Between awakening and madness there is less than a beating of eyelashes. Between madness and internment there is only the decision of a man, whether he is a judge or a doctor. This one is not a companion according to Tradition. A master even less. Through him pass only those whom he declares mentally ill, that is not in conformity with the accepted norm. These people are a danger to the zombie society. Without resentment or fear, I want to tell you what we call a passerby.

 

Devorant

Standards will change, arbitrariness will remain. Time will pass, passers-by will remain. But what is a passerby? There are two definitions. A passer-by is someone who passes, it is also someone through whom we pass. The companion is said to pass when he holds both attitudes. Very often it only passes, but if from adventure it is recognized for what it is, it must deliver passage to the one who identifies it. That is to say, by passing through it, one can reach the other world, the other side of oneself. Thus the companion becomes passing. For him, giving way is a sacred duty. Therefore it is called passing from duty.

This definition is secret. The title of passing companion is given in companionship to all the members of the company of the builders, whether they are carpenters, carpenters, glaziers, glassmakers, imagiers, plasterers, stonemasons etc. They are the medieval elders of the companions of duty, whom we also call devouring companions. None of them remember the sacred meaning of companionship. Instead of being open to give passage to the petitioner, the companion lives locked near the Mother, in exclusive contact with other lay builders.

These builders believe themselves to be devouring — devouring or devouring means duty. 

Compagnons du DevoirCompanions of Duty, or devouring. Note: often in word play with the main meaning of devouring.” Tonayrion is a devourer, I am a devourer; it is true that in this profession we have not devoured both our wealth.” (source)

Funny joke! Prisoners of silver and matter, they build with stone, wood, metal and glass. These tradespeople are very talented, very skilled, but they no longer build with human dough. They know of duty only the exoteric, ordinary, external, profane definition. The deep esoteric meaning is reserved for a small number of scholars called initiates. I am maître dévorantdevouring master though I’ve never devoured anyone.

 

Clean the Engrams

The devotees I am talking about here are authentic men of knowledge. Through them, the warrior can receive awakening. It is not a free gift. It requires consistency, application, renunciation. Consistency because without the continuity of effort, this world on the decline quickly brings back the best warrior to the state of zombie consumer of various shit. Application because this type of quest is not done in dilettante. You have to dedicate yourself to it with all your heart, body and soul. Renunciation because the society of cons sommation encourages laughter, mockery. It is then easy to doubt. This doubt is not salutary, but a deadly poison for the soul.

 

 

I’m a passing master. For about fifteen years, following J-Cl Flornoy, I practiced the recollection of the engrams and their cleaning by deep trance. It is called the arcane XIII. This ritual is similar to exorcism. It allows us to free ourselves from chains that weigh heavily on inner evolution. Engrams obstruct the path of awakening. Kundalini cannot climb into sushumna the central canal, obstructed by engrammic clots.

This practice has become useless: the new generations no longer need it. Their engrammic cleaning seems to be carried out without any external help and more is without recollection.  Which is happy, because nothing is less pleasant than eating your engrammes with a spoon, according to Flornoy’s formula. My benefactor is the first passing master of the Wolf Clan. Flornoy is the devourer who re-initiated this distant tradition in the contemporary landscape. May he be blessed for it as for the rest.

One must have to act and not act to have.

 

Quest for Awakening

I have good reason to think I’m crazy. Like most awake people, I’m on the other side of pure reason. Madness holds me, and I find myself in it. Madness is not imaginary. It is real. Yet rendered harmless by the control I exercise over it at every moment. I belong to the Wolf tradition. The Druids to that of the boars. To the boars to whom the Wolves are bound by blood. Like our cousins the Druids, we devouring masters, or passing masters of duty practice controlled madness. Madness is a precious tool for knowing oneself and others. Controlled, it loses all danger for oneself as for others. You still have to have the strength to maintain control.

We are all looking for something. And madness is the quickest way to get it.

 

Yes, madness. Certainly. But awakening is more advantageous. It uses madness, but it puts it in a cage. On the necessary condition that this awakening is the fruit of a work on oneself. Awakening is not a single process. It can happen in many ways. There are two categories: the result of working on yourself or the consequence of an accident. You may object I forget one: the birth awakening. The omission is voluntary. I am firmly convinced that all humans are born awake. Life is responsible for putting them to sleep… sooner or later.

I woke up and I saw that everyone was still asleep. So I went back to sleep.

 

By luck or destiny, some beings remember their waking condition. So they are working hard to get back to that initial state. I had to do it three times. By accident first, then by my conscious intention.

 

 

I know there were times when the search for enlightenment was a reality for all humanity. The cult of Isis — first true Christianity — is a perfect illustration of that. Things have changed. Today’s Christianity does everything to prevent its flock from awakening. All religions fall asleep. In this planetary and clogged society, the awakened are very badly considered. Those who have been found to be non-compliant pose a danger to the zombie people. The mob of the submissive, the prisoners, the living dead. Look around you. What else do you see?

All religions are right in what they say, and wrong in what they deny.

 

Of course, there are fake weirdos, real jokers who walk cardboard giants through the city for the carnival, probably remembering the real giants who once lived in these regions. There are also eccentrics, weirdos who dress up as the wizard Merlin, real beard and real delirium, to put their old ass on the threshold stone of the Barenton fountain in Brocéliande. Or dressing up at night to bring local legends to life. Or making crop circles at night to attract tourists.

It is a moment that belongs neither to the night nor to the day, very conducive to all follies. This is the hour that I prefer. If you too have a taste for wonders, if the incredible is your garden, you will also love it, if you haven’t already. To live this hour as often as possible is the rule of the warrior. The moments lived in the in-between worlds are the royal gate of awakening.

 

Crazy Hour

At the time of dusk, when the day is gone and the night comes, in this blurred no man’s land that covers everything, only the imprudent venture. This is gek timefor Tibetans! This is invisible time.

Gek time is a traditional expression of Tibet that expressly refers to twilight, as we say between dog and wolf. It happens that the same word gek means something crazy in Dutch. Ik ben gek, literally “I’m crazy“. Gek time is also crazy time.

Old people know it’s not a good thing to risk. Everything can take on another form, another force, another appearance. the reality of the great day is dead. The dark night empire is not yet born. Anything can happen. At this hour, nature is silent.

The world of the day is no longer, the world of the night is not yet. We do not hear or see any animals, whether they are diurnal or nocturnal. At dusk, said Don Juan Matus, there is no wind, no bird calls, no silhouette in the distance. At that time, there is only power. Neither dog nor wolf at the time of the madmen. But spirits prowl at the time of power. Life is in suspense. Death is on the horizon.

It is the hour of the Ankou, sinister old man wearing the false and rattlesnake ringer. He brings death in the loose folds of his black dress. He sows desolation and fear around him. I don’t like him very much. We don’t belong to the same cycle, he and I. Former seer — Castaneda’s viejo vidente — the Ankou comes from the mists of a distant past — too far away for one to feel comfortable in — not far enough away for its dark purposes, its spells, and its spells to cease to haunt the collective unconscious. If the Ankou is not Satan, it is also disturbing. In Celtic land there are two princes of darkness. Or more?

I love amor
I abhor death

 

 

Look at these three, they’re our masters. And if the first one closes his ears, it is so as not to hear all our nonsense about death. They know how delirious we are. Shut up, because they have no right to correct our mistakes by telling us what they really are. Hidden eyes not to see how the living fuck up.

Do you want to recognize the intentions behind beings and things? Look the other side in the face? Become an adventurer of the astral? Living your dream by staying in bed? Building the future through your deep desires, dreams and intentions? Step right into the world of the Spirit? Shamanise? Heal? Love without brake? Really exist, like the giants of yesteryear?

 

Wake up