An Owl's warning cry breaks the silence, cutting through the ether, echoing the metallic ring of the scythe as it fells the tall golden stalks of the harvest, toward the east a single Buzzard answers this call, as it too rises from it's slumber to face the dawn and all that it has to offer.
Along the dark forest track I make my way to the appointed place, tall trees stare down as this lone traveller goes about his own business, shadows against the night sky, companions who have stood where they are since before I was even a thought and will be standing still in that time where upon my earthly body is consumed and turned to dust, the fate that awaits every creature of flesh and bone who would dare to walk upon this glorious Eden.
The Air is still, perfect silence as my words and gestures soar upwards through the woodland canopy, accompanied by the gentle coils of smoke and sweet air that also rise to greet the dawn. Calls spoken aloud to those who I would beg to hear, to her a devotion and continuation of the week's observance, my pining stomach a reminder that I am closer now, and it is now that I offer my self to her, absolutely and in all lives to come.
A gentle acknowledgement as the sentiment is duly returned, softly in it's nature, that of which I seek creeps slowly into my being, the knowledge and guidance we all require to continue upon the path of gnosis soaking into my soul, within that time that appears to be between times, away from the mundane in a world that is ruled by both Moon and Sun, or perhaps neither, it is hers at this moment and graciously she allows be to share it.
That which has been denied, in times that now seem like distant echoes within the past, is now my own to behold, that which once hid within the dark shadow of the spirit now plays a merry tune for me to dance to, embraced at last by the serpent who would recoil at my touch, we can journey together, the snake who would help this one to ascend the ladder and not send him spinning down to the mud and grime that lies at the bottom, I have given all, I have taken only what has been necessary and I have not acted upon desire, all is found and I am prepared, the reward has been of such high value that to place a price upon it would be an heresy.
On this day I have ascended, further into the tree I have climbed and far from the noise and petty imaginings of those deluded minds, devious ones, who would claim thrones for themselves built on crumbling dust and imagined, as none would offer them a throne built upon good solid stone this option becomes all that is left.
So to fly, high above mortal men, is this not what we dream of, to obey the law and listen to the winds, only then will we be able to soar high upon the currents we so desire.
This world and its every day trappings, can become a place of great pleasure, as long as the likes of Shani Oates continue to write of the wisdom they have gathered and such an event can be seen upon the horizon.
The Arcane Veil: Past and Present.
I have been privileged indeed to be able to read this book prior to publication, it is set to become an occult classic, and should grace the bookshelves of any occultist regardless of tradition or background. Tackling meaty subjects and grasping at serpents that others would be afraid to hold.
Among the collected essays we find one upon the history of magic, within this the influence of Christianity upon it and how through it's adaptability it has survived, in fact it would have been consumed entirely if those who practiced it refused to evolve with the times. Shani wonderfully reclaims Lucifer in another chapter from the vile clutches of the likes of Lavey and places him firmly within the reach of any serious Crafter, not without its controversial topics "Witch Blood" (there will be heads turning and a small degree of spitting from some quarters) a classic and must read for any seeker of truth.
Available soon with any luck.
Bright blessings all, as we head toward the darker months.
Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.
And check out this young pretender, my own dear brother has placed digit to keyboard at long last. The Cunning apostle
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