I am a sponge. I really soak up everything. Any movie, any book, any overheard conversation, and I become the discovered characters, the unknown hero, the indiscreet accomplice. What you live, I live too. It is enough that I see you, that I feel you in the distance, I am you. I did not know you thirty seconds ago, I marry you in astral right away.
The stars are our witnesses. The galaxies are with us. Comets bless us as we go by. I say that like that. In astral, there is no time. I describe it as interstellar space because it’s the one I like to frequent. I go there all the time. If I go down to the land of the living, immediately I catch the disease of the sponge. I capture and digest.
“I” is another. Many others. Are they at war? Do they live in harmony? Do they only know each other? Do they know that they are not alone in me? Are they able to coexist? Can they count each other without dismembering? They all want the best part of me. They want it, they steal it. And I’m cold.
The memory of the external facts of my life has largely faded in my mind or disappeared. But the encounters with the other reality, the collision with the unconscious, have indelibly permeated my memory. There was always plenty and wealth there. Everything else goes into the background.
It has been going on for so long. As a child, I ate all the earthly foods. For the body, for the heart, for the mind, everything is belly. Teachers have a word for it: learning procedure. At home, learning is not finished. I am still in the blizzard.
When blizzard wuthers, you better slow down. I accelerate on the contrary. Speed light or better: speed of thought. Faster than lightning, I bite everything that moves and I drink dry to pass. Is it still learning? The apprentice is not wise. Just consenting.
When the fairy eye of my benefactor scrutinized my stronghold, he unearthed many of my inner treasures. Mysteries of Isis, little mysteries. I know I’m a wizard, I got power, my presence on earth is not clear anyway. I have something to do on this sweet planet, I always knew it. I can’t remember what. Frustrating. First rating: I knew this by heart when I could do nothing. Now I can, I yearn for the desires of others. The good apostle that I am flees at night. Yet the night made me.
It was during the horror of a deep night.
It was during the horror of a deep night.
My mother Jezebel before me showed herself,
As in the day of his death pompously adorned.
Her misfortunes had not destroyed her pride;
Even she had notched this borrowed shine
Which she took care to paint her face,
To repair years of irreparable contempt.
“Tremble,” said she, a girl worthy of me.
The cruel God of the Jews also prevails over you.
I pity you for falling into his dreadful hands,
My daughter.” As I finished these terrible words,
His shadow towards my bed seemed to sink;
And I would reach out to her to kiss her.
But I found only a horrible mixture
Of bones and flesh bruised and dragged into the mire,
Shreds full of blood and awful limbs
That devouring dogs fought among themselves.
Jean Racine, The Dream of Athalie
If we take this text for what it claims to be, we see a loving daughter who mourns her mother while she undergoes the last torture. His throbbing body is being fed to devouring dogs. Or dragons?
It is up to you to read between the lines. Athalie, the girl, is your path of awakening. To achieve this, you must first consume the separation from your mother, which is your origin. Break with the habits acquired in 20,000 years of humanity. Erase yourself from the world. Turn inward. Choose freedom.
The god of the Jews is that of the three religions of the Book. Get out of his insatiable claws. He wants you in his belly. He can tear you apart as he tore your mother apart. He is the pack of devouring dogs. He is the dragon that feeds on your flesh. Abandon matter to him because it comes from him. He can do nothing against the Spirit whose vibrations are too high for the Archons to capt them.
What we have called matter is energy, whose vibration has been so lowered as to be perceptible to the senses. There is no matter.
Putrefaction tears your heart apart by freeing you from your fears. Your body is just a coat that is taken off and thrown away. This is the body of your mother whose name is civilization. It is also called castration, invalidation, extinction, disappearance.
Don’t be afraid of the world, my friend. The world should be afraid of you.
It is always in the night that we can see the light. Old gods! How dark it is! How glaucous and cold the air! I walked too long on the sides of the volcano, I died. Or I’m no better. A thousand times I almost slipped into darkness. When the foot gets heavy, when the heart can’t take it anymore, the throat hangs on this verse that you liked.
There, if you had seen me, would you have recognized me? Say nothing. Too much black to see me. Too far away. Never the slightest hope or the light of a destiny. I am a tightrope walker and I go on my hands. Quiet. And very certain of being dead. Yet I am still hungry. Lost, dead without my knowledge, what is the use of drinking? To absorb all this black?
On a whiter night when I thought I saw the dawn, I had to swim out and sink. The sea spit me out. It wasn’t my time. Bilocation saved me. The moment I went to swallow myself, I swallowed. I absorbed my desires. I always feed on life, the death of the body alone and this illusion of infinity. Is that how we end?
No one will come crying on your liquid grave. Your body will feed the gulls, the crabs. Who up there cares? When those who knew you are naked under the cloth, who will remember?
I descended into hell to see if I can find myself in the midst of the dark. Luckily I wasn’t there. So I came up. On my way back I saw you fall. I watched the whole scene.
In despair of wandering, you put down your bag. The stone in it pulls and holds you back. No hope of getting out, and yet! Somebody pulled your hair just in time. Yeah, you don’t know who or when or why that somebody did it. No, I didn’t pulled you out, I was too far at the time.
You know someone did it, you had nothing to do with it. Neither had I. It took you a long time to admit this supplement. You thought you were dead, and now you’re reborn. Virgin, without past, without attachment, without purpose. Anything can happen. But you do not believe in it.
You woke up just in time. She came at the right time. She loved you, revived you, fixed you in extremis. Now you will enjoy an eternal life after this short material life. Happy Archon.
Louis Aragon
Léo Ferré (music)
My dark love of bitter orange
My song of sluice in the wind
My shady part where comes dreaming
The sea at range
My splendid August when sky rains
Brigth stars on the peaceful mountains
My dream surrounded by palm walls
Where blue air falls
My golden arms my weak wonder
Revive my thirst and my hunger
Necklace necklace for endless nights
When the heart fights
So little time to me is left
To go to the top of myself
And to cry gee I love you so
I love you so
Do we know what is going on?
Maybe the time is coming on
When they will put the shroud’s embrace
Down on my face
Alchemy comes from the Arabic alkemya, which means chemistry. The alchemist must perform three works or roses, the work in black or nigredo, the work in white or albedo, the work in red or rubedo. My subject being the descent into hell, I deal here only with the work in black, referring to another article.
Alchemy or «hermetic science» considers that any mutation begins with a regression before it can rise to a higher quality. (source) All initiates must know this necessary passage to hell before experiencing the ascension to the astral high. Jesus was no exception to this rule, any Son of God he’s supposed to be. Although Christianity claims that Jesus is its only begotten Son, we are all daughters and sons of God, ifever God exists. Gods do. The Goddess does. But God, I doubt it.
First, there must be separation, dissolution, mortification and putrefaction. This is the first step in the alchemical process, by far the most difficult, which consists for the alchemist to go beyond his own personality to access, one day perhaps, his inner Gold. (source)
Separation can be reminiscent of a Mother-Son struggle, which is why it is sometimes called philosophical incest. (source) You have to go down first to be able to go up then. The black work is this descent into hell. We explore its roots, and when we reach the bottom of the pool, instead of hitting the bottom to go up as quickly as possible, we must go down again. There is a double bottom. Going up before finding it is stupid and vain. The descent of the nigredo must be repeated again and again, until the separation is completed. The double bottom exists. Life awaits you. It’s up to you to find access.
In addition to being difficult, the work in the dark (or Nigredo) is a risky operation: indeed, dissolution risks leading to the loss of the essential, that is to say of the Gold itself (the superior principle, the Soul). source) This phase is delicate. You have detached, you must now dissolve. Sacrifice only matter, the spirit remains intact. You wander in the maze of your soul, the walls of the labyrinth are the categories of understanding so dear to old Kant: you incant, it decants and you take the secant. The key of the songs placed in the grass of the meadows seen from far and near remains always the key.
Then comes the mortification, where the adept sacrifices himself, scarifies himself, vivifies himself by the suffering of the mind, heart and body. Sulfur is a powerful alchemical matter. Burning incense is fashionable, but you should know that there are four purifying sources: incense, sulfur, myrrh, sage. Burning only one does not achieve purity. It is useful to burn the four alternately, as Gnosis and alchemy teach.
Putrefaction is a return to soil and wet. He always has a close correspondence between the philosopher’s stone, capable of changing the vile metal into gold, and the search for inner gold, that is, the wisdom and serenity of awakening.
Separation, dissolution, mortification, putrefaction describe the four phases of the Nigredo. Then the Albedo and then the Rubedo will open for you, in you and through you.
-the nigredo (meaning «darkness» in Latin) consists in the extraction of the human soul from the body: the individual breaks his chains and abandons his mental prison; it results in a momentary disconnection from matter,
-albedo (meaning “whiteness” in Latin) describes the emergence and advent of the subtle soul. Indeed, the disconnection of matter had an instantaneous effect on the soul: the ego (guardian of the mind) lost its usefulness, it evaporated, thus leaving room for the subtle soul,
-the rubedo (meaning “redness” in Latin) consists in a reconciliation of the human soul, as much with matter as with the higher Principle. The soul reaches its highest level of consciousness: it gives itself totally to the Fire and to the Earth. In the end, all the components of the being were reintegrated, harmonized.
When the three roses are picked, the absorbent power of the sponge reaches its maximum. It can still increase, at least I imagine, having not yet reached these very high lands. Your capacity of absorption is expandable to infinity no doubt, if infinity has a meaning when it comes to beings as small as us. Your memory capacity is infinite, I’m sure.
Our database grows as long as it lasts and the need to absorb grows. This memory bank is all about the mind. All matter is banned. What good would it do? It only takes one program to reconstitute you anywhere by taking the matter where it is.
You do not need your body to cross the almost infinite spaces of the mind-numbing interstellar. Resist the amazement. As vast as the multiverse is, your mind is greater than it. It will hold in the palm of your hand. What scares you is not your weakness. It is your strength, it is your greatness, it is your light that you fear the most.
In the infinite, the body is as useless as money. Mammon is banished from infinity. There, only supra consciousness matters, and this loser has no access to it. Let’s have a thought for his followers who raise money so much more, always more, and even a bit more! Let us pity these sad lords when they discover that a shroud has no pocket and that infinity is free.
If I didn’t have that great power of absorption / restitution, Eden Saga would never have been. That’s the way it works. And if I had not descended into hell, there would never have been absorption. May the dark night of the soul light your way! And let the supra consciousness make the difference.
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