Form and re-form, transcience made flesh, flesh made earth. Tears and ashes, salt and blood. Nothing is lost in the transformation. The colours within the curves achieve a muddied immortality. Nothing is lost.

The destruction births a new creation.

I am now writing and editing for the newly relaunched Pagan Friends Webzine

From within the system, the only perspectives available are the ones where perspective continues to exist; one half of the duality of an ever-created and ever-destroyed whole. Reality is surreal. The outside perspective determines the results, but who can say that a perspective exists outside of the whole? Who would be there to determine it's existance or non-existance but a perspective beyond the perspective, an endless string of watchers being watched.

In the end, the only certainty lies on the side of the abyss.

City Magic

Walking through the streets, you leave a trail through the landscape (make it stand out, make it matter! Make your own routes, challenge the traditions which make you pass around the tree, under the subway!); passing invisible through a crowd or standing out in the streetlights, the city knows who you are. An oily puddle is your scying bowl, the upturned contents of a park bin your scattered runes. In the city itself, you find echoes of something else, something deeper.

These are your gospels, your guidance in a troubled world; yesterday's newspaper pages three and four, a used bus ticket left on a train, the safety posters (mind the gap) as you travel, graffiti, sweet wrappers and the half-heard words of the people who pass you by. The umbrella is your wand, the briefcase your altar. You worship at your desk and travel home, head bowed and filled with a sense of release.

Without self-knowledge, there is only mimicry. Parroting the conclusions without ever following the path which leads to them, the answers become words on the page of the mind and not on the page of the soul.

That which dwells in the shadows is only a movement away from dwelling in the light. Know both the shadow and sunlit selves; two sides, one metal. Know not that the self is perfect, but know that the self is and is part of a whole which goes beyond self-knowledge.

Without knowledge of self, limits are not challenged and power is not realised. The root of power lies in knowledge. The root of personal power lies in knowing the self.

There are other ways to place yourself at the centre of things. The key is to place yourself at the centre, to become the core, without losing yourself. They take the final line and name him Adonai; in the moment where lordship is all, they give away their power to one whose face is not turned to them. They call out in his language, turn towards his speech.

ITE, I call, and they open their eyes. Isaya! Riqa! The circle is one of lime and flour (or else of the mind), the power my own held fast by those who would turn their eyes towards me. Within the sphere of my influence, Adonai has no place.

The lady of eight rays is by my side. The master of the forty holds my hand. The third opens her eyes, blinking in recognition. Here is one with the Tao upon his brows And another who stands where certainties meet in ambiguity.

I stand in the eye at the centre of the storm.

Colour exists despite colour-blindness. Sound, despite deafness, continues to be sound. Why should the limits of perception range affect what is in existence?

It is invisible, inaudible, and yet you know it is there. One sense, beyond processing, interpreted as if it were another perhaps? The flavour of a colour? The scent of an energy. It may know you, react to you despite being beyond sensing. Or it may not; perhaps you are the sound of deep crimson, or the touch of distant screams against it's skin. Reality becomes an objective study.

And the others? They persist as energy; a moment which has left behind a stain perhaps, soaking into the stones. Here are the echoes which flow along the fourth dimension, perhaps through the medium of the fifth; a blot on the canvas or else a tear.

To the two-dimensional mentality, the three-dimensional form in motion becomes a being in chaotic flux, a cross-section of the whole only glimpsed and never known. To the one-dimensional mentality it is a flashing point on the line of existence, a whole complex form reduced to a simple timeless binary of yes/no reality manipulation, following laws beyond the reaches of one-dimensional understanding.

What, then, is the four-dimensional form to the three-dimensional mentality? A cross-sectional existence throughout time? The changing face of an apple, a man, the sun and stars?

A two-dimensional mentality is represented on a three-dimensional canvas, a third-dimensional mentality on the four-dimensional canvas which includes the temporal. How, then, to describe a four-dimensional mentality? If we are four-dimensional beings, the canvas on which we are painted is a five dimensional creation. On what is it created? Limitless dimensions stretch out within the limits of the void.

That which we exist within may contain the infinite and yet be, in itself, finite. A step out into the void is a movement into extra-dimensional understanding.

Look to the elusive Kaluza-Klein particle and the dark matter. Look to that which is nearest and yet lies within the folds of that which is furthest from us.

How then eight-dimensional forms to the three-dimensional mentality? A small step beyond reality manipulation... The anti-dimensions to contain the superpartners.

To understand that which is beyond us, we must unfold it's many parts.

In The Beginning

In the beginning is the easiest place to start. Well, in the beginning was chaos. Within that chaos, there dwelt that which was both Chaos and Order, a duality which was neither in conflict or contradiction. That which dwelt within was both the echo of the whole throughout (a whole of infinite size within finite area) and the rule by which the whole could be known. It spread itself out across the chaos around itself, becoming and influencing all.

There came a second who dwelt within the chaos, the teacher and the pupil. Onto the chaos, the infinite abyss, it imposed it's wisdom and talents to create all else which is known and to be known. The means by which this was done, it deigned to share, a Me recorded throughout that which it created. To that which it had created it gave purpose, an order of finite proportions within which creation dwelt.

Those Me were given freely to another, a part of the creation. They passed into the hands of the ruler of the liminal spaces, that one who holds the secret of all which brings uncertainty. The rules are questioned and all is defined by that which lies beyond.

In the echoes, the manipulation and definition lie the secrets of all things. I take a snapshot of my thoughts.

ITE, they call to me, and thus I go forth.