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Post by rembrandt on Jan 5, 2011 1:32:54 GMT
None are like Bill and none can make war on Bill.
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Post by billmcelligott on Jan 5, 2011 16:09:17 GMT
You can take many to the fountain of knowledge, only those who are thirsty enough to say, I do not know, will drink.
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Post by jayman on Jan 5, 2011 21:21:19 GMT
9 pages and 170 posts.
Wow.
Under the old regime, this would have been locked after 3 pages and 5 people banned.
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Post by vajranagini on Jan 6, 2011 4:50:10 GMT
Well, I would be curious to know if there are others who have had mystical experiences that are tied to the Knights Templar. I had a single very curious, powerful visionary experience in my tenth or eleventh year of life that made absolutely NO sense...until years later, when I read "The Hiram Key"/The Second Messiah", and I realized it was a 'past-life experience", because it involved a 'recollection" of things I knew nothing about, nor ever had any actual experience of at the time, or even to this day! It was not explainable by the circumstances I was in or any traumatic event; I was merely peering into a kitchen through the crack of two service doors, and none of what went on in there involved me directly; I was merely an unwitting witness to a curious event. But the emotional reaction that that event evoked in me was way, WAY out of proportion to the event itself!
I will never forget the sense of unspeakable horror that descended on me, quite literally out of nowhere; it was as though the event i was witnessing evoked a dreadful memory, something so awful that it could have literally unhinged one's mind with the horror of it. But there was no memory as such; only the emotional reaction; it was as though the "pictures" had been cut off, leaving only the accompanying emotions; for which, looking back on the event, I am truly thankful for! I at one point wrote an account of the event and its sequelae; I will go and see if I can find it in my archives...
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Post by vajranagini on Jan 6, 2011 5:05:46 GMT
It is difficult to say precisely when the influence of the Knights Templar began in my life, but I daresay the very first major encounter of sorts with my “destiny” was a very curious subjective encounter in my childhood; I was later to discover that it was in fact a genuine “past-life experience”. At the time, however, I had had no idea of such things; the “occult” played no part in my awareness at the time, although I found out much later that the women on both my father’s and my mother’s side of the family had “occult” propensities; my paternal grandmother loved her Ouija board, and my maternal great-grandmother had developed strange healing powers as a result of being chased over a cliff by an angry bull. Though crippled for life, she was thereafter able to psychically diagnose conditions and prescribe treatments for the ailments of others, much like the late great Edgar Cayce.
I call the encounter I am about to relate “subjective” because that’s what it was. An observer would have seen nothing more remarkable than a child peering intently through the crack of a door at what was going on beyond. In the mind of that child, however, a horrendous turmoil of unfamiliar and inexplicable emotion was occurring, because the events taking place beyond those doors had suddenly thrown me into a completely incongruous state of mind; though there were no images evoked (for which thank God), the emotional state that had been roused in me had, for all intents and purposes, arisen completely “out of the blue”, and had no reference to anything I had ever experienced to date, or even the events of that moment. It was not till years later, when, reading the works of the magickians of the fin-de-siecle period, I discovered reference to the actual technique of gaining “past-life experience”. There was a sentence that I found very informative: “The emotions surrounding past-life experiences are what are retrieved first”. It was this particular statement that assured me that this strange experience had been genuinely “past life”.
But I am getting ahead of myself. The actual experience took place at a wedding reception. For some reason, my mother had taken me along with her; I cannot now recall just why she did so, other than that my father was not available to go, so I expect she needed to fill his seat. I was the only child in attendance there, and I recall I was very proud to be included in an “adult” event. I was a very precocious child; very intellectually advanced for my age, and not at all troublesome in the way children usually are, so this may have been why my mother felt comfortable bringing me with her.
It was after the dinner, and the dishes and tablecloths had all been cleared away. It was the custom to have the gift opening after the banquet, so all the adults were focused on the happy couple at the head table, and not paying any attention to me, who was getting bored watching adults get all excited over adult things, like coffeepots and electric frying pans. I whispered to my mother that I had to visit the ladies’ room and she, busy with the scene and the company, nodded distractedly. I slipped out of my chair and ambled along behind the seated crowd of adults, who took no notice of me at all. The banquet hall we were in was lighted only in the front where the couple was unwrapping gifts, and the hall was dark towards the back, where I was walking. I made my way around towards the large double doors of the kitchen, with the intriguing round windows. As I walked past them, I noticed the wide crack between the doors, and being of a curious turn of mind, decided to take a look through it and see what there was to see beyond.
All I could see, for the most part, was a large mound of snowy whiteness. Directly in front of the doors, two long tables had been heaped with the linen tablecloths pulled from the banquet tables only a short while before. Over to the left, I could just see the big stove and all the appurtenances of an ordinary commercial kitchen. The kitchen staff, the greater part of their work more or less over for the moment, were standing around the stove, chatting and enjoying a moment of relaxation. There was nothing of any particular interest to me, and I was just about ready to walk away, when “it” started…
There was suddenly a cry of “Fire!” From behind the mound of tablecloths I could now see smoke was rising. I have no idea what happened to cause it, whether there was a candle there that started it or what, but there was indubitably a fire burning in the tablecloths. One of the kitchen staff rushed over with a broom to beat it out, while the others hastened to fill buckets with water, as I watched this little drama with no more than the interest proper to any child, and no awareness of danger. Then the smell of the smoke that was rapidly filling the kitchen hit my nostrils- and catching the smell of it, I was literally catapulted, from one moment to the next, into what would nowadays be called a “panic attack”.
The smell of the smoke was not particularly unpleasant; on the contrary, some might have even found it pleasant. It was not unlike frying bacon, in fact. We lived a few miles from a local meat-packing industry: Canada Packers/ Maple Leaf, and thus the smell of meat smoking was a common feature of our neigbourhood, so I was perfectly accustomed to such an aroma, and had had no previously unpleasant reactions to it, or any negative associations. But the quality of this particular smell, though hardly unfamiliar in its way, was totally different; it instantly evoked in me an incredibly intense and completely inexplicable feeling of horror and dread, as if it was associated with something so unspeakably awful that the mind refused to recall the image associated with it. I was frozen to the spot, staring at the tableau playing out in front of me, meanwhile trying to comprehend this sudden surge of horror and fear and dread that was washing over me; I could not grasp why I should suddenly feel the way I did; nothing bad had actually happened to cause it; it was only that strange smoke-smell filling my nostrils that had called it up.
Not knowing what to do, I simply stood where I was and watched as if hypnotized, the scene in the kitchen unfold before me..
The fire had spread quite a bit throughthe mass of cloth before being discovered, and two of the kitchen staff grabbed and heaved up a bundle of the tablecloths, presumably to get at the smoldering parts beneath. The scene had taken on a peculiar surreal quality with the advent of this strange emotional reaction, and it seemed to me that the mass of tablecloths being held up before me looked exactly like a mummy; a human body wrapped in a linen shroud, but tipped with char and flame. Time had seemingly slowed to a crawl, and the irrational notion came to me that the burning, linen-wrapped “body” was being held up especially for my scrutiny, as though the image of such an object needed to be “impressed” on my memory.
I remember that at one point the one and only concrete conviction about the strange reaction I was having came to me very strongly: “That’s what burning bodies smell like”. Though how a eleven-year-old who had never even seen a dead human body at the time (much less smelt one burning) would know such a thing has no other explanation than “anamnesis”: memories of things recalled from another life. I was actually confirmed in the conviction about the nature of the smell a couple of years later, when I read an eyewitness account of the final days of the Third Reich, the suicide of Hitler and his mistress, and the burning of the bodies, the witness describing the smell of them as being like “burning bacon”. I immediately recalled this odd experience to mind upon reading those words, but was as yet no closer to understanding its import…
But I digress. Finally the fire was put out, and the back door thrown open to help dispel the smoke in the kitchen. No hint of the semi-emergency in the kitchen had reached the wedding reception’ I could hear them faintly laughing and talking behind me. The whole thing had only lasted a few minutes, yet it felt like a small eternity. I realize now that I was fortunate that the fire had been contained and no one from the kitchen had found it necessary to run out into the main hall; frozen as I was with that strange horror, I probably would have been badly hurt from being hit in the face with the kitchen doors! As it was, the cold air rushing in snapped me out of my strange trance, and I slowly moved away from the doors and continued on to the ladies’ room, my knees still shaking.
The odd, inexplicable feeling of dread and horror was still lingering, and when I re-entered the hall and caught once again a faint whiff of that strange sickly-sweet smoke smell that had drifted out in faint whiffs from the kitchen, I wished only to leave that place and get away from the disquieting churn of emotions that odd smell continued to evoke in me. Finally, to my great relief, my mother announced our departure, and we got our coats and took our leave. I never mentioned the strange event that had taken place; I knew it was no use to talk about it to her or to anyone–what would I say?-and so I never mentioned it, and more or less forgot it, recalling it only briefly, when I read the aforementioned book passage.
Decades later, however, I encountered the books “The Hiram Key” and “The Second Messiah”. While reading the graphic account of the last days of the Knights Templar, their theory as to the origin of the image on the Shroud of Turin, and the torture, suffering and death of the last Grand Master, Jacques de Molay, I found myself breaking down in sobs again and again, as though the event concerned me personally in some way. The story of the brave defiance of the great Templar Grand Master, standing tall before Notre Dame and proclaiming before all Paris the innocence of the Temple, and the agonizing death by “slow fire”, of both he and his right-hand man, Geoffroi de Charney, affected me so deeply I could hardly read for the tears pouring down my face.
Finally I had to stop reading. I put the book aside, and decided to meditate. But my mind kept going back to the terrible scene on the Ile de Javier so many centuries before, of Jacques de Molay on his pyre, his legs being slowly burnt away…and a thought struck me: the smell of burning flesh must have been sickening…and that is when it hit me… the strange emotional reaction I had experienced years before, upon catching the peculiar odour of those scorched tablecloths and the strange image of the “linen-wrapped body” being held up before me burst into my awareness-and I knew at that moment I finally had my “explanation” for that mysterious, oddly innocuous, yet completely horrifying event of my childhood…
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Post by leidieiensvpandora on Jan 6, 2011 21:23:30 GMT
It is difficult to say precisely when the influence of the Knights Templar began in my life, but I daresay the very first major encounter of sorts with my “destiny” was a very curious subjective encounter in my childhood; I was later to discover that it was in fact a genuine “past-life experience”. At the time, however, I had had no idea of such things; the “occult” played no part in my awareness at the time, although I found out much later that the women on both my father’s and my mother’s side of the family had “occult” propensities; my paternal grandmother loved her Ouija board, and my maternal great-grandmother had developed strange healing powers as a result of being chased over a cliff by an angry bull. Though crippled for life, she was thereafter able to psychically diagnose conditions and prescribe treatments for the ailments of others, much like the late great Edgar Cayce. I call the encounter I am about to relate “subjective” because that’s what it was. An observer would have seen nothing more remarkable than a child peering intently through the crack of a door at what was going on beyond. In the mind of that child, however, a horrendous turmoil of unfamiliar and inexplicable emotion was occurring, because the events taking place beyond those doors had suddenly thrown me into a completely incongruous state of mind; though there were no images evoked (for which thank God), the emotional state that had been roused in me had, for all intents and purposes, arisen completely “out of the blue”, and had no reference to anything I had ever experienced to date, or even the events of that moment. It was not till years later, when, reading the works of the magickians of the fin-de-siecle period, I discovered reference to the actual technique of gaining “past-life experience”. There was a sentence that I found very informative: “The emotions surrounding past-life experiences are what are retrieved first”. It was this particular statement that assured me that this strange experience had been genuinely “past life”. But I am getting ahead of myself. The actual experience took place at a wedding reception. For some reason, my mother had taken me along with her; I cannot now recall just why she did so, other than that my father was not available to go, so I expect she needed to fill his seat. I was the only child in attendance there, and I recall I was very proud to be included in an “adult” event. I was a very precocious child; very intellectually advanced for my age, and not at all troublesome in the way children usually are, so this may have been why my mother felt comfortable bringing me with her. It was after the dinner, and the dishes and tablecloths had all been cleared away. It was the custom to have the gift opening after the banquet, so all the adults were focused on the happy couple at the head table, and not paying any attention to me, who was getting bored watching adults get all excited over adult things, like coffeepots and electric frying pans. I whispered to my mother that I had to visit the ladies’ room and she, busy with the scene and the company, nodded distractedly. I slipped out of my chair and ambled along behind the seated crowd of adults, who took no notice of me at all. The banquet hall we were in was lighted only in the front where the couple was unwrapping gifts, and the hall was dark towards the back, where I was walking. I made my way around towards the large double doors of the kitchen, with the intriguing round windows. As I walked past them, I noticed the wide crack between the doors, and being of a curious turn of mind, decided to take a look through it and see what there was to see beyond. All I could see, for the most part, was a large mound of snowy whiteness. Directly in front of the doors, two long tables had been heaped with the linen tablecloths pulled from the banquet tables only a short while before. Over to the left, I could just see the big stove and all the appurtenances of an ordinary commercial kitchen. The kitchen staff, the greater part of their work more or less over for the moment, were standing around the stove, chatting and enjoying a moment of relaxation. There was nothing of any particular interest to me, and I was just about ready to walk away, when “it” started… There was suddenly a cry of “Fire!” From behind the mound of tablecloths I could now see smoke was rising. I have no idea what happened to cause it, whether there was a candle there that started it or what, but there was indubitably a fire burning in the tablecloths. One of the kitchen staff rushed over with a broom to beat it out, while the others hastened to fill buckets with water, as I watched this little drama with no more than the interest proper to any child, and no awareness of danger. Then the smell of the smoke that was rapidly filling the kitchen hit my nostrils- and catching the smell of it, I was literally catapulted, from one moment to the next, into what would nowadays be called a “panic attack”. The smell of the smoke was not particularly unpleasant; on the contrary, some might have even found it pleasant. It was not unlike frying bacon, in fact. We lived a few miles from a local meat-packing industry: Canada Packers/ Maple Leaf, and thus the smell of meat smoking was a common feature of our neigbourhood, so I was perfectly accustomed to such an aroma, and had had no previously unpleasant reactions to it, or any negative associations. But the quality of this particular smell, though hardly unfamiliar in its way, was totally different; it instantly evoked in me an incredibly intense and completely inexplicable feeling of horror and dread, as if it was associated with something so unspeakably awful that the mind refused to recall the image associated with it. I was frozen to the spot, staring at the tableau playing out in front of me, meanwhile trying to comprehend this sudden surge of horror and fear and dread that was washing over me; I could not grasp why I should suddenly feel the way I did; nothing bad had actually happened to cause it; it was only that strange smoke-smell filling my nostrils that had called it up. Not knowing what to do, I simply stood where I was and watched as if hypnotized, the scene in the kitchen unfold before me.. The fire had spread quite a bit throughthe mass of cloth before being discovered, and two of the kitchen staff grabbed and heaved up a bundle of the tablecloths, presumably to get at the smoldering parts beneath. The scene had taken on a peculiar surreal quality with the advent of this strange emotional reaction, and it seemed to me that the mass of tablecloths being held up before me looked exactly like a mummy; a human body wrapped in a linen shroud, but tipped with char and flame. Time had seemingly slowed to a crawl, and the irrational notion came to me that the burning, linen-wrapped “body” was being held up especially for my scrutiny, as though the image of such an object needed to be “impressed” on my memory. I remember that at one point the one and only concrete conviction about the strange reaction I was having came to me very strongly: “That’s what burning bodies smell like”. Though how a eleven-year-old who had never even seen a dead human body at the time (much less smelt one burning) would know such a thing has no other explanation than “anamnesis”: memories of things recalled from another life. I was actually confirmed in the conviction about the nature of the smell a couple of years later, when I read an eyewitness account of the final days of the Third Reich, the suicide of Hitler and his mistress, and the burning of the bodies, the witness describing the smell of them as being like “burning bacon”. I immediately recalled this odd experience to mind upon reading those words, but was as yet no closer to understanding its import… But I digress. Finally the fire was put out, and the back door thrown open to help dispel the smoke in the kitchen. No hint of the semi-emergency in the kitchen had reached the wedding reception’ I could hear them faintly laughing and talking behind me. The whole thing had only lasted a few minutes, yet it felt like a small eternity. I realize now that I was fortunate that the fire had been contained and no one from the kitchen had found it necessary to run out into the main hall; frozen as I was with that strange horror, I probably would have been badly hurt from being hit in the face with the kitchen doors! As it was, the cold air rushing in snapped me out of my strange trance, and I slowly moved away from the doors and continued on to the ladies’ room, my knees still shaking. The odd, inexplicable feeling of dread and horror was still lingering, and when I re-entered the hall and caught once again a faint whiff of that strange sickly-sweet smoke smell that had drifted out in faint whiffs from the kitchen, I wished only to leave that place and get away from the disquieting churn of emotions that odd smell continued to evoke in me. Finally, to my great relief, my mother announced our departure, and we got our coats and took our leave. I never mentioned the strange event that had taken place; I knew it was no use to talk about it to her or to anyone–what would I say?-and so I never mentioned it, and more or less forgot it, recalling it only briefly, when I read the aforementioned book passage. Decades later, however, I encountered the books “The Hiram Key” and “The Second Messiah”. While reading the graphic account of the last days of the Knights Templar, their theory as to the origin of the image on the Shroud of Turin, and the torture, suffering and death of the last Grand Master, Jacques de Molay, I found myself breaking down in sobs again and again, as though the event concerned me personally in some way. The story of the brave defiance of the great Templar Grand Master, standing tall before Notre Dame and proclaiming before all Paris the innocence of the Temple, and the agonizing death by “slow fire”, of both he and his right-hand man, Geoffroi de Charney, affected me so deeply I could hardly read for the tears pouring down my face. Finally I had to stop reading. I put the book aside, and decided to meditate. But my mind kept going back to the terrible scene on the Ile de Javier so many centuries before, of Jacques de Molay on his pyre, his legs being slowly burnt away…and a thought struck me: the smell of burning flesh must have been sickening…and that is when it hit me… the strange emotional reaction I had experienced years before, upon catching the peculiar odour of those scorched tablecloths and the strange image of the “linen-wrapped body” being held up before me burst into my awareness-and I knew at that moment I finally had my “explanation” for that mysterious, oddly innocuous, yet completely horrifying event of my childhood…
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Post by jayman on Jan 6, 2011 22:29:31 GMT
Vaj,
You put way too much stock in the Knight/Lomas books. All have been panned by the majority as lacking in facts before making their conclusions.
Their logic goes like this. Sandwiches taste good. Sandwiches are white. Snow is white. Therefore snow tastes good.
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Post by vajranagini on Jan 7, 2011 4:07:45 GMT
Funny, I looked up most of what they talked about in the Hiram Key/Second Messiah, and it all is based on fact; I looked up the Egyptian mummies, the research into the Shroud, the Biblical history, and didn't find anything "inaccurate" about any of it. The part about Rosslyn and the St Clairs appears to be on the fanciful side, I agree, but I have also garnered a few facts of my own that are not common knowledge, such as the fact that Rosslyn was restored in the mid-1800s by FREEMASONS.
The point for me is not the books so much as the ASTOUNDING effect they had on my own life at the time; the odd thing is, is that the year previously a friend had tried to interest me in her Freemasonic researches, which INCLUDED "The Hiram Key"...but I wasn't interested. Then a year later, only a month or so after my "Scarlet Woman" initiation in July 2000, I came across a copy of the Hiram Key at an occult bookshop; it is hardly exaggerating to say the book practically "leaped" into my hands. I looked through it, and decided to buy it for my friend, but ended up reading it myself....and literally underwent a spiritual transformation...it was as though the doors of the inner Mysteries of Freemasonry and the Knights Templar were thrown open before me! The only other thing I can say that changed my life like this was being introduced to the Tree of Life/HERMETIC QABALAH.
Previous to reading it I knew nothing much about Freemasonry and certainly had no interest in it as such even though my father was a Freemason; the reason I know this is because of the Lodge mail that came to the house; I was always intrigued by the Square and Compass symbol but not so much that I ever bothered to dig deeper, since I knew it was a "men's thing". Upon reading the Hiram Key all that changed for me; suddenly it was a lmighty living, breathing, spiritual presence in my life, which continues to this day!
When, not so long ago, I read in Idries Shah's books about the direct experience and transmission of higher knowledge without the need for books and book learning, I knew EXACTLY what they were talking about, because it happened to me; and I can date that transformation in me from the time I read "The Hiram Key/The Second Messiah". I don't know what it was about those books, but I can state definitively that the information in them really DID "change my life"!
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Post by rembrandt on Jan 7, 2011 4:35:14 GMT
I appreciate your interests and I am happy that you had a life changing experience. Unless you are pulling my leg I would think that you still have much to gain by a true initiation, but you have to first be prepared.
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Post by vajranagini on Jan 8, 2011 3:15:46 GMT
If you go back and actually READ my posts, you will see there that I AM ALREADY INITIATED.
I may not meet YOUR particular criteria of "initiation, but the fact of initiation is THERE, and I meet all the criteria of MY particular lineage. I am not particularly interested in Arabian initiations;and indeed, the current known as "Sufi" is NOT exclusive to the Middle East. I am currently exploring Taoism, which is the ANCESTOR of modern-day Sufi. Plus , I am not an 'initiation-chaser". If it comes, fine; if it doesn't, that's OK TOO. I didn't ASK for my last initiation, it just CAME ON ITS OWN, which is the way it should be.
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Post by rembrandt on Jan 8, 2011 6:01:11 GMT
I promise you that Taoism is entirely different from Tassawuf. You clearly have much to learn and could gain a great deal by initiation into the paths that you claim understanding of. Of course you must first be properly prepared. Your OTO work certainly has nothing to do with it.
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Post by maximus on Jan 9, 2011 18:35:25 GMT
I didn't ASK for my last initiation, it just CAME ON ITS OWN, which is the way it should be. Matthew 7:7 Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: 8 For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened. A spiritual initiation rite normally implies a shepherding process where those who are at a higher level guide the initiate through a process of greater exposure of knowledge. This may include the revelation of secrets, hence the term secret society for such organizations, usually reserved for those at the higher level of understanding. One famous historical example is the Eleusinian Mysteries of ancient Greece, thought to go back to at least the Mycenaean period or "bronze age".
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Post by vajranagini on Apr 1, 2011 4:13:58 GMT
It is quite possible for initiation to take place as a series of unplanned events. When I signed on with some friends to attend a "rainbow festival' (Starwood 2000, sandwiched in between 2 eclipses, I might add, at the peak of the last cycle of sunspot activity), I never expected to meet a tulku Lama of a Kula Tantra lineage, who would also turn out to be the grandson of Aleister Crowley, much less 'get an initiation" from him!
As it happened, at the time it took place, I had been also studying the Lalita Sahasranam, the sacred litany of the "Thousand Names" of the very Deity-Form which I was subsequently initiated by this Lama PLUS... I had just finished an account of the remarkable Yeshe Tsogyel, the great (female)Tibetan adept. The lama knew nothing of any of this from me; I can only conclude that my studies of the sacred text had produced results in the invisible planes!
I also recall that I had in fact been told months previously that the necessary initiator would show up at the appropriate time, and there would be no question of his identity; when the lama told me he was known as "Lama Yeshe" AND that he was the grandson of Aleister Crowley, I simply "awaited events".
One other curious thing: the Deity Form of Red Tara is known in Her wrathful aspect as "The Lady of the Iron Hook". It is a fact that the year previously at Starwood, I had put a down payment on a very beautiful knife...shaped like a HOOK.
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Post by rembrandt on Apr 1, 2011 21:45:37 GMT
I am sure that you had a good time.
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Post by vajranagini on Apr 2, 2011 4:39:50 GMT
Yes, it was amazing, really. There is no question that 'spontaneous' initiation is far superior to the contrived kind. That is not to denigrate Masonic initiation, of course; I am pleased to read about the experiences of newly made Masons being able to note a distinct difference in their current state as compared to their previous state. Crowley discusses a similar phenomenon in "Magick without Tears"; while he stresses the importance of not becoming "attached' to such phenomena, he does concede that experiencing it helps one realize that one is NOT just 'imagining things", and that one and one's life have taken a different, and much more "aware' direction...
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Post by vajranagini on Apr 3, 2011 22:05:58 GMT
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Post by baudolino on Apr 4, 2011 2:57:12 GMT
I really rather like that sentiment. You almost sound like a phenomenological philosopher max. 'Dasein' or 'being there' is all that is, all else is ancillary to the experience which is in essence, intentional in its nature. This of course can be stratified into perspectives of experience which occur within various language games (Wittgenstein), inclusive and exclusive of the assumptions and priorities of the respective players. Esotericism is not restricted merely to rites, but has marked the passage of the virtuous to wisdom since at least Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics.
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Post by vajranagini on Apr 4, 2011 3:20:52 GMT
Well, i can only conclude from experience that I was on some sort of 'Templar' wavelength; I had a kundalini experience back in 1994, and shortly thereafter I read "Foucault's Pendulum" I did not read it again until 2003, and between that time and the other, I found myself having gone on a 'Rosicrucian adventure' as extraordinary as anything Umberto Eco spoke of in his book, or even Robert Langdon... in fact upon reading the Da Vinci Code I found it rather like a dumbed-down version of "Foucault's Pendulum" and 'The Hiram Key" but the central theme of being caught up in an archetypal whirlwind of events, during which actual initiatory expereinces are re-enacted, was intact.
I recognized my own experience and was reassured thereby that I was "on the right track"
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Post by vajranagini on Apr 6, 2011 5:11:23 GMT
Anybody reading or read "The Templar' series by Paul Christopher? I just read the "Templar Cross" one. It "fell" into my hands the same way "the Hiram Key" did; in fact I knew nothing about Freemasonry before I read "the Hiram Key"; a year later I knew all about the Holy Royal Arch token. So there was certainly something doing with that Hiram Key book; it literally changed the whole tenor of my relationship with the earthly Lodge of OTO. Before October 13, 2000, I knew Freemasonry only as a symbol on an envelope; after that I came to know it as a living entity, whose presence in my life was no accident....
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Post by vajranagini on Apr 9, 2011 4:17:18 GMT
I can safely say that prior to mid-July 2000, I had no real interest in Freemasonry or the Knights Templar. in fact , after I enthusiastically recommended "The Hiram Key" while simutaneously tendering the copy to a (female) friend who was also OTO (and equally interested in Freemasonry) she reminded me of a conversation we had had the year previously, where she had tried to interest me in that very book (and failed miserably!): "This was that book!" she said.
Now, what happened between then and then? Well, I will remark that was within a month after meeting "Lama Yeshe" that I was in a local 'occult" bookstore when "The Hiram Key" practically LEAPED into my hands of its own accord.
I had earlier mentioned communication with Archangels; this time it was the A.A Uriel who told me that I would be given further knowledge and a practical responsibility, and if I acquitted myself well, would go on to further tasks of greated complexity. (When I read where A. Crowley desribed the phenomenon [in his Confessions], I knew exactly what he was talking about.)
I knew it would be up to me to be able to recognize it when it came; that', of course, is a test of "Swords".
When I saw the Square and Compass on the cover of 'The Hiram Key", I knew I had found "the next step on the Path". This sense of conviction hardened into certainty when I discovered, some while later, that the third book of the series was titled "The URIEL Machine".
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