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Mountaineer, Climb, Rock Climber, Mountain Climber

Each day I have been doing a Shifting the Point of Awareness Meditation and I am seeing profound results! My awareness can be at where my feet touch the ground and I can be in the deepest possible altered state and still my awareness functions like normal waking awareness! What this really means is that my normal awareness is to function at an altered state where I can integrate all the chakras at one time!

I didn’t plan this ahead of time and like most things that happen to me I am either led to do them or simply stumble into them. So now I am led to believe that the ability to shift awareness from each type of energy to the other is perhaps the most important thing to aim for in the process of self-empowerment! By doing this all the chakras are stimulated into functioning in harmony with each other.

I’ve also been having a lot of empowering dreams that involve lots of people. The impression that I have is that Gaia’s ascension process has moved into a stage of resolution for us hydrogen types, whatever our stage of development might be. Our etheric bodies have been activated and we have won the right to create new lives for ourselves! Instead of a world and universe of duality, there now exists a third option that integrates the other two. This has never existed before and the hydrogen types are the first with the ability to make use of it! Meanwhile the battle for Gaia has moved on and transferred itself to the helium types who are now facing the eruption of the Shadow full force.

For the first time the collective supports us as we stand and walk upon a middle path of empowerment and integration! We are no longer in the fight and move to the stage of creation and regeneration of our lives. The real question becomes whether we can find our true path which will allow us to wake up each morning excited to be alive?

There is a mold and decadence that floats like scum on the top of society. It sticks to us and contaminates our thoughts and hinders our free actions. It is up to each one to free themselves of the slime that surrounds them. Ask yourself the question, “Do I really want to live?” If the answer is yes, then DO IT!

Death By Classified

Woman, Gothic, Dark, Horror, Fantasy, Girl, Person

Many of you don’t know that I translate German horror stories as a hobby. I just finished translating this story and am offering it as a Halloween gift to all my readers! It is a story that will be published in Der Orchideengarten Vol 1, no. 11 which I am currently working on. Enjoy!

Death by Classified

By Fyodor Sologub, translation by Joe Bandel

Resanow suddenly felt weak, tired, and wilted. His thoughts were occupied more and more with death. It seemed to him that there was no sweeter resting place than between the fir boards of a coffin.

Suddenly he was overcome with the desire to do something different from his daily routine.

He sat alone in his silent room and studied the classified ads in the “Nowoje Wremja”. He was looking for something. He compared them and selected one.

 His pale face which had already begun to wither, expressed perplexity and indecision. In his absent-mindedness he reached out with his pencil and the tip struck the lamp shade.

His hand trembled. The pencil tip tapped against the glass. He smiled. He said to himself:

“I am getting old.”

He lowered his eyes again; they had once been so lively and full of humor and now were tired and indifferent as he looked calmly and attentively at the newspaper.

Finally, he chose one of the classified ads. An educated, intelligent, and good-looking lady found herself in dire straits and asked a noble person to loan her fifty rubles. She would agree to any terms. The address read: Post office No. 17, general delivery. Present receipt Nr. 205824.

Resanow took a yellow, rough sheet of paper out of a box with the letterhead and water mark “Margaret Mill”.

With a sad smile on his lips, he wrote to her:

“Dear Madame!

I will give you the amount you ask for, neither as a loan nor as a gift; but for a service which I can only indicate briefly in this letter. There is not much to say. Since you claim to be intelligent, you will easily understand what I ask of you. That you come to me in the form of my Death. The more attractive it is the better— and act accordingly. If you understand and make this a fun game, the fee will be ample enough for you to live on. Are we agreed? Are you too afraid? Do you understand what I desire of you? If you are in agreement and not afraid and understand me correctly, then write me back, so I can meet with you for the first time. 5 o’clock in the afternoon would be the most suitable time for me. Respond by special delivery. Cash on delivery receipt Nr. 384384 for three ruble notes. I want to pick up the letter on Thursday.”

The three newly printed and issued 1905 ruble notes crackled uncomfortably, like the starched dress of a first communicant. The number 384 was repeated twice. This seemed strange and meaningful to him.

He thought to himself:

“And if? . . .”

He smiled weakly.

“Well, even if . . .”

He did not sign the letter. He sealed it and carried it to the mailbox. The maid could pick it up in the morning.

When he was back in his room, he wondered what the unknown woman looked like. Was she skinny, ugly, with an impoverished brown face, yellow teeth and thin strands of reddish hair beneath a wind and rain battered hat and a comical feather stuck in a ribbon hatband?

Or young, shy, and gentle, a seamstress with her delicate fingers pricked by her needle, with a pale waxy face and a large, sulking mouth?

Or a drunken, painted up, cheeky street whore with a screeching voice and crude manners?

Or an uncouth provincial lady in impossible clothes, with impossible manners, an unwashed neck, one abandoned by her husband or that had not found a lover?

“How will she, how will my Death appear? My own Death?”

“Perhaps she will meet me in a dark corridor, so that when I put my wretched gold into her cold hand, I won’t even see her face?”

On Thursday he went to the main post office. The summer day in the capitol was dusty, hot, and noisy. Here and there the houses had been plastered and whitewashed, and they gave off an unpleasant odor. Yet he felt cheerful, and the familiar restaurants seemed festive to him.

He did not hurry. He went into the Leiner and drank a glass of beer. He did not meet any of his acquaintances. Who could meet with him now? That would be an extremely unusual coincidence.

Around four o’clock he stepped through the open gate into the glass roofed hall of the new main post office. He remembered the old dirty hole that once had served as a post office. Today even the employees looked elegant.

He stopped and stood in front of the kiosk where the stationary was sold. A rotating stand showed him all sorts of sweet banalities that only post cards could give.

“Are these for sale?” He asked the saleswoman.

The cute girl with a bored expression shrugged her rounded shoulders.

“What do you want?” She asked him in a hostile tone. “Stationary, envelopes, postcards?”

He looked at her carefully. He saw the small curls on her forehead, the porcelain white complexion and the blue pupils and said:

“I don’t need anything.”

He went on. Opposite the main entrance in a large four cornered stall sat three young girls behind a double counter handing out letters. The public stood outside. A fat lady with a wart on her nose asked for a letter with the name Ruslan-Swonarjowa?

“What is your name? Swonarjowa?” asked the postwoman, whose face reminded one of the color of a roll, and she went to the box with the letters.

“Ruslan-Swonarjowa!” cried the lady with the wart, in a frightened whisper.

And as the postwoman with the bread-colored face stepped up to the counter with a packet of letters in her hand, the lady with the wart said:

“I have a double name: Ruslan-Swonaryova.”

A red-haired gentleman stood next to the lady with a stiff hat in his hand and followed the movements of the second postwoman with restless eyes; the prettiest of the three, she was looking through a packet of letters and appeared immensely proud of what she was doing. The gentleman appeared to be expecting a “sensitive and frivolous” letter. He was extremely nervous and made an uncomfortable and miserable impression.

The third postwoman, who was plump and red cheeked had a broad face and her chestnut brown mane was combed and parted deeply at her forehead. She laughed merrily at some private matter. She turned for a moment to the other two, who smiled and laughed as well, as if she had told them something very funny. 

Resanow silently handed her his three ruble notes. He eyed the three girls and determined that they were all young, healthy, and pretty. The postal administration had certainly added some elegance to their new building.

He was reminded of the newspaper dispute between this postal worker and a petitioner that he had seen somewhere the other day. The petitioner had not been allowed to sell newspapers at the post office because she was skinny, ugly, and withered from hunger and poverty, and already over thirty-two years old. He closed his eyes and in front of him immediately appeared an emaciated, pale, frightened face with wide open eyes and nervously twitching lips. Someone whispered quietly, but clearly:

“I have nothing to keep me alive.”

Someone else answered just as calmly:

“Then don’t live!”

Resanow opened his eyes. He looked balefully at the plump postwoman, who was busy looking for his cipher. Several letters and postcards were thrown onto the table one after the other. Her laugh was so disgusting and insistent.

Finally, she handed him a letter in a narrow envelope and put all the other letters away.

“I don’t have anything else.”

“I don’t need anything else,” said Resanow in annoyance.

He moved to the side, sat down on a bench in front of a pillar and opened the letter. He did it in a hurry, but otherwise he remained calm.

Large, narrow letters, delicate punctuation marks, a regular, calm, and unexpectedly beautiful handwriting.

“Dear Sir!

I am in agreement. I am not afraid. I understand everything. On Thursday at six o’clock. Michael’s Park, the avenue to the right of the entrance. A white dress. Your letter in my right hand.

Your Death.”

A postal employee rang the bell. The hall emptied. Resanow went to a Viennese restaurant. He ate a quick lunch and drank wine.

At half past five he was already at the park.

She stood under a tree at the beginning of an avenue near the entrance. Her white dress rose from out of the dark green of the silent park.

She was slender, pale, very quiet and calm. While he was walking up to her, she looked him over carefully. She had gray, calm eyes that did not reveal anything. But her gaze was tense and watchful. The expression of her face, which was by no means pretty, was cheerful and humble. The smile on her generous mouth was sweet and sad.

“My dearest Death!” He said softly.

He remained standing in front of her and reached out his hand in greeting, suddenly seized by a strange unrest.

She remained silent. She took his letter from out of her right hand, put it into her left and squeezed his hand with hers, which was noticeably narrow, cool, and gentle.

He asked:

“Have you been waiting for me long?”

She answered, every word articulated slowly, in a lifeless monotone and deadly silent voice:

“You didn’t expect me. You thought that it would be someone other than me.”

It seemed to him that a strangely cold breath streamed from her. The folds of her white dress were so still and motionless. The simple white straw hat with a white ribbon that she wore high above her hair threw a yellow shadow across her face.

As she stood in front of Resanow, she leaned forward and with the tip of her parasol drew a fine line in the sand between them from left to right.

He asked:

“So, you want to be my Death?”

Her answer sounded so calm:

“I am your Death.”

And he asked again, while a shiver ran over him:

“Aren’t you afraid to play such a sinister role?”

She answered:

“Death fears the living and shows no one its face. You are quite well the first, of the living, who has seen the human face of his Death.”

He said:

“You play your role too quickly and too conscientiously. Tell me, what is your name?”

She replied with a sad, soft smile:

“I am your Death, your white, quiet, stormless Death. Breath quickly, your hours are numbered.”

He wrinkled his brow and said:

“You are an educated woman; you are in need and ask for money. What has brought you to this, that you accept all my terms and agree to play such an uncanny role?”

She answered:

“I am hungry, sick, tired and sad.”

He laughed and said:

“By all means rest. Why are you standing? Please sit down on a bench.”

They went a few steps further and sat down. She drew an intricate pattern in the sand with the tip of her parasol.

He said:

“You are hungry. If you want, we can go to a restaurant, and I can get you something to eat. I also want to give you the money that you asked for. Tell me, is there anything else that I can do for you?”

“I will take everything from you that you care to give: your money and your soul.”

He started. Then he said with a laugh:

“You play your role most excellently!”

She answered:

“I came. My hour will soon strike. I will wait.”

He took his wallet out of his pocket.

In the small middle compartment, closed with a steel clasp, lay the five gold pieces which he had prepared for her. He took them out. She silently reached out her narrow, pale, soft, and steady hand. Delicate lines crossed her white palm in a clear, simple network.

The five gold pieces made a light click as one by one they were placed in her cold, motionless hand. Her delicate, long, white fingers slowly closed, and her hand quietly slid to a pocket on the side of her white skirt.

He thought to himself:

“My poor gold. — my last gift. — the poor earnings of a day laborer, — the miserable earnings for a superhuman work. — that is what I give you, my beloved!”

Did he only think these words, or did he say them aloud? They sounded so clear in his ears. Such a deep grief weighed down upon his heart!

She looked at him sadly with her gray eyes and smiled. Then she leaned forward, and the tip of her parasol rustled swiftly through the sand.

She whispered:

I have taken your gold and will also take your soul. You have given me your gold and you will give me your soul as well.”

He said softly:

You have received my gold because I have given it to you. But how will you take my soul? How do you plan to take it?”

She answered:

“When my hour strikes, I will come to you to fetch your soul and you will give it to me. You will give it to me because I am your Death, and you cannot outrun me.”

 This felt unbearably harsh to him, and he said with a cutting voice, to drown out his pain and fear:

You live in a furnished room. You are seeking a position or employment. Your name is Marie or Anna. What is your name anyway?

And he screamed, seized by a sudden hatred:

“Tell me what your name is!”

And she dispassionately replied:

“I am your Death.”

Her words sounded so hopeless and merciless. He started and hung his head. Discouraged he asked her:

“You need my gold, because you are hungry and tired, but my soul, — why do you need my soul?”

“With your gold I will buy bread and wine. I will eat and drink, and also give my death brood something to eat. Then I will take your soul. I will carefully take it out of your body, will carry it on my back, will goe with it into that dark room, where your and mine invisible Master dwells, go down and hand your soul over to Him. He will squeeze it and capture its sap in a deep bowl, into which my silent tears will also fall. — and then He will take my silent tears mixed with the sap of your soul and sprinkle them among the midnight stars.”

The strange words sounded so stiff and slow, like a strange incantation.

People passed by, voices rang out all around. Equipment rolled past outside on the pavement. Light footed children ran past, laughing. — everything was hidden behind the magical veil of her slow words. The colorful, joyful evening of the vanishing day disappeared as if in a cloud of incense.

He was sad, tired, and indifferent. He said softly:

“When the trembling of my soul reaches up to the stars and in those distant worlds an insatiable thirst for lust and life ignites — what will happen to me? I will be here rotting in a dark grave, which indifferent people will scratch out for me. What do I receive from your high sounding promises? What? Tell me!”

She replied with a mild smile:

“In blissful sleep is eternal rest.”

He said:

“Eternal rest! Is that your consolation?”

“I comfort any way I can,” she replied with the same stiff, gentle smile.

He stood up and walked to the park exit:

Behind him he heard her soft footsteps.

For a long time, he walked through the streets of the city, and she always followed him. Once in awhile he quickened his pace, as if to outrun her. — then she also went faster; she gathered the hem of her white dress with her delicate fingers and ran after him. If he stopped and looked back, he would see her in front of a shop window looking at the displays. When he got angry, turned around and walked toward her; she would quickly run across the street or hide in a doorway or shop entrance.

And she pursued him with her gray, calm, watchful eyes. Incessantly she pursued him.

“I will take a cab,” he said to himself.

He was amazed that this simple thought had not occurred to him earlier.

But when he spoke to a cab driver, she came closer. She stood right next to him and breathed her cold and sadness upon him. And she smiled.

He told himself angrily:

“She will sit with me in the coach. I can’t outrun her on foot or by coach.”

The coachman demanded sixty kopecks.

“Thirty,” said Resanow, and then walked away quickly.

The coachman cursed.

Resanow climbed up to the third floor and stood in front of the door leading to his apartment. He rang the bell. Meanwhile light footsteps came up the stairs. He rang a second time impatiently. A cold wave of fear came over him. He wanted to be inside his apartment before she could see which door he entered. There were four apartments on each floor.

She came closer and closer. Her white dress shimmered in the semi-darkness of the stairwell. She came nearer and her gray eyes looked watchfully into his own frightened eyes as he finally entered his apartment taking one backward glance.

He pulled the door shut behind him and turned the key. In the semi-darkness of the corridor, he remained standing and looked with sad eyes at the door. He felt, — as if the door had suddenly become transparent, — that she silently, with a mild smile on her lovely lips, stood outside the door and lifted her pale face to read the apartment number so that she could remember it.

Then he listened as her footsteps slowly went away.

Resanow stepped into his study.

“She is gone.” A voice said clearly.

Another hopeless, calm voice replied:

“She will come back.”

He waited. It became darker and darker. His heart tightened. His thoughts were unclear and confused. He felt dizzy as waves of hot and cold ran over him.

He thought:

“What will she do now? Perhaps she will buy something to eat, then go home and feed her hungry death brood. That is what she called her own children. How many children did she have? What did they look like? Were they as quiet as she was, his dearest Death? Starved, skinny, white, shy? Unseemly, with those same watchful eyes, just as dear, as hers, my white Death?”

She is feeding her death brood. Then she will go to sleep. Then she will come back here. Why?

Suddenly he was overcome by a burning curiosity.

Of course, she will come back. Why else would she have followed him to the doorstep of his apartment? But how will she come? How will she fulfill her task, this strange lady, who for money was prepared to do anything and wanted to be his own Death?

Maybe she is not a woman at all, but Death incarnate? Perhaps she will come here and take his soul from out of his sinful, weak body?

He laid down on the sofa and wrapped himself in a plaid blanket. A cruel-sweet fever sent shivers through all his limbs.

What strange thoughts came to his mind! She was very smart and conscientious. She wanted to honestly earn the money that he had given her and was trying to play her role to perfection.

But why was she so cold?

Well, because she was poor, starving, tired and ill.

She was tired from work. She had too much to do:

               Has sewn the entire day,

               Is tired, is sick . . .

She wandered around sick and hungry, searching. Her poor death brood was waiting, with wide open hungry mouths.

And he remembered her face, the earthly, human face of his Death.

The face was so familiar to him, her features so intimate.

Her face emerged more and more clearly in his memory, that known, trusted and beloved face.

“Who is she, my white Death? My sister?

               It is difficult for me because I am sick.

               Dear brother, stay with me!

And if you are my eternal sister, my white Death— what does it matter to me, that you appear to me here in this incarnation as a woman, who has met me through a classified ad and lives in a common apartment house?

I have placed my poor, clinking gold, my pathetic gift into her cold hand. She has taken the gold in her freezing hand and wants to also take my soul. She will carry me into the dark room, and the face of the Master will appear before me. — My own eternal face because I am the Master. I have brought my soul to life and have commanded Death to come and take me.”

And he waited.

It was night. The doorbell softly rang. No one heard it. Resanow threw off the blanket and crept softly into the anteroom. The screeching of the key in the lock was much too loud.  The door opened and she stood on the threshold.

He stumbled back into the darkness of the anteroom. He asked, as if he were surprised:

“Is it you?”

She said:

“I came. My hour has struck. It is time.”

He closed the door and went through the dark rooms into his study. He heard her light footsteps behind him.

In the darkness of his room, she snuggled up to him and kissed him with tender and sinless kisses.

“Who are you?” He asked.

She answered:

“You called me, and I came. I am not afraid, and you should not be afraid either. I will give you the last sweetness that life has to give— the kiss of Death. And your death shall be easy and sweet because of the poison.”

He asked:

“And you?”

She answered:

“I already told you that I will climb down that singular path with your soul which now stands open to us.”

“And your brood?”

“I sent them on ahead, so they can go before us and open the door.”

“When will you take my soul?” He asked again.

And she snuggled up tenderly against him and whispered:

“The dagger is sharp; it’s sting gives pleasure.”

And she snuggled up against him once more and kissed him.

Then the sting of the poisoned dagger touched his neck. A sweet fire ran like lightning through all his veins, and he lay dead in her arms.

With a second sting of the poisoned dagger, she killed herself and fell down dead on top of his corpse.

Halloween, Holidays, Mystery, Fairy Tale, Moon, Crow

As many of you know I celebrate Samhain or Halloween as the 2nd full moon after the autumn equinox. I celebrate this as a lunar festival when the veil is thinnest between the worlds and that is during the full moon. This year it is very late and occurs on the 19th of November. So the harvest continues till quite late in the year. The lunar and solar cycles are not coinciding very well this year and you can consider it an orb of influence that will last from 30 October to 19 November.

I’ve just finished a very intensive deep dive into the origins of the proto-Indo-European Pontic Steppe nomads that roamed the Pontic Steppe living in wagons and herding their cattle on horseback. These were my ancestors, Haplogroup G that clustered around the Caucasus mountains and Pontic Steppe in neolithic times, 3,000 BCE and even much earlier. So I’ve been getting in touch with my most ancient roots!

I’ve also just finished a deep dive into the origins of the Druid culture that also was related with my ancestors that somehow managed to get from the Pontic Steppe to Ireland around 3,000 BCE bringing the hospitality concept with them. The hospitality concept is that of the warrior nobility protecting the common population in exchange for tribute. The Druid culture seems to have arisen in support of this sacred obligation. So I followed that to the point of the collapse of the Druid culture in 472 CE and the massacre of the Long Knives at Stonehenge during the sacred Beltaine festival. You can read about some of this on my other blog OAK Inner Circle.

There was a third research that I have concluded at the same time. I recently completed reading “Suggestive Inquiry Into The Hermetic Mystery” by Mary Anne Atwood. This was a classic text that collected almost all the known works on alchemy and sorted them out. Those that have followed me for several years know that I have traveled a tantric path that has sequentially permanently developed and activated my various non-physical bodies from the top down. This has taken over twenty five years but it has completed itself. My research is about others that have followed a similar path.

I can say with absolute conviction that hermetic alchemy in Mary Anne Atwood’s book describes the exact same path that I followed as does that described by Mantak Chia, Julius Evola and Aleister Crowley. Of course the terms and concepts are cryptic, but the sense of repeated purifications to achieve a purified soul body or immortal physical body are all talking about the same thing!

This alchemical path has been known by the ancients for thousands of years and hundreds of masters have traveled it!

But there is one difference in that most of these people have developed their soul bodies from the bottom up and not from the top down! That is the only difference that I can see. Life was much more difficult for people in the ancient world before reading and writing was discovered and they developed the lower nonphysical bodies out of survival needs. The root chakra was strong because it needed to be! They had difficulty with the higher levels.

But we today live in our heads and it is the lower levels that we have trouble with! So we need to reclaim our magickal link to Gaia, mother earth, and the Womb of Creation. Normal conscious awareness needs to be integrated with our etheric body. Doing this requires the activation and integration of the Shadow Aspect! It is not pleasant!

In any case I am moving on to my translation projects. I’ve reached a good point of closure with the above subjects for now. Those that are interested will know what to do. I’ve given more than enough clues in my numerous posts over the years. Those that don’t get it never will! I just want to say that I’ve proven to my own satisfaction that this same path has been followed by thousands over the ages! There is nothing new about it!

Astral Combat

Guns, Bullets, Weapons, Cartridges, Armament, Army

Astral combat takes place at a specific location within the astral planes and it represents a weak or vulnerable spot in your aura. Astral combat is all about energy and at first you will not have much energy, perhaps barely enough to maintain your astral body intact. So in a way you are fighting for your life! At least your life in that astral body!

Astral bodies require a lot of energy to maintain and permanently activated astral bodies will automatically pull and draw the energy they need from open energy centers as well as from the physical body. The lower the astral body the more energy required to keep it viable.

Astral combat automatically strips both combatants of available energy at that specific location in a form of mutual destruction. So each combatant needs to draw more energy for the conflict itself from other energy centers, cosmic power sources or the physical body itself.

I’ll give a few examples:

You and your opponent are both naked and in hand to hand combat with knives. You are both fighting for the lives of those particular astral bodies.

You have a weapon like a gun but it won’t fire. That’s because its energy has already been used up. That you still have a gun even though it won’t work suggests that there has been a draw and no clear winner or that you have just barely won.

You fire two or three times and keep missing the target or only hit the target on the last try. This means that your opponent is successfully blocking you even though you are stronger energetically than they are. If you do manage to hit the target after several tries of course you have won the exchange.

Your opponent fires several times at you and you absorb the impact of the bullets and heal yourself. This is when you are so powerful at that particular level of the astral that you don’t even need to protect yourself. The fact that your opponent can fire several times at you suggests that they are quite powerful as well. But they are not powerful enough to change the outcome of the battle.

These are all situations that I have found myself in over the years. I’ve even had a bazooka as a weapon a few times! Its always the same. There is mutual destruction of the energy of both sides until only one is left.

There is one other form of astral combat that is worth mentioning. This was after I had tamed my “alligator puppy” and was using it to defend myself. Someone asked me for help and protection. They had gotten on the wrong side of a Voodoo Highpriestess from New Orleans and was being attacked. I stepped in like an idiot and was immediately under attack as well and I sicced my “alligator puppy” on them to protect me. All that was left was a quivering stump coming out of the ground. My “alligator puppy” had completely severed my attacker’s connection to the earth and destroyed it.

Magick circles, power objects and spells have nothing at all to do with this level of astral combat. What I’m talking about is pure power and no tricks. There are lots of magickally powerful people out there and you don’t want to mess with them. This is a rough and tumble group of people that is an elite society in itself. I’m proud to be a member but there is no leader.

Magickal Attacks

Fantasy Woman, Fire Eyes, Female, Fantasy, Fantasy Girl

Anyone that seriously begins working with magickal energies will find themselves under magickal attack at some point! For most it will come as a surprise because they have no intent to harm anyone. The answer is really quite simple once it is understood. When you actually reach the point where you are able to magickally make a difference your own energy work begins to interfere and mess with that of others.

They will track down the source of the problem and attempt to take care of it. This means an energetic confrontation. It doesn’t even really matter who wins! Each person needs to find out where they stand in the hierarchy and when they are in their right place things smooth out.

We don’t even need to talk about dreams because this point is not reached until you have at least one or two permanently activated astral bodies. These permanently activated astral bodies increase your awareness to the point that you can sense and deal with magickal attacks directly from waking consciousness. Still, most magickal attacks will happen during your dreams, but not always.

In the beginning most magickal attacks are dealt with by rising above them because the highest level can control and contain the lower ones or block them. The reality is that this doesn’t work unless you have the ability to rise above them! That means taking the confrontation up to the next astral body. If you don’t have that astral body activated, even temporarily you will lose! By rising above the attack you flee the scene and live to fight another day! You have lost the battle but managed to hold yourself together and that is a win!

The next stage is when you are able to meet the conflict head on and fight to a conclusion. When you win the other person disappears. When you lose you wake up in the middle of a nightmare. When you beat someone in a battle and they don’t disappear, that’s really, really, bad for them! They may even end up dying.

The third stage is when you are powerful enough to go beneath the other person and basically just brush them aside. I remember such a magickal attack when someone attacked me with a knife in a dream. I took the knife away from them, bent the blade and handed it back to them saying, “You shouldn’t really do that!”

As a veteran of thousands of astral attacks I can say that most of them are not personal at all. They are simply energetic crisis points where someone else is messing with our own workings or we are messing with theirs.

Over the years I’ve reached the point where it is very rare for me to be astrally attacked. It might happen once or twice a year and is of little consequence. In fact, I’ve reached a point where I will take an active role in defending others if I have to.

You can only be attacked where you are vulnerable. You can only be attacked where your aura is weak. Strike your hardest. As Crowley says, you cannot hurt a King or Queen! They will move out of your way. Likewise you will move out of their way if they are stronger. No real damage is done.

It is only those that play at this game that get hurt! There is a very real difference between people who are the real thing and people who are just pretend and do make believe.

I can tell you from personal experience that there are quite a few people out there who are the real thing! We recognize each other when we meet! We respect each other!

Shape Shifting

Werewolf, Moon, Bridge, Mysterious, Composing, Night

The observer self seems to have the ability to see our other astral bodies as we develop them. In my last post I mentioned integrating my dragon self. But I have encountered other animal selves that belong to me and I assume that I have integrated them, but perhaps we can change back and forth? I don’t really know.

I have dreamed of myself as both having a horse body and a dog body and both of these animals are very precious to me. In these dreams I’m usually interacting with someone else who also has a similar animal body so perhaps I need to shapeshift to interact with them? I’m not really sure.

I’ve also had dreams where I’m human and others are animal. Again dogs and horses are those with personal interactions.

But I’ve also dreamed of groups of people like cows or pigs and the feeling is that these people live to fill their bellies and follow their crude animal pleasures without much self awareness.

I’ve had many dreams of serpent entities and they are very smart and scary although I’ve only had one try to bite me. We always seem to have a stand off and I manage to stare them down. But my encounters with them are uncomfortable. Perhaps its because at some level I am one of them. There seems to be an uneasy truce.

Spiders or woodticks seem to be entities that are blood sucking vampires. These entities have tried to feed off my energy in the past. I’ve killed them by feeding them channeled energy until they pop! I don’t like vampires or any kind.

I’ve only had a few dreams in which I was flying and in some of them I was human and in others I was some type of bird but I don’t remember which kind of bird.

My conclusion is that as we develop our seven astral bodies they each need to go through their ancient history and evolve as well. At first they are animal and then become more human as they are gradually integrated. My dragon aspect took well over a year to fully integrate even though it was my constant companion.

I’ve not attempted to deliberately shape shift within meditations or astral journeys but I suspect that some day I will. In fact, at times I suspect that is the next step!

Girl, Dragon, Catch, Fantasy, Photomontage, Composing

Many of us were here at Gaia’s beginning and evolved with her exploring each species and life form. We spent millons of years in lifetimes as reptiles and dinosaurs. In my vision of the different ages my vision of the age of dinosaurs was the most terrifying because it was so violent. That capacity for violence still lies deep within us and most of us are terrified of it!

When I really confront my fear of snakes and reptiles I think it comes down to the quickness, the capacity for violence and my inability to sense them until it is too late. They just simply appear and take me by surprise. But to be honest I am that way myself. I live among people that have no idea who I really am and I’m invisible in a way. I am not violent but I have survived countless astral battles. In over thirty years I have not lost a single one.

Many years ago I had a very vivid dream of walking on the shore of an underground ocean. There was a terrifying sea monster in that ocean and I was fishing for it. There was an astral cord from me to it and I was reeling it in even though it was fighting to get away. It’s jaws were horrible and I was very frightened but kept reeling it in.

When I finally pulled it on shore it transformed into a yellow alligator with a stubby tail. I called it my alligator puppy and realized that it was not dangerous to me, that it only wanted to protect me. So for about a year I kept it constantly at my side and could sense as it gradually turned into a large serpent that moved beside me. There were several times when I called on it to protect me from astral attack and it ruthlessly defended me.

Then I integrated it and it became more human until now today it is simply part of who I am like it always was. You see, I am a dragon that has become human. The reptile brain no longer controls me like it once did. Now it is my friend and a source of strength when I need it.

I think those stories of knights slaying dragons and getting their treasure are symbolic stories that tell of others who have done the same thing that I have. But I didn’t slay my dragon; I tamed it!

Male and Female Souls

Fantasy, Angel, Mystical, Wing, Magic, Mysterious

This is a difficult post to write because I don’t know as much as I should and I’m still figuring things out but we each have a male or female soul and it doesn’t matter the gender of our physical body. It determines how our soul progresses on its journey and to permanently activate each of the seven astral bodies we need to exchange energies with the opposite gender soul.

Some people find it normal to dream in complex environments and others dream with only the minimum environment needed for the dream to take place. The person who dreams in complex environments has a female soul and the one who dreams with only the minimum details has a male soul.

Those with female souls are traditionally known as spinners and weavers of the soul substance and have the ability to astrally give birth to astral bodies out of particular chakra energies for other people and generate those same astral bodies for themselves.

Those with male souls provide the energy and soul substance the spinners and weavers need to create astral bodies for both of them out of a specific chakra energy.

The female soul is like an apple, tightly integrated with all the layers merged together as much as possible. Their focus or ability to spin or weave is only around one chakra or energy center at a time. They gradually build up their soul with the oldest souls and the most magickal souls being able to spin or weave the etheric substance. These are very rare and also called natural born witches. Other weavers or spinners will work with the energies of the other chakras.

The male soul is more like an onion with many layers and they build up each layer one at a time with the help of a spinner or weaver of that particular layer or energy. For all seven possible astral bodies we all need to exchange energies with seven different people or soulmates who have energies that are compatible with our own. They are on the same frequency that we are! There are always more than one person that has the ability to work with us as a soulmate. There are always others on the same frequency as us. We can find them if we try. We walk the same paths with them for a space and then our paths divide. It can not be any other way. Even Divine Counterparts walk different paths from each other although our paths may cross from time to time.

When we have completed all seven possible astral bodies and our soul has developed as much as possible we find our Divine Counterpart and in uniting with our Divine Counterpart a male soul becomes a female soul and a female soul becomes a male soul. The one complete soul created with the Divine Counterpart then divides in a form of cell division and both souls continue the next higher octave of the soul’s journey alone, but not alone because they carry each other in their hearts. Energetically they have switched places and are now exploring the world created by the other.

We have all evolved from divine sparks of life. We have experienced lifetimes as each type of life form and species. Who we are and what we are can never fit entirely within one individual physical body. So once more we set out upon the fool’s journey, but this time from the opposite perspective.

We are all helpers and teachers of each other. We are all at different points upon our soul’s journey. When we offer a helping hand to others, they in turn will offer a helping hand to us in difficult times. Together we are all creating the ultimate reality!

What Are Dreams?

Horse, Pegasus, Archway, Fantasy, Mystical, Fairy Tale

What are dreams? Two kinds of energy flow through the astral planes, Spiritual Light from the Sun and Source and Vital Life Force Energy from living things. This energy flows through astral cords or magnetic flux lines and creates a huge and complex circuit that is constantly changing as things and people enter and leave our lives and our sphere of influence.

Dreams are created when the energy we have generated through the day is discharged into the astral while we are sleeping and an astral connection or cord is either created or destroyed; strengthened or weakened. We don’t normally have any awareness of existing astral connections because they are invisible to us even if they may extend back into past lives or early childhood.

If a dream includes people or events from out of our past it means that an astral connection that was formed in the past is being destroyed and is no longer active. This is a good sign of healing and letting go.

If a dream includes events of people as they exist in present time it means that a new astral cord or connection is being formed and will now be active bringing new things into your life.

If an astral connection is extremely strong it may take several repeating dreams to cut it down to size so to speak. In the same manner existing astral connections may upgrade to larger and stronger connections as they become more powerful and carry more energy.

The amount of energy that flows through these astral cords determines their power to attract or repel, to attack or defend. If the energy flows in one direction through these astral cords it will attract and if it flows the other way it will repel. The direction of the flow depends upon your polarization in regards to the issue or person involved in the dream itself. You may be positive polarity in one situation and negative polarity in another.

Each dream will be either empowering or it will weaken you. If you are able to reach a successful conclusion or get through an ordeal you have been empowered. If you have to flee or wake up in fear you have been weakened.

Dreams represent an accurate snapshot of events within the astral as they currently exist and probable futures but that does not mean they will continue to manifest as future events. It just means the energy around that person or event is currently activated and the astral circuits are changing.

Repeat dreams are areas of astral activity that are too large and significant to be resolved at one time because we don’t have enough available energy to bring things to a successful conclusion. Repeat dreams will usually occur at the same time of the month as that particular layer is activated.

Each dream is a rupturing of the astral fabric and a resetting of the circuit. This rupturing of the astral fabric happens all the time and it will always happen at the weakest points in the circuit. At first dreams will activate our inner weaknesses and bring them to our conscious awareness so we can deal with the affected issues. As we grow stronger these dreams will involve people and events external to us and that is when true magick happens.

Wolf, Howling, Animal, Wild, Nature, Wildlife, Snow

Now that we talked about the Lunar cycle, the Solar cycle and the daily cycle we can talk about timelines and spheres of influence. In general the Spiritual Planes involve big picture events or mass events while the Magickal Planes involve more individual events. This means that things like wars, elections, pandemics and natural disasters; all things considered mass events sort themselves out in the Spiritual Planes before they can manifest as physical events. Our individual reactions and how those mass events affect us personally are sorted out in the Magickal Planes. This is just a general guideline but it shows how mass events project themselves ahead of time within the Spiritual Planes. In fact, the outcome of most mass events is determined one year ahead of time before they actually occur.

What I’m talking about can be considered global, national or even local and community timelines that gradually form around existing events as a probable blueprint of what will happen.

But individuals are the real wild cards and the sphere of influence of one single individual can wildly sway and alter the outcome of local, national and even global events! That is true magick!

So we need to look at the sphere of influence that an individual has. Let’s say the ordinary person has a sphere of influence of sixty miles. That means whatever this person does in their lives affects the lives of those around him or her for a radius of sixty miles. They affect friends, neighbors, coworkers and people they come in daily contact with and those people in turn come in contact with others.

Then there are those few people that have extremely large spheres of influence like celebrities, politicians and national leaders or the rich and powerful. But there is an even smaller group with an even larger sphere of influence and those are the masters and adepts that live behind the scenes and their sphere of influence is not in the number of people they influence but the quality of the few individuals that they influence! Through their sphere of influence these wild cards are able to create more wild cards until things truly become magickal and defy rational thought.

During the influx of Spiritual Light at the Winter Solstice these Wild Card individuals or masters and adepts draw incredible amounts of energy into them and into their timelines and when they compound that influx of energy by rupturing the astral fabric on a daily basis they become the kingpins that hold local reality stable around them.

So once more we see the importance of daily practice in living a magickal life. A true magickal practitioner creates timelines and not spells for one or two things of small consequence. They also put out immense amounts of energy on a daily basis and make every second of their life work for them!

Compare this to the ordinary person who goes with the flow in life only putting out as much effort as required to stay alive. These people are completely at the mercy of external events and are being constantly rattled as the foundations of their very world shakes beneath their feet. Which one are you?