We would like to bring attention to this very interesting article written by a third party.
Magical Socialism Disclaimer: again, unfortunately, decades of fanaticism with the o9a has left me with few exterior examples to draw from to make anecdotal points. So, they must again be mentioned here. Despite trying to do so, either by Ryan or Chloe, it became apparent that the diversity of nexions can never be ruled by […]
Magical Socialism
-Nine Neighbours
°°° ° °°° We republish here an item, first published in 2012, with the self-explanatory title The Rounwytha Way In History and Modern Context. The Rounwytha In Context °°° ° °°°
The Rounwytha In Context
The term ‘extraterrestrial’ has been used to refer most frequently to the potential existence of a species that is not carbon-based, not subject to the laws of causal time and space, and often beyond our accustomed perception. Unfortunately, such a term has become suppositionally equated with the fantastical notion of the ‘Little Green Man’, owed to the regurgitation of stereotypes perpetuated by the media-industrial-complex.
In recent years a change in the framework of extraterrestrial dialectics has seen governments and their agencies approve the change from Unidentified Flying Objects (UFO) to Unidentified Anomalous Phenomena (UAP), even committing departments and teams to investigate such things (NASA, 2022). Yet, what does this tell us?
Ξ Ξ Ξ Some Questions for DWM Summer 2024 Ξ Ξ Ξ
Some Questions For DWM 2024
Recently I got to ask David Myatt some questions. Here are the results of that.
Enjoy,
T.C. Downey
°°°°°°°
I will be interviewing NSK (Daniel Barker) it’s coming soon.
Stay tuned!!!
°°°°°°°
A sweltering summer evening was taking its toll on a middle-aged writer as he conducted his craft. Having been a member of various occult organisations, he had obtained connections and paranatural abilities that allowed him to lead a relatively comfortable life; that was until the local liberal council realised that his area was a little too affluent and decided to relocate voluntarily unemployed benefit dependents of a foul nature in an attempt to commit reverse gentrification.
The well-mannered and hardworking residents on Christopher’s street were suddenly surrounded by families of a significantly lower breed of person. What was once a quiet, friendly street had turned into a volatile and vulgar space within days: beer cans littered on the floor; the smell of marijuana from open windows at lunch time; and excessive shouting, indicative of inherited poor parenting, echoed through the street at all hours.
Christopher stood up from his chair to open a window. Within seconds, the vulgar tone and culturally-appropriated ebonic vocabulary of one of the families next door could be heard.
“Goodness me. What a vile lot”, he thought to himself. “They should have never made thrashing illegal in schools… and…”
The landline rang, interrupting his escalation. He picked up the phone to be greeted by the gentle tones of Mrs Henderson.
“Hello? Hello, dear? Have you heard the noise again?”
Mrs Henderson was a 70 year-old grandmother who had sadly been widowed, and then forgotten by her daughter. The sweet old lady would often call Christopher when she had a problem that she couldn’t resolve.
“Yes, I have. It’s very hard not to. Is it upsetting you?”, he replied.
“It’s not pleasant but I grew up with several brothers. What is frightening me though is those boys from number 41—always throwing things in my garden and ruining my flowers they are. Do you think I should say something next time?”
Without thinking Christopher responded.
“Definitely. They’re just kids at the end of the day. I’m sure if you put your foot down they’ll stop.”
“But what if they get violent with me? I’ve seen those stories on the news about that sort of thing, you know. I couldn’t possibly defend myself if it came to that.
Christopher’s inflated bravado made itself known as he confidently and unrealistically stated that he would always be around if she needed help. This reassured Mrs Henderson because Christopher was a fairly well built and tall man in his 50s.
The two talked about the socio-political climate in England before bidding each other good-day and returning to their respective lives.
For the remainder of the night, Christopher worked his Remington typewriter to its full mechanical potential in an effort to complete his latest manuscript on the importance of synergy in magickal praxis.
The next morning, as Christopher was leaving his area to attend a lecture at the university in the city, several police cars were parked at the side of the road. This was normal, an everyday occurrence on Conrad Drive since the riffraff moved in. The house that was always having guests coming and going at all hours of the night had once again been raided and its occupants arrested.
“Morning, constable”, Christopher said to one of the florescent praetorians as he passed by.
The constable nodded and responded in kind.
After a day of lecturing young and rightfully exhausted minds on Scythian culture, Christopher met up with an old friend for a pint at a nearby public house.
“Afternoon. A pint of Guinness and a…John Smiths, please”, Christopher requested after squinting at the fading chalk on the blackboard above the bar.
“Coming right up, mate”, the young barman responded.
Christopher watched as the stout began to fill the embossed glass, and then again as the bitter reached the rim of the second glass.
“There you are. Four-seventy, please.”
Christopher handed over the change and made his way back to the oak-wood table where his friend Rupert was sitting.
“Here we are, Rupert.”
“Ah, cracking! I’ve been waiting all day for one of these”, Rupert revealed, wasting no time in taking a sip from the cold beverage.
Christopher took a sip also.
“What’s new with you then?”
“Nothing much, old boy; keeping the wife and little terrors happy, honing my serve—you know how it is.”
“Is retirement really that boring?”
Rupert slapped his head. “Good god, yes. There’s nothing to do except lounge about, and you know that’s never been my idea of fun.”
“I’m glad I’m still employed in that case. Although I imagine it’s nice having time to think about that which would otherwise pass by our thoughts.”
“Are you being philosophical again, Chris?”
“Possibly. Don’t you ever think about how and why things are the way they are?”
“Of course I do, but I don’t give too much thought to the things I can’t change, even if I loathe them.”
“But you can change them, Rupert. You can change them through intention and frenzy.”
Rupert sighed and shook his head. “You know I’ve never believed in that magical nonsense of yours, but for some reason you always find a way to work it into almost every conversation we have and try to convert my thinking.”
“Well, because it works”, Christopher whispered in a sinister yet whimsical tone.
After wiping a tear of hilarity from his eye. Rupert spoke once more.
“Anyway. Regardless of if it works or not, there is no substitute for rolling your sleeves up and wrapping your hands around the neck of the problem.”
“I think we may have found common ground after all these years, my friend”, Christopher uttered before finishing the foamy dregs of his pint.
Christopher said farewell after two more pints and started to walk home. He looked at his watch.
“Damn. 9pm already? Where did the time go?”
As he walked onto his street he could see the teenagers from number 41 being belligerent outside Mrs Henderson’s house and decided to walk over. The hoodies stopped what they were doing and fronted Christopher.
“Fack off, grandad, yeah!”, one of the boys shouted.
“Go home and leave Mrs Henderson alone. You’re frightening her”, Christopher said calmly.
“It’s a free country, bruv. Why should we?”, one of the other boys retorted.
Christopher could sense the growing volatility and decided to try and intimidate them in customary passive adult fashion.
“I won’t tell you again. Go home or you’ll be in big trouble.”
The spawns of “Thatcher’s Britain” laughed, cursing him but nevertheless moving away from Mrs Henderson’s house. Christopher turned around and continued to walk towards his house.
“See? All it takes is a little confidence and–”
Before he could finish the sentence in his head a sudden pain occurred at the back of his head. Christopher clutched the affected area as blood poured through his fingers. He had been “glassed”. A second bottle smashed on his head, cutting the fingers he was using to protect his head wound. He fell to the floor, making out blurry shapes and fading voices as they surrounded him and closed in.
“Whatcha’ gunna’ do now, dickhead?!”
“You just got fucked up; ya’ get me blud!”
Suddenly, an old and familiar voiced emerged amidst the obscenities.
“Pack that in, you horrible lot! Go home to your parents and leave that poor man alone! I’ve called the police so you better listen to me.”
It was Mrs Henderson. She had called the police after seeing the boys follow Christopher and left her house to confront them. Flashing blue lights illuminated houses around the corner and sirens filled the air.
“Shit. Fuckin’ do one”, one of the boys shouted. “We’ll hide out at mine. My dad’ll vouch for us, trust.”
“Ya’ better watch out, granny. Just watch!”
The police arrived on the scene and began questioning Mrs Henderson while an ambulance was called for Christopher and he was taken to the emergency room.
“Would you mind coming with me to the house where you said the suspects lived?”, the eldest constable requested of Mrs Henderson.
Mrs Henderson nodded. They marched over to number 41 and the constable pounded on the door. A short and skinny man with bloodshot eyes answered.
“Yeah, what can I do for ya’?”
“Sorry to bother you, sir but we have a witness that puts your boys at the scene of a crime.”
The boys started to peak through the curtains.
“That’s them! That’s them right there!”, Mrs Henderson erupted, pointing at them.
“W—what? That’s bullshit. My boys wunt do nuffin’ like that!”
The constable frowned. “Well I still have to question them. May I come in?”
The man shrugged. “Yeah…course, course, yeah.”
Mrs Henderson returned to her residence and waited for an update. Twenty minutes had passed before the police knocked on her door.
“We’ve spoken to the boys and unfortunately we have no further evidence to act on until Mr Hawcroft tells his side of the story.”
The colour drained from Mrs Henderson’s cheeks while constable continued.
“At this stage it’s your word against theirs, and of course we have the original witness phone report which will help if the case goes to court. We will be continuing our investigation after we speak with Mr Hawcroft, and should his story match yours we will be pressing charges.”
“What if they come back when you’ve gone?”, she uttered quietly.
“We’ll park across the street and watch your house for a while. They won’t try anything while we’re here.”
The constables left the home of Mrs Henderson and returned to their car where they observed the street for the next hour. Mrs Henderson retired to bed and quickly fell asleep due to exhaustion. The night – at least for now – was quiet.
A month after the incident, a letter arrived in Mrs Henderson’s post. It was from the local constabulary. She sat down and prepared herself before opening it. Reading each line with confidence that justice would be delivered. But when she reached the penultimate line she started to cry.
“Unfortunately, it is not in the community’s best interest to prosecute. We are sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused and would like to refer you to our victim helpline which can be reached on…”
Mrs Henderson screwed up the letter and tossed it in the bin, cursing the justice system in the process. She then peaked out of the window and saw the boys from number 41 outside her house again. They boys noticed and began taunting her.
“See? The feds don’t give a shit ‘bout you or your boyfriend!”
They continued on in a similar manner until the emotional abuse came to an end with the sending of a brick through Mrs Henderson’s window. She was petrified and alone, not knowing the limitations of her oppressors. The only thing she could bring her shaking body to do at that moment was huddle in a corner.
Christopher was released from the hospital the next morning. The police never did show to interview him. The case was passed from constable to constable and inevitably communication broke down.
The hospital was quite a distance from Christopher’s home but he decided to walk the distance regardless, picking up some Turkish Delight for Mrs Henderson along the way. He made his way cheerfully through the streets and reached Conrad Drive, where he spotted an ambulance and a police car parked outside Mrs Henderson’s residence. Fearing the worst, he broke into a jog which quickly upgraded to a sprint, only to be held back by two constables upon reaching the front gate of the house.
“What’s happened?! W—w—what’s going on?! Someone tell me right now!”, he screamed at the top of his loud but trembling voice.
Before long, his questions were answered via the cruelty of observation. Christopher trembled as two medical technicians carried out a figure cloaked in a white sheet. The Detective Inspector investigating the scene followed them out and approached Christopher, noticing his anguish.
“D.I. Harper. I’m sorry. I know its clear as day on your face but I have to ask: did you know the deceased?”
Christopher answered the Detective Inspector’s question and told her everything that had happened between them and the teenagers from number 41. D.I. Harper grew increasingly frustrated upon hearing about the events that led up to the tragic death of Mrs Henderson. He assured Christopher that he would personally pursue the case and find a way to prove that the boys were responsible. However, Christopher had lost faith in the system after hearing Mrs Henderson continuously assure him that the police would interview him about what happened, but of course, they never did a follow up. D.I. Harper’s words were nothing more than procedure in Christopher’s eyes, despite them being genuine and “from the heart”, as they say. He had already decided that he would place a death hex on the boys when he returned home, and he did just that.
Days and nights passed without the hex showing any proof that it was working. But during this period, an Acausal Object (AO) was attracted to the hate and violent thoughts Christopher was having at the time. The AO began haunting him as a test, but he didn’t care. He displayed no fear and didn’t attempt to rationalise the irrational. This showed the AO that he had already begun his “crossing of the abyss”; and so it provided him with the ancient linguistic tools to understand it, revealing its name forthwith: Noctulius.
Many suns set and rose as Noctulian gnosis was channeled into Christopher; and then, one fateful night saw him become. Christopher was so consumed by hate that he had forgotten the reason behind it; that is until – by the opening of a window – he was reminded.
The disembodied voice of Noctulius growled in his ear.
“Remember what your bitter friend said—remember well, Acolyte.”
Christopher hurried to his bathroom and approached the mirror, leaning into it, as if he was pre-cognitively analysing something. He stared into his new eyes and strode to his kitchen. Reaching up, he retrieved a claw hammer from the top of one of the cupboards. He marched towards his front door and grabbed his black pea coat. The front door of his house flung open, setting off the alarm. Christopher stormed over to number 41 and banged on the door, concealing the hammer in his sleeve.
The father of the boys could be heard shouting from within.
“Ere’, lads. That toff is outside. Come watch me knock ‘im out!”
Inside, his boys rushed halfway down the stairs and took a seat as their father opened the door.
“Let’s fuckin’ ave–”
Christopher charged into the door before the father could finish his threat, knocking him to the floor with a thud. Christopher dropped his knee into the father’s sternum as he brought the flat end of the hammer down on the bridge of the father’s nose with resounding crack. The father shrieked and clutched his nose but Christopher kept wailing on the same spot, breaking the father’s fingers in the process. One of the boys decided to try and save his father by grabbing Christopher, but he just shook the boy off and reaped him into a wall, splitting the back of his head open. The rest of the teenagers ran upstairs while he returned the father to continue his relentless onslaught. It was clear that Christopher held the father responsible for the behaviour of his children, while at the same time acknowledging that they were still culpable and thus deserving of punishment.
Soon after, he stopped his onslaught and climbed up from the ground to be greeted by words of Noctulius.
“You see now, don’t you? True magick is transmutation of the physical. You’ve been heated to your melting point, undergone calcination, separation, and now…coagulation.”
Christopher rushed up the stairs to the room where the boys were hiding with a lycan-like agility, but as he pounced into the room, an unexpected sight stopped him short. Within the room, in the corner, was a woman cowering—the mother. She was covered in bruises, cuts and burns. Christopher realised that she was a victim of abuse but did not know who was responsible, so he ordered the boys to sit next to her and observed her reaction to them. It did not take him long to conclude that they were all responsible for their mother’s suffering and set about lining them up against the back wall. The mother pleaded with Christopher, explaining that they were only doing it because they were scared of their father. Christopher refused to listen.
“They chose to torture you. They could have stood up to their father, to his authority, just like they did with me, yet they did not. They chose to torment and abuse Mrs Henderson, to scare her to such an extent that she felt like the only way to escape their cruelty was to take her own life. They chose…all of it, and now—now they have to face the consequences of their actions.”
The eldest boy leaped forward. “We’re sorry, okay? We’re fuckin’ sorry, man! We won’t do nuffin’ like this again, swear down!”
“Get back in line!”, Christopher barked.
He approached the first boy, steadied his aim, and hit him as hard as he could in the face with the bottom of his palm. The boy’s body crumpled to the floor. Then Christopher approached the second and did the same again; followed by the third; and finally, the fourth. He approached the mother next and crouched beside her, looking deeply into her eyes and employing a type of neurolinguistic programming.
“You gave them life, nurtured them. You are partly responsible for their actions. It is your turn to accept responsibility for your part in this tragedy.”
He handed her the blood-soaked hammer adorned with pieces of her husband’s skin and hair, slowly withdrew into one of the dark corners of the room, and observed as she harrowingly took her children back out of the world.
Reemerging shortly after the ordeal, Christopher walked over to the mother one final time.
“Now you have a choice to make. You can endure your burden, your…renewed sense of personal responsibility; allowing yourself to be strengthened by it….in time, or you can walk over to that window, and throw yourself out of it. Which is it to be?”
And with that, Christopher plodded down the stairs and towards the front door, passing the absolved mass of meat, formally known as the father, on the way. He closed the door of the residence, crossed the street, and disappeared into the early morning mist to the sound of encroaching sirens, and the tenacious alarm of his now vacant residence…
As we grow as beings we are nurtured by our own presuppositions of time. We lead ourselves to define time linearly and sneer at any possibility of an instantaneous connexion between the past, present and future. It is only when we commune with some-thing outside of our mundane perceptions, through events that occur away from ticking clocks and encoded routine, that we begin to consider that time is but a measurement of processes, a measurement created by us and its purpose defined by us. So much faith is placed in the way we process the measurement of time, yet we often perceive our spatio temporal existence to be proceeding at a different pace than the analogue and electronic tools we have designed to measure it may suggest.
The foundations of our casual existence consist of three dimensions of space and one dimension of lineal time; these dimensions are not separate but relative to one another, functioning as coordinates through which beings navigate and perceive their own experience. But at the border of our ability to intuit and correlate the inexplicable emanations of Nature and the cosmos, lineal time fades away, and we attain an ancient vantage; one where we witness past, present and future as one simultaneous, holistic happening in which our temporal actions suddenly have eternal meaning and consequence.
Therefore, [our] lineal time unfolds to reveal a non-lineal, physical dimension through which aeons can be navigated, interacted with, and altered (regardless of a being’s temporal position in causal space-time) using causal and numinous “coordinates”. It is in the wake of this found- again apprehension that the four seasons: wheel of seasons, lunar phases, and other astronomical events replace our previous measurement of processes (lineal time) and become known as alchemical seasons, during which Ga Wath Am and Binan Ath are presenced, allowing us to intuit the internal/external cycles of that which Nature and the cosmos birthed, as well as influence the physis of that which possesses being (during alchemical seasons) should we elect to.
-Theo Hiraeth
Wyrd is an odd word, it looks like “word” and sounds like “weird”. Yet… Wyrd is the underlying fabric of the Nine Worlds and one of the central concepts of Druwydry. The rudimentary definition is something like “the course of events” or ” The Cosmic Fates”. A more intuitive understanding might be “what is to come”. In Druwydry, Wyrd represents the powerful currents of influence that control how events unfold in linear time. It is possible to displace the flow of Wyrd that is revealed through a specific alignment of The Mastery and Deed.
Every Western institution over the past 100 years has been designed to manufacture “sleepers” that obey. This happens because the Magians and Puritans idealize putting others above ourselves. This is a monumental err. Literally putting the cart before the horse and then putting full cup blinkers on it. Selflessness benefits none in the long term and only benefits opportunistically in the short term.
Deep down, everyone knows this is true. Self-centrism is extremely frowned upon, yet everyone practices it and dresses it up in the disguise of selflessness. By becoming self-centric, you begin to pay attention and become sensitive to what impacts you directly. Developing a deeper understanding of what influences you and in what way. Without that understanding you are a vessel adrift without anchor or sail undoubtedly heading towards the rapids and rocks. Torn and shredded pieces are destined to settle into the river bed, somewhere downstream.
A correction is in order. It is necessary to embrace self as priority and in this begin the seeding of essence. What grows from the seeds? An authentic understanding of who you are, where you are, what you like, and what motivates you. This is the fundamental basis of self-remembering. Creating awareness simultaneously of what is known and the knower. Awareness of the deed and the doer.
We are taught the results of being self-centric is devastating and destructive. Somehow it is corrosive to our collective relationships. Self-centrism is falsely construed as selfishness. In accordance, it is thought that it creates no contribution to the “greater society at large”. Yet a survey of the landscape tells a different story.
The wretched who care only about themselves seem to live forever. The ruthless businessman gets richer and more powerful. The self-obsessed athlete becomes the best in his game. The politician rises in his influence and reach. In a very real sense Satan is King of this World. The nature of this world is adversarial and the road to hell is always paved with good intentions
Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, Pride. All said to be deadly Sins. However in a controlled and deliberate use, we are led to the path of freedom and prosperity. Lust leads to the fulfillment of sexual needs. Gluttony brings forth a fullness of living. Envy creates motivation and drive to improve your station. Pride brings a focus to constantly refine and develop the self. Greed to financial fulfillment. Wrath to justice. Sloth to emancipation from fruitless labor.
We live in a dangerous world. Everything is surely trying to kill us, even Destiny herself. Nythra will not be denied. Yet under the Moonlight, there’s a winding staircase that leads to the blue room of Mars. It is here in The Dark Pools that we can divine the Currents of Wyrd. Given we have the foresight, that is the occult abilities to; chart our course along the ebbs and flows of the Great River as it’s rushing.
We can apprehend Cosmic Emanation, as we see the spring forming the Dark Pool. It begins to stream outwardly. The stream eventually feeding into the Great River. I close this entry with a quote from Magister Hagur. May your Travels be by your revealed Wyrd.
“Shugara, highly developed intellectually and greatly motivated achieves objectivity wherever he is found, bringing about the deep sinister intent. The Dark God is influenced by the planets Moon and Mars, responding to their attraction, ever ready to transmit its energies to all those contemplating the Tree of Wyrd as a way of sinister living, and this means:
(1) Endeavouring to arrive at an absolute sinister motive.
(2) The ability to enter in the silence of the chaotic mind to realise the sinister way.
(3) Remembering at all time the strict self-disciplined life, which
does not mean that life is undone of sensual perception, on the contrary it does stir up a well-balanced dark life.
(4) Using self-control facing the unknown.
(5) Not to scatter innate sinister forces vainly, but focus them to a particular sinister goal. “ – Hagur
In an attempt to simplify in theory – and reveal complexity in experience – I will be briefly discussing what Personal Destiny and greater Wyrd are, how they relate to one another, and the potential consequences of measuring too high on either the internal or external locus of control spectrum.
Personal Destiny – the life-long unfolding of an individual’s physis, which occurs alongside the eternal unfolding of the Acausal’s physis.
Greater wyrd – the eternal unfolding of the Acausal’s physis: the death and birth of natural and numinous emanations, which occurs alongside the life-long unfolding of the physis of individuals.
Both Personal Destiny and the Greater Wyrd are microcosmically separate, yet macrocosmically intertwined.
Personal Destiny and Greater Wyrd can also be understood in terms of locus of control. Within Personal Destiny there is a degree of control the individual can exert over the variables engineered and influenced by the Greater Wyrd. The degree of control is either increased or decreased based on the individual’s perception of how much control they have over external variables, and is particularly impacted by the level of personal responsibility they take for their actions and behaviours. If the individual believes that they are at the absolute mercy of Greater Wyrd they have a high external locus of control. On the other hand, if the individual believes that they have absolute control over Greater wyrd they have a high internal locus of control. Both extremes can contribute to misapprehensions of both Personal Destiny and Greater Wyrd, often ending in renouncement of the tradition or mental health afflictions.
In order for the individual to continue their exeatic journey with confidence and dedication, an equilibrium has to be achieved between internal and external locus of control (Personal Destiny and Greater Wyrd). To permit one to win-out over the other will surely end the journey before long because it is an absolute state of thinking that allows no room for innovation and experimentation, which is something the exeatic journey of physis- unfolding is diametrically opposed to.
This is all that needs to be said on the matter of Personal Destiny, Greater Wyrd, and their implications: the rest is to be experienced, ergo; participate in rituals, give body to desire, go beyond good and evil.
I have owed my readers this article for a very long time now. I have assumed that those that practice Druwydry also have meditative practices. As a standalone practice, meditation is an effective tool for gaining further control of your being. Its beneficial properties occur both immediately and gradually. Though I encourage all forms of meditation, there are specific types that I find more suited to our aims.
For the purposes of this text, I will focus on 4 forms of meditation. Creative, Guided, Moving and Transformative. The first three are relatively widely practiced meditations, and the fourth is, in my eyes, an experimental form. It is important to understand that each of these will create and strengthen both the core (common) and specific benefits and should be ritually performed on a daily basis.
Before we can further explore the different forms of meditations, we must first define meditation. Meditation is a mental exercise involving awareness, clarity, control, and focus. Mental, meaning mind or consciousness.
Druwydry views consciousness as a myriad of cognitive subprocesses that are overlapping and yet interconnected-like working in unison. These individual subprocesses are referred to as “small I’s”. For the magians and sleepers, these individual subprocesses occur as impulses and are acted upon in an unimpeded fashion almost entirely subconsciously.
The designation “small I” uses “I” as shorthand, both for the nominative singular pronoun with which we refer to ourselves, and it also refers to an influencer. More specifically an internal influencer (impulse). That little voice that pipes up to let us know to fill one of our basic needs, such as homeostasis; is an internal influencer, and therefore a “small I”.
Other examples of impulses are behaviors, emotions, and physical reactions. Many of which we aren’t even aware of as we are acting upon them. These influencers can be self catalyzed. However, a great many of them are stimulated by what Druwydry refers to as “Master I’s”. “Master I” is shorthand for an external influencer. There are far too many of these to attempt to provide a categorical breakdown for the sake of brevity. This is a subject that I will explore in future writings.
One of the aims of Druwydry, is to provide a path to strengthening essence and Influence. Essence is the trifold enigmatic composite being that is distinctly referred to as self. Which exists as a perpetual experience of consciousness, physicality, and the more mysterious energy that animates the other two thirds. A strong essence is capable of reigning in the impulses, and exerting decisive control over all influencers. Whether they are internal or external holds little to no consequence.
Influence in this context, is the ability to assert our will upon the external and internal planes. Through these four types of meditations, we enter the first of the three sacred triangles; The Mastery. The Mastery aims to subjugate our many “small I’s”, and consciously select which of the multitude of “Master I’s”; we resist or succumb to and at what intensity.
Most have a specific image in their mind whenever the word comes up. An image of some holy man or monk sitting with their legs crossed and palms turned upwards. They are sitting perfectly still, in perfect silence, and eyes closed. For some this is an effective means of meditation, but for our work there’s more to do than simply calibrate the machine.
I would like to establish a base meditation. This is a Guided Meditation set. The following are two forms that have been designed by Theo Hiraeth with Druwydry in mind. Léargas creates a foundation in meditation, energy work, visualization, and nature
connection of the spiritual practices for Druwydry.
Form I: Earth (day)
Find a tranquil woodland area and remove your upper attire. Position your back flat against the ground and outstretch your arms, proceeding to dig your fingers into the soil and keep them in place.
Close your eyes and visualise your mind’s eye breathing out as you inhale; breathing in as you exhale. Tune into the sounds around you, try to listen for the groaning of the trees, then visualise their roots growing and spreading beneath you.
Visualise the soil slowly transmuting into a black liquid, as it pulls you downwards into the earth, into the subterranean valley inhabited by luminescent Mycelium. Take a moment to accept the numinous reality of your situation, the sheer chthonic beauty and intrinsic symphony of it all. Listen for the sound of distant flowing water; listen as it grows louder and louder, and louder still, until you witness it submerge everything in the chthonic valley, and finally, yourself.
Allow the water to push you upwards to the surface whence you came, feel yourself being pushed through the soil, born into the world again.
Open your eyes and gaze at the canopies of the trees, until you are ready to return to your feet, and to yourself.
Form II: Water (night)
Locate a body of clean, natural water. Wade into it with your arms slightly outstretched beside you and your fingers parted. Feel the pull of the water as it slips through your fingers. Splash water onto your face, then run your fingers over your head.
Submerge yourself deeper in the water, thereby allowing the water to reach the chest, then the neck, then the lower half of the face, ensuring that breathing through the nose is still possible.
Cease all movement and close your eyes, then perform the reverse breathing technique (Form I: Earth, paragraph
2).
Visualise the soil on the banks of the water turning to sludge and filtering into the water: bare witness as it changes the colour of the water, subjecting it to a certain alchemical process, transforming it into the Dark Pool wherein sinister knowledge is sought.
Remain submerged until it feels like the ‘right time’ to leave the water and return to yourself, changed.
Léargas (Irish Gaelic) translates as an awakening; realisation, of the nature of things and is a fitting name for a Guided Meditation practice. Guided meditations function as a doorway to awareness, connection, and reflection. Where the Guided Form leaves off the Transformative Form picks up. There are both subtle and distinct differences between the two meditative forms. Usually the Guided Form is focused on a sort of recalibration of the machine. The Transformative Form aims to create a change within the “operating system”.
I have experimented quite a bit in this arena. From sonic (auditory) attempts to alter the state of mind and disposition, to designing a mediation that’s intention is to create a “berserker” state to be summoned and desisted at will. No matter the outcome of these experiments. There has been a net positive benefit to them. It is my belief that the Slyman should work to cultivate these types of occult abilities.
In this way the provocation of the psyche is necessitated to ultimately develop a certain type of “weaponry”. By learning about transformations and then attempting to transform any given component of self, we develop a skill set which will become essential in our workings. This is one form of an alchemical season and a crucial part of developing the Dark Empath.
Theo Hiraeth designed a wonderful transformative meditation, to which I will link here. I think what I like most about this particular working, is that in a very real way, he connects you to the elementals in a very primal way. Giving the exercise several forms.
Have you ever been working on something and zeroed your attention to whatever it is you’re working on? Everything flows so smoothly and it all seems to fall into its place at just the right time. You might even think to yourself, “I’m really good at this“. For a brief time, it is as if, this is what you were always meant to do. What you have experienced, I call a Creative Form of meditation.
If practiced and employed often, we begin to notice what will seem to be supra-human abilities. What’s more fascinating than that is, it will manifest in ways that don’t seem connected at all. Though that sounds fantastical, what I mean is in a very practical sense. Learn to reach this state within the art of communication/manipulation and witness your power.
Those that we see who seem to possess supra-human abilities are all accessing this state. There is much to observe about the creative state of being. This subject has been robustly flushed out by greater minds than my own. To that end, I will leave it where it lies.
What I might add to this, is that what is transpiring is an alignment of Will and Deed. When mind-body-lifeforce align, we experience a hyper state. This is in itself a connection to divinity. A complete illustration of the “Master I”.
I will save talking about Moving Forms for a planned essay on Gurdjieff’s Dance.
-Beast Xeno
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