Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Chapter 23 The City Council of Heliopolis and the Circle of Elders

Tara and Nick were the next to join in the dance. Tara had always been into dance, but this was the first time he had seen Nick get into it. Again Tobal was impressed at how the winter had matured Nick. Then he thought of the changes in his own life. He was not the child that had been dropped off at sanctuary almost a year ago.

He realized he had been here one year and he still had one more newbie to train. He was not going to beat Rafe’s record after all. Looking around the room he spied Mike and Butch talking with some girls and urging them to dance. They were laughing and having fun. He figured that Mike and Butch were also looking for newbies. A murmur rippled through the crowd, pulling Tobal’s attention from the laughter to hushed whispers about Sarah, Anne, Derdre, and Seth still at the village with Crow. Rumors of jailed Elders added a tense edge, though they seemed old news from last month.

Wanting to hear something new, he looked around for Ellen and Rafe. He spied Ellen over in a corner talking with Rafe and made a beeline toward them, trying not to spill his tankard in the jostling crowd. At least it was warm in here, he thought, moving past bodies that smelled of wood smoke.

“We can’t talk in here,” he shouted to Ellen above the drum beat.

She nodded and shouted back, “We are meeting in the brewery in a few minutes.”

Tobal nodded and went off to find Fiona, Becca, and Nikki to tell them about the meeting. Their robes were still wet but warmer, and they put them back on before dashing over to the brewery where they took them back off and found places around the fire to sit. They folded their robes and sat on them on the wooden floor.

Ellen and Rafe welcomed them, and Ellen brought everyone up to date on what had been going on with the Council of Elders.

“We tried everything we could think of to contact the city government through the communications and computer systems we have access to,” she said. “What happened was we were warned not to make contact with the city and just to mind our own business. The city will contact us when we are ready to become citizens. We are not part of the city yet and have no legal rights until we complete our training and become citizens.”

“These messages were prominently displayed on each air sled monitor screen and on the computers at home base. No one even thought to come to us in person to explain or hear our concerns,” she said bitterly.

“This did not sit well with the Council of Elders, especially since the arrest and questioning of the five of us that had been sent to the village. We were released, but the Council of Elders now realized someone thought they had the power to arrest clansmen anytime they wanted and hold them without cause. They believed this same someone was responsible for the rogue attacks. The council wants to know why these things are happening and if they are happening with the approval of the city.”

Ellen looked around the small group. “The final decision was that the same five delegates would journey on air sleds to Sanctuary and then cross the wall into the city. We would find a place with lots of people and set our sleds down and wait for the authorities. We would probably be arrested, but the city itself was populated with clansmen. We were counting on that bond of kinsman to get a fair hearing.”

She grinned, “I was the first to go across the wall and land my air sled in a central area. The others followed me in. Even before we had landed, a crowd of people appeared wondering what was going on. I called out that there was an emergency, and one of the citizens nodded and started talking on her cell phone. Several of the others were also on cell phones. It was a matter of minutes before authorities arrived and put us on some type of air transport. We were not arrested or treated as prisoners, but we certainly were not given any choice about things either.”

“They took us down to the police station where we gave our statements.” She laughed, “It was obvious that the persons involved wanted no part of this and were way over their heads. They passed us on to the mayor who listened and then called an emergency session of the City Council. This was against the strong opposition of someone wearing a Federation military uniform. I gathered this uniformed person was the representative of the mountain complex and the ones that had arrested us.”

“I was elected the spokesperson for our group,” she told them, “and with grim determination I faced the City Council and told our story of being arrested and questioned, about the massacre at the lake and the mass grave, how it was a forbidden area. I told them about the rogue attacks that were centered around the lake itself and the attempt to make it seem the village was responsible for those attacks.

Then I told them that was impossible because the rogues have some way of tracking anyone that has med-alert bracelets and are able to hide in a way that the villagers can’t. I told them of the rumors the city was going to lead an attack on the village. Several members of the City Council looked at each other quickly, and at least a couple had red faces.”

“They weren’t the only ones,” she continued. “I could see the man in uniform getting redder and redder and angrier and angrier. I spoke about Crow who had grown up in the village and now wanted to become a citizen. How his concern for the safety of his village was the reason that led him to make the journey back with four of his friends. The entire group is still within monitor range of our air sleds, and they can visit the village according to our own Council of Elders.”

“I told them how we were suddenly alerted that the village was forbidden and that we needed to keep Crow and his friends from going there. That was not right. I faced the City Council and told them Crow was technically a citizen of the village and had every right to be there. He could also bring friends if he chose to do so. Then I mentioned how the air sleds went back to the base and were severely reprimanded and ordered back out to bring Crow and his friends back by force.”

“The City Council was pretty quiet by then,” Ellen said. “They listened as I told them of the confrontation between Howling Wolf and the other villagers that offered to protect Crow and the others. I told them how I was there and that pressing the issue then could have resulted in injury or death to innocent people.

At the mention of Howling Wolf, I saw several council members glance at each other and take stronger notice in what I was saying.” She chuckled, “I took advantage of that interest and told how the Council of Elders decided to send a delegation to talk with Howling Wolf and find out the truth of things for themselves.”

“I then described the armed strike force I had seen waiting by an air transport back at the mountain complex when we returned. I also told how we five members of the Council of Elders had been immediately arrested and held for an entire week without being told why. The man in uniform was a pasty white by now and struggling for composure. I told them how we tried every possible way to make contact with the city itself. We needed to see if the City was aware of these things and if it supported them. I told how the Council of Elders had tried all ways possible to reach the city but been blocked and told it was forbidden. That is why in a last ditch effort we chose to fly a delegation over the city walls and speak with the city officials directly.”

“They didn’t know what to think or say,” she chuckled. “There was a dead silence as the City Council looked toward the man in uniform and waited for his response. He was clearly uncomfortable and said that he was not prepared to respond to these allegations and needed to consult with his superiors.”

“The Mayor then asked what the Council of Elders would like to have happen. I said the Council of Elders would like to ensure the safety of the villagers and Howling Wolf. They would like communication between the village and the city so they could monitor and address any abuses that were happening.

I mentioned this could be done by opening new communication lines to the city from the base in the mountain where we were stationed. I concluded by saying this was a matter for the Elders of the village, the City Council and our own Council of Elders and there were many things that needed to be discussed and brought out into the open. We also wanted the rogue attacks to stop and whoever was responsible for them to be punished.”

Ellen continued her story, “The Mayor looked pretty grim and told us the City Council would need to do its own research and find out what was going on. They also needed to hear from the Federation, and he looked pointedly at the uncomfortable man in uniform. He suggested they adjourn until next month and set a time to meet again here in the city and asked for a vote from the City Council. All voted in approval.

He then asked if the City Council approved a direct communication line to be opened so the Council of Elders could contact them and keep them informed of developments. Again all voted in approval. At that, the Mayor asked the uniformed person if it would be possible for the Federation to open a communication channel for the Council of Elders or whether the City Council needed to do it. He saluted and said the Federation would provide the link.”

“ I think it’s bugged,” Ellen continued, “but it’s more than we had before.”

She continued, “Then the Mayor adjourned the meeting and escorted us back to our air sleds. He told me we had done a very brave thing coming into the city and they would look into our story and be looking forward to our meeting next month.”

Ellen completed her story and looked at the others.

“So it seems things are happening. Hopefully next month we will know more about what is going on.”

They talked a bit more and asked more questions until they reached the point where they just needed to leave things and process them later. The talk shifted to other subjects.

The big news was Rafe had gotten his sixth chevron and would be leaving with Ellen after the party to get his Master’s initiation. With all that was going on, he was eager to get his own air sled and do some snooping around on his own even though Ellen was warning him not to.

The meeting broke up and most of them went back to the dance. Tobal spent a little more time in his farewells with Becca. After a final kiss and hug, he took his pack and left in the pouring rain.

Tobal was getting impatient. It had been almost one year and he wanted to move on into the Journeyman degree. After Tyrone soloed this month he would have five chevrons. He only needed one more newbie to train. He was no fool. After talking with the others he knew at least eleven of them wanted newbies to train and they would be lucky if five showed up. He left immediately in the rain heading for sanctuary. He had not been the only one with that idea. Kevin and Zee were already there ahead of him when he finally got there a few days later.

April rolled around and spring was in the air. Tyrone was on his solo and Tobal was at sanctuary waiting for a newbie to show up. There had already been three and it was not likely there would be any more this month, but he was determined to hold his place in line and get it over with. Kevin and Zee and some others had already taken their newbies and left. This would be his last trainee and then he would be ready for the 2nd degree. He wondered about his last student and who it would be.

Would it be a boy or a girl, somehow it didn’t matter. The skills they needed were all the same. He thought about his last five newbies. Some like Melanie and Crow he had grown very close to. Others like Nick, he hadn’t hit it off with and didn’t see very often. Sarah and Tyrone were fun to hang around with and he loved doing things with them, but they weren’t really that deep and sometimes he missed the serious side of life.

Still, he wasn’t prepared when Llana walked through the door for the first time and claimed sanctuary. He did a double take as he saw a fierce Native American warrior dressed in soft decorative buckskin with a claw necklace around her neck and tattoos on her face.

She was tall and good looking with straight ebony hair like Zee’s. She was about his age, older than most of the newbies and from the village. She was Crow’s older sister. He remembered Crow had a sister but hadn’t thought he would meet her here. He was shocked at how little he really knew of Crow and his family. She had been training with Howling Wolf since she was a little girl.

“I can’t train you,” he said in dismay.

Tobal’s pulse quickened, the cave’s echo fading as he braced for her reply. She studied him, her gaze steady, before speaking. “Why not?” She looked at him pointedly.

“I already went through this with Crow,” he protested. “You already know more than I do. I can’t teach you anything you don’t already know. It would be wrong to take credit for teaching you when I didn’t.”

She relaxed a little. “Is that all that’s bothering you?”

He nodded glumly.

“Let me ask you something,” she said quietly. “Do you have any doubt in your ability to train newbies in survival skills? Any doubt at all? Even the smallest?”

“No I don’t,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Last fall I had to give additional training to three of my newbies so they would be ready for winter. I thought they were trained well enough and then realized they weren’t, so I took extra time and gave them more training.”

She nodded, “Nobody made you do that did they?”

“No.”

“What does the Council of Elders think of your training?”

“I’m one of the better trainers.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because the newbies I train are happier and healthier than a lot of the others. They also seem to make good trainers themselves and most are willing to train through the winter.”

She smiled at him. “Your parents created this program to bring people up to a certain skill level in both knowledge and demonstrated ability. Do you believe you have reached that skill level and are ready to move on to the next?”

“Yes I do.”

“But you can’t advance because the program will not allow early advancement even if you are already prepared correct?”

He nodded, “That’s right.”

“Well, I’m in the same situation,” she said. “I already know how to survive, how to defend myself, and I am also a healer. I also know advanced techniques that my grandfather taught your parents and other advanced techniques that your parents in turn taught my grandfather.”

“Can you talk to my parents?” He interrupted.

“Yes,” she nodded biting her lower lip. She paused, letting the weight settle.

“Are they going to be alright? Can we save them?”

“Tobal,” she said slowly, with pain in her eyes. Her voice softened, eyes glistening with shared pain. “Your parents are no longer human, and they are dying. They are asking for our help.”

“What do you mean, no longer human?” he shouted. “I see them and talk with them during circle.”

“What you see and talk with are their spirits,” she whispered. “They have developed their spirit bodies to the point where they are almost physical. In fact, once their spirit bodies were physical and they could go anywhere they wished by changing their physical bodies to energy and teleporting instantly to where they wanted to go. They can’t do that anymore. That’s the problem. The Federation keeps their spirit bodies deliberately corrupted so it can use their vital life force for their own projects.”

She shuddered, “Your uncle captured them and imprisoned them. He wired them like electrical components into the circuitry of their time travel machine and they have been kept alive artificially for over twenty years in special fluid-filled tanks.” Tobal’s breath caught, the image searing his mind.

“Tobal,” she said looking hard into his face with tears in her eyes. “I have traveled in the spirit to where they are kept imprisoned. Their physical bodies have mutated and become grossly deformed. Only their spirits remain human. They wish to be free of their physical bodies and become simply the Lord and Lady. But your uncle won’t let them die.”

“I need to see!” He sobbed in denial and fear. “I need to know for myself. I need to see them and talk with them. I need them to tell me.”

She put her arms around him as his shoulders shook and comforted him till he regained his composure.

Wiping angry tears from his eyes, he asked, “You’ll teach me?”

She held him against her breast. “I’ll teach you, Tobal. I promise.”

The first thing she taught him was the story of his parents and their classified research involving time travel. Ron and Rachel had built a matter transmission machine and tested it. This machine used powerful pulsating magnetic fields at certain resonant frequencies, powered by the earth’s own core energies, to create a gateway into time and space, much like the ones in current use for matter transmission. The problem was that mineral and crystalline objects would work, but organic materials would not.

After several years of research, Ron and Rachel developed the first gateway or portal that allowed living matter to be transported through it to target locations and began using it themselves. Something about their soul relationship allowed them to work together in a very powerful and unknown way. This was an important military breakthrough, or could have been. It allowed troops to be transported instantly from one area to another and was immediately highly classified. But it never worked unless Ron and Rachel were a part of it.

It was purely by accident the time-traveling capability was developed. One of the giant capacitors malfunctioned while transmitting Ron and Rachel to a target location. It threw the entire machine out of phase, and Ron and Rachel ended up in the 16th century.

When they didn’t appear at the target location, retrieval was attempted, and they were brought back successfully. They also brought some artifacts back with them. From that point on, the classified research became about time travel, not troop transmission.

By trial and error, they were able to travel into the past and into the future and achieved access to four historical time periods and four future time periods. Each time period seemed to act as a nexus point in time and space. If the machine wasn’t keyed to a nexus point, nothing happened. There were nine stable points in all, including the world we live in, and they were called: Hel, Niflheim, Svartalfheim, Vanaheim, Midgard, Alfheim, Jotunheim, Muspelheim, and Asgard after Nordic mythology.

Working with the machine gave access to other probable worlds that were not as stable. It was like working random codes until you found one that worked. The process was slow and frustrating but also highly exciting at the same time. That was when the problems arrived. Ron and Rachel were able to go back in time through the machine, but no one else could and live to tell about it. The machine did horrible things to those that tried, drove them insane or deformed their bodies. No one knew why it only worked for his parents. Howling Wolf says that your parents were divine counterparts. He said time travel only worked with special couples whose souls were linked together. The Time Knights called the females spinners, because they were able to weave new timelines with their partners.

“I’ve met some Time Knights,” Tobal interrupted. “Lucas and Carla. They are going to help free my parents, but I haven’t heard from them for a while.”

“Really,” Llana said pensively. “That is very interesting. I would like to meet them.”

They had developed the necessary training programs to prepare other time travelers. But the machine only worked for Ron and Rachel. It was a classified military project, and a team of scientists worked furiously to remodel the machine and make it work with other people.

It was only when both Ron and Rachel were hooked into the circuit with the machine at the same time and used as buffers that others were able to go through it. Tobal’s Uncle Harry was the first one to successfully time travel through the machine when it was hooked up in this fashion. He led a team through the machine several times to many previously unknown time periods in addition to those that your parents had discovered on their own.

There were problems with this because Ron and Rachel were not willing to be wired into the machine for hours at a time waiting for other time travelers to come and go. Trips into the past or future could only take two hours at the most, and the drain on Ron and Rachel was severe. Their health suffered each time they hooked themselves into the machine and others used it.

Ron and Rachel were able to time travel themselves without any of those restrictions and could be away for weeks at a time. They felt it was more important they be allowed to make extended trips and do research than be confined and wired to the machine so others could experience briefly what they could do for extended periods. They altered the machine and designed different programs searching for ways that others could use it.

Still, the machine would only work if Ron and Rachel were wired into it. They tried wiring other time traveler couples into the machine, and it killed them. It almost killed his Uncle Harry when he tried wiring himself and his wife into the machine. It did kill her and left his uncle paralyzed.

That was when his uncle went mad and had the gathering spot attacked and the villagers massacred. Ron and Rachel were seized and forcibly wired permanently into the machine and declared dead. That was when the program was officially closed down.

That was the story the Federation knew and was trying to keep secret. But there was much more to the story than that. There was an even greater part only Howling Wolf had known. Halfway through the project’s developmental stages, Ron and Rachel were beginning to think that the problem was with the people and not with the machine itself. They discovered Howling Wolf and his secret shaman bi-location ability.

His parents thought this additional training was needed and started working in secret with Howling Wolf and a handful of others at the gathering spot on the lake. It was after Howling Wolf’s training on bi-location that they realized they no longer needed the machine to time travel to places they had already visited. They met in a secret place under the waterfall at the lake to do this training. It was where they would travel back in time and return with items to prove they had done it. That was when the Time Knights showed up. They had higher technology and understood time travel a lot more. It was not necessary for the team to be divine counterparts; they could also be soulmates. So members of a team could change partners if they were all trained properly. Not only that, but once a team traveled to a location in time and space, they could revisit it by themselves because the pathway had already been formed. Time Knight teams could also take others through the time rift with them if they were vibrationally pure enough.

Howling Wolf needed help to time travel at first. Ron and Rachel had linked together with him and had made several trips back into different time periods. Later he was able to go to those same locations but he was not able to go to new ones. It seemed the machine opened the gateway the first time and that once it was opened by a spinner and a person properly attuned, they could travel through it at will. Even Ron and Rachel had needed the machine to open the gateway the first time to new locations.

At the lake, the group discovered two people who had already been to a specific time period could take a third person without using the machine. Once that person had been taken and brought back, they could make the journey on their own without help. Still, they were only allowed access to the four future times and four historical times that Ron and Rachel had personally gone to. They were not able to go to the alternate probable realities that had been discovered while Ron and Rachel were wired into the machine.

Llana had completed this training, but her grandfather couldn’t link with her well enough to take her through by himself. He needed one other person to be able to do this. Both Ron and Rachel had linked with him and taken him through. There needed to be one more person to take Llana through without the machine, and there were no others.

Howling Wolf thought they were all gone. All except Ron and Rachel, he and the others had called them the Lord and Lady. They were still there in the mountain complex held prisoner and alive. Things were not right because they were both ill and were both slowly dying.

Llana felt they needed her help, and she needed their help to time travel. She had talked with them in the spirit, and they had told her they would help her.

Then Llana spoke of the massacre at the lake and how the small group of people had been below in the cave time traveling when it had happened. Howling Wolf and the others had emerged from the cave only to find their families murdered. They had buried them in a mass grave and raised the pile of stones over the dead bodies. Afterward, they had left, not knowing whom to trust and knowing their very lives were in danger if they were ever found.

This was all news to Tobal, and he was beginning to think she was crazy until he remembered Fiona had said something about time travel. He thought about the strange shop in Old Spokane with its “replicas” and suddenly he wasn’t sure about anything anymore. He hadn’t thought about Heliopolis as having the secret technology of time travel the Federation was willing to kill for. The Federation would kill to keep it and would kill to prevent it from getting into the wrong hands.

Suddenly he thought of Sarah’s father, Adam, and knew Adam and Howling Wolf could teach Llana time travel if they did it together. They were both trained and could take her with them if they went together, at least to the locations his parents had gone to. Lucas and Carla could also teach him more if he were properly prepared. He thought about telling Llana about Adam and decided to wait until he had been trained so he could go with her at the same time. They didn’t need his parents to time travel, but they might need to time travel to rescue his parents.

He thought of circle and the pagan rituals they practiced with the Lord and Lady. They represented much more than the old ways suddenly, and he liked them that way. They were ways to communicate with his father and his mother who were still alive and needing his help. Then he thought about the 3rd degree and the medics flying around in air sleds and the med-alert bracelets they all wore, and suddenly a throbbing headache crept in as he grappled with the med-alert bracelets’ implications, shifting his focus to Crow’s spirit teachings.

Llana’s lessons offered a new path, teaching him to draw energy from the earth’s depths. One evening, she pressed his palms to a gnarled oak, its bark cool under his touch, guiding a surge that left him steady yet awed as a deer approached. She taught him how to use the earth’s energy to make himself stronger, how to stand against a tree and recharge himself after reaching the point of exhaustion. She also taught him how to control that energy and send it out. He shook off the pain, eager to learn her ways, turning to her with renewed focus.

He saw her one time walk up to a deer and pet it. Birds would come to her when she called them. Llana said the spirits of the plants and animals talked to her and told her what they wanted or how to make use of them. As the sap started running in the trees, they collected maple sap to boil down for maple syrup and collected other newly sprouting plants and herbs for medicinal uses. Tobal vowed to master these skills, a step toward freeing his parents from their wired prison.

Read Full Post »

The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel

“Your stay here is no more. I know the Portugieser. They will be hard on
him, and he’ll whistle. And at night they’ll get you out of bed.
Take my advice, brother, you’ve always been faithful and it’s a
pity for you that we forced you into a drinking and
roughhousing Order:
In Thistlesbruck are recruiters of the King of Prussia,
who let trumpets and violins and wine flow, and gold foxes
patter on the table.”
“Soldier – you mean? -” I asked, trepidatiously.
“Do you want to be excavated tomorrow and lie in the
tower on the straw with the bed bugs? You know that there will
be no help from the principal and the senate, if someone has to
take the blame. If you still had your mother’s pennies – but like
this! There is no other way, comrade, than to run behind the
calfskin. There you are as safe as if you were in Abraham’s
bosom.”
I was frightened and bitterly remorseful about the years
of my youth, which I had so wickedly squandered.
“Don’t fool around,” urged Haymon.
“I mean it honestly. And if it hadn’t happened with the
Ansbacher, how long would you have been able to play with
your feathered cap and a racket? There is one thing called
ultima ratio, and this is it. No amount of twisting or intriguing
can change it. By day and dew you can be in Thistlesbruck. By
the bridge you can already hear the roar in the ‘Merry
Bombardier’. And now, old Swede, God protect you, and so
that life may bring us together once again.” He kissed me
quickly on both cheeks and turned.
“Here you can have my rapier, and here – cut off the four
silver buttons that still hang on my Gottfried,” I said.
But Haymon only shook his head mutely and disappeared
into the shadows.
Slowly I walked along the road to Distelsbruck.
I tore the crimson-yellow-blue feather from my hat and
threw it into the next stream.
And went on.
I was sick to death from the Hungarian wine, tobacco
smoke and noise for three days. Whenever the timpanist struck
the cymbals, it drove like a painful lightning through my
devastated brain.
“O my Bärbele -!” howled one of the caged birds, with
whom I was sitting at the table.
“Yes, and what will the Herr Father say?” jeered the
hussar who was guarding us, so that no one could escape who
had taken hand money and drank to Friderici’s health. The lad
bawled even louder. Then they held a glass of wine to his
mouth and tipped it. So he had to swallow, if he did not want to
completely suffocate. And then he became silent.
“And you?” the moustache turned to me. “Did you do
something wrong, that you got into the yarn of the recruiters?
You don’t seem to me to be one of the stupid ones.”
The sergeant came up to us, decorated with gold cords
and dressed up with braids and buttons, so that the poor
peasants would run more easily to him.
“That’s the best of them all,” he said to the cavalier and
pointed to me. “The only good ones are those who come of
their own accord. For the coat with the blood- splatters, fellow,
you get a new one from His Majesty!”
And in the rosy glow of the approaching day I saw with
horror that my right sleeve showed many dark stains, stains
from the blood of Heilsbronner’s death wound. For this I was
now cruelly sold. I looked around like one who is drowning in
wild waters and looks for rescue.
But there was no help.
All around were soldiers with a cold look and at the table
were the poor rogues who yesterday and before yesterday had
jumped in the dance with the prostitutes and had thrown thalers,
feasted and shouted and talked about the merry life of a soldier,
which would now begin. In the doorway and in front of the
window stood a hussar with a loaded carbine, and I had to
follow behind one of them in a red monkey uniform with a
saber and saddle pistol.
In the miserable room it smelled musty from spilled wine,
and from the puddles, of those who had let it trickle out of their
wells in the corners. A haze rose that bit into the eyes.
“Stop that doodling and whistling!” the sergeant suddenly
shouted. The music stopped and the tired musicians puffed out
their breaths; they went to divide the money that lay in heaps
on the table in front of them. The sergeant buttoned and
thoughtfully knotted the golden tassels and catch cords from
the dolman, carefully wrapped them in paper for another time
and then shouted into the hall:
“Up, lads, up! Everybody get going!”
“Where to?” shouted a cheeky one with a cheese-blowing
face.
“Where to? Where they dig a hole in the sand for you and
put three shots over it, snotty nose!” laughed the sergeant.
“Whoever still has wine in his glass, throw it down. The
wagon will be harnessed, my little birds!”
He drove us out. There were eight of us on the ladder
wagon. On the trestle sat a hussar and two behind us. The
others trotted alongside. The Moravians pulled up. People
came out of the houses and talked quietly with each other. One
wept bitterly when she saw the soul-seller driving away with
his people.
“Oh, dear Lord!” one of them wailed. “O Mother, mother!
Let me go free -“
Then the sergeant trotted up and shouted:
“Shut up, damned fellow!”
“Mercy, Herr!” cried the poor wretch.
“Let me, for the blood of Christ, just this time go free and
single! I am so sorry!”
“Have you already wet the seat, peasant girl?” he sneered
from the horse. “Look at the student there next to you; he’s not
twisting like a maiden the first time. Now let up with your
snotting and blubbering!”
The boy raised his hands and whimpered:
“Have mercy! I can now and never live the hard life of a
soldier -“
Then the non-commissioned officer drove the horse so
close that the white foam from the bit flew onto our coats, and
roared in a horrible voice:
“Peasant sow, dirty one! Should I leave you right here on
a slab, or should I wait until we get there, where we will soon
be, and have you flailed, so that you can’t pull your pants off
the open flesh, you bastard, you recruit’s ass!”
Then the lad hung his head and kept silent.
We went out of the village, and the children followed us
for a while. But they didn’t scream, as children usually do at
every spectacle. They stopped by the two linden trees at the
wayside shrine and looked behind us with wide eyes.
But there was one that sat by the lime trees and looked at
me, with the same eyes – full of compassion and pure kindness.
It was a man in a reddish-brown robe, with a string of yellow
beads around his neck and chest. Under the black turban
around his head was a face of indescribable mildness and
beauty.
It was the man who had approached me in the church
when they sang the lament for Jerusalem.
Ewli, the man from the east.
I jumped up from my seat and spread my arms out to him.
But suddenly I did not see him any longer. Only the gray
weathered stone of the Wayside Shrine was between the old
trees.
“What are you up to, recruit? Do you want to run away
from us?” shouted the sergeant.
I sat down on the shaking and bumping board, and in
spite of all the misery I suddenly felt light and joyful, as if
nothing serious could happen to me for all eternity.

It was a thousand times and a thousand times worse than
I had ever imagined, and now I knew, how to deal with the
common man. Of course, there were some bad fellows among
my comrades -.
I was the musketeer Melchior Dronte. I concealed my
nobility, so that I would not get more scorn like pepper added
to a bitter meal.
My shoulders ached from the rough blows of the
corporal’s baton, which danced on all of us during the exercises,
my left eye was swollen from the lieutenant’s beating me with
the riding whip, my hands were chapped and torn from the rifle
lock, and pus oozed from under the nail of my right thumb
when I attacked something. Vermin itched and ate all over my
entire body. My body was tired to death.
So that morning, when the drums were going, I could
hardly get up. Twice I tried to lift myself up, and twice I fell
back. The barracks elder poured a bucket of ice-cold dirty
water over my body and pulled me out of bed by my legs.
The old soldiers were a thousand times rougher than all
the officers and non-commissioned officers.
To one who remained in a deep sleep, they stuck pitch on
the big toe and set it on fire. There was a great laughter, when
the poor devil, half mad with fright, howling and screaming ran
around in the sleeping quarters.
Quickly we washed ourselves at the well, crunched up
lice, which got between our scratching fingers, and drank our
half nösel of brandy, which the camp followers poured out,
with the black bread. The braids were twisted together so that
the back of the head ached, the gaiters were buttoned.
When we were standing in the yard, the hazel sticks were
distributed from man to man. They had lain in the well water
all night and whistled venomously when they cut through the
air.
The battalion stood in two ranks.
“First rank – two steps forward! March!
Halt! -About face!”
Two long, endless lines stood face to face.
The provost brought the deserter. He was from my unit.

Read Full Post »

A Modern Inquiry into the Hermetic Mystery

Part IV: The Hermetic Practice

Chapter 4: The Conclusion, Part 2

Introduction: The Hermetic art unveils divine wisdom as the soul’s path to universal truth, accessible through disciplined reason and faith. This section reflects on the art’s transformative power, urging the adept to overcome sensory barriers and seek the light within.

The Enchanted Fortress of Wisdom

The Hermetic art, as Atwood explains, guards divine wisdom within an “enchanted fortress,” impervious to curiosity or sensory demands. This wisdom, not disproven by external evidence, requires introspective proof, as the ancients’ disciplined inquiry revealed. The “Well of Heraclitus,” where truth lies hidden, invites the adept to probe the soul’s depths, transcending the limitations of modern logic.

Faith, the “loadstone” of hope, guides this journey, as the ancients’ practices—unlike today’s fragmented sciences—united reason with divine insight, awakening the soul to its radiant essence, free from the “thraldom of sense.”

The Call for Rational Faith

The Hermetic art demands a fusion of reason and faith, as Atwood asserts: “Faith is the attracting loadstone which hope pursues.” Unlike modern institutions, which lack transformative rites, the art offers a disciplined path to recreate the mind, dissolving the “inbred evil” of selfishness through divine light. This process, akin to the alchemical dissolution and coagulation, restores the soul to universal harmony.

The adept, through persistent inquiry, overcomes the “manifold evils” of life, as the ancients did, achieving a wisdom that transcends sensory knowledge and aligns with the divine will, promising eternal fulfillment.

The Promise of Universal Truth

The Hermetic art, as Socrates and Democritus suggest, reveals the “Nothing” that is everything—the universal truth within the soul. By abandoning selfhood, the adept becomes a vessel of divine wisdom, as Plato and the Kabalah teach, ruling over the elemental world. This science, unlike empirical knowledge, offers a “crystalline edifice of Light,” uniting all faculties in a harmonious pursuit of truth.

Closing: This chapter unveils the Hermetic art’s call for rational faith, guiding the soul to universal truth. The journey into its modern rediscovery deepens in our next post, unveiling further secrets of this sacred art.

Read Full Post »

The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel

“And now attention!”
He opened his mouth wide, put his lower lip tightly to the
glass and let the wine gurgle down his throat with a loud belch.
“Hell, plague, and whore child!” cursed Finch. “He does
it, by the devil’s ear-washes – he does it!”
Only a residue was left in the glass, not worth
mentioning. But still too much.
For before it ran down, Montanus opened his eyes wide,
as if in a sudden fright, so that one saw the blood veins swell in
the white eyes, and his face became dark blue. Then the boot
fell and broke into pieces. The hands let go of it and reached
into the air. A gurgling came from the open mouth. And then fat
Montanus fell like a sack to the floor, so that the chair, which
he was dragging along, crumbled under the weight of his body.
Haymon, who had studied medicine for many years and
understood some of it, knelt down by him, let his hand rest on
the chest of the fallen man for a while, then stood up and
groaned, “Died! Apoplexia! Has already gone to Hell, our fat
goose-eater. Fiducit!”
Sweat stood on his brow. I felt nauseous.
But Hercules bent down nimbly, reached into the pockets
of the dead man, found the purse and shook a few coins and a
Marien ducat onto the table.
“There you have your winnings, Nebuchadnezzar”, said
Haymon and immediately pushed Finch the silver watch with
the chain and the stone. Then he tossed me the pennies and
nodded:
“Take it! He will never need it!”
Then he weighed a ducat in the flat of his hand and said
to the suffocated:
“Heart brother! This gold fox will be drunk to your
memory!”
But the dead man gave no answer, and so Haymon shook
him a little, so that we heard the wine rumbling in his stomach.
“He doesn’t say no!”
“And now someone call Venus,” ordered Haymon.
“It would be a pity if we left the money for the
Manichaeans in the bag. The Jew shall see for himself how he
comes to his own, and thus the bear remains firmly tied. – Do
not stand there, Mahomet, like a stuck calf, but call Venus to
fetch some wine and bring poor Montanus on to some straw in
a quiet chamber!”
Then I went out into the dark corridor and called out to
Venus in a trembling voice.


On the evening of the day when the Jew Lewi told me
that my father was no longer going to send any money and that
after so many pranks he was now leaving me to my fate, I
drank myself crazy and full.
Later, the Portuguese came and told us that Phoebus
Merentheim had arrived a few days ago and had been
employed as a parlor boy by the tall Count Heilsbronn on the
Gerbersteig.
I left immediately and the entire corona with me. We put
a cracked night tile on the head of the stone Roland at City Hall,
and on the wall of the beautiful and virtuous Demoiselle
Pfisterin, who always had her back turned as we walked
languidly by, on the wall just below her window Hercules drew
with red chalk a delicate buttocks and wrote with big black
letters under it:
All the kisses I sent you, connected, you are quite charming!
Then we went with many hussahs and hellos over to the
city fountain and drove wooden wedges in its four copper
dragon tubes, so that the water above, beneath the feet of St.
Florian began to bubble. But we courted the mayor on the top
five steps of the staircase and stuck a goose tail feather in each
pile, because it was said that the Mayoress was dissatisfied
with him in puncto puncti.
Soon, however, I remembered Phoebus again with his
snooty rice soup face, and I urged on to the Gerbersteig.
“Shit, Mahomet – take it easy, he won’t run away from
you now!” Haymon held me back. “You shall drink his blood
today!”
For they still had something to do at the pillory. When we
arrived at the goose market, the Portuguese had already
prepared a paper, a hammer and nails, and while we were
keeping watch, he struck the paper against the pillory so that in
the morning light everyone could read it and our tormentors
and enemies could be recognized:
“Shmule Levi, a Jew and a bloodsucker,
Abraham Isaac’s son, likewise,
Liborius Schmalebank, calls himself a
Christian,
Gotthelf Titzke, goes to church service every Sunday,
Simche from Speyer takes a hundred percent.”
We moved on again, and in the dark we shouted at the
top of our voices:
“Mordio! Firerio! So help us!” until all the windows
were lit up and the sleepy city soldiers came trampling down.
In the meantime, we were already on our way to the
Gerbersteig.
“It is as I tell you,” murmured the Portuguese,
“Merentheim lives in the same room as the Count of
Heilsbronn and is with the Ansbach Student Union.”
“Didn’t the Count of Heilsbronn steal the red haired Jule
from you, Portugieser?” teased Galenus.
“Shut up, or I’ll let out all my water against you, so you’ll
drown miserably”, growled the Portuguese angrily. “I have
already wiped fifteen of you off my club with two fingers.”
“Give peace!” admonished Finch. “Otherwise take your
blasphemous speeches before the Committee. – You’d better
watch out how little Phoebus will shit his bed linen with fear!”
So I stepped forward, just in front of the window, which
the Portugieser had pointed out to me, pulled out the little saber
and began to wet my feet on the pavement.
I shouted at the top of my lungs:
“Merentheim! Dog fart! Come out and present yourself!
Pereat!”
Then the window opened, and a stark naked guy looked
out.
“Pereat!” I shouted. “Pereat Phoebus Merentheim!”
“Camel!” echoed down from above. “What in thunder do
I care about your Merentheim who today at two o’clock went to
his kin over there?”
“I hope you don’t choke on your stinking lie!” I shouted
against him.
The man above laughed:
“You shall have your share, brothers! You just have to be
patient, Hans Unknown, until I’ve donned my shirt and have a
sword in my hand!”
And he slammed the window shut so that the glass shards
rained down.
But then we saw a little light wandering in the room until
it was dark again. We heard footsteps in the corridor; a key
turned in the lock, and in the doorway appeared the tall Count
Heilsbronn, dressed in shirt, pants and a long sword under his
arm and his hat with the scarlet and white feathered cap of the
Ansbachers on his head. The moon was just coming out from
behind the clouds, and it was light enough to see the wild,
scarred face of the old braggart.
“All by the rules, Herr Brother!” interposed the Bavarian
Haymon as we wanted to quickly draw our blades. “You,
Portuguese, serve as second for the Ansbacher Herr and me for
Mahomet! Get ready! Go!”
I pushed nimbly, but didn’t hit him. He parried as fast as
lightning and was at home with all feints. I hit a wrong quarte,
because he drove under me and sliced, burning my upper arm. I
quickly fell back and struck hard, slid off and stabbed him deep
in the chest. The sword fell rattling from his hand.
“Stop there!” immediately roared the Portuguese and
held his blade in front of me.
“That sits,” gurgled Heilsbronner. “A lung foxer.”
His pitted face looked green in the moonlight.
“Take me – to bed, Herr Brother – to”
He fell into Haymon’s arms, spat out quite a bit of bloody
foam and rolled his eyes. There was a dark stain in his shirt that
spread like spilled ink on a bad piece of paper.
“By all the sacraments, help me hold the man,” gasped
the Bavarian Haymon. “He makes himself heavy as if -“
We jumped over and took hold.
“When I fall asleep, it’s over for me”, whispered the
Ansbach man and blew blood again.”The rosary above my bed
is moving back and forth by itself. If only I had had my heavy
intoxication, you might have long stood there and shouted
pereat -“
And shrilly:
“It crushes – me – my – heart -“
We lowered him to the ground. I broke out in a sweat.
“He’s gone,” shouted the Portuguese. “You take to your
heels. The windows are already opening.”
From above they shouted.
“Damned boys and ragamuffins! Won’t you be quiet
down there?”
“I want to salt their hams with rabbit shot,” one shouted
rudely.
We heard many feet pattering, coming closer. The guard
ran up.
“One of them never moves. – Guard! Guard! Mordio!”
clamored a woman.
We ran as fast as we could, a jumping stick flew between
my feet, so that I would have fallen. Haymon stayed beside me,
the other was off. We had heard screaming. He had jumped
over a fence and sank deep into a buried cesspool. They had
him all ready.
“Brother!” The Bavarian Haymon breathed in quickly
from the long race and leaned against an old wall. “Your stay
here is no more.

Read Full Post »

A Modern Inquiry into the Hermetic Mystery

Part IV: The Hermetic Practice

Chapter 4: The Conclusion, Part 1

Introduction: The Hermetic art unveils the philosopher’s stone as a universal key to truth, uniting mind and matter in divine harmony. This chapter concludes the journey, reflecting on the art’s transformative power and its call for rational inquiry.

The Philosopher’s Stone Unveiled

The Hermetic art, as ancient philosophers attest, crafts the philosopher’s stone from the “Universal Subject,” a pure fire within an ethereal vapor. This stone, perfected through disciplined labor, transmutes not species but their essence, as the adept, humanity’s perfect laboratory, refines the soul’s vitality into divine light. The process, guided by reason and faith, reveals the “true Form of Gold,” a radiant principle of increase.

This art, as Atwood explains, explores the soul’s hidden capacity, uniting the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms within. Through alchemical operations, the adept uncovers the “Ethereal Hypostasis,” a luminous essence that transcends sensory limits, as evidenced by the ancients’ mystical practices.

The Sacred Mysteries and Mesmerism

The Hermetic art connects to ancient mysteries, like those at Eleusis, which were not mere rituals but inductions into divine wisdom. Mesmerism, a modern echo, serves as a “first key” to this temple, opening the soul’s vestibule where the Sphinx’s enigma awaits. Only the philosopher, with rational insight, can navigate this path to the inner halls of light, as Atwood suggests, blending spiritual and material realms in a “confluent harmony.”

The adept’s journey, marked by perseverance and purity, overcomes intellectual and sensory obstacles, proving the stone’s reality through experiential truth, as countless sages have testified.

The Call for Rational Inquiry

The Hermetic art, unlike fragmented modern sciences, unites moral and physical realms, as Atwood argues, offering a causal science that transcends sensory evidence. It demands a philosopher of “antique mould,” ardent for wisdom, to pursue truth through disciplined inquiry. The stone’s light, kindled within, radiates to overcome ignorance, promising a universal truth that aligns with divine will.

Closing: This chapter unveils the Hermetic art’s universal significance, uniting mind and matter in divine light. The journey into its modern relevance deepens in our next post, unveiling further secrets of this sacred art.

Read Full Post »

The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel

“Silentium!” he shouted.
All was silent.
“As a mule you came from your mother’s apron, and as
foxes and the future night terrors of the Philistines, you have
entered the sacred halls of the Amicist Order, immature and
foul-smelling, but partaking of our grace. We do not want to
leave you to the pathetic institutions of the compatriot societies,
which will be in the next hostel lurking on chaises and mail
coaches, and we do you the honor of not even asking you about
your obscure origin. Do you want to be alone and without a
distinguished comitat, as a mockery of all right lads, or shall
the high Order solemnly escort you in as members?”
Finch and I looked at each other. Already on the trip we
had decided to join one of the student unions because we knew
very well that the lonely and defenseless could not be happy
because of being stepped on, being pushed off the sidewalk and
otherwise jostled. After all, it did not matter to us which
brotherhood took us in, and since it happened that way, the
Amicist order was all right for us.
So we nodded and said that we would like to be counted
among the high Order.
A violent trampling with the feet took place. This is how
the applause for our decision was expressed.
“Omnes ad loca!” cried the tall one. “And you Foxes, just
stand still!”
All sat down and one of them, about our age, ran to the
door and roared with all his lung power:
“Cerevisiam!”
Immediately a bumping and rumbling started. Two
bartenders rolled in a stately barrel, placed it on the collar and
tapped it. The girl with the messy hair carried such a number of
mugs in each hand, that one would have thought she had
twenty…fingers. They were filled and overflowing with foam,
and placed in front of everyone.
“Out, profane pack!” shouted the tall one again and hit
the tabletop with his club.
The servants and the maid hurriedly trudged away from
there.
“Come to me, foxes!” he commanded.
They grabbed us, roughly enough, and brought us in
front of him at the other end of the table.
“Put your hands on this death’s head and the crossed
blades and swear!”
We obeyed and willingly recited an oath to him, in which
we pledged our allegiance to the enlightened and high Amicist
Order until death and unbreakable loyalty to its members,
brotherly love and help of all kinds, and to other people the
deepest secrecy. If we broke our oath, our chest would be
pierced by sharp steel and our faces would become like that of
the skull on whose boney dome our fingers lay for the oath.
“I am the Bavarian Haymon,” said the tall one. Profanely,
I am called the Baron Johann Treidlsperg from Landshut. But
what are your names?”
We gave our names, and one wrote them in a booklet,
which was bound in crimson, yellow and blue.
“Bend your heads,” Hans ordered.
We did so.
In the next moment, each of us had beer running down
our faces, necks and shoulders from overturned jugs. When we
looked up coughing and spitting, under the thunderous laughter
of about fifteen lads who were in the room, we were given our
Order names. They called me “Mahomet” and Finch
“Nebuchadnezzar”. Then we had to sit astride the chairs. The
others lined up in a long row behind us, and in front of us rode
the Bavarian Haymon around the table, helping us with his
spurred legs, while everyone sang a song:
“The fox wants to go out of the hole,
There stands a green hunter outside of it.
Where from, where to, you young fox.
Today you do the last jump.
And I’ll do my last dance,
Kiss me, hunter, under the tail.
The hunter did not do it
And had to let the little fox run.
Yee-haw, yee-haw, yee-haw!
Optima est cerevisia!”
Then it was on to hugging and kissing.
On our hats, which were too new for the Amicists
were therefore bent and pierced many times,
Then they put the tricolored hats on us.
Again, the one they called “Portugieser” had to go to the
door and shout, “Coenam!”
And with great speed came a large wooden platter with
roasted chicken, rice with raisins and hot wine sauce, baked
fish with green salad and ducat noodles with sugared brandy.
Then the scrawny thing was allowed to stay in the room and
had enough to do with dodging ankles and pouring beer mugs.
“This epicurean feast is provided to Mahomet and
Nebuchadnezzar by the illustrious Order”, announced Haymon
and ordered us, moreover, to drink a full measure for the good
of the entire brotherhood, without stopping.
“And lest I forget,” he shouted in the commotion. “to the
brave postman who brought you here so beautifully to the
‘Beer sack’ with his coach, each will dedicate a hard thaler!”
Over the daily life of the carouser and wild parties I
forgot everything in a few months. Our favorite place was the
“Kind Prince”, where they served heavy brown beer and good
Mosel. The Bavarian Haymon had already returned from the
first intoxication to sobriety and had spread his spurred boots
on the table where the stars of the spurs tore holes in the dirty
tablecloth. The shirt stood open over his hairy chest, and his
sleeves were rolled up, but he did not take off his hat with the
feather trim from his head.
The Portuguese lay with his head on the tabletop and
snored. Finch or Nebukadnezar sat bent over on a chair in the
corner and puked back the wine he had drunk so that it stank
sourly and foully in the whole room. Hercules, a weak little
man from Meissen, had caught a louse, let it crawl around on a
plate and laughed beyond all measure.
Montanus knuckled with me. He had the terrible pig.
Again he knocked the leather mug on the table and gaped with
watery eyes at the throw: Five-three-one.
“Pregnant fleece – tripod – polyphemus”, he bellowed
with joy. “Gimme that mammon!”
I had only thrown five in the whole. With his hand, he
raked in my last ten silver pennies and clapped his hands on the
sweaty shirt of his fat belly with joy.
“Venus! Where is the old sow?” he then shouted toward
the door.
The old waitress came. She wore a wooden nose on her
face by two ribbons that ran across her forehead, and was
grizzled all over. We called her Venus. What she was called by
her real name, she probably no longer knew herself.
“Bring the boot, the big one, with Mosel wine, Dearest of
hearts!” ordered Montanus.
Finch came to the table. He was white in the face from
puking so much and smelled from the throat.
“You have to eat sometimes, Nebuchadnezzar. -” puffed
Montanus. “You only drink all the time and eat nothing. That
makes ulcers in your stomach, brother, like happened to
Gideon of blessed memory. All his blood jumped out of his
mouth and that was the end of him.”
Finch burped and pointed to the table.
“Ei, brother, say, why are you so tenderly concerned and
yet you have stolen from poor Mahomet his aunt’s money?
Spend some of it!”
Venus came and placed the large glass-boot before the fat
man. It held three full measures of wine. Montanus caressed
the vessel, let a sound that came from under the table, and
laughed muffledly:
“What I buy – I will also drink! Alone, most estimable!”
“Drink alone?” Finch’s eyes grew round. “That’s what the
stupid devil from the cathedral at Cologne believes.”
“If you bet your sword with the gold-inlaid Toledo blade,
then I’ll swallow the boot in one go!” bellowed the fat man.
Finch wiggled toward the sleeping Portugieser and gave
Hercules a rib-bump. The Bavarian Haymon came closer and
helped to wake up the snoring Portuguese.
“Wake up, open your little eyes, brother pants- full – you
shall be a booze judge!”
The Portuguese raised his head, grunted, and ran all ten
fingers into his frizzy hair.
“I got lice – damn!” he yawned.
Hercules burst into a silent laugh.
He knew where the vermin that had crawled into the
sleeping man’s hair came from.
The Bavarian Haymon was appointed judge.
“Here we go!” he slurred.
“Huh – brr!” Finch waved his hands between them. “The
mastiff has bet nothing against his boozing. What are you
putting on the table, your belly?”
Then Montanus pulled a thick silver watch out of his
pocket; a short chain hung from it, and on the chain hung a
polished ball of carnelian stone.
“This here!” he said.
“Go, go!” everyone now shouted. “Drink up!.”
Montanus stood up instantly in spite of his heaviness.
The soft, monstrous belly hung over the waistband of his
bulging pants.
“Until the nail test!” resisted Finch, who was in fear for
his beautiful blade.
“Will suck yellow ox milk to my end, if a drop remains
in the glass,” the fat man boasted, raising the boot glass with
both hands.

Read Full Post »

A Modern Inquiry into the Hermetic Mystery

Part IV: The Hermetic Practice

Chapter 3: The Six Keys of Eudoxus, Part 5

Introduction: The Six Keys of Eudoxus unveil the philosopher’s stone as a divine gift, transcending material wealth to grant spiritual immortality. This section concludes with the stone’s promise of universal harmony, guiding the adept to eternal unity.

The Divine Gift of Immortality

The philosopher’s stone, as Helmont and Solomon suggest, grants not just wealth and health but a “manifest token of divine favor,” promising immortality. Unlike Midas, who sought earthly gold, the adept, enlightened by the stone’s wisdom, despises temporal gains for the eternal light, as Deuteronomy warns: “Beware lest thou forget the Lord thy God, who brought thee into a Good Land.”

This divine gift, achieved through the Six Keys, transforms the soul into a radiant vessel, free from human ills and aligned with the “Fourth Monarchy” of truth and peace, prophesied as the reign of divine intellect.

The Path of Humility and Faith

The adept’s journey, as Job and the Kabalah teach, requires humility and self-ablation: “I abhor myself and repent in dust and ashes.” By renouncing selfish desires, the soul transcends the “dual selfhood,” uniting with the divine will, as Revelations promises: “To him that overcometh, I will grant to sit with me in my throne.” This path, marked by trials and perseverance, mirrors the alchemical process of purifying the soul’s essence into eternal light.

The stone’s creation, a reflection of Christ’s redemption, requires the adept to align with divine purpose, ensuring the work’s sanctity and avoiding the pitfalls of pride and greed.

The Eternal Circle of Wisdom

The Hermetic art, as the Book of Jezirah suggests, completes a circle: “The line returns to its beginning, and their union is Eternity.” This “Ethereal Hypostasis,” the soul’s radiant essence, rises above sense and reflection, becoming the “true Christian Philosopher’s Stone.” Through rational inquiry and faith, the adept achieves universal harmony, as Solomon declares: “Wisdom is better than rubies, and those who seek her early shall find her.”

Closing: This chapter unveils the philosopher’s stone as a divine gift of immortality and harmony. The journey into its modern applications deepens in our next post, unveiling further secrets of this sacred art.

Read Full Post »

Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel

Finale
It is late in the summer, the hollyhocks now raise their heads
away from the stalks. The mallows scatter their dull tones in tired
colors, pale yellow, lilac and soft pink. When you knocked my love,
the spring was young. When you entered through the narrow gate into
my dream garden the swift little swallows were singing their welcome
to the daffodils and the yellow primrose.
Your eyes were blue and kind and your days were like heavy
clusters of light blue wisteria dropping down to form a soft carpet. My
feet walked lightly there through the sun glistening pathways of your
arbor–Then the shadows fell and in the night eternal sin climbed out
of the ocean, coming here from the south, created out of the glowing
fires of the desert sands.
She spewed forth her pestilent breath in my garden strewing her
rutting passion beneath her veil of beauty. Wild sister, that’s when
your hot soul awoke, shameless, full of every poison. You drank my
blood, exulted and screamed out from painful tortures and from
passionate kisses.
Your marvelous sweet nails that your little maid, Fanny,
manicured grew into wild claws. Your smooth teeth, glowing like
milky opals, grew into mighty fangs. Your sweet childish breasts, little
snow-white kittens, turned into the rigid tits of a murderous whore.
Your golden curls hissed like impassioned vipers and the lightning
that unleashed all madness reposed in your soft jeweled eyes which
caught the light like the glowing sapphire in the forehead of my
golden Buddha.
But gold lotus grew in the pool of my soul, extended themselves
with broad leaves upon the vast shallows and covered the deep
horrors of the whirling maelstrom. The silver tears that the clouds
wept lay like large pearls upon their green leaves, shining through the
afternoons like polished moonstones.
Where the acacia’s pale snow once lay the laburnum now throws
its poisonous yellows–There, little sister, I found the great beauty of
your chaste sins and I understood the pleasures of the saints.
I sat in front of the mirror, my love, drank out of it the over
abundance of your sins while you slept on summer afternoons, in your
thin silk shift on white linen. You were a different person, my dear,
when the sun laughed in the splendor of my garden–sweet little sister
of my dream filled days. You were an entirely different person, my
dear, when it sank into the sea, when the horrors of darkness softly
crept out of the bushes–wild, sinful sister of my passionate nights–But
I could see by the light of day all the sins of the night in your naked
beauty.
Understanding came to me from out of the mirror, the ancient
gold framed mirror, which saw so many games of love in that wide
turret room in the castle of San Costanzo. The truth, which I had only
glimpsed in the pages of the leather bound volume, came to me from
out of that mirror. Sweetest of all are the chaste sins of the innocent.
That there are creatures–not animal–strange creatures, that
originate out of villainous desires and absurd thoughts–that you will
not deny, my love, not you.
Good is the law; good are all the strict rules. Good is the God
that created them and good is the man that carefully observes them.
But there is the child of Satan who with arrogant hands brazenly
rips the eternal laws from their appointed place. The Evil One, who is
a mighty Lord, helps him–that he might create out of his own proud
will–against all nature.
His work towers into the heavens– and yet falls apart and in its
collapse buries the arrogant fool that conceived it–
Now I write this for you, sister, this book–I ripped open old, long
forgotten scars, mixed their dark blood with the bright and fresh
blood of my latest torments. Beautiful flowers grow out of such soil,
fertilized by blood.
All that I have told you, my love, is very true–yet I take it from
the mirror, drink out of its glass the realizations of my latest
experiences and apply them to earlier memories and original events.
Take this book sister. Take it from a wild adventurer who was an
arrogant fool–and a quiet dreamer as well–Take if from one, little
sister, that has run closely alongside such a life–

Miramar–Lesina–Brion
April–October 1911

Read Full Post »

The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel

I did not answer, but inside the rage ate at me.
Then Diana jumped at my hand and grabbed it playfully
with her teeth, as if she wanted to make up with me. She
always did that when I scolded her or was otherwise in a bad
mood.
Then a sudden anger seized me, and I bent down for a
large stone. The dog believed, she was now going to play the
beloved game of fetch and crouched, whimpering with joy,
ready to jump. With all my might I threw the heavy, angular
stone at her and hit her in the ribs with a dull sound.
The bitch fell, emitted a howling, high-pitched scream,
and then wailed in shrill tones, unable to rise, her pitiful,
horrified gaze fixed on me.
“Die, you bitch,” I screamed and lowered my hand.
Phoebus and Thilo, who were to blame for this,
immediately drew back from me.
“Your father’s best and perforce trained bird-dog -” said
Sassen, and the other added that crudeness against a noble
animal was unworthy of a Nobleman.
The bitch tried to get up, collapsed and came up again.
Hunched over and whimpering she crawled towards me, tried
to reach my hand with her red tongue to lick it.
“Come!” said Phoebus to Thilo, and walked with him,
walking away from me with obvious contempt.
Then I sat down between the vines and took the bitch’s
head in my lap. Blood flowed from her fine nose onto my light
robe. Her eyes were directed at me plaintively, begging for help.
Her body trembled, the little legs twitched as if in spasm.
Aglaja’s white hand had so often rested on the black silky
hair of the beautiful head.
“Diana!” I cried, “Diana!”
She pulled her lips from her white teeth. She laughed in
this way. Once again she tried to lick my hand. Then in her
eyes came a green, glassy glow, her body convulsed.
I stroked her in deathly agony, calling, coaxing — she no
longer moved. A blood bubble stood motionless in front of her
nose. No more breath came —
“This beast will bring her lament before God on the Last
Day, and God will also give her His justice, like any other
creature”, a deep voice spoke.
I looked around with veiled eyes.
The old tusker was standing next to me, and the sun
wove a terrible golden glow around his snow-white head.

My father had returned from the hunt and went with
ringing spurs up and down in the room. The floor creaked
under his riding boots. I looked steadfastly at his green coat
with the silver braid. When he turned around, I saw the tightly
twisted braid. This braid was merciless, black, stiff, insensitive,
a symbol of his nature.
“Lout, pray!” he thundered again. “You have dared, in
front of the street rabble, to hit Phöbus Merentheim in the face,
to the amusement of the scum of craftsmen and other fellows?
Hey?”
“He said that my mother, before her marriage, was bed
warmer to the Duke of Stoll-Wessenburg,” I blurted out and
looked my father in the eye.
“You don’t hear and listen to that kind of thing,” hissed
my father and became dark red in the face. “And remember: Do
not disgrace princely blood! You will ask the young Count
Merentheim for forgiveness, lad!”
I did not understand him. Was he serious?
“Answer me,” he cried.
“Never,” I said, “I will not.”
“Damn dog! Swine! So I’ve got problems again with
another of the duke’s huntsmen, and I can wipe my mouth. I
need the intercession of old Merentheim, you wretched knave.
Do you understand me now? Will you or will you not?”
“No.”
He raised his hand, but lowered it again. With a heavy
step he left the room. In the afternoon he sent for me. He sat in
the same chair in which grandfather had died, and next to him
on the table was a half-empty wine bottle. The room was blue
with tobacco smoke.
“Stand here,” he said, pointing in front of him.
“Tomorrow I’ll send you to high school, so you’ll be out of my
sight. And so that you know the truth, whether your mother
was once the mistress of the noble lord, I don’t know. But in
any case, she has given this property to me. Whether you come
from my loins or from those of Serenissimi or whether even
that windbag of court poets in one of the duke’s Venetian
overnight parties – that scribbler whom Heist later shot down in
a duel, only God knows. I almost want to believe the latter, for
from a true and right nobleman you have nothing in you of the
old bread and butter.
Now you know what Merentheim wanted to rub your
nose in. You may have that in you. Process as you wish. I have
nothing for sentiments. Everything is as it is, and nothing can
be dismissed. The Jew Lewi will give you the money for
school every month; there is nothing more, now or ever. If you
go to the dogs through partying and drunkenness, like many a
nobleman, I or Serenissimus or the hunted down court poet had
a son. You can save yourself the trouble of writing because I
don’t read letters and other written or printed stuff, although I
once learned to do so. If you come back to me as a real cavalier,
then I will assume that you are from my seed. And now troll
yourself away!”
I wanted to say something, but the words died on my lips.
Slowly I turned around.
A glass flew after me, smashing against the wall. Angrily,
my father shook his fist at me as I looked around once more,
and in his eyes there were bloody red veins.
Below, old Stephan stood and muttered:
“Don’t believe a word the Herr Junker says! Your mother
was a saint and is enthroned in God’s countenance!”
Then I fell around the neck of the faithful servant and
cried out for my mother as if I could call her from the grave.

It was a tedious journey.
Every quarter of an hour we had to get off the stagecoach
at the behest of the driver and push and clean the wheels with a
mud knife. The horses trembled and snorted, and their flanks
were covered with foam. And once we had to chuck our
suitcases and travel bags and then lift them back onto the roof
and tie them up again.
With me rode one, who was from Austria, was called
Matthias Finch and seemed to be a cheerful man of good
manners. His clothes and linen pointed to a son from a decent
family. He was not a nobleman.
As we approached the city, the coach stopped in front of
an inn called “Zum Biersack”. We looked out the window on
both sides and noticed that the street was filled with chairs,
benches and a long table, at which sat a party of students,
looking wild and daring with greased boots, round spurs,
feathered hats, and swords. They sat quietly, smoking from
long lime pipes, spreading their legs and did not seem to be
willing to give way to the mail wagon on the army road.
A straggly half-grown thing with bobbing breasts under
the cloth ran between this table and the dirty inn, swapping the
empty pewter mugs for full ones and shrieking under the coarse
grips of the journeymen she had to pass.
The driver half turned with a grin and said:
“May it please the gentlemen to get off and allow
themselves to be welcomed?”
“Drive on!” urged Finch. “The road is clear!”
“What’s that stinkfox barking about?” rumbled a deep
bass voice from the table. The one who had shouted was as
bulky and thick as a six-bucket barrel, and his three fold
stubbly chin was resting on his badly smudged vest.
“Let it be, Montanus,” shouted a tree-tall man with
blonde hair and a sharp, crooked nose. “They’ll crawl out of the
burrow in time.”
Since we saw that nothing could be done with defiance
and pounding, and that the others were masters in such things,
we came out, but we had enough sense to order the driver to
take our travel belongings to the tanner Nunnemann, with
whom we had ordered lodging through the messenger.
We had hardly crawled out of the yellow box when they
also quickly moved the table to the side and told the driver to
put the steeds to the trot. He did not need to be told a second
time. But two of them took us under their arms and led us into
the interior of the house. There they pushed us up the stairs into
a long, low room. On a table covered with wet glass curls lay
an earthy, yellow skull, which looked as if they had just stolen
it from the charnel house, on two crossed swords. They
immediately lit two tallow candles in porcelain, placed us at
the narrow end of the table, themselves around the table with
their hats drawn, shook each other’s hands across the table and
sang in rough voices:
“The covenant is solemnly sealed
By the noble oath of allegiance,
Our hearts are unlocked
Strike only of true friendship.
This sword shall pierce
The one who leaves brothers in distress.
And, by this leg of the beast!
A thousand times he is threatened.”
When the song was over, Finch, who had looked at me
several times in amazement, spoke up and said:
“Gentlemen, forgive us if we would like to know in what
illustrious company we have unawares fallen into?”
“Insolent stink-fox,” belly-laughed the fat man again, the
one they had just called Montanus.
In the meantime they had put their hats back on, and I
saw that their plumes were carmine, yellow and blue, and the
blond one with the vulture nose had also put on a fox tail,
which gave him a wild appearance. At Finch’s speech, he
pulled his bat out of its scabbard and hit the table with it so
violently that it boomed and we were badly frightened.

Read Full Post »

A Modern Inquiry into the Hermetic Mystery

Part IV: The Hermetic Practice

Chapter 3: The Six Keys of Eudoxus, Part 4

Introduction: The Six Keys of Eudoxus unlock the philosopher’s stone, a divine gift that transforms and heals through sacred wisdom. This section concludes with the stone’s universal blessings, uniting material and spiritual realms in divine harmony.

The Divine Physician’s Blessings

The philosopher’s stone, as Helmont describes, is a universal medicine wielded by the divine physician, chosen by God to heal with compassion. It fills life with health, riches, and divine favor, as Solomon declares: “Honor the physician, for the Lord created him.” This radiant essence, purified through the Six Keys, expels diseases and curses, bringing consolation and eternal life, as promised in Revelations: “To him that overcometh, I will give the Tree of Life.”

The adept, guided by charity and faith, becomes a vessel of divine light, transforming souls and bodies with the stone’s miraculous virtues, as Van Helmont’s cures of thousands attest.

The Fall and Restoration of Wisdom

Helmont laments the decline of the healing art, where ambition and sloth extinguished charity, separating physicians from surgeons and burying truth in confusion. Yet, the stone’s wisdom, rooted in the “Universal Spirit,” remains accessible to those who seek it with faith, as the Wisdom of Solomon affirms: “Wisdom preserved the righteous, guiding them through trials.”

Mesmerism, a first step toward this ancient wisdom, hints at the divine temple’s foundations, awaiting the adept’s will to resurrect the “Corner Stone” of divine light through persistent inquiry and love.

The Promises of Divine Wisdom

The stone’s blessings, as Revelations promises, include the “hidden Manna” and “White Stone,” granting power, purity, and eternal union with God. Wisdom, as Solomon declares, is “better than rubies,” offering riches, honor, and strength to those who embrace her. The adept, aligned with divine will, wields this universal treasury to uplift humanity, fulfilling the ancient creeds of love and truth.

Closing: This chapter unveils the philosopher’s stone’s divine blessings, uniting material and spiritual realms. The journey into its modern applications deepens in our next post, unveiling further secrets of this sacred art.

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »