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The cross




I went to a church I visit on occasion, it was built in 1420 whereas my usual church is 800 years old—so this one is more modern, especially with its Victorian additions. I went to meditate on the cross. I set my timer for seven minutes and stared at a stone cross that featured Jesus crucified—it was erected to head a little side chapel dedicated to the war dead, another late addition; the various regimental flags gathered dust and mildew behind it. I stared at the cross and closed my eyes—the black outline remained for a dozen seconds or more. I let myself fall and I saw Christ’s head in profile crowned with thorns, the style was pre-Raphaelite and his head encompassed with a golden disk. I repeated the process and saw the three Wise Men as they followed the star on camelback—the sky was deep velvet blue.


I thought that a long time period seemed to have elapsed—eventually, I checked my timer; it had clicked off and reset itself; and that was strange—for I was sure I set it correctly. When I returned home, I was told that about the same time a great owl appeared from a bush in the garden—this was broad daylight—and hooted its way across the grass.


The cross symbolises the four rivers that emanate from Eden—it also symbolises eternity and completion; so it is no surprise that contemplation of the cross reset my timer. As you can see from the above diagram, the cross sits within a sphere—a sphere that contains a central circle and central point. The soul is a sphere, so supernatural beings often appear spherical—and the divine principial is itself a spherical hermaphrodite, as described in Plato. The cross can also appear as a swastika—and I prefer this form since it is not exoterically confused for death rather than life (although, of course, by magical operation, that which symbolises death is life).

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