“I still think it’s too dangerous going back to that park, Charles.” I said.
“Let’s concentrate on what we can do, what we need to do, and that should spare us worrying about what we can’t or shouldn’t.” Charles responded.
“Well, we could try summoning someone to guide us to the guy with the sword or anyone else here who may be able to help us.”
“No, I think we had better try a more general approach. Why don’t we ask for guidance as to what to do. If the answer is contact the guy with the sword or some member of an Ordo Magorum Ottaviensis that we never suspected existed, then we can ask how. Agreed?”
I had to admit that it sounded good to me.
By this time our feet had brought us across the bridge and the still-unfinished structure of the new Bell Canada building lay before our gaze. Charles made a turn down Elgin Street. My feet seemed to want to turn west.
“There are some things I’d like to get at home,” said Charles.
“Good,” I said. “But I think I’d better go this way for now. We’ll meet again tonight, if it’s meant to be.”
He nodded and set off along Elgin Street, and I let my feet go where they wanted, or where my unconscious mind wanted, or where the Collective Conscious of our planet, or our universe, intended.
As I walked I pondered the situation. I thought that maybe my initial concept of some traditional ceremony performed inside was not apt. Perhaps is was more fitting to try whatever must be done outside beneath the light of the stars and moon. Maybe my unconscious mind was already well aware of this and that was one reason I had been pulled way off course. Then, as I felt the initial stirring of wonder as to where I was being taken, I fought that intrusion of consciousness into things beyond its scope, and forced it to tasks within its competence.
I concentrated on aspects of Enochian magic and concepts of Qabalistic correspondences that could be called upon in the operation I intended to perform. I thought of trying to blend our mundane magic with the ideas and ways of those who may lie even outside this solar system. Then the thought came to me was that all this meant was that I should be considering the correspondence for the Zodiac (Chokhmah) or even the Primum Mobile (Keter).
At that thought it was as though a Tibetan chime had rung in a lamasery. It seemed the magic shout of the one who wielded the sword rang again through my being. “Hehyar I Hehyar Ni” seemed to have Keter written all over it. Here was proof that I was on the right track.
Then I found my mind was doing calculations on its own. I transliterated “Hehyar I Hehyar Ni” into Hebrew letters and then worked out the numerical value. It was 545, which comes to 109 X 5, the number of Mars, which felt appropriate, considering a struggle loomed. How’s that for a blend of Terran and non-Terran systems, I thought. Now, I thought, I’ll take that number of paces forward and then turn and…
I realized I had come a few miles since I’d left Charles. I walked past some houses, along some short streets, and then I was at a park, a different one from the one I had set out from. I began to cross the grass. Something close by was pulling me like a magnet. I was oblivious to all else except that one point drawing me to it.
My brow lifted and I took a deep breath in amazement. Somehow I’d come to a tree ring. Here was a circle of half a dozen great trees, whose trunks all touched. There was a place where a man could squeeze through and stand in the hollow centre. For a moment I just stood there looking at that opening, my thoughts aswirl. Then, scarcely aware that I was doing so, I entered.
I thought that, yes, this was appropriate. The dark sorcerers, had used the lifeless stone structure of the gazebo for evil and death. This was the opposite. It was a structure of vegetation being used for good and life.
I thought further. They had used a thing, a book, even if it was THE NECRONOMICON. It had forced their thoughts, however dark, into its framework. I would speak freely from my own memory and mind.
They had sought to attract an ultradimensional entity from outside the space-time continuum. I would seek within.
And almost as if inspired, from the depths of my inner being, words rose to the surface of my mind and I let them escape my lips. Most of these sounds I may have known at one time in Latin, in Hebrew, in English, French, and Greek, but some of them, the most melodious of all, were uttered literally in no language of this world, and yet I understood their meaning.
I found myself moving up from the base of the Tree of Life, in my thoughts and in my words climbing that tree from branch to branch until I stood mentally and psychically at the Apex of All, at the Crown of Existence. Dazzling was the brilliance suffused over my inner and outer being, and it was as if I were diving upwards through an ocean of light and that there an all-expansive flame purified me utterly of all the dross of this world.
After what seemed ages and cycles, I began to feel the fading of this experience of Samadhi or whatever it was. I resisted. I did not want merely to return to this mundane reality, retaining only the memory that once I had felt, what I now felt, what I still felt. With all my will I urged it to continue.
It did and it changed. I was the Sea of Light. I was the Flame of Fire, and I no longer stood small and frail, interested and awed inside the tree ring miles away from Rideau Street.
I felt the presence of policemen, hidden and watching from across the street. I heeded them not. They were unimportant. They were not even aware of my presence.
Then I turned the focus of my thought to the fringes of this universe, to the crack in the space-time fabric, to the door that was blocked, but not closed and locked. Then flashed upon my mind with the speed and clarity of lightning a great realization. What door? What extra-dimensional outside? What ultradimensional entities prying to get in here?
This is the universe. This is what has been created. This is the vastness of our collective existence. This is what is! Yes, there is the One Who created all that is, the One who granted me this taste of Samadhi. And this is all. Did sorcerers ancient and modern dream of a place that was outside existence, that there was a door leading to someplace past that which is? If so, then they had dreamed of nothing.
As this realization flashed upon my consciousness, I became aware that the impression of the jarred door was gone. For a fraction of a second I had the concept of a dim array of thirteen black candles at the edge of an all-expansive space. Then even that was gone, as it made no sense.
At that instant, thirteen black-cloaked sorcerers appeared, dazed and shaken, near the gazebo, which was whole again. There was no sign that anything had ever happened to it. I was vaguely aware of the tiredness and bewilderment of the sorcerers. I was dimly conscious of the perplexity of the pair of police officers who saw the gazebo return to normal and the thirteen missing sorcerers back in the park. I knew that they would wonder for a long time about the guy with the sword. They would never find him, nor would the thirteen sorcerers, forever cured of any desire to seek evil, ever be able to explain what they’d been doing and where they’d gone.
And as I sent a mind call to Charles that all was well, and as I felt the intent interest of a number of white magicians or Wizards in the Nation’s Capital, I felt myself fading from the sky above the gazebo, and falling back to the tree ring. There I stood in the hollow center of the tree ring, seeing with normal eyes the grass and the sky and the city. Everything was normal again. Yet, as long as I lived, I’d never be normal again — if I ever was.
“Closing the Door”
by Michael McKenny