…was an ancestor of mine, apparently. And now I’ve recently discovered she was quite a prolific occult author and surrealist painter. And I was just talking about creating a Tarot deck–not for public consumption, of course, but to help me memorize the Tree of Life and its correspondences to the Tarot, the planets, and the archetypal keys of all hidden knowledge.
Particularly noteworthy is Colquhoun’s mention of an oral tradition regarding sexuality within the original HOGD as well as in the Alpha et Omega. Colquhoun also mentions that, in her opinion, the sexual aspects should appear in the highest grades of any occult fraternity, including the projected Third Order of the original Golden Dawn, as is presently the case in the Third Order of Mathers’ Alpha et Omega.
Colquhoun further discusses actual rituals pertaining to sexual polarity performed by early members of the Golden Dawn. In particular, she discusses at length the unpublished “Lilith” ritual of A.E. Waite that she found at the Warburg Institute. Finally, Colquhoun also discusses issues pertaining to Golden Dawn ritual and tantra groups regarding sexual polarity and the role of women in both tantra groups as well as in the original Golden Dawn.
Hey kids,
Delphi here, lettin’ ya’ll know that I’m going to be startig a radio talk show on The Global Reality Network on Saturdays at 4-5pm. This coming Saturday, January 16th, is the first episode.
SO LISTEN UP!!
I’ll be mostly examining esoteric literature and poetry, ancient civilizations, and mythology, but in doing so I’d like YOUR HELP on topics that YOU want to learn about. I will also take emails with dreams or other experiences that you would like me to help you interpret or comprehend better. Emails can be sent to: thedelphireport@gmail.com
Thank you in advance for any feedback you might take time out to give. Reading suggestions, music suggestions, and topic suggestions are all up for grabs, guys, so take advantage of this! Let’s start a revolution of the mind, body, and soul!
Motherfucking chode popping
harbingers of dispair and devolution,
you bitches are going
DOWN.
We are not your vaccination test monkeys,
your sympathetic petri dishes,
your lay-down-now-this-won’t-hurt
push pin dolls who drink the milk
that does nobody any good,
(especially those bloated Monsanto cows
with utters reaching to China)
We are not your anti-bacterial
insanitation device,
We are not your hospitals where
our poorest go to die–
And we are not your swine flu.
Is that shit even real?
Do you know ANYONE who has it?
When was the last time you looked in the mirror
and didn’t try and pronounce yourself diseased?
When was the last time you didn’t take ANYTHING
to feel good, to feel normal, to feel healthy?
When did you get off without the blue pill?
When will they cure female impotence, by the way?
Maybe it’ll be the day when they stop raping
our bodies for good nutrients,
our earth for resources,
our children for their creativity,
our animals for their lack of tear ducts
and inability to scream,
our mothers for their desire to
but who silently sit and watch their children take the bullet.
You MOTHER-fucking, MOTHER-killing, diseased minds of
impotent old men who wish their cocks were bigger than the heart of the sky,
wish their minds were stronger than the inevitable march of entropy,
wish their goals were as infallible
as the supernova of a hundred billion latent Sun Gods;
You bitches, and I do not mean to insult the pregnant mothers of puppies,
for dogs are better and more genuine than any pretense of humanity
you suppose;
You whores, and I do not mean to insult prostitutes, for fucking for crack and money
is more noble than allowing a Satanic cock up your ass for power, as you have done;
You, you who say your power resides
in policies of disease, manipulations of science, and the perversion of the word “Medicine”;
You do not get my body.
You do not get my mind.
and you, shall never inherit
any earth I walk upon, so long
as the soul in my cunt screams louder
than any bomb, any shot, any death
brought by the silent pill
the syringe
or the gun.
“But like the solar system is going through a change soon and it’s going to affect the Earth in about 30 years, you know, I am talking about the Earth itself.”
The connection between Music and the mysteries of the Universe has always been an intrinsic one. This video lead me to hunt down some articles on artists who have had UFO encounters. Probably the weirdest would be the Jimi Hendrix story related below.
Knight told Beckley a remarkable story about Hendrix, an event that happened a few years before Hendrix became the legendary and much beloved guitar hero.
“It was during the wintertime,” Beckley said, “and they were playing a small gig in upstate New York, near Woodstock. This was before the Woodstock Festival, so it has nothing to do with that, except as a point of location. It was not very far from Pinebush, where there’s been a lot of UFO activity in the last few decades.
“Anyway, as I understand it from Curtis,” Beckley continued, “there was a very snowy blizzard and the boys in the band were trying to get back to Manhattan. They got snowed in. It was so cold outside that they couldn’t even open a window. The windows had frozen. They had the engine still running, and the carbon monoxide filled the car. A couple of the other guys passed out in the backseat, but Jimi was still able to breathe apparently, and he claimed that a cone-shaped object landed on the road not far from their vehicle. A door opened on the side of the craft and a being came out. He described it as kind of like a cross between a feathered creature, maybe like Mothman, and an angel.
“This thing drew its wings out and walked around the vehicle, and where it walked, the snow melted. So they were able to get out of the blizzard and get back to New York. Jimi always told Curtis that if it wasn’t for this being coming from the ship, he was sure that they would have all died in that car that night.”
1983 (A Merman I Should Turn To Be)
Hooray, I awake from yesterday
Alive, but the war is here to stay
So my love, Catherina and me,
decide to take our last walk
through the noise to the sea
Not to die but to reborn,
away from lands so battered and torn
Forever, forever
Oh say, can you see
it’s really such a mess
Every inch of Earth is a fighting nest
Giant pencil and lipstick
tube shaped things,
Continue to rain
and cause screaming pain
And the arctic stains from silver blue
to bloody red
as our feet find the sand, and the sea
is straight ahead, straight up ahead
Well it’s too bad THAT our friends,
can’t be with us today
Well it’s too bad
The machine, THAT we built, would never save us, that’s what they say
(That’s why they ain’t coming with us today)
And they also said “it’s impossible for a man to live and breathe under water, forever,”
was their main complaint. And they also threw this in my face, they said:
“Anyway, you know good and well it would be beyond the will of God, and the grace of the King”
(grace of the King … Yeah, yeah)
So my darling and I make love in the sand, to salute the last moment ever on dry land
Our machine, it has done its work, played its part well.
Without a scratch on our bodies and we bid it farewell
Starfish and giant foams greet us with a smile
Before our heads go under we take a last look at the killing noise
Of the out of style, the out of style, out of style (oooh)…
“Right this way,” smiles a mermaid — I can hear Atlantis full of cheer.
I started thinking about why I love to travel. It’s not easy to pick up and go somewhere new and adapt and learn the customs and still try and maintain your own way of life while simultaneously opening your head to other interpretations of conscious reality. But there is something that happens when you get to feel the energy of a specific place. It sticks with you longer than any photograph or souvenir, if you’re sensitive to it.
I first read about Rosslyn Chapel in 1999, when I was sixteen, in The Highlander, a magazine for people with Scottish ancestry. The article didn’t do much more than point out the pre-Columbus corn and cactus symbolism alongside Greenmen and the enigmatic Apprentice’s Pillar. It was a relatively shallow article. At that time, my mind had already decided that Christianity was pretty much a stolen pagan sun worshiping cult, but I just felt there was something weird at Rosslyn, and knew I had to go there. When I went to Scotland in 2004, I snuck away to Rosslyn and descended into the “secret” ritual chamber below…you know, the one where they keep Jesus’s blood or something (thank you Dan Brown. Right, cause the Holy Grail is treasure, a cup, or even an heir. Yes, Jesus had heirs, but the question you should be asking is whose heir was Jesus?)
This was my experience:
As I walked down the 13 steps into the chamber, I felt myself become extremely lightheaded, as tho I’d just knocked about five shots of good Scotch back. I leaned up against the wall to steady myself. The pit felt like death, the crypt where the body is kept, resting next to the Knight Templar carved out of stone. On the wall there were several carvings that made my head spin further; they were not the modern works of graffiti artists, but carved into the wet concrete when the St. Claires built the chapel to begin with. Not surprisingly, we see another Orion/Sirius connection:
On a wall of Rosslyn Chapel’s underground crypt, the oldest and holiest structure in the building, is what’s been called a “working Masonic drawing.” It is shaped more like an obelisk than a pyramid, and yet it sang a siren song to me. The central line of the drawing passes through three pyramids—as viewed from above.
From my experience, it all comes down to energy. Being a musician, I tend to make metaphors to music because it is the easiest association for me. Music is energy, and in a sense, placing sacred sites along a path of energy is like creating a fretboard for a song you want to hear over and over and over again. Awesome if the song is bringing joy and enlightenment to all who hear it, but not so much if the song says “You are under control by us, submit and do not question.”
What if the Masonic “G” is a key in which these songs are played? What if we tune our ears to B flat, the hum of the supermassive black hole at the center of our galaxy, instead? What does that do to our heads? What does this do to our minds, our bodies? I know from experience that stone structures strategically located can make you feel completely…out of your skull. To what ends?
In conclusion, my love of traveling has to do with tracking this vibrational energy that has been tapped so loudly by so many occult societies throughout time. The more I see, the more I feel that the truths I’ve unearthed over the years are stranger than I ever thought. Also, thank you to The Atlantean Conspiracy for this insightful article on the ley line connection.
Paradox ain’t for everyone. For those unable to imbibe such a heady brew, those who are simply not equipped for galactic emanations, we see that they are safely excluded from any fried circuitry by virtue of their inability to find a place for crop circles on their scientific nuts and bolts game board. They just don’t fit. So this quandary is resolved by using the squares and the pieces that do fit. Therefore, in such circumstances, the circles are required to be man-made. And so that is what they are. They are man-made.
For the aspiring but equally dualistic investigator, armed with an appetite for discovery, a bag of technology and a penchant for the mysterious, all that can really be discerned is the labyrinthine corridors of their own binary delusion. One chase after another. Never finding the answer. Indulging in the escapist adventure. Scraps and clues. This is not the way forward. The kōan repeatedly hints at the external world being no more than a fictional movie from the projection room of the mind. So the manifestation of the circles is not to be scrutinized on the movie screen, but in the place from which the movie originates.
Personal beliefs, narratives and reflections must be suspended to embrace the circles. The thinking, walking storybook of the chattering human cannot enter. Clean, still, open consciousness. Only with such integral awareness can the fluid individual penetrate the old morphic fields of linear routine. Then, something new is brought into being. Field uplink occurs. The upgrade downloads and installs. The local reflection of consciousness evolves and expands. Connection. Gnosis.
Found this excellent site, The Spiritual Message of Hazrat Inayat Khan, while looking for good links on Sufism. The more I study, the more I learn that within each of the major world religions exists a purer, truer set of teachings that deal with the creation of the soul and attuning yourself to the deepest voice in your heart, that one that tells you that something is very wrong with the world, but that love is real, and that guides you when you’re lost.
It exists in all forms of mysticism, and in all great works of literature. Just tuning into the Sufi channel, personally. I particularly love what Khan has to say about Music:
Many in the world take music as a source of amusement, a pastime, and to many music is an art and a musician an entertainer. Yet no one has lived in this world and has thought and felt, who has not considered music as the most sacred of all arts, for the fact is that what the art of painting cannot clearly suggest, poetry explains in words; but that which even a poet finds difficult to express in poetry is expressed in music. By this I do not only say that music is superior to art and poetry, but in point of fact music excels religion; for music raises the soul of man even higher than the so-called external forms of religion.
From the chorus of “Instrument,” one of the first songs I received after arriving in Jeddah:
Raise me up, I’m your instrument
Unstrung and warped, I’m a testament
to the Source beyond the firmament
that keeps my heart alive
