Last message from a "sorcerers"
Jan 22, 2003 11:40 AM
by James Davis
lac> In a message dated 01/17/03 8:08:45 AM, firstname.lastname@example.org writes:
>>Without the proper knowledge of Atma-Vidya those wellmeaning
>>pro-Baileys are behind dubious sorcery. I would call it culturally
>>westernized biased sorcery ! Some are conscious about their acts and
>>some are not about their magical "deeds". Do the reader agree ? Does
>>P. Lindsay agree, if not why ?
lac> I agree. Good question. We'll see. So far, all the pro Baileys can do is
lac> cut and run, or call us "ignorant" and what we say, "flapdoodle" -- for
lac> putting up a mirror and showing them the harmfulness and dangers of AAB's
lac> religious and political philosophy that their fanaticism blocks their seeing
lac> for themselves, or answering reasonably.
Phillip did "cut" off his attempts to communicate, but our friend did
not "run" but walked thoughtfully to the exit. But if we are
sorcerers, then your welcome was too warm. But the dangerous ones have
left, so rejoice.
I also must on my way, so this is my last post. If there are some who
found this exchange productive and useful, then feel to contact me
I append below, the last ravings of a dangerous sorcerers.
I tried to read her in stories and in the books called sacred and most
secret, yet she eluded me. Sometimes I thought I caught a glimpse of
her in nature, but it resolved into shadows. I was sure, I knew, that
if there were shadows there was also light. So I invoked an elaborate
alchemy of approach, yet no prescription sufficed, and she yielded
not. In the stars I looked for her, but every map gave more questions
and never the face I sought. Glimpses, shadows, glimmers, always the
grey game, but never the luminous face. I made an alter of finest
quality--by this I found exactly and only my creation, nothing more.
She held herself aloof from the ancient images; my charms held no
appeal. We gathered to invoke her name, but to no avail. Every charm
was dispersed, and every craft and every conjurers task was as nothing
to her. All commands, all entreaties came to naught. To number and
element she remained immune. Nothing cast or broken, nothing done or
woven, no cycle, no intonation served.
What was the strange and mysterious place of her birth? At first I
thought the ancients had sent her, that the word of her coming was
already known among the simple people, even mirrored in their rituals.
Then I thought she had always been with me, waiting for the day when
she could speak. But I learned she had spoken long ago, and many times
since, and down the ages to present moment. She had come to me in
luminous dreams I had not remembered. She sang and whispered, but I
did not notice. I know now how distracted I was by my toys and
tricks. Coming to this, I dropped them, and in morning before the
coming of dawn, I left it all behind. I went then to the mountain top
and sat in silence for a long while. There was nothing within, and
seeming nothing without, and I felt and knew that nothing of the old
was needed now. Life became simple. I had nothing and needed nothing,
save something to give--and that would now be the object of my quest.
And when the sun rose, she came to me at last. Not as whisper but as
thunder, not as glimmer but as a storm of light. Her shafts of song
assailed the secret places of the soul. She sang a new alchemy that
cannot be bound in a sacred book. Her presence unveiled a new history
of the world all laid in geometry of fire. Her charms were
constellations, her craft a sphere of glory, her magic was the
sunlight of a thousand worlds.
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