[A Story? Perhaps.]
So, okay, the triplicate order post describes a lynchpin of my personal work. If that sounds odd, well here things are going to get even more odd. The work with these spirits qua spirits began amorphously with a series of signs and rites, but has proceeded with increasing clarity to outline a network of potencies that seem entangled with my personal fate and destiny. As the work has unfolded, I can trace hints of it backward, through my early dabbling with magic and into my childhood. I can see it strange fictions I wrote, though inchoately and in odd formations.
If that sounds a little woo-woo spooky, well I guess it is, but I don’t think it is exceptionally so. Ideally, spiritual work develops the potencies that we carried into this life and so we should be able to see foretastes of the work stretching backward and forward along our lifeline. As a young college student, I read Christopher Hyatt’s Tree of Lies at a bout the same time I read Friedrich Nietzsche’s Gay Science, and the message of become what you are, even when what you are is a jagged mess of contraries, has stuck with me as an axiom of spiritual work. It was about this time that I discovered T. S. Eliot’s later poems and the bit about returning to the beginning to know it for the first time…well, can we see a theme?
It was over the course of the properly spiritual work that I felt a draw to the Grimorium Verum. The Verum was in the air, no doubt, but it was one section that my attention kept falling upon–the division of the world between the three powers of Lucifer, Beelzebub, and Asteroth. The works with the grimoire…eh, I had my own thing going and it didn’t seem like I needed a whole ‘nother thing folded alongside it. But those figures, those divisions, felt like the reason I had been drawn to the Verum.
The phrase that kept rising up was that they were the Lords of the Market, though it took me a little bit more jabbering to myself to get at what the marketplace was. The geographic distinctions were important, yes, but there was something else going on in the threefold division of the marketplace’s powers. What each figure represented was a way of engaging with the forces of the world, of existence, of entering into relationship. They defined the structures of the world-marketplace.
They also defined eras of history. That image of the thrones upon the triangle, turning, represents the dark turnings of history, the shifts that led from one era to another. Here the epochs as described by the Yeatsian spirits become useful. Each era, with its centerpoint and extremities, is defined by the authority of one of the lords. With Rome at its center (a mr. philip k. dick on the phone to speak to you, sir or madame), our era has been that of Lucifer the falling star. The era that predates our own is still only dimly understood, though perhaps necessarily so given the difference in kind between one lord’s influence and another.
If the Yeatsian spirits are correct, this era nears its end and another throne rises to oversee the others. The outlines of that era are still opaque, and I am unsure as to whether it is possible to know which of the thrones will take its place (though there are interesting hints from places you wouldn’t expect). I half wonder whether rulership tends to alternate between the throne of the fallen star and the throne of mingling waters with the throne of blood punctuating the transfer, though I confess to that being mere speculation.
And, heck, it is possible that this triplicate order has nothing to do with some historical reality that will come to pass and, instead, serves a potent talismanic function, a story to produce a fire. Still, I guess at some point, you have to share the fire.