New World! Any Orders?

The folks that journey to the temple arrive, people with secrets; people whose lives include a rich tapestry of interests. People who share many things, but especially, an enthusiasm for journeying into the unknown; making the paths, making realities anew. People who spend time in worlds that others might not suspect exist, or might indeed, suspect do exist.

As they travel through life, such illuminates process the everyday, like anyone else. And like anyone else they process the everyday with a smile and a laugh: families, jobs, washing up… The inspiring normality of human doings without need for disguise.

In arriving at the temple, they risk the unknown, a risk they might take gladly, albeit with trepidation. Risking a passage, a passage from the rich mundane to the rich sacred; with the intent of returning anew, with gifts, with the risk of change and the risk of changing the world that they left behind when they entered the temple.

The temple, of course, exists in the mundane: a room, a space, carefully decorated. Silks line the walls, their gold threads reflecting the candle and LED light that flickers. Specularity and soft moving shadows. The altar, laden with objects strange, unusual and surprising, offers a tactile plethora of surface. Each diffusing and refracting, and sometimes hiding in the broad darkness.

As they stand to focus, the transformation begins, for the gathered people start to shift. Bringing forward their magicians; engaging the well trained mind sets of occult practitioners. Druids, Shamans, Thelemites, Chaotic explorers. Free spirits, Old souls, Seekers of mysteries, Diviners, Enchanters, Invokers, Evokers and Illuminators. Bodyminds tuned to cadences of exploration. Adepts of meditation, knowingness of nothingness. Encompassed void; pokers into dark corners of experience.

As sacred names get chanted, sacred space begins to vortex. Moving in perfect co-ordination, the group of robed humans, harmonized, individuated, entwined non-separate. In the manifest reality of the temple, the well-practised inner work finds convergence, seeking a focus that, in and of itself, seems rarefied. A multimind singularity that seeks to open the portals of the unknown, shifting, sublimating, making tenuous the grip on the mundane reality, so that the temple manifests along strange axes.

Illuminated Rainbow Tribe: meme engineering fusion stylee

Illuminated Rainbow Tribe: Cosmic meme engineering, fusion stylee

With space opened up, vistas anew become viable conduits of experience. The hard-won inner vision, resultant of solitary hours of praxis, became, for each a tangible otherness that remains exciting, unusual but familiar. For within this familiar space, wove the expectation of an additional voice and form.

The strange sounds of alien-like voices accompanied the evocation, the entity, eager to manifest brought into sight via a formula of voice and intent. A peristaltic actualization and a knowing of other presence.

Asked into the spaces, the entity subsumes each of them, for a short time. When form flows with contradistinction, the mechanics of meeting behove novel interaction. In this space, a space of return and accord, the participants laugh, the sound of shells exploding in the air, tori forming 100 meter pressure waves reaches them. Some 23 miles away, crowds surely ‘ooo’ and ‘ahhh’, their eyes lifted skyward as the coloured light streamers of fireworks herald the arrival of the evoked entity. It feels good for them to have such a chorus of intent. Timing, as always, proves unerring.

When treating with such an entity, the group makes offering and gift, essaying commensurate transfer. For the asking does not proves small. Shifting realities can prove hard work, even for those less corporeally challenged. And any pact with a deity, even a small one, hungers for the most fastidious attention.

In seeking to effect emergent phenomena, the group works beyond causality in worlds of artful action that reach beyond expectation, engaging with spheres that commingle, often unseen.

Subsumed, now, together, the group congresses with the evoked form, entering into deep trance, exploiting the fractal flumes of inculcate reverie. Glimpsing such panoramas of the non-ordinary brings meanings, perhaps onliest specific utterances of imaginal interpretation. Entered into new knowingness, they find exemplars of connection that help, they feel, bring about the communion with godform. The portal works in every way. Opening doors like this might not seem like such a good idea, unless one has prepared for the return. But that’s the risk, you see. You don’t always know what you’re gonna get, but risk and the deportment of such, seems very much the path which might need to get tread, when pursuing these arts. Carriage and posture, as well as politeness.

The process of returning proved somewhat gentle, for it seemed best not to rush back from such a source. Terms of gratitude precede punctuation, and the journey back from the sacred proves one of joy and laughs and smiles. And precipitates the final rhythmic chanting that unwinds and closes. Re-vibrations echo in the candle light, and the fast gets broken. For meeting again, journey complete, each of them knowing the world became anew.

As each returns to their new world, the journey continues as they explore again, the familiar and comfort of the manifest stability that so many variables conspire to persist. Each returning to their families, jobs and washing up, continuation of normalcy. Having ordered a new world, from the counter of spherical exploration, the group illuminated their way, and broke new ground in seeking co-operative effect in their worlds.

They stood together as one, celebrated differences, stood apart as collective intent brought to bear. Regardless of doctrine and difference, do the gods care what colours we wear? For in the twilight of dagaz and the space between time, such novel particulars seem of no consequence. When we stand as magicians, operating in the imaginal spaces, the precipice of daring, our will to know overcomes, as the tethers get broken and the shouts of the mundane get lost on the winds of silence.

Fra. Koku

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