Dedication

Darren Aronofsky

For the most wondrous of films

Clint Mansell, The Kronos Quartet & Mogwai

For the perfect soundtrack

The Mayan Culture

For leaving just a hint of a possibility

Overview

Occasionally the poet encounters something that serves as muse. It is always a cherished moment for the creative impulse knows no bounds. One such encounter was with the film The Fountain which serves as the title for these musings. Rarely is beauty portrayed in such a wondrous way and accompanied by a perfect soundtrack, the titles of which serve as chapter headings. We take to the aethyrs on wings burnished gold. Our favoured piece, Xibalba serves as the central motif and here we acknowledge the Mayan and their body of learning. In many respects such a tale is summed up in the simple phrase –

Together We Will Live Forever

Chapter Headings

The Last Man

Holy Dread

Tree Of Life

Stay With Me

Death Is A Disease

Xibalba

First Snow

Finish It

Death Is The Road To Awe

Together We Will Live Forever

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Death Is The Road To Awe

The Last Man

The last man stood within a marble hall which bore witness to the might of the empire, which he, its last ruler, now attended in its dying hours. His kind had brought the world to heel and upon every lip had echoed the phrase Pax Romana.

And who is this last man we speak of? By name, for that is a simple thing, Flavius Valerius Aurelius Constantinus Augustus,

sometime Constantine. Before him the shadows flee as the day star begins its ascent into the heavens and he now attends the pages of the book he has yet to scribe.

Long had his gods been absent and in their passing they had ceded and cast the nobility that was Rome into the bloodied claw of the barbarian horde that ever watchful, like its jackal cousin, would take down the noble beast. History, the provenance of the victorious, tells another story and yet it is in his darkest hour that Constantine dreams and on the wall before him is cast the vision of the times to come and he its architect, scribes this upon the parchment pages before him. For this is he called the last man for all that has followed has been but a dream within the mind of a failing ruler, cast down but to be remembered throughout time.

Amongst the zealots that abounded in the empire the devotees of the Nazarene would best serve his purpose and into the body of their faith, ill formed and naïve, he would cast the honeyed words of his predecessor the divine Marcus Aurelius who on campaign against the tribes of germania had scribed his meditations upon the fabric of time. Yes his empire, reduced to dust around him would rise yet again and long after his passing and that of his descendants, the might of Rome, whose heart is eternal, would beat within the breast of The Holy Roman Empire, who ever catholic

in their persuasion, would await the time, millennia away when once again upon the shores of germania one would rise and attempt to claim the world yet again. He would fail but as Constantine stands within the dying moments of his world he is ignorant of this and as such continues his folly.

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Holy Dread

Meanwhile and half a world away Siyah K’ak, Born Of Fire, uttered his first cry upon the air and in that single act were the Americas to rise in prominence upon the world stage. Q'uq'umatz the plumed serpent wove his spells into the now sleeping new born and showed him the

wonders of the world yet to be, for at its height the empire basked beneath a bountiful sun and its people knew Eden. Years were yet to pass before, with the coming of age, he ascended the throne that grants dominion and led his people through times of plenty. Centuries had gone into the crafting of this empire and little is known of its pre history other than it flourished. It is to this time, measured by the Christian calendar as between 250 and 350 AD that we see the first of Constantine’s dreams unfold for whilst his empire was in decline that of Born Of Fire was in its ascendance. Where better to be?

We will speak but little of this time and place for it is but a stepping stone upon the path that is the unveiling of this our tale other than to say, here the gods ruled and order prevailed and blessed its people with the bounty that is the fruit of the body of the goddess.

The people, wise and gentle, given to study, mapped the heavens and mastered the art of agriculture and fed a vast empire on what was little in the way of cultivated land. Their art is long forgotten but amongst their priesthood were the inheritors of the ancient, now extinct culture of Khem and amongst them were the Alkhymysts who by their arte had defeated Death itself. This arte known to the cult of Khephren, now but a dim memory, rose amongst the Mayan where it bloomed all but briefly.

Khephren Ma Un Nefer Ast

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Tree Of Life

A millennia passes and we arrive at the third point of our brief sojourn through history which brings us to Spain and the fifteenth century. Here ruled Ysabel who raised a failing empire to its former glory and the first to send emissaries to the New World, as called. First amongst

these was Columbus who believing in the god that guided him brought destruction to Eden and the beginning of the true dark ages. Yet it is not to history that we cast our glance for it is here, in truth, that our tale begins.

Within Eden two trees graced the land with their presence. The first, The Tree Of The Knowledge Of Good And Evil has cast its long shadow upon creations mirror and history is revealed by its presence. The Second, The Tree Of Life remains but a dream. Its very existence questionable and yet the adepts since time itself began have tasted of its fruit and it is to this fruit that Ysabel casts her gaze for she would reshape the world and though catholic in her mind, her heart is graced by the wisdom, borne of long study and instruction. She would be as Eve and enter the first day of the worlds rebirth, baptized in the waters of life and rendered immortal by the tasting of the one true substance before which all else is spectre cast upon the mirror of life. She commissions her emissary and with a ring taken from treasury grants him dominion in her name and would have him as her Adam upon the face of this brave new world she would craft.

Eden eternal drifts upon the aethyrs, burnished gold and remains but a myth to all that lives and breathes. Perhaps the mystic glimpses it in their reveries? Perhaps the philosopher grasps at its skirts with soiled hands? Perhaps the poet wraps it in a mantle of words crafted in beauty and longing? Perhaps we all glimpse it in the deepest of chambers of our own slumbering hearts? Perhaps Death whispers its seduction into the fibre of our souls and the promise of fulfillment descends like golden rain upon a parched and barren world? Perhaps … … …?

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Stay With Me

Once upon a hill of flint beneath an ocean of stars I called unto thee. Vision burned within eyes, pale mirrors of thy glory and in the velvet silence of midnight an answer came. Now like one turned to ash beneath thy gaze I wander upon the shores of night. Shadows attend me, their whispers seductive yet bereft of life as they turn upon the wheel of thy becoming. Errant shades caught within a web of whispers. Burn their presence from my sight and grant the benediction which is thine alone to grant. Make of my body a sigil, celebrating thy presence and within thy embrace might I reside until time itself tumbles into memory, dull mirror of thy glory.

Once within a lake of fire I called unto thee and as my form evaporated into thy breath did I rise purified, made whole in thy sight and yet a shadow cast upon memories dull mirror. Flesh melted into a pool of amniotic mist. Blood boiled and became as liquid gold. Bone dissolved by thy acid touch and as thy kiss parted lips parched did I ascend on thy breath. In that crucible was I formed and upon midnights eternal shore was I cast. Sent forth amongst the legions of the damned. Anathema to all I beheld. Witness and scribe cast thy spells upon the aethyrs. May thy body be thy pen, thy blood the very ink of inscription and upon the papyrus of life inscribe the axiomata of bliss.

Once beneath the ocean I called unto thee, reached out a hand and felt thine in mine, only to slip away. Was it but a moment ago that flesh met flesh and melded into a single heart? Through eyes yet dim did I behold thee? With ears confounded by deceit did I yet comprehend thee and upon my lips did I not taste of the nectar that drips, honeyed, from the petals of thy rose? Life steps briefly behind the veil of eternity, takes a bow and collapses into singularity. Waves resolve themselves into ripples and as the reflection settles a new form arises, takes a stumbling step and the pageant unfolds.

Once upon a summers breeze I called unto thee. Wings unfurled did I descend into thy embrace, felt

thy heartbeat upon my breast and released an anguished sigh. Mistress of my soul I serve as a reflection of thy presence within the vale of tears. Thy whispered word a thunderous command. Thy desire a template of mine acts and thy form the vessel in which I travel across the aethyrs celebrating thy song of rapture. The breeze rises to a scream and upon its echo do I now continue my quest beneath a field of golden stars, each bears witness to thy presence and in the sanctuary of their hearts is thy judgement reflected upon the mirror of their minds.

The Hill Of Flint [ extract ]

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Death Is A Disease

Old Age

The last of the enemies, that which unseats, even Power. Old Age need not be viewed as the accumulation of years, for there are many younger people who clearly demonstrate the onset of Old Age in as much as their attitudes, beliefs and behaviours are so set that only Death awaits them. Returning to the concept of Old Age as spoken of by Don Juan, this can only exist as a reality within the everyday world, for should the

Warrior reach an ancient age, a lifetime of Impeccability circumnavigates the pitfalls presented by Old Age – the desire to rest. The accumulation of Power through a lifetime of practice, congruently applied leaves no place for the infirmity which invariably accompanies Old Age. Death, the natural consequence of advancing years serving as an advisor addresses how the infirmities of Old Age arise and can be circumnavigated. In our arrogance we act as if we are immortal, this Don Juan points out on numerous occasions. The truth is we have little time, faced as we are by the immensity of the Mystery that confronts and surrounds us. A lifetime of Impeccability leaves no place for the infirmities commonly associated with Old Age. In this instance Old Age, like Death becomes an advisor.

And yet at times we grow tired, would seek rest from our labours and yet there is no opportunity for rest, only the Dramatic Exertion and Unbending Intent that has been cultivated over a lifetime can serve as a resource in the light of the ultimate enemy that defeats us at the end. Sorcery suggests The Abstract Flight, the means of entering Death consciously as one way of defeating, even Old Age. Time itself is the only witness to the validity of this concept or not. The rest is pure rumour.

Yet throughout life, each moment, each thought, each action is a rehearsal for our impending death. We have choices : The models of spirituality assuage us with the promise of immortality. Designed to placate what is at root our deepest fear and to furnish the few with the power over the many, the few in this instance are called teachers. The question is : what do we wish to rehearse? Sorcery applied effectively is designed to arouse our curiosity as to the nature of what we are and are capable of becoming and the nature of the Mystery that

surrounds us. This insatiable curiosity alone could almost keep us so preoccupied with our explorations that we forget or overlook getting old, for Old Age is part of the program that is engendered and supported by The Everyday Description of The World. Few, if any escape and yet we are driven to make the effort.

This perspective alone, applied appropriately ensures that the desire to rest and take it easy never occurs and for this reason is the metaphor of the battle and the battlefield applied when speaking of the Sorcerers world and its pursuit. Others are granted the appearance of possessing immortality, for a

Warrior this is nonsense for they have only the here and the now. The rest is human indulgence, meaningless and trivial in the light of the passing of time. Life itself is The Abstract Flight and for the Warrior upon the path of becoming a Man or Woman of Knowledge there is no time or inclination to be diverted by the merely entertaining. This again, is the result of attaining Sobriety and more importantly the application of the first principle of Sorcery, namely, Ruthlessness.

Ruthlessness is Sobriety and Sobriety is Ruthlessness and in the light of the presence of such resources is Old Age defeated. This is the ultimate proof of the validity of the pursuit of Sorcery itself.

Ruthlessness applied recognises what is required in terms of maintaining ones youthfulness irrespective of whether one is twenty five or sixty five. The cultivation of health and well – being through a balanced approach to life can and does offset many of the consequences of living a chaotic life. Diet, exercise, environment, work, relationships, the shields we call A Path With Heart and the pursuit of Sorcery itself are significant ways of defeating the last of the enemies. We are as old or as young as we feel. This is a matter of attitude supported by the practical considerations that make it possible. Ruthlessness is the application of the strategies necessary to achieve this. The elimination of what creates and fosters harm in the life of a Warrior demands that Ruthlessness be applied at the appropriate times within the appropriate contexts. For this reason the Warrior performs regular Strategic Inventories in order to sort The Island of The Tonal on a regular basis. It is a continuous and ongoing process. Old Age can also be referred to as a loss of vitality or energy. The Ruthlessness of The Recapitulation with its outcome of reclaiming energy spread across our Personal History ensures that vitality is maintained. The practice of Controlled Folly likewise is Ruthlessness applied

within the world. Sorcery itself is Ruthlessness for as the first principle it pervades every aspect of the pursuit. When faced with those occasions when one is called upon to stop, it is the Ruthlessness of Control and Discipline that remind the warrior of their pursuit and its goal – the path to Freedom.

Cunning is again the application of strategies Intended to trick the 1st Attention into ‘breaking the mould of man.’ A mould which contains the concepts of Old Age and Death. Cunning here lies within the practice of The

Recapitulation, offering as it does a surrogate history to the Eagle at the point of Death and thereby passing by intact. This is referred to as conscious death, where the Warrior enters Freedom as defined by their predilection. It is Cunning indeed to pursue a path without a destination, for one is always travelling, always encountering newness and difference. It is almost as if one forgets to grow old. The everyday world is set up in such a way as to fulfill the expectations of those who signed the agreement. The Warrior has broken the agreement and all that it entails. Mystery, complete and inviolate is their only quest, a quest that leaves no room for the infirmities associated with Old Age. At this time these may be simply words, fortunately there is an appropriate evidence procedure, for were I to choose to stay around until I was eighty or so, my being and state of being would serve as the evidence that corroborated or denied these words. Sorcery as described is the Cunning of the 1st Attention for in its application one ultimately ceases to be human in the mundane sense of the word, this offers the opportunity of transcending the human condition and evolving into new and different abilities. This, evolution demands of us. With so much at stake and so little time, how could the Warrior permit Old Age to unseat them at this crucial point in time? Preparing to leave the world and all it entails, to embark upon a journey without equal is surely sufficient to maintain the energetic level this quest demands. Cunning is applied as strategy throughout the Warriors lifetime and facilitates the Impeccability which itself results from connecting to Intent which in turn arises through the pursuit of the Art and Science of Sorcery. Energy, Awareness and Perception being its focus points. Cunning indeed facilitates a vital approach within the Energetic Matrix consisting as it does of Mind – Body and Double which maintains and sustains vitality. Within this reality there is no room for Old Age as commonly experienced within the everyday world. It is all dependant upon skill and strategy and this takes the application of Cunning.

Patience is the ambience, the field through which all the above is permitted to unfold. It is time and the relationship we have to time. Sorcerers manipulate time through manipulating Perception, living entire lifetimes within what could be judged to be a relatively short time. The distortion of time also enables the Sorcerer to face the oncoming time differently. Rather than moving towards the future, an average persons approach to the continuum of time, the Sorcerer stands still, as it were and the future moves towards them. This nuance of difference facilitates Awareness unfolding in distinctly different ways compared

to the norm. The application of Patience, the ambience of time unfolding, permits the development of Impeccability which calls for the sum total of ones energy being available in the instance to hand. There is nothing new in this idea accept that within Sorcery it ceases to be an idea and is made concrete simply through the practice of The Recapitulation. A process which is dependant upon time and Patience. For what commences as an abstract becomes concrete as sufficient Personal Power is released into ones Perceptual abilities. The difference between one perception and another being the amount of energy available at the time. If this were not the case we would become enlightened beings overnight simply by reading about the possibility of becoming so. Time is a man made concept which though measured objectively in days, months and years is experienced subjectively. Hence a moment can contain an eternity when experienced from a Core State perspective. Likewise years can fly by and the seduction of youth awakes one day to the horrors of Old Age and infirmity. All a dream. Old Age likewise is mans expectations being fulfilled by the consensus that reality imposes. A reality we in effect have set up as part of the socialisation process we have been educated into. Few, very few escape the inevitable and yet there are those who dream and when we consider dreaming, have not all things commenced with a dream? Patience and its relationship to time is the means of unseating Old Age by never actually arriving at this Perception. For at the end of the day there is only Perception.

Sweetness in this instance again lies in humility. Of leading a life which engenders vitality by Erasing Self Importance, Erasing Personal History and effectively Stopping The World in which time unfolds in a linear fashion. The indescribable feats spoken of in Sorcery are effectively performed by the Double, the Energy body. This aspect when actualised grants untold abilities to the Sorcerer who all but takes up permanent residence in the Double. And while all this takes place the man or woman in question simply lives in the world. As a Stalker, apparently no different from the average

person, yet possessed of skills and energy that has made the inconceivable an everyday reality. This is the transformation spoken of, for it manifests in two parts. First it is the simplicity of having erased Self Importance in order to attain the Inaccessibility required to fulfill ones path uninterrupted. Secondly it is the transformation of the human into the Sorcerer. For the Sorcerer lives at least two lives. The everyday world of the man or woman and then there is the Sorcerer proper. Human beings are not Sorcerers. It is the Double that is the Sorcerer and in this way transformation is taking place continually. It is relatively easy to act and look commonplace when in effect one is just that. It is the Sorcerer that is extraordinary. There is nothing human about a Sorcerer as there is nothing Sorcerous about a human. The question of Old Age viewed in this way is simply a matter of where you place your energy. For it to be contained within the human construct leads ultimately to death, this is currently a certainty. For it to be transferred to the Double, as in Dreaming is surely the way the Abstract Flight is undertaken. A task indescribable in its implications and yet presupposed by the entire structure called Sorcery. Old Age is unseated and defeated by Sweetness through the application of the only transformation possible. Entry into the 3rd Attention, when the Fire From Within takes place and one leaves this world total and complete. In this way Sorcerers cannot die for their energy has been transferred to an almost inaccessible aspect of our being that we call the Double. All speculation concerning spirituality is a sham and insurance against fear. There is only one form of immortality and that is, not to die. Transcending death by retaining ones consciousness is only possible in the light of the Double. This transformation lies at the very heart of Sorcery and it is through Sweetness that even Old Age is defeated.

A Toltec Witness – The New Mood Of Sorcery [ extract ] The Four Enemies Of A Man Of Knowledge – Old Age

Xibalba

After our brief sojourn into the realms of poesy and sophistry, both vital to their respective chapters we return, hopefully refreshed to the motif of this our tale. From this point onwards whilst we recognize the wonder of our sources, The fountain in its visual and auditory forms and the input of our

Mayan brothers we now depart and while they remain as our background our foreground will be an exploration from a personal perspective, as such poetic license serves as the foundation upon which we will build our edifice of delight.

Echoes and whispers are all that remain of the once shining cluster that hung jewel like upon the face of the firmament. Aeons of time had elapsed unseen by the sentient wave that was yet to be. Its brothers and sisters whispered to each other across the vast distances that measure space and time and then one day silence bloomed and one more whisper all but faded. Once a radiance, now a darkness as if clouds had erased from comprehension that wonder of nature called by some a galaxy. This event unfolded over time beyond measure and it was millennia later that our brothers the Mayan glimpsed its demise and yes it is true to say, long after the event for that is the nature of light and its manifestation. In their wisdom did they conceive an underworld unique by virtue of its placement in the heavens and at the heart of a now long dead galaxy, if Death can truly claim such?

Of this they created Xibalba, to some an underworld, to others a place of fear and to the wise the place of beginnings. Ceaselessly the procession of souls rises from Terra and walks the rainbow bridge that delivers them into the heart of the void, from whence they came.

Shed not a tear for those that have passed Cast not a sigh upon air now spent

Bind not the free to your temple of woe

But rather rejoice the freedom gainsaid by life In the immortal lands of deliverance therein i dwell

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First Snow

He awoke and began what had become for him his daily ritual. From the crystal stream he took but a dish of water and this he mixed with the ground roots that formed his ink and with the sharpened quill etched into his flesh one more band that served as calendar within this the place of his confinement. Beyond the membrane of the bubble that serves as home the stars shone and the gases

that illuminated the void burned with an incandescence that all but blinded him. His ritual complete he walked the short distance that took him into the presence of the tree that dominated the space wherein he dwelt. Majestic it stood, roots firm within the body of soil that nurtured it, trunk gnarled by the ages it had witnessed, branches stretching upwards and outwards until it appeared they brushed the stars themselves. The Tree Of Life stood within the void and he its sole witness travelled across endless space and time held in its embrace.

His memory of how he came to be here is vague, perhaps dream? What he recalls is fragmented for his last memory was on entering the pyramid and meeting the high priest of Born Of Fire. His fellow travellers confined within the village that stood at the foot of the mountain, he alone was permitted to advance and as he climbed the steps carved into the very bedrock he first glimpsed the majestic structure above. A vast pyramid whose central chamber he entered only to encounter the high priest wielding a sword of living flame which striking him rendered him unconscious and it is here within this sphere, travelling across the heavens that he returned to consciousness.

So much time had passed, each day, as best as he could measure it carved as a band into his flesh, his only testament. With his bowl and the sharpened tool that now serves as blade he cut one sliver from the bark of the tree and this he ingested as his daily ritual dictated and as he looked outwards beyond the membrane of his sphere the first flakes fell and his vision was blessed with the falling of the first snow.

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Finish It

And as the flakes fall he is minded of the places he recalls. Perhaps dreams, perhaps memories? He knows not which. He recalls Izzi, the softness of her skin, the smell of her air and the smile, ever present, upon her face. Recalls Ysabel and the love he bore his queen and mistress

and across the ocean had he voyaged to gain that which she sought. Tomas within a carapace of armour, sword drawn, conquers in the name of the one true faith and falls to the old world. Thomas falls to loss and the death of his beloved whose last words are Finish it as she places the folio into his hands and the pen and ink with which he will scribe the final words, not unlike Constantine in another time and place. This he remembers and is tormented by the memories of such and all that protects him from the onslaught of despair are his daily rituals.

All about him the stars continue their endless march through time and the ignited gases that adorn the firmament are now accompanied by flakes of snow that fall as a benediction upon the sphere he continues to travel within. What of his purpose? What of his continued existence? In truth he knows not for only his rituals serve as purpose within this, the fate that has fallen to him. Is he Tomas questing for his queen and mistress? Is he Thomas searching for the means by which he might rescue Izzi from the grip of Death that stalks her moment to moment? Has he left all this behind him and become something else?

Constantine dreams and wonders at the spectacle cast before his eyes.

Siyah K’ak ascends and enters the temple that will serve as the seat of his dominion.

Columbus takes up the sword and quests in the name of the true god.

Thomas with fevered brow pries open natures vault and extracts but one bauble.

Tomas graced by his sovereign walks the shores of the new world and our reluctant hero travels across time and space and becomes a child of the infinite.

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Death Is The Road To

Awe

Deep within the hearts of all that have populated this fable there lay a deep and resounding thought. For I am dead and these be but memories, shadows cast upon a

mirror that etches history as the breath that passes between the stars as they whisper to each other in the endless night of time.

And what of the wonder that lies beneath the slumbering wave Does not the ebon stone wish upon stellar glory

Of ash and memory art thou made Drift endlessly down corridors of remembrance Wrapt in a mantle of mystery clouded by dream

Thou becomes that which thou sought And in the passing of a breath

Thou art consumed

Tomas Falls beneath the sword of flame and rises in Xibalba and in The Palace Of Exiles all are consumed by the flame that burns as ice. Eternity but the blink of an eye to the one that slumbers within the heart of mystery. Her servant graces all with their presence and seduces the joyous and the forlorn as equals.

An eternity will thou spend enthralled by the embrace of Hyonos as he quests upon the avenue of dreams in search of the one noble truth before which all bend the knee and bow the head. Rise noble Azrael and in thy dominion count the multitude of scales that adorn flesh consecrated by life’s conceit and blessed by thy release. Ave! Ave! Ave!

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Together We Will Live Forever

The Gates Of Eden open and only the innocent may enter. Across the rainbow bridge they walk. Constantine and his beloved church. Tomas with his gracious lady Ysabel. Thomas carried in the arms of Izzy. Born Of Fire, feather sceptered climbs the final hill of his journey and the first and last man drifts through the vacuum of space, observes his rituals and remembers.

All form dissolves and enters an ocean of bliss wherein the fallen are redeemed. The blessed

celebrate their ascension and in the marbled hall of memory one more page turns in the Book Of Life and as its pages turn to golden dust caught upon a breeze of apple blossom all is remembered and forgiven.

Time Dreams of Eternity. Space of the infinite ocean of form

And in the depths of a human heart a Flame burns in the darkest night

Guiding the beloved into fields of joy beneath A sky burnished with stars

Our tale concludes and with its passing we bid thee adieu and leave with but a single thought.

Together We Will Live Forever

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Death Is The Road To Awe

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