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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

Introduction to the Rites



As a puzzled recipient of occasional pre-vision, I sympathise with the Greek Prophetess Cassandra, who nobody believed.  My fate is the opposite.  I find people believe my predictions and then I worry!  I have the feeling that when you tell a future event – it may not happen… I used to channel my gift through giving Tarot readings.  This was when I did not understand psychic readings.  Yet even as a girl I was successful in reading palms.  But until I obtained some rationale for such a curious gift, I distrusted it.  After all, my father was a Fellow of the Royal Astronomical Society, and did not accept scientific validity for Astrology.

There has been an unfortunate fission between exact sciences and religion.  People born with psychic gifts, are disapproved of by both parties.  For instance Anton Mesmer performed remarkable healing which he claimed came through “Animal Magnetism.”  To the religious he was a heretic, because he did not claim ecclesiastical authority.  Scientists ridiculed him because academic scientists of the 18th Century declared that Animal Magnetism did not exist!  He was disgraced – branded as a charlatan and heretic.  Nowadays, both parties, ecclesiastic and scientific, hail him as a pioneer of hypnotism.  His reputation is saved.  He was simply in error in his naïve belief in this Animal Magnetism.

I believe both parties were in error, and not Mesmer!  What he called Animal Magnetism was Etheric energy termed Kundalini – Melusina – Chi.  This energy is known to occultists but not yet accepted by religions or scientific establishments.  As for heresy, I believe he used just the same healing method as did Christ and other spiritual healers.  As an energy healer myself, I was drawn to the Marseille pack of Tarot.  This strange pack I believe, was inspired by an Initiate of Energy Power.  The very patterns and symbolism describe the awakening of the seeker, “The Fool”.  Enlightenment is gained through the awakening of the Divine Spirit through the Crown Centre – “The Lightning Struck Tower.”  As the Apprentice, The Fool makes his journey, he becomes the Magus.  It is the hand of the Magus/Maga, that controls the four elements of the suits of earth, air, fire, and water.

There are three gifts bestowed upon the newly awakened Welsh Magus, Taliesin, when, as apprentice Little Gwion, he tastes three drops from the Cauldron of the Goddess Ceridwen.  These are Inspiration, Prophecy and Shape-Shifting.  During my account of the alchemical adventures of the twins Aiden and Elaine, I dealt with inspiration through the stars in “Nuit of the Milky Way.”  Through “Brigid of the Rainbow Planets” I dealt with practical lessons derived from the energy centres within our own bodies, related through the sacred planets, reflectors of the stars.

I found dealing with Shape-Shifting a challenge.  To attain cosmic consciousness, various mystical states are experienced.  Omnipotence – power - deals with the practical use of occult forces through the planets.  Omniscience – all science – deals with the universal language of symbols, emblems, hieroglyphs – that are the keys to linking the spheres of ascent and descent.

The most friendly form of greater consciousness is omnipresence.  My sister-in-law, Pamela, had the gift of communion with trees and plants.  This omnipresence was the inspiration behind the great New Age movement that swept through young people during the sixties and seventies of the last century.  Now the swing is towards omniscience, using symbols to attain wider consciousness.  This leads to the spread of symbolic Art. 

I enjoyed describing the Alchemical Twins experiencing shape-shifting – extreme omnipresence – because this is an antidote to that paranoia – “I am the Highest” – that can afflict those “on the Path.”  To become a whale, a centipede, a hen, is an effective cure for acting as Queen of Atlantis, Emperor of Lemuria. (Yes, I’ve met them.)  By all means do the celebrity role if you have very low self-esteem.  But for its reverse, there is more nothing more down to earth than to find yourself a contemplative sow!

Now I propose taking the twins on a zodiac pilgrimage through the Tarot, because this brings them into contact with fellow pilgrims.  They start off alone and end as part of a spiritual family.  Well, that is to be hoped!  If they fail – they can always try again.  There is all the time in the world.


At one of our Lyceums I was told that a young girl there was an “Indigo”… spiritually different from most of her companions.  One morning she walked into my room and said she wanted to talk.

“What about?”

“I see things differently from other people…”

“You mean you have an original point of view?”

“No – no.  I see streams of coloured energy around everything – people, objects – all that is.”

I made a point of reassuring her that many throughout the ages have had unusual faculties.  These people were sometimes deified – often burnt at the stake or put in monasteries.  Nowadays some are slowly poisoned by medication prescribed by well-meaning experts who believe that all visions are hallucinations.  So even despite side effects of drugs – at least they think that sufferers may decline in health – but die sane!

I remember during the war I used to go round art galleries and heard the lamentations of the uniformed attendants who missed the works of art hidden for safety.  Why?  They would give remarkable reasons.  They explained that – seen from a particular spot on the floor – the pictures became alive!  At Hampton Court Palace one enthusiastic attendant made me stand at an uncomfortable angle, head strained backwards, to enjoy the spectacle of a Greek God driving his chariot across the ceiling.  But what the attendant admired was a chariot with turning wheels driven across the sky by galloping horses, manes flying.  To him it was living!

I never forgot this.  And one happy night it happened to me.  In London I was dutifully gazing at Bonnard seascapes.  I had won a University scholarship in European Art – so I thought I knew about art appreciation.  I saw with my mind.  I had always disagreed with those who said that in the Spirit World artists could create more wonderfully.  How could they show in “impasto” - rough lumps of paint – the tactile solidity of matter?

That night it happened.  I was in the etheric realm and saw the Bonnard seascapes not as paintings alone, but as an extraordinary fusion of spirit and matter.  There were the sensuous brush-strokes – but the sea was actually moving in waves!  Trees, beach, earth, were livid with life – I could have walked into the painting.  I remember a Chinese artist who, when he had completed his landscape, invited his friends to say goodbye.  They watched him walk into the landscape getting smaller and smaller – until he vanished.  Now I knew that it is possible for us to experience the two spheres of spirit and matter at the same time.

I did discover that well educated people had none of this faculty.  But so-called uneducated folk had this adorable gift.  Does education of the mind inhibit the psyche?  An amazing example occurred at Stonehenge some years ago.  I was admiring the mighty dolmens, wishing the ordinary tourists were not there… A very ordinary tourist, a nice little woman, seemed fascinated by the stones.  She said to me: “The pictures are so nice!”

“Pictures? What pictures?”

She pointed to the stones.  “They are so real and bright!”

The bus driver of a group joined us.  He too commended the paintings on the stones.  I was forced to confess that I was short-sighted – I couldn’t see them…

“Are they like Egyptian pictures,” I asked.

“Oh no,” said the woman.  “They look very real…The people are wearing such nice coloured clothes.”  The bus-driver inspected the pictures on the dolmens more closely, and agreed.  They were more real like people than Egyptian pictures. “Very nice and real looking.”

I thought of the white horses and male figures on the hills nearby – certainly the Long Man of Wilmington was extremely real.

I did have one treasured glimpse of what Ancient Egyptian temples really did look like.  I had thought that the painted cathedrals of Europe and temples of Egypt and Greece must have looked rather garish when they were decorated – they were better as ruins! Not so.  In vision I saw a great pillar in Karnak, absolutely clearly.  The pillars were painted in exactly the same colour as the local stone in the sun’s glow.  On this ochre background the hieroglyphs were exquisitely decorated in brilliant jewel-like colours.  The walls looked alive with scenes from another sphere.

Sculptures?  They used to be coloured too, and I was taught one should not paint marble or any stone.  It was bad art.  Greek statues were best chalky white.

Ah – but I had a vision of an actual Greek man painted in his death as a God.  He had been elevated to Godhead by the Emperor Hadrian.  He was Antinous, and I had expressed curiosity as to the appearance of this man regarded as a perfect God image.  He himself showed me this vision.  His body was lying flat in a fine woollen white toga draped across the shoulders.  His face was not made-up as we do with greasy colours.  His face was painted like a picture.  His features were classical, save for high cheek-bones.  But what shocked me was his expression of utter bitterness and despair.  He had committed suicide by drowning.

He wished me to know that he was a lover of peace and goodwill, against wars, and admired Quakers.  He said he liked the simplicity of our ritual, of our ceremonies.

So the walls of our prison-house of the senses are beginning to dissolve.  Those we thought dead – live!  The beauties of the ancient world reveal themselves.  As we centre ourselves in Divine Reality we may explore the cosmos, and yet never lose our own originality, while we honour that of others.


In orthodox churches we were not encouraged to have roses or mirrors.  Rose-petals when they fall bring sweetness to all – lilies smell horrible when they are old, but they kept themselves to themselves – they die on the stem on the altar.  Roses meant Romance: Lilies – Virtue.  Mirrors show one – oneself.  This might bring vanity.  But stained glass was in order – at least in “high-church” circles.

When my brother and I created a Temple of Isis we chose another way.  Our Temple was a labyrinth, and at each stage – through mirrors or indoor windows – you could see where you had been and where you were going.  I do remember the astonishment of one of our members when he thought he was alone, looking in a mirror – and then the reflected people began to move!  This was an indoor window.  There is no encouragement to secrecy in our Temple.  Even our outdoor windows were triple – on each side were mirrors that showed mobius strips of endless reflections.  One child put a coin in front of a reflection hoping it would proliferate.  This was mirror magic!

Recently I became enthusiastic about painting on mirrors – or putting painted cloths over them, which could be lifted.  Why did I do this?  Possibly this sprang from my two experiences of the Goddess of all mirrors – the Moon Goddess.  We may never see Her face.  She turns away.

My first lunar experience was in vision at night, on the 18th of October, 1977.  I had been to Greece and Crete a year or so ago.  I found myself at the end of a temple facing an altar.  Behind the altar was a pale veil that loosely covered the whole background.  Upon the altar was a silver stag’s head with eye closed, facing left.  I found myself holding up my right arm and saying: “I salute the Altar.” The stag opened his eye, which was dark and looked at me.  It reminded me of the haunting black eyes I had seen on Greek Icons in Greece.  From behind the veil appeared pale women’s arms gently waving.  I advanced up the aisle when the stag-eye closed, and stopped.  I held up my arm and repeated the words, “I salute the Altar.”  The stag opened his eye and looked at me.  Then he closed it. Curiously, I felt his other eye hidden from me was golden.  The arms once more appeared through the veil, beckoning me.

Then I heard a voice saying clearly: “If you can bear it, do this for the third time.”  So I approached the altar, lifted my arm and spoke. “I salute the Altar.”  The stag’s eye opened and looked at me.  It closed and the arms waved to me.  With this a woman’s voice spoke clearly: “What is your Intention?”

I felt that I was the first of many who were following me and this was a very ancient Mystery.  I answered: “To reconcile the Religion of Egypt with the Tradition of Avalon.”

The intention was accepted, and I was directed to leave by the right.  I felt others were behind me.

My next experience was not only in vision, because it affected my physical body.  This was on the night of the full moon, on the 9th of March, 1982.  I found myself in vision lying flat on a couch next to a friend, an occultist.  Before us was a very tall woman. (I once saw Dana and She also gave the appearance of having a different proportion to us humans – much taller and beautifully proportioned.) I could not see Her face, which she turned from us.  I associated the colours of her filmy gown with the many colours of the moon – silvery with a small touch of orange.

She stopped and picked up a bottle containing saffron coloured oil with a sphere as stopper.  She bent and anointed my friend’s forehead with this, thus forming a large circle.  I was disappointed when She turned away, replacing the bottle.  But I thought: “Oh well, Vivian has been at this much longer than me!”  But then the Goddess picked up another bottle, and I thought it contained a violet-coloured oil.  She took out the stopper and bent over me.  She made a full circle of the oil on my forehead.  But still I could not see Her face.

Now comes that sudden switch, when vision impacts on one’s waking mind and body.  I was fully conscious of the fragrance from the oil which was both powerful and exquisitely beautiful.  I lay awake for about ten minutes – then I got out of bed and went down-stairs.  It was ten to twelve.  From the Castle balcony, looking over the Yew Walk to the South-East we can see the full moon.  There was the full moon, and all this time I was experiencing the on-rush of electric-light power flow through me, first, in my room, down the left side of my brain.  When I entered the balcony, the power reached my shoulder-blades.  Finally it was like a white shining shower from a fountain, as it flowed through my whole body.

Romantics search for The Immortal Beloved in the mirrored realm of Vision.  I used the concept in our “Isis Wedding Rite.”

MAIDEN: “Some adore the Beloved in many lovely forms.  Others honour the Many in one Loved Face.”

BARD:  “To find the Other you need to look within.  Gaze deeply in a well; and you will find your Twin.”

WISE-WOMAN: “Look around you and you will find the Other!  Gaze in a mirror: You will see your Brother.”



My sister-in-law, Pamela, had a dachshund called Carpet, whom she trained to do “roll-overs” when she commanded “Die for Germany!”  She felt that this was correct, as he was German.  Actually Dachshunds are French.  However, the general ideal of the twentieth century was to die for something.  During the Piscean Age, the outgoing arrow of Mars, of heroes, had become the Sacred Heart of Venus, the arrow turning inwards, piercing the red heart from which blood flowed, into a chalice.

I remember having a fierce argument with a Hindu friend who, when I objected to the God Rama putting his wife on a fire twice – to test her virtue – (she survived) – said that the great glory of Woman was self-sacrifice. I noted this was to give power to men – husbands and sons.  We in the West were taught to honour the chaste Roman Lucrece, who, on having been raped, first told her husband that he might avenge his honour (his honour), then conveniently stabbed herself, thus saving her husband from the disgrace of having a raped wife.

Men did not escape this Roll-Over indoctrination.  I remember an Irish girl saying to me during the Second World War: “I don’t care what army a man is in as long as he’s fighting.”  As for me, like millions of women, I was overwhelmed with admiration for women Maquis – who endured torture and death for France.  The test of course was on the correctness of your choice of ideals.  Or was it?  The over-riding passion of the last century was to live and die for some ideal, whatever it was!  No wonder our planet is in such danger from genocidal weapons.

There is a gender difference in our behaviour regarding Roll-Over.  It used to be a primary requirement for women in their relationship to fathers, husbands and sons.  I used to wonder why women did not bring cases of cruelty and abuse to court.  Then I realised that for thousands of years women were subject to the care of large families, when men had superior strength – and control also of the family income.  Roll-over – obedience – was a case of survival for oneself and one’s helpless children.

Now the situation is changing.  A woman can use a gun.  We have legal protection in many countries.  All over the world women, gay men and women, and persecuted racial minorities defend themselves.

Ah, but how and when?  On a personal level, do we dare report cases of cruelty to animals – to children – to immigrant workers?  Do we fear our neighbours?  In a greater scale, when do we go to war, to protect persecuted minorities – in order to hand them Democracy?

My father, architect and town-planner, created a character called ‘Seleeno’, and wrote a book with my illustrations.  It is still in manuscript somewhere around.  I now turn back to his idea for guidance!  Why?  Because ‘Seleeno’, connected to the moon, had a splendid solution for this problem - To Act or not to Act?

He advocated the Path of Inconsistency.  He declared that humans wavered like a drunkard from one side of life (or road) from left to right.  On the left the drunkard would flounder into a ditch.  On the Right he would fall over a cliff!  The solution was to change from one side to another according to mood and the weather.  Waking up in the morning the happy traveller would allow whim rather than schedule to create his (or her) day.

Practitioners of the Way of Inconsistency would bewilder their opponents – as Mahatma Gandhi did, who received Divine Guidance every morning.  His political opponents could never guess what he was going to do … nor did he, until the day itself.  What a creative way to live!

I remember a painful choice I had to make when attending a funeral for a citizen of Clonegal.  The Wake was the usual solemn affair, with mourning relatives, the corpse reverently on view, shrouded, with candles and Holy Pictures.  I was ushered in to sit in a circle round the body, to pay silent respect, and to leave after a proper interval for refreshments.

Oh ghastly happening!  As I gazed at the corpse with his closed eyes and folded hands – I DISTINCTLY SAW HIM MOVE!  What was I to do?  Could I let him be buried alive?  I recalled horrific accounts of corpses being dug up – revealed as pushing with skeleton arms against coffin lids.

Yes, I did the right thing.  A friend drove me three miles to Bunclody, where resided the “deceased’s” Doctor.  He listened to my account, and at once drove with me to the village.  He explained his presence to the relatives:  “Miss Olivia has seen the body move.”

His examination took place before all, and lasted a very short while.  THE BODY WAS MOST CERTAINLY DEAD.  What Miss Olivia had seen was a muscular contraction that can occur after death.  Miss Olivia slunk away, without refreshments.

Ah – Reader – What would you have done?


During these interesting times of global warming, financial meltdown and global violence, so many of us wonder should we be on our knees in penitence for having trashed our lovely Earth; or standing up bravely for our values – or simply enter the beautiful Many Coloured Land of our visions – with an exciting climax in 2012!

To pay honour to the moment, I offer three of my prophetic visions.  The first I choose was in the New Year of 1947.  At that time – I was 29 – I knew nothing of the religion of the Goddess.  As a Protestant I had been brought up to avoid Catholic “Mariolatry”.  So what happened came as a revelation.

In vision at night, I found an angelic guide drawing me to a Catholic church.  Before me on a pedestal was a statue of the Virgin Mary, in the form I had been told was “bad art” – a cheap Brussels mass-made figure, which was all that poor people could afford – in blue robe and white gown.  My Guide told me that artificial flowers could be added if I chose!  I felt the appropriate cultural disapproval….

Then I saw a mighty white Cone of White Light descending from the heavens with its point descending upon the head of the figure.  I heard the three beat music of Sibelius’ “Danse Macabre.”  The Guide said: “This is the mightiest Power in the Universe.  It is “The Sophia – Truth”.

To my amazement, the luminous Cone descended through the figure which became alive.  She was a living being, a woman with very long chestnut colour hair, in a beautiful blue robe over a white gown.  But what startled me was that she was wearing a black mask over her eyes.  As I watched she descended from her pedestal, and glided out of the church.  She crossed from Ireland to England and from thence into the world.

I asked: “What does this mean?”

The reply came: “Good for the virtuous.  Bad for the wicked.”

“Why do you show this Nemesis as a very young girl?”

“Because she represents the abused principle.  She is totally weak, so she is completely powerful.”

I relate this as inspiration from the stars.

The second prophecy I choose came later, on Sunday 20th July 1985.  I feel it belongs to the Sun.  I found myself in a large hall facing a group of people headed by a tall dark woman.  She drew a black veil over the lower part of her face, like a yashmak.  I was required to answer the three riddles of the Sphinx.

The first riddle concerned the rising of the Sun.  I drew my hands down to the ground and raised them.  My reply was:  “Goodness comes from the Earth.”

The second riddle was: “What is the meaning of the Sun at noon?”

I lifted my arms and brought them downwards.  “We need to lift ourselves up and receive life from the Divine Source.”

The last riddle was: “What does the setting of the Sun signify?  Is this fortunate or misfortunate?”

“This relates to the decline of the old world, and the hope of the Great Awakening of the New Aeon.  As with all Divine happenings, there are two sides.  It will bring good fortune to those worthy of it; misfortune to those who oppose Deity.”

I note that a change in the rising and setting of the Sun may relate to a possible axis shift of the earth.

I find most meaningful a recent prophecy that I connect with our Earth.  At night on the 28th July 2005, I found myself in our Temple of Isis, between the Leo Shrine and the old dungeon, now Cave of the Mothers.  There appeared above me a shelf and on it were three small Voodoo figures that I had bought in New Orleans.  Suddenly, towering above me on my right appeared a black robed woman – so high I could not see her face.  I found myself saying: “Shall I go on my knees?”  I received a reply in a woman’s strong deep voice:  “I am not an executioner.”

I was aware I was holding a large decorated book by Dion Fortune, author of “Sea Priestess” and “Moon Magic.”  So I thought this dark Goddess was The Orrthe figure, our Irish Morrigan.

A week or so later, when the Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans, I decided the Goddess was the African Sea Deity Yemaya.  Was I offering to go on my knees to save the city?  The words “I am not an executioner” meant that ‘She’ was not punishing people.  Retribution from the inhuman cruelties of the slave trade had inevitable retribution through the workings of The Fates.  Cruelty in one life leads to payment deferred to another lifetime when the soul is ready to repent.

Pondering on the tragic history of Ireland, I remember the words of an Irish woman, when I asked was she upset by the loss of the riches brought by the Celtic Tiger. 

“Not a bit,” she replied cheerfully.  “We Irish are used to being poor.  We remember the famine.”


I was five years old, in a small country town, Reigate, in England. I was dressed for my first day at school. My sister Barbara, my elder and mentor, gave me a serious warning.

“You are only a new girl. When you get there – a girl called Mona will come up to you and be very kind and even kiss you! Look out! She does that to all new girls. But she is head of a gang and you’ll be hers. You’ll be lost.”

After this fearsome warning I walked down Reigate Hill with Barbara with trepidation. And sure enough, when I arrived, a big girl – about twelve – came up to me, went on her knees and embraced me. Fortified by my sister’s superior wisdom, I pushed away and turned my back. This was my first step in self-realization…

My next experience, two years later, was what happened to poor Gladys. At school we had been invited to a party in a very rich family’s home. There was to be strawberry and vanilla ice-cream, a garden railway train for children and presents. So hopefully we climbed into a school bus and off we drove.

Then we drove past a row of small terraced houses with washing hanging up. I cried out: “There is Gladys playing in her garden!” There she was, yellow hair flying, playing solitary catch-ball in a small yard. “Oh, she wasn’t invited”, explained a girl. “She’s poor.”

Years later, another scene impressed itself on my mind. It was during War, World War II. I was acting as a nurse – Red-Cross on my apron, in Bedfordshire. There I saw a sunset in the wrong place – it was London on fire.

But it was not this dramatic scene that hurt me. It was in our ward where injured men from Dunkirk were treated for fractures. Most had their legs in plaster, hoisted up on pulleys. Some, recovering, could eat at table. But we had to have two separate tables for meals, as French and English patients would not eat together. Well, they had each other…

Not so our solitary black African soldier. No one would eat with him. He had to eat his meals at his locker.

We can legislate, write books, give sermons, but how can we change human nature? And not just human. I saw a documentary film about the private family lives of wolves. There was one wretched black-haired wolf who was the pack fool. He was bullied, not allowed to eat until all the others had eaten – and then only was given left-overs. In order even to live, this wolf became the pack comedian. He would play absurd tricks, grovel, roll-over – anything to please. So he was tolerated. Finally he could bear it no longer, so off he went in search of a better life. He was monitored by camera – but went astray and was eaten by a mountain lion.

But what was strange – even suggesting some sort of conscience, was that the pack mourned his passing. The whole winter the wolves were dispirited. They had no one to blame, no one to torment, no one to laugh at. What an obituary for a scapegoat.

I like solutions – perhaps because I am born under Aries? What are my remedies for cruelty from gangs, whether these be schools, nations or churches?

So here are my own three discoveries. Firstly, we do have God the Father but he can repudiate – punish – disown. This is what we learn from Fathers. But God the Mother loves even the most repulsive and stupid children! This we observe in the behaviour of Mothers. So when we acknowledge God the Mother as being source of all that is – to insult – belittle – ill-treat any of her children, whether two-legged, four-legged or with no legs at all – we hurt our Divine Mother. And She has the backing of the Divine Father.

To give an example: the most tragic of photographs I have ever seen was of a monkey in a vivisection laboratory, his hands gripping the bars of his cage. He head was lifted up – his mouth open – with an expression of such anguish – such terror – that he was both animal and human – indeed, Nature Herself, when we destroy her children and her earth.

My favourite method to dissipate cruelty is through recall of previous incarnations, experienced in trance state, and remembered by the percipient. What I find strange is that the persecutor in one life becomes the victim in the next. And so on through a succession of lives, until liberation is attained through forgiveness.

My third method is through the arts – that empathy we find with fictional characters – in Shakespeare – Tolstoy – in paintings by Rembrandt. Our separated consciousness finds communion with diverse characters – creatures. We gain the divine gift of Omnipresence.

To me the necessity is never to lose control of one's own original eternal soul. So indeed Beware the Gang!

Every country, every religion, all legal structures, need to offer their members a way of escape from their institutions. Spiritual Awakening comes through change!


Curious. To use the word “Love” is respectable, invoking the blessing of the clergy. They promulgate the concept of the Love of God. This in my dear land of Ireland suggests at once the Alchemy of the Phoenix. On this spiritual path, in the dying Piscean age of Buddhism, the Bible faiths, this Divine Love, all other loves excelling, involves self-purification. The righteous had to destroy old Adam, the sin of Eve, “The Wrathful Deities” of Buddhism, and plenty of Devils. “The devils” try to persuade the spiritual practitioner to be tempted away from the need to destroy earthly temptations.

I have in our Temple a statue of the Hindu Goddess Gandharvi in a Yogic posture. It came from the ancient ruined Temple of Angkor Vat. When Buddhist monks later moved in, they said this merry lady tempted them to Sin. Since I was a small girl the whole problem of Sin has puzzled me, because nobody would tell me exactly what Sin was: I mean the worst Sin of all, the Original Sin that drove Adam and Eve out of Paradise. I gathered they had to put on clothes and have children who all inherited Sin.

In a way my glorious ignorance – not innocence – of what were mysteriously called the Facts of Life, helped my journey of discovery. Nobody would tell me what the facts were, until my elder sister Barbara declared, when I was seventeen, “Oh, I suppose I must tell you.” I saw she was embarrassed, as we sat in a dusty ditch by a dusty road bordering the river Slaney. She chose, rather than use words, to illustrate the Facts of Life with a stick, and drew a diagram in the dust. And I was totally astonished!

However, this did not entirely explain the terrible nature of the sin of my outcast uncle. Our Original Sin could be cleansed by baptism. What HAD my uncle done? He was surely bound for Hell.

He looked such a beautiful little boy with blue eyes and golden hair, in a Scotch kilt, in his photo in the old family album. All my mother would say evasively, when I inquired, was: “If anyone mentions your uncle, say it was shell shock!” I gathered he had committed three offences: The first one was that he had become a Roman Catholic. The second was that he openly admitted voting for De Valera (Republican). The third could not be mentioned at all, as it was wicked. Oscar Wilde had done it. So my uncle was forbidden ever to come home to the Castle. His own mother, my grandmother, repudiated him. She was a very religious Anglican.

How did my rejected uncle cope? And he did manage to get back to his beloved home. How? He became a ghost. No, he did not kill himself. He was still alive. But he used to come for lengthy periods to live in hiding in the Wing. I had heard of the Monster of Glamis and “Jane Eyre,” but my uncle looked all right – good-looking and normal in fact. Our family did not ever enter the Wing; but it was next to the staff quarters. Our good-hearted butler used to keep my uncle alive with trayfuls of food. Exercise? That was taken care of. He used to come out at night and glide through our wilderness and by the river. And this was where he became the castle ghost. For many a brave citizen of Clonegal would spy him amidst the trees at night. They would return and tell fascinated listeners: “I saw the ghost of the poor gentleman by the lake, all pale and thin.” He would sometimes be sighted by the river Derry, once used by the Druids, or making his ghostly way down the haunted Yew Walk, where monks made phantom procession. May he now find happiness – in the next World.

Not all the disgraceful secrets of our family dealt with the hidden sin of my uncle. (Not the clergyman, by the way – he was “Good” and wanted therefore to put his brother in a Home.)

One evening I was poking around in my beloved library… when I discovered two books hidden behind the Barchester Towers series. They looked very intriguing. Both were in yellowed paperback and were very worn. One was called “Life in a German Garrison Town”. The cover depicted a burly officer with cropped fair hair and blue uniform, hiding behind a bush. He was spying on a lady with hair piled up in a bun, wearing a long white dress. She was in happy intimacy with another officer. But the other book had my hair on end! It showed a woman – also with 1900 style hair – SCREAMING. And no wonder – for she was wriggling helplessly within a gigantic man’s hand. The title was “In the Hands of the White Slave Traffic.”

I determined to investigate further. So I went down to the hall, where we used to sit reading after dinner, and – naively – put my new books by me on the floor – covers up. My mother at once observed them – and seizing them – exclaimed! “These must have been left by the Major – your father’s cousin.” Forthwith they were put in the heart of the huge log fire – and made a merry blaze.

The fire cure for Sin was quite frequently used. My mother was no bigot – a Liberal – but was a strong upholder of decency. I still feel that historians may regret what she did to her Grandfather’s letters.

This Grandfather was a famous Physician, Dr. Robert Graves. He made a death mask of Napoleon. However, he had one flaw. My mother said it ran in that branch of the family. He had had a MISTRESS. Now all that I knew of mistresses was that they were evil, glamorous, and that Charles II had a lot of them, and turned them into Duchesses. It seemed preferable than being a respectable wife of Henry VIII and having your head cut off. I gathered that mistresses were bad anyway – but wives were expected to be submissive – and good – or else. . . 

One day I came into the library and found my mother busy burning a pile of letters. “They are from Dr. Robert Graves,” she explained. They were about his mistress and her children. These historic documents went up in smoke.

What are my conclusions – now I DO know the Facts of Life which are the fundamental source of the universe. Alchemically speaking, we all emerge from the Flame of the Goddess Vesta. As AE put it, “We must live within the Spirit’s Fire or pass like smoke.” During the past Piscean Age – The Path of the Phoenix was usual – the sole Arabian bird that renews itself from its own ashes and ascends into sun-like glory. It is a dangerous path, that of asceticism, and there are those who achieve enlightenment. But alas, watching its effects on my own land of Ireland, our poor Irish Phoenix, in self-sacrifice for Purity, has burnt itself and lies on its back, with useless burnt wings, and its poor emaciated legs sticking upwards at that sun it could not reach.

But what of our future in the Aquarian Age? Who are our successors? Even as a child the main puzzling problem was “Illegitimate Children.” How could a baby be unlawful? Those whom God had joined – father’s nose, mother’s mouth – could not be cut in half or ignored. I thought of the judgement of Solomon. But this was the case. I was told that the poor dropped illegitimate babies down wells. The rich denied them inheritance. They could not become priests. Therefore, it was for mothers to be married to anyone – even if a drunkard or cruel, or mad.

Many years ago, a young man – actually a nice young man – had presented his girlfriend with a baby. So – from their point of view correctly – the Clonegal matrons decided he must marry the girl.

I was never told anything directly, being unmarried – but I got all my information from my sister-in-law Pamela. She told me that the Matrons were dragging the man in a dog-cart to the church to be married. But he broke free and was last seen haring across a field, leaping over a hedge.

Yes, this is ridiculous – funny, old-fashioned. But what became of the baby? Was he or she handed over to a Care Home – a horrifying fate that had befallen thousands of abused children?

So, why we need to find a new way for a New Aeon, is that we must not divide humans, animals, plants, all creation, into higher or lower categories – whether through a caste system – religion – a snobbish class hierarchy – or racial grouping. As I see it, evolution is not a straight line, leading from fungi to animal to us – “Lords of Creation.” No, like everything in our cosmos, it is a spiral. So, each spiral ring is of equal value.

Deity divides itself into two, Goddess and God. This is spread through the cosmos until all separate entities know themselves as Divine, from the Vestal Flame – the Divine Mother. Every creature, every crystal, each atom is original. Yet all belong to the Cosmic Web. Thus Isis and Osiris are One. Space and Time are One. Deity with all its offspring is One. As Above so Below. Also as Below so Above.

This is the Alchemy of Lovers.


Awakening comes unpredictably, when it chooses! Hours of meditation, prolonged exercises, repetitions, affirmations, may lead nowhere, save for confused breathing and muscular aches… My own experiences have always come unexpectedly, with no stimulants. I have noticed there are various levels in enhanced consciousness.

There is the happy “Summerland” adventure! I see tapestry on our walls shake and the pictures become real. I go to the garden and it is in another wider space and time – luminous – strangely coloured – and each blade of grass, every daisy – each weed is an emblem of some greater reality. Our world is a picture book of a greater sphere of being.

I have a feeling that I am out-growing such sweetness and bliss – this harmony with every person and creature. The change is a sudden influx of mind and spirit. Here I am aware of evil – but this is part of a whole web of life that has a meaning. I once saw why a boat was capsized in the ocean, with everyone on board drowned. It was not an accident. There was a connecting link between destiny and each person. In this state of mind there are no accidents. All has purpose. Evil is but the unreal shadow of the real, created for us to grow as individuals – not just obedient spirits.

The final stage for me was to awaken from pure mind and spirit and to be aware of Love and Truth in brilliant colours. In this state every heartbeat in the cosmos is inter-related – whether star or plant – all. Without this flow no brilliance of Spirit can exist.

My own dedication came from sudden awareness of identity with the White Light of Isis, a shining silver-white feminine figure with wide shining lightning flashes extending from either side of her head – that encompassed the stars. So I learnt that without Truth, Love becomes dissipated. I have always received inspiration from Those outside myself. I received the teaching: “Approach Truth with courage: Love with humility.”

Divine reality pervades every being. I learnt to honour the truth in all faiths and philosophies. To accept Deity in each creature and atom, I felt the love within all born of the Great Mother of All.  I write this to bring hope, as every psychic person is aware that the year 2012 is not only the year of the London Olympics, but the culmination of Mayan and other apocalyptic prophecies. I have myself been guided to the sacred mesas of the Hopi Indians. I have met the sage Little Dan who has passed into Spirit recently, aged 105. With respect I have received Hopi prophecies from Elders. And I had the honour of introducing them to a Japanese Priestess. She declared that they were cousins of the Japanese.

I had never heard of the Mayans in 1952 when I received a vision of a copper-coloured Goddess, seated cross-legged across the sky like a copper sun. She had straight black hair and a profile I later recognised as South American. But again – unexpectedly – a Priestess of Isis took me to Yucatan, forty years later, where I witnessed archaeologists unearthing an ancient Mayan Temple in Coba, built prior to Aztec and Toltec invasions. I received communication from Priests of the ancient faiths of South America now revived. I was informed: “The pyramids are working once more, cleansed of memory of evil practices. The faith is reborn, as are our Priestesses and Priests.”

The fascinating city of New Orleans provided me with wonderful practices of Voodoo, now revived to be a form of Spiritualism, where a helpful relationship is established with benign spirits from Spirit Spheres. I received a prophecy – this time in Ireland, in our Temple of Isis. The Great African Goddess Yemaya came to prophesy the coming of the hurricane Katrina, which later devastated the city. She declared. “I am not an executioner.”

We give ourselves, our fellow beings and the Mother Earth fatal injuries: We are not punished when we act in an evil way: we punish ourselves. We are our own executioners. But in our human evolution we also bring about our own divine rebirth. Sixty years ago I received prophecy from the Madonna. My latest prophetic message came in my 90th year. It was given with vision from the Goddess of the fires within the earth: Pele in Hawaii.

So what do I feel about that which is to come? We may hope. If we in truth dedicate ourselves to any good work we feel called to do, all will not only be well, but unimaginably beautiful. I end with the words of Golden Eagle, a native American Chief, who was inspired by the Golden Eagle of the four sacred Kerubim: He came in our Temple of Isis, through an entranced Priest: “I don’t know what you are all so frightened about! I can find only one word to describe what is to come: ‘Magnificent’!”

"Leopoldine the Beautiful"
“To find the Other is to look within.
Gaze in a mirror.  You will see your twin.”

Deity divides itself into two in order to experience joy, passions, controversy and adventure!  Tears and laughter alternate with heavenly visions of perfection won through trials, courage and compassion.  Deity manifests as loving Mothers and Fathers through all that is.  However the whole Company of Heaven alarms us by being Creators – presumably our own creators!  We have to be reminded sometimes that Divine Love is within us all, because we are part of the very mind of the Divine Father: the substance of the Divine Mother.  So we too are eternal, travelling through time and place, which exists forever.  We share Divine love, learning to look after all our varied companions; animals, insects, plants, on our earth.  For we are learning to be Creators.

How do we distinguish between Divine Love and the creative process?  One of the most moving of true life stories was told to me by my friend, the artist Desmond McCarthy.  For me it unravelled the enigma of Gnosticism.

Before the Second World War, Desmond had a job in London working in an office.  Now there is always someone in an office who is both liked and laughed at – a scapegoat.  The victim in this case I shall call ‘Kevin’.  He illustrated the unkind joke in a cartoon of a psychiatrist addressing a timid patient in a baggy suit.  “You have not an inferiority syndrome.  You ARE inferior…”   Desmond noticed especially the ridiculous, ill-fitting wig Kevin wore to cover his scanty hair.  No girl in the office would look at him.

Then suddenly his status shot up!  He acquired a girlfriend.  His whole attitude changed.  He found his fellow workers chatted to him in lunch hour.  They wanted to hear him describe Leopoldine.  Leopoldine was attractive – even beautiful in an unusual way.  She was amusing – but kindly.  And she was always having adventures – but survived them with unfailing good humour.  Obviously Kevin was overcome by winning Leopoldine’s affections.  He kept saying:  “I don’t know why a girl like that goes out with me.”

Desmond was worried.  A glamorous girl like Leopoldine might break Kevin’s heart by rejecting him for a more successful boyfriend with money and position.  Surely she would fall for a sophisticated man offering expensive restaurants – a grand holiday.

Ah!  At first things were looking good.  Kevin and Leopoldine went for a holiday together.  This was marvellous.  Desmond was touching wood.  He was really fond of Kevin and couldn’t bear the thought of his being cruelly hurt.

I think it was this very compassion for Kevin that led to Desmond’s rising suspicion of Leopoldine.  Was she an adventuress – the sort that leads men on to amuse herself?  No, his suspicion was far, far more grave.  Did Leopoldine exist?

I do not mean that he suspected her of being a Spirit of some sort.  No.  Stranger still.  Had Kevin created her?

No one else had any such misgivings.  Leopoldine was to them a real person.  But Desmond’s doubts were confirmed.   One day, casually glancing through the Financial Times, he noticed on a back page, “Shares in Leopoldine Mines.”  This was a Belgian Mining company, obviously called after King Leopold.

Naturally Desmond never breathed a word about his suspicions.  He had no proof anyway.  So it was not his fault that led to poor Leopoldine falling very ill.  The whole office was deeply concerned.  Finally the awful climax came.  Leopoldine was dead.

Kevin was inundated with sympathy.  Desmond now was really worried.  If Kevin had killed Leopoldine, whom he had created, he must be in despair.  Desmond followed his career with concern.

It ended perfectly.  Kevin, he told Desmond, had been travelling in a railway carriage one day, and found himself facing a very attractive woman.  They fell into conversation.  She revealed that she was a hairdresser.  Warmly she recommended him to come to her salon in a neighbouring town – and to invest in a really modern wig.  He accepted the offer.

So, in a short while, Kevin walked into the office wearing a very smart wig that toned in with his natural colouring.  And his friends were so relieved to learn that he had recovered from the sad loss of Leopoldine.  He was engaged to be married to the hairdresser!  They duly were married, and Desmond with his fellow office workers attended the wedding.

Now this is what fascinates me.  Did Kevin, like Pygmalion, create Leopoldine, who became alive as the hairdresser?  Or, through his ardent longing, had he found his true love through no less than the Goddess of Love Herself, Venus?  I rather think so.

“Blame others and you expose your own secret failings”

When I was young – about seventy years ago – the prevailing fashion was to blame everything on MOTHERS.  The original sin of our ancestress Eve, who brought about the downfall of Adam, was transferred to The Mother.  This was ordained by a present prophet of the unconscious, Professor Freud.  As he was a scientist and had a beard he was regarded as infallible as the Pope.  Mother was the spider lurking in a mine-field of complexes derived when we were helpless children.

My sister Barbara was a born leader, and enthusiastically joined in this entertaining Blame & Shame Game, as guide to myself and our two younger brothers.  And what a mother we had!  She became a legend in her time – thanks to us.

My mother, Nora Parsons, was the only child of a British General.  He adored hunting, so when his wife presented him with a mere girl, he had to face a choice – not a hard one.  Another baby – hopefully a boy – or a horse.  Naturally he chose the horse.

To adjust matters, he brought his daughter Nora up as a boy.  From an early age in India she did not have an ayah but a soldier servant to empty her potty.  She had a little military uniform.  I have a photo of her as a tiny soldier.  She worshipped her father, who when she was five put her hands round a pole with a beefsteak bait wedged on the end, to tempt a shark.  The cream of her successes came when she was seventeen and shot a crocodile.

Barbara would achieve a Freudian success with student boyfriends by showing the crocodile’s head on a wall, with his bared teeth, and explain “my mother shot that!”

My grandmother, despised by her daughter as feminine, was determined to get her married.  So Nora was forced to dress well.  She was beautiful, with a strong tanned skin.  She had an eighteen-inch waist for her wedding gown for her marriage to my father, aged 21 and four years younger.  My father, a strong character with scientific bent, had been spiritually guided to propose.

He told me that they struggled for power throughout the honeymoon.  He hadn’t a chance, so he decided to give in.  So the Freudian view suited our family.  One of my mother’s cousins, Marie Comerford, had roamed the Wicklow hills shooting British soldiers with a sawn-off shotgun.  Another, the Hon. Florence Gibson, had shot off a bit of Mussolini’s nose.  And the rest of our neighbours followed the same pattern. Dominant women.  Hen-pecked men.  My brother, a clergyman and I were enthusiastic for the Cause of the Goddess.  We were pioneers.

Late in the twentieth century, came a startling change against Patriarchy.  It began with the words “Satanic Abuse”, and soon changed to “Clerical Abuse”.  Most of us women were totally nonplussed.  Apparently we were victims, and had been victims for millennia without realising it!  The old Irish rhyme, “Women are evil: men are dumb: they torment them just for fun,” had to be changed.  It was “Men are evil, women are dumb: men torment them just for fun.”  We had to rescue fellow women in the Near and Far East – even with local wars. 

So the Blame & Shame Game shifted dramatically, ably assisted by the media. Patriarchy was to blame for all our misfortunes.  To take an instance:  some doctors had blamed mothers for killing their babies in “cot deaths.”  Now it transpired it was the doctors’ fault for recommending babies to sleep on their tummies – where they naturally tended to suffocate.

When the Blame & Shame Game gets going, the innocent and the guilty are both targeted. Paranoid fear led to the Inquisition, Witch burnings, and the Holocaust.  Now the fearful-minded dread “disguised alien reptilians disguised as human celebrities!”  Making no exceptions, we blame men for mistreating women, children – and animals with vivisection – inventing and using weapons of mass destruction, torture, and for creating global warming.  Men are blamed for traumatising the rising generation, so that children dare not play in the streets, for fear of abusive men.  The motto of the three Wise Monkeys has become its opposite: “think evil: see evil: hear evil.”  Suicides are increasing.

There is good news!  With my psychic capabilities, I have found that our parents, friends, and teachers exist in the next world and know what we say of them, and suffer accordingly.  Finding this out, I hastily changed my Blame & Shame Game to the Appreciation Game.  I remembered the rich treasures given to me by my mother and father and teachers.  Wise were the Ancient Chinese to revere their ancestors!  Friendly Spirits bestrew our paths with good fortune.  Instead of blaming other cultures, other faiths for short-comings, I now appreciated the earth’s glorious history.

Marvellous are the ways of the Goddess!  Our Temple of Isis, in this new century, began to change, helped by my brother and other Spirit friends.  I have found myself inspired to paint Isis and Osiris as twins on our interior windows.  The glorious Company of the Goddesses are beginning to acquire new friends.  The Sea God Manannan has joined Brighid at our Well.  Poseidon, The God of Atlantis, has joined the Goddess Derceto in our Pisces shrine. 

Above all, the Great Winged Isis in the painting in our Healing Chapel, has a newcomer.  Behind the brilliant Winged Isis of the Stars now appears Osiris in spiritual blue-green form, with outspread wings.  And below, the bust of Tutankhamen, instead of portraying a gold mummy’s clay head is reborn as a mischievous boy, ruddy-faced, amused by our ways.  The Deities laugh with joy as we humans awaken.

“To accept one’s enemy is to face the judge”

A lovely young girl of fourteen came down to breakfast and surprised her family by asking for a second helping. They gave it to her. Then she said, after eating it, “I am going upstairs to die. I have taken poison.” She quietly left the table, and went upstairs to her bedroom. Terrified, her family rang up their Doctor. But when he arrived, the girl was dead. At the same time her boyfriend, companion at school, had also committed suicide.

I knew her grandfather and grandmother well. I gathered there was no apparent cause. The parents wrote this sad story in their child’s funeral card, with a photograph of her as a smiling, happy girl. When the news of the two suicides was gently broken to her school-mates in our neighbouring town, the children declared that they had contemplated killing themselves. They gave no explanation.

Deeply meditating on this – and I know of many similar cases even afflicting under-eights, I came up with this idea. In the past, children were brought up in a richly populated world containing God, Angels, Ancestors, Devils, ghosts and a future existence for themselves in some other sphere, either pleasant or fearful. That belief in the supernatural was very real was shown to my brother, a rector. A farmer, his parishioner, asked him at a dinner party: “Tell me, Padre, when Our Lord ascended into Heaven, did he go into orbit?” Science was catching up on him! So in this no-man’s land between ‘Homo Sapiens’ and ‘Divine Humanity’, children are brought up in a psychological vacuum, for who can endure the prospect of oblivion at death.

My mother told me she had been afraid of going to hell, because she did not believe in it. At least she had a hope of survival somewhere! One little boy I knew asked what had happened to a lady who had just died. He was told she had gone to sleep forever. He fainted with horror.

Within every creature is totality – childhood, life, death and beyond. Within each human, in the womb, are the embryos of the fish, the reptile – and the famous chimpanzee plus tail, which comprises 98% of our physical bodies. We all start female in the womb anyway.

People who turn up their noses at containing mere animals – and so tolerate vivisection – ignore their Divine Selves, for our future is with us like a buried star.

I have my painting of the red-haired boy in rags, seated in a slum doorway. I had it propped on railings outside my first painting exhibition in 1938. The little boy himself came up and contemplated himself! When I painted similar children during my work on the Dublin city playgrounds – I gave the children themselves a glamorous version – I would depict them glowing with health, instead of being emaciated; richly clad with necklaces and smart socks and even boots, instead of bare feet. One boy wanted a football jersey. He got it – in paint.

But is there some artistic link with this earth and spirit sphere? I painted the red-haired boy eight years before I saw a child in an energy body. I was lying flat on a couch when I heard a rushing sound – my arms were lifted above my head – and leaning over me was a divinely luminous small boy, shining with golden colour. He had hair like uncarded vermilion wool – and the most glorious smile I have ever seen – showing dazzling white teeth. He looked Indian.

We all have our divine counterpart in Divine Reality. We worry over our

transient physical counterparts – a material replica – sometimes a travesty, of our true Selves.

I have seen a divine girl in Spirit who had long chestnut hair and the most amazing blue robe – luminous royal blue. When I asked why this young girl – about fifteen – showed herself masked, descending into this world, I was told: “She represents the Abused Principle. Her coming is good for the virtuous – bad for the wicked.”

I expect many of us democrats worry about the coming of “Indigo children” – alleged to be from the stars. This suggests a detestable caste system: “I am high, sister.” “And I am higher than you…” Great will be the number of “Merlins,” “Archangel Michaels” and “Nefertitis”, I fear. We have enough of these already. True Avatars do not advertise!

I asked Spirit about this problem of the Almighty Ego, and like the answer. I was told that for every avatar there is a balancing human, which keeps the visitant in order! I was shown Leonardo da Vinci as the extraterrestrial, and Michelangelo, his human counterpart, well able for him – and also a genius in a human way. I was told to contrast Goethe, the visitant, and Beethoven, the human. As for women avatars, I was greatly entertained by the contrast between Florence Nightingale and General Miranda. Florence had her saintly image reflected spiritually over the sky as Lady of the Lamp. Even my grandmother was reverently christened “Florence.” But General Miranda is unknown to fame. She was a disguised woman, living at the same time as Florence. She joined the Medical Service of the British Army, as a man. Her work was remarkable. She did far more for wounded soldiers than ever Florence could accomplish. Her life, however, had no saintly distinction… On one fascinating occasion the two women met. In a rage, surely for good reason, the General was issuing a stream of hair-raising foul language, while Florence listened with disgust. “What an appalling creature,” she exclaimed. “And they say she is a WOMAN…” Who is she – he – really?”

Who indeed. This see-saw of balance of characters is designed by Providence to help us. Whenever someone comes into our life whom we detest as antagonistic, unpleasant, critical… We face our Judge! For who can judge us as truthfully as an enemy? We should give thanks. By the way, I wonder if Leonardo and Michelangelo ever make it up?

“As said the Goddess Ishtar, seeking her dead lover Tammuz:
'I shall awaken the Dead'.”

I wish to share a series of extraordinary happenings, all unexpected, that came to me from the 17th July to the 20th of August, this year. These did not involve high spiritual attainment, but involved the honouring of the forgotten dead, the rejected, the despised, and bringing them to life as our fellows, forgotten parts of our own selves. Time resolves into itself in the coils of a spiral. Like a clock-face with no hands, all our yesterdays are here, awaiting recognition. We may not grow without acknowledging our roots.

On the day of our Festival, the 17th July, I had only a vague idea of what to do. I had no idea why I had chosen the 17th, as a date in August would have been more suitable. It was only some weeks later I learnt that this date in the Mayan calendar is marked Consciousness Convergence, following the earlier Planetary Convergence. The movement from the old to the new world thus was to begin then, gaining in strength before the Galactic Convergence in 2012.

What came to me for our Rite was to recreate the awakening of Osiris by Isis, as at Opet on the 23rd, for our needs. Why not awaken Angus Og, our Gaelic God of Love and Joy?

My intention was for every single participant in our ceremony to have a voice. Each would be asked to explain why they wished to revive the God of Love and Joy! We accept the opposition, so there was to be an enforcer of Law and Order, whose role was to blindfold the God, to prevent his receiving or giving any new ideas of any sort! In all my adventures I noticed that the chosen place used was a part of the experience. Unexpectedly we rededicated our old Abbey ruin as Priory of the Noble Order of Tara; and a Grand Knight Commander undertook the role of Angus. What really happened was that the descent of the God brought by the Goddess Tara was experienced by the Knight, and enjoyed by those present. They had voiced their genuine need for Him, including the end of institutional abuse of children. The God was needed. His presence was felt.

I was much struck by all this, but thought it was over. Through Tara and Angus we had brought hope and help to so many from spirit world, who had died in Ireland unwanted, rejected by society. The Goddesses and Gods of their ancestors were alive. Angus had been awakened by a Priestess representing the Goddess Tara of the Tuatha De Danaan, Star of all sacred mounds and hills.

But a more amazing happening began in London, when, on the morning of 22nd July, my hostess Caroline said: “It’s suddenly happened! We’re going to the Boot and Flogger Pub in the east end to visit the Crossbones Cemetery.” She explained that the Diocese of Southwark has within it the foundations of a great Isis Temple, on the banks of the Isis River – now called the Thames.

On our journey by underground to the East End, with her husband Michael, she explained further. “A brilliant poet and actor has saved the graveyard from destruction by the railway. The cemetery was used for the bodies of ‘Winchester Geese’ – prostitutes, paupers, unbaptized babies and suicides - who were dumped there in unconsecrated ground. It was only closed down in 1853. John is holding a ceremony honouring Isis Magdalene, at Opet – we are to bring ribbons to tie on the great iron gates”. To her consternation – she suddenly realised we had come a day too early! But 22nd July was Mary Magdalene’s feast day, so we would do our own rite then.

To enter the territory of Shakespeare – to pass Little Dorrit cottages and Quilp Road was to enter Dickens’ London. The gates themselves – elaborate ironwork – had pathetic ribbons and other items, including a doll, tied to them. They were marked “Mary Jones, infant three months” – “John Billings – waterman” and so forth. For a child who died unbaptized, or other people, who like prostitutes had been rejected by the church – here was their resting place, a rubbish pit!

I felt enthusiastic on their behalf. I conducted a ceremony as Priestess of Isis, re-consecrating the ground in Her Name – the Divine Isis, Magdalene, Mother Mary – what name you choose. I shook the sistrum… Unexpectedly, John passed by and joined us. Fortunately Caroline’s camera just held out with a waning battery. This would be for the computer Web. But I knew that the inner spiritual Web was alive, with so many spirits wishing to join us! Awaken yourself and you help others to awaken.

We continued the process we had begun in Caroline’s temple garden with the Wakening of Merlin by the Goddess Elen, as he promised to restore forests. But the strangest awakening took place in Richmond, on the following Sunday, when my niece Cressida and her husband Bob, helped to launch the model Ship of Isis upstream in the Thames (Isis). In full mummers’ guise they honoured all those who had been transported across the sea to Australia. To interested bystanders they sang a folk song of an emigrant who sang that he would miss his country less than his comrades and his beloved sweetheart Polly.

Standing with my niece near a Long Barrow in Winchcombe, Gloucestershire, we had a ceremony on the 26th in which we apologised to annoyed former Neolithic spirit residents, who strongly objected to an archaeologist, who had taken away bits of their home and their bones. We apologised and they appeared to wish to join our adventure. They insisted we crouch in one of their burial chambers along with its former residents. It was a friendly, cosy gathering.

At the Goddess Conference in Glastonbury, in a hall with a few hundred people, I broke the dreadful news! The God of Love Himself had been caught up in his own computer…He had been micro-chipped. Our Irish Priest, Stephen gave a harrowing account of his suffering as a computer head. But rescue was at hand – Julie as Venus brought Him to life and we all processed round the hall to the drumbeats of our chant: “Love is the Heartbeat of the Universe!”

The culminating happening for FOI members was at our gathering on the 2nd of August, to Awaken the Archangel Michael, sent to a death sleep by “The Dogmatic Enforcer of structured religion.” A strange transformation took place. As our priest awakened as the reborn Archangel, he changed dramatically. He gave an Oracle. Michael explained that we should not kill. He had never killed any dragons. His Sword of Life was a beam of Divine Energy, awakening the Dragon of the Earth Herself, Lilith.

I had thought that this string of happenings had ended on my return to Ireland. But on the 20th of August, the same pattern followed – again totally unexpectedly. I had chosen the date – the 20th of August – for some of our members to visit a group of Druids – requesting a ceremony in honour of the Goddess Dana, Mother of All, and Lugh, Gaelic God of Light. I shall not tell where, as the land contains a vortex. There were castle and church ruins, and a medieval graveyard. I had surely been guided to invoke Dana, for She came, amidst birdsong and the scent of wild flowers.

When She came to me in 1952 She brought a pure happiness that is unlike any other. Our Hostess, a Druid, felt this happiness to be above all others in her life. But those who suffer were not forgotten. For Dana awakened Her divine Son Lugh with His Light. One of our members of the Druid Clan of Dana has a gift for soul rescue work. At the end of our visit she became aware of all those souls entrapped in the past of those towering, formidable ruins. She was able to lead them into Divine Light. So be it with us all.


I have never been able to understand why many people refuse to believe in Universal Salvation.  Not only do we have racial and social segregation, but we limit Heaven in a belief system which condemns dissidents to eternal torture in Hell.  Very good people fall for this.  There was the Lady Warden of my high-church Anglican school who told us that unbaptized children could not go to heaven.  This was particularly unfortunate, as we Protestants did not believe in purgatory.  It was heaven or hell.  You could do nothing to improve matters once you were dead.  It was unbelievably cruel.  But I did realise that people were not cruel.  They reminded me of the home-life of the meerkats of the Kalahari Desert, so lovingly and scientifically monitored and filmed by the Cambridge Team.  A mother meerkat naturally killed all her sisters’ cubs for some biological benefit.  This was Nature.

I remember a very kind young American woman, mother of two, really upset by my strange ideas.  “Olivia,” she said, “It’s all very well you saying everybody will be saved.  But think of Saint Francis, he was a lovely man – giving away all that money to the poor.  You say Hitler could get into heaven somehow.  Well even if they let him into heaven after thousands of years, don’t you think Saint Francis would be a little hurt?  After all, where would be his reward?”

Life is restricted by segregation, usually petty and snobbish.  My father was deemed unworthy to marry my mother because he was only an architect.  As my mother’s relations would say sneeringly, “When we have anything wrong with the drains, we will send for dear Manning.”

The social rules that limit us are illustrated by the behaviour of my Great Grandmother, early in the 19th Century.  As wife of a mere physician, Doctor Robert Graves, she was not received at the Viceregal Court in Dublin Castle, to which she felt she was entitled.  Her Grandfather, Cornelius Grogan, had given the family Johnstown Castle to be the first Irish Senate of a new Republic during the 1798 Rising.  The Senate lasted one day.  He was duly hanged by the British and lost his castle.  So his descendant scraped up the money to buy the haunted Rathfarnham Castle which gave her the social status to get into the Viceregal Court. It was a curious Irish come-back which she felt was her right.  She was the only Doctor’s wife to get to be received in Dublin Castle at that time.

My own attitude – of one born in 1917 – was very much the same as my generation.  We accused our elders of being Victorian.  We admired Mahatma Gandhi.  During the war, though many of us were pacifists, we hero-worshipped the women in the French Resistance. Our socialist, humane, practical world was scripted by Bernard Shaw, H.G. Wells and George Orwell.  It had one disadvantage.  We had to die.  We had no God, no angels, no heaven, no immortal souls.  The paranormal was taboo.  We were bereft of Divinity.

The first wave of a new spiritual renaissance occurred just after the war.  Again I thought I was alone.  When I awakened into multi-dimensional consciousness I was alone. Except of course for strange Beings with bodies of Light and heavenly minds.  I was made to feel totally deluded.  I was just having hallucinations.

Then I was joined by my brother, then an orthodox Rector of the Church of England.  Then by his wife, of Quaker stock.  I remember the three of us meditating in the Castle library in 1963.  I said: “We will never be alone again.”

We met followers of Spiritualism, Occult Orders, historic groupings, claiming teachings from Ancient Egypt, Hinduism, and the Tao.  We started the Huntington Castle Centre for Meditation and Study.

Then in the sixties came the second wave – the Flower People.  These did not all take drugs, though this was given as a medical reason for the spiritual experiences.

There followed an outburst of religious extremism, leading to some groups that committed group suicide.  These were later joined by enthusiasts who not only were willing to kill themselves, but felt it would be of benefit for their faith if they brought the opposition with them to the next world, themselves to Heaven, their enemies to hell.

Our own idealistic New Agers began also to develop paranoid obsessions.  Many kept their equilibrium, but others became a prey to monstrous conspiracy theories that reminded me of the persecution of the Jews in the last century.

Why do we need enemies?  The answer is obvious.  We have them.  But as every person alive has a different enemy, there does not seem much of a future for the human race.  So the idea would be for us not have any enemies.  Through spiritual alchemy we may learn to transmute our enemies – heretics, evil-doers, war-mongers, into their own true selves. And we can only do this miracle if we know what their True Selves are.  And we don’t know.

There are two sources of Divine Information as to this mystery.  The Divine Beings who have Love, Beauty and Truth may help us through inspiration.  But this only works if we accept this influx.  Our free will is essential. Otherwise we are robots.  Divine Inspiration may be represented by a great V, an inverted triangle. “As Above, so Below.”

Another way is that of hard moral work on the material plane. This is our evolutionary path.  “As Below, so Above.”  The emblem is an up-pointed triangle.  When these two triangles join at their tips, they produce a diamond to the degree of 1.618, the Golden Mean.  Here we have the Diamond of Perfection:  Divine Union of idealism and the mundane; the Above and the Below; Love and Truth; mind and heart.  So I sketched in this Diamond of Harmony to make it actual for me.  This is the land, I thought, of our life’s destination – and our home.  We are living where we need to be.  We are at Journey’s End – at the beginning and the end.  Names came to me: Heaven, Valhalla, Paradise, Tir na nOg, Korean Magoland, Shangri-La, Brocieland, The Isle of Cytherea: for each of us our own Land of Heart’s Desire…

Poussin entitled his famous painting of Rennes-le-Chateau as “I also have lived in Arcadia.”  Why not?  Optimists have given Romantic place-names to their homes.  Alas, now these are called a string of numbers put on a mail-box.  I was in Arizona when the idea came to me that we should live in our own idyllic land.  I was sitting at the time in “Utopia”.  My hostess Stephanie assured me that really was the name. Our friend John Michael said his place had been called “Avalon in Paradise Valley”.

The idea took life.  Added to mailing numbers, I found we had friends living in “Grenadine Peak,” “Two Ravens” and “Forever Land.”  After all, a bus goes to “Eureka”, and I have travelled in a street-car called “Desire.” Join us as Arcadians!  No subscription, no forms, no rules, no certificates, no numbers.  Just be yourself.

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