Another Turn Of The Wheel
By Miguel Serrano
This is a section taken from the chapter Another Turn of the Wheel, by Miguel Serrano, found in Nos: The Book of Resurrection.
I had to wait many years before I was accepted by the guides who control us from the Ray of Green Light, and the Master decided to initiate me.
I was summoned to the Circular Room of Glass, which had been built in the south as a copy of the first home. The warriors were all there, dreS$ed in black and carrying their swords. I, too, carried mine.
The great Sign of Return, which revolves in the opposite direction to the turning of this present earth, was suspended from the vaulted roof. A fire burned in the centre of the room. I drew my sword and passed it to the Master .
‘You must stand,’ he told me. ‘No one kneels in our company.’ The others formed a circle around us. The Master passed my sword over the flames.
‘There are two swords. One day you will be the Warrior of the Two Swords, when you regain the faculty of conversing with the animals and plants, which is the language of A valon, spoken in the City of the Caesars. You will be the Warrior of the Two Worlds, the inner and outer. There is only one sword, but it has two edges, llke a double-headed eagle. It is the Sword of the Two Consciousnesses, of the awakening.’
The Master drew a sign on the blade of the sword and handed it back to me. The warriors pointed their swords at my heart. Then they raised them towards the Emblem of Return.
‘The Circle is called Huilkanota. You are now an Ancahuinca, a warrior serving the White Gods of Albania. Now you can never turn back. Whosoever sets foot here can never go back. He must go ever onward, across burning deserts and icy plateaux, suffering thirst, half-frozen, alone, without human comfort, without the warm embrace of a living woman, usque ad mortem, until one day he reaches the diamond-encrusted walls of the City of Dawn, its drawbridge, its hidden entrance. By his constant courage in battle, by his “fury” alone, he will have gained the right to resurrection and eternal life. But whosoever sets foot upon this path which leads to the great beyond may not go forward ifhe ever has the intention of turning back. He who has attained the human state and doesn’t try to go beyond it is like a man who commits suicide.’ And the Master gave me the first sign in our initiation: ‘The sign is the language of Atlantis-Hyperborea. When you trace it over your heart, it affects the two heads of the double-headed eagle and instantly reaches the Two Earths and all your bodies, reactivating them. It is your defence and paralyses those who are opposed to your myth, opposing Nos, like a counter-initiation, an anti-spirit.
Other signs will be given to you, either by me personally or by the guides, as they become necessary to the glory of your fight, on the dangerous road which you will be following. May the Norns be propitious to you! May the immortals give you their blessing! Go, se’ek! And never return.Leap!’
THE SEARCH ONCE AGAIN
Since that day I have travelled the world from end to end, searching, consulting, looking deep into the eyes of every pilgrim I meet to see whether he is one of my comrades, to receive some sign or indication that would help me find the path that leads to the gates of the City of Dawn.
At first, I allowed myself to be dragged along by the current that flows ever farther towards the south. I penetrated its borders, where Pedro Sarmiento de Gamboa tasted the bitter fruit of return, called Calafate (l). In the Sarmiento Mountains, by Lake Nahuel Huapi, I searched for the City of the Caesars. And one day I found myself at a great altitude, near the peak of Melimoyu. Without knowing why, I burst into tears beside a small lake and a rock which stood on a plateau, near a forest of petrified conifers. It was with great difficulty that I came down from there, as if half of m y soul lay dead in that place.
And I continued my search until I reached the icy wastes of the Antarctic, guided by a golden-haired dog, always with the hope of seeing the oasis which was the entrance to the Interior World, the Hollow Earth, the refuge of our guides, appear in the thick mist. And in the expectation of their resurrection.
I don’t know what happened to my golden-haired dog, or whether I lost it in this turn of the wheel or another, whether it fell into a bottomless Antarctic abyss, or whether it was devoured by the ferocious skuas, those Antarctic seagulls which flew ever closer to its Golden Fleece.
I have said that I travelled to all the ends of the earth. And thus it was. I crossed the great Ocean which eats away at our coasts, in the knowledge that the temples, palaces and golden ghosts of Gondwana and Mu, the decomposing skeletons of the men of Lemuria, their treasures, their immense submerged powers, their cosmogonic dreams, still lie in its depths. And one day I reached the Other Spine of the Earth, the Himalayas, because I thought to find the City of Agharti and the Masters of my Master there. I lived in India for many years, searching the holy mountains for the Siddha-Ashram. The Master had to1d me that its entrance was to be found on the sacred Mount Kailas, in the Transhimalayas, above the rainline, near Lake Manasarovar. I was on the point of reaching it. But I was prevented from doing so by the other races who had taken control of those regions and who were opposed to our myth, forcing Kaliyuga towards its nadir, to the new kingdom of the ants, to a planet of lead. Only the judgment of the Noms can save our Myth of Resurrection and Eternal Love. And the sword called ‘Blood Memory’. And the Disc of Green Light and the return of the White Gods.
CARL GUSTAV JUNG
On my return to the west, in that European world which is not like the South American one, and which after the Thirty Years War and the latest war of the Mahabharata has become like a body without a soul, I discovered that a noble White Spirit had left Europe for ever . I was told that the Grail had been taken by Parsifal to Albania, the ancient name for America, in a Templars’ ship with a fiery cross on its sail which revolved in the direction of return, towards the oases of the South Pole. In Switzerland, beside a lake, in a tower built by his own hands and whose construction had been determined by his dreams, I met the Master of the Sphinx once more. He was carving a serpent on a rock, while the waters of the lake lapped gently round his feet. He saw me arrive, exhausted, thirsty and hungry, and invited me inside the tower to rest beside the fire while he prepared a meal for me.
He offered me wine in a metal jug and we talked all that night and the following day. I shall try and reproduce what he told me. ‘Like you, I have lost the war. When I have left this life, a conspiracy will take place against me. It has always been so, because only poets will be able to understand me and continue my work. Sometimes I think that my fellow countrymen, in this tiny land in which I am living in this turn of the wheel, hate me, because I endanger their materialist, money-orientated way of life. I am not from this world. I am a Hyperborean. Like you, I am a stranger in this world, in this land inhabited by the “slaves of Atlantis”. We lost this stage of the war of the Mahabharata. Because of this, my work f/ill remain unfinished and only poets, as I have said, will be able to understand it and carry it on. This homeland of mine, which was once druidic, has remained a part of a Celtic confederation whose symbol is a clover with four leaves, because it lacks the fifth leaf which is the Hyperborean polar spirit, the leaf of the number of destiny. It lost it, or it never had it. At least your homeland is the land of the Morning Star…
‘But you are to blame, ‘I broke in. ‘Why didn’t you risk your all?
You were also a son of your mountainous country, lacking in sacred fury.’
‘I would have lost the little that I had salvaged in the battle. And now it will be the sons of my own flesh who will take part in the destruction of my work. A creator, a warrior, should not have children. …’
‘That is true, ‘I agreed.
He poured out the wine. He put some large pots and the old metal frying pan into the cupboard. He greeted them and thanked them, talking to them as if they could understand him. After an almost religious silence, he looked at me fixedly: ‘Well, pilgrim, you have eaten and drunk. Do you wish to rest or would you rather open your heart to me now, as you did long ago, when you were a king standing beside the Sphinx?’
‘I will talk to you, ‘I replied. ‘That is why I have come. Only you can answer me.’
‘I have been asking myself the same question for an entire eternity, without obtaining an answer. Is there any reason to believe that anything survives death? The “ego”, for example? Can it die? If the “ego” dies, everything comes to an end with it. One day you explained to me that if the “ego” didn’t exist, there would be no world. If a yogi, for example, had stripped himself of his “ego” in his profoundest state of samadhi, there would be no one there to know that he had been in samadhi. Or perhaps he didn’t know that he was in samadhi? Because there is individuality without ego-consciousness; it exists even in a flower, a stone. ” A stone is a stone because it has no ego-consciousness, ” said Meister Eckhart.
Without consciousness, without “ego”, there can be no individuation. There is persona but not personality. And the “ego”, this “ego” I feel myself to be, that only I am, how can it die? If it dies, the world comes to an end, because how can “I” know that it will go on without “me”, when “I” die? Only because people tell me so, because someone assures me it is so, while I am still here. I learn that the world goes on after me. And it is “I” who hears it, always “I”. Ah, but if I really do die, then everything comes to an end, even the world. And I cannot escape from this. There is no possible way out for my “ego”. I can only think and feel the following: when I disappear, if ever I do disappear, someone in eternity will again feel himself to be “me”, exactly as I do now. And this “I”, who feels like this, will be “I” myself, just as if nothing had ceased to exist; because in the immense interval, after a whole eternity, if there is no “I” -this “I” -there is no consciousness, so that time also comes to an end. A moment, a sigh, a nothing. The disappearance and resurrection of the world. The sleep, the repose of the Gods. The Eternal Return.
‘I have come here to consult you, to talk to you, to think with you. How can I know that you really exist, that you are also “I”, that you feel yourself to be an “I”, “your-I”? Only because I hear you tell me so. And it could well be a projection of myself or a splitting of myself in two, like all the rest, words that I am saying to myself, questions and answers that I am putting to myself, a monologue in front of a mirror in which I am looking at myself. At the end of his dramatic life, Nietzsche also had discovered this – so they tell me – and he became all people in one, at one and the same time, succeeding in escaping from the circle into madness. But did he really escape?’
He passed his old hands across his forehead.
‘This has been my obsessive melody, too. The anguish of this mental brick wall, this narrow path which seems to leave us without a way out. Without an answer. Because, truly, there is none. You know? There is none! The only thing I can confirm to you is that I, too, feel myself to be “me”. A poor answer. Because you don’t believe me, you cannot possibly believe me. From your point of view, only “you” feel yourself to be “me”. This is how it is for you, even when I can assure you that it is the same for me, too. With your “me”, you will never be able to understand it. Separate for ever. There is no way out of this, no answer. That is to say, the answer is: there is no way out, no answer. The way does not lie in renunciation of the “ego”, “crucifixion of the ego”, but in its supreme affirmation, combining it with an entelechy, with the Persona which existed before the “ego” and which felt itself to be so old, so ancient, so filled with dignity. Combining them in the Absolute Personality.’
‘What is the “ego”? Where was it before it entered a child’s body?’ I asked.
He answered me with other questions: ‘Perhaps it was the “guardian angel” which the child later loses, when the “ego” enters his body? Or perhaps the “guardian angel” is that wise man, who goes away when the “ego” enters the child’s body and waits for “your” return? What is this “you”? Is there, perhaps, a “third”? Or is the “ego” a point, a fold in the mantle of the persona, of the Monad, of which only a tiny part can enter a body made of dense matter? Have you ever considered the possibility that the technocrats of the science of Kaliyuga managed to give an “ego” to their electronic brains, their robots, merely by moving a lever? Mightn’t something similar have happened in the case of the human being?
Will the “ego” survive when the robot is destroyed? Will the same “ego” be reproduced in other machines? This horrifying possibility is for me a further proof that consciousness is an archetype which forges a path through the universes, seeking to give itself a shape, and that it uses the human being in the same way as it would use the machine. …I have never managed to say this openly: That the “ego” is an Archetype. , ‘I understand, ‘ I said. ‘They are only words, I know. New receptacles for an old wine.
Let us return to the point from which we have strayed: combining the “ego” and the persona. There lies the gate through which one can enter and leave Ultima Thule. I have called it Individuation. Combining the “ego” with the Self. Changing the accent of individuality, moving it from the rational consciousness closer to the Ocean of the Unconscious, without ceasing to be conscious but with a different type of consciousness, bringing light as far as possible into the darkness, moving from the Yellow Sun of rational consciousness to the Black Sun of Individuation. And the centre that appears there, which is created, invented, to which the accent of individuality has now moved, is the Self, a circle whose circumference is everywhere and whose centre is nowhere. And which emits a Ray of Green Light. The light of Gnosis. Meister Eckhart’s “tiny spark” which navigates in a ghost ship on and beneath the surface of the Sea of the Unconscious, with all its lights on. The fulfilment of the totality of a being, the unus mundus. This is Individuation. Giving a face to the Self, to the “Guardian Angel”, the Monad, making the Creator conscious. …And do you know where I found the concept of the SelfI used in order to allude to this mystery? In the greatest psychologist of all time: in Nietzsche, your “Wounded King”, who was the first to discover it, using the German word Selbst.’
‘What is the Self?’ I asked.
‘It is an island of glass lost in the middle of the Ocean, a city hidden in the depths of a mountain, an oasis of warm water in the midst of the ices, it is the Continent of the Golden Age, a castle surrounded by flames, in which the Beloved lies asleep. …Yes, because once there was a King, a Queen, a Sleeping Beauty in a Wood, an Eternal Love. …Only poets will be able to understand me. …
‘Eros was united with his Beloved inside the Great Orphic, Cosmic Egg: Phanes, Erika Paios. Eros unites, but Phobos, fear, hatred (nothing is closer to love than hatred) disunites, leads to separation, breaks the Cosmic Egg. So as to acquire consciousness, individuality, so as to be able one day to give a face to the Cosmic Egg.
‘Complete fusion – losing oneself in one’s opposite, in the loved one, in an effort to return to the original Androgynous – is not a good thing. It goes against Individuation, the immortality of the persona and resurrection, which is differentiation, the individuation of both partners, so that he and she can come together again separated but, in another way, united for ever. Resurrected. ‘If you have the great good fortune to meet your beloved again, the her ofhim, in one of the turns of your wheel, don’t make the mistake of marrying her. You would both be destroyed. What you must do is help her to die outside you. Love her as if you were committing a crime. The beloved must die in order to return to life as an immortal, placing her eternity in your hands. This is the true Her, who leads the warrior to heaven, who is not all illusion, who does not drag him down into hell, profaning him, castrating his magic virility, turning man into woman. She is not the devouring mother, the widow who is not the Widow, because §he does not resign herself to her widowhood and so castrates her son. Parsifal and” Alexander had to employ Phobos (Hatred) in order to escape from the Great Mother, the little widow, so as to achieve the Grail, the Stone of Change, which the Greeks called Xoanon. Totality.
‘Das ewig Weibliche zieht uns hinan,’ as Goethe said. “The Eternal Feminine leads us to heaven. ” Because the impulse which drives you to fulfil the ultimate mystery, which I have called Individuation, projecting the “ego” into the Persona, into the Monad, into the Self, giving a face to the Gods, “lighting the darkness of the Creator”, is none other than love. Only love can make you cross the deep chasm, the drawbridge that separates your “ego” from the castle in which your beloved lies asleep, jumping into the abyss. It is in effect a change, a miracle. It is a Non-Existent Flower: the Self. Fall into this flower and you will find the face of your Beloved there. This love, this impulse, is an icy, red-green fire, which consumes everything and projects you to heaven, loving beyond life and death, for all eternity. This love makes you immortal. This face, this Fire of Love, which the troubadours and Minnesanger called Woevre Saelde, Isolde, I have called Anima in the man and Animus in the woman.
‘It has been said that the man who loves God needs seven incarnations in order to enter Nirvana and liberate himself, and that the man who hates him needs only three. it is without God but with his own “fury” that Parsifal achieved the Grail and his individuation, his Self, his totality. This is the difference between the Liquid Road and the Dry Road. We do not know whether, as well as his “fury”, his Phobos, his fear of the Mother, Parsifal carried with him a “memory of a beloved”, as he was supposed to have advised his friend Gawaine to do. Parsifal, with his “fury”, or his hatred, was resisting a participation mystique. Samadhi, fusion with Adhi, the Primordial Being, doesn’t await him at the end of his road. Because this would be the way of sainthood. What awaits him is Kaivalya, total separation, supreme individuation, Absolute Personality, the ultimate solitude of the Superman. This is the way of the magician, the Siddha, the tantric hero of the Grail. The cosmic isolation of the risen Purusha.
‘The mystery of the Grail has preoccupied and moved me deeply since my youth. For this very reason, i did not wish to touch it but passed it by op tiptoe, because i had a presentiment that this was something sacred that should not be “psychologised”. Unfortunately, i am not sure that others may not do so in my name after I have gone. …’
‘I am surprised to hear you use the word “psychologise”. Having stopped in midstream, out of a desire to preserve the “scientific” nature of your school at all costs, having enveloped your profoundest experiences in the language that was in vogue at the time, so as to escape the accusation of mysticism and magic, you nevertheless find yourself laid open to the accusation of “psychologising” traditional and sacred knowledge, such as alchemy, astrology, hermeticism and even the I Ching. Having done so, you have gained nothing, because your enemies will always accuse you of mystic ambiguities and of being a gnostic follower of Meister Eckhart.’
‘I know. This is why I have said that only poets will understand me. Because, somehow, I have handed over the “cipher”. I, too, like the troubadours ofOccitania and the Minnesanger, have sung in code, in cipher. For example, haven’t I said that Archetypes are psychoid? That is to say that, transcending the human psyche, they are beyond or before it. What difference, then, from the Gods of Greece and India and of the ancient Germans? And my two or more Collective Unconsciousnesses, incompatible between themselves? Isn’t this the “Blood Memory”, the Minne of the German troubadours, who sang of the memory of a Love lost at the beginning of time? What difference between this and the “Race Spirit” of which the occultists speak? Without doubt, I could have gone much further, had I, too, not lost the war. I could have linked my concept of the Collective Unconsciousnesses with the mysterious Tibetan doctrine of the Tulku and the Hindu-Buddhist doctrine of the Bodhisattva. A Tulku never says “I” but “we” when referring to himself. He is a Race Spirit embodied in an entire people. He possesses all his “I” while also being conscious in various parallel planes or times of existence. He is ubiquitous. Thus we link up with the theme of “I”, which you raised, and with Nietzsche’s conclusion, which is no longer one, but all. … Hinduism’s Sam sara is also my Collective Unconscious, the River of Sam sara, of those archetypal forms: Maya, for the Hindus, Illusion. And in the midst of all this is the Self, like an ideal centre, situated in no particular place in the immense Ocean, like a Non-Existent Flower.
‘In the west, there was once a way of individual initiation into love: the mystery of the Grail, of its Esoteric Order ofKnights and the hermeticism of the German and Provenial troubadours and of the Fedele d’Amore in northern Italy. The troubadours’ esotericism became a sort of Platonism, or an alchemical Tantrism of the Left Hand. It possessed a ritual and an initiation by degrees, which went from the choice of the initiate by the “glance” of the Lady of the Castle – Beatrice, in the case of Dante -to the giving of a protective ring, a girdle (Brunnhilde’s Girdle in the Nibelungenlied), a handkerchief or a glove. The initiate has been accepted. He is the Tantric Sadhaka. He then passes into the degrees of Fenhedor, “Suitor”; Precador, “Implorer”; “Bound Man” and Drut, he who has exchanged hearts, the betrothed – Rebis, the androgynous of the alchemists – he who has surmounted the ultimate test of Asag, uniting with his lady only in the mind; or rather, in the Maithuna, the mystical Tantric coitus. The Mysterium Coniunctionis. From there he should achieve resurrection, the state of definite separation, Individuation in the Absolute Personality, purushic, kaivalic, of which we have already spoken. With the face of the Beloved in his soul. In alchemy, the equivalent states are Nigredo, Albedo (from which come the names Albania, Albion, Albi) and Rubedo, resurrection in the red immortal energy-matter of Vajra. The Soror Mystica, the woman who is always at the side of the alchemist, is the Amasia Uxor, the magic bride of the troubadours’ love esotericism. And she is the Yogini and Parastri, the initiated bride of Tantrism.
‘This miraculous Hyperborean initiation comes from a great distance, from the original polar continent, where the remale magicians, the priestesses of magic love, Morgana and Allouine, appeared. And also the women who, in the legend of the Grail, healed the wounded warrior and the Sick King. This mystery comes to us from an unfathomable distance. In the west, it was destroyed with the Cathars and the Templars, with the Minnesanger and the Fedele d’ Amore, with the troubadours of the Languedoc, in the eternal war with the enemies of the divine myth. What had been a private, unique, aristocratic initiation has become vulgarised in the exotericism of the Church of Rome, which has taken possession of its symbols and adulterated them. The Gnostic Lady, Sophia, Woevre Saelde, the feminine Holy Spirit, Parakletos, the Dove, has been popularised as the Virgin Mary; the Exchange of Hearts, which is in reality the awakening of the Anahata chakra, has been externalised in the cult of the heart of Jesus. The crown of thorns and the rosary have replaced the Templars’ alchemical rose of a thousand petals, the Sahasrara chakra, at the summit of the invisible skull. It is the assassination of the sacred way of Kundalini, of the Tantric road of the chakras. A hermetic initiation of solar love has been adulterated by an exoteric, lunar religion, by an anthropomorphic, exclusively materialistic cult.
‘The initiation of “loveless love” has been destroyed, and man has gone over to the diffusion of a physical, matriarchal love, centred purely on the physical body of the woman, in which the externalised Eve triumphs, desecrating the warrior, imposing her female urgency and her “Demetrian” fever for procreation. Love has become human, all too human. The “loveless love” of the warrior, of the troubadour, is the mystery of the Grail. The love of the unresurrected woman and man is the Church of Rome, lunar Christianity. The initiatory poem has deteriorated into the novel, the popular literature and the unhealthy sexualism of our day.
‘When we talk about the religion of love of the troubadours, of the initiated knights of the Grail, of the true Rosicrucians, we must try to discover what lies behind their language. In those days, love did not mean the same thing as it does in our day. The word Amor (Love) was a cipher, it was a code word. Amor spelt backwards is Roma. That is, the word indicated, in the way in which it was written, the opposite to Roma, to all that Rome represented. Also, Amor broke down into “a” and “mor”, meaning Without-Death.
That is, to become immortal, eternal, thanks to the way of initiation of A-Mor. A way of initiation totally opposed to the way of Rome. An esoteric, solar Kristianity. The Gnostic Kristianity of Meister Eckhart. And mine. Because I have tried to teach western man to resurrect Kristos in his soul. Because Kristos is the Self for western man.
‘This is why Roma destroyed Amor, the Cathars, the Templars, the Lords of the Grail, the Minnesanger, everything which may have originated in the “Hyperborean Blood Memory” and which may have had a polar, solar origin.
‘The love talked and written about so much in novels, poetry and magazines, the love of one’s neighbour, the universal love of the churches, love of humanity, has nothing whatsoever to do with “loveless love” (A-Mor, Without-Death), which is a harsh disciplirie, as cold as ice, as cutting as a sword, and which aspires to overcome the human condition in order to reach the Kingdom of the Immortals, Ultima Thule.
‘The earth is alive, and it feels with you. It follows your footsteps, your search, with equal anxiety, because it will be transfigured in your triumph. The end of Kaliyuga and the entry into a new Golden Age depend on the results of your war. The earth by itself cannot finish the work that Nature leaves incomplete. Today the earth has joined forces with man in his destructive passion. The great catastrophe will occur in the first years of the Age of Aquarius. But if you can find the entrance to the Invisible Double of this earth, fulfilling the mystery of “loveless A-Mor”, the volcanoes will become calm, the earthquake will cease and the catastrophe will be avoided.
‘There is an essential “synchronicity” between the soul and the landscape. What you achieve in yourself will have repercussions in even the remotest corner of the universe, like the ringing of a bell which announces a triumph or a defeat, producing irreversible effects in a secret centre where Destiny acts. The Archetype is indivisible and, if you once confront it in an essential manner, the effects are universal and valid for all eternity. The old Chinese saying expresses it well: “If a man, sitting in his room, thinks the right thoughts, he will be heard thousands of leagues away. ” And the alchemical saying, too: “It doesn’t matter how alone you are. If you do true work, unknown friends will come to your aid.’
‘What I have called “synchronicity”, Nietzsche called “lucky occurrences filled with meaning”. It becomes a poetic dialogue, a concerto for two violins, between the man-magician and Nature. The world presents you with a “lucky occurrence filled with meaning”, it hands you a subtle, almost secret message, something which happens without apparent reason, a-causal, but which you feel is full of meaning. This being exactly what the world is looking for, that you should extract that meaning from it, which you alone are capable of seeing, because it “synchronises”, it fully coincides with your immediate state of mind, with an event in your life, so that it is able to transform itself, with your assistance, into legend and destiny. A lucky occurrence which transformed itself into Destiny. And once you have achieved this, everything will appear to become the same as before, as if nothing had happened. Nevertheless, everything has changed fundamentally and for all time, although the only ones to know it will be you and the earth – which is now your earth, your world, since it has given itself up to you so that you can make it fruitful. “The earth has made itself invisible inside you”, as Rilke would say, it has become an individualised universe inside you. And although perhaps nothing may have changed, “it might seem as if it were so, it might seem as if it were so”, to use your own words. And you will be a creative God of the world; because you have conceived a Non-Existent Flower. You have given a meaning to your flower.’