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This Fellowship of Isis website has been authorized by the FOI Foundation Center: Clonegal Castle, Enniscorthy, Eire

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

Printable PDF File

Rite 2: Tell Me Fair & Tell Me True

"Dreams are reflections of the Real."


PRIEST ALCHEMIST (TO TWIN APPRENTICES, AIDEN & ELAINE):  To distinguish between true love and false, we need the Eye of Truth.  So we invoke the Goddess Morrigan, known as Morgana in France and Morgan in Wales.

PRIESTESS ALCHEMIST (RAISES WAND BEFORE VEILED PRIESTESS IN TRANCE):  I invoke thee, Morrigan the Great Enchantress, that we may share with you your Divine gifts of divination.


Know that all that is Divine is real, and all else is the cast-off snakeskin that once served to protect us, but is finally discarded, as you discard your physical bodies.  I come to you as a delightful virgin at a ford.  The heroes desire me – yet I wash their clothes of blood – for I am their death.  Others find me in embrace with my consort, the Dagda Mor, as we shine in glory across the river of life.  Yet greatness fades as kingdoms rise and fall.  Finally you fear me as the Macha, the Crow.  I appear with what you dread in old age.  Yet as the Crone I bring you renewed life.

All that you see around you is a reflection of a greater reality.  That which is worthwhile belongs to eternity, hence it is not subject to time.  I am the clock with no hands, the sundial that is at night.  With me are the boundless territories of space.  There is only one way to overcome your fear of me.  Know me in yourself!

PRIEST ALCHEMIST:  We give thanks to the Goddess Morrigan.

PRIESTESS ALCHEMIST (TO ELANE):  Elaine, You have a longing for Elysium, Tir na Nog, the many-coloured land.  Yet you fear to neglect your work on this earth. Are you willing to face the Morrigan of the two worlds of life and death?

ELAINE: We all die.  I prefer to face it now rather than let it happen through old age and some illness.  I accept the challenge.


ELAINE: “La Lune,” No. XVIII displays duality.  Two dogs howling in opposition.  In the sky is the waxing moon, embracing the dying moon.  Three drops of rain fall – in colours of fire, earth and air.  Below is a deep blue pool containing the crab of Cancer.

 PRIESTESS ALCHEMIST:  You read well.  Enter now into trance knowing that though the moon we know is barren of water – yet it rules the tides of the oceans – and our own emotions.  This is the Moon of Taurus, ruled by Venus.


ELAINE:  I reach the Temple of the Zodiac slowly, enjoying the scent of the grass with its wild flowers.  I enter and honour the Central Flame.  Without this I may lose myself in dreams! I approach the Portal of Taurus.  It is beautiful!  Like Aiden I see changing forms, but to me they are processions of faery-like beings, either very beautiful or extremely ugly.  Some are very tall – others tiny.  I see one elf, who is emaciated, with one pigtail of thin hair reaching his knees.  Small furry red squirrels encourage me to cross the threshold!  I can hear them telling me to be brave.  I wonder why this never brings the reassurance it is meant to give!

Ah!  I am across the threshold.  I am in a television studio.  Men and women are very slim and wear “ecru” pale loose shirts and leggings.  They have longish hair.  The women wear earrings and bracelets, the men pendants with some curious device like a lightning bolt.  I do not feel they are physical.

One of the men in a long white cloak addresses me casually.  “Oh here you are again!” he says:  “This time we hope it will be better.  We are transmitting a neo-Avalon myth, after a cataclysm.  I am Merlin.  The people need dreams – they are disillusioned with mechanical toys.”

I say, “But you are using television!”  They look surprised.  A woman says: “Where do you think you are!  This is a real world but we are not biological.  Nor are you at this moment.  It is from here that we send forth stories that bring forth our gifts to humanity.  They come to us when they sleep and together we make up our stories.  For instance I wear this blue veil.  I am Morgan le Fay.”

I say, “Then all religious myths and legends are only stories made up by you and acted by people on earth?”

“Quite the reverse”, says Merlin.  “What we create here we draw from people’s hopes and beliefs.  We use these along with our own creations. So earthly facts, when these contradict our stories, never last.  People prefer our stories.  Naturally.  They last forever.  They are Divine.”

Another woman speaks: “You are not enough in trance, so you need a proper adventure.  I am the Witch Vivienne!  Look at the ceiling.”

Thinking this ridiculous, I nonetheless obey Vivienne and stare at the plain white ceiling. *** It has become a stormy grey sky.  I find myself in a broken-down cottage, with a group of roughly dressed men and women who are angry.  I gather they are speaking some Celtic tongue.  The subject of their talk is a small girl with large black eyes crouching in the doorway.  An angry old man is denouncing her as a witch.  Yet I gather this is long before Christian times…  I enter the cottage.  Some people are examining the biggest cauldron I have ever seen.  A broomstick stands by it.  It is filled with boiling herbs, with the sweet scent of lavender.  I gather that the girl is refusing to marry a man chosen for her by her father.  She is accused of witchcraft, because there had been bad harvests for three years running – just when she had begun healing with her herbs boiled in this cauldron.

A giant woman marches forth from behind a high dolmen.  The people have prepared a fire in which to burn the girl.  The old woman examines it – then kicks away the logs.  She lifts up her arms and makes a mighty chant.  The people shrink away from her.  There is a lightning flash and roll of thunder that reverberates through the hills.  The people flee in terror as the storm breaks.  The old woman takes the girl and a boy into the shack for safety and beckons me to follow.  We are just in time for the waters rise and the whole land is inundated with water.

The storm abates and the full moon shines through the window. The woman changes.  She rises to her feet and I know Her for a Goddess!
She puts a finger within the cauldron where some drops remain.  Then she anoints the brows of the girl, her brother and myself.  She says to each of us:  “You are at the source of Creation.  I am the Goddess Ceridwen of the White Rock.  My son shall be the mighty magician Taliesin, known to many as Merlin.  In verity he comes from the summer stars.  This maiden is my daughter, Creirwy, Healer of Souls.”

“Elaine those artists you met in the studio, imagine that they create the beings they produce through their arts.  But we the Deities are real, because we are eternal.  And so are all of you and all that is.  Creation is the joyful re-forming of that which is already there, awaiting the creator’s art inspired from the eternal NOW.”

Her words come to me far away, as I find myself sinking back into the studio, seated on an upturned box.  He who plays Merlin holds my hand and says: “You have been to the Fount.”  I feel safe with him – somehow he is familiar to me.  Morgan Le Fay looks like Ceridwen, and she smiles as if reading my thoughts.  A girl like Creirwy sits cross-legged on the floor, placing lavender flowers in the Holy Grael. *** I wonder what part I shall play?  But this too is a dream. *** I find it hard to return to the Temple of the Zodiac.  Friendly squirrels help me through the threshold. ***

Once more I am with you all in real life in our Temple of Alchemy.  Or am I?  Which is the dream?  What the reality?  I think I shall accept whatever is Divine as real, and enjoy its many reflections in many spheres.  So nothing loving and beautiful is lost.





SOURCES: “The Mabinogion,” trans. Jones & Jones, pub. Dent & Dutton. “La Morte D’Arthur.” Mallory, Everyman’s Library. “Myths & Legends of the Celtic Race,” Rolleston, Harrap. “Pagan Celtic Britain,” Ross, Routledge & Kegan Paul. “The Avalonians,” Benham, Gothic Image, Glastonbury. “Celtic Wonder Tales,” Young, Gonne (illus), Floris Classics. “Sea Priestess,” & “Moon Magic,” Dion Fortune, Aquarian Press. Marseille Tarot, 1748, B.P. Grimaud, Paris, 1930.

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