The Nameless Arcane

The nameless arcane bears the number XIII. It has sometimes been called Death, which gives it a negative meaning. But the arcane XIII is not death. This is a serious misinterpretation, from a time (or a country) that did not understand the initiatory tarot. On the contrary, it is a regeneration, a great cleaning of engrams and painful memories buried deep in the unconscious.

It is initiatory death, a very positive arcane, even if it is sometimes painful to get through. Nobody wants to relive the emotional or physical traumas of the past. For any warrior of light, it is a painful but indispensable task on the path of enlightenment. Today everyone is involved alone, and wins without the need for outside help. In the 90s, this particular arcane could ask the assistance of a smuggler. His role was to help the asker to go deep within himself, and to search his emotional for forgotten incidents, which alone represent a danger for him.

The traumas we remember are infinitely less harmful – as terrible as they are! – that moral or physical injury that has been forgotten. These are wreaking havoc on our morale, our character and our behavior for decades, if not all of life in some cases. An article on the engram and its consequences is in preparation. It will be published on this website soon. I close the parenthesis so as not to stray from my subject. What happens to me quite often …

In 1992, my couple is in a bad way, Micha and I have no more joint projects, and over the years sweet or cruel our interests has clearly diverged. It’s sad, but that’s the way it is. I know that someday I will have to separate myself from the mother of my children, but I can not do it. Then I sink into melancholy, just able to swallow stupid TV series and make crosswords.

I am out of my body, exploring distant spheres, but daily life is catching me up and nail me to the pillory. My only joy, how considerable: my two boys who are gifts, loves, bargains. I share with them everything I can, they pick up what they want, and fill me with joy, shivers, laughter and love. Anguish too, and sometimes with sorrow, but always in love.

By dint of dancing one foot on the other, dragging here and there my pain of living, aggravated depression, chronic disinterest, indifference close to the death of the body, I become a kind of comics zombie. I push my luck to the break, which I feel imminent. I go and knock on the door of an old friend of Scouting, Jean-Claude Flornoy, whom I had recently found to help me build a European business dossier. He told me about his spiritual practice, I am sure he can help.

Jean-Claude, I need a helping hand, I feel that my couple goes to the water and I can not solve it.
– You know me, he says, you know how romantic I am, I will do everything to save your couple. In your case, I prescribe Arcanum XIII.
– ???
– Do you know the descent into hell? I can organize you that. You’ll come back bright clean.
It tempted me allright. I ask him what it is.
– Deep trance, relived emotional, engrammic cleansing.

I do not need more explanation. I understand right away that it’s just what I need. The trickster conned me. I did not realize. In the majority of cases, Arcane XIII results in the separation of a fragile couple, and Jean-Claude knew it well. I could have known because he never had anything romantic, and when he described himself as a romantic guy, it should have put me in the ear. In any case, my couple did not resist, but that’s another story …

Before the week of trances, Jean-Claude asks me to write the story of my life, focusing only on the emotional and energetic aspects. I write about ten pages that tell me well, at least I believe. However when I complete the arcane XIII ritual, he will ask me to write my life again, and the second version will be totally different! But I don’t know that at this moment.

The fateful day finally arrives. I make the trip from Paris with a stomach ache. The welcome in Rochefort is cordial. This time Jean-Claude is alone, I like it so much. I would not have liked to find a dozen far-out people more or less in love with the master of the house.

The domain of Rochefort is self-sufficient and self-funded. Flornoy studied hydropower to maintain three turbines that bring the whole thing to life. Here when it rains, we rub our hands. When the electric meter starts to turn faster, we rejoice: EDFElectricitéDeFrance will make a big check at the end of the month.

First shock. When I ask my friend Jean-Claude how I should dress for trance, his answer is cold. “The outfit is the easiest way,” he answers, laconic. Well, that’s the way it is. Why not ? At first it destabilizes me a bit, but I quickly understand the reason for this device.

Jean-Claude shows me the position of rising energy, borrowed from the Knights Templar who had developed a true Western yoga. I sent a long hour in this more than uncomfortable position that gives me sweats all over my body, compulsive tremors, cramps and so on.

Then it’s the trestle, a fucking torture instrument. A trestle on which one balances on the kidneys — only point of support. The trestle is covered with a piece of carpet to mitigate (a little) suffering. But I must say how painful it is. After another hour of this diet, I have only to collapse on a mattress — with a broken body, a broken mind, feeling more dead than alive.

The temptation to fall asleep grabbed me, but Jean-Claude watches carefully. Right away, in a robotic tone, he guides me down the inside of me. First I only see colors, yellow, blue, purple. Then the images flock. Stupor! I’m a woman! A small Chinese or Tibetan girl, recluse in a monastery of the Himalayas.

Will follow twenty or more previous lives — I’ll put them online soon, those interested can download them in pdf. This detailed review takes three days. The fourth, we get to the heart of the matter: my present life, here and now, planet earth, 1992.

Parade the engrams, parade buried shame, trace the violent sorrows of childhood, villainies, ugly tricks, meanness, and son on. I much preferred to find my previous lives. All this shitty fake brush of me a detestable portrait. As we know little! As we remember badly … Forgotten the beautiful golden novel I had made with my dream life. Forgotten the nice self-image that I had. Forgotten the brave knight, the intrepid explorer, the noble lord, the marvelous little king, forgotten all these falsified photos that my docile memory served me at the right time. All these pretty pictures that had taken the place of my real past …

At the end of the fifth day, a catharsis full of tears and light salutes the birth of my new self. Ego ever, ego again, but a panting, destroyed, repentant ego. You must forgive your enemies, Flornoy tells me, but first forgive you. “Love yourself and you will love men and gods” he likes to repeat. The next day, without a break, we go on a magical journey through the ineffable forest of Broceliande, which I will have to talk about one day in detail. So many exciting subjects remain to be addressed in these ages, I have not told the thousandth, I advance like an ant who would like to climb Everest. Eve rest, the rest of the day before …

So starts the first day of my new life.