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THE PYRAMID TEXTS 3
CATCHING THE LIGHT Arthur Zajonc 1993 Page 44 ANGELIC LIGHT - HUMAN LIGHT "HOW YOU HAVE FALLEN FROM HEAVEN, BRIGHT SON OF THE MORNING FELLED TO THE EARTH!" Isaiah 14:12-15
http://home.pacbell.net/amsec/dea1d.html TO DIE AND BECOME I.M.Oderburg "In past times, the people as a whole knew that in their lands there existed certain institutions called Mystery Schools. Each country had such centers, and the course of tuition was reportedly in two parts. In Greece, for instance, these were (1) the Lesser Mysteries in which, after a preliminary purification of character, students were taught via symbolic plays and ceremonies suggesting the nature and purpose of earth life and human destiny; and (2) the Greater Mysteries presenting a more direct form of instruction for those whose altruistic intent and capacity to undertake such an arduous course had been tested all along the line. The second section presumably imparted teachings about the composition and processes of the solar system and of mankind, and about birth and death viewed as two phases in the continuum of life. Such written references as have survived into our own time intimate that in the Mystery centers the self-conscious human being was shown to pass through many phases marking stages in the growth of the soul. A major portion of instruction in the Greater Mysteries culminated in an "examination" called initiation that tested the candidate in every fibre of the character. Dr. Angelo Brelich has pointed out that "during the initiatic process, among almost all the peoples who practice initiation, the 'novices' must (ritually) die, before the (ritual) birth of the initiated. The initiatic death is realized in different ways which range from a very realistic dramatization to light symbolic allusions." The concepts about death received prior to this important moment in the drama of the soul were now to be experienced consciously, with the body held in an induced trance while every faculty of the inner being was alert to the processes taking place. In a sense, the soul was liberated from the clouding veils of the material life and could feel the changes taking place as well as perceive the reality behind the appearances of earthly existence. If the candidate succeeded in maintaining integrity and complete control during the conditions met with on such an inward "journey" into his deepest being, then on the third day when the "returning" soul reanimated its vehicle the body, the former neophyte would have flowered into an initiate capable of speaking as one who had acquired the authority of direct experience. Such a one was depicted in art as wearing an aureole of light, either around the head when it was called a "halo," or surrounding the body as in various kinds of Oriental representations."
"In the case of the ancient Egyptian Mysteries, the teachings and their meanings were hidden in the myths, and in the geography of the transcendental country — the terrestrial counterpart being its mirror-image. (This helps explain why places mentioned in the Pert-em-Hru, or "Book of Coming Forth Into Light" [miscalled "Book of the Dead"], appear to be on sides of the country opposite to their location on the actual map. Incidentally, in neo-Zoroastrian Platonism, the "Heavenly Earth" — 'alam al-mitbhl — is referred to in the same way; [cf. Dr. Henry Corbin's The Man of Light in Iranian Sufism]. William Blake, the English mystic, distinguished between the Heavenly Jerusalem and the city of the same name in Judea.) The former was watered by the "Celestial" Nile or "River of Heaven" of which the earthly river was but the symbol. The "Sacred Land" that was the real referent in the Pert-em-Hru, and in other old scriptures, was divided into three regions analogous to the three main stages of instruction: (1) Restau, the Territory of Initiation; (2) Aahula (or Elysium in the Greek system), the Territory of Illumination where the candidate received the White Crown; and (3) Amentet, the Place of Union with the unseen Father or source of our planetary life. This has been expressed with insight by Dr. T M. Stewart: the visible creation was conceived as the counterpart or reflection of the Holy Land, or the Unseen World, and this Unseen World was not postulated as a vague belief. The "way above" shows how the just, after passing through the portal of the tomb, go through (1) an Initiation, which gives them (2) an Illumination and (3) confers on them an endless union with LIGHT, the Great Creator. — Symbolism of the Gods of the Egyptians, p. 11, passim. This final, tremendous experience is described in the Pymander scripture of the Hermetica — a translation of old Egyptian thought into Alexandrian Greek and using the idioms of the latter language. The narrator, described as a "son" — i.e., disciple — of Wisdom (Thoth), enters shortly into the "boundless light" of the universe, this temporary mergence being for him a joyous and puissant event the afterglow of which remains with him forever. The Egyptian "way of life" distinguished between two temperaments: the "passionate man" and the self-disciplined, the so-called "Silent man." As Dr. H. Frankfort describes him, the passionate man is to be found in all times: egocentric, materialist, often ruthless. The silent man is patient and master of himself in all the situations of daily life. The ancient sage Amenemope contrasts the two types: As for the passionate man in the temple, he is like a tree growing in the open. Suddenly [comes] its loss of foliage, and its end is reached in the shipyards; [or] it is floated far from its place, and a flame is its burial shroud.
[But] the truly silent man holds himself apart. He is like a tree growing in a garden. It flourishes; it doubles its fruit; it [stands] before its lord. Its fruit is sweet; its shade is pleasant; and its end is reached in the garden. — Ancient Egyptian Religion, pp. 65-6 Frankfort finds that in our Western culture we may be apt to misunderstand the ideal of the silent man. It does not mean he is other-worldly in the sense of being impractical, or so submissive to others as to be a doormat. The silent man is really the most successful man because he is in complete command of himself and therefore of any situation involving himself. The high officials of ancient Egypt described themselves as "truly silent," the phrase being tinctured with a distinctively Egyptian wisdom. The chief insight into the meaning of the expression "silent man" is the system of training used in the Egyptian Mysteries where discipline preceded the instruction and was maintained throughout. The three main degrees mentioned earlier applied to (1) mortals or instructed probationers "who had not yet realized the inner vision"; (2) Intelligences, "who had done so . . . and had received the 'Mind'; and (3) "Beings (or Sons) of Light who had become one with the Light" of the divine element within them (Stewart, op. cit., p. 14). In a sense, these classes correspond to the gnostic Paul's division of man's being into body, soul, and spirit, and just as these three aspects of the human essence are composed of their own elements, such as energy, emotional and mental entities, so the degrees had each its own subdivisions. The well-known vignette from the Pert-em-Hru called the "Weighing of the Heart" depicts the soul of the candidate (usually described as the "heart of the deceased"), the ab or ib, weighed in the scales against the feather symbol of Maat ("truth"). A b is not only a term for the heart, a vital organ indeed, but also means the conscious entity that, in a sense independent of the outer form of the personality, is the "god in man." There is a special prayer in the scripture addressed to the "heart" during the weighing scene, which runs: O my heart, my ancestral heart, necessary for my transformations, . . . do not separate yourself from me before the guardian of the Scales. You are my individuality within my breast, divine companion watching over my bodies. This invocation was engraved upon a sacred scarab, Kheperu, symbol of the solar birth or rebirth in man, as well as having a cosmic application represented by the rising of the sun at dawn. Dr. M. W. Blackden has presented the final Pert-em-Hru initiation ritual as the "soul" or candidate standing before the "Pillared Hall of the Two Truths," within which the shining forms of the "gods" or initiates are glimpsed. Anubis announces the initiant is at the door, and asks him to tell of the proving of his character. Then he is asked the name of the door. "Opener of Divine Light," is the answer. The hinges are named "Lord of Truth" for the upper, and "Lord of strength to bind the animal," for the lower. The Egyptians viewed names as important: knowing their full meaning gave the individual command over what they represented. There is a beautiful passage in the Pert-em-Hru designated
The Chapter of entering into and of coming forth from Amentet: . . . the scribe Nebseni, victorious, says: "mortals.... I go in like the Hawk and I come forth like the Bennu bird ... — Papyrus of Nebseni, in The Book of the Dead, E. A. Wallis Budge, p. 61 .
The Hawk is the falcon symbol of Horus, a high element in the constitution of man and cosmos. So this text means, among other things, that the candidate enters the experience as one who is aware of his innate spirituality, and leaves it as the carrier of divinity purged of the dross consumed in the purifying flame of atonement with the god within. In another text, the successful candidate says:
For the Egyptians of the earliest dynasties, initiation meant the fostering of higher faculties that exist in us all, the system of training being based upon "right living" and "right thinking," to use more modern Buddhist terms. These ethical principles were the embodiment on the human plane of the laws of the goddess Maat who represented cosmic orderliness, justice, and duty expressed as responsibility. The fourth initiation was not the trumpery ceremony put forward by some present-day would-be teachers, but involved passing the "horizon of the Sun," i.e., confronting and being momentarily absorbed into or at-one with the solar splendor residing within the heart of everyone. This cannot be a lightly assumed undertaking, for the lower, self-aggrandizing tendencies in our nature must be overcome by ourselves alone. When the gates of the "Celestial Nile have been opened," then not only is the Atef-Crown of Illumination given, but the irradiated individual may now express more fully the higher mind and apply his whole being and labors to the betterment of his fellows. At this stage, the hierophant has touched the spiritualized intelligence of the individual who is then, as it were, given a new birth from above. When that happens, everything within the universe, even the kosmos itself viewed as an organism through all the stages of consciousness and being down to the very smallest of its atomic particles, is seen to be an embryo in an egg. Because nothing is fully mature - meaning final, finished, "perfect" in the absolute sense: completed or unchanging -- we are all incubating or being incubated. Consciousness pervades infinity, so "birth" into one aspect of it and departure or "death" from that particular phase cannot mean a first-time beginning or an eternal termination. To couple life and death as a pair in the way we normally do is a mistake, for the doorways into and from earth-life experiences are birth and death. The whole process is an endless becoming, as the seed dies when it becomes a seedling which, too, leaves its early, helpless condition to become in time a plant in the fullness of its powers. Its inner qualities at the mature stage effloresce, producing flowers that express its innate beauty and the possibilities of the future. These various qualities in their several degrees develop out of the invisible essence within the heart of a tiny seed, out of something — a mere speck — that is born of the vast ranges of potentialities in SPACE, viewed by the ancient peoples as the Mother of all entities. BIBLIOGRAPHY:
http://home.pacbell.net/amsec/dea1c.html SLEEP AND DEATH G. de Purucker Edited from Golden Precepts of Esotericism, The Theosophical University Press, pp. 54-67) "What of death, the third of the woes that beset mankind? Death is the opener, the one giving vision; death is the greatest and loveliest change that the heart of nature has in store for us. There is no death, if by that term we mean a perfect and complete, an utter and absolute, cessation of all that is. Death is change, even as birth through reincarnation, which is death to the soul, is change; there is no difference between death, so called, and life, so called, for they are one. The change is into another phase of life. Death is a phase of life even as life is a phase of death. It is not something to be feared. Man's physical body must sleep for a certain period in order to recuperate its forces, its powers; so must the psychical constitution of man have its rest time — in devachan. Death is as natural, death is as simple, death itself is as painless, death itself is as beautiful, as the growth of a lovely flower. It is the portal through which the pilgrim enters the stage higher. Exactly the same succession of events takes place in death that ensues when we lay ourselves in bed at night and drop off into that wonderland of consciousness we call sleep; and when we awaken rested, composed, refreshed, reinvigorated, and ready for the fray and problems of the daily life again, we find that we are the identic persons that we were before the sleep began. In sleep we have a break of consciousness; in death also there is a break of consciousness. In sleep we have dreams, or a greater or less unconsciousness; and in death we have dreams, blissful, wondrous, spiritual - or blank unconsciousness. As we awaken from sleep, so do we return to earth again in the next incarnation in order to take up the tasks of our karmic life in a new human body. Here then is one difference between sleep and death, but a difference of circumstance and by no means of kind: after sleep we return to the same body; after death we take upon ourselves a new body. We incarnate, we reincarnate, every day when we wake from sleep; because what has passed, what has happened to us, what has ensued, while the physical body is asleep, is identic, but of very short term, with what takes place, with what ensues, when and after we die. Death is an absolute sleep, a perfect sleep, a perfect rest; sleep is an incomplete death, an imperfect death, and often troubled with fevered and uneasy dreams on account of the imperfection of the conscious entity, call it soul, if you like, which the human ego is. Death and sleep are brothers. What happens in sleep takes place in death - but perfectly so. What happens in death and after death, takes place when we sleep -- but imperfectly so. We incarnate anew every time when we awake, because awaking means that the entity which temporarily has left the body during sleep - the brain-mind, the astral-physical consciousness - returns into that body, incarnates itself anew, and thus the body awakens with the psychical fire again invigorating the blood and the tissues and the nerves. In going to your bed and in lying down and in losing consciousness, have you ever feared? No. It is so natural; it is so happy an occurrence; it is so restful. Nature rests and the tired brain reposes; and the inner constitution, the soul, if you like so to call it, is temporarily withdrawn during the sleeping period into the higher consciousness of the human being - the ray, so to speak, is absorbed back into the inner spiritual sun. Just exactly the same thing takes place at death, but in death the worn-out garment is cast aside; the repose also is long, utterly beautiful, utterly blissful, filled with glorious and magnificent dreams, and with hopes unrealized which now are realized in the consciousness of the spiritual being. This dreaming condition is a panorama of the fulfillment of all our noblest hopes and of all our dreams of unrealized spiritual yearnings. It is a fulfillment of them all in glory and bliss and perfect completion and plenitude. Death is an absolute sleep, a perfect sleep. Sleep is an imperfect, an incomplete, death. Hence, what happens when you sleep in that short period of time, is repeated perfectly and completely and on a grand scale when you die. As you awaken in the morning in the same physical body, because sleep is not complete enough to break the silver chain of vitality uniting the inner, absent entity with the sleeping body, just so do you return to earth after your devachanic experience, or experience in the heaven-world, the world of rest, of absolute peace, of absolute, blissful repose. During sleep, the silver chain of vitality still links the peregrinating entity to the body that it has left, so that it returns to that body along this psychomagnetic chain of communication; but when death comes, that silver cord of vitality is snapped, quick as a flash of lightning (nature is very merciful in this case), and the peregrinating entity returns to its cast-off body no more. This complete departure of the inner consciousness means the snapping of that silver cord of vitality; and the body then is cast aside as a garment that is worn out and useless. Otherwise, the experience of the peregrinating consciousness, the peregrinating entity or soul, is exactly the same as what happened to it during sleep, but it is now on a cosmic scale. The consciousness passes, and before it returns to earth again as a reincarnating ego it goes from sphere to sphere, from realm to realm, from mansion to mansion, following the wording of the Christian scriptures, which are in the Father's house. Nevertheless, in a sense it is also resting, in utter bliss, in utter peace; and during this resting time it digests and assimilates the experiences of the last life and builds these experiences into its being as character, just as during sleep the resting body digests and assimilates the food it has taken in during the daytime, and throws off the wastes, and builds up the tissues anew; and when the reawakening comes it is refreshed. So is the reincarnating ego refreshed when it returns to earth. Similarly with sleep: sleep is caused by the withdrawal from the physical body of the entity which filled it with its flame and gave it active life. That is sleep. And when that withdrawal of the inner entity is complete, the sleep as sleep is relatively perfect and there is relatively perfect unconsciousness - the sweetest sleep of all. For then the body is undisturbed, rests peacefully and quietly, rebuilds in its system what was torn down during the hours of active work or play. If the withdrawal of the inner entity is incomplete or partial, then dreams occur, for the inner entity feels the attraction of the physical part of itself; the psychical man still feels that physical man working on it psychomagnetically, as it were; and the unconsciousness of sleep is disturbed by the vibrations of the physical man, of the animate body. This produces evil dreams, bad dreams, fevered dreams, strange dreams, unhappy dreams. If the withdrawal is somewhat more complete than in this last case, but not yet wholly complete, then there are happy dreams, dreams of peace. When the sleep is what is called utterly unconscious sleep, it is so because the inner entity is the least affected by the psychomagnetic vibrations of the body and of the brain in particular. It itself, this consciousness or mind, is in a doze, resting, but with a certain amount of its consciousness remaining, which the brain, however, cannot register as a dream, because the separation between the body and the consciousness which has left it is too complete. But while this consciousness is thus half-awake, so to speak, half-resting, it is in that particular world, invisible to human eyes, to which its feelings and thoughts in the previous moments and hours have directed it. It is there as a visitant, perfectly well protected, perfectly guarded, and nothing will or can in all probability harm it - unless, indeed, the man's essential nature is so corrupted that the shield of spirituality ordinarily flowing around this inner entity is worn so thin that antagonistic influences may penetrate to it. Rebirth, the awakening from the rest between earth lives, is the result of destiny, the destiny that you have made for yourself in past lives. You have builded yourself to come back here to earth; and that is why you are here now, because in other lives you builded yourself to reincarnate. You are your own parents; you are your own children; because you are yourself. You are simply the result, as a character, as a human being, of what you builded yourself to be in the past; and your future destiny - effect of necessity following cause - will be the result, the karma, of what you are now building yourself to be. Here are the secret causes of rebirth: men hunger for light and know not where to look for it. The instincts of men tell them the truth, but they know not how to interpret them. Their minds, their intellects, are distorted through the teachings brought to them by those who have sought for light in the material world alone. To seek for light - a noble occupation indeed! — but to search the material world alone for it proves the searchers to have lost the key to the grander Within of which the material universe is but the shell, the clothing, the garment, the body, the outer carapace. This is one of the secret causes of rebirth, of the rebirth of the human soul; because man, being an essential part of the universe, one with its very heart, in his heart of hearts and indeed in all his being, must obey the cosmic law of reimbodiment: birth, then growth, then youth, then maturity, then expansion of faculty and power, then decay, then the coming of the great peace - sleep, rest; and then the coming forth anew into manifested existence. Even so do universes reimbody themselves. Even so does a celestial body reimbody itself - star, sun, planet. Each one is a body such as you are in the lowest part of yourself; each one is an inseparable portion of the boundless universe, as much as you are; each one springs forth from the womb of boundless space as its child, just as you do; and one universal cosmic law runs through and permeates all, so that what happens to one, great or small, advanced or unadvanced, evolved or unevolved, happens to everyone, to all. You carve your own destiny; you make yourself what you are. What you are now is precisely what in past lives you have made yourself now to be; and what you will in the future be, you are now making yourself to become. You have will, and you exercise this will for your weal or for your woe, as you live your lives on earth and later in the invisible realms of the spaces of space. This is one more, and the second, of the secret causes of rebirth. There is a third secret cause, and perhaps it is the most materially effectual; and this third cause resides in the bosom of each one of us. It is the thirst for material life, thirst for life on earth, hunger for the pastures and fields wherein once we wandered and which are familiar to us, which bring us back to earth again and again and again and again. It is this trishna, this tanha, this "thirst" to return to familiar scenes that brings us back to earth - more effectual as an individual cause, perhaps, than all else. The excarnate entity after death and before the return to rebirth on earth goes whither its sum total of yearnings, emotions, aspirations, direct it to go. It is the same even in human life on earth. A man will do his best to follow that career towards which he yearns or aspires; and when we cast this physical body off as a garment that has outworn its usefulness, we are attracted to those inner spheres and planes which during the life on earth last lived we had yearnings towards, aspirations towards. That is also precisely why we come back to this earth to bodies of flesh. It is the same rule but working in the opposite direction. We had material yearnings, material hungers and thirsts, latent as seeds in our character after death; and they finally bring us back to earth. After death, the nobler, brighter, purer, sweeter seeds of character, the fruitage, the consequence, of our yearnings for beauty and for harmony and for peace, carry us into the realms where harmony and beauty and peace abide. And these realms are spheres just as earth is, but far more ethereal and far more beautiful, for the veils of matter are thinner, the sheaths of material substance there are not so thick as here. The eye of the spirit sees more clearly. Death releases us from one world, and we pass through the portals of change into another world, precisely as the inverse takes place when the incarnating soul leaves the realms of finer ether to come down to our own grosser and material earth life into the heavy body of physical matter."
"The inner worlds to the entity passing through them, as it has passed through this world, are as real - more real in fact - than ours is, because it is nearer to them. They are more ethereal, and therefore are nearer to the ethereality of the eternal pilgrim passing through another stage on its everlasting journey towards perfection; and these changes take place one after another, before the next incarnation on the returning wheel of the cycle - the pilgrim passing from one sphere to another through the revolving centuries, ever going higher, to superior realms, until the topmost point of the cycle of that particular pilgrim's journey is reached. Therefore, fear not at all. All is well, for the heart of you is the universe, and the core of the core of you is the heart of the universe. As our glorious daystar sends forth in all directions its streams of rays, so does this heart of the universe, which is everywhere because nowhere in particular, constantly radiate forth streams of rays; and these rays are the entities which fill the universe full."
Virtually all the world's cultures conceive of man as an ancient pilgrim on a journey involving endless cyclings of births and deaths, as he gradually seeks to follow the broader vision, the nobler way, until that day in ages to come when he will express the godhood within. Here in the West, however, in spite of a growing discontent with 'accepted' beliefs, this wider perspective of life is not generally entertained, and we tend to distrust our inherent wisdom, due primarily to our long-held materialistic approach with its concentration on the world of appearances, plus religious indoctrination and its resulting fear of the unknown. One of the least understood and most dreaded events we encounter is death. We have been so long concerned with our individual wellbeing in the hereafter, that we have tended to overlook the here and now, not realizing that by fulfilling the daily responsibilities as they come, the hereafter will take care of itself. The belief in only one life has also contributed to a sense of futility and discouragement. As Isaac Watts is said to have quipped:
In his parable of the Cave, Plato reminds us that
We are fortunate that at this time in our century the soul of humanity is beginning in some respects to turn its eye to see light instead of darkness, to break away from the limiting hellfire-pearly gate syndrome, as the search for truth continues, with the desire to know rather than just to believe. The current interest in religions other than Christianity has made the concept of reincarnation more acceptable. Also, recent investigations into the experiences of those near death or who have been pronounced "clinically" dead and then recovered, are corroborating in a wonderful way the knowledge which is part of the ancient wisdom tradition. Raymond A. Moody, Jr., M.D. and Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, M.D. in independent studies have reported similar accounts of a continuation of consciousness after 'death' from people of such widely differing religious, social and educational backgrounds as to be convincing. These have indeed helped to replace the attitude of fear and apprehension with a more rational and understanding approach to the subject. All of those interviewed (From Raymond A. Moody, Jr.'s Life After Life), with the exception of the ones who attempted suicide and were revived, found the 'death' experience beautiful, peaceful and natural. And the attempted suicides returned with a positive feeling of the futility of such an act, for they realized they escaped nothing, but merely intensified their problem. Many discovered that when the soul was out of the body, they knew a different dimension of awareness which was later difficult to describe in words. Dr. Moody points out that these experiences were not at all in a class with hallucinations. In every case there was a sound reaction akin almost to a spiritual awakening. Some, in spite of a pull to enjoy the absolute peace, felt a strong obligation to return, as though they still had an assignment to fulfill in their lives. And many were motivated to make their moments of living count for something. Of particular interest was the reviewing of their life which was not judgmental in a harsh way, though many apparently rather expected it to be. One individual explained it as resembling "an autobiographical slide show." In numerous instances there appeared to be a being of light — possibly man's constant inner guide, the higher self? — who helped with warmth and understanding to elucidate the review. This replay of events is described in various ways in different religions. Modern theosophy calls it the "panoramic vision," wherein all the thoughts, feelings, actions, good, bad, and indifferent, are registered on the screen of time, bringing awareness that what we do in our lives follows after us. We learn that death is not the cessation of life, but merely change, as symbolized in the transition from chrysalis to winged butterfly. From the standpoint of the inner man, it is the beginning of a glorious adventure of the spirit. Once we begin to view life in its wholeness, perceiving all phases of outer existence as part of the one divine force, everything begins to fit together in a most remarkable way. One sees an overall plan of incomparable beauty and synchrony down to the smallest detail, and in this pattern the spiritual ego, the actor, the true human self, "moves in eternity like a pendulum between the hours of birth and death." ( H. P. Blavatsky, The Key to Theosophy, p. 167.) The relationship between life here on earth and life after death is like an equation. As we grow to understand the true purpose of our manifested existence, we begin to sense the necessity for death and its natural function in the universal scheme; and the more we contemplate its mystery and grandeur, the more we realize the depth of potential to be awakened in each human being. As we live, so will we die. There is no intermediary required to insure a just experience, as each person draws to himself his own. The equation is exact. Whatever the character of a life, so will be the afterlife. And also, whatever causes have been created in one life, will be reaped as effects in succeeding lives. The period after death is, in other words, a world of effects rather than a world of causes, an unrolling of the reel of events that impresses on the memory the quality of these events. But so intricate and interrelated is the process, that whereas life on earth is primarily a world of causes, it is also the arena in which one must work out the results of causes sown. The sum total of causes generated in former lives helps to create the trend or circumstances of the present one. Nature's divine economy is such that death serves many functions simultaneously. It is, of course, a necessary respite required for the psychological and spiritual restoration of the ego. It is also a time of assimilation and absorption, when all that is worthwhile from the life's experience becomes part of the soul memory, and this is carried over from life to life. Also, certain energies not finding a suitable range of expression while an entity is on earth, are expended during the afterdeath rest period. All this is quite distinct from and yet connected with the most spiritual aspect of man's constitution that is said to circulate through the celestial realms where it is at home. Actually this earth is only one of many mansions. Other cultures speak of the journeyings; of the soul after death, its travels to the various planets, and its circulations through the cosmos. There is an old Roman saying adopted by the early Christians: Dormit in astris — He sleeps in the stars. If we were to see the workings of nature from the inside out, they would appear as a continual flow of consciousness and we would be aware of a gradual preparedness for what lies ahead. There are no sudden changes in nature, but rather is there a faithful repetition of principles from the very great to the very small — one cosmic law that is infinitely just and compassionate. Sleep, for example, is a little death, and in a very real sense prepares us for the larger adventure. The Greeks spoke of sleep and death as brothers. Sleep comes as a necessary interlude between the days, to restore equilibrium to the whole being, and death provides a longer interim between lives, the length of time spent being exactly proportionate to the quality and intensity of the individual's aspirations. Those who have not generated sufficient of the higher energies would return more quickly. At the same time, those who have a deep desire to help their fellowmen would likely be drawn back to earth sooner than others who are more self-oriented. Sleep, likewise, varies in length with particular needs. The essential difference between sleep and death is that during sleep the cord of life remains intact as the connecting link for the return of the consciousness to the body. If we were truly to understand the mysteries surrounding sleep we would have many keys to a deeper realization of death. Where do we go when we sleep, and dream? "Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, the death of each day's life, . . ." said Shakespeare. Pythagoras and others have stressed the importance of preparing oneself before going to sleep at night: reviewing the day's deeds, feeling peace of mind and heart, and harboring no hatred. This habit not only induces calmness and understanding in facing life's problems, but makes "the self-conscious realization of the events passing before the mind's eye at the moment of death far easier, quicker, and more complete." (G. de Purucker, Fountain-Source of Occultism, p. 551.) Birth and death also are like different aspects of the same spectrum of the one Life. Without the one, the other would not be. To paraphrase the saying: If the seed did not die, the plant could not come into, being. The death of the physical becomes the birth of the spirit. Both the elderly and the very young have a closeness to the world beyond from opposite ends of the line. The young have just left the world of dreams which still lingers in their atmosphere, while the thoughts of the elderly begin to reflect this same world they are soon to enter. When death comes in the natural course of events to the elderly, it can be a beautiful release, the natural fulfillment of a life well lived. In later years the focus of thought turns from an accent on outer things to the inner life, the veils between this world and the next grow thinner, and one sees a more perfect reflection of the inner self. Just as the brilliance of autumn comes before the leaves fade and drop to the ground, the bare tree all the while carrying on its inner functions until the season is right for the fresh leaves to appear again in spring, so in the older years there can be a radiance, a summation of all that has gone before, a mellowness and wisdom that presage the wondrous journey ahead. Of a child's closeness to the soul of things, Wordsworth has left a legacy to the world in his poem "Ode on Intimations of Immortality." In explanatory notes on the thoughts motivating this work, he writes: Nothing was more difficult for me in childhood than to admit the notion of death as a state applicable to my own being. . . . I was often unable to think of external things as having external existence, and I communed with all that I saw as something not apart from, but inherent in, my own immaterial nature. Convinced of preexistence and the immortality of the soul, Wordsworth wrote that children come "trailing clouds of glory . . . . From God, who is our home," and that this atmosphere lingers with them in the childhood years. To him, birth into this world is a kind of death, "a sleep and a forgetting," and our soul, "our life's Star," is gradually enclosed in its "prison-house" of worldly delusions. It is insights such as these that have prompted some to refer to our life on earth as a vale of tears. But from the standpoint of the soul, this is where we must return, through the cycle of rebirths gradually becoming by self-conscious effort the noble being we potentially are. Our earth lives can better be regarded as stages in the growth of the soul. As we go through the days and years, carving our own destiny, creating our own heavens and hells, each one of us is actually on his own self-made odyssey. As in the wanderings of Odysseus, we are continuously searching for our spiritual "home," seeking to find that marginally fine Middle Way between the perilous extremes of Scylla and Charybdis, while blown by the winds of adversity, and exploring unknown seas of experience. There are many heartaches along the way, as we suffer and try to rise above our countless trials. But these are made lighter by the hope derived from knowing the larger view, the essential purpose, and that always there is another chance, if not in this, then in another life; and secondly, that no effort, however small, is ever wasted. At our present stage of human unfoldment, suffering is a necessary spur to growth, for through it our sympathies are widened and our character strengthened. Yet the loss of someone near and dear, especially a sudden loss, is a very real sadness, accentuated immeasurably if the individual believes that the one who has died is gone forever, and no matter what one's philosophical beliefs, time alone will bridge the gap. But the bonds of love are timeless, and in this thought lies the seed of comfort. For love is a magnetic force that holds the universe together, and life after life draws back those who feel a deep affinity for one another. One day in eons to come, when every part of our being will have become tuned to the harmony of the universe, we will have triumphed over birth and death as we now know them, and our whole being will have become radiant with the warmth of compassion for all that lives. Only then will this particular odyssey be at an end, and a new and grander one begun.
WHEN THE SLEEPER WAKES H. G. Wells 1898 Everyman Chapter 1 Page11 INSOMNIA ""Overcome by the strangeness of the man's condition, he took him by the shoulder and shook him. 'Are you asleep?, he said with his voice jumping into alto, and again are you asleep?' Page 13 Chapter 2 THE TRANCE "The state of cataleptic rigour into which this man had fallen, lasted for an unprecedented length of time, and then he passed slowly to the flaccid state, to a lax attitude suggestive of profound repose. Then it was his eyes could be closed. Page 18 "He will have much to learn, much to unlearn, when he wakes. If ever a waking comes.''I'd give anything to be there,' said Isbister, 'just to hear what
he would say to it all.' Chapter 3 THE AWAKENING Page 19 "But Warming was wrong in that. An awakening came. Page 20 "How long had he slept?" Page 22 "Ha, ha, ha!, laughed one - a red haired man in a short purple robe. 'When the Sleeper wakes - When" Page 23 Chapter 4 THE SOUND OF A TUMULT Page 23 "Graham moved his head. 'What does this all mean?' he said Page 24 "You have been asleep some time. In a cataleptic trance. You have heard? Catalepsy? It may seem strange to you at first, but I can assure you everything is well." "Then suddenly, quite abruptly, he realised what had happened. There was no perceptible interval of suspicion, no dawn to his knowledge. Abruptly he knew that his trance had lasted for a vast interval; as if by some processes of thought reading he interpreted the awe in the faces that peered into his. He looked / Page 25 /
at them strangely, full of intense emotion. It seemed they read his eyes. He framed his lips to speak and could not. A queer impulse to hide his knowledge came into his mind almost at the moment of his discovery. He looked at his bare feet, regarding them silently. His impulse to speak passed. He was trembling exceedingly. Page 26 "Two of them spoke together. Some quick remarks that were made about 'decimal' he did not catch. "How long did you say?. asked Graham. How long? Dont look like that tell me" Page 28 "For a space the thickset man took not the slightest notice of Graham, but proceeded to interrogate the other - obviously his subordinate - upon the treatment of their charge. He spoke clearly, but in phrases only partially intelligible to Graham. The awakening seemed not only a matter of surprise but of consternation and annoyance to him. He was evidently profoundly excited. Page 29 "Then he perceived, repeated again and again, certain formula. For a time he doubted his ears. But surely these were the words: "Show us the Sleeper! Show us the Sleeper!"
If you want everlasting glory don't go back to sleep. If you want to burn with love don't go back to sleep. You have wasted so many nights! Tonight, for the love of God, meet the dawn don't go back to sleep! Rumi
SHAMANIC WISDOM IN THE PYRAMID TEXTS THE MYSTICAL TRADITIONS OF EGYPT Jeremy Naydler 2005 THE MYSTICAL VERSUS THE FUNERARY INTERPRETATION OF ANCIENT EGYPTIAN RELIGION Page 48 A Clash of Views "If the so-called funerary texts of ancient Egypt, of which the Pyramid Texts are the earliest example, were not simply for the use of the dead but also for the living, this implies the existence in ancient Egypt of a certain type of mysticism in which the living had experiences-probably in a highly charged ritual context-that would normally occur only after one.had died. The fact that a ritual context formed the framework within which such mystical experiences were induced, and that these rituals were implicitly secret, entitles us to refer to them as "mystery rites" or "mysteries."1 These experiences were of a direct encounter with spiritual realities normally veiled by the conditions of human physical existence. The direct experience of the spirit world, of the forces and energies that it contains and of the gods and ancestors who dwell in it, required that the normal conditions of daily life and daily consciousness be suspended. Ancient Egyptian mysticism involved a crossing of the threshold of death while still alive in ordel . - ~+-~...r1 within the spirit world and to know oneself as a spirit. The experience of spiritual rebirth required that one consciously undergoes the experience of dying. Page 49 While scholars generally accept that this "voluntary death" was one of
the central aims of the Greek and Hellenistic mystery cults, Egyptology has resisted the idea that any such initiatory rites or experiences existed in Egypt. The keynote against any such rites in ancient Egypt was struck by Siegfried Morenz, who, in his influential book, Egyptian Religion, compared the role of Isis and Osiris in the Hellenistic mysteries with their role in ancient Egypt in the following way. Whereas the later Hellenistic mysteries "sought to elevate the mystic to the divine plane by associating him with Isis and Osiris," in ancient Egypt "the deceased becomes Osiris and enters into God by the performance of the funerary rites." Between ancient Egypt and the Hellenistic/world a radical transformation took place, and "[t]his transformation consists in the following: in Egypt it was the DEAD, whereas in the Hellenistic world it was the LIVING who were so consecrated and thereby saved from their state of worldly terror."2 The argument of Morenz is that where we find mysticism in the Hellenistic world, we find funerary rites in Egypt. Page 51 Mysticism and the Experience of Death "In chapter 2, we saw that according to some of the most important Greek and Roman commentators, Egyptian religion was a highly mystical religion, and that through certain of its rites people were led to profound spiritual experiences. Whereas modern scholars tend to see the core of ancient Egyptian religion as focused on the needs of the dead, the Greek and Roman commentators saw it as focused on the needs and experiences of the living. These experiences were ,the source and foundation of the knowledge and wisdom of the Egyptians that was generally revered throughout the ancient world. It was, however, understood by these ancient commentators that the central mystical experience, which could be regarded as the backbone of Egyptian religion, was of a type that closely parallels the experience of death.7 What this means is that if a given religious text appears to be concerned with postmortem experiences, we need to look at it very carefully, because it could be describing mystical experiences of the living that parallel those that a person will undergo after death. In this respect the fundamental tenor of ancient Egyptian mysticism is accurately transmitted in the Hermetic tradition, in which mystical experiences are described that could otherwise easily be mistaken for postmortem experiences.8 Over the last forty years a great deal of work has been done to show that the Hermetic writings do in fact transmit genuine ancient Egyptian doctrines, one of which was that "the human being can become established on high without even leaving the earth."9 The Eleusinian Mysteries and Other Mystery Religions
Page 55 Plutarch was referring to either the Eleusinian mysteries or the Hellenistic mysteries of Isis, probably both. Then the High Priest ordered all uninitiated persons to depart, invested me in a new linen garment and led me by the hand into the In the writings of Plato, in the Greek Eleusinian mysteries, and in the Greco- Roman Isis mysteries, we therefore find a shared understanding that there is a kind of mystical experience that closely parallels the experience / Page 56 / of death. So closely does it parallel the experience of death that in the accounts of Plato, Plutarch, and Apuleius a person would seem to be brought experientially to the very brink of death. For Plato, death was understood to involve the separation or withdrawal of the soul from the experiential world mediated by the senses. As a consequence of this withdrawal, a new range of experiences becomes possible, no longer conditioned by the physical environment or by bodily incarnation. For both Plato and the mystery religions that we have been considering, it is clear that it was regarded as possible for people, while still alive, to enter a state of ,consciousness in which the soul becomes separated from the body for a short period. During this period of separation, people could have profound experiences that they would not otherwise have until they died, the most important of which was an intense realization that there is an element in their nature that is immortal. The Funerary Interpretation of the Osiris Myth In ancient Egyptian mythology, the god who presided over death and rebirth was Osiris, and it is he who would have been a central point of reference for the kind of initiatory rites that we have been considering had they taken place in Egypt. As is well known, Osiris is regarded by modern scholars as a god central to the funerary religion of Egypt. We need, therefore, to look at the figure of Osiris in order to ascertain whether this "funerary" god might not also have played an initiatory role in an Egyptian mystical tradition. We shall begin by examining certain key passages in the Pyramid Texts and then look at some important kingship rituals in which Osiris had a prominent part.
O BLESSED NAMUH HEARETH THEE MY VOICE AND LET MY CRY COME UNTO THEE
THE BIOLOGY OF DEATH Lyall Watson 1974 Page 49 "As long ago as 1836, in a Manual of Medical Jurisprudence, this was said: 'Individuals who are apparently destroyed in a sudden manner, by certain wounds, diseases or even decapitation, are not really dead, but are only in conditions incompatible with the persistence of life. '231 This is an elegant and vital distinction. Death is not 'incompatible with the persistence of life'. Our ability to bring all kinds of death back to life is limited only by the state of our technology."
THE PROPHET Kahil Gibran 1923 ON DEATH Then Almitra spoke, saying, "We would ask now of Death." And he said: You would know the secret of death. But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life? The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light. If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life. For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one. In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond; And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring. Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity. Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour. Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king? Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling? For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered? Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb. And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance. THE FAREWELL And now it was evening. And Almitra the seeress said, "Blessed be this day and this place and your spirit that has spoken." And he answered, Was it I who spoke? Was I not also a listener? Then he descended the steps of the Temple and all the people followed him. And he reached his ship and stood upon the deck. And facing the people again, he raised his voice and said: People of Orphalese, the wind bids me leave you. Less hasty am I than the wind, yet I must go. We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way, begin no day where we have ended another day;and no sunrise finds us where sunset left us. Even while the earth sleeps we travel. We are the seeds of the tenacious plant, and it is in our ripeness and our fullness of heart that we are given to the wind and are scattered. Brief were my days among you, and briefer still the words I have spoken. But should my voice fade in your ears, and my love vanish in your memory, then I will come again, And with a richer heart and lips more yielding to the spirit will I speak. Yea, I shall return with the tide, And though death may hide me, and the greater silence enfold me, yet again will I seek your understanding. And not in vain will I seek. If aught I have said is truth, that truth shall reveal itself in a clearer voice, and in words more kin to your thoughts. I go with the wind, people of Orphalese, but not down into emptiness; And if this day is not a fulfillment of your needs and my love, then let it be a promise till another day. Know therefore, that from the greater silence I shall return. The mist that drifts away at dawn, leaving but dew in the fields, shall rise and gather into a cloud and then fall down in rain. And not unlike the mist have I been. In the stillness of the night I have walked in your streets, and my spirit has entered your houses, And your heart-beats were in my heart, and your breath was upon my face, and I knew you all. Ay, I knew your joy and your pain, and in your sleep your dreams were my dreams. And oftentimes I was among you a lake among the mountains. I mirrored the summits in you and the bending slopes, and even the passing flocks of your thoughts and your desires. And to my silence came the laughter of your children in streams, and the longing of your youths in rivers. And when they reached my depth the streams and the rivers ceased not yet to sing. But sweeter still than laughter and greater than longing came to me. It was boundless in you; The vast man in whom you are all but cells and sinews; He in whose chant all your singing is but a soundless throbbing. It is in the vast man that you are vast, And in beholding him that I beheld you and loved you. For what distances can love reach that are not in that vast sphere? What visions, what expectations and what presumptions can outsoar that flight? Like a giant oak tree covered with apple blossoms is the vast man in you. His mind binds you to the earth, his fragrance lifts you into space, and in his durability you are deathless. You have been told that, even like a chain, you are as weak as your weakest link. This is but half the truth. You are also as strong as your strongest link. To measure you by your smallest deed is to reckon the power of ocean by the frailty of its foam. To judge you by your failures is to cast blame upon the seasons for their inconsistency. Ay, you are like an ocean, And though heavy-grounded ships await the tide upon your shores, yet, even like an ocean, you cannot hasten your tides. And like the seasons you are also, And though in your winter you deny your spring, Yet spring, reposing within you, smiles in her drowsiness and is not offended. Think not I say these things in order that you may say the one to the other, "He praised us well. He saw but the good in us." I only speak to you in words of that which you yourselves know in thought. And what is word knowledge but a shadow of wordless knowledge? Your thoughts and my words are waves from a sealed memory that keeps records of our yesterdays, And of the ancient days when the earth knew not us nor herself, And of nights when earth was upwrought with confusion, Wise men have come to you to give you of their wisdom. I came to take of your wisdom: And behold I have found that which is greater than wisdom. It is a flame spirit in you ever gathering more of itself, While you, heedless of its expansion, bewail the withering of your days. It is life in quest of life in bodies that fear the grave. There are no graves here. These mountains and plains are a cradle and a stepping-stone. Whenever you pass by the field where you have laid your ancestors look well thereupon, and you shall see yourselves and your children dancing hand in hand. Verily you often make merry without knowing. Others have come to you to whom for golden promises made unto your faith you have given but riches and power and glory. Less than a promise have I given, and yet more generous have you been to me. You have given me deeper thirsting after life. Surely there is no greater gift to a man than that which turns all his aims into parching lips and all life into a fountain. And in this lies my honour and my reward, - That whenever I come to the fountain to drink I find the living water itself thirsty; And it drinks me while I drink it. Some of you have deemed me proud and over-shy to receive gifts. To proud indeed am I to receive wages, but not gifts. And though I have eaten berries among the hill when you would have had me sit at your board, And slept in the portico of the temple where you would gladly have sheltered me, Yet was it not your loving mindfulness of my days and my nights that made food sweet to my mouth and girdled my sleep with visions? For this I bless you most: You give much and know not that you give at all. Verily the kindness that gazes upon itself in a mirror turns to stone, And a good deed that calls itself by tender names becomes the parent to a curse. And some of you have called me aloof, and drunk with my own aloneness, And you have said, "He holds council with the trees of the forest, but not with men. He sits alone on hill-tops and looks down upon our city." True it is that I have climbed the hills and walked in remote places. How could I have seen you save from a great height or a great distance? How can one be indeed near unless he be far? And others among you called unto me, not in words, and they said, Stranger, stranger, lover of unreachable heights, why dwell you among the summits where eagles build their nests? Why seek you the unattainable? What storms would you trap in your net, And what vaporous birds do you hunt in the sky? Come and be one of us. Descend and appease your hunger with our bread and quench your thirst with our wine." In the solitude of their souls they said these things; But were their solitude deeper they would have known that I sought but the secret of your joy and your pain, And I hunted only your larger selves that walk the sky. But the hunter was also the hunted: For many of my arrows left my bow only to seek my own breast. And the flier was also the creeper; For when my wings were spread in the sun their shadow upon the earth was a turtle. And I the believer was also the doubter; For often have I put my finger in my own wound that I might have the greater belief in you and the greater knowledge of you. And it is with this belief and this knowledge that I say, You are not enclosed within your bodies, nor confined to houses or fields. That which is you dwells above the mountain and roves with the wind. It is not a thing that crawls into the sun for warmth or digs holes into darkness for safety, But a thing free, a spirit that envelops the earth and moves in the ether. If this be vague words, then seek not to clear them. Vague and nebulous is the beginning of all things, but not their end, And I fain would have you remember me as a beginning. Life, and all that lives, is conceived in the mist and not in the crystal. And who knows but a crystal is mist in decay? This would I have you remember in remembering me: That which seems most feeble and bewildered in you is the strongest and most determined. Is it not your breath that has erected and hardened the structure of your bones? And is it not a dream which none of you remember having dreamt that builded your city and fashioned all there is in it? Could you but see the tides of that breath you would cease to see all else, And if you could hear the whispering of the dream you would hear no other sound. But you do not see, nor do you hear, and it is well. The veil that clouds your eyes shall be lifted by the hands that wove it, And the clay that fills your ears shall be pierced by those fingers that kneaded it. And you shall see And you shall hear. Yet you shall not deplore having known blindness, nor regret having been deaf. For in that day you shall know the hidden purposes in all things, And you shall bless darkness as you would bless light.
And he said: Patient, over-patient, is the captain of my ship. The wind blows, and restless are the sails; Even the rudder begs direction; Yet quietly my captain awaits my silence. And these my mariners, who have heard the choir of the greater sea, they too have heard me patiently. Now they shall wait no longer. I am ready. The stream has reached the sea, and once more the great mother holds her son against her breast. Fare you well, people of Orphalese. This day has ended. It is closing upon us even as the water-lily upon its own tomorrow. What was given us here we shall keep, And if it suffices not, then again must we come together and together stretch our hands unto the giver. Forget not that I shall come back to you. A little while, and my longing shall gather dust and foam for another body. A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind, and another woman shall bear me. Farewell to you and the youth I have spent with you. It was but yesterday we met in a dream. You have sung to me in my aloneness, and I of your longings have built a tower in the sky. But now our sleep has fled and our dream is over, and it is no longer dawn. The noontide is upon us and our half waking has turned to fuller day, and we must part. If in the twilight of memory we should meet once more, we shall speak again together and you shall sing to me a deeper song. And if our hands should meet in another dream, we shall build another tower in the sky. So saying he made a signal to the seamen, and straightaway they weighed anchor and cast the ship loose from its moorings, and they moved eastward. And a cry came from the people as from a single heart, and it rose the dusk and was carried out over the sea like a great trumpeting. Only Almitra was silent, gazing after the ship until it had vanished into the mist. And when all the people were dispersed she still stood alone upon the sea-wall, remembering in her heart his saying, A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind, and another woman shall bear me."
I AM THE DANCE AND THE DANCE GOES ON
DOES GOD PLAY DICE THE NEW MATHEMATICS OF CHAOS Ian Stewart 1989 Page 1 PROLOGUE CLOCKWORK OR CHAOS? "YOU BELIEVE IN A GOD WHO PLAYS DICE, AND I IN COMPLETE LAW AND ORDER." Albert Einstein, Letter to Max Born
I AM THE OPPOSITE OF THE OPPOSITE I AM THE OPPOSITE OF OPPOSITE IS THE AM I ALWAYS AM
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