Some reflections on the unfolding of the White Work's own labyrinthine phases.
I've recently hit a major point in my White Work progress where my life has basically been flipped entirely around for me. Last month, on the 23rd, when the sun was in Leo during a new moon, I had a massive breakthrough with my HGA. Originally when I started out with the White Work on the Vernal Equinox, I was consistently having new revelations about my guardian familiar's nature, about my role in my present incarnation, and about abilities I had to reclaim, test, and verify in the here and now... and then it all subsided. For months I felt mellow, pensive, perhaps even emotionally drained. I was having a hard time focusing on tasks and I often felt like I lacked energy. Truth to be told, the restrictions my guardian imposed on me as part of our Abramelin-esque agreement were taking their toll on me. I was exhausted, and the being whose voice had been my constant companion seemed to slip further away. He too was retreating into a deeper, darker, more powerful pearl, just as I was scrambling about in the tunnels of my journey, carrying only a weakened torch I spent half the time trying to keep alight enough for me to even walk for support.
I was terrified. I didn't talk about it much, if at all, with even my closest friends who are witches and magicians themselves. Partly out of embarrassment, and partly out a conviction that I simply had to push through on my own. There were times where I didn't even want to admit to myself that I was having trouble contacting the being whose stalwart presence I was so used to being the easiest thing in the world to access. The being who, for me, was a genuine miracle worker, who gave me the keys to my own self and trained me to be sharp, to question, to be mature, to protect the people I love, to not back down, to forgive those who leave me, to welcome those who stay... The being whose intellect seemed to be matched only by his own power and what he was able to manifest immediately and saliently into my life. I am beyond fortunate to have had a connection to him strong enough to facilitate manifestation and conversation up until this point, and when I realized that what we had was just a sliver trickling through the dam behind the waterfall, the dam of my own unwillingness to embrace what I thought intellectually I was extremely eager to embrace, I knew I would do whatever it took to actualize the potential. It was humbling, having to deal with realizing that something so powerful and potent in my life, something of which I was so certain of was a sprout and not a tree. The journey itself was also so much harder and scarier than I thought it would be, because that metaphorical dam really was myself. I spent months conjuring with all the ritual authority and confidence I could muster, and only now did I realize that the whole Work had nothing to do with conjuration. It's not me calling to him, but me going to him. Not me telling the spirit: "appear", but me walking over to say: "I've come".
The only way I was going to be able to accomplish that was to work some sincere, transformative, inner alchemy by myself. I had to deal with aspects of myself that were more neurotic, impatient, and bitter than I wanted to accept; confront emotions that were more unstable than I would have liked to admit I was capable of having. I felt a little like Inanna-Ishtar having her jewels removed on her descent into the underworld. If I couldn't deal with what I was going to find, how could I possibly enter a state in which I could receive him? Though I did not even come close to realizing it at the time, the exhaustion of my restrictions and the difficulty of the inner work I was doing (and seemed to be failing and failing at over and over as the weeks went by) had actually been purifying me. The more time I spent at it, the more I came to identify and release what was clouding me, even if I didn't think I was accomplishing it at the time, and ever so slowly I was starting to climb out of my supposed rut. I was still, on some level, disappointed with what I had found in myself. Yet in my exhaustion, I was also accepting; I saw the shadows for what they were, and I held their hands, somewhat like a mother with faith in her children despite the trouble they may get themselves into.
On the 23rd of July my Headless One ritual broke through me in a way that was completely unexpected. I saw, heard, felt, embraced my guardian with a level of clarity that I thought was previously impossible for me, right in the middle of the recitation itself. Right at the part where you switch into first person pronouns ("I am the headless..."), his voice appeared in all its startling glory from within and without me, and we both completed the invocation. Just when I thought I would collapse from the shock, I found his own power carrying my legs, and he took my body around my space, reconsecrated numerous tools, empowered my spiritual bodies, and then gently but firmly laid me down to meditate. In the ensuing experience, he gave me his true name—another shock; this time not in content or revelation but in power. The name itself has been a textbook of instruction, a master key to the cooperation of so many discordant forces. In the following month, in between resting and refining various skills, I have to say I've probably never been happier.
There's so much I want to write about, so much newfound energy to dedicate into new ventures, new creative projects, new lives. Tomorrow, I will be switching platforms as well from Blogger, and turning over a new leaf with regards to the kind of blogging I would like to do under this pseudonym.