tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-383487982024-03-29T13:03:03.517+02:00Aquila ka HecateA Shaman Reporting To Hecate. Mostly.
Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.comBlogger929125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-52408811487545556202023-10-24T14:26:00.000+02:002023-10-24T14:26:14.667+02:00Not At The Expected Time Or Season<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPet9v0eil2X7NjYnUpSLuIw94wBipebczE3eQJAuW-8alBdKGoQQZFAW7OzJpke23JnGzehmG8RS6PzxQtJD4n49EaSlDaQBiXcOj9w5wsKqKdsjDVM0OjIce9GaDV2ut7Rjd9tQfBvZC58IhLNYAKYR9x7xJXB0ha-vPXtXIORqSRe8LEMcFqw/s1080/wheel+of+the+year.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPet9v0eil2X7NjYnUpSLuIw94wBipebczE3eQJAuW-8alBdKGoQQZFAW7OzJpke23JnGzehmG8RS6PzxQtJD4n49EaSlDaQBiXcOj9w5wsKqKdsjDVM0OjIce9GaDV2ut7Rjd9tQfBvZC58IhLNYAKYR9x7xJXB0ha-vPXtXIORqSRe8LEMcFqw/s320/wheel+of+the+year.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>While the northern hemisphere of this planet is descending into winter, here in South Africa we're on the upswing, coming steadily and heatedly into summer.</p><p>I've written before about how the Pagan holidays are mirror-imaged in the southern half of the world compared to the northern half, where most of the traditions I follow arose.</p><p>Thus, in this season we are approaching Beltane in Joburg, while in London and New York Samhain, with all its dead-communicating imagery, is almost upon them.</p><p>We don't typically expect to hear from our ancestors at Beltane - so it was with a great startle that I awoke from a midday nap - one foot in the dreamworld, one foot in the real world - and felt the unmistakable presence of a man I have loved deeply, madly manically...over 24 years ago, and him dead for the same period of time.</p><p>Difficult to English how I knew exactly, but there was no uncertainty. This old flame was indisputably <b>here, now, with me.</b></p><p>As I further broke the surface of the dreaming, I sought to question it. How could this be? Nearing Beltane in Johannesburg?</p><p>I do not know. Some say the veil is thin at both Beltane and Samhain - we just don't notice those on the other side as keenly at Beltane.</p><p>But is it possible that the Old Ways as practised by my ancestors up north have such a consequence that the reverberations can be felt, half a world and half a year-cycle away?</p><p>Is Samhain not, as I have believed, geographically based, but rooted in the living and non-living consciousness of humans? And of plants and animals and all living things? Have I held my beliefs slightly incorrectly all these years?</p><p>Possibly so.</p><p>But possibly not; the traditions of Wicca and Paganism are traditions of the human mind at root. And the greatest mass of those human minds still rests in the northern hemisphere of Earth.</p><p>And so - I am deeply touched and greatly moved to have felt the spirit/soul/presence of a much-loved flame. It was just not at the expected time or season.</p><p><br /></p><p>Image: <a href=" https://gwynethjones.coach/blog/exploring-the-wheel-of-the-year">Gwyneth Jones </a></p>Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-36806008131653480612023-10-19T19:50:00.001+02:002023-10-19T19:50:55.001+02:00Like A Sand Spill In The Desert<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPvhHfdkn-aGUtg0Q_l1VOHzFecA5AM1fRZMsBD-8HFlld7NIq-flHJ11C7dm9lOwnE_n6nyhg26hRlWSOlw9IL79nGIruuiPHrnYSQl404YR59jI5BvCsOsaxV1vV6oXb5La6-6RKintPocEkgPNjprxSTeRNnwebTfx4ODANMVV490q1o6kffw/s1700/Desert-Songs-spillwords.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1700" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPvhHfdkn-aGUtg0Q_l1VOHzFecA5AM1fRZMsBD-8HFlld7NIq-flHJ11C7dm9lOwnE_n6nyhg26hRlWSOlw9IL79nGIruuiPHrnYSQl404YR59jI5BvCsOsaxV1vV6oXb5La6-6RKintPocEkgPNjprxSTeRNnwebTfx4ODANMVV490q1o6kffw/w396-h283/Desert-Songs-spillwords.jpg" width="396" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>Moonlight pointing the tips of the acacia, lighting the sparse low clouds sailing the early night sky.</p><p>Imprint of fabric on my left cheek, where I, breathing into my pillow, had counted out the minutes and heartbeats of my mortality.</p><p>Rough baked brick under my palm, leaning upon the gritty wall seat. Cabbages at my back, feathering their leaves down my shirt. </p><p>And I, thinking only of that time when I will</p><p>Burst this ego-sac</p><p>And flow</p><p>Like low clouds sailing</p><p>Like sticky water flowing</p><p>Like a sand spill down the fissure in the deep desert</p><p>And merge once more</p><p>Into the All.</p><p><br /></p>Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-4134587717031052352023-08-07T10:48:00.005+02:002023-08-07T10:48:52.130+02:00Imbolc 2023<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyV3FjeGm4teK5-G_KKF49g72IuYFJp_Y_WKFIMuE5gcfExYU-QNqD6CHLqkiSTJu28n2zsh67L2mG9S2x1IT9r_wdpUtV-1tipE7xLtWLp_fZpxRBNC_gym8sjRFMuHibeT4am19O0cqciDtnvd2E5w9lYbzlQ8n6FLP0v8lt5GrIWJAZKgumUA/s680/F26n-ctW8AAFrRx.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="510" height="565" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyV3FjeGm4teK5-G_KKF49g72IuYFJp_Y_WKFIMuE5gcfExYU-QNqD6CHLqkiSTJu28n2zsh67L2mG9S2x1IT9r_wdpUtV-1tipE7xLtWLp_fZpxRBNC_gym8sjRFMuHibeT4am19O0cqciDtnvd2E5w9lYbzlQ8n6FLP0v8lt5GrIWJAZKgumUA/w424-h565/F26n-ctW8AAFrRx.webp" width="424" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-9491666570528055422022-08-09T13:52:00.003+02:002022-08-09T13:52:52.789+02:00Imbolc 2022<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvXl1QpPpMDtLaQDgbRoEWRthLrwRfXOlye82bng2S2kmFH4B-XgU8wMMwEteR6_oVV0ufeakCRG8ZzRUm3VDLp7xZAFmz0o3Xdji0AF_Q7Fpk7zzb2zxk_NIK6zkftgj0RtrjR3IlJCbMeRDQkj9YG1Yuxib4B3hiOdDXdBaQcOoLJMFknSc/s1280/thumbnail_20220807_070104.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="611" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvXl1QpPpMDtLaQDgbRoEWRthLrwRfXOlye82bng2S2kmFH4B-XgU8wMMwEteR6_oVV0ufeakCRG8ZzRUm3VDLp7xZAFmz0o3Xdji0AF_Q7Fpk7zzb2zxk_NIK6zkftgj0RtrjR3IlJCbMeRDQkj9YG1Yuxib4B3hiOdDXdBaQcOoLJMFknSc/w459-h611/thumbnail_20220807_070104.jpg" width="459" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-10313331235979125212021-08-09T11:50:00.002+02:002021-08-09T11:50:58.646+02:00Imbolc 2021<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-00zFifM2orQ/YRD3U07v8SI/AAAAAAAALNU/5kTR9ip1FroAieldXH9AKtkIGpxQ9YEMwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20210809_112526.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="348" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-00zFifM2orQ/YRD3U07v8SI/AAAAAAAALNU/5kTR9ip1FroAieldXH9AKtkIGpxQ9YEMwCLcBGAsYHQ/w261-h348/20210809_112526.jpg" width="261" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p>Imbolc seems to have settled on today to manifest itself.</p><p>Ignoring both the <a href="https://www.archaeoastronomy.com/2021.html">correct date</a> of Saturday, and the alternate date of the New Moon, which was yesterday, today the bees are swarming around what a year ago was a baby peach tree. The air is gentle and warm-cool, and the sun startling in a solid blue sky. Spring has come again.</p><p>Not that the seasonal celebrations can ever be tied down to the human calendar; unlike sex, seasonal changes are certainly on a spectrum. There is a range of days over which the season changes from one thing to another. It's not as if it was Winter up until 7th August and then it wasn't. The coming of Spring forms a fuzzy corona around a few days in the first 10 days or so of August.</p><p>This year I have not been as welcoming of the cold as I usually am. Could be that I'm getting older, or it could be that, working from home, I have had to contend with keeping my extremities warmer at my own expense, rather than my employer's. Some nights have been so frosty and dry that the skin over my knuckles has split and bled.</p><p>And now the land is In the Belly once more. And I feel fine.</p><p><br /></p><p>Happy Imbolc.</p><p><br /></p>Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-92204915855903565432019-07-03T08:45:00.000+02:002019-07-03T09:16:39.328+02:00Time Passages<br />
I see that I wrote the following just over 2 years ago:<br />
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<span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;"><i>As I come out of the bus station, winter-morning Sandton is chilly and still dark.</i></span></span></blockquote>
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<i><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></span></i><i><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;">Sunrise is still more than an hour away, but the streets are well-lit and a few early birds or late-shift-workers are passing along the pavement with their backpacks snugged around them like thermal blankets.</span></span></i><i><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></span></i><i><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;">Venus greets me as she has for the last couple of months, high in the gap between office-block constructions. As I turn left along West Street, she is on my right hand and the Moon is on my left..</span></span></i><i><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></span></i><i><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;"><b> "Paradise on my right. Hell on my left, and the Angel of Death behind"</b></span></span></i><i><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;"><b><br /></b></span></span></i><i><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;"><b>..</b>a youngish office worker trots past me,steaming from her mouth in the cold air.</span></span></i><i><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></span></i><i><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;">My stride lengthens a little and takes on a steadier rythmn than usual, as if the Moon and Venus have opened a ritual promenade before me, all the way to work.</span></span></i><i><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></span></i><i><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;">Yule is for me the time of greatest thinning of the veil. The time when even I can almost apprehend another world all around me, for all I lack the visual,auditory,olfactory and tactile senses to do so at other times of the year.</span></span></i><i><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></span></i><i><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;">It's this point, you see, Point III:</span></span></i><i><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></span></i><i><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></i><i><br style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /></i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HGXFVoAmP2k/WT5jf64at8I/AAAAAAAAJqc/IKUprl040EAb-Z0ez0SPot9PiwUEMISGACLcB/s1600/ecliptica2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="color: #cccccc; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="background-color: black; color: black;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="372" data-original-width="465" height="256" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HGXFVoAmP2k/WT5jf64at8I/AAAAAAAAJqc/IKUprl040EAb-Z0ez0SPot9PiwUEMISGACLcB/s320/ecliptica2.gif" style="background: rgb(34, 34, 34); border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid transparent; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="320" /></i></span></a></span><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><i><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></i></span><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><i><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></i></span><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><i><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></i></span><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><i><span style="background-color: black;">The nadir of the annual trip around the Sun, when the Ecliptic is furthest from the Equator and the term MidWinter really holds true.</span></i></span><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><i><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></i></span><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><i><span style="background-color: black;">At this time, too, I am far more prone to erratic psychic experiences.</span></i></span><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><i><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></i></span><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><i><span style="background-color: black;">A couple of weeks ago I dreamt that I was walking through my suburb along the roads in sorrow, passing a great oblong hole in the garden of one of the houses - it resembled nothing so much as an open grave, but I knew at the same time that it was actually someone's swimming pool. The next morning I learned that a 7-year-old boy had drowned in a pool that evening.</span></i></span><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><i><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></i></span><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><i><span style="background-color: black;">Since it is getting colder - for Joburg, not to be compared to the howling ice of Northen Europe in any way - we bought a minky blanket for Warren to use on the couch when he's up in the middle of the night. This blanket was draped across the back of the couch as I passed it yesterday evening. It's a pale-grey-and-cream blanket with vaguely leaf-like patterns worked into it. All of a sudden, as I was calling Scylla for supper, I saw another blanket in its place: a pale blue blanket figured with white clouds and edged in white bric a brac. Shevek's blanket from when he was a baby. And I saw it quite, quite clearly.</span></i></span><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><i><span style="background-color: black;"><br /></span></i></span><span style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><i><span style="background-color: black;">Oh, but I do love Yule; the sense of things becoming as deep as they ever will, with a simultaneous sleep-shrouded and nerve-opened feel to the soul. I can quite understand why fires were left constantly burning for this time of year, and why sistra were rattled in abundance, to chase away the disturbing spirits and warm our helpful ones.....</span></i></span></blockquote>
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..that was slightly pre-Yule. Now it's slightly post-Yule two years later, and it's striking how little has changed in my morning.<br />
Jupiter is now on my left hand as I stalk the predawn streets of Sandton while Venus remains on my right; there are slightly fewer optimistic Gautrain backpackers passing me and slightly more taxi passengers gathered on the corner of the Michelangelo; it is noticeably colder this year than last year. Very minor changes;would I even realise which year I was in if I shuttled between 2017 and 2019?<br />
Oh yes. Yes I would. For in 2019 Scylla has gone before us, back to the Mother, back to eternal Spirit, back to herSelf. And exactly one synodic lunation later, Taranis followed her.<br />
The devastating hole these departures have made in my life and Warren's is almost impossible to English.<br />
So once again we realise that life is always in flux - that change and flow is its very nature - and that whenever we feel most constant, most static, most unlikely to take another road, that is the point at which we should be preparing our boots to get a grip for a change of direction.<br />
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<br />Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-41598970132173662622019-01-17T12:20:00.000+02:002019-01-17T12:20:18.581+02:00Mona Lisas and Mad HattersThere are reports of a <a href="https://www.capetownetc.com/cape-town/watch-meteor-explodes-over-cape/">visible fireball being seen from the Cape yesterday.</a><br />
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Unlike the one I saw from Sandton in July last year, this one was sighted after 8pm - that's well after sunset - and was seen (and heard, apparently) by multiple witnesses.<br />
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I seem to have been the only person in Johannesburg to both see the mid-morning meteor entering the Earth's atmosphere on 12th July and report it to the <a href="http://shallowskyassa.saao.ac.za/">Shallow Sky Survey</a> although there were 2 more reports from outside Johannesburg of the object. That's enough for Tim Cooper to have triangulated a probable path for the incoming piece of space rock though:<br />
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So this morning I was wondering why the folks in the Cape are apparently more observant of their surroundings - including the sky - than the denizens of Sandton.</div>
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Yes, the Cape sighting was after sunset, and thus more noticeable. There was also some associated sound with that fireball which I didn't pick up on in the Sandton sighting. Although, you know, I'm getting along in age and my hearing is certainly not up to snuff.</div>
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But then I remembered this song from my youth:</div>
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Note that this is a song that I grew up liking and which has stayed in my mind for over 40 years.<br />
That's the way I get most of my earworms - songs I know, some of which are on my portable way-back machine of a music playlist on my phone.<br />
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Yet on Sunday I woke up with the strangest earworm.<br />
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The song was <i>Thoroughly Modern Millie.</i><br />
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I had no idea how that one had gotten stuck in my brain. But I let it go on for a while, play itself out and depart, as all earworms are destined to do.<br />
<br />
However, I admit to being fairly surprised to learn on Tuesday that Carol Channing had just died.Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-48160678371618010012018-10-23T08:25:00.002+02:002018-10-23T08:25:40.970+02:00Snippets From Dreams<br />
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<br />
<br />
"I'm glad somebody brought back the old curtains"<br />
<br />
That was a character in last night's dream commenting on the improvement of a house I had recently moved into. Apparently I had restored some of its old credibility, unlike the previous owners, who had wrecked the place.<br />
<br />
This dream, though, was noteable not for house restoration (which is a dream topic all on its own) but for the neon-pink-and-blue gel which glopped and glupped out of my head when I scratched a raised mark in the shape of a rat which had appeared on the side of my neck and was bothering me.<br />
<br />
I remember feeling a sense of great relief as this toxic substance literally fell out of my head, leaving me clearer and cleaner.<br />
<br />
Possible origins: mosquito in the bedroom, rat in the roofspace.Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-39908691199184460622018-10-02T13:50:00.000+02:002018-10-02T13:50:57.941+02:00The Immanence Of The Transcendent<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
I'm fortunate to have experiences of transendence from time to time in this life; flashes of the pure brilliant limitlessness which speaks to me in a tongue no human can quite master, although a few souls have tried. And I comprehend some of what they are saying. Sometimes.<br />
<br />
For me, it does no good to try to parse the welling joy of watching the birds in flight (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kmgDN7-DEPY">who know god is not dead</a>) or the realms of serenity when contemplating the clouds. It is just a moment of languagelessness, and I can live with that.<br />
<br />
And yet this sense is also, frequently, truly immanent in that it arises from the proximity awareness of an earthly being - a cloud, a sky, a flock of birds, a constellation, the smile on the face of another human, a rolling in the sand of a canine friend - and so I perceive that this above-and-beyond is completely triggered by place or being.<br />
<br />
An Immanance of Transcendence, if you will.<br />
<br />
One thing I have noticed over the years is that frequently - far too often to be chance - when I am connected in my soul to the Love which is holding this all together, I have an odd memory-flash at the same time.<br />
<br />
It is at Windsor Castle. In the room which holds the exquisite Dollshouse of Queen Mary. And I am about 10 years old, walking around and around it while the sun plays in from outside the room.<br />
I am captivated by the fine detail in the dollshouse, containing scale replicas of some of the rooms in Windsor Castle itself.<br />
<br />
It's quite something to see and I can understand why that one visit has stuck in my memory.<br />
But what I can't quite get is why that situation, that image, comes up so frequently when I am transported by the connection to the Web of all Life.<br />
<br />
..Or is there something there, just beyond my understanding?<br />
<br />
A replica at 1/12th scale of life....hmmm...Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-53033940045245489212018-06-13T07:44:00.001+02:002018-06-13T07:44:21.641+02:00Happy BirthdayHappy Birthday, "Dr" Gerald Brosseau Gardner. You would have been 134 years old.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Whatever your faults - as many as those of the rest of us, I guess - you still functioned as the catalyst around which the NeoPagan religion of Wicca crystallised, and for that I am very grateful.Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-24193993618276592972018-05-23T09:52:00.002+02:002018-05-23T09:52:50.737+02:00Smell of Strawberries<br />
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<br />
<br />
Whether the <a href="https://aquilakahecate.blogspot.co.za/2018/05/the-glaroon-slipped-up.html">Glaroon Slipped Up</a>, or not, is probably highly hypothetical.<br />
<br />
I mean, here it is - this life, these moments, these thoughts - and does it truly make a difference if it's stage-managed or not?<br />
<br />
Not really, since the stage-manager, the Glaroon, the "they" who would presumably be handling it all are just another aspect of myself.<br />
<br />
So have a laugh, have a bit of a marvel if you will and pass right along.<br />
<br />
This morning I smelled strawberries on the bus.<br />
<br />
Correction - I smelled an aroma which is what perfumiers like to think of as "strawberry".<br />
<br />
There were only 3 other people on the bus: the driver, a middle-aged Indian woman and a youngish Black guy. I was sitting furthest back in the bus as is my wont, and I assumed that one of the other people on the bus had opened something with that strawberry smell; some tobacco, a packet of sweets or a cold drink. Except that eating and drinking is entirely forbidden on the Gautrain Bus, and no-body was doing any of that.<br />
It's just possible that the smell came into the bus from the outside. Right this moment I feel that's the most likely answer, as I sniffed the same smell again 10 minutes later as I was walking down West Street.<br />
<br />
It's also possible that my brain is Having a Moment and generating phantom smells. But I doubt that.That particular nasal shade of strawberry is a very human-manufactured one, after all.<br />
<br />
My money is on a rogue vaporiser factory somewhere in the Sandton area.<br />
<br />
There's always the paranormal explanation, of course...but let me not go there today.<br />
Maybe Tomorrow.Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-60841972327388454112018-05-17T11:35:00.001+02:002018-05-17T11:35:05.586+02:00The Glaroon Slipped Up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
Wednesday morning and Back on the Bus.<br />
<br />
I'm the only passenger on the first bus out of Monte Casino and the terminus circle is oddly devoid of late/early revelers. It's just the bus driver, a couple of security guards hiding in the warmth of the carpark and three cab drivers snoozing behind the wheel.<br />
<br />
When I get off the bus - in solitary splendour - at Sandton Station, it's cold. A feral pigeon and two glossy starlings have taken advantage of the dearth of humans to forage near the taxi rank, but flap away at my approach. The station guards, who I normally greet at just before 5:30 am, are nowhere to be seen.<br />
<br />
Heading out of the station, the chill bites down a tiny, gentle bit. As if to warn.<br />
<br />
The streets are dark and streetlamp-lit, but there are no people on them.<br />
<br />
An empty taxi minibus cruises past.<br />
<br />
Well, the streets and trees and shrubberies are all where I left them. But where are all the pedestrians?<br />
There should be at least some precinct security guards posted at intervals along West Street. There should be passengers alighting from the minibus taxis pulling over every few metres. There should be folks exiting the Michaelangelo Hotel towards the station. There should be a small group of vendors coming up the road with their wares on their heads.<br />
<br />
But there is no-one on the street.<br />
<br />
I cross the road at the robots - admittedly dodging another non-stopping taxi - and make it to the office, having seen not one single pedestrian for the last 10 minutes. It's a bit eerie, but then it's Winter and fairly chilly so maybe everyone is getting up later.<br />
<br />
That was Wednesday. Thursday, it was like Wednesday never happened. There were three more passengers on the morning bus, the circle at Monte Casino was fairly full of loud-mouthed drunks, the security guards were all back at their posts in the station and on West Street, and people were getting out of taxis like nothing happened.<br />
<br />
I may sound crazy - and no doubt by this time I am, pretty much - but I had a distinct feeling of the heavy velvet curtains having been twitched aside prematurely 24 hours ago, before the scenery was all fully in place.<br />
<br />
<br />Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-1233165246109781452018-05-15T07:22:00.001+02:002018-05-15T07:22:28.324+02:00Billion Year Old Carbon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
Thankful that the bus strike is over.<br />
<br />
Perplexed that I've lived with an earworm of epic proportions for the entire strike.<br />
<br />
Don't know what it means to have this constantly going through your head?<br />
<br />
Welcome to my world.<br />
<br />
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<br />Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-83942560078827396822018-05-11T08:26:00.000+02:002018-05-11T08:31:06.184+02:00Robin<br />
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<br />
I have most of my hearing back today - coming and going, it is true, but more <i>here</i> than <i>not-here</i>.<br />
<br />
I stepped out on the decking which runs along the West Street side of the office and immediately a little bird flew down to sing at me. A robin.<br />
<br />
Later, the same bird was perched, singing, on the second-floor fire escape, while I looked up at it and a pigeon on the third floor railing looked down on it.<br />
<br />
Ken Wilber:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: "verdana" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That very Witness is Spirit within, looking out on a world that it created. It sees but cannot be seen; it hears but cannot be heard; it knows but cannot be known. It is Spirit itself that sees with your eyes, speaks with your lips, hears with your ears, reaches out with your arms. When will you confess this simple secret and awaken from the gruesome nightmare? </span></blockquote>
<div style="background-color: white;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: "verdana" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Can you see the words on this page? Then 100% of Spirit is present, looking out through your eyes. Can you feel the book in your hands? Then 100% of Spirit is present, taking the world in its hands. Can you hear the sound of that bird singing? Then 100% of Spirit is present, listening to that song. </span></blockquote>
<br />Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-33273069877107811792018-05-10T09:06:00.001+02:002018-05-10T09:06:03.952+02:00Songbird<br />
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The world is <i>different</i> when you're deaf.<br />
<br />
Now, I don't usually use earbuds, but this morning my soul seemed to have taken a masochistic streak onboard and I found myself trying to clean my problematic ears with the cotton-tipped devils.<br />
<br />
I <i>know </i>you're not supposed to stick anything smaller than your elbow into your ear. I know that, OK? But there I was, twiddling the little plastic stems into ears which have the greatest difficulty staying unblocked as it is, never mind the outside interference.<br />
<br />
Up until that point, I had one ear which has been working fairly well over the past 6 months, while the other generates a white-noise-like hum at all times and has difficulty in catching sound waves. But I could get along.<br />
<br />
Now, however, I find myself cocooned in a roaring silence through both ears. I'm not at all comfortable with this - in fact, I'm more than a little irritated and so am constantly on the edge of being irritating to others.<br />
<br />
I have to keep telling them, for instance, that today I'm deaf as a post. Not distracted, not just a little hard-of-hearing, but actually unable to divine anyone's meaning unless I'm either looking at them and reading their lips, or they talk very slowly and loudly, as you would do to an imbecile.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, of course, there are so many things in this world that I'm probably better off not hearing. The local and international news. The godsdamned gunfire-soaked shows which pass for American Entertainment. My partner muttering in a tourette's-syndrome like manner under his breath. The neighbourhood dogs barking and howling to be let in out of the cold.The taxis and mal-tuned engines along West Street. The outer office inhabitants having a meeting. The endless, inane, low-intelligence drivel which passes for social conversation. Adverts-any and all adverts.<br />
<br />
Muting or cutting these out should be an unalloyed blessing. but I'm still irritated. I guess I would like the chance to, hearing, complain about them.<br />
<br />
And yet it's not a total descent into madness. Walking out onto the deck - the traffic muted, the chatter of other people almost entirely absent - I hear one clear, liquid string of notes coming from the trees. I cannot see the songbird, but he has let me know that I've not been abandoned, after all.Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-62185842275350618812018-05-08T04:36:00.000+02:002018-05-08T05:17:37.165+02:00Some Brilliant Jasun HorsleyJasun being clear and brilliant as a cut diamond:<br />
via <a href="https://auticulture.wordpress.com/2018/05/05/jordan-peterson-on-the-road-kill-him-answer-to-jordan-1/">If You Meet Jordan Peterson on the Road, Kill Him (Answer to Jordan Intro)</a>Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-49390112828431215422018-05-07T12:07:00.000+02:002018-05-07T12:07:09.551+02:00Anything Other Than Holy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I haven't celebrated Samhain with all the trappings for years now.<br />
<br />
The carved pumpkin heads, black and gold candles, myrrh-heavy incense, robes and a cast circle haven't been seen around my place for a good long time.<br />
<br />
That doesn't mean that I've forgotten to mark the first day of Winter. Rather, the marking has become almost entirely internal rather than demonstrative for me, and I'm happy with that.<br />
<br />
I might be fortunate to be someone with enough intelligence and training to be able to work out for myself when the mid-point between Solstice and Equinox falls, four times a year and hence have less need to display my acknowledgement of the Sun's apparent position in the sky.<br />
<br />
Or I might be a person who hasn't much need for the validation of others when marking time.<br />
<br />
Or I might be a person whose interior life is just growing richer as I go on whirling on a rock around a big ball of hydrogen fissioning into helium.<br />
<br />
Whatever the reason, my withdrawal from external displays of Sabbat hasn't stopped my ancestors gathering around me when the time draws near, or me dreaming of them every night, conversing with generations I have never known while alive, or inviting them to accompany me throughout my day.<br />
<br />
For perhaps that's the point - <i>no day is mundane any longer, and no experience anything other than holy.</i><br />
<br />
<br />Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-85648611143124442502018-05-05T08:52:00.001+02:002018-05-05T08:52:16.411+02:00Power of OpinionSaturday morning, and, having decided to cut my weekly washing into 4 loads rather than 2, I'm awaiting the machine wash-cycle's pleasure and watching the news on the BBC.<br />
<br />
(I watch the Beeb because, frankly, I prefer their use of language - rather than the parochial butcherings of the US or South African news services.)<br />
<br />
A segment on Honduran immigrants to the US comes on.<br />
The Trump 'regime' (it's really a shit-show lead by an incompetent con artist, but 'regime' will do) has decided to end the protection given up to now to refugees from Honduras.<br />
<br />
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<br />
An elderly Honduran woman is among those interviewed. Speaking in Spanish, she opines that, while 'gringos' are undoubtedly intelligent, they sure aren't hard-working like Hondurans.<br />
<br />
Now, that is a blanket statement of racial bias if ever I heard one. But she is elderly, non-White...and a woman. These 3 characteristics give her a status slightly above a doormouse in the social hierarchy. If she had been, say, a middle-aged White bloke, her statement amounting to "Whites are lazy" would have been roundly condemned, and probably not been allowed to be aired at all.But there she ws, on international television, blithely calling Whites lazy and no-one batting an eyelid.<br />
<br />
What this underlined most strongly for me was that your position on the social ladder determines the power of your opinion. Someone (that middle-aged White bloke for example) has the power to,presumably, hire and fire people, and his opinion carries a much greater weight of authority than that of the elderly Latina woman. So she gets away with it, whereas he, these days, wouldn't.<br />
<br />
And that's OK. With great privilege comes great responsiblity, both for our selves and for others, so the higher your social standing, the more powerful your every opinion truly becomes.<br />
<br />
But for this morning, I just had a laugh-out-loud moment.Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-64778245579810402512018-05-03T06:34:00.002+02:002018-05-03T06:36:01.592+02:008th Avenue Shuffle<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">
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Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-84486855567275389832018-05-02T13:13:00.002+02:002018-05-02T13:13:47.758+02:00Spider Dreams<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SGEuTyfzxIE/WumcgaNM-fI/AAAAAAAAKMU/d4KnkyzEh84zBlkBRfhskbOVjv_fRcmEwCLcBGAs/s1600/images%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="149" data-original-width="338" height="141" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SGEuTyfzxIE/WumcgaNM-fI/AAAAAAAAKMU/d4KnkyzEh84zBlkBRfhskbOVjv_fRcmEwCLcBGAs/s320/images%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Can we take a single step which we have not mapped out for ourselves?<br />
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Is this Creation entire, without the possibility of stepping outside of its bounds?<br />
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Are we simultaneously dreaming and being?<br />
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For if we are both the dreamer and the dream, no misstep is possible - it's not even possible to formulate that possibility.<br />
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Creator and Creation entire, whole, flawless and without boundary.<br />
<br />Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-24903714027228839582018-04-25T07:47:00.000+02:002018-04-25T07:47:01.254+02:00Earth, Water, Air, Fire - Today's Musical EarwormsCovering the compass today with the songs which are stuck in my head.<br />
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For Air and Earth:<br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N89ZIxveFds">Dust In The Wind</a> by Todd Rundgren (1972)<br />
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For Fire and Water:<br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cwugjyeSKx4">Fire and Rain</a> by James Taylor (1970)<br />
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..although the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mpg1HoupcDQ">Tim Hardin</a> version is good, too.<br />
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These are two very similar songs, written less than 2 years apart. I was faintly surprised that the Rundgren song was later, as the Runt was often a groundbreaker in styles, sentiment and sound engineering.<br />
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But you can segue from one song to the other in your head with hardly a pause.Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-25197631926518728122018-04-24T11:51:00.001+02:002018-04-24T11:51:43.625+02:00Tides<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uDgl8c-RKAY/Wt7-AXSDT1I/AAAAAAAAKL0/BmSTO13jSC4DSxNSkyXQthqbRKzWFjamgCLcBGAs/s1600/moon-water-ocean-waves-moonrise-moonset-shutterstock435146179.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="381" data-original-width="480" height="254" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uDgl8c-RKAY/Wt7-AXSDT1I/AAAAAAAAKL0/BmSTO13jSC4DSxNSkyXQthqbRKzWFjamgCLcBGAs/s320/moon-water-ocean-waves-moonrise-moonset-shutterstock435146179.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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There's nothing quite like the Samhain tide to open your emotions.<br />
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It is said that twice a year, at Samhain and Beltane, the veil between the worlds becomes tenuous and crossings from one to the other are more common. But in my case, I reckon it's just that at these times I'm more aware of the existence of the veil, and other worlds, than at more mundane times.<br />
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And so I am dreaming, and nightmaring, enough to keep me for the rest of the year, it seems.<br />
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My loved ones and ancestors are featuring quite heavily in my dreams - sometimes unrecognisable by their appearance yet completely known for who they are and were to me - old fears are playing themselves out and connections are being rebooted.<br />
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Head tipped back into the (finally) winter-blue sky this morning, I watch a fairy crossing above me.<br />
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No...not a fairy...a locust, with its rainbow wings whirring. I remember that I am quite averse to locusts on the ground and step out of its flight path quickly.<br />
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Music is getting stuck in my mind, so I switch my electronic collection on to shuffle and listen to <a href="https://www.joewalsh.com/about">Joe Walsh</a>, <a href="http://www.corvuscorax.de/index.php?id=13">Corvus Corax </a>and <a href="https://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/tribute-album-and-biopic-mark-revival-for-songwriter-dylan-once-called-greatest-20130213">Tim Hardin</a>. Ah, the poor heroin-addicted boy who never managed to claw his way out of the poppy's grip before it killed him.<br />
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Emotions are raw yet surprisingly manageable in this season of other-worldly connection.<br />
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I view a house a friend (and teenage sweetheart) used to live in as a boy - 4 doors down on Arthur Road, long since sold up as the matriarch's health failed.<br />
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I reconnect with the <a href="http://hekatecovenant.com/">Covenant of Hekate</a>, thinking to honour Her Fires again this year, when the Moon is right.<br />
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I miss the Gautrain Bus, the drivers of which have been on strike for almost a week now, and don't fancy the stress of driving in a car through Sandton traffic this afternoon - never mind what stress it must be giving Warren to do the actual driving.<br />
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I remember my Mom, who, when last seen in the dreamworld was wearing a different face, whose last-incarnation-birthday it is today.<br />
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Happy Birthday, Mom. I miss you still.<br />
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I'm thinking the tide will be gentler this year, as I get older and possibly more able to handle it. The retrograde motions of both Saturn and Pluto in Capricorn seem to be helping this softer view along. We introspected our immediate daily souls last month with the Mercury backtrack, and now a slightly higher portion of our collective Self will be pondering the tracks and ruts of time and space.<br />
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Hopefully. As past the veil we slide together, holding hands, some of us shrieking, some of us crying, some of us looking about in wonder and awe.Tides.Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-24388728060551480852018-04-23T10:05:00.000+02:002018-04-23T10:05:05.272+02:00Styx<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ydDYqPl6_Ug/Wt2TXzGJaxI/AAAAAAAAKLY/QqueA6219JMiKlKAsLWCbBcq4yMlX5CwwCLcBGAs/s1600/river_styx_by_eronzki999.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="938" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ydDYqPl6_Ug/Wt2TXzGJaxI/AAAAAAAAKLY/QqueA6219JMiKlKAsLWCbBcq4yMlX5CwwCLcBGAs/s320/river_styx_by_eronzki999.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>
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Beneath the ground, a river runs.<br />
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In the darkness of the mass unconscious, a river flows.<br />
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Some of us it flows right through and others of us it flows around, and under - and we get to dip a toe in it now and again.<br />
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Some of us were born with the river within, and some have opened their veins to admit it.<br />
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But all of us were born of the river.<br />
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It is the source and constant flow of all of Life. Endless, eternal, never ceasing.<br />
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To merge with its waters is the sublime experience of death, for from the river's flow arises all that is.<br />
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Five rivers do encircle Hades but this river is just the One. Which flows. Underground.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Image: <a href="https://eronzki999.deviantart.com/">eronzki999</a></span>Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-69880223545771172018-04-18T07:36:00.000+02:002018-04-18T07:36:41.187+02:00Washed Into The West<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XTHEwn78Pmw/WtbZM8IoASI/AAAAAAAAKK8/myzIWrgNZQggaRaqU12WY01UWH6FdZo_gCLcBGAs/s1600/stream_img.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="680" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XTHEwn78Pmw/WtbZM8IoASI/AAAAAAAAKK8/myzIWrgNZQggaRaqU12WY01UWH6FdZo_gCLcBGAs/s320/stream_img.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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My favourite astrologer, <a href="http://www.aquariuspapers.com/">Robert Wilkinson</a>, always has a first-class take on what's going on in the spiritual skies ( as opposed to the physical skies, which is more my own realm of competence) and so I always find it worthwhile to take some time and read his posts thoroughly.<br />
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His approach is vastly more universal than your average astrologer, in my opinion. For instance, his current article on <a href="http://www.aquariuspapers.com/astrology/2018/04/saturn-stationary-retrograde-in-april-2018-at-10-capricorn-time-to-finish-our-fears-and-leave-them-b.html">Saturn retrograde</a> is high-caloric food for thought.<br />
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If I were to paraphrase what Robert is saying from my own iconoclastic viewpoint, I'd just say that we (as the Body of God) have entered a period of introspection of, and potential freeing from our personal and collective demons.<br />
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Saturn is turning retrograde at 10 Capricorn today, and as someone with a Natal Saturn at just over 3 Capricorn, I fall within the span of this planet's to-ing and fro-ing over the next number of months. I hope to get a good deal of personal exorcism done during this period.<br />
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But first, let us take the opportunity of the stationary direct point to start looking closely at our own fear-based limitations, with a view to setting them free of us, Washed into the West, in the relatively near future.Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38348798.post-71057870610267705692018-04-16T07:32:00.002+02:002018-04-16T07:34:02.729+02:00Quantum Nonmechanics<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: sans-serif;">The entire universe must, on a very accurate level, be regarded as a single indivisible unit in which separate parts appear as idealisations permissible only on a classical level of accuracy of description. This means that the view of the world being analogous to a huge machine, the predominant view from the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries, is now shown to be only approximately correct. The underlying structure of matter, however, is not mechanical. This means that the term "quantum mechanics" is very much a misnomer. It should, perhaps, be called "quantum nonmechanics".</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;">David Bohm~ </span><i style="font-family: sans-serif;">Quantum Theory</i><span style="font-family: sans-serif;"> (1951)</span></span>Aquila ka Hecatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00725237187718174157noreply@blogger.com0