Faerie Tales

Faerie Tales

According to Tiger-Saucy, the last Faerie teacher of shamans, even in the way back long ago when before, the Weeping of the Mother could be heard. Yet never so much experienced as is revealed in the dream-songs of the Age of the Fall of Western Civilization, where that Trial always lurked at the leading edges of the ever present Now.

Among the Fae, there was a hymn, to She Who has the Whole World in His Hands. It was a song of joy, as the Goddess and Her Court would be able to leave their voluntary waiting in the Mysts … become once more known – directly helping – the lost-in-matter Children. The fall into matter had reached its nadir when the three patriarchal monotheisms were offered, although the pending of confusion-destiny borne in the coming time of the intellect on fire, haunted the Sacrifice at the center.

The knowing of the Goddesses was fading already when He died on the Cross of matter. And with that loss to the song-of-all-that-is, the Children also lost the capacity to see the world as always Whole, never parts.

The first song, from the Hebrews, was a prayer to God-the-Father’s Law. The second song was a prayer to the Son’s ending of the descent into matter. The turning point of time the wizard Rudolf Steiner had called this gesture from endless and unbound Love. The third song – in the Koran – had its own terrible destiny as the act of Surrender was misused by the traditions of male scholars, as had already been done to knowledge of the Law, and later would happen to knowledge of Love .

Still, … Law followed by Love leading to Surrender. Not three religions, One. Matter met and mastered, to eventually be left behind. The last song belonging to the Feminine Mysteries, yet still hidden, and not to be revealed until the Great Trial awoke a hunger to remember Her, in order tame the wild aspects of the intellect unmastered.

This story is introduced in the book of Thoth, via the symbol of the Feminine, gently holding the face of a lion, blessing the nature of holy animality with freedom to become, and to eventually to receive the gift of speech, which is what that kingdom deserved for all their sacrifices.

The Children’s own untamed animality would lead to the moment which the Sage of the Desert had spoken of – just prior to the Incarnation – as bringing with It the baptism of all in fire and holy breath. The Divine Mystery does not lightly sweep the board clean of the Children’s messes, but still, like any good Mother She knows the deeper secrets, such as: That in such moments of outrageous chaos, everyone there volunteered.

The excesses of the intellect must run their course. Their time comes of necessity. Would that at least some of the Children would see this Age as filled with Crafts and Arts as only the Holy Mother could provide, even tho’ not fully remembered.

Many of the Children would forget the Mystery, but the Mystery never forgets Them.

Still the Son re-emerged from the prison of ignorance into which the male scholars had cast Him, and made Himself available to the intellect directly. Personally. Only via remarkable intimacy can He baptize the Children in Fire and Holy Breath.

Still, human folly must run its course. The Children must be free to color outside the lines as they wish. Fate and Fortune must be active in all the little dramas.

Here is a great secret, obvious once stated: Everyone is the right person, in the right place, at the right time. Everyone gets to be here for this Rite, that some will call the pandemic-Pandemonium.

The Artist of Karma, aided by the Mother, dances destruction one day at a time. Atlantis did not fall all at once, but involved a metamorphosis on a scale only the Mystery could imagine and inspire. For each biography is holy art, and such art is to be accomplished with skills most humans fail to appreciate.

The enchantment of the intellect alone, as thought, is to be the principle gift to the Children. Intellect alone – aka: thought’s weakness – is to be redeemed by Magic. Not the imaginary magic of the novelist, but the personal magic of one day at a time. The Labyrinth of the Groundhog Day, ruled by the personal inward trials via the Maze of the Spirit.

Humans give something of the never-before-yet into the Creation. The tenth hierarchy completes a Spiraled Circle, the snake eating its tail, as the law of as above, so below, and as below, so above – resolves itself into wholeness.

Some reading this poem may have forgotten that the New Age has already Dawned, and that among many the Goddess and Her Court were remembered, and old religious practices re-investigated. Still there was a riddle of a puzzle made of words in a science that believes there is only matter, and spirit a fantasy.

That arid intellectual (science without art and religion) view had to crash and burn on such a scale that the whole world would watch this happen and many would be able to participate in this grand metamorphosis. After all, almost all minds have become infected with the matter only tale, and so each needed an individual Way to awake to this, and by their own efforts of will, evolve the matter-only science, into a science where spirit was known just as empirically as matter was known.

The “U” shaped descent into matter via Law (the Father), and the turn for reunification via Love (the Son), would blossom in Surrender (the Mother)

The intellect on its own, for example, tends to abstract cause and effect thinking. When that style of thinking is applied to modern social events, the tendency is to (as with matter-only science) imagine that the nature of the pandemic-Pandemonium involves something untoward going on behind the scenes … this untamed intellect generates conspiracy theories of causality, not noticing the first law all shamans must accept:

If something exists, its existence has been approved from the Sun/Son’s starry heights, to the darkest deeps of the Mother. She is “in” everything, including the wild and chaotic.

The living social life of the Children requires dying and becoming. Have to get rid of the no longer necessary intellect-only view of existence, before we can imagine a new story, one where Faerie and Fae are remembered, and the Mother is honored once more.

In a certain sense (way of seeing, of which there are many) the pandemic is a creature of human darkness. Certain tendencies of thought as regards health and illness, being based on a matter-only world view, have to fail.

The Children need real events in which to wake up those faculties that are not bound by the intellect’s present dominance. The free imagination – which is magical and mystical – is the means.

The Mother is visible, in the social, when we observe a wave of change moving through large groups of people. The changes induce chaos, part of Her forte, and in the Aftermath the human being – in each individual biography – has new choice potentials. These possibilities are not available when the social order is in a steady state.

We each are the darkness of the tunnel of the descent into matter, and the light at the end of it.

Still, She Weeps. Because in those of us riding the tsunami of of future history there will be great pain. For we too, are of the Mother. We care. We hope. We wish. Sometimes we crash about the kitchen throwing things so powerful is our rage at the endless inhumanity surrounding us.

We can’t be aware of our own pain and confusion, without noticing this trial is everywhere, in everyone. Oh, we might take a moment and blame others, and certainly within our own intellects

we will find debris needing healing. All the same, we know personally that other places than where we live are also in dire need.

If we surrender to this kind of empathy-feeling – wanting to be born – that will enable us to draw nearer to Her and Her Court. They feel all that all feel. Nor is our personal suffering insignificant. For They act out of Eternity, bending space and time to Their Wills.

Into the pandemic-Pandemonium ride the Four Horseman, with Her at the reigns. She is also there at each Death. Consider the most awful aspect being reported, which is a disease process that leads to suffocation, if we are not helped to breathe. Her Son suffocated on the cross of materialism, a hard path to cross, that threshold into the true life.

Should we be surprised then at the massive trials on the minds and hearts, of those who must administer what comfort there can be. Not just the impossible tasks, or even the constant sadness at loss, … the harsh reality is that even the comforters must bear their portion of the cross of scientific materialism.

The intellectual belief that the human being is an accidental and random event in an uncaring Cosmos is itself a trial – a weight of untruth.

Many struggle. Many care. Many feel hopeless. Many want to set the whole damn world on fire. In all these “many” there is also a portion of Her and Him. All those “feelings” that materialism can’t measure, … those are the heart of the Rite of the Pandemonium.

Tiger-Saucy sez: You are not alone. Find your tribe. Share the pain and work. And each day find time to dance and sing and be grateful. She does have the Whole World in His Hands.




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