A Book of Elevation?

So I have returned. Seems like I always come back in a moment of crisis. Fortunately not a crisis of creativity but of slow desperation with what I see around me and not knowing really how to get the word out. It seems more than ever that the world needs clarification on the spiritual/psychological/emotional/mental mess it has allowed a few SOB’s to create for over two thousand years. 

Picture it, before that it wasn’t like this. Yes, there were still some serious struggles, and cruelty, yes, that’s always been a stable of a slave race, especially a hybrid one. But we have really stumbled in a quagmire here.  Liberals are angrier than ever, conservatives are flumoxed, LGBT’s are being terrorized in nightclubs, weather is flooding homes in the south and east, while fires are burning homes in the west; after Jade Helm and Info Wars, you have more people becoming desperate about FEMA camps and NWO; rich libertarian, freedom-loving expatriates warn their families to leave the U.S.; religious fundamentalists from Christianity to Islam are raving over Revelation and Sharya law, claiming our sins is what is bringing hell upon us. All these people just need to calm down and quit the nonsense. But nothing can happen if we can’t speak sensibly and openly about what’s really going on in this planet in its long history of manipulation. 

I am aware that my book Amarantus will not help you finish your underground bunker. It won’t stop the weather from destroying your home. It won’t protect your hard-earned savings, and it might not even provide the answers to religious paranoia fundamentalists want to hear. It seems people are pretty bent on the current narrative of self destruction. Well I’m not. I’m providing the alternative. And maybe people are not ready for it yet; maybe this is something your grandchildren or great-grandchildren down the road will respond to more eagerly. But it is something the human spirit and creative collective desperately needs: and that’s a world that can grow and evolve, instead of destroy itself. That’s why I call Amarantus and all my related works really, the Book of Elevation. 

Enough breaking down the mind to the point of constant panic attacks. Time to elevate the mind to a state of harmony with what truly awaits, if we only invest our focus and creative energy into it. We are in a mental/psychological/emotional/spiritual crisis more than anything. There is no way out of it. The only way through it is by refocusing our energies on building something new, rather than pointing out what’s wrong and who are the SOB’s in control, and thus feeling futile to stop it. I have no idea how to get the word out there about Amarantus yet, but I am confident that its message will be vital to the health of the human collective psyche in the years to come.

Why I wrote the first book of Amarantus

Brotherhood – the sense of companionship between a band of men sharing in a commitment to the death – has been my obsession from childhood. I know now this is why I loved the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, why I listened to the Wu-Tang Clan in their early days, why The Goonies is a lifetime memory, and why I keep three books on King Arthur and his Knights on my shelves. What I never expected, after turning thirty, was that it would lead me to the Brotherhood begun by the enigmatic Son of Man. Growing up I had no interest in the man, or his legacy, and certainly no care in the world for religion.

Religion in my immediate family is a nominal occupation. Spirituality and caring for each other is our religion, if it can be called that. The Word of God is always overridden by the Love of the Heart. I was very much surprised and pleased to discover that is in fact the only commandment of the Son of Man. My parents were very much in the vein of the disillusion of their time. My mother is Italian and grew up Roman Catholic. Her abuse at the hands of both nuns and parents led her quickly to rely upon her heart and the joy of singing to live her life—a decision that may have been her salvation, but did not shield her from much suffering. My father is Puerto Rican (or Nuyorican, having been born in New York City) and grew up Seventh Day Adventist. He, too, was the victim of abuse and developed a keen wit and sassy sense of humor with which to cope with the many hardships of his life. Both of them came from nothing and etched lives for themselves with no assistance, but by using those talents they were born with. My mother’s remarkable voice made her a sensation in the Hispanic music industry; my father’s intelligence and diligence earned him a doctorate and he became a neurosurgeon. It sounds like a happy ending; it is far from it. Both have been denied practicing their crafts for years now and robbed of the fruits of their labor. In light of this, and the hardships it has thrust upon all of us, I have been forced to seriously reevaluate my view of this world, and of the American Dream.

Going back to the subject of religion, my parents were very much “with it” in their time, when the cult of Krishna and the New Age Movement swept youth culture in the West. I wouldn’t say they subscribed to any one belief system; their approach to faith and spirituality has always been organic, even if misguided. My father has a voracious appetite for all knowledge, and my mother feels compelled to committing simple gestures of affection as vital expressions of her spirituality. Therefore I was fortunate to grow up in a very lax, undisciplined environment where I was allowed to be insular in my attentions, which like most kids since the nineties involved video games and action figures, then music, fashion and self-image. The exception was that I also loved stories and books, and had a natural affinity for language and storytelling. Therefore it is no surprise that between ages six and nine I was already writing short stories and my own newspaper entitled Stuper News. Early on I exhibited a propensity for passionate emotions about the most miniscule things, which of course were a big deal to my insular mind.

From the beginning, reading and writing were the most exciting experience for me. This is because as a reader I have a very active imagination, and even in school this was further fecundated by creative writing projects. This tool is lost to the current youth culture. They are never encouraged to imagine, because it is constantly demanded of them to be spectators, not co-creators of their reality. They are distracted by their iPhones, tablets, social media, and now video games are more and more time-consuming and mind-engrossing, always being shown the world as they are told to see it, never encouraged to imagine how it could be. I feel the need to explain this so that you may grasp how magical the experience of writing is to me personally. It is a spiritual, supersensual experience to me that I can easily engross myself in for hours if allowed. When I sit down to write I don’t know really what is going to happen. I may have an idea or an outline of what the story I intend to write might be, but it never turns out quite as I expect it. The story unfolds itself before me, the way it did before you as a child when you saw Star Wars for the first time and had your mind blown. That is what writing is like for me: it is like sitting down at a secret preview of your favorite film before anyone else has seen it, and you have no idea how it will end, only that it will change you forever. So the question for me, once I was old enough to self-reflect on this level, was who is writing the story then? Aye, there’s the rub.

When I turned twelve, my father made a decision that seriously impacted my life. I understand now it was a tactical decision, one that he gave himself to wholeheartedly with honest intentions, even if it did not bear the intended fruit. He decided to reconnect with his supposed Sephardic Jewish roots on his mother’s side, and takes us all to a quaint synagogue in Long Beach, New York, on Saturdays. This undertaking was monumental to my upbringing. It is a surreal experience to be injected into another people’s culture, have to absorb it and make it your own, during your teenage years, when you don’t even understand who you are or what is happening to your body. Do this to an artistic Piscean with an acute sensibility and you are guaranteed nasty aftereffects well into young adulthood. This is what happened with me. I went from dedicated Talmid, ardently wishing to please a father too busy putting food on the table to give me the sort of recognition I felt I deserved, to anti-Semite who drowned himself in Kurt Cobain’s self-pity rebel music and in the exploration of anything so long as it was not Judeo-Christian or religious. So I turned to Celtic paganism and world mythologies.

I did also read about Sikhism, Buddhism and attempted to read the Quran, but quickly lost interest. In the opening chapters of the Quran I felt I was being yelled at by the narrator: “You can’t trust anyone! Even if they say they believe, they don’t. They are infidels!” This may not be the entire message of the Quran, but I did not care to go further. A brotherhood based on assuming the worst of those outside your circle does not appeal to me. I prefer to prepare for the worst, but hope for the best.

Like most teenagers to this day, I felt I knew better than everybody, especially my parents. This disconnect is a symptom of the dysfunctional family dynamic generated by the post-Industrial Revolution paradigm. “Dad is too busy to pay me attention; he doesn’t know what it’s like to be me; he doesn’t care what I go through. Well then, screw it; I’m gonna ‘do’ me.” But who am I really? And so the ceaseless angst of standing out in the world by doing… what every other kid is doing. Pick one of the fashionable cults of the day and follow their ideology until your youthful exuberance is expended chasing after a spectre, and the real world catches up to you.

During this dark period, I emulated Kurt Cobain. My disgust at hypocrisy was so obsessive, that the moment I whiffed its scent on myself, I chucked out everything I thought represented “me.” In retrospect, this was a necessary self-purge for an all-or-nothing personality such as I. If I really wanted to finally discover who I am, I needed to keep cutting scabs open and digging out the mire until that person emerged. I don’t encourage being so brutal with yourself, but the process is a necessary one. I wanted to know the truth: who am I? What is wrong with this world?

At age nineteen I had begun to formulate my suspicions, but I was keenly self-conscious of how “crazy” they made me sound. This quickly transmuted into a pattern of self-torture that I have only recently succeeded to turn around. Indeed the truth shall set you free. The one glimmer of hope in all this maelstrom of timidity and self-loathing came with having read The Silmarillion. In that book I experienced lore of such breadth and scope that I wanted to match it someday. Somehow Tolkien had struck upon something true and genuine about the world and the peoples inhabiting it, and it was filled with pathos and a longing for something lost that I shared. I began my work in earnest, without having anything genuine to contribute, so I did what any faithful admirer does: imitate his mentor. I got pretty far with that first draft and even managed to achieve some moments of candor, heroism and pathos. However, of that first effort, all that remains is a name: Fysga, a proud and noble race, progenitors of mankind, representing a bygone Golden Era.

As I wrote that first draft, I came across the word Amarantus: a flower that never fades. Upon learning its definition I quickly discovered that that one word could represent, both through its imagery and sound, the truth I was desperately seeking. For a long time I got nowhere in my work. There was even a period in which I couldn’t write at all. I spent the time absorbing as much information as I could, bemoaning my celibate existence, and attempting to write short stories again. I was done with restraint, with fearing the backlash of speaking my impressionable mind, and so spewed venom into a book I wrote and self-published entitled White Man’s Inferno. A veritable Frankenstein monster that little book is, and I’m now forced to recant much (but not all) of what I said in it. My intention was honest, but my mind was not altogether in the right place. I did come out of it at least with a name to call myself that has endured: Wrias. The truth-seeker had begun his journey.

I don’t wish to get into the play-by-play developments of my life since, suffice to say, tragedy struck my father’s medical career and he was left destitute, which forced me to get a job to help support the family. The hardship and responsibility of such a desperate situation forced me to mature faster than might be expected, not without a lot of kicking and screaming. It also compelled me to focus my valuable free time molding this legendarium. I knew it would have three branches: Mythological, Historical and Eschatological. But the road it would lead me down I had no clue.

During my college years, my frail, brittle heart had been broken and in my refusal to move on, I denied that love could be possible while at the same time desperately craving it. For this reason I believe I was answered in a poem written by a Wiccan priestess while in trance. It is my contention that the entity channeled in the poem was a Goddess, the Lady of the Lake, whom I call Nyykys (the only name ever given to me in a dream). Be that as it may, the message rings true: “Love is the key/ to bring you back to me.” I fell in love with a woman who doesn’t exist, and in the interest of getting to know her, I pressed on with my story.

Somehow I became infatuated in the legends surrounding Merlin. I discovered that Tolkien’s friend C.S. Lewis had written a book about Merlin’s return entitled That Hideous Strength and read it eagerly. What he revealed there about the machinations of a nefarious secret circle convinced me my suspicions were not insane. News and media are manipulated; events don’t “just happen.”  Finally I could move past anti-Semitism to identifying the true enemy: this nameless sponge-mold that manipulates everything to maintain the tactical advantage, and which exists despite religion because they created it. Lewis had caught my attention; then I found out he was a born-again Christian. How could a logical man so aware of the truth fall for such a ridiculous concept as a virgin-born Son of God? I decided there must be a kernel of truth in it if Lewis, a scholar so keenly aware of the enemy, could so resolutely change his stance on the question of Messiah.

This line of questioning sent me down a path I never expected to take and eventually set me face-to-face with the Son of Man. This face-off is inevitable—the outcome of which will affect the rest of your life whether you acknowledge it or not. I came full circle and found in the words of the Son of Man a message and comfort unlike that found in the religion that claims to honor him. I knew, at last, I had found my brother. And brothers die for each other, no questions asked. But then, does that mean I must accept the words of the Gospels wholesale? That is not my way.

It turns out there are more than four Gospels, all cryptic pieces of a puzzle. It turns out early Christianity was much broader and invited discussion and argument concerning theological subjects. It was more a discipline of thought than a religion of faith. But it was squashed early on by the same inner circle C.S. Lewis has readily identified; and so those who remained ostracized from this new religion were labeled heretics, and are known today as Gnostics. This inner circle has always preyed on humanity’s frailty, embodied in the seven sins, so we must strengthen our resolve and arm ourselves against temptation through discipline of thought.

It turns out Love is the key after all, and it leads you eventually, by all roads, back to this Son of Man, if you follow it sincerely, purging yourself of all doubt and self-loathing. How that comes to be I can’t say. It’s personal for every individual. As for me, I set out on this arduous journey seeking the truth about humanity. In the process I have been given a people, a name, a Goddess and now, the firstborn among many Brethren. Most importantly I am disciplining myself to not just understand but to embody the following maxim:

“Find in yourself that which will save you; fail to do so and you will surely die.”

Declaration of the first book of the Amarantion series

I have been a writer at least since I was six years old, when I started my own school newspaper entitled "Stuper News" and documented the history of battles among my action figures. For the past seven years I have been engrossed in serious soul searching and research of a wide array of subjects in my own determination to produce a cohesive body of work in the scifi/fantasy vein that is both truthful and inspirational--an Ice Breaker that clearly exposes the illusions of the current world paradigm and visualizes a new one.

The central themes are to embrace love as given, rather than as we want it to be; to seek salvation within, instead of outside yourself; and to focus on the formation of an international Brotherhood that can deliver the new paradigm. Hence the birth of the Solenicon. I hope to release the first book of this series entitled Amarantion: Gospel of the Pearlfisher Bard later this year, and begin the journey of sharing its message with all of you.

A review of the Urantia Book from the Solenicon viewpoint

The Urantia Book is another in a series of attempts to advance the hold of the Messianic belief system on our collective psyche. It offers no new significant insight into its subject matter.  It is, quite frankly, tedious and boring. It is alarmingly conscious of its modern audience and aims to please through its elaborate use of pseudo-science to explain its cosmology, and detailed prose to give an exhaustive account of Jesus’ life. However, its cosmological terminology is trite to the point of senselessness, relying strictly on vague modifiers to give the same word endless meanings; and its endless narrative apparently aims to prove that Jesus’ life was certainly eventful, but spiritually ordinary. It helps us in no way see what it took for a man to finally kick the money lenders out of the Temple, and relegates whatever spiritual inspiration the man might have had to a “Thought Adjuster,” whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. We’re told it’s not the soul or the conscience. It sounds more like a throwback to the Jewish concept of an “extra soul”—that little extra something that sets them apart from gentiles.

Nowhere in the Urantia Book is there recognition of the Feminine Divine; once again, we are relegated to the ever-masculine Trinity of Father, Son and Spirit, or Holy Ghost. And with it there is lacking, as there is in all the religions, the sense of compassion and sensuality that are core to the human expression of Beauty, Truth and Wisdom. All you get is a not-so-neat, not-much-clearer set of rules and guidelines for what is Good and what is Bad in life—the very words William Blake detested and labored to remove from our lexicon. 

Lucifer’s Rebellion is a lot less organic here than in Milton, and therefore lacks impact to sway one’s mind to even care. It could have happened in Venezuela for all we know. What bearing those it have on our souls what some ET/angelic “System Sovereigns” did to express their sense of individuality? And why in bloody hell should we be punished with isolation for living on a planet that happens to fall under their jurisdiction? The human sensibility is completely lacking.

If that weren’t enough, let’s make up characters like Caligastia to fabricate a now-more-confusing unholy Trinity of Lucifer, Satan and the Devil. Let’s populate the world with yellow people and blue people and purple people—Good grief!—and turn Adam and Eve into the first ineffectual rulers, who could not help but lose Utopia, and are relieved of their responsibility for blighting mankind through the exploitation of those same human weaknesses we all could relate to.  And in the end, after investing countless of our productive hours to this poorly written melodrama/textbook, what do we walk away with? Love as Jesus did? Didn’t we already know that? Do we need to embrace yet another confusing, ineffectual belief system to grasp the value of that principle?

These new Revelation books are hypnotic. They snatch up a new generation of youngsters looking for an excuse not to feel responsible for the world they’ve accepted at wholesale value. Do what you want or do nothing, it doesn’t matter: a Messiah will come (or return) to set things right. You might as well jump into the fiery furnace of Moloch for what good that will do you. There are no Revelations or Good Books to follow; there is only the life you create for yourself. You want an excuse to be lazy? Your excuse is Freewill. And the one to blame is not Lucifer, it’s your own damn self ‘cause you know better.

My Amazon review of Tito Gobbi in Mozart's Don Giovanni

Mozart: Don Giovanni ~Archipel  (1)

High Quality Singers, Poor Quality Recording, December 10, 2012 By Julianus Dante (So Cal, USA) Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?) This review is from: Mozart: Don Giovanni (Audio CD) I got this CD because Tito Gobbi is my favorite baritone of all time. I was delighted when I found out this recording was available, and by this time I was already familiar enough with Don Giovanni to enjoy the music without trying to follow the story line. There are some marvelously beautiful voices in this recording. Unfortunately, the live recording suffers from the singers appearing to be too far or the orchestra getting muffled with the voices. Also, and to my surprise, I didn't feel Gobbi truly owned his role. I don't know if it's me or if he was uncomfortable and disoriented in the German arena. I want to say the latter was the case. I simply did not get to enjoy his Don Giovanni like I have others. It's a shame. I know he's perfect for it. His Figaro and Scarpia are proof enough of his suave bravado, but here he seems lost at best or drowned out by the orchestra. Un Italiano perduto in Alemania. Still worth having in your collector's box, but not as your first recording of this Mozart masterpiece.

Rossini's Le comte Ory starring Juan Diego Florez (2003)

This recording of Rossini's Le comte Ory stars Florez in his best form and is a rare Rossini delight. The composer had a knack for writing beautiful music that at the same time was so comical, not just in a theatrical sense, but in the musical composition itself. I burst out laughing at the choruses; the trios and duets were delicate enough to make Mozart proud yet still retain their Rossini picaresque quality.

The Act One Finale became an instant favorite of mine. The voices literally skip over each other in a delightful, fanciful melody that builds to a booming crescendo that celebrates vitality. Curiously, the mezzo didn't have a solo. The bass solo was pleasant but repetitive and lacked the ingenuity of The Barber of Seville's bass solo "La calunnia e un venticello." The demand for high notes from the soprano were beyond what seem humanly possible yet were executed here with such grace it is to marvel at.

The tenor truly carries the weight of the entire opera and he is practically in every scene. Florez here was masterful and carried the pacing well, which is rare of me to say of him normally and especially recently. This role requires the tenor to be a team player and lead the way without drowning out the other voices. Florez took that initiative and proves to be a great lirico leggero.

The opera as a whole is so light-hearted that it feels too short. The most impressive quality of this opera is the seamless way in which Rossini blends voices in and out of each other in every form of song available, whether duet, trio, quartet or chorus. Even in the arias the singers are never alone. It truly feels like a comic ensemble piece and a tour de force of coloratura. Thank Heavens for such rare gems of the classical music world!

My Amazon review of Mozart's Don Giovanni

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Mozart: Don Giovanni ~Decca  (12)

Making Mozart proud, September 23, 2012 By Julianus Dante (So Cal, USA) Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?) This review is from: Mozart: Don Giovanni (Audio CD) This is my first experience with a Mozart opera. It's hard getting into it after being so used to the Italian masters. But once I watched a video of the Karajan production and played this over and over, I became truly in love with it. It's long but shock full of great arias, duets and quartets. The more you listen to it, the more its style stays with you and the genius of each piece strikes you. You can see why Mozart is Mozart and influenced all major composers who came after, most noticeably Rossini, who clearly uses musical phrases from here in his own operas, including _The Barber of Seville_. I truly enjoyed hearing the similarities. I have yet to experience Mozart's other operas but this one will certainly stay with me as a tour de force. Performed well, as it is in this recording, its three-hour length becomes negligible as the stream of events unfold seamlessly towards the great resounding finale with the Commendatore. Still, it's an opera best admired seen first than purely heard and this CD package does not come with a libretto, making it impossible to follow if you're not already familiar with the opera. Purely as a recording of Don Giovanni, this is quality at its best and will not disappoint. Every voice is in top form and moves masterfully over the vocal challenges presented by Mozart.

My Amazon Review of the Carreras Foscari CD

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Verdi: I due Foscari ~Philips  (6)

The quintessential Foscari, September 23, 2012 By Julianus Dante (So Cal, USA) Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?) This review is from: Verdi: I due Foscari (Audio CD) This recording of this obscure early Verdi opera is heavenly. The voices are beautiful and in their prime. Unfortunately, some of the drama is lost as this opera is a less-inspired version of Nabucco and must be seen to appreciate the drama. The music and voices alone don't do the trick. Carreras sounds simply heavenly singing "Dal piu remoto esilio." And Ricciarelli sounds like an angel dropped from the heavens to please our ears with her exquisite voice. The soprano is in nearly every scene of this opera and, in true Verdi fashion, carries the weight of the opera and is challenged continuously. It may not be his most beautiful sounding opera, but it's certainly not any easier on the voices. You truly have to be a master to pull this opera off. It's quickly become one of my favorites, both for its rarity and theme. There is still plenty of Verdi to enjoy here. He does some amazing transitions, has a powerful prelude, and gives the Doge, Jacopo, Lucrezia and the Council of Ten each their own theme music that adds a dramatic quality to an otherwise uneventful opera. I'm proud to own it.

My Amazon Review of Verdi's The Two Foscari

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Verdi - I Due Foscari / Bruson,... ~BBC / Opus Arte  (12)

Quality Singing, Meager Staging, September 23, 2012 By Julianus Dante (So Cal, USA) Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?) This review is from: Verdi - I Due Foscari / Bruson, Roark-Strummer, Cupido, Roni, Gavazzeni, La Scala Opera (DVD) I just saw the LA Opera's production of this rare Verdi opera starring Placido Domingo and while the LA Opera's production design and costumes are far superior to this 80's La Scala production, the voices in this video are far superior. Renato Bruson does great early-Verdi. I have La Scala's production of Nabucco with him and he never disappoints. The production design on this stage is very sparse and makes it hard to get into this already obscure opera, but if you love Verdi and the challenges he gives his sopranos as well as the seamless way in which he goes from a duetto to a terzetto to a quartet, this production demonstrates it effortlessly. Bruson definitely steals the show in the finale. To his credit, Placido does the same in the LA Opera's production but he definitely tires faster in his old age. His theatricality, however, is matchless! One hopes they have a DVD of the production for the sake of the costumes and production design. The soprano and tenor, however, leave much to be desired. Alas! A great age of operatic voices has ended.

Stop wanting things and start letting them

Do you ever find yourself in a messed-up situation and notice after the fact that the warning signs were there all along, then wonder how you could have possibly missed them? Well, that’s happened to me twice in one week and, as always, wanting to get to the root of the problem, I realized they had a common cause: namely "wanting." We make a big fuss about desire in America. We build ourselves up to believe that if we want something bad enough, it is attainable. “Follow your dreams. Be all you can be.” But it’s "wanting" in the first place that draws us away from who we really are.

Lao Tzu was the first philosopher to say so in China hundreds of years before Christ and the Greeks.  His Tao Teh Ching is one of the most important books you could ever own. It has a very holistic approach towards being human in tune with the universe. He doesn’t pound us with a God, he tells us about the Way. And he teaches that to be in harmony with yourself and the world around you, you simply have to NOT want. Everything should flow and be natural. In other words, stop trying so hard to make things happen and instead let them. Of course, that doesn’t mean sit in your room and do nothing. It’s simply a different attitude towards the things that you do. You stop letting the ego dominate by saying, “I did this. I want that. I will achieve this.” Stop using the word mine. Instead say, “I am compelled to do this. I see this coming to fruition.” Instead of it being mine, it’s now part of the Way.

The ego blinds you to what’s right in front of you. I’ve had my wake-up call and I hope to continue to break away from the ego that’s being constantly fed through the media by tuning out. You have to stop wanting things to happen the way you’d like them to. You simply have to make a sincere effort and let it happen the Way it’s meant to happen. There lies true happiness and wisdom. And yes, it’s hard to do at first. But like with everything, where there's a will there's a Way.

“When one’s task is accomplished,

One lets go of it and seeks no reward or recognition.

Because one does not claim credit for oneself,

One does not do any damage to oneself.”

Excerpt from Lao Tzu's Tao Teh Ching

The Illness killing Humanity

The way I see it -- and I see it quite clearly -- humanity is suffering from a fatal two-fold illness. First is our refusal to love. Second is our refusal to accept responsibility for our lives. The lack of love is evident by the abundance of greed, selfishness and aggression bred of fear in the collective human psyche in our times. If there were love, these evils would not be so predominant across the board. What brought to mind the lack of responsibility is interesting.

I make plenty of mistakes in my life but I try at least to be aware of them, so I can identify why I make them and try to amend the personality traits that lead to such harmful decisions. I don't want to continue being unhappy and I understand that it all begins with attitude, even if changing that attitude requires time and effort.

All of us who are unhappy with where we are in our lives refuse to accept that, outside influences aside, our attitudes put us there. And if perhaps we are not responsible for being put there, we are certainly responsible for staying there. This is very difficult for the human ego to accept because it's stubborn and proud.

Some time ago I realized that if I am unhappy with my job and the idiots surrounding me, all I need to do is observe their behavior to understand the same attitude and personality problems that led me to ending up around them. It's a scary and distasteful exercise to undertake but it is accurate. If you honestly and sincerely want your life to change for the better, your best bet is to observe those qualities in others that you find odious and acknowledge that you also have them and must eliminate them, because that is what's holding you back from progress. However, that requires accepting responsibility for your life and we have all been born in the media-driven generations that want to be party animals forever. And so we stay in this mode until we reach a mid-life crisis and see that we've done nothing with our time but sulk and perpetuate a victim mentality, and now our most productive years are past us and we have nothing to share with our children but bitterness and grudges. Sound awful? It sure is.

We must accept responsibility for our lives and stop making excuses for our failures or a life spent refusing to act. It is better to do something than to live in fear of it and do nothing. Success or failure doesn't matter. It's the experience and the growth that comes with it that does. And your attitude determines ultimately the outcome; nothing else. If it didn't kill you, then you can only grow stronger from it. But we are so mentally embarrassed of even trying and possibly failing that we end up doing nothing, sulking and blaming anyone but ourselves.

This is certainly the modern disease, purposely implanted to keep us from making true positive changes in our lives and, by doing so, on the planet Herself. I cannot deny that I suffer from this disease as well. Waking myself up from it and injecting the antidote is an ongoing daily struggle, but one that I must fight. But that's because I genuinely want to be happy and embrace love in my life, and that journey begins by changing the mental attitude. Perhaps not enough people have a will to experience joy, happiness and love.

That's the true crisis right now on this planet and nothing else, not the economy or lack of resources. We refuse to live in harmony with the Creation. If not enough of us turn around, we will make ourselves extinct. Stop worrying about money and pining after things you cannot take with you to the grave. What matters now is the future we build together. What resonates is cherishing the moments we share with one another.

We are the Masters. Our Becoming is in our own hands.

Magus' Speech at the Battle of Feingloria

A recording of the speech Magus gives the Brotherhood at the Battle of Feingloria.

Conceived while I lived in Findlay, the battle is a dramatic confrontation between the Brotherhood and a local gang sent to riot in a town so the government can declare martial law. The Brotherhood catch them outside of town before they invade and find military already staged there. Although it is a hopeless cause for the Brotherhood, their leader Magus motivates them with a speech and leads them into battle.

I've been re-writing this speech for years now. The other week I had a sudden inspiration and let the words speak themselves and recorded myself. I couldn't post the audio as is, so I added some visuals to turn it into a video. I'm posting it for those who want "an alternative to this: the living dead."

Sorry for the audio quality. I don't have sophisticated recording equipment. It is what it is.

Song of the Pearlfisher Bard

He no longer desires the anguish of transient emotions,

But the comfort of constant Love.

The pearlfisher has wept many tears,

Bitter drops in sobs of self-loathing.

Each dive brings more anguish;

Each crawl to shore more regret.

“What am I seeking?” he asks.

“A phantasm, a white spectre,

A pearl buried in the depths of my own hate.

Even now I can see her glimmer in the utter blackness. Yet

When I dive into those frigid waters

I cannot find her, and losing my breath

I resurface, gasping for air before a starless night.

I half-believe in her and if she does exist

Is she faithless?

Betrothed to another, a whore, or worse,

A witch!

“I know she’s a witch. Her emerald eyes

Have robbed me of peace. I am mad

If not with her. I am nothing without her.

She holds my heart and with it

The Key to unravel this mystery.

A shroud remains over

Our untold memories,

Secrets of revelry (reverie?)

Shared in ancient monuments to my glory.”

He thinks of her and looks out upon the endless expanse;

Black ooze in waves keep him entranced.

He must dive again.

Water dripping from his body, stinging, frigid.

The Afanc wail from the deep in the dark,

A race of cruel demons, beasts with the mark.

Yet a sparkle catches his eye,

A candle in the darkness,

Deep under waters of drowning sadness.

& something from within, something unbidden,

Uncoiling from the unconscious, like a red dragon,

Possessed his being until there was no thought,

Only impulse plunging him into the abyss.

& now the stinging cold

Threatens to dull the senses

Until the quiet stillness of sloth.

He gives in.

Lets it work upon his brain

Until he floats aimlessly.

Ignorance is bliss.

& yet it is death, and worse than death,

Being nothing.

The voice of the Rose came through

With words that are true:

“Magus, you need no one for all is in you.

Go forth without fear. To be is to do.”

He pulls out from his stupor and realizes the witch

Had placed him in a trance with a lover’s kiss.

Out of breath he scrambles to the surface,

Pulls himself out before the Afanc take notice.

“If anyone knows in this world it is me,

About Thor Ballylee and the Goddess Three,

Of the elvish dance and the demons’ jig,

Of a glorious age in old Celliwig,

Of Yngur’s illusion, of Manos our King,

Seek near or seek far I shall find Her within.

“That sparkle in the depths of my hate is a dream

An illusion sent by that merciless Fiend

Who uses the mind to prey on the soul

& only in silence releasing that hold.

I realize then that the search is in vain

For you cannot find what’s already ingrained

But seek to unleash it with what’s in your heart,

That terrible struggle: pursuing your Art.

“So now I can see I was never alone.

The duke of twelve battles but never a throne.

The heir of a magick as ancient as stone.

The Red Dragon’s roar on a heap of men’s bones.

The voice of the Lamb in an age now forlorn.

The pearlfisher’s dive, Poimandres reborn.

All of these I was, am and will be

Thanks to the grace of the Goddess Three.

& if I obey this sanctity,

I will learn that the pearl that I seek is within me.”

Gracious the lesson, more gracious the gift

Given to him with a lover’s kiss.

This pearlfisher bard now goes forth with a Key

To unlock the seal number seven with bliss.

The veil now lifted his book once complete,

So bitter in stomachs but sweet on the lips,

Engenders in men that love for the pearl

That they had forgotten makes the Spirit whole.

The feminine divine at your fingertips.

This was the Salvation our Lord meant to teach.

& now she comes of his rib as before,

A woman complete ‘cause she tires no more

Of having to hold up the burden of man,

Of controlling the meek simply because she can,

But having no purpose, desire or mind,

Is grateful for life and what she can find,

In tune with herself and the mystery unseen

In an age when the veil’s removed. The Obscene

Become good, the Self-righteous are marked.

Amarantus recalls every shining Soul Spark.

& now that it’s possible for things to be done,

She draws him to her, her & him, they are one.

As was meant to be from the very start,

Two minds, two souls born of the same heart.

This transformation from the pearl within

Will turn back the clock on original sin.

That’s what the voice of the Rose meant to say:

She’s inside of you: let her come out and play.

A gleam across the waste now appears

Burning blue, the true light, so far, so near;

A sea of glass these waters now form,

A stillness, for life is born of the foam.

Yet Soul Sparks come straight from the source Amarantus,

To which they must return one day,

& all they have to guide them’s a phantom.

The gates of Death are the only way

Into the eternal realm of bliss,

Where the righteous men go who resist

The pain and suffering caused by Satan’s elite,

The agony of love when Lilith bares her teeth.

Bloodied and scarred these men need relief

& they’ll find it, when our Lord frees the meek.

She appears, splendid in her raiment,

Hair of burning lava pouring down

Over Her shoulders, silver tiara,

Diadem of the brightest stars, blinding,

Invigorating, humbling Her servants.

& I most in love of all, yet grudging

For I am not Her all like She is mine.

She spots me in the crowd of revelers,

Kneeling in tears amongst angels and men.

My chin is uplifted by her fingers

& I see: “Yes, it’s Her! She is Goddess!

She has spared me for this splendid moment

At the Gates of Death where She chooses us

Each according to our hearts’ true desire

To sail on Her boat to Amarantus:

Life, Resurrection, Joy, Eternal Song.”

My tears cannot be hid, in vain I try.

Her green eyes penetrate my mind and soul.

These words She spoke without Her lips moving:

“You will have command over your world.” And I

Stood in Stonehenge flooded in sea water.

A great pillar of water surging up

Into dark oblivion. I, afraid,

Knew my time had not come, for She desired

That I tell Her story long forgotten

In the annals of mankind’s religions.

Only a man who loved Her completely

Could face the pounding waves of mankind’s hate

With no hope but faith in Amarantus.

& so I accepted Her charge in sooth

With heavy heart and some consolation

That my place by Her is secure so long

As I pull through and repay my soul’s bond.

Her final words burned into my Spirit:

“You’re my Pearlfisher Bard; I, your Goddess,

Nyykys Elia En Amarantus."

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 [W1]6/15/11 Wed. 21:27:24

 [W2]8/1/11 Mon. 7:39:37

 [W3]6/30/12 Sat. 19:50:52