Sometimes we speak as if the phenomenal world, the tonal, begins with light; but there is something before light. In fact, sound, that reverberation that undulates just outside the world of perception, exists before there is visible light.
Think about it this way. There is this energy burst that creates all possible matter and antimatter, and immediately most of what is created is eliminated; matter combining with antimatter, cancelling each other out. They nullify each other. And there are clusters of matter that group together and clusters of antimatter that in the explosion did not interact with one another and therefore were able to survive.
The more these surviving clumps of matter come together, the greater the gravitational pull they create, until the pull is so intense that they burst into light.
They become a star.
Before the first star emerged in the night sky, there was no light––no visible light at all. There was already matter, and a great deal of history of the Universe had already happened before the first stars started lighting up the night sky. And even that is not when creation starts.
See, matter was already existing. It was not matter as we knew it because it wasn’t this complex. There weren’t as many types of molecules. There were just your basic hydrogen and the antimatter equivalent; but they got together and created this massive amount of matter and exploded, and if there is a moment when we can pin point in the Bible a beginning of appearances is when that command is uttered with such certainty that it comes from the creator as he is flying over the surface of chaos with his bat wings and all of a sudden he says, “Fiat Lux!”
Part of what makes it a treat for me to read Paul Rovelli’s analysis of The Teachings of a Toltec Survivor is not only the scholarly background he brings to everything he writes, but also that he conveys the journey taken with the book at a very personal level. Paul is not only an author and leader of a gnostic movement, he also is a teacher in the A.’.A.’. and the Western Mystery tradition. It is interesting for me, therefore, to see him uncover nuances of my book the way a connoisseur unveils the nuances of wine or high cuisine.
Here is his latest entry about the book:
“Yesterday, I read the first of the next three chapters in continuance of my review of “The Teachings of a Toltec Survivor.” I’ll get to the second during the Yankee game this afternoon. Koyote, did you know the Three Stooges used perfect Jersey accents in their comedy? I’m born and raised there and loved the title of this chapter: “I’m a Victime of Soicumstance.” Indeed, Englewood, NJ was the original Hollywood and many of the silent screen stars owned properties in Englewood Cliffs all the years I was growing up.
But outside my review, I came across something in yesterday’s reading that I found truly profound and thought-provoking. I have been ruminating over the state of death for many years and especially after watching and facilitating my father’s death in hospice about eight years ago. I saw clearly at that time, my father’s essence move inwards, which highlighted for me the importance of understanding the dream state that we all experience and even that animals experience.
To quote the Koyote in the book: “In the afterlife, when the machine has been disconnected, what you become is the voyager. You go from dream to dream for a while, all residuals of your trip through organic existence, but you no longer have the bufer of the machine to shield you.” This connects the book with Koyote’s “Golden Flower,” where he explains that we are always in the dream. The difference here is the added explanation of the buffer of the body, also called the machine; the brain being a part of the machine.
The bringing of elements of the essence in to replace elements of the personality is as brilliant an explanation as I’ve ever heard of the nature of spiritual work and particularly the work of the Major Adept in the Western Mystery Tradition. It is always sad to watch those that use the evocations of this Grade to pursue their own prurient ends, as they make a great miss. Thanks Koyote for the clarity of mind that you bring to the world and to me personally. I am through this book, in receipt of the Aka Dua!”
You can purchase the book here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07RMK9D4C/
This moment, it is pertinent to say, has been waiting its turn from the beginning of creation. When the sleeper stirred first and uttered a tiny vibration, unaware of it––just a single movement creating the beginning of a dream––this moment of time has been waiting, waiting to appear.
Before this moment, there were many other moments––movements, thoughts, words, actions, concerns, fights, death, life, survival, history, planetary events, starlight floating about in the heavens.
Before this moment, there is an ocean of time. After this moment, another equally infinite ocean of time.
This moment is here; empty and meaningless, surrounded by oceans of time and possibility. There will be a time when this moment is not; and whatever is here now, will not be. When this moment is over, the lights will be no more and the the path trail of light that comes into the eyes and makes its way into an unknown jungle of electrical fires inside a mass of liquid and brilliance called the brain will no longer mark a path.
This moment will then be complete, without a trail, without breath, without movement, without a present.
Imagine all events of the universe already laid out as a finite multidimensional field. Now, imagine God’s consciousness entering a point in this matrix of events. This point of consciousness now begins to experience events in sequence. The sequence followed becomes experience, and with that comes the concept of time.
With the accumulation of experiences comes a sense of self born out of the memories that I can see behind me. I also sense the field of events around me and ahead of me, not clear to my vision but I sense they exist ahead of me, in my future. When I place my attention on the future, I project what I know onto it. What I know is born out of my past. This is how I create my sense of past and future.
Now, when I turn my attention to my past, I have to choose what events I remember and which ones I emphasize. I tell a story to myself about my passage, and the way in which I tell this story determines what I leave out and what I underline. I can only do this story telling from the perspective of an author.
I am the author. But I am not a fixed, limited author. I am creating myself each time I see my past, and every time I project my story onto a future. I create myself according to the story I weave, and I weave my story out of the material at hand (i.e., the memories available to me).
So, my sense of self is created not only from the passage of memories, but also from how I weave these memories and how I project them onto the field of possible futures.
The being who says “I am”, implied in every sentence, the being that observes, that hears, that sees color and light, sits in the shadows between the worlds.
If I look within the source of attention, trying to find the I Am, the I Am retreats even further. When I think I’ve grappled it, when I think I have surrounded the I Am in a web craftily and carefully constructed with meaning and concerns, when I say “Ah! Here I Am!,” the I Am becomes smaller, more remote, more in shadow.
I look for the I Am, realizing that the one who searches is also the I Am, forever retreating yet always at the center of the experience.
The one who speaks and the one listens, that is the “I” and the “you” implied in a sentence, are theoretical entities. That is, they may be actual beings as, for example, the person who wrote this and the person who is reading it, but the sentence itself exists even when no one is reading it and when no one is saying it any more.
This writing stays there somewhere without any real being saying it and no one reading it. It reads as if there is an author and an audience, even if no one witnesses it, but the author and the audience become actual only when someone reads it. It is the reader, then, that gives life to the writing, making the author and the reader actual, real.
And even then, the one who writes when this paragraph is being read is not the person who wrote it, but the theoretical entity implied in the mind of the person who reads it. I, the writer, am only an entity implied by these words you read. I am a figment of your imagination, only part of you created by you through the mechanism of this language, by the magick of these words you read. “I” am only implied by these words.
Your mind creates me in your mind, yet I could not exist in your mind as the author of these words without the existence of these words, these words that never really existed until someone read them, these words that were not real until now, when you are.
The future used to be so much better before it got so mangled in recent pasts.
I’ve been shopping around for a better future. I might have to make one myself. I can probably put something together from a couple of futures I used to have that never got used.
Or perhaps I will just drop them all, stop looking in the past for all the futures I might one day want and the ones I might come to fear, leave the future in all its styles way behind and let it vanish into the distant past like my shadow with the coming of the night.
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We are constantly negotiating with one another the limits of reality and you’re constantly negotiating who you are. But, that’s not the real you. That is only the avatar that you are picking up for interacting in this simulation, in this game.
You’re really not this particular instantiation of the self. The human mind exists way beyond the limit of your awareness, and even beyond the limits of your lifetime. It is shared with all humanity. You are truly the manifestation of human history.
Like every living creature, the egregore of humanity is growing, it is learning, it is adapting. It is making decisions at a collective level.
The human mind is a vast depository of knowledge, theories, strategies and historical data. Anything that any human being has done, experienced, thought and created is recorded in this mind. There is no action that you can ever take, no thought that you can have that is not part of the collective mind. We can keep secrets from one another because the knowledge of each person is limited to their personal history and their erroneous conceptions about reality, but the mind is aware of all this. It’s seen through each and every human being.
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The endeavor of philosophy is to come to the end of thought, to be able to burst through the fogginess of mind into the silence–the nothingness. If you understand this, you would know that out of this silence no question comes. The question is the result of a confrontation with the silence, with death. The question can be the result of fear, the mind attempting to cover the silence with chatter, or it can be an attempt to become awake in the silence. And if one knows this difference, truly, one can perhaps come to a liberation from the trap of the mind.
The way most of us ask questions comes from the emptiness of not having an answer. The way the Philosophus asks questions comes from the answer. The way the uninitiated speaks comes from division. Yet, the question of the Philosophus comes from the unity of opposites. The answer is contained in the question as the speech in the silence.
It is there. At one point, if we manage to continue this Philosophical Inquiry, one will come to understand not only the end of thought and not only the use of language, one would also perhaps come to understand and know that the Philosophus is to utilize language as the mathematician utilizes numerical formulas–in that a mathematical problem contains its own solution. In that same manner a philosophical question contains its own answer.
To engage in a true philosophical question is to extract from it its own resolution, which means its own death. For in engaging with the question there is the death of the question. In that sense, philosophy becomes magick. Because inevitably we come to see ourselves as the most important question that this mind is posing. Out of this question, its solution emerges–solution in the mathematical sense and in the chemical sense.
This process puts false ego to the side and in the center something truer. It implies a more mature engagement of language. For the language of the Philosophus is not about validating oneself, about fears or identity. The game became wider. Now you’re dealing with the archetypal language of the human race.
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Is there something before this thought? The body and its evolutionary strategies exists before culture, but not before archetypal thought. Archetypes are the symbols the intelligence of the body uses to communicate with itself. Mind itself is built from these archetypes. Language is inherent to mind. There is no mind without a language. Philosophy is done with language. But Philosophy is not engaged to find a truth that can be defined with language. It is to pitch language against language. Yet inevitably we must ask, who is conducting this inquiry? Who is asking? Who is observing? You need to ask that question. Who is the observer? Can there be an observer that is detached from language? Or is the observer also thought? Is the observer the product of thought and therefore a function of language? But does it exist as an entity apart from thought? Does the speaker exist apart from speech? Does the thinker exist apart from thought? Does the observer exist apart from the observed? Or is the observer and the observed the same? Is the speaker and the spoken the same? Is the author and the story separate? Or is the voice in the story the author? It’s an important question. To understand this question is to understand the essence of magick.
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