I feel, of late, as though I am in a spiritual black hole.
It is neither terrifying nor is it exhilarating, it just feels as though it is. To use another metaphor, this state of being feels as though I have been wrapped like a spindle in a bolt of cloth by the thickest black material that lets absolutely no light or sound through its weave.
I dont know what to make of it.
In some respects, from a Hermetic point of view, perhaps I am at the middle point between two vibrating poles caught somewhere in the transition. That take brings me some comfort.
Not being in that transit and just stuck in the void… horrifies me.
Welcome to my home away from home, my little slice of the universe where I plan to concentrate micro devotions under the banner of the Hermetic path.
I've neither written nor posted much in the last few months. I havent really wanted to. So why start now?
Ive spent some time going through some old posts in another blog I wrote some time back, back before I made a go writing something more mainstream and less counter culture. That experiment didnt end up well as I feel as though I took myself far afield from where I really wanted to go.
Where did I want to go? Well, thats something to explore here.
This is about faith, meaning and parsing out what those things mean in a world where those two things are a constant test on the moral imagination.
Im a hermetic hermit. Its time I start acting like one.
One thing thats struck me hard is the transition of the child into an adult. Ive read its comparable to the feeling of physically losing a child, though Im sure that pain is much more enduring. The transition of one's own flesh and blood from a dependent appendage of your existence into its own recognized self-aware being is a slow birthing process that at its conclusion feels every bit the ending of one life and the beginning of another.
You would think this would give with it some measure of joy and it does, but at the point of transition it feels as though the contents of your soul have departed you leaving you wondering why.
Its in this way that the lessons of the Hermetica strike me. While left without that piece, I imagine how the divine essence feels in its long night awaiting the return of its children. Perhaps this is the same in other faiths of patrimony, the divine estate of father to son transferring title across generations. In this instance, though, as the divine source releasing its creation, I find as the joy in being the source of the good, the giver of life, wisdom, and nourishment.
It feels as though if it were a rite of release, the letting go of that essential element that was never mine to begin with.
Go, fly, my beautiful creations become what were always in your nature to be.