March 27 (SAMEKH, Art, Sagittarius) Liber ARARITA, Cap. VII
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Recommended practice for today: Rising on the Planes.
(Or, hey, just stop what you're doing and attain to the K&C of the HGA ) -
Completely lost on this one. Maybe it's above my pay grade. Or maybe I should've just taken Jim's advice and attained K&C today instead
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It struck me as kind of a creation story in reverse. The elements dissolving into space, space dissolving into mind (reminded me of the Kybalion here), and so on until our origins beyond Word and Fool. It began, from what we can see, with the Fool chanting the word ARARITA - from a Word spoken from Silence. All this contemplated in the might of the Lion and the formulation of holy and formless Fire.
Quite beautiful and over my head as well .
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Liber Ararita, Cap.VII
- Alchemy, transmutation into more & more subtle “states”.
- NB: Q-D-Sh Paths are symmetrical on the Tree; much “food for thought” in their order and symbolical meaning…
- Fire Qadosh: secret inner fire which is non-extinguishable, indestructible, Sacred, “But I was anointed with the right sweet oil of the Magister…” (Lib.65,IV-36)
ATU XIV
- true inner equilibrium, coming from being completely dedicated to the Great Work; Inspiration
- “The miracle of the one thing” from the Emerald Tablet of Hermes
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Tarot Meditation – Art
There is a rainbow cloud. The rays of Sun pierce it like a sword that penetrates the heart of the Lion; and as the blood pours forth so do the rays spill through the misty formation and scatter throughout the sky. The rain still drips wetting the land. And the life that’s nourished by the Sun emerges from the black earth. It is the cycle of dependence - the causation. There is a cauldron down below. The contents are being stirred in the clockwise direction. The seed and the blood, the rain and the sunlight, the mist and the earth are all contained therein and the light in the range of colors emerges from within, piercing straight through the Tree of Life, making way for the unity of the microcosm with the macrocosm. And the babes are ascending forming into adults on their journey, then aging and dying to themselves as they were, just to arise with a new kind of birth and a new kind of eternal life. Until they emerged into the great vastness and are contained in Nuit and in Hadit.
The eagle flies tearing the sky and drops an egg. Egg cracks and the song comes out, the song of an archetypal hero who starts as a fool and ends as a Fool. There are butterflies marking the beginning of Spring when things have a new chance at life, when the Sun caresses gently – Sun that is not yet in full heat. It tickles and teases to bring that out that which is still hiding in the shadows, that which is still asleep. And the eggs crack, and the sleepy eyes open, slowly. And there is a first span of the wings, and the first dew on the petal. There is a fresh sight of the world. Is it a world of mirrors or is it a world of mirage where endless possibilities are recognized and the purest things perceived?
The soup in the cauldron is the bitter medicine by the great Alchemist that removes the cobweb from the eyes and gives a gift of a new tongue, new vocabulary – that of unobscured reality. It’s a potion that makes the dream fluid, liberates from solidity of constructed illusion of permanence. It is he potion that forms itself from the colored light, void of a single essence.
There is a recognition of an eternal cosmic play that recycles itself. It is a stage of divine proportion, the theatrics with interplay of sound and light. And this cloud of rainbow expands evermore as it moves and swirls, just to be penetrated by the Sun, by myriads of Suns [sons].