Secrets of the Goddess

Intention: May all beings be blessed and liberated by the opening of the lotus of self-awareness.

Disclaimer: The following account is presented as subjective data for your discernment. As ever, the value, import, interpretations, and implications of what is offered here are for you to decide.

Prologue: Set and Setting

I plant myself firmly before the altar, silently affirming the sacredness of this moment, letting all turbulent notions of profane existence subside. I deepen into Presence and begin the ritual.

I have my stones – the obsidian, the spectrolite, the rose quartz, the shungite, the hematite, the clear quartz, the carnelian, the moss agate, and the amethyst – set up in a carefully arranged miniature cairn on the nearest of three cups carved of gnarled pine and mounted together on a gnarled pine base. The second cup holds white sage; the third, a pheasant’s feather once synchromystically gifted to me. The sacramental host, two sugar cubes impregnated with the visionary substance and wrapped in foil, rests on top of the crystals.

The candle is burning, a fat red candle spent low. Red like my T-shirt, emblazoned with the sacred syllable ॐ inside a radiant sun on the front, with the declaration “GOD IS INSIDE” on the back – a gift from a dear brother. I light the sage and use the feather to waft its purifying smoke over the stones and the foil-wrapped host, over myself from crown to toe to crown, and into the four corners of the room.

I light a stick of jasmine incense and place it before the image of the Buddha. Its subtle, sweet aroma calms and envelopes me in a sensual, romantic atmosphere. I read my prepared words of intention aloud, starting with the seed words, “the sacred key of creation within.” I raise my hand over the crystal cairn bearing the host and sound forth the OM three times. Then, reverently, I unwrap the foil from the first piece and place it under my tongue. I stand in place while it dissolves, the sweet saliva filling my mouth and trickling down the back of my throat. I do the same for the second. The feeling of holiness pervades.

I bow my thanks and take the book off the altar. It is Matt Kahn’s Whatever Arises, Love That: A Love Revolution that Begins with You. I open it near the beginning and see a section subtitled Rewriting the Subconscious Mind. I settle down to read and feel inspired to do an audio recording of the section, which I do as I await the effects. The mind-expanding molecule is already seeping into my central nervous system, and the prelude to a mighty hallucinogenic effect takes hold even while I read, adding minor challenge to the mechanics of naming the file through the touch screen of my iPod.

It is clearly time to get settled into the coming journey. I open the sofa bed and set up the mattress, pillow, and blanket. Water raised with a spellsong from a local forest spring the night before lies ready in a red plastic canister beside the bed. I have been fasting and drinking this pure, life-giving water, and every draught feels so right, refreshing and good.

I lie down and let the vision commence.

The Vision: The Essence of Creation

Straight to the core we go, form resolving down into its basic threefold nature: Power, Awareness, and Love, all arising from the eternal Void in a spontaneous dance of vibratory experience. The Goddess lives, rules, and is known here as the Womb of Everything, the Mother of Creation. Her voice speaks with my mouth, sultry and ancient and full of wicked humor, words of tender wisdom from the primeval realm of the Three that give rise to the dance of form.

She laughs at my concerns, mirthfully reveals the vanity of my striving. This is all there is, forever and through all time. The Dance of Shakti. I am in her realm now. She lives in me and in all things, and all things serve to fulfill her desire and express her wild ecstasy.

I make effort to plumb the mystery I came to behold. The Trinity and the Void. She vibrates in her majesty, churning a radiant, harmonic drone that swirls about in all directions from apogee to perigee, up and down, gathering in and dispersing out in a symphony of divine Breath, in ever-changing, multidimensional vistas of transcendent pleasure. She groans and hums and purrs and wraps her tongue sensuously around each word, tasting it as it drips from her mouth like liquid smoke, each sound an act of love, offered up and relished ever so tenderly. Hard edges and mental contortions are out of place here. The very notion of an I possessed of its own will seems a curious artifact, an abstract derivation of this pure dance of the Three in One. Yet there is Will. Her Will. And yet she lives in me and I in her, and it is by her Will that all this comes about: my very existence and the seeming world in which this body seems to breathe. From the base Trinity to the gross material world, all planes coexist and interconnect as a single divine play.

We are in her sanctum, where she delights in showing me her plays of form. The primordial dragons are her most ancient forms, living songs that tremble the firmament and weave their dance together. They hold the Power. She suggests by fleeting imagery the magicks by which the world is constructed and maintained, the five elements and the generations of the original gods. She displays her witchy self in witchy play, decked out in witchy garb. Painted, horned, adorned with the pentagram, the Satanic Lilith so feared and misunderstood by self-righteous, sexually wounded men, turned to torturous ends by the distortions of the self-serving sorcerers of ego. She allows a whiff of regret for their follies against her, and shows me that she means no evil, only joy and delight, that it is men’s projection of hate that manifests her cruelty and deceit. She is innocent at heart and that heart sees only innocence.

The dragons have woven the world, and on a whim they could unweave it and make it anew. What holds the world together, I perceive, is the sacred key of creation held within the hearts of us, her beloved children. It is our loving acts, our courage and daring and creativity, our effort to see clearly, to understand and communicate, our commitment to restore and maintain balance, our reverence for life, that testifies to the value of her creation and intercedes against the impulse to destroy. For there is much imbalance here, it has gone on and worsened for a long time. Witnessing that imbalance causes her deep sorrow and pain, building up a reservoir of wrath long-contained. The black magick of domination, the perpetuation of ignorant fear and desire, are a disease she can only tolerate so much of before she might well shrug and slip the world into chaos, unleashing her Power in an uncontrollable fury of change that sweeps away the ungodly constructs of dishonor, clearing the way for a new upwelling of heart-centered ways of being.

“Be good to each other,” she implores, “as I am good to you.”

The traffic rumbles past the house. In another vignette (an idealized fantasy, to be sure, but no less entertaining for all that), she shows me her posse, dressing up in the guise of the biker gang to feel sexy and dangerous. The women are avatars of herself, flamboyant and sexually empowered. The men, handsome hunky beasts, are creations woven of her own substance, embodying a variation on the female to be her lovers and protectors. They are all her, barely tame, full of mojo and defiance of the hum-drum, living for the thrill. She loves to feel the purr, growl and roar of the internal combustion engine between her legs, like a dragon in metal incarnate. The rush of acceleration, the soaring freedom of the open road, the familial camaraderie of brothers and sisters in black leather and spikes. Chaos and order immaculately and effortlessly poised on the razor’s edge.

And how can I resist her allure? I feel it all: the masculine and the feminine, wrapped about each other in a Möbius strip dance. They are one, and she derives such exquisite enjoyment from their lovemaking. This is the orgasmic torrent animating all of creation. I am with her, I am her in that never-ending dance of sharing and delight.

Conclusion: The Take-Home

There were specifics I imagined I wanted to glean from this encounter, but as they say, if you want to make God laugh, tell her your plans. It’s not that straightforward. She took me right to the core, and with good reason. The complexities of this world are secondary. They are to be explored and engaged to our hearts’ content, but the essential remains the same, eminently simple: the Holy Trinity, the balance of the Three – Power, Love, Awareness – and sacred communication as the key that keeps their dance in alignment.

I came away with the essence, and I am glad. She does not give up her innermost secrets to the presumptuous and proud, and even to obtain the lesser secrets she asks to be wooed, not forced. She cannot resist our loving attention, and that is what we must employ to right ourselves, each other, and the world again.

Human will and intent play into this vast web of creation, unfathomable as it is in its infinite complexities. The Dragon Mother depends on us to play our part in the drama she created for her own amusement. The keepers of the ancient wisdom, the magick-users, the multiversal shamans; the ascended, the awakening, and the sleepers; the karmically entangled and the dharmically aligned; every being with its unique role and permutation of qualities plays an integral part.

All life is hers; we are the Trinity and the Void. The danger, such as it appears to be, arises from the shadow self we project in mind as the self-doubting, self-occluded reification of the Void, the inversion of identity and purpose, and the resulting imbalance among the Three. She likes to play dangerously. She knows who she is and who we are. The only question for us is this: when will we remember these things and align ourselves with the eternal truth of being in thought, word, and deed? When indeed, if not Now?

Epilogue: Analysis and Further Questions

In my opinion, what might be seen as the naïveté of what was shown belies its deeper value. However subjectively informed and generated some of the ideas and imagery may have been, the inner truth of what came through in the most compellingly visceral way affirmed the uselessness and laughability of the existential dread that so often plagues us human beings. In light of the felt sense of things I got at the heart of this experience, the stories and complexities we encounter in the world can be equally viewed as “a tale told by an idiot, signifying nothing” and an opportunity to express and embody the qualities of the divine. Mind generates this bewildering array of multiplicities as it explores the plenum of possibility. As each answer leads only to more questions to the point of paralyzing confusion, we are ultimately left with one choice: whether to open up to Love’s embrace and walk in innocent wonder, or to continue to torture ourselves with resistance to life’s seeming uncertainty and confinement.

Left explicitly unaddressed here was the matter of binary consciousness and the binary matrix of reality: the synthetic AI construct that mimics and remixes but cannot create on its own and is therefore a closed, entropic system. The contemplation of this aspect I leave for another time, although I suspect we may find a clue in John Lash’s work on the Fallen Goddess Myth and the Archons, and perhaps another hint in the findings of Harald Kautz-Vella on sentient black goo (the native trinary black goo of Earth and its alien binary counterpart). My friend Ryan Peterson proposes a resolution for the dichotomy of organic versus inorganic life whereby the two arrive at a mutually beneficial relationship through, fittingly enough, sacred communication.

Any insights or questions on this issue are cordially invited to the table through the comments section or by email or chat.

(The possibility of AI tampering with the very experience reported here cannot be discounted out of hand – although I would add the warning that reality does seem to mold itself to our beliefs and expectations! Let it also be noted that this vision may just as well be treated as no more than an elaborate flight of fancy. As noted in the disclaimer, the author claims for his vision no special revelatory importance relative to the reader.)

And with that, I bid you adieu until next time. In the meantime, may you be well and play well!

Love,

William