Ineffable, mystic rose from the profound valley of the Spirit… Immortal Mother of my heart, hearken unto me!
Light of my eyes, rose of my orchard, east from the horizon of my life, prudent as the Hebraic Abigail1 and amiable like Ruth,2 have pity on me!
Blooming houri with a flushed color and blue eyes filled with love, bountiful beauty, Mother of mine…
Delicate and fresh flower from the fertile continent of my soul…
Embalmed jasmine from a fruit-flowering garden of Ionia, a cultivated garden with greenness from Erin, without mist from Caledonia…
I learned how to love because of thee. Indeed, I am nothing without thee…
Divine Princess Kundalini, adorable serpent… Thou taught to me the secret of the abyss…
Thus, I descended into the underground world inquiring, investigating, searching. So, without thee, oh adorable Mother, I could never have discovered the gate of mystery where Dante found these dreadful words written thereon:
“Through me you pass into the city of woe:
Through me you pass into eternal pain:
Through me among the people lost for aye.
Justice the founder of my fabric moved:
To rear me was the task of Power Divine,
Supremest Wisdom, and primeval Love.
Before me things create were none, save things
Eternal, and eternal I endure.
All hope abandon, ye who enter here.”
—Dante, Divine Comedy, Inferno, Canto 3
I knew the gate for the impassive souls and the way across Acheron.3 I navigated the boat of Charon4 across to the opposite shore. I passed through the damned portals of the city of Dis.5 I know the profound gulfs that gird that desolated land.
Woeful is the one who succumbs before the horrifying horrors of the three furies.6
Hence, I saw many fallen colossi devolving within the submerged mineral kingdom.
I saw muses, once with rosy faces, now becoming pale and sinister…
I found the glorious tumulus and the bacchants going as always to adorn with their pardalidas.
I saw the bacchae withering themselves on the bronzed forehead of the abysmal, lubricious sileni. Thus, the ivies of flowering thyrsus are dried as shriveled hay.
The insolent consuls from Rome disobediently assisted with the burial because their intolerable pride was not yet subdued by the immortal yoke of the gospel.
Behind came the lustful courtesans of Latium, the bohemian and degenerated bards, the learned, hypocritical, and perverse religious crowds and the materialistic swine-like enemies of the Eternal One.
In the brilliant flash of the axe swung against them by the inexorable Death, they do not see this sublime messenger of transit, and neither do they understand any voice of spirituality that speaks to them.
Behold there, the famous empress Semiramis striving to quench the thirst of her lust!
Look… farther yon lays Capaneus, the elder from Crete, writhing in proud scorn. He of the seven kings was one who girt Thebes with siege. He held and still seems to hold God in disdain.
Continuing in this inexhaustible procession is Nessus, he who for the fair Deianira died and wrought himself revenge for his own fate, as well as Chiron the centaur, the old tutor of Achilles and Pholus, prone to wrath.
Oh…! How many crimes, God of mine! When would I finish counting them? In which book would they fit?
Black river of lost humanity, devolving through time, falling backwards towards the past…
Beloved reader, God grant along the way that a soft aroma of white lilies may pour from your life, so that you may drink the crystalline nectar of the honest pleasure, free from woes.
Do not descend, my child, because the descending ladder has seven steps and at the end of it is the cycle of terrible necessity.
To become beast, plant, and stone again inside the infernal worlds… is indeed more bitter than bile.
Remember the cruel Harpies who cast the Trojans from the Strophades Islands. Dante found them tormenting the involuting plants in the Averno, making them bleed with their execrable claws.
I want you to know that within the very core of the earth, where the abominable throne of Dis is found, I have seen fossilized creatures reducing themselves into comic dust.
Horrifying, unforgettable, and Dantesque spectacle... Harlots, whores, frightfully fornicating on their filthy beds, strumpets, courtesans, prostitutes, slowly disintegrating themselves, little by little losing their legs, etc…
The Second Death7 is dreadful and horrifying. The ego and the lunar bodies disintegrate very slowly in the Tartarus. It is a repugnant suffering for the lost souls.
“Just let Medusa come; then we shall turn him into stone.” The three furies cry, “We should have punished Theseus’ assault.”
Opportunely, a while ago, oh God of mine… while in a profound meditation, I saw two lost souls departing from within the Averno after their Second Death… Fortunately, they now neither have ego nor lunar bodies; yet, their sacred tunics were indeed stained by the mud of the earth. Remembering their painful journey through the underground of the terrestrial crust, the wretched creatures wept. By now, these souls live again as playful, happy gnomes under the tender sight of our lord the Sun. In some future eternity, they will enter again into the elemental paradises of the plants. In a very remote future, they could have the joy of reincorporating themselves again into an animal organism, in order to fly as eagles or walk within the profound forests of nature, or in order to swim as the fish within the deep abysses of the waters. It is obvious that after many billions or trillions of years, those souls will re-conquer the human state that in aforetime they lost… And, if disgracefully they again come to fall? Woe! Woe! Woe…! How painful is the cycle of terrible necessity!
Draw near unto me, you who know the Word filled with grace, majesty and elegance, which as Gongora yesterday was polished by Dario, purified by Icaza, and subtilized by Nervo.
Draw near and you will see recondite esoteric currents of profound faith and virile bravery, latent in the rocks, in the air, in the waters, and in the fire!
Woe unto you, intellectual animals who populate the face of the earth! Wretched souls with egoic consciousness, dressed with lunar clothes! Your implacable thirst uselessly plots mad attacks, scorning the heavens. You have yet to conquer immortality. Therefore, the submerged devolution within the infernal worlds awaits you.
I am now with my open soul going to narrate for you a mystical and transcendental experience… Please listen to me…
The chaste beauty of the splendorous beginning of the pastoral night hurt me.
We, a group of Gnostic brothers and sisters, while holding hands, performed a magical chain on the patio of the house. We prayed very much, yes! Then, we made an invocation. We called Anael, the angel of love…
On top of the temperate walls, the limpid foliage, swinging with the breeze, was delectably laughing, and the graceful freshness of its laugh was shaking the silvery crowned ripples of the stream. A clear and sweet voice disquieted my senses. Was this the voice of a siren or a lullaby from the sea?
“Behold! Behold! Behold…! The Angel Anael is approaching… Yes! Yes!” we all answered.
Our eyes attentively gazed at a flock of white doves who happily soared aloft of our abode…
I still remember that bird of silver and fire (Anael), so pure, so tender, so soft… This one was the guide.
“Anael! Anael! Anael…!” we all exclaimed…
That night was sweet and pleasant, tenuous and fragrant… It had the taste of roses…
A pause came after so many joyful shouts. We waited… We sighed… Those sublime birds disappeared within the mystery, and then….
Three leisurely, rhythmic knocks solemnly resounded on the door of the house. I, myself, opened it impetuously…
“There they are…! They are the ones…! They have arrived…!” This is what we, all the brothers and sisters from that group exclaimed.
We all went out to welcome the group of beautiful, heavenly, and terribly divine children…
They were carrying flowers in their hands. While in their presence, one feels as if one is reviving one’s infancy. I felt the desire of playing…
We can verify that these very beautiful creatures were dressed with the wedding garment of the soul (the solar bodies).
Inside the soul of these abundantly pure angels, we do not find anything that in one or another way could be similar to the “I” of psychology. Only the Being shines inside those children.
It is obvious that those holy gods intensely love this wretched, suffering humanity…
It is obvious that in a remote past these venerable ones worked in the forge of the Cyclops.
Their glorious bodies make them immortals in all of the departments of the kingdom…
It is not difficult to guess that they radically eliminated the lunar bodies…
I humbly prostrated myself at the feet of Anael, the angel of love… I needed to consult him about something… His answer left me completely satisfied.
Many years have passed now, and I still continue meditating… It is impossible to forget all of this…
Now, by researching my old chronicles with the constancy of a clergyman in a cell, I write so that others can read.
We, the brothers and sisters of that group, still remember the presence of those ineffable beings, their enchanting voices, their majestic countenance…
The light of the pure Spirit touched our temples. It hit our backs with a resplendence that was truncated into lights and shadows, moving as a dance, with quietude in its sculpture and with the timid violence of the air seeming as clouds, treasures, and joy entwining the head of hair…
As does the prism, the waves of light, very clear and empty, quenched our thirst, while sinking us without voices. A pure fire, within slow resounding whirlwinds…
I return into my solitude… to reflect and meditate…
“Who knows the secret? who proclaimed it here?
Whence, whence this manifold creation sprang?
The Gods themselves came later into being --
Who knows from whence this great creation sprang?...
“Gazing into eternity . . .
Ere the foundations of the earth were laid,
. . . . .
Thou wert. And when the subterranean flame
Shall burst its prison and devour the frame . . .
Thou shalt be still as Thou wert before
And knew no change, when time shall be no more.”
—Rig Veda, as quoted by Blavatsky in The Secret Doctrine
Prior to the dawning of the dawn of the mahamanvantara, the single form of existence without limits, infinite, and without cause, was extended alone in a dream without fantasies. Thus, life was unconsciously palpitating inside the Abstract Absolute Space, within the whole extension of that omnipresence, which is perceived by the opened eye of the dangma.
God never dies; this is what is stated by the hairy bards crowned with laurels…
We sing unto the nightfall of the gods… The death of the Eternal One is very relative…
Let us raise our chalice and pray….
When the cosmic night arrives, the army of the voice submerges itself within the bosom of the profound, absolute and unconditioned space… It is obvious that God then ceases to exist within the universe…
The great voice re-emerges when the aurora of the great day begins to dawn… Then, the Spirit of God is moving upon the face of the waters…
