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FOI Online Liturgy
Booklet: Tara of the Oracles,
The Alchemical Twins Face the Fates
By: Olivia Robertson

Printable PDF File

PORTAL X: CAPRICORN
Rite 1: The Fortune Tellers

"The spider weaves her web from her own self."

TEMPLE OF ALCHEMY

PRIEST OF ALCHEMY (TO TWIN APPRENTICES AIDEN & ELAINE): The Winter Solstice was known to the ancients as the portal through which souls descended from heaven into many rebirths. In order to have the courage to face the New Aeon, the Galactic Alignment in 2012, we need to invoke the Goddess Fortuna.

PRIESTESS ALCHEMIST (RAISES HER WAND): I invoke Thee, the Goddess Fortuna. Some call you Lady Luck of Crete – others dread you as Nemesis! Come to us as Daughter of the Goddess of the Mysteries, Themis, who whispers wisdom into the ear of Jupiter.

ORACLE OF THE GODDESS FORTUNA

Friends, do not despise fortune-tellers, in their little tents or flats, or recording studios! They bravely carry on the mighty tradition of the Sybils, who in turn received divine wisdom from the Fates. Even the Gods and Goddesses obey the Fates.

Around you is spread the panorama of all space. Time is a continuum, only represented in sequence in your own journey towards Divine Centre. When you rise above the mighty scenery of the Cosmos, you will recognise all your many adventures through many lives. Faced with the Cosmos, you feel so small!

You are loved because you are small! You, each of you have an original genius born of the Divine Mothers. These bring forth all that is. The Fates weave the pattern of life, in which all play a part. As well as being transcendent Deities, the Fates are yourselves. So treat the daughters of Fortuna, Her fortune-tellers, with respect. They cannot give inevitable predictions for we may change our minds! But they can make your lives a glorious adventure, relating you to many-coloured stars of the zodiac.

PRIEST ALCHEMIST: We give thanks to the Goddess Fortuna for Her heartening Oracle.

PRIESTESS ALCHEMIST (TO ELANE): My dear Elaine, you are ashamed of your enjoyment having your fortune told, because you feel it is unscientific! Yet as a palmist holds your hand, a Tarot reader flips through a deck, your third eye awakens and you receive a psychic message. Are you willing to explore such Oracles further?

ELAINE: Certainly. A psychic reading brightens a dull day, and makes the most boring lives exciting.

PRIESTESS ALCHEMIST: Good. When you undertake the Initiation of Fortuna you will find yourself in the drama of the fairground! You are so serious. It’s just what you need. Of course we will be with you, but won’t help you out. . . (SHE HANDS ELAINE A CARD FROM THE MARSEILLE DECK) Describe this!

ELAINE (EXAMINES THE CARD): Splendid! Of course it’s “La Roue de Fortune.” It is Number X – Capricorn – and shows the Wheel of Fortune turning, with a monkey in a skirt precipitated downwards, and opposite, a hare mounting upwards. One thinks of gambler caught in the casino jungle! Presiding over it all is a crowned monkey, with red wings, holding a sword. But he is not as bad as he appears – because his crown is golden and open – his crown centre. He could be Thoth, Egyptian God of Wisdom.

PRIESTESS ALCHEMIST: Well read! You may now enter trance.

*** TRANCE JOURNEY ***

ELAINE: I climb up the Hill of the Zodiac with happy expectancy. I pay respects to Divine Vesta within Her Flame – and easily discover the Portal of Capricorn – as it is surrounded by the Pole stars. On the right is a painting of a lively sea-goat with curly horns and a fish’s tail. He seems to be looking at me through slanting topaz eyes. On the left is a Goddess crowned with the stars of Cassiopeia. She is veiled in black. I pass through the dark curtains of the Portico. ***

How beautiful! I am hovering over the city by a vast lake, glittering with reflected stars. Round it are towers of coloured glass. The most beautiful tower gives me a shock – it is simply labelled “City Bank.” I’m over Chicago. Oh well, it is stunning if you can’t read. It could be Atlantis.

I find myself falling into the crown of a lovely violet tower. It is a small penthouse. I am in an office crammed with every sort of computer. And in the midst, reclining on a furry divan is a Tarot reader – “Fortune Teller to the Stars,” a leaflet tells me.

She has golden hair, a black and white harlequin style dress and wears dark glasses.

“I’ve been expecting you,” she says in a Californian accent. “What do you seek? I can’t give you what you want, but I’ll let you know if you get it – or not.”

I find myself expressing my deepest intention. “I wish to restore the Religion of Isis to its former glory.”

“I can give you a warning,” she says, looking into a crystal ball. “Beware a rocking chair!” “That’s all, heed it. You had best now consult my sister, a Spiritual Counsellor. She’s lower down.”

As I find myself sinking through the floor I hear her voice intoning:

“Heed my warning, Lady fair –
Beware a scarlet rocking-chair.”

How different her sister is! I find myself in a large, beautiful apartment with antique furniture, and the scent of incense. Her sister is plump and cheery and there is not a computer in sight.

“Can’t stand them” she declares. "Sybilla runs her website – but I prefer real human contact. What do you long for?” I tell her. She lights a scented candle and gazes into it. She says sadly: “I see that you will never attain your goal until you find the Goddess Isis Herself. Otherwise you’re wasting your time and energy. You must have Her Vocation."

She intones:

“Find the Lady on the Mountain.
Who She is we cannot tell you.
All she wants are gold and silver,
Sun and Moon in hearts that love Her."

“In your case – you’re an intellectual – You need to consult my sister, as a qualified Experience Facilitator. She likes the basement.”

Certainly she must do! I’ve had the longest, deepest elevator trip in my life. When I get below ground level I can hardly get through the piles of books on tables, chairs and the floor.

The third sister has dark hair – and wears a sweater and trousers. She gives me a wide beaming smile. I explain my desire. “One inch of experience is worth miles of talk,” she says. “That’s what’s wrong with education nowadays – talk – talk – talk. Computer-heads wired to other people’s minds, through a spider’s web. Like coffee?”

She prepares a coffee percolator and switches it on through a dangling wire. Suddenly she turns round and removes a pile of books off a chair. She pushes me onto the chair – and it begins to rock. *** Too late I remember her sister’s warning – I struggle to get up but instead I begin to fall through the chair and on and on and on – down into the very depths of darkness.

But my fear ends when I find myself in daylight gazing at a delta by the sea! By me is a young man very like the third sister – with untidy dark hair, a sweater and denims, and her wide smile. “My sister wants me to bring you through a river story”, he says, “from an ocean up the Nile and ending up in the Thames! Allow the story to run through your soul. It lasts about six thousand years.”

What a strange journey this is! I am living through the whole genesis of the religion of Isis, from a far-off star Sirius, to our Sun and then to a lost continent. I travel up the Nile for four thousand years. There is a feeling of love, and joy and beauty, for those who lived by the flowing water were protected by the mighty wide-spread wings of Isis and Osiris.

Thousands of years flow by me as easily as the waters of a mighty river, and I know this is eternal, and that it is always for us when we attune ourselves to Isis of the Stars. I know that life flows round our Milky Way, which is coiled about the Galactic Omega, a central abyss, a portal which leads to other dimensions of incomparable glory.

But even as these immensities overwhelm me – I find myself back in the twenty-first century in London by the river Thames, once named The Isis. A small group of cheerful men and women are busy launching the Ship of Isis on the river, as the Romans used to do. The ship is being launched by a newly ordained Priestess of Isis – a Spiritualist medium. She is vaguely aware of my presence! But where is the boat – such as the ship launched by Cleopatra? I don’t see any. But then I find it – a brave little ship of cardboard, with paper sails and a gallant flag with an ankh on it! “Recyclable,” someone is telling the others.

The ship gets stuck in the sand of the slipway and a young man wades in and gives her a push. I look round. A friendly crowd join in the chant: “Isis! Isis! Isis!”

I burst out laughing! My intention is fulfilled. These people are happy and friendly. They are going off to a café to celebrate. I wish to join them as a friendly ghost – but I find myself coming back – back to the basement of the Chicago tower. But as I reach the flat, I am sad.

I say to the third sister: “Your brother has shown me the faith of Isis blessing humanity for thousands of years. Yet all the while your coffee was percolating! But I have not found Isis. I have failed.”

“Oh, but you have found Her,” says the third sister. She puts down the coffee-pot and stands up. Behind her the wall turns to mist and reveals the night sky. Her brother and she back into the sky and shine with White Light. Their wings spread through our Milky Way Galaxy.

I hear the Voice of Isis speak like distant waters:

“I am She Who Was and Is and Shall Be.
I am Isis of Eternity.”

I have found Isis and Osiris. I know their sisters Nephthys and Hathor. The divine vision fades. I am returning to you all.

ELAINE TAKES A LONG TIME RETURNING FROM TRANCE. SHE HAS RECEIVED FAR MORE THAN EVER SHE EXPECTED, AND ACCEPTS HER DEGREE. RAYS OF UNDERSTANDING ARE SENT FORTH, REPORTS ARE SHARED AND THANKS ARE GIVEN TO THE DEITIES.

END OF RITE.

 


SOURCES: “A Prisoner in Fairyland,” Blackwood, 1914. “Isis and Osiris,” Plutarch. “A Vision,” W. B. Yeats. “The Transformations of Lucius,” (The Golden Ass), Apuleius. “The Mysteries of Isis,” Regula, Llewellyn. “Time Out of Mind,” Grant. “The Idyll of the White Lotus,” Collins, Theosophical Pubs. “Medium Rare, Reminiscences of a Clairvoyant” Renard, Capall Bann Pub. “Ayesha, The Return of She,”Haggard, Dover. Marseille Tarot, 1748, B.P. Grimaud, Paris, 1930.


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