Category: magick group

I work an immanent model of the tree, rising up its pathways and growing into the tree.  Practically this means beginning from Malkuth and working towards Hod, Yesod and Netzach in the first instance (the ‘lower supernal’ or first triangulation).  The core of this first triangulation revolves around the 21st path from Malkuth to Yesod, the Tau path, in which there are three moments – Malkuth itself, the path (World) and then Yesod.  Three is the magic number of the tree.

The temple of Malkuth is approached from a wood, in which we begin.  The greens and browns of the forest, the lushness of life and the tree itself offer our entrance into the trance pathworking.  Coming out of the wood we move onto a grass plain, mountains in the distance, birds in the air, water flowing somewhere near us, we can hear it, and the temple of Malkuth sitting amidst the growth and green of the plain, surrounded and watched over by the archangel of this realm, Sandalphon.  Given time to form its image as we cross the grass towards the temple, we see the four steps leading up to the platform where we find the entrance, the four steps reminding us of the four worlds of the Kabbalah, the platform itself enabling us to pause after climbing the steps, giving us time to acknowledge the motto of Malkuth carved above its entrance, the motto ‘Know thyself’, the motto of Socrates.  As we push open the door the black and white tiles of the floor and the flickering firefly of the Ashim fill our vision and surround us as we step inside.

The following pathworking is the first in a new series of travels on the tree.

The Kabbalistic meditation group we started with some fellow majicians last year is still going strong, meeting every Tuesday night for nearly a year now.  We’ve begun a ‘second phase’ of work after a couple of weeks break during the Winter Solstice period.  Last year we concentrated on the bottom four sephiroth, building a strong temple base in Malkuth and exploring the other three sephiroth as part of a process of QShTh (Koph, Shin, Tau) or ‘building the rainbow’.  Once this ‘bow’ is built, the arrow is then drawn and fired towards Tiphareth and that is indeed where we have been heading recently.

We began by getting a second ‘temple base’ centred and fixed, this time not the temple of Malkuth but the temple of Tiphareth, the walls of the temple no longer in stone but now golden, forming a golden castle on a hill which we entered by drawing the bow, focusing on the tip of the arrow-head and then becoming the arrow as we release the bow, landing inside the golden castle to meet the child of light.  We spent some weeks just going there, spending some time with the child of light, allowing the connection to be made through the solar plexus.  Now, however, we’ve begun to explore the pathways towards Malkuth, notably 24 and 23 – death and the devil respectively.  The last two weeks have been focused on path 24, death.

Here, on the path of transformation (a vague term if ever there was one and one that might be said to apply to the whole of the tree), the taste of earth is again predominant.  Lions and sparrowhawks and battle cries abound, the clash of metal ringing out in the expanse of the heavens.  The flaming red elemental triangle is strong and there is a connection to Geburah, somewhere, though I am unclear about that as yet – I’m assuming, no doubt incorrectly or only partially, that it’s a reflection from the other side of Tiphareth but more will come about that later.

Having moved from the first supernal to begin working on the second it is appropriate to change some of the techniques we’ve been using as well.  The Kabbalistic cross, the LBRP and the Middle Pillar still form the beginning, although I’ve been thinking of bringing the Hexagram ritual to the group as well but perhaps towards the end of this period in preparation for the next move up.  Following these openings, however, we had previously been doing a simple 20minute empty mind meditation, primarily because this is a ‘no preconceptions’ form which, whilst difficult to achieve ‘perfection’ in (whoever wants to do that is a Fool, literally), is useful in producing a relatively simple state of ‘sit still, be quiet, allow the sounds of the world and your mind to just pass through’.  It was occasionally added to with the three steps a fellow chaote once suggested – Be Still, Be At Ease, Be Aware, in which you simply go from step 1, to step 2 through to step 3 and repeat the process each time you ‘interrupt’ yourself.  Now, however, we’ve begun using the more traditional ‘single point’ meditation of the Golden Dawn neophyte grade, as found in the First Knowledge Lecture, albeit minus the four-fold breath.  Interestingly there’s an ambiguity in the original, in which the meditation appears to be not on the point itself but on “the ideas to which it gives rise” and so we may not be doing anything similar to the practices of GD neophytes at all.  I find the idea of meditating on ideas far too strange, however, no doubt because of a certain hostility to the latent Platonism that I smell there.  The simple image of the point seems far more powerful and appropriate, not least because it is commonly encountered as dynamic, as an auscultatory phenomenon and thus the focus on the ‘breathing’ point allows the practice of settling the breath to occur.

The other key notions of the First Knowledge Lecture are things I want to build into this stage of the pathworking as well.  We’ve already begun the process of learning the Hebrew of course as well as the sephiroth themselves and as we do we also learn the planetary and conceptual associations as well.  The practical elemental aspects have been limited so far and these and the astrological associations are probably the next layer on the cake that needs adding.  I’m unsure about the Pillars material, however – some sort of decision will have to be made regarding the whole Egyptian thing…not something I’ve ever resonated with myself but obviously central to any continued work with the GD tradition once we’ve established the basics, as it were.  Perhaps the group is just there to establish the basics…we’ll see.

It is a strange thing to be working through this material again in a group, having last worked it over a good few years ago and then in a solitary situation.  The whole is very familiar but last time I remember – I might see if I can dig out my diaries about this – that the main lesson that I drew was regarding the whole ‘Judaeo-Christian’ aspect of the work.  I came into pagan and majikal practice with a considerable hostility to religion and in many ways still maintain that, though in general I now conceive the hostility as one directed at Priests and the Priesthood rather than Judaeo-Christians in particular – a kind of anti-authoritarianism, I suppose, partially informed by a general political hostility to authority, partially informed by Nietzsche’s genealogy of the slave revolt and the ascetic ideal.  Asceticism, priestliness and that whole monk thing is both powerful and destructive.  My first moves towards exploring any sort of ‘spirit’ (a word I still find peculiar and not altogether comfortable) was via Buddhism, which I soon found to be as deeply imbued by the Priestly ethic – if not more so – than Judaeo-Christianity.  It was Rae Beth who was the first to offer a path that seemed to somehow be inherently anti-authoritarian and yet still able to handle the sacred.  I soon found, however, that witchcraft and majik had its roots in Judaeo-Christian ideas, at least in terms of the language and symbolism with which it articulated itself if not in its inherent ‘spirit’ and so the Golden Dawn proved to be the way in which there was a coming to terms with this symbolism and history, or at least the beginning of such an accounting.

Now, however, the  ‘JC religion’ thing is much less important.  The child of light, for example, found in the castle of gold of Tiphareth, might be associated with the Christ figure but is associated with a whole gamut of other sacrifice symbols.  If we understand sacrifice through Christ then we forget that it is only through an understanding of sacrifice that Christ means anything anyway.  Sacrifice is something inherently other than the simple figure of Christ, whilst at the same time incarnated in that figure amongst many others, many of whom I’d probably prefer the tone of.  The Christ figure is bound up with sin, guilt and the appalling trick, as Nietzsche says, of the ‘infinite debt’, a concept so bound into power, authority, capitalism and hate as to be almost inconceivable.  The sacrificial aspect barely remains in the JC religion because of the telos of that particular act.  Distinct from this I would suggest that it’s anathema to a pagan practice to begin from some sin that needs expunging – that is an inherently Judaeo-Christian, perhaps even simply a monotheistic concept (I know little about Islam so wouldn’t comment).  I think the Nimbari’s ‘third principle of sentient life’ – that it is capable of sacrificing itself for the greater whole – is a far more powerful way of understanding what is positive and what is dangerous in the general idea of sacrifice.  The image of sacrifice, however, that symbol, is bound into the body of the Christ figure within the Western majikal and pagan practices and so one way or another needs to be encountered and encountered not just as a danger or as negative.  That, as I say, was the original lesson that I drew from the Golden dawn material – now, however, the question or problem is which other figures might also be bound into that concept, who are these figures and is this in fact the heart of the tree, this notion of sacrifice?

Sitting on a tree trunk in the old forest. In front of me dense leaves, the colour of mid summer, soft green before it becomes harsh khaki. The bark under my buttocks arranged in fine ridges, grey rather than brown, thin fingers, shallow grooves.

I stand and begin to walk the path. It’s red, the soil has a dusty quality, smooth and warm. Looking at my feet. They’re moving slowly, falling with certainty. I know this place. I’ve been here many times. And then the forest begins to clear. In front of me is a large, grassy area. To my left I can hear water. The trees fall away from me to my right. I can still hear the birds singing up in the branches. In the distance purple topped mountains. Closer a temple, round, pale skinned, blank windows set into thick walls. There are steps, four of them, massively horizontal, hewn out of light rock, perfectly worked into straight angles. At the top a dias, ridged to form sun rays, and then a door, above which is carved Malkuth. I’ve been here before. I know this place.

Inside pale becomes glinting orange, the light of sunset. Looking up and the ceiling is a dome, around which runs a balcony. The Ashim sing from the balcony, their flame bodies moving with breath and rhythm. They welcome me, some brush over my skin, with their words and music and spirit bodies. Their heat refreshes me.

I see the lady, throned, her hair coiled about her head, her arms resting gently at her sides. She smiles. I incline my head. Her clothes are richly decorated, with gold threads and lush red velvets. Although she is antiquated I can sense her agelessness. She is neither young nor old, instead she just is, seated in her place, her proper place, and I am her guest.

Three doors. On the left one marked XX, Judgement. Going. Not wanting to go. I cry a lot. It is fear real, ethereal. To want and not want. To feel desire and to be repelled. Forwards. Backwards. Swinging time.

Through the door and the ground is wet, clotted. The earth path here is dark. Underfoot rotting leaves and broken twigs. The leaves squelch. The twigs crunch. They are being squashed, breaking.

I am in a graveyard. Old tombstones rise before my eyes. One on the right, near the path, is covered in lichen and green moss. I cannot make out the inscription. In the distance I see a mausoleum. It’s square, white, columned with a pyramid roof. Someone important has died. They raised a shrine. Many of the tombstones are broken, lying at crumbled angles. There is a coffinesque one a few yards away. It’s lid is missing. My feet are wet. My hair is bound in elaborate coils and my white shift is damp and clinging to my body. I rise up, blood returns to my lips, it is as if I am waking from a very long dream, a dream that has kept me in this coffin for many years. I watch myself walk towards myself and then I join, black and white with colour. I feel my chill.

Above me a white light, conical, starting as a pinprick up in the night sky and falling to ground in shafts of luminescence. I don’t need to be scared. I am not blind. Everything is throw into sharp focus as I recognise him from his sword. Michael. He who has counselled me to take the blood of harvest into my wintering heart. He showed me once what to do with the seed, how to tuck it away and keep it safe until the spring would help to bring forth its promise.

The sword, double edged, shining steel, a hand guard, worked gold. His gown is white. He does not speak. I know already. I always have and always will.

Another door, thrown open into brilliance, a space with no walls, no floors, no ceilings. I cannot fathom the distance or proportions. This light is blinding and breathtaking. To step in? The door has been opened.

In front of me a wide staircase, stretching from beneath to above, curving around, encompassing. Marble. Alabaster. Iridescent clouds. I do not require air to be able to breathe.

Walking down the stairs, a man with a staff, he has two snakes, but I can barely see them. He flickers in and out of my vision, part of the light, part of my perception. The snakes provide the only colour, brown and green, a solidity of muscle and movement. He becomes a she, with breasts, his hair tied behind his head, her feet padding on the marble, all is toneless, there is no silver or gold or sound, just white and light. Silky satin.

Her lips move. He is talking to me. Hearing has no place in this space. Listening is irrelevant. Lips are moving. There is no strain, no gain. Lips are moving and they are beautiful in their movement.

She takes me by the hand, but not by the hand. He has my hand and I have her hand, yet there is no grip or force.

Up the stairs and everything shrinks. At the apex I find myself in a small room. Walls are brushed cream. The floor is boarded with dark wood. Along the walls bookshelves, filled with leather bound tomes. There are desks, a person sitting at each, their backs to me. They are silent. They are working.

I am led down a central aisle, past the desks. No-one lifts their heads. In small alcoves bell jars sit on plinths. I do not know what is inside them. There is a geared machine, proportioned to fit on a small table. Brass cogs. A turning device. The sphere rotates silently. And then an empty desk. I sit. The wood is very old, a black patina is engraved into a polished dark brown surface. An ink pot. A feathered quill. The feather is beautiful, fine, an abstract white not white. Set into the desk three buttons, brass, big, the size of my palm.

I press the left button. It shows me everything I know. Rapidly words and images flash in front of my eyes: ‘The Seventh Seal’, incalculate, a magnesium flare. I press the right button. It shows me everything I do not know: colours I have never seen, fascinating words, a wiring diagram. I press the middle button and a book appears, hard backed, dense woven fabric, blacker than black, the titled engraved in silver: ‘HOD’. I open the book and begin to read.