FOI Online Liturgy
Booklet: Tara of the Oracles,
The Alchemical Twins Face the Fates
By: Olivia Robertson
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PORTAL XII: PISCES
Rite 2: The Concourse of Prophets
"To create the future, the prophet rises above space and time."
TEMPLE OF ALCHEMY
PRIEST of ALCHEMY (TO TWIN APPRENTICES AIDEN & ELAINE): Seekers for the Mysteries of Alchemy, time does not pass from your birth to death. Rather space and time form the area through which you travel: the Alchemical Labyrinth is where you transmute evil to good, that you may grow in true Being. In order to understand this mystery, you need to harken to the Oracle of the Goddess Tara. Tara was known to the Ancient Egyptians as Taur, Keeper of the Tablets of Fate. Origin of the Torah and the Tarot, She presides as a Star over the four Sacred Mountains of the Asian continent, and holds the Stone of Destiny on the holy mounds of the Celtic Races.
ORACLE OF THE GODDESS TARA
Occasionally, those you call Deities – Prophets – Teachers, give seekers a sudden experience of Divine Reality, which includes all time, all space, all dimensions. Too often such divine disclosure has led to fanaticism, when the recipients claim exclusive revelations, and threaten destruction to those who take some other path.
Yet all such mystical revelations, however varied, come from the same Divine Source. The manifestation takes myriad forms, adjusted to the degree of development of the receiver. Branded as heretic, saint, lunatic, genius, such mystics find themselves either adored or reviled.
Now is the time when an influx of new spiritual incarnations gives companionship, guidance and advice to reborn psychics. What gifts do such new angelic visitants bring? Sanity, enjoyment of other companions, tolerance, above all humour. To laugh at others is clever. To laugh at oneself is a first fruit of Divine Awakening . . .
PRIEST ALCHEMIST: We give thanks to the Goddess Tara for Her Oracle.
PRIESTESS ALCHEMIST (TO AIDEN): Aiden, your bright mind flies all over the place, receiving ideas, inspiration, vision from every conceivable source. You are just the man we need to explore the Labyrinth of The Fate of Taur. Are you willing to face this Piscean maze of shifting ideals?
AIDEN: I love new vision. So I may as well continue. I am willing.
PRIESTESS ALCHEMIST (SHOWS HIM A TAROT CARD FROM THE MARSEILLE DECK): Describe this card.
AIDEN: It can be no other than Elaine’s card of "Fortuna," the naked Goddess of Fate. We all have to face Her honesty at one time or another. I see Her as representing the perfection of balanced movement: progress.
PRIESTESS ALCHEMIST: You have grasped the card’s essential meaning. You may enter trance. We will be with you but not help you.
AIDEN: I feel the nostalgia at hearing those words, because this is the final adventure of this course…there will be others, but I love Oracles.
* * * TRANCE JOURNEY * * *
AIDEN: I climb the hill eagerly and enter the Temple of the Zodiac. I honour the Vestal Flame that will always be with me. I make my way to the Gateway of Pisces. It looks full of living beings coming and going in some sort of etheric water. *** Making my way through the Gateway is like passing through silver-green water. . .
I enter the most beautiful place I have ever been in. It is formed of a mighty cave with stalactites and stalagmites. Oh! What I have always longed to see! In the centre of the vast cave is a sepulchre. It is very high and made of gleaming crystal. Can this be Hermes Trismegistus, Father of Alchemy, once awakened by Apollonius of Tyana? This is just the sort of venue I adore. I approach the figure hopefully. *** Then I stop. *** This is no Hermes Trismegistus – no human being at all. I am faced with a sleeping God. This is the Gnostic Ancient of Days, painted by William Blake. So He really exists!
His hair is snowy white as is His body. His robes flow around Him like flowing water. His arms enfold not the Emerald Tablet of Alchemy but a giant Emerald. Within it are enacted shifting scenes of human lives. With a shock I realise we are all living within the Emerald.
I fall on my knees. I am at last overcome by a Being greater than my mind can imagine. I find myself saying: “Dagon, Ildebaoth, help me to reconcile myself with all beings.”
To my amazement I hear a cheeky voice; it is the red-haired witch. She says: “That is the first intelligent thing you’ve said for ages.” I am bewildered. I am in a large conference-room. This can’t be possible. All round us is brilliant green light. The witch and I and the conference room are inside the vast Emerald. We are in Dagon’s dream. Talk about feeling small. ***
“Well, here you are at last,” says the witch, leading me to a seat. “Welcome to the Sybils’ and Prophets’ galactic get-together. This is where we cook up and send forth oracles, prognostications, prophecies, warnings, to the faithful.”
“What faithful?” I ask. I feel the Olympians are behind this charade. Why, do they think I need taking down a peg?
“It’s not that, Aiden,” says a very tall woman with white hair, obviously a Sybil. “It’s just we cannot afford to have any more pompous dogmatic phoney prophets. We like you. We like your beautiful blue planet. There is enough violence already without people being deceived, drawn into religious wars.”
“Yes!” says a Prophet with long white hair and beard – but with an odd resemblance to Mercury. “What we need is a naïve Prophet who recommends Love and Joy and Peace.”
“Well, one must be fair”, says the Sybil. “There could still be objections from those who enjoy condemning others. But the violence would then be done to the Prophet. This leaves us in a sound ethical position. After all, you will be preaching toleration, friendliness, and generosity.”
Nervously, I ask: “What do you mean? I am no Prophet.” “Nor is anyone else,” says a gigantic Prophet with long chestnut hair and beard. “The prophecies are from here, to teach humanity some lesson. We just give you what to say. You have to agree of course. But we know you inside out. You’ll agree to go because you love adventures. And you’ll give the message because you like it. Also you’ve always wanted to be a comedian.”
The circle of bearded Prophets and long-haired Sybils are forming a circle around me. The whole room begins to spin. I have learnt not to fight it – just to let myself flow with the spiral rotations through time and space. ***
There is still the flow – but it is now of sea waves. I am on an ocean shore, in some South Sea Island. And I am a visiting celebrity. I am greeted by a respectful delegation, which ceremoniously puts a lei wreath of red flowers round my neck, hailing me as their Avatar. I don’t see where the comedian comes in. After all, I am about to deliver a genuine prophecy from Higher Realms. They all burst forth into a hymn, which invokes success and abundance and long life.
I mount the decorated rostrum, shut my eyes and invoke the promised Oracle. I feel the rush of electric-like power through my head, almost throwing me backwards. This is more than I bargained for! And the words come through my mouth but not from me. It is Them.
“You have sold your island for what you think is your safety. The new weapon of war is so dangerous that it will unloose a Volcano, which will erupt beneath you. Refuse to accept this experiment and you will be happy and safe, with love and joy. But you will surrender your present prosperity. Refuse the experiment and you will lose millions.”
I am interrupted by gales of laughter. Some people are throwing coconuts at me! These are shouting “Crackpot! Liar! Comedian!”
There is the sound of a thousand steam engines underground: The platform overturns and there is a giant crack on the ground which becomes a gaping pit. We are swallowed into an abyss of steaming lava. ***
Then I hear the sound of a ukulele. Around me is a wedding party, sharing leis and glasses of wine. A girl is shaking me. “Wake up, Avatar,” she says, laughing. “You were shouting in your sleep! It’s the wine.”
The scene fades. I feel utterly exhausted. I have returned to the Cave of the Prophets. I ask the Prophet-like Mercury: “Did that volcano really erupt and destroy the island?” He replies, for once seriously: “There are many levels of reality. It depends on which one you choose."
* * * END OF TRANCE * * *
Aiden returns quickly, excited. “Now I see!” He exclaims. “The Art of Alchemy is not to try and change other people to be as we think they should be. It is to accept people as they are – this includes all forms of life – and find the Golden Mean. Only then may we create with the Deities! We will know we are One with all. Dagon dreams us – but Tara dreams Him!"
THANKS ARE GIVEN TO THE DEITIES. AIDEN AND ELAINE ARE DEEMED WORTHY TO RECEIVE THE FINAL DEGREE OF THEIR COURSE IN ALCHEMY OF THE ORACLES. REPORTS ARE SHARED. RAYS OF HARMONY ARE SENT FORTH TO ALL.
END OF RITE.
SOURCES: “The Demi-Gods,” Stephens, Macmillan. “The Water-Babies, A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby,” Kingsley, Macmillan. “Monkey,” Wu Ch’eng-en, trans., Waley, Allen & Unwin, & Penguin Classics. “The Fruit-Stoners,” Blackwood, Macmillan. Writings of Gurdjieff, Russian Philosopher. “The Rice Bowl Dream,” Buddhist parable. “The Noh Plays of Japan,” Seami. trans. Waley, Grove Press, New York. “The Sleeper Awakened,” Arabian Nights. “The Sleepers in the Cave,” The Koran. “Time and The Conways,” Play by J.B. Priestley. “The Tempest” last play by Shakespeare. Marseille Tarot, 1748, B.P. Grimaud, Paris, 1930.
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