The emanation

Step by step, but not without straying sometimes into the ‘thick
jungle’ of symbolism, we have drawn near to our objective. We have,
in fact, recognized that the Unity was the source of the manifold, that
both the Soul and Matter were immediately derived from it, and that
power was inseparable from the act in this first principle. It is already
possible to guess what kind of cosmogony can be constructed on such
foundations.

Seeing that matter has sprung from God, we must in the first place
rule out the hypothesis of a creation that would be only the organization
of a pre-existing chaos, of a genesis that would be the upthrow of
a cosmos starting from an cmeiptDv, of a victory over the uncreated.
This ancient concept (but it still survived with one Leo, the Hebrew)
was contrary to that of the orthodox theologians and Christian philosophers (down to Nicholas of Cusa and Marsilio Ficino), who
established God at the centre of creation and ascribed it to Him entirely.
To the extent that he denies the existence of uncreated matter on
which the creative act was performed, Bruno does not depart from
the Christian point of view. On the other hand, he dissociates himself
from it completely when he rejects the possibility of a creation a
nihilo. The creative act, for him, is no more a victory over the uncreated,
than a victory over naught. Having assumed in principle that
the power and act are merged into one another in the prime Unity, he
is led to conclude that the distinction between cause and principle,
which is valid when dealing with natural objects, loses all logical value
on the plane of the divine.

 

When asked what differences there is between
cause and principle, Theophilus replies: ‘When we say that
God is the first principle and the first cause, we understand the same
thing in different senses; when we speak of principles and causes in
nature, we speak of different things in different senses.’

 

On the plane of nature, the principle is in the object, the cause produces the object
‘but remains distinct from it’. On the other hand, God ‘producing
things as the first cause, remains in them as the first principle’.

 

 

If He were solely the cause, His creation would be cast out of Him and
affected with a certain contingency, He could have created another
universe. Now, this ‘ability-not-to-be’ rightly ascribed to the finite
objects that come under our senses would not be able to influence the
total universe. Consequently, Bruno shows his aversion from Duns
Scotus—who thought the universe could have been different from
what it is—whereas he is satisfied with the formulas of Amaury of
Bene (everything is God, omnia esse Deum) and of David of Dinant
(God is the principle of everything, Deum esse principium materiale
omnium).
‘The essence of neo-Platonism is to represent the real as a hierarchy
of all the forms of existence that are disposed between the
absolute Unity and the indetermination of matter. There is a superabundant
richness in the Unity by which it is compelled to spread itself
by a kind of emanation.’

These few lines summarize what Bruno
rejects from neo-Platonism and what he retains. In so far as the
Plotinian movement is a necessary emanation, Bruno is akin to
Plotinus. On the other hand, he discards all idea of hierarchy. Matter
is no longer the final term of a degradation. Matter proceeds from
God, without an intermediary, for the same reason as form. The emanation is purer and more direct.

The universe is one aspect of God, or preferably a ‘reflection’, or even a ‘shadow’. The universe is therefore co-eternal with God who nevertheless remains its source
so that identification of the universe with God remains incomplete
and it is possible to speak of creation, provided we do not understand
thereby a creation ab aeterno, the antecedence of the creator becoming
purely logical. All these views are set forth on a remarkable page
of the third dialogue, Concerning the Cause:

 

 
“The universe, which is the great simulacrum, the great image and only
begotten nature (unigenita natura), is itself [like the first principle], all
that it can be, in these same species and principle parts [which were dealt
with above], and continuity of all matter, to which nothing is added and
from which nothing is lacking from its complete and unique form; but
it is not all that it can be through the same differences, modes, attributes
and characteristics. Furthermore, it is none other than the shadow of
the first act and the first power; yet the power and the act in it are not
absolutely the same thing, because not one of its parts is all that it can
be . . . the universe is all that it can be according to a mode of explication,
dispersion and distinction. Its principle is in union and in indifference;
because everything is whole and the same in simplicity,
without difference and distinction.” (Bruno, Causa III)

 

–The Cosmology of Giordano Bruno by P-H. Michel

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As I move away from this blog to something else. Although I will still post here.

I have a new Blog:

http://www.theurgical.com/WEEKLYTAROT/

 

full_moon_luc_viatour

A full moon is the lunar phase that occurs when the Moon is completely illuminated as seen from Earth. This occurs when Earth is located directly between the Sun and the Moon (more exactly, when the ecliptic longitudes of the Sun and Moon differ by 180 degrees). This means that the hemisphere of the Moon that is facing Earth (the near side) is almost fully illuminated by the Sun and appears round (while the far side is almost completely unlit). When the full moon moves into Earth’s shadow, a lunar eclipse occurs, and all or part of the Moon’s face may appear reddish due to the Rayleigh scattering of blue light in Earth’s atmosphere

A full moon is often thought of as an event of a full night’s duration. This is somewhat misleading because its phase seen from Earth continuously waxes or wanes (though much too slowly to notice in real time with the naked eye). Its maximum illumination occurs at the moment waxing has stopped. For any given location, about half of these maximum full moons may be visible, while the other half occurs during the day, when the full moon is below the horizon.

Many almanacs list full moons not only by date, but also by their exact time, usually in Coordinated Universal Time (UTC). Typical monthly calendars that include lunar phases may be offset by one day when used in a different time zone.

Full moon is generally a suboptimal time to conduct astronomical observations because the bright sunlight reflected by the Moon then outshines the apparently dimmer stars.


The Harvest Moon

By Amelia Tucker

Posted and edited to fit MySpace’s format by Magickal Winds

What is the Harvest moon?

The harvest moon is named for the full moon nearest to Mabon, bright enough to allow farmers to work late into the night bringing in the final harvest of the year. This moon is celebrated across many cultures using different names: Barley moon or Chrysanthemum moon or even Fruit moon to name a few.

Why do Wiccans Celebrate the Harvest moon?

For Wiccans, it is an especially powerful time for our spellwork. The full moon itself represents the Goddess at her most fertile, luminous self. It is the perfect time for creating change. After the contemplative holiday of Mabon, you have reached deep into yourself and sorted through your own strengths and weaknesses. You know where you want to see change and now is the time to prepare for that. Creating moon magic is always strongest at midnight. You would want to time your spell to start at this time. No matter how long your plan your ritual for, the starting point is the most important one. You can simply honor your deity(s) with a small ritual or create something more elaborate but for the most effect, start at midnight.

http://www.magickalwinds.com/articles/index.php?article=All-About-The-Harvest-Moon.html

 

 

hilal

When the Sun and Moon are aligned on the same side of the Earth, the moon is “new”, and the side of the Moon facing Earth is not illuminated by the Sun. As the moon waxes (the amount of illuminated surface as seen from Earth is increasing), the lunar phases progress through new moon, crescent moon, first-quarter moon, gibbous moon, and full moon. The moon is then said to wane as it passes through the gibbous moon, third-quarter moon, crescent moon and back to new moon. The terms “old moon” and “new moon” are not interchangeable. The “old moon” is a waning sliver (which eventually becomes undetectable to the naked eye) until the moment it aligns with the sun and begins to wax, at which point it becomes new again.[1] Half moon is often used to mean the first- and third-quarter moons, while the term ‘quarter’ refers to the extent of the moon’s cycle around the Earth, not its shape.

When a sphere is illuminated on one hemisphere and viewed from a different angle, the portion of the illuminated area that is visible will have a two-dimensional shape defined by the intersection of an ellipse and circle (where the major axis of the ellipse coincides with a diameter of the circle). If the half-ellipse is convex with respect to the half-circle, then the shape will be gibbous (bulging outwards)[2] whereas if the half-ellipse is concave with respect to the half-circle, then the shape will be a crescent. When a crescent Moon occurs, the phenomenon of earthshine may be apparent, where the night side of the Moon faintly reflects light from the Earth.

In the Northern Hemisphere, if the left side of the Moon is dark then the light part is growing, and the Moon is referred to as waxing (moving toward a full moon). If the right side of the Moon is dark then the light part is shrinking, and the Moon is referred to as waning (past full and moving toward a new moon). Assuming that the viewer is in the northern hemisphere, the right portion of the Moon is the part that is always growing (i.e., if the right side is dark, the Moon is growing darker; if the right side is lit, the Moon is growing lighter).

In the Southern Hemisphere the Moon is observed from a perspective inverted to that of the northern hemisphere, and all of the images in this article, so that the opposite sides appear to grow (wax) and shrink (wane).

Nearer the Equator the Moon with its terminator will appear apparently horizontal during the morning and evening. Since the above descriptions of the lunar phases only apply at temperate or high latitudes and observers moving towards the Tropics from northern or southern latitudes will see the Moon rotated anti-clockwise or clockwise with respect to the images in this article. The crescent Moon can open upward or downward, with the “horns” of the crescent pointing up or down, respectively. When the Sun appears above the Moon in the sky, the crescent opens downward; when the Moon is above the Sun, the crescent opens upward. The crescent Moon is most clearly and brightly visible when the Sun is below the horizon, which implies that the Moon must be above the Sun, and the crescent must open upward. This is therefore the orientation in which the crescent Moon is most often seen from the Earth’s tropics. The waxing and waning crescents look very similar. The waxing crescent appears in the western sky in the evening, and the waning crescent in the east, in the morning.

When the Moon, as seen from Earth, is a narrow crescent, the Earth as seen from the Moon is almost fully lit by the Sun. Often, the part of the Moon that is not directly lit by the Sun is sufficiently brightly lit by light reflected from the Earth to be easily visible from Earth. This phenomenon is called “earthshine“, and is sometimes picturesquely described as “the old moon in the new moon’s arms” or, as pictured here, “the new moon in the old moon’s arms”.

Non-western cultures may use a different number of Moon phases, for example traditional Hawaiian culture has a total of 30 different Moon phases (one per day)

JEAN G IONO

The Man Who Planted Trees

Translation from french by Peter Doyle

In order for the character of a human being to reveal truly exceptional qualities, we must have the good fortune to observe its action over a long period of years. If this action is devoid of all selfishness, if the idea that directs it is one of unqualified generosity, if it is absolutely certain that it has not sought recompense anywhere, and if moreover it has left visible marks on the world, then we are unquestionably dealing with an unforgettable character.

About forty years ago I went on a long hike, through hills absolutely unknown to tourists, in that very old region where the Alps penetrate into Provence.
This region is bounded to the south-east and south by the middle course of the Durance, between Sisteron and Mirabeau; to the north by the upper course of the Drôme, from its source down to Die; to the west by the plains of Comtat Venaissin and the outskirts of Mont Ventoux. It includes all the northern part of the Département of Basses-Alpes, the south of Drôme and a little enclave of Vaucluse.
At the time I undertook my long walk through this deserted region, it consisted of barren and monotonous lands, at about 1200 to 1300 meters above sea level. Nothing grew there except wild lavender.
I was crossing this country at its widest part, and after walking for three days, I found myself in the most complete desolation. I was camped next to the skeleton of an abandoned village. I had used the last of my water the day before and I needed to find more. Even though they were in ruins, these houses all huddled together and looking like an old wasps’ nest made me think that there must at one time have been a spring or a well there. There was indeed a spring, but it was dry. The five or six roofless houses, ravaged by sun and wind, and the small chapel with its tumble-down belfry, were arrayed like the houses and chapels of living villages, but all life had disappeared.

It was a beautiful June day with plenty of sun, but on these shelterless lands, high up in the sky, the wind whistled with an unendurable brutality. Its growling in the carcasses of the houses was like that of a wild beast disturbed during its meal.
I had to move my camp. After five hours of walking, I still hadn’t found water, and nothing gave me hope of finding any. Everywhere there was the same dryness, the same stiff, woody plants. I thought I saw in the distance a small black silhouette. On a chance I headed towards it. It was a shepherd. Thirty lambs or so were resting near him on the scorching ground.
He gave me a drink from his gourd and a little later he led me to his shepherd’s cottage, tucked down in an undulation of the plateau. He drew his water – excellent – from a natural hole, very deep, above which he had installed a rudimentary windlass.

This man spoke little. This is common among those who live alone, but he seemed sure of himself, and confident in this assurance, which seemed remarkable in this land shorn of everything. He lived not in a cabin but in a real house of stone, from the looks of which it was clear that his own labor had restored the ruins he had found on his arrival. His roof was solid and water-tight. The wind struck against the roof tiles with the sound of the sea crashing on the beach.
His household was in order, his dishes washed, his floor swept, his rifle greased; his soup boiled over the fire; I noticed then that he was also freshly shaven, that all his buttons were solidly sewn, and that his clothes were mended with such care as to make the patches invisible.
He shared his soup with me, and when afterwards I offered him my tobacco pouch, he told me that he didn’t smoke. His dog, as silent as he, was friendly without being fawning.

It had been agreed immediately that I would pass the night there, the closest village being still more than a day and a half farther on. Furthermore, I understood perfectly well the character of the rare villages of that region. There are four or five of them dispersed far from one another on the flanks of the hills, in groves of white oaks at the very ends of roads passable by carriage. They are inhabited by woodcutters who make charcoal. They are places where the living is poor. The families, pressed together in close quarters by a climate that is exceedingly harsh, in summer as well as in winter, struggle ever more selfishly against each other. Irrational contention grows beyond all bounds, fueled by a continuous struggle to escape from that place. The men carry their charcoal to the cities in their trucks, and then return. The most solid qualities crack under this perpetual Scottish shower. The women stir up bitterness. There is competition over everything, from the sale of charcoal to the benches at church. The virtues fight amongst themselves, the vices fight amongst themselves, and there is a ceaseless general combat between the vices and the virtues. On top of all that, the equally ceaseless wind irritates the nerves. There are epidemics of suicides and numerous cases of insanity, almost always murderous.

The shepherd, who did not smoke, took out a bag and poured a pile of acorns out onto the table. He began to examine them one after another with a great deal of attention, separating the good ones from the bad. I smoked my pipe. I offered to help him, but he told me it was his own business. Indeed, seeing the care that he devoted to this job, I did not insist. This was our whole conversation. When he had in the good pile a fair number of acorns, he counted them out into packets of ten. In doing this he eliminated some more of the acorns, discarding the smaller ones and those that that showed even the slightest crack, for he examined them very closely. When he had before him one hundred perfect acorns he stopped, and we went to bed.
The company of this man brought me a feeling of peace. I asked him the next morning if I might stay and rest the whole day with him. He found that perfectly natural. Or more exactly, he gave me the impression that nothing could disturb him. This rest was not absolutely necessary to me, but I was intrigued and I wanted to find out more about this man. He let out his flock and took them to the pasture. Before leaving, he soaked in a bucket of water the little sack containing the acorns that he had so carefully chosen and counted.

I noted that he carried as a sort of walking stick an iron rod as thick as his thumb and about one and a half meters long. I set off like someone out for a stroll, following a route parallel to his. His sheep pasture lay at the bottom of a small valley. He left his flock in the charge of his dog and climbed up towards the spot where I was standing. I was afraid that he was coming to reproach me for my indiscretion, but not at all : It was his own route and he invited me to come along with him if I had nothing better to do. He continued on another two hundred meters up the hill.
Having arrived at the place he had been heading for, he begin to pound his iron rod into the ground. This made a hole in which he placed an acorn, whereupon he covered over the hole again. He was planting oak trees. I asked him if the land belonged to him. He answered no. Did he know whose land it was? He did not know. He supposed that it was communal land, or perhaps it belonged to someone who did not care about it. He himself did not care to know who the owners were. In this way he planted his one hundred acorns with great care.

After the noon meal, he began once more to pick over his acorns. I must have put enough insistence into my questions, because he answered them. For three years now he had been planting trees in this solitary way. He had planted one hundred thousand. Of these one hundred thousand, twenty thousand had come up. He counted on losing another half of them to rodents and to everything else that is unpredictable in the designs of Providence. That left ten thousand oaks that would grow in this place where before there was nothing.
It was at this moment that I began to wonder about his age. He was clearly more than fifty. Fifty-five, he told me. His name was Elzéard Bouffier. He had owned a farm in the plains, where he lived most of his life. He had lost his only son, and then his wife. He had retired into this solitude, where he took pleasure in living slowly, with his flock of sheep and his dog. He had concluded that this country was dying for lack of trees. He added that, having nothing more important to do, he had resolved to remedy the situation.
Leading as I did at the time a solitary life, despite my youth, I knew how to treat the souls of solitary people with delicacy. Still, I made a mistake. It was precisely my youth that forced me to imagine the future in my own terms, including a certain search for happiness. I told him that in thirty years these ten thousand trees would be magnificent. He replied very simply that, if God gave him life, in thirty years he would have planted so many other trees that these ten thousand would be like a drop of water in the ocean.
He had also begun to study the propagation of beeches. and he had near his house a nursery filled with seedlings grown from beechnuts. His little wards, which he had protected from his sheep by a screen fence, were growing beautifully. He was also considering birches for the valley bottoms where, he told me, moisture lay slumbering just a few meters beneath the surface of the soil.
We parted the next day.

The next year the war of 14 came, in which I was engaged for five years. An infantryman could hardly think about trees. To tell the truth, the whole business hadn’t made a very deep impression on me; I took it to be a hobby, like a stamp collection, and forgot about it.
With the war behind me, I found myself with a small demobilization bonus and a great desire to breathe a little pure air. Without any preconceived notion beyond that, I struck out again along the trail through that deserted country.
The land had not changed. Nonetheless, beyond that dead village I perceived in the distance a sort of gray fog that covered the hills like a carpet. Ever since the day before I had been thinking about the shepherd who planted trees. « Ten thousand oaks, I had said to myself, must really take up a lot of space. »
I had seen too many people die during those five years not to be able to imagine easily the death of Elzéard Bouffier, especially since when a man is twenty he thinks of a man of fifty as an old codger for whom nothing remains but to die. He was not dead. In fact, he was very spry. He had changed his job. He only had four sheep now, but to make up for this he had about a hundred beehives. He had gotten rid of the sheep because they threatened his crop of trees. He told me (as indeed I could see for myself) that the war had not disturbed him at all. He had continued imperturbably with his planting.
The oaks of 1910 were now ten years old and were taller than me and than him. The spectacle was impressive. I was literally speechless and, as he didn’t speak himself, we passed the whole day in silence, walking through his forest. It was in three sections, eleven kilometers long overall and, at its widest point, three kilometers wide. When I considered that this had all sprung from the hands and from the soul of this one man – without technical aids – , it struck me that men could be as effective as God in domains other than destruction.
He had followed his idea, and the beeches that reached up to my shoulders and extending as far as the eye could see bore witness to it. The oaks were now good and thick, and had passed the age where they were at the mercy of rodents; as for the designs of Providence, to destroy the work that had been created would henceforth require a cyclone. He showed me admirable stands of birches that dated from five years ago, that is to say from 1915, when I had been fighting at Verdun. He had planted them in the valley bottoms where he had suspected, correctly, that there was water close to the surface. They were as tender as young girls, and very determined.
This creation had the air, moreover, of working by a chain reaction. He had not troubled about it; he went on obstinately with his simple task. But, in going back down to the village, I saw water running in streams that, within living memory, had always been dry. It was the most striking revival that he had shown me. These streams had borne water before, in ancient days. Certain of the sad villages that I spoke of at the beginning of my account had been built on the sites of ancient Gallo-Roman villages, of which there still remained traces; archeologists digging there had found fishhooks in places where in more recent times cisterns were required in order to have a little water.
The wind had also been at work, dispersing certain seeds. As the water reappeared, so too did willows, osiers, meadows, gardens, flowers, and a certain reason to live.
But the transformation had taken place so slowly that it had been taken for granted, without provoking surprise. The hunters who climbed the hills in search of hares or wild boars had noticed the spreading of the little trees, but they set it down to the natural spitefulness of the earth. That is why no one had touched the work of this man. If they had suspected him, they would have tried to thwart him. But he never came under suspicion : Who among the villagers or the administrators would ever have suspected that anyone could show such obstinacy in carrying out this magnificent act of generosity?

Beginning in 1920 I never let more than a year go by without paying a visit to Elzéard Bouffier. I never saw him waver or doubt, though God alone can tell when God’s own hand is in a thing! I have said nothing of his disappointments, but you can easily imagine that, for such an accomplishment, it was necessary to conquer adversity; that, to assure the victory of such a passion, it was necessary to fight against despair. One year he had planted ten thousand maples. They all died. The next year,he gave up on maples and went back to beeches, which did even better than the oaks.
To get a true idea of this exceptional character, one must not forget that he worked in total solitude; so total that, toward the end of his life, he lost the habit of talking. Or maybe he just didn’t see the need for it.

In 1933 he received the visit of an astonished forest ranger. This functionary ordered him to cease building fires outdoors, for fear of endangering this natural forest. It was the first time, this naive man told him, that a forest had been observed to grow up entirely on its own. At the time of this incident, he was thinking of planting beeches at a spot twelve kilometers from his house. To avoid the coming and going – because at the time he was seventy-five years old – he planned to build a cabin of stone out where he was doing his planting. This he did the next year.

In 1935, a veritable administrative delegation went to examine this « natural forest ». There was an important personage from Waters and Forests, a deputy, and some technicians. Many useless words were spoken. It was decided to do something, but luckily nothing was done, except for one truly useful thing : placing the forest under the protection of the State and forbidding anyone from coming there to make charcoal. For it was impossible not to be taken with the beauty of these young trees in full health. And the forest exercised its seductive powers even on the deputy himself.
I had a friend among the chief foresters who were with the delegation. I explained the mystery to him. One day the next week, we went off together to look for Elzéard Bouffier, We found him hard at work, twenty kilometers away from the place where the inspection had taken place.
This chief forester was not my friend for nothing. He understood the value of things. He knew how to remain silent. I offered up some eggs I had brought with me as a gift. We split our snack three ways, and then passed several hours in mute contemplation of the landscape.
The hillside whence we had come was covered with trees six or seven meters high. I remembered the look of the place in 1913 : a desert… The peaceful and steady labor, the vibrant highland air, his frugality, and above all, the serenity of his soul had given the old man a kind of solemn good health. He was an athlete of God. I asked myself how many hectares he had yet to cover with trees.
Before leaving, my friend made a simple suggestion concerning certain species of trees to which the terrain seemed to be particularly well suited. He was not insistent. « For the very good reason, » he told me afterwards, « that this fellow knows a lot more about this sort of thing than I do. » After another hour of walking, this thought having travelled along with him, he added : « He knows a lot more about this sort of thing than anybody – and he has found a jolly good way of being happy ! »
It was thanks to the efforts of this chief forester that the forest was protected, and with it, the happiness of this man. He designated three forest rangers for their protection, and terrorized them to such an extent that they remained indifferent to any jugs of wine that the woodcutters might offer as bribes.

The forest did not run any grave risks except during the war of 1939. Then automobiles were being run on wood alcohol, and there was never enough wood. They began to cut some of the stands of the oaks of 1910, but the trees stood so far from any useful road that the enterprise turned out to be bad from a financial point of view, and was soon abandoned. The shepherd never knew anything about it. He was thirty kilometers away, peacefully continuing his task, as untroubled by the war of 39 as he had been of the war of 14.

I saw Elzéard Bouffier for the last time in June of 1945. He was then eighty-seven years old. I had once more set off along my trail through the wilderness, only to find that now, in spite of the shambles in which the war had left the whole country, there was a motor coach running between the valley of the Durance and the mountain. I set down to this relatively rapid means of transportation the fact that I no longer recognized the landmarks I knew from my earlier visits. It also seemed that the route was taking me through entirely new places. I had to ask the name of a village to be sure that I was indeed passing through that same region, once so ruined and desolate. The coach set me down at Vergons. In 1913, this hamlet of ten or twelve houses had had three inhabitants. They were savages, hating each other, and earning their living by trapping : Physically and morally, they resembled prehistoric men . The nettles devoured the abandoned houses that surrounded them. Their lives were without hope, it was only a matter of waiting for death to come : a situation that hardly predisposes one to virtue.
All that had changed, even to the air itself. In place of the dry, brutal gusts that had greeted me long ago, a gentle breeze whispered to me, bearing sweet odors. A sound like that of running water came from the heights above : It was the sound of the wind in the trees. And most astonishing of all, I heard the sound of real water running into a pool. I saw that they had built a fountain, that it was full of water, and what touched me most, that next to it they had planted a lime-tree that must be at least four years old, already grown thick, an incontestable symbol of resurrection.

Furthermore, Vergons showed the signs of labors for which hope is a requirement : Hope must therefore have returned. They had cleared out the ruins, knocked down the broken walls, and rebuilt five houses. The hamlet now counted twenty-eight inhabitants, including four young families. The new houses, freshly plastered, were surrounded by gardens that bore, mixed in with each other but still carefully laid out, vegetables and flowers, cabbages and rosebushes, leeks and gueules-de-loup, celery and anemones. It was now a place where anyone would be glad to live.
From there I continued on foot. The war from which we had just barely emerged had not permitted life to vanish completely, and now Lazarus was out of his tomb. On the lower flanks of the mountain, I saw small fields of barley and rye; in the bottoms of the narrow valleys, meadowlands were just turning green.
It has taken only the eight years that now separate us from that time for the whole country around there to blossom with splendor and ease. On the site of the ruins I had seen in 1913 there are now well-kept farms, the sign of a happy and comfortable life. The old springs, fed by rain and snow now that are now retained by the forests, have once again begun to flow. The brooks have been channelled. Beside each farm, amid groves of maples, the pools of fountains are bordered by carpets of fresh mint. Little by little, the villages have been rebuilt. Yuppies have come from the plains, where land is expensive, bringing with them youth, movement, and a spirit of adventure. Walking along the roads you will meet men and women in full health, and boys and girls who know how to laugh, and who have regained the taste for the traditional rustic festivals. Counting both the previous inhabitants of the area, now unrecognizable from living in plenty, and the new arrivals, more than ten thousand persons owe their happiness to Elzéard Bouffier.

When I consider that a single man, relying only on his own simple physical and moral resources, was able to transform a desert into this land of Canaan, I am convinced that despite everything, the human condition is truly admirable. But when I take into account the constancy, the greatness of soul, and the selfless dedication that was needed to bring about this transformation, I am filled with an immense respect for this old, uncultured peasant who knew how to bring about a work worthy of God.

Elzéard Bouffier died peacefully in 1947 at the hospice in Banon.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

 

Written by me:

Peter has come and Paul has come

James has come and John has come,

Muriel and Mary Virgin have come,

Uriel the all-beneficent has come,

Ariel the beauteousness of the young has come,

Gabriel the seer of the Virgin has come,

Raphael prince of the valiant has come,

Michael the chief of the hosts has come,

The spirit of true guidance has come,

And the king of kings has come upon the helm,

All to bestow on thee their affection and their love.”

–traditional Scottish

 

When building a conception of reality we arguably need a map or compass. With this we may travel through our inner cosmos and inner planes. This idea of “a direction is a destination” is a perennial teaching found in many major traditions. In the Western tradition we find a 7 directional model. This is based on many things. However one traditional way is to work with what IS there.

This means three dimensional space, the cube, the sphere, physical reality.

The Arch Angelic beings are well known and found in many traditions. In the Western traditions we can find several patterns. We typically relate to Qabalah. There are a few popular patterns and we can examine the overall changes that have occurred, but instead we shall just use a pattern.

Why seven archangels? Often we jump straight to the idea of Chakras. However I will not mention chakras. In the Western path we can see the idea of seven coming from the seven days of creation and thus defining three dimensional space

http://mystica-aeterna.com/rraa-rainbow-rite-arch-angels/

 

 

Working with pairs and triads on tree of life

Ongoing cycle

Meditation with tarot part 1

Divination is but one use of tarot. Tarot can be used to meditate upon. Through meditation we may enhance our understanding and interaction with the cards.

1. Choose a card
2. Briefly enter silence and try to still your mind.
3. With your chosen card place it in both hands. Hold the card close to your face and study it. Clear your mind and meditate open eyed on the card. Let the card fill your consciousness.

The card may begin to move and become alive, do not resist this, only resist absurdities such as an appearance of mickey mouse. Meditate open eyed holding the card in your consciousness for 5-10 mins.
4. Now you have communicated with the cards. This is a simple exercise that is surprisingly effective. Feel free to write down any experiences or things you have learned.

You may enhance your meditation with a simple addition of a candle, typically plain and white, dedicated for just this, which can be lit for tarot meditation only.

this is a very basic form.

 

First cycle of meditation

Emanations:KINGDOM (10) FOUNDATION (9) SPLENDOR (8)

First Pair: World and Fool

First Triad: Moon Magus Moon