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S.C.M.M :V: The Crypt of the Self

And so the court swells with power. 

Brimming with energy; ignited by the fires of ancient archetypes. Like a forge of the Gods you will see your kingdom grow ever outward if you heed the words of your council, and understand that it takes more than one man to rule a truly great, and just kingdom. 

The Wolfhead King moves ever closer towards his goals, and sees the horizon expand in front of his holdfast. 

Yet for the time being his duty does not reside on the horizon. His future is his destiny, yet his future relies on the present, and the present must sometimes look to the past for the strength needed to unlock destiny. 

Fate is not a linear beast, and requires much more than a simple PAST>PRESENT>FUTURE equation. These properties double back, contradict, twist and writhe, and continue to hide from the hero until he is scorched and contorted beyond any discernible guess of the imagination. 

“Hooded, and veiled with their night-like tresses, The Fates shall bring what no prophet guesses.”

So often does the hero, or his predecessor become plagued by the past. “Why do you fear the past? You are Isildur’s heir, not Isildur himself. You are not bound to his fate.” says Arwen to Aragorn. “That same blood flows through my veins” he retorts back in a concerned and defeated tone. 

Even Gods fear what the future might hold, and so Odin All-father frantically searches for the answers, and understands that fate is not a fixed entity, but a river that flows dependent on the contour of its surroundings. 

Do not fear the past nor the ghosts that lurk in the dark corners of your realm.

It is within the swarth of the Wolfhead’s keep that he will find these crypts. Step by step he must move towards the unlight of the silent realm of yesteryears. 

The crypt of the self houses many effigies still dimly lit. They stand guard over memory, and those that brought you to where you now stand.

Who were you once? Within one great man is the spirit and memories of many men he once was or wished to become. 

Those that once were -gone now they might be- deserve the King’s respect. They built what he now has.

:I am the Spear that guides the way:

:The Edge of GAR that does not sway:

Not only are you the sharpened point of all your ancestors, but you are the spearhead of the staff that has been honed by every version of yourself since birth. 

Who amongst us can say they are the same man they once were. Who amongst us is so bold to persuade other men that they have never learned from the death of some part of themselves?

Still, this is not enough. We must embrace the spirits that once were. We must look to the stone effigies within the crypt of the self. We must look into their cold lifeless eyes as the candles shudder and the halls exhale a cold wind from the outer realm. It is here we must bow our heads and remember what was.

For it is because of what was that all now is. For better or for worse, we owe those ghosts our time, and company. This is the truest council. This is the shadow court, where no archetypes but you might find the purest of refuge. 

No laws are made down there. No new ties to powerful allies can be found in the crypt of the self. Its truest bounty is the lesson of death and the promise of progression. The flowering cycle that all things are bound to. 

In order for a Hero King to exist there must be the fallen. The road to the throne is cobbled by corpses and failures that span out for miles across the desolation. We must honor them for what they achieved before we rose from their ashes tenfold. We are who they meant to become. And become they did.

Crypts have always been a temple to memory. But there is no need for us to differentiate the stone effigies of those sullen temples to the dead from those of the bountiful altars we erect in honor of the Gods.

So often the temples that man has made to house Gods become synonymous with hope for a future outcome, as crypts assume the mantle of memory. But this is the problem of lesser men.

Here in the grove of the S.C.M.M we assume all our peers to have a more refined understanding of these holy places. We do not delve into the crypts in search of anything. We do not prostrate ourselves at the knees of the Thunderer in hope he takes pity.

We go to those hallowed areas to be away from all others, and we do so to honor those parts of us that deserve honor. And those things that are still perhaps beyond us. 

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I, Thaumaturge – Pt. II – :TRINE:

The Thaumaturge’s threads amalgamate. A paradigm is born. 

Magicks of the world permeate all. They exist within our psyche, and outside its bounds. The raw energy refined by the spinning wheel of ourselves. Arcane golden threads, weaving with luminous ferocity. Threads laying down the patch work of…

The Divine Tapestry

The Banner of :I:

Spiritus Ad Monumentum

The Thaumaturge Archetype has roots within a concept which many of us understand well. Mind, Body, Spirit. The weaving of the roots of the sacred trees which encompass the all. Within all Archetypes, composed by various great minds, we see places where the roots twist and gather. 

But the Archetype is composed of pieces which make the whole. A Sub-Archetype. Small, but no less significant fragments to the greater whole. The magicks and mythos of this world are vast and many. One could fathom them over a thousandfold. Today I shall discuss the :TRINE: of the Thaumaturge. A trio of Sub-Archetypes. Embodiments of the physical, the intellectual and the mystic. The cosmic alchemy which births the Miracle-worker. 

:SORCERER:

:HAG:

:ONEIRONAUT: 

SORCERER IN THE TOWER

Clairvoyance, practice, transfiguration.

We may imagine the Wizard within the Old Tower. An image most of us have no trouble imagining. He sits atop a grand pillar of stone. The spire of his monolithic structure cleaves the clouds and touches the stars. What a majestic site it is, paralleling the untamed potential of the human mind. 

His magicks are calculated. The crystal ball’s image means little without the means to understand. His esoteric workings can get “messy”.  We see this parallel within our own minds. We make mistakes. We lick our wounds, we improve our methods in the future. 

Precious metals litter his study. Precious minerals, once coal and soot, now enough to satisfy the greediest of harlots. Perhaps even to please a queen. His magic won him Rapunzel, his passionate spell now burns within her heart, her endless locks twirling around her wedding ring. 

The wizard is focus and mental fortitude. Directed intellectual energy for the purpose of something divine. His tower is the psyche and his being the spark which illuminates it. 

Magicks of the mind serve us in this corporeal world. They teach us to filter the jargon and sharpen an adamantine focus. Carve and shape your mind as the wizard carves the philosopher’s stone.

HAG IN THE WOODS

Alchemy, Physicality, Improvement

Take a walk through the dark wood, where most fear to tread. If you make it far enough you’ll come across a house of stone and moss. A Hag lives within. Hansel and Gretel would fear to tread here but you press onward. 

In her abode you will not find death and evil, but of simple devotion to the alchemical. Her cauldron bubbles, salted meat and garlic hang from the ceiling. Here she devotes her work to magicks of the body. A plethora of potions litter her shelves each promising various effects. The effects of some are known, others not. 

She invites you to feast and imbibe, and you curiously agree. You may undergo a transformation of your own. This may not be quick, this may not be painless but by the time you leave this cabin, you won’t be the same. 

She has a husband, did you know that?

Alas, he is no demon, nor wilted homunculus of which many fairy tales may speak. In fact he is a glowing monument to her work. A colossus of a man, fists of hardened iron, limbs of the strongest and tallest of trees.

Hansel and Gretel would have been wise to take her up on her invitation. By the time they left, Gretel would have been the fittest of young women. Legions of fawning men lining up to court her. Hansel would have become a hero the most gallant of knights would respect, and the finest of women lust after. He could definitely deadlift at least 3 times his bodyweight, I’m sure. 

The Hag is the physical creator. Her methods may not be comfortable, or quick, but they will forge you into something worth singing about. Tap into her essence next time to feel like skipping the gym. Tap into her practice when that weight is “too heavy”. Embody her ideal on your quest for physical glory, her wares are potent.

You are too.

MAD ONEIRONAUT 

Exploration, Chaos, Enlightenment

Alas, the most colourful among the lot. The pioneer within the psyche. He who traverses the realms of the unwoken world. He is the dream scout, the nomad of the spirit. We don the boots and equip the eldritch compass of the Oneironaut.

Madman, I would say. What is to be found in the order of natural laws where there are none? When control is relinquished to the subconscious mind within our heads. He roams in restful sleep, where lucid dreams take hold. He traverses the kaleidoscope of ideals and fragments, his head full of psychedelics. 

The Sorcerer has learned control over the magicks of the corporeal. The Oneironaut romps in a mad euphoria amidst the incorporeal. He sails through chaos and divinity within the dreaming realm. He drinks the finest of wine with the voice of the cosmos. He passionately fucks Aphrodite herself. He howls through his drunken haze. He spits lightning into the howling abyss of creation. 

His romp through this unwaking realm seems foolhardy, chaotic. Let us not forget the importance of chaos, however. Chaos within the self. Where we let go within a place that inherently makes little sense to begin with. Here is where we start to uncover that which we cannot find in our day to day state. Here is where we read scriptures we were otherwise not meant to find. Here we uncover relics meant to lay buried. Here, in the dreamworld, in the higher spirit we discover ourselves. Here, we uncover our secrets which slip in front of our very eyes. 

This is the path laid by the Oneironaut. He is the unhinged explorer, bottle in hand weaving the rainbow cable around the magicks laid by Sorcerer and Hag. 

We are him. He is we. 

The Trine of the Thaumaturge archetype. The corners of the triangle which make up the whole. Learn to know each one. You could certainly learn something from your own personal sorcerer. Marvel in awe of your own self the Hag helped you to create. Revel in the discovery of the Oneironaut, and the wisdom he can point you towards. These three lead you inwards toward the heart of this Trine. 

Towards the Thaumaturge. To the stronghold of the heroic Spell-weaver.

I hope you find him, my friends. He’s in you, and he’s waiting.