscious mind, but found to heart awakened. Time ticks on, places no restriction.

She distils knowledge of things hidden within the Shadow, opens vistas unparalleled.

Initiates yearning, releases captive life. See the new beginnings, grasp with both hands.

This eve provokes questions and relinquishes much, harries procrastination and steadies impatient mind.

Gaze at her veiled beauty, summon hidden powers. Offer songs of celebration, pour libations upon ground.

Wait with held breath, see the mysteries descend. Speak your intent and wait in silence.

Speak your intent and wait in silence. She will answer and reveal what should be. Time ticks on, places no restriction.

The story behind … Spartan Dog — Melusine Draco

I have a soft spot for this vampire and look forward to the series unfolding.

What of the author?

Melusine Draco is a prolific esoteric author (fact and fiction) and spiritual teacher; countrywoman and dog person; writer, creative author and tutor. I’ve been a long time follower of her works and heartily recommend you have a look at her blog.

Every book has a story behind the story of how it came to be written. It may be about a life-long passion, a personal journey, the need to share an experience or knowledge. It may have been fermenting in the brain for years, or sprung fully formed from a blinding epiphany. Whether it be fact […]

via The story behind … Spartan Dog — Melusine Draco

Oracle of Blood, Bone and Spirit

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Pixabay

I return once again to the saga of Seraph, an angelic visitor to the earthly realm. This may be Seraph’s final outing. It’s hard to say what he’ll decide to do after meeting with the Oracle of Bone, Blood and Spirit. That is to say, it’s hard for me to decide what to do. Seraph’s presence in this world has a purpose, to gain greater understanding of the human condition. An ambitious endeavour on my part to glean insights from the experiences of such an exalted being. It’s a “two-way street”.

I long to understand the plan behind humanity’s creation and evolution, but hesitate to attach a label to the Greater Consciousness who created the blueprint of this Universe. My spirit baulks at naming this consciousness as I believe words can’t describe the totality of this being. The reality is that I’ve named Deity according to the spiritual tradition being followed.

I’m in a number of mystical orders that draw their membership from many faiths. We work together in the spirit of fraternity to work for the betterment of our fellow human beings and the societies they live in. This is in accordance with the laws of those societies of course. Why reveal this information now? It may give an insight into the motivations of some of my characters, including The Alchemist, Amunet, Anubis and Seraph. This blog is called “occasional musings of a wandering mystic” for a reason.

Anyway, the purpose of Seraph’s meeting with the Oracle is to” tie up loose ends”. He travels to a place in an unnamed location where the Oracle waits for him. There are others present, including Amunet, Anubis, Thoth and Sekhmet. They’re silent bystanders to a ritual of sorts, perhaps it’s a test. A dialogue ensues between the two, as well as an examination of the essence of the entity called Seraph. He’s the Oracle Bone from which the Oracle will divine the outcome of his questions. Many cultures around the world, past and present, have used the bones of animals to divine answers, usually through heating with fire and interpreting the cracks produced. The answers are then inscribed on the bones.

This story has been waiting to be written since the end of last year:

Seraph:

The way is hard and long, seems this has always been the case. The end is near, I can feel it. The images of life flow past my eyes, dripping in a life force so potent that my DNA is dissembling atom by atom. I’m being reshaped, trying to hold it back but the tide is too strong. There’s a light in the distance, not too far now. The forest appears to have no end, it holds old magic, and memories of times before speech shattered the Great Silence. So this is the place of my Unbecoming.

(He stands expressionless, then moves forward).

A woman stands at the end of the path, staring sightlessly at the approaching figure. Her face is calm, embodying the clarity of a pure pool of water. She can sense his vibrations, so different from all other humans. His atoms yearn to be free, they call to her insistently. “Soon, soon” she tells them. “Such a beautiful spirit” she thinks. The Oracle stands in the centre of a large circle illuminated by the light of several large braziers heavy with the scent of incense.

Seraph:

(Stands outside of the circle).

You called and I came Oracle. I’ve so many questions but on one level don’t want to hear the answers. The change has started and refuses to slow down. My mind is so clear now, returning to its former self, but once that happens all these memories will disappear. Seraph will cease to be and my journey back to the stars, home, will be a certainty.

(Pauses as he stares at her startling and haunting blind eyes).

Oracle:

Come forward my fallen star. I’ve watched you for so long that it feels like you’re my own kin. So many questions in those dark, dark eyes. Truly you’ve brought a piece of the starry firmament to Earth. I feel your song and weep at its beauty. Home, how poignant your voice sounds. Yet, you have no sense of what you were before. That’s changed, your moment has come my fallen star. The question is, are you ready? Where’s your tongue?

Seraph:

(Laughs and smiles back).

Here I am, doesn’t that confirm my willingness?

Oracle:

(Stares at him, eyes blazing with humour and wickedness).

Is that what you think? I hope you’re ready for what’s coming, for it will tear you apart, throw your flesh and limbs to the ground, and drink your blood till its thirst is quenched. Come forward, closer.

Seraph reaches her at the centre of the circle, then seven figures come forward to take their designated places. There are three white robed figures and the other four, well, faces that are deeply imprinted upon our psyche. Amunet, Anubis, Thoth and Sekhmet. So begins Seraph’s trial in this consecrated place. The Oracle places her hands on his face and sends her consciousness within his body. He feels it gently flow through him, seeking something. Two minds meet at a point which is neither present nor future, as for the past, it’s dissolved into the Great Ocean of life.

Too soon he feels a fire spreading through his veins, it scorches everything in its path. That is until his shoulders are reached. Then the flames sink deeply into bone and blood, and drag him into a sea of acute sensation. He asks and she waits to see what unfolds, what she can divine, what she can foretell. Cracks feather throughout his shoulder bones, they provide answers to questions that have lain unspoken for eons.

Serpents glide across his vision, devoid of flesh now, remnants of cultures and old gods steeped in wisdom almost forgotten. The beast has fallen far, trampled upon in ignorance, tainted with the crime of bringing insight and self-knowledge. How little humanity knows of the truth hidden behind the familiar dogma. Visions rise behind his eyelids, dripping with emotive scenes of lives wasted in fruitless ventures, of loss, resolution and yearning. Love and joy have also played their part in shaping his persona and spirit, given meaning to lives spent grounded in physicality. Has he learned well of what it means to be human then?

The Oracle hears all and keeps her own counsel. She intently watches the feathering of his bones, listens to their voices, heeds their advice. The Seven remain silent, witnessing the unfolding of Seraph’s destiny, and containing the pulsating power within the circle. She finally sees what needs to be revealed, the Bone Oracle has spoken and the time of Unbecoming approaches. Bit by bit his DNA fractures, dropping its atoms into the Void. Seraph’s humanity unravels, the Fates take back what is theirs and give back what is his, his divinity and omniscience.

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Does Seraph grieve for all being lost? His questions have been answered, his journey and purpose fulfilled. More than anyone can hope for. The Oracle withdraws her consciousness and prepares his departure from this earthly realm. Seraph gazes for an eternity at his friend and companion Amunet – the “Hidden One” and the Walker Between the Worlds, Anubis. What is now left but a memory of who he was, meditating before the Great Ocean of Creation? Fall into matter is death to worlds beyond comprehension and pure energy, death from the material plane is return to pure energy and a higher state of consciousness. What is there to mourn?

The Seven contemplate this act of transfiguration and step back into the shadows. As for the blind Oracle, her gazes slices through the layers of matter to finally look into the heart of the formless realms beyond the Crown. It is done.

From Spirit to Social Bot: The Familiar Shapes Documentary — The Thinker’s Garden

A welcome post from the Custodian at The Thinker’s Garden.

FROM SPIRIT TO SOCIAL BOT: THE FAMILIAR SHAPES DOCUMENTARY “…they can assume all manner of shapes at their pleasure, appear in what likeness they will themselves…they are most swift in motion, can pass many miles in an instant…” -from The Anatomy of Melancholy by Robert Burton (1621) Almost four hundred years ago, a young Oxford graduate…

via From Spirit to Social Bot: The Familiar Shapes Documentary — The Thinker’s Garden

Hidden 

DasWortgewand, Pixabay

I felt the need to further explore my character Amunet’s past and this is the result. There appeared to be an underlying message in this “communication”. It was connected to the land and a people that seemed to vanish into forgetfulness and legend. In this chapter she appears as a woman called Magali (the Occitan form of Magdalene). Magali, as she was named by the Cathars who took her in, was considered a living embodiment of a Sleeper. One who decides at death to step back from the cycle of life and death and instead remain asleep in the land, dreaming, foretelling, and communing with all life.

The Cathars (“Pure Ones”) were condemned as heretics by the Church in the 13th century, in an age when its doctrines had hardened into dogma and politicking. The fate of these people was terrible, ending in 1244, in a nine month siege of their mountain fortress of Montsègur (in the Ariège department, south-western France). It culminated in a massacre. Many legends have grown around these mysterious people, with their true essence being hidden beneath a covering of subterfuge and illusion.

Occitan is a Romance language spoken in southern France and other areas. Occitania is the nomenclature given to the area where the language was first spoken and covers the Occitan Valleys in the Italian Alps, the old Aquitaine, Languedoc-Roussillon, the Aran Valley in the Pyrenees and the Principality of Monaco. Here ends my very brief outline. I visited the region many years ago and can testify to its special atmosphere. There is more, but that journey is for another time when the inner silence reveals another piece of the puzzle and allows me a clearer vision of these people. My fascination with them has a purpose. What does Magali have to say?

Mysticsartdesign, Pixabay

Where is here? A place where there are remnants of a people I once knew. I dreamed their fate, touched their fears and yearning, but they’re gone. Crumbled into dust, and scattered by the winds. I slept but was stirred back into life, heard their cries for help, saw what approached. Their eyes stared unseeing at visions rising from the horizon, an omen of things hidden within, cloaked from recognition. Their time was at an end, was foretold, of an age when hate and ignorance would rise in the place of greatest darkness.

My eyes saw their disintegration, as piece by piece their souls flew from shells burning on a multitude of pyres. Danger reigned supreme and the river of poison ran fast and deep, dragged their carcasses to places that should not be uttered aloud. The wind mourned them, brought whispered entreaties, and showered these ruins in melancholy. What an ignominious end to such a civilisation! Yet, hope clung on and Light retreated to a place of safety, waiting and watching.

Where people once enjoyed lives of serenity and contemplation is now shrouded in a loveliness born of sadness and tears. We search the past to find meaning in the present. Brush away earth and sand to reveal artefacts to catalogue, name and display as a manifestation of a knowledge that is ultimately empty. The land will not reveal its secrets to those who have no understanding of the meaning of this life and the mysteries of the Universe. I will not reveal knowledge and understanding that must be earned, in hardships many times. If you will not listen to me, then you are free to meet your fate on the road ahead, do not bemoan what befalls you.

These ruined buildings of stone and mud brick decay in this dry, wind and sun blasted place but life always find a way. It sends roots deep into the earth, is nourished by the heart of the planet. The spirits of this city sing to me, welcome me back but know it has come at a cost. More than they care to acknowledge. What glories this place has seen, drawing in luminaries from worlds seen and unseen. Bejewelled towers sprang forth to vanish into the clouds, testimony to a civilisation worthy of its name, now forgotten. I call to it, urge it to rise from its untimely grave. Hear me my beloved heart, take my hand and walk the roads of illumination and majesty that were once your right. Perfection of the spirit was your ultimate destination, it was the spring from which your people drank and bathed their sacred centres. I tended to the gardens of their soul, taught them the ways of mysteries, brought them to the place of death, and rebirth into a second life.

Mysticsartdesign, Pixabay

As for me, I stand with feet buried in sand and memories, see dreams cast shadows across eyes that stare unseeing across the ages. See me for who I really am and be welcome. I bring the deep comfort of a mother’s arms, nourish your soul and aspirations, and cut the cord joining us when the time comes. My blade has a sharp kiss, and draws blood that fall like rubies, embodying both beauty and terror. I hold your ancestral history and my blood is your blood, ruby red and filled with wonders. I was Hidden but reveal myself now. See me, hear me.

 

Mysticsartdesign, Pixabay

Mark of the Dragon

Image: Stab-32, Pixabay

They fell, these dragons of fire and implacable wisdom.Fell like dying stars from places unreachable and forbidden.

Left scars upon the matter of existence, branded its subtle nature. Did they truly rebel, or were they privy to plans divine?

Seraph pondered on the consequences of the so called battle in heaven. Such tales were spun, truth mythologised, twisted and shaped like the threads in ephemeral webs.

The truth was more subtle, more shocking than humanity could ever conceive. Eyes blazed into fire, witnessed the fall as it was lived.

His voice was muted once humanity was bestowed, and memory drenched in matter. True nature stirred, pushed at the limits of endurance.

Seraph saw the beat of wings push aside atom after atom, slice consciousness with a scalpel fashioned from free will, and determination.

The Mark of the Dragon was inedible, infinitesimal. Flames poured from his hands, consumed ashes, and seared insolence. He watched and uttered not a word. The world spun on its axis, age after age passed but inherent nature stood still.

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Image: Comfreak, Pixabay

Seraph fell, consumed matter, reshaped matrix after matrix, discarded blueprint after blueprint. Then a glorious countenance descended, moulded with love, birthed into being one and the other, female and male. Androgyny split was asunder, each seeking the other in a dance eternal.

Wings of gold turned ashen, mirrored Crow, messenger between worlds, oracle of possible futures. From out of ashes followed resurrection, She rose resplendent, stared out at a world unknown and unimpressive.

 

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Image: josemdelaa, Pixabay

She held out her hand, clutched a book of knowledge, of perfection beyond comprehension. “Guard it well” they entreated, for her mission was secretive, and her fealty unshakeable. Thus did the blueprint of creation fall, taken to places of safety. Thus did Seraph’s mission begin, thus did her life begin.

The Impossible is Possible He Says: A Return to the Beginning of Things

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Me in 2015

I don’t like being photographed, due to shyness mainly. For purposes of this post a decision was made to use a photo, a selfie (I dislike those things usually) taken in 2015. She stares at me with a look I remember well, filled with secrets and questions. The core of this person remains unchanged, as much as a whirling vortex can.

A whirling vortex?” he repeats slowly, the look on his face is thoughtful. His Nibs appears out of thin air, typical of these deities to indulge in dramatic behaviour.

His absence has been longer than usual, which has given me time to tie up a few loose ends. I look at his face for indication, any indication of his thought processes. He draws sigils and hieroglyphs into the air, sacred symbols etched in fire. I see a raging ocean struck many times by lightning. The First Time. Anubis is in his golden form orchestrating the play of elements. There is silence in this place of the first creation, a silence that is infused with many layers of meaning. The Mound is yet to appear. Strange that I should be witness to this again.

Image: Golden Anubis, Jan Malique

Being born is an initiation, a period of trial, tribulation and learning. We infuse our lives with beauty, pepper it with tears and sadness, and write its story in our personal Book of Life. The time has come to continue my story in the Book of Life. He hands it to me gently and smiles. I stare at it with the same look my other self had in the photo. She was yearning for change and wondering whether her circumstances would shift, evolve. Sometimes the perceived impossibility of the task at hand can throw you off kilter. Introspection can bring with it fears and uncertainties. They are unavoidable but necessary.

“I’ve stood on the edge of towering sand dunes peered down at you, watching your every move and thought. Your eyes have reflected the incandescent light of stars burning at the edge of galaxies, throwing illumination into the heart of darkness. You seek, question and demand, as you should. What answers have you obtained? You smile and give me that look. Filled with secrets and questions. Are you ready to serve, to pierce the illusions of this world and act? Take care to speak honestly and without prevarication. Serve higher ideals. The Impossible is Possible”

Anubis intends these words for those who are ready for the Journey.

His eyes burn with ancient fire and his hand gestures towards the unfolding of creation within the First Time. This journey is one towards the beginning of all things, a return to Source. We sit on the Sacred Mound beneath the waters of Chaos, the Eight peer at us intently, alien frog and snake headed creatures from a time before time. A return to the original womb of being can involve dangers, realisations of truths we may not be ready to face. I sense movement of the Eight and also of something more…The waters of Chaos bubble and shift constantly. His Nibs watches, silent as the depths of the Void, and as inscrutable.

The storm continues around us, but we‘re sitting in a space set apart deep within the eye of the storm. A place of deep significance and sacredness, the First Temple from which all others were birthed. Again I sense movement of the Eight and also of something more. From out of the gloom emerge his priests, jackal headed men bearing his mark. They stretch into infinity, forming a processional way into the depths. This is the path into the depths of the subconscious, hence the guardians of the portals safeguarding the way. There are places where no light has ever pierced, where no voice has uttered sound. We dare to pass through these halls of silence, and dare to emerge intact.

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Image: Trandoshan, Pixabay

He employs sleight of hand, confuses our senses, makes us believe the real is unreal and takes us to the very edge of reality. We stand on the precipice and peer over the edge. We peer deep within our selves, for that is the purpose of this journey, of any journey, to find our truth and speak it.

The Eight churn the waters of Chaos, creating life where there was possibility and promise. The Sacred Mound waits our return, it is time for emergence, manifestation of all possibilities and promises. The Benu bird utters the first sound that breaks the eternal silence and the child Ra emerges from the waters in his womb of Blue Lotus. His light pierces the eternal darkness and so it begins. The Sacred Mound waits on our return and embraces us as we emerge. From silence and darkness does life emerge, looking out into a vast Universe filled with mysteries.

Anubis is known by many names, one being the Walker between the Worlds, another being Psychopomp, and another The Opener. He’s a shaman par excellence, guardian of the portals between the different states of consciousness. We meet him at significant points in life, so as to be eased into states of death and resurrection, symbolic and real. What’s prompted this bout of soul searching? I’d ordered a book written about Anubis and had to wait nearly three months for it, due to delays that seemed to go and on. This issue tested my patience severely, at one point I thought he was “pulling on my chain” just to see what I would do. It unveiled aspects of myself that needed looking at, and here I am looking at some of them.