“Bendito seja Deus Nosso Senhor que nos deu o símbolo".
(EditLyx)
O entendimento dos símbolos e dos rituais exige cinco qualidades.
A 1º é a simpatia; (a
primeira conforme graus de simplicidade). Tem o
intérprete que sentir simpatia pelo símbolo que se propõe interpretar.
A 2º é a intuição. Por intuição se entende aquela espécie de
entendimento com que se sente o que está além do símbolo, sem que se
veja.
A 3º é a inteligência. A inteligência analisa, decompõe,
reconstrói noutro nível o símbolo. "é o relacionar no alto o que está de acordo com a relação
que está embaixo".
A 4º é a compreensão, entendendo por esta palavra o conhecimento
de outras matérias, que permitam que o símbolo seja iluminado por várias
luzes, relacionado com vários outros símbolos. Não direi erudição, como poderia ter dito, pois a erudição
é uma soma; nem direi cultura, pois a cultura é uma síntese; e a
compreensão é uma vida. Assim certos símbolos não podem ser bem
entendidos se não houver antes, ou no mesmo tempo, o entendimento de
símbolos diferentes.
A 5º é a menos definível. Direi talvez, falando a uns, que é a
"Graça", falando a outros, que é "a mão do Superior Incógnito" , falando a
terceiros, que é o "Conhecimento e a Conversação do Santo Anjo da Guarda",
entendendo cada uma destas coisas, que são a mesma da maneira como as
entendem aqueles que delas usam, falando ou escrevendo
(Fernando Pessoa. Obra Poética. Volume único. Rio: Nova Aguilar, 1981, p. 3)
‘The Magus’ means to show a little of the work of the controversial british magician, writer and mountaineer Aleister Crowley through comic book format. Itis apersonal worknot affiliated withanygroups, whetherreligious, esoteric, political or private company.
Having an extensive magical work jointing western esoterism with
eastern mysticism Crowley was a controversial personality and target of
numerous negative views because his bohemian life style out of the
standards of Victorian England plus social criticism. Hence he
influenced the culture of the twentieth century in a significantly way.
"In this book it is spoken of the Sephiroth and the Paths; of Spirits and Conjurations; of Gods, Spheres, Planes, and many other things which may or may not exist. It is immaterial whether these exist or not. By doing certain things certain results will follow; students are most earnestly warned against attributing objective reality or philosophic validity to any of them." Aleister Crowley, Magick in Theory and Practice
You were on your way home when you
died. It was a car accident. Nothing
particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two
children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried
their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you
were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked.
“Where am I?”
“You died,” I said,
matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was
skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it.
Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was
nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the
afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I
said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good
stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination.
To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a
woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher
than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be
fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have
time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be
secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any
consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens
now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be
reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus
were right,”
“All religions are right in their
own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode
through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said.
“It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You
asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my
experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within
you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t
remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by
the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you
can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you
are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or
cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it
back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.
“You’ve been in a human for the
last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your
immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start
remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been
reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to
lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese
peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered.
“You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time,
as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come
from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come
from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll
want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down.
“But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have
interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And
with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s
happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously?
You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,”
you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The
meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to
mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole
universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger
and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said.
“In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all
the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations
of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said,
with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever
lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth,
too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he
killed.”
“I’m Jesus?”
“And you’re everyone who followed
him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized
someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve
done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by
any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all
this?”
“Because someday, you will become
like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous.
“You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus.
You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time,
you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said,
“it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s
time for you to move on to your next life.”
