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Madame Bluebeard: Chapter 1, pages 11- 13

October 22, 2025 by anarchistbanjo

Madame Bluebeard by Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel

“Before, I was a worker in the Simplon Tunnel.”
“Not bad, but grueling.”
“One must do something for one’s health.”
“You made a dazzling entrance yesterday. You’re
the darling of Abbazia’s young ladies. If the fervor
grows, you’ll get a torchlight parade tonight. That
lasso throw was magnificent.”
“Why else would I have spent two years in South
America if not to learn such tricks?”
Hugo settled at the small table between the
petrified rolls, tipping his chair on two legs toward
Boschan, arm draped over his friend’s seat. “Listen,”
he said, “you owe me a favor. You won’t refuse me
in the joy of our reunion. You’re moved, I can see it.
How long has it been? Shameful, isn’t it? Not even a
postcard from the Himalayas.”
“It must be something dire you want,” Ruprecht
said, “with such a preamble.”
“Don’t say no, don’t break your friend’s hopeful
heart. Here’s the deal: I’m organizing an Emperor’s
celebration tomorrow, August 18. Can’t skip it. If I
don’t do it, someone else will. Better me, since I’ve
got taste. Big program: Isolde Lenz will sing, Bergler
will sing, Walterskirchen will play. I’ve got a court
concertmaster too. Andresen from the Burgtheater
will recite modern poems. A retired general will play
flute, thinking he owes it to Frederick the Great’s
memory, as fine a soldier as he. But this program
lacks a cornerstone.”
“I’m the cornerstone?”
“Yes! The World-Tree Ygdrasil of my program.
Peter, the rock on which… and so forth. Please, no
refusals. The other acts are solid, but you’re
something unique, a rare spectacle. I’d be a poor
planner to let you slip.”
“I’m not keen, my dear.”
Ernst Hugo laid a hand on Ruprecht’s knee,
overflowing with charm, dripping eloquence,
weaving wreaths of flattery. “I won’t let you go till
you bless me. If you’re stumped on what to do, I’ll
tell them about your Himalayan treks or whatever.
Just take the stage. Success is guaranteed. I promise
every girl and young woman will fall for you.”
“You know that doesn’t tempt me. Women are
usually dull.”
“Still an ascetic desert saint? Still St. Anthony
resisting all temptations?”
“Ridiculous—you don’t think I practice
abstinence for glory. I had a serious affair with a
Japanese girl for a while. And as a Simplon Tunnel
worker, I lived with an Italian woman, fighting knife
duels over her every other day. That’s something. But
your society ladies…! You must slog through flirting
first. Flirting’s endlessly tedious.”
“If women won’t sway you, do it for me. Years
apart, we finally meet, and I’m shamed if my friend
denies a small request. Truly, it’s an insult.”
“Would it really mean so much if I agree?”
“An extraordinary favor.” Hugo paused, eyeing a
woman passing below on the promenade. He leaned
over the balustrade, clearly trying to catch her notice.
“A regal woman,” he murmured, “look at that attire.
A little Paris on her. Good Lord! Know her?”
“No,” Boschan said, finishing his morning cognac.
“She’s a widow, fabulously rich. Half Abbazia’s
in love with her. Born to conquer, her specialty’s the
demonic, or so say those lucky enough to know her.
I’m not among them yet. But back to business: you’d
do me a huge favor by joining. There’s a
Statthaltereirat from Graz with big ambitions, my
serious rival. He nearly beat me to hosting the
celebration. You’ll see, that won’t do. I’m up for
promotion. Patriotic efforts impress higher-ups. So I
outmaneuvered him. But he’ll be a harsh critic. If it’s
not tip-top, he’ll flash his ironic smile… make witty
jabs… that sarcastic fool!”
Before Ruprecht’s eyes, the sea spun, rising in the
sun’s climbing glare, shimmering like a vast
turquoise, magically binding souls, drawing them in,
dissolving petty drives and miseries into great joy.
But this planner of patriotic fêtes felt none of it.
Ruprecht leaned against a pillar, turning from Hugo.
“What a dire conflict,” he said, “what a dramatic
tangle! Oh, clashing forces—a struggle for lofty
prizes! And all the while, you have the sea before
you, in its full splendor, blessed by its beauty.”
“How do you mean?” Hugo asked, fixing his
water-blue eyes on the sea in surprise.
“Well—you’ve invoked our friendship. I suppose
I must help you skewer this hostile Statthaltereirat.”

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Alraune: Chapter 2, pages 79- 84

October 22, 2025 by anarchistbanjo

Chapter Two
Explains how the idea for Alraune came about.
THE sun had already set and the candles were burning on the
chandelier in the Festival room as Privy Councilor ten
Brinken entered. He appeared festive enough in his dress
suit. There was a large star on his white vest and a gold
chain in the buttonhole from which twenty small medals dangled.
The Legal Councilor stood up, greeted him, and then he and the
old gentleman went around the room with threadbare smiles, saying
kind words to everyone. They stopped in front of the celebrating girls
and the old gentleman took two gold rings out of a beautiful leather
case and formally presented them. The one with a sapphire was for
blond Frieda and the ruby was for dark Olga. Then he gave a very
wise speech to both of them.
“Would you like to sit for a spell?” asked Herr Sebastian
Gontram. “We’ve been sitting over there for four hours. Seventeen
courses! Isn’t that something! Here is the menu, is there anything you
would like?”
The Privy Councilor thanked him, but he had already eaten.
Then Frau Gontram came into the room in a blue, somewhat old-
fashioned silk gown with a train. Her hair was done up high.
“I can’t eat anymore ice cream,” she cried. “Prince Puckler had
Billa put all of it on the cinnamon noodles!”
The guests laughed. They never knew what to expect in the
Gontram house.
Attorney Manasse cried, “Bring the dish in here! We haven’t
seen Prince Puckler or fresh cinnamon noodles all day!”
Privy Councilor ten Brinken looked around for a chair. He was a
small man, smooth shaven, with thick watery bags under his eyes. He
was repulsive enough with swollen hanging lips, a huge meaty nose,
and the lid of his left eye drooped heavy but the right stood wide
open, squinting around in a predatory manner. Someone behind him
said:
“Good Day Uncle Jakob.”
It was Frank Braun. The Privy Councilor turned around; it was
very unusual to see his nephew here.
“You’re here?” he asked. “I can only imagine why.”
The student laughed, “Naturally! But you are so wise uncle. You
look good by the way, and very official, like a university professor in
proud dress uniform with all your medals. I’m here incognito–over
there with the other students stuck at the west table.”
“That just proves your twisted thinking, where else would you be
sitting?” his uncle said. “When you once–”
“Yes, yes,” Frank Braun interrupted him. “When I finally get as
old as you, then I will be permitted–and so on–That’s what you would
tell me, isn’t it? All heaven be praised that I’m not yet twenty Uncle
Jakob. I like it this way much better.”
The Privy Councilor sat down. “Much better? I can believe that.
In the fourth Semester and doing nothing but fighting, drinking,
fencing, riding, loving and making poor grades! I wrote your mother
about the grades the university gave you. Tell me youngster, just what
are you doing in college anyway?”
The student filled two glasses, “Here Uncle Jakob, drink, then
your suffering will be lighter! Well, I’ve been in several classes
already, not just one, but an entire series of classes. Now I’ve left and
I’m not going back.”
“Prosit!”
“Prosit!” The Privy Councilor said. “Have you finished?”
“Finished?” Frank Braun laughed. “I’m much more than
finished. I’m overflowing! I’m done with college and I’m done with
the Law. I’m going to travel. Why should I be in college? It’s possible
that the other students can learn from you professors but their brains
must then comply with your methods. My brain will not comply. I
find every single one of you unbelievably foolish, boring and stupid.”
The professor took a long look at him.
“You are immensely arrogant, my dear boy,” he said quietly.
“Really?” The student leaned back, put one leg over the other.
“Really? I scarcely believe that. But if so, it doesn’t really matter. I
know what I’m doing. First, I’m saying this to annoy you a bit–You
look so funny when you are annoyed, second, to hear back from you
that I’m right.
For example, you, uncle, are certainly a shrewd old fox, very
intelligent, clever and you know a multitude of things–But in college
weren’t you just as insufferable as the rest of your respected
colleagues? Didn’t you at one time or another say to yourself that you
wanted to perhaps just have some fun?”
“Me? Most certainly not!” the professor said. “But that is
something else. When you once–Well, ok, you know already–Now
tell me boy, where in all the world will you go from here? Your
mother will not like to hear that you are not coming home.”
“Very well,” cried Frank Braun. “I will answer you.”
“But first, why have you have rented this house to Gontram? He
is certainly not a person that does things by the book. Still, it is
always good when you can have someone like that from time to time.
His tubercular wife naturally interests you as a medical doctor. All the
doctors in the city are enraptured by this phenomenon without lungs.
Then there’s the princess that you would gladly sell your castle in
Mehlem to.
Finally, dear uncle, there are the two teenagers over there,
beautiful, fresh vegetables aren’t they? I know how you like young
girls–Oh, in all honor, naturally. You are always honorable Uncle
Jakob!”
He stopped, lit a cigarette and blew out a puff of smoke. The
Privy Councilor squinted at him poisonously with a predatory right
eye.
“What did you want to tell me?” he asked lightly.
The student gave a short laugh, “Oh, nothing. Nothing at all!”
He stood up, went to the corner table, picked up a cigar box and
opened it. They were the expensive cigars of the Privy Councilor.
“The smokes, dear uncle. Look, Romeo and Juliet, your brand.
The Legal Councilor has certainly not spared any expense for you!”
He offered one to the Privy Councilor.
“Thank you,” growled the professor. “Thank you. Now once
again, what is it that you want to tell me?”
Frank Braun moved his chair closer.
“I will tell you Uncle Jakob. But first I need to reproach you. I
don’t like what you did, do you hear me? I know myself quite well,
know that I’ve been wasting my life and that I continue–Leave that.
You don’t care and I’m not asking you to pay any of my debts.
I request that you never again write such a letter to our house.
You will write back to mother and tell her that I am very virtuous,
very moral, work very hard and that I’m moving on and such stuff.
Do you understand?”
“Yes, that I must lie,” said the Privy Councilor. “It should sound
realistic and witty, but it will sound slimy as a snail, even to her.”
The student looked at him squarely, “Yes uncle, you should even
lie. Not on my account, you know that, but for mother.”
He stopped for a moment gazing into his glass, “and since you
will tell these lies for me, I will now tell you this.”
“I am curious,” said the Privy Councilor a little uncertainly.
“You know my life,” the student continued and his voice rang
with bitter honesty. “You know that I, up until today, have been a
stupid youth. You know because you are an old and clever man,
highly educated, rich, known by all, decorated with titles and orders,
because you are my uncle and my mother’s only brother. You think
that gives you a right to educate me. Right or not, you will never do it.
No one will ever do it, only life will educate me.”
The professor slapped his knee and laughed out loud. “Yes, life!
Just wait youngster. It will educate you soon enough. It has enough
twists and turns, beautiful rules and laws, solid boundaries and thorny
barriers.”
Frank Braun replied, “They are nothing for me, much less for me
than for you. Have you, Uncle Jakob, ever fought through the twists,
cut through the wiry thorns and laughed at all the laws? I have.”
“Pay attention uncle,” he continued. “I know your life as well.
The entire city knows it and the sparrows pipe their little jokes about
you from the rooftops. But the people only talk to themselves in
whispers, because they fear you, fear your cleverness and your
money. They fear your power and your energy.
I know why little Anna Paulert died. I know why your handsome
gardener had to leave so quickly for America. I know many more
little stories about you. Oh, I don’t approve, certainly not. But I don’t
think of you as evil. I even admire you a little perhaps because you,
like a little king, can do so many things with impunity. The only thing
I don’t understand is how you are successful with all the children.
You are so ugly.”
The Privy Councilor played with his watch chain. Then he
looked quietly at his nephew, almost flattered.
“You really don’t understand that?”
The student replied, “No, absolutely not at all. But I do
understand how you have come to it! For a long time you’ve had
everything that you wanted, everything that a person could have
within the normal constraints of society. Now you want more. The
brook is bored in its old bed, steps here and there over the narrow
banks–It is in your blood.”
The professor raised his glass, reached it out to him.
“Give me another, my boy,” he said. His voice trembled a little
and certainly rang out with solemnity. “You are right. It is in the
blood, my blood and your blood.”
He drank and reached out to shake hands with his nephew.
“You will write mother like I want you to?” asked Frank Braun.
“Yes, I will,” replied the old man.
The student said, “Thank you Uncle Jakob.”
He took the outstretched hand and shook it.
“Now go, you old Don Juan, call the Communicants! They both
look beautiful in their sacred gowns, don’t they?”
“Hmm,” said the uncle. “Don’t they look good to you?”
Frank Braun laughed. “Me? Oh, my God! No, Uncle Jakob, I am
no rival, not today. Today I have a higher ambition–perhaps when I
am as old as you are!–But I am not the guardian of their virtue. Those
two celebrating roses will not improve until they have been plucked.
Someone will, and soon–Why not you? Hey Olga, Frieda! Come on
over here!”
But neither girl came over. They were hovering around Dr.
Mohnen, filling his glass and listening to his suggestive stories. The
princess came over; Frank Braun stood up and offered her his chair.
“Sit down, sit down!” she cried. “I have absolutely nothing to
chat with you about!”
“Just a few minutes, your Highness. I will go get a cigarette,” the
student said. “My uncle has been waiting all night for a chance to give
you his compliments. He will be overjoyed.”
The Privy Councilor was not overjoyed about it. He would have
much rather had the little princess sitting there, but now he
entertained the mother–
Frank Braun went to the window as the Legal Councilor and
Frau Marion went up to the Grand Piano. Herr Gontram sat down on
the piano bench, turned around and said.
“I would like a little quiet please. Frau Marion would like to sing
a song for us.”
He turned to the Lady, “What would you like after that dear
Frau?–Another one I hope, perhaps ‘Les Papillions’? or perhaps ‘Il
Baccio’ from Arditti?–Give me the music for them as well!”

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Hermetic Mysteries: The True Subject of the Hermetic Art, Part 3

October 22, 2025 by anarchistbanjo

A Modern Inquiry into the Hermetic Mystery

Part II: A More Esoteric Consideration of the Hermetic Art and Its Mysteries

Chapter 1: The True Subject of the Hermetic Art, Part 3

Introduction: The esoteric journey deepens, unveiling humanity’s soul as the key to alchemical wisdom. Adepts like Böhme and Agrippa reveal how self-knowledge unlocks the universal essence, guiding seekers toward divine truth.

The Soul’s Divine Potential

Basil Valentine promises, “Health, riches, and honor await those who master the golden seed, born between two mountains, hidden in you, me, and our kind.” This seed, the philosophical Mercury, resides in humanity’s soul, a treasure accessible through diligent inquiry. Böhme envisions a time when adepts, as true physicians of body and soul, will share this wisdom, but only if its sanctity is preserved, as the “Seal of God” guards it from misuse. Hermes and Arnold emphasize the work’s simplicity, yet its wisdom is the greatest mystery.

Böhme asserts, “Existence itself is the greatest mystery, as fire and light are one, perceived identically across all life.” Creation implies a necessary cause, not dependent on externals but rooted within. The apostle Paul declares, “God is not far from us; in Him we live, move, and exist.” To Athenians, he urges seeking God, “if haply we might feel after Him and find Him.” This promise of divine discovery drives alchemical inquiry, yet it remains hidden, requiring the “Protochemic Artifice” to reveal it.

Thomas Vaughan advises, “Don’t trouble with these mysteries without knowing the alchemical art, for only through it can the true foundation be found.” Like a jeweler unable to judge a gem locked in a cabinet, modern minds judge nature’s surface, missing its core. Vaughan urges, “Use your hands, not fancies, turning abstractions into extractions. A spirit in nature actuates all generation, residing most immediately in a passive principle, linking visibles and invisibles. This art unites a particular spirit to the universal, exalting and multiplying nature.”

Agrippa adds, “Through a mysterious recreation, the pure human mind can be converted from this life, awakened to divine light, and gifted with wondrous effects. In us lies the operator of miracles, not in stars or flames, but in the spirit dwelling within.” He cites Manilius: “Why marvel at knowing the world, when man contains it, a small image of God?”

Humanity as the Laboratory

Shall we conclude that man is the true laboratory of the Hermetic art, his life the subject, distiller, and distilled? Self-knowledge is the root of alchemical tradition, not a dangerous or impractical pursuit but a profound one, shunned by those seeking only gold. Modern discoveries, tracing light’s harmony in human and planetary systems, support this ancient wisdom, suggesting a conscious relationship with nature’s essence is within reach.

Yet, we lack proof that man is a perfect microcosm, mirroring all creation. Our affinities with nature are sensory, our knowledge limited by observation. Unlike animals or plants, man’s distinction lies in a divine reason, a hidden principle of causal power. This faculty, when awakened, reveals nature’s forms and springs intuitively, governing existence as a universal source. Adepts speak magisterially, as if allied with omniscience, knowing the universe through their illuminated minds.

This experience, if once real, is now lost or estranged. Modern thought, rooted in sensory observation, struggles to imagine universal consciousness. Most accept external evidence, but a few, like ancient metaphysicians, seek a higher reality, lamenting reason’s limits. Reason’s evidence is irresistible—intuition assures existence, eternity in time, infinity in bounds. John Locke affirms, “Intuitive faith is certain beyond doubt, needing no proof.” Victor Cousin used this to challenge sensory philosophies, proving the mind’s universal truths.

Closing: This section unveils the soul as alchemy’s laboratory, capable of revealing universal wisdom through self-knowledge. The path to this divine truth continues to unfold, promising deeper insights into the Hermetic art in our next post.

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OAK: Temple of One Chapter 27 Synthesis

October 22, 2025 by anarchistbanjo

Chapter 27: Synthesis – Gaia’s Ascension Through Loving Duality

Historical Overview: Weaving the Threads of Organic Gnosticism Across Time

From the Neolithic agrarians of the Balkans and Caucasus (circa 13,000–5,000 BCE), whose goddess-centered, gender-balanced societies laid the foundation for organic gnosticism, to the Renaissance revivals in courtly love and alchemy (12th–16th centuries CE), OAK: The Temple of One has traced a resilient thread of life-affirming mysticism. This path, rooted in your haplogroup G-M201 genetic heritage (Ch. 1), celebrates the loving embrace of male (expansive lightning, Source) and female (containing womb, matrix) energies, weaving souls through Tantric exchanges and heart wisdom. Organic gnostics—Gaia’s native inhabitants—faced relentless suppression by rational atheists (logic-driven materialists, e.g., Semitic elites) and social enforcers (death-centric traditionalists, e.g., Aryan warriors and Church patriarchs), as seen in the patriarchal shift (Ch. 6), Stonehenge massacre (Ch. 11), and Albigensian Crusade (Ch. 20).

Key convergences—Atlantis/Crete’s harmony (Ch. 3), Egypt’s Tantrika (Ch. 5), Gnostic Christianity’s heart gospel (Ch. 9), Bogomil perfectae (Ch. 10, 21), Norse völvas (Ch. 12), Dark Ages’ shadow eruptions (Ch. 14), and courtly love’s Tantric idealism (Ch. 22–24)—show organic gnosticism’s survival, often hidden in alchemy (Ch. 25) and Rosicrucianism (Ch. 26). Indigenous two-spirit traditions (Ch. 14) echo this globally, resisting patriarchal head-tripping. The first millennium’s apocalyptic chaos (Ch. 14–15) and Church corruption fueled rebellions like Satanism (Ch. 15) and 12th-century individualism (Ch. 17), but organic gnosticism’s heart wisdom persisted, countering the Church’s anti-life dogma.

This synthesis culminates in Gaia’s ascension—a novel full-spectrum marriage of lowest (physical, sexual) and highest (spiritual, cosmic) energies, as foreseen in your meditation vision (August 17, 2025) of a radiant portal at Gaia’s core, pulsing love and light globally. This ascension, breaking cycles of suppression, invites humanity to reclaim its native spark, weaving all ideologies into unity.

Mystery School Teachings: The Loving Duality and the Soul’s Eternal Weave

Across mystery schools—from Egyptian Isis-Osiris unions (Ch. 5) and Eleusinian rebirth rites (Ch. 5) to Cathar covens (Ch. 19) and Rosicrucian alchemy (Ch. 26)—organic gnosticism teaches the soul as a watcher self (Ch. 2), woven from male-female duality’s embrace. This loving weave, rooted in goddess religions (Ch. 1, 6), integrates Shadow (primal urges, repressed sexuality) and Holy Guardian Angel (cosmic harmony) through Tantric practices (Ch. 5, 13, 22–24), creating observer selves, timelines, and worlds (Ch. 8). Bogomil mystical materialism (Ch. 21) and Norse völvas’ seidr (Ch. 12) preserved this, countering destructive dualism’s good-evil battles (Manichaeism, Ch. 12) and Church’s denial of physicality (Ch. 10, 14).

Indigenous traditions, like Lakota wíŋkte and Maori takatāpui (Ch. 14), echo this global weave, balancing energies for soul growth. The Church’s social enforcers (ascetic death-worship) and rational atheists (head-centric logic) suppressed this, but rebellions—from Stonehenge’s Grail loss (Ch. 11) to courtly love’s chaste tension (Ch. 22–24)—kept the heart’s wisdom alive. Alchemy’s transmutation (Ch. 25) and Rosicrucianism’s threefold path (Ch. 26) bridged this, emphasizing heart-head integration for Gaia’s ascension—a full-spectrum marriage resolving dualities, as in your radiant portal vision (August 17, 2025), where Gaia’s core pulses love, healing global fragmentation.

OAK Ties and Practical Rituals: Weaving All Threads for Gaia’s Ascension

In the OAK Matrix, this synthesis embodies true Ego resonance (Intro, Individual), weaving Shadow (primal life, Radon, Ch. 26, Magus) and Holy Guardian Angel (cosmic harmony, Krypton, Ch. 24) in Oganesson’s womb (Ch. 20). Organic gnosticism’s loving duality mirrors resonant circuits (Ch. 13), creating watcher selves through chaos leaps (Ch. 11), countering social enforcers’ asceticism (Ch. 7) and rational atheists’ logic (Ch. 9). This resonates with Ipsissimus unity (Ch. 10) and Adeptus Exemptus compassion (Ch. 7), with the Holy Grail as womb (Ch. 8) empowering Gaia’s ascension (Ch. 4).

Practical rituals weave this:

  • Oak Grail Invocation (Start of Each Ritual): Touch oak bark, affirming: “Roots in Gaia, branches in Source, I unite duality’s embrace.”
  • Gaia Ascension Meditation (Daily, 15 minutes): Visualize Gaia’s core portal (your August 17, 2025 vision), pulsing love. Journal refused Shadow (e.g., patriarchal division) and aspired HGA (e.g., loving weave). Merge in Oganesson’s womb, affirming: “I ascend Gaia’s soul, weaving all threads.” Tie to synthesis: Inhale unity, exhale fragmentation.
  • Full-Spectrum Weave Ritual (Weekly): By an oak, invoke Gaia’s womb as Grail, offering seeds for life’s vitality. Visualize Tantric union (male lightning, female womb, Ch. 8), weaving soul timelines from Neolithic to Rosicrucian. Affirm: “I rebirth Gaia’s spark, transmuting duality’s love.” Echoes courtly love’s chaste tension (Ch. 22–24).
  • Partner Global Weave: With a partner, discuss Gaia’s ascension. Men: Share expansive visions; women: Grounding acts. Build non-physical energy via breath or eye contact, visualizing Tantric union (Ch. 5) for soul growth. Solo: Balance enforcer asceticism and atheist logic in Gaia’s heart.

These empower organic gnostics to weave Gaia’s ascension, reviving loving duality. Next, explore indigenous traditions, echoing organic gnosticism globally.

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Der Orchideengarten Vol 2 No. 7

October 21, 2025 by anarchistbanjo

Der Orchideengarten Vol 2, No. 7 contains the following stories: The Hair of Lady Fitzgerald by Wolf Durian; The Experiment of One’s Own Soul by J. Winckelmann; Sparks by Vladimir Aratov. Translation by Joe E Bandel. Layout by John Hirschhorn-Smith. Original art throughout. This is the first time these stories have been translated into the English language.

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Der Orchideengarten Vol 2 No. 6

October 21, 2025 by anarchistbanjo

Der Orchideengarten Vol 2 No. 6 includes the stories: The Will to Death by Kurt Moreck and The Byzantine Coin by Karl Hans Strobl. Original art. Translated into English by Joe E Bandel. Layout by John Hirschhorn-Smith.

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Der Orchideengarten Vol 2, No. 5

October 21, 2025 by anarchistbanjo

Der Orchideengarten Vol 2, No. 5 contains the following stories translated for the first time into English. Discovery by Rudolf Schneider; The Three Rings by Margot Isbert; Chorus of the Dead by Conrad Ferdinand Meyer; Secret Decapitation by Johan Peter Hebel; Shadows by M. Pokorny. Translations by Joe E Bandel and layout by John Hirschhorn-Smith. It contains the original artwork.

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Homo Sapiens: Under Way Chapter 8, pages 212- 217

October 21, 2025 by anarchistbanjo

Homo Sapiens: Under Way by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel

VIII.

When they both stepped out the door, Falk became a little uneasy. 

“He had sent the coachman home. The night was so splendid; he would so like to accompany her home on foot. It would also be good for her to refresh a little from the stupid society in the open air.” 

Falk’s voice trembled slightly. 

Marit spoke no word; a dark oppression almost took her breath away. 

They stepped onto the open field; both thoughtful, silent. 

Now the moment had come when one can look into the soul of the being one loves as into one’s own. Falk felt her soul like a roulette ball rolling from one boundary wall of his suggestions to the other: 

“Wouldn’t she like to take his arm? 

The path was very bad; it had many holes, one could easily sprain one’s foot.” 

She took his arm silently. He pressed it very firmly to his chest and felt her tremble. 

Falk knew that he couldn’t speak now; his voice would break. 

He fought against this excitement; but his unrest grew and grew. 

No, he gathered himself. No, not now! 

That reminded him of the way peasants clumsily grab with both hands right away. 

The moon poured pale streams of light on the meadows; in the distance one saw high-piled black heaps of peat. 

Falk tried to master himself. He wanted to postpone the happiness he could now enjoy; he wanted to enjoy it slowly. 

They stopped and contemplated the landscape. 

Then they walked again, but didn’t look at each other; it was as if they felt a kind of shame before one another. 

Now Falk stopped again. 

“Strange: every time I see the peat heaps, I always have to think of a peculiar man from my home village. 

He was a peat cutter for my father; naturally he drank, like almost all our farmhands, and had a great fixed idea.” 

Falk instinctively sought to loosen and scatter the sexual concentration through stories; then he could overwhelm the girl all the more surely afterward. 

“You know, from the peat bog at times will-o’-the-wisps rise, which move back and forth with fabulous speed. 

The man now got it into his head that the will-o’-the-wisps were souls of deceased Freemasons; at that time the famous papal encyclical also appeared, in which it is written that the Freemasons are possessed by the evil one. 

Now the man ran around all night and shot at the will-o’-the-wisps with an old pistol. With somnambulistic certainty he jumped over the widest peat ditches, crawled through the mud and densest undergrowth like a swamp animal, sometimes sank up to his neck in the marsh, worked himself out again and shot incessantly. 

There lay a terrible tragedy in it. I saw him once after such a night. His eyes were bulging and bloodshot, the mud sat finger-thick on his clothes, he was completely soaked, the thick swamp water dripped from him; his hair was glued together into strands by the mud, but he was happy. 

He swung the pistol back and forth and jumped and cried out with joy. For in this night he had shot a Freemason soul with a twenty-pfennig piece; as he watched, only a little heap of tar remained of the will-o’-the-wisp. 

The pistol was his sanctuary from then on. But once he was locked in prison because he didn’t send his son to school. The boy stayed home alone—the mother had long since run away—and tended the goat on the peat meadows, the peat cutter’s only wealth. 

Yes; now it occurred to the boy to fetch the pistol to frighten the neighbor’s child, whom he was also supposed to watch. He turned the pistol with the muzzle toward his mouth and held a burning match near the pan. 

‘Watch out, now I’m shooting dead!’ He held the match ever closer. The child gets frightened, starts screaming, and in that moment 

the pistol discharges: the boy gets the whole charge in his mouth. I had just come from school and was witness to the scene that I will never forget in my life. 

The boy ran around in mad fear, blood gushed from his nose and mouth, and with every death scream the foam shot and gurgled forth in dark stream. 

The child understood nothing and laughed heartily at the crazy jumps. Only the goat seemed to have understood it. In wild fear it had 

torn itself from the stake to which it was tied; it jumped—no, you really can’t imagine it—it jumped over the long, skinny boy, and then over a wide ditch, and back again… it was terrible. 

Marit was completely excited. 

“That must have been gruesome! Did the boy die?” “Yes, he died.” 

Again they walked silently side by side; they were quite, quite close. 

“Good God, you looked wonderful today! You had an expression on your face, you know, an expression that I had seen on you only once before; yes, once a year ago. We were as happy as children and so happy; God knows, it was beautiful. And then we stood in the evening on the veranda. In the distance we heard the monastery bells ringing for the Ave Maria, and you stood there and looked ahead with the expression of unspeakable intimacy and bliss; it was like a sea of bright gold around you—and today I saw it again.” 

Falk trembled. 

“I looked at you the whole evening, I admired you and was happy and felt you quite close to me… to me.” 

He pressed her even tighter to himself, his voice almost gasped. “Marit, I love you; I…” 

His hand encircled hers. He felt how hot streams flowed into her. 

“I came only because of you; I lay there in Paris and longed for you like mad; I had to come. And now you know; now I have a morbid desire to take you in my hands and press you so wild, so wild to my heart and breathe your breast against mine, hear your heart beat against mine. 

Look, Marit, my gold, my everything; I will do everything, everything for you; you mustn’t resist; you give me an unnameable happiness; you give me everything by it; look, I have suffered so; my sweet girl, my sun, give me the happiness!” 

Around them both, the hot, sexual atmosphere wove tighter and tighter. She could hardly breathe. 

“I was so immeasurably unhappy all the time because I love you so endlessly; never have I loved a being as I loved you before.” 

She felt above her two abyssal eyes shining like two stars; her head grew confused, she couldn’t think, understood only his hot, gasping words, which fell like hot blood drops into her soul, and above her she saw two abyssal stars that guided and pulled and tore at her. 

She felt how he embraced her, how he sought her mouth, and felt his hot, feverish lips as they sucked into her lips. 

She no longer resisted; her whole soul threw itself into the one kiss, she embraced him. It was like a jubilation that dances with wild leaps over an abyss. She kissed him. 

Falk had not suspected this wild passion in her. A hot gratitude rose in him. 

“You will be mine, Marit; you will be… will…” 

Yes, that had to be… she felt it, that had to be… the eyes, the terrible eyes above her… and the voice… it sounded like a command. 

Just let me—now—let me—to my senses—let… 

Again they walked silently side by side, trembling, with bated breath. 

“You will be mine?” “How, how? What?” 

Falk was silent. 

For the rest of the way, they spoke no word. 

At the garden gate, they silently shook hands.

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Hermetic Mysteries: The True Subject of the Hermetic Art, Part 2

October 21, 2025 by anarchistbanjo

A Modern Inquiry into the Hermetic Mystery

Part II: A More Esoteric Consideration of the Hermetic Art and Its Mysteries

Chapter 1: The True Subject of the Hermetic Art, Part 2

Introduction: The esoteric heart of alchemy deepens, revealing humanity’s soul as the vessel for the universal essence. In this section, adepts like Böhme and Sendivogius guide us toward the transformative power of this hidden root, aligning nature’s principles with divine wisdom.

The Soul as the Golden Seed

Basil Valentine declares, “He who knows the golden seed or magnet and searches its properties holds the true root of life, fulfilling his heart’s longing.” This seed, no mere fantasy, is a certain truth for diligent seekers. Oswald Crollius, a Paracelsian, reveals that this “mineral vapour” producing gold in the earth resides in humanity, the generating spirit of all creatures. Albertus Magnus adds, “Gold exists everywhere, but its highest virtue burns most gloriously in man, where the fiery principle of life shines erect.”

Hermes echoes, “Our Mercury is philosophic, fiery, vital, mixable with all metals yet separable, prepared in life’s innermost chamber where it coagulates.” This essence, found where metals grow, is most potent in humanity’s soul. Ripley’s verse captures this:

Man, the noblest creature wrought,
Holds nature’s elements in proportion.
A natural Mercury, costing nothing,
Drawn from its mine by art,
For metals are but minerals too,
As Raymond Lully wisely said.

Maria notes philosophers speak sparingly of this essence due to life’s brevity and the art’s length, yet they found and enhanced these hidden elements. Alipili exclaims, “O man, you unite the elements through your breath and power, producing a miraculous essence—fiery water surpassing all elements. It dissolves gold into black earth, like thick spittle, revealing a pure salt without odor or corrosiveness, a treasure accessible to all.” This essence, the soul’s vital spirit, is the Hermetic art’s core.

The Adept’s Virtues

Hermes advises, “To master this hidden wisdom, one must reject vice, be just, good, rational, ready to help others, and guard these secrets from the idle or vicious.” Crollius adds that a true alchemist, sincere and skilled in vital analysis, knows all bodies contain salt, Mercury, and sulphur—principles of attraction, repulsion, and circulation, the universal accord of life. Morien tells King Calid, “This essence is extracted from you, where it resides. Through love and delight, it grows, revealing enduring truth.”

Nature’s Three Principles

Attraction, repulsion, and circulation govern all motion, from planets orbiting stars to chemical affinities. Attraction draws matter together, repulsion pushes it apart, and circulation balances them, forming circles when equal or ellipses when imbalanced. In nature, these principles are unequal, causing dissolution. Alchemists claim only their “antimonial spirit,” rectified by art, can harmonize these forces, creating a perfect, star-like circulation.

Böhme explains, “The Invisible Mercury, the spiritual air of Antimony, harmonizes these discordant principles—attraction, repulsion, circulation—in the arterial blood, where repulsion dominates, drawing life outward from its divine source.” The Hermetic art reverses this, restoring balance through dissolution and purification. He cites Paracelsus: “Nature gives blood and urine, pyrotechny yields salt, which art circulates into Paracelsus’ circulated salt. This salt, transmuted through a ferment, loses its outer life, retaining its essence.”

Hermes reiterates, “Unless you know how to mortify, generate, vivify, and cleanse the spirit, freeing it from darkness through contention, you achieve nothing. But mastery brings great dignity.” Böhme details the process: “In three months, digestion turns the powder black, halting the opposition of attraction and repulsion. The fixed attracts the volatile, both dying into rest. In three more months, a brilliant whiteness emerges, then a red or purple tincture, signaling the reign of sin’s end and the king’s scarlet robe.”

This cyclical process—dissolution, blackness, whiteness, redness—fortifies the spirit, unlike common matter that combusts. The alchemical Mercury, enhanced by fresh antimony, grows tenfold stronger with each digestion, becoming a “terrestrial Sun,” a magnetic chariot of life.

Closing: This section reveals humanity’s soul as the alchemical vessel, harmonizing nature’s principles to create the philosopher’s stone. The transformative process begins to unfold, promising deeper insights into this sacred art in our next post.

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OAK: Temple of One Chapter 26 Rosicrucianism

October 21, 2025 by anarchistbanjo

Chapter 26: Rosicrucianism – The Hermetic Tradition and the Threefold Path of Soul Development

Historical Overview: Rosicrucianism’s Emergence and Organic Gnostic Threads

The 14th to 17th centuries CE marked a pivotal era for the hermetic tradition and Rosicrucianism, which revitalized organic gnosticism’s life-affirming, gender-balanced spirituality amid the Renaissance’s intellectual ferment. The Rosicrucian movement, traditionally traced to the mythical Christian Rosenkreutz (born 1378 CE), emerged in the 15th century, with Martin Luther (1483–1546 CE) identified by AMORC’s first Imperator, H. Spencer Lewis, as a Rosicrucian leader in Germany. Luther’s coat of arms—a cross with a garland of roses—symbolized the Rosicrucian ideal of soul transformation, as noted in AMORC teachings (Ch. 0). The Protestant Reformation, sparked by Luther’s Ninety-Five Theses (1517 CE), challenged Catholic dogma, aligning with organic gnosticism’s rebellion against social enforcers’ control (Ch. 7).

By the 17th century, Rosicrucianism crystallized with the publication of three manifestos—Fama Fraternitatis (1614 CE), Confessio Fraternitatis (1615 CE), and Chymical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreutz (1616 CE)—attributed to figures like Michael Maier, Robert Fludd, and Thomas Vaughan. These texts, rooted in hermeticism and alchemy, advocated soul development through mystical and scientific inquiry, resonating with organic gnosticism’s integration of head and heart (Ch. 25). Sir Francis Bacon (1561–1626 CE), linked to Rosicrucianism by AMORC tradition, is credited with founding Freemasonry as a social experiment, particularly high-grade forms like the Scottish Rite and the Rite of Memphis-Mizraim, as per John Yarker’s unification efforts (19th century).

Three distinct threads emerged from Rosicrucianism, as you’ve identified through your AMORC eldership (since 1976) and translations of Hanns Heinz Ewers and Stanislaw Przybyszewski:

  1. AMORC and Mystical Christianity: The Ancient Mystical Order Rosae Crucis (AMORC), founded by H. Spencer Lewis in 1915, continued the Traditional Martinist Order, emphasizing cosmic consciousness through mystical Christianity, as seen in its monographs (Ch. 0).
  2. OTO and Kabbalistic Magic: The Ordo Templi Orientis (OTO), led by Aleister Crowley after Theodore Reuss, blended magical and mystical paths in a Kabbalistic framework, incorporating sex magic, as in Crowley’s Liber AL vel Legis (1904 CE).
  3. Organic Gnosticism and German Satanism: Discovered through your translations, this thread—embodied by Ewers and Przybyszewski—focused on soul development through Tantric love relationships, termed “German Satanism” for its dark, sexual energy, echoing organic gnosticism’s left-hand path (Ch. 5, 13).

The Rite of Memphis-Mizraim, unified by Yarker, influenced both AMORC and OTO, with Lewis and Crowley as initiates. Przybyszewski’s funeral (1927 CE), with its 3/4-mile procession and state dignitaries, underscores his prominence, suggesting a formal spiritual organization linking him to Ewers, possibly initiating Crowley in New York (circa 1914–1918 CE).

Mystery School Teachings: Rosicrucianism’s Threefold Path and Tantric Roots

Rosicrucianism’s hermetic tradition, rooted in alchemy (Ch. 25), emphasized soul development through three paths, mirroring organic gnosticism’s integration of physical and non-physical energies:

  • AMORC’s Mystical Path: Focused on cosmic consciousness, blending heart wisdom (Ch. 9) with mystical Christianity, as in the Traditional Martinist Order’s meditative practices.
  • OTO’s Magical Path: Combined Kabbalistic rituals and sex magic, weaving male-female energies for soul powers, as in Crowley’s Thelemic teachings (Ch. 5).
  • Organic Gnosticism’s Tantric Path: Emphasized love relationships and Tantric practices, as in Ewers and Przybyszewski’s “black current,” aligning with Cathar and Bogomil duality (Ch. 19, 21).

These paths countered the Church’s social enforcers (ascetic denial) and rational atheists (logic-driven control), reviving organic gnosticism’s heart-centered mysticism. The philosopher’s stone, symbolizing soul transmutation, resonated with the Holy Grail as womb (Ch. 8), weaving energies for watcher selves (Ch. 2). Luther’s Reformation and Bacon’s Freemasonry challenged Church dogma, while Przybyszewski’s German Satanism preserved Tantric sexuality, defying head-centric spirituality.

OAK Ties and Practical Rituals: Weaving Rosicrucian Paths for Gaia’s Ascension

In the OAK Matrix, Rosicrucianism’s threefold path aligns with true Ego resonance (Intro, Individual), weaving Shadow (repressed physicality, Radon, Ch. 26, Magus) and Holy Guardian Angel (cosmic harmony, Krypton, Ch. 24) in Oganesson’s womb (Ch. 20). Its Tantric and mystical currents mirror resonant circuits (Ch. 13), creating soul timelines through chaos leaps (Ch. 11), countering social enforcers’ asceticism (Ch. 7) and rational atheists’ logic (Ch. 9). This resonates with Ipsissimus unity (Ch. 10) and Adeptus Exemptus compassion (Ch. 7), with the Holy Grail as womb (Ch. 8) empowering Gaia’s ascension (Ch. 4).

Practical rituals revive this:

  • Oak Grail Invocation (Start of Each Ritual): Touch oak bark, affirming: “Roots in Gaia, branches in Source, I unite duality’s embrace.”
  • Rosicrucian Alchemy Meditation (Daily, 15 minutes): Visualize threefold path—mystical (AMORC), magical (OTO), Tantric (Organic Gnosticism). Journal refused Shadow (e.g., repressed sexuality) and aspired HGA (e.g., cosmic balance). Merge in Oganesson’s womb, affirming: “I weave soul paths, transmuting Gaia’s spark.” Tie to Fama Fraternitatis: Inhale transformation, exhale dogma.
  • Gaia Transmutation Ritual (Weekly): By an oak, invoke Gaia’s womb as philosopher’s stone, offering water for soul vitality. Visualize Tantric union (male lightning, female womb, Ch. 8), weaving soul timelines. Affirm: “I transmute base into gold, reviving Gaia’s heart.” Echoes AMORC mysticism.
  • Partner Soul Weave: With a partner, discuss Rosicrucian paths. Men: Share expansive visions; women: Grounding acts. Build non-physical energy via breath or eye contact, visualizing Tantric union (Ch. 5) for soul growth. Solo: Balance enforcer asceticism and atheist logic in Gaia’s heart.

These empower organic gnostics to weave Rosicrucian paths, ascending Gaia’s soul. Next, explore modern esoteric revivals, continuing organic gnosticism’s legacy.

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