Keeping an Oath

The circle is cast, the candles lit, the offerings made. His sigil is painted in gold on canvas and laid on the altar.

I breathe in, and out. In, and out.

In my hand, I hold a bracelet made of bells. As I breathe, I shake the bells in rhythmic time to my breath, as in my mind His Enn echoes… “Linan tasa jedan Paimon, Linan tasa jedan Paimon, Linan tasa jedan Paimon.”

I see a thick rope of energy stretching out into infinity before me, a cord built of Enn and Name. I reach out and take hold of it, resolved to follow it to its end and Keeper.

I plummet, and find myself surrounded by mists, in a circle of worn down rocks. Each stands as tall as I, and each has a gemstone at about heart height, all the gems producing pastel light through the vapor around me. I see ballet slipper, butter, cerulean… I know there are more, but the world is wavering before me, as if the mist has been parted by a frameless window. Through it, I see the desert.

As I try to see clearer, I feel an odd… shifting/falling/spinning… and then I am surrounded by sand and heat. A sharp wind whips me with small grains, pushing me forward, and to the right. I look in that direction and begin to walk.

It’s not long before I find a scorpion. It’s nearly a foot long, almost see through. My mind tells me to be wary, but emotionally, I feel no fear, no concern. I find myself remembering the fifth pentacle of Mars seal of Solomon, the scorpion seal for protection and reversal of negative energy, which at the end of my long illness was so pivotal in my rebirth. I reach down, and stroke the scorpion in gratitude for its message and its nature, and then I walk a wide circle around it to the left, and then continue straight, again letting the wind show me the way.

Sand wafts like smoke signals before me, and I follow them.

I come to a clay vessel buried in the desert soil. As I gently brush the sand away to unearth it, I find it is nearly three feet tall, but it weighs very little. It is still sealed shut with wood and tar and leather, and both handles are still attached. The pottery feels slick and cool, and oddly smooth and pitted at the same time – as if I am feeling both the present and the past all at once. I open it to find water. As I drink, I find beneath the water dates, raisins, and figs, and chunks of spices and resins. Under the fruit and spices, I find scrolls, fragile and ancient, their ink long since vanished away. Finally, I find flakes of gold, as if the inside of the urn was once gilded, and time washed it all to the bottom.

I understand, these are the riches I carry within myself – a symbol of the gifts I carry in offering to others, and also a representation of what is being offered to me.

I hoist the urn up, and with rope, I place it on my back to carry with me… and then I move forward. The wind turns me again to the right, and before me I see ruts in the sand, as if many wheels have passed. I find this strange – wheels would bog down in the granulated earth – and then I see that there are stones, a road, paved through the desert. I follow the grooves.

There is another strange skipping sensation, and I am standing beside stone walls. They have been worn away with time – most are buried in the sands, but what remains only comes to my knees in places. I reach out and rub my hands on the bricks, feeling their rough, weathered texture against my palms. As I take my hands away, I rub the grit off between my fingers. I feel an enormous sense of pleasure in the feel of those stones and the dust of ages – a feeling of deep appreciation for the history they represent. This is a City. There is a sense of City as an energy, a human experience. As I touch the walls, I feel in touch with times beyond my memory… and yet I see the days when the City stood as if I lived them – as if I REMEMBER them.

I have a sense of someone with me, now, behind and to my left. I cannot see them – I am focused on the arch that has appeared.

I walk through the entrance, and there is another twist to reality. I am at an ancient well in the center of the city. I have a sense of the city both alive and dead around me as I kneel at the well. I take the urn off my back, and use the rope to send it down into the well. I’m not sure if I’m offering what’s in the urn to the depths, or if I am drawing something out of them with the vessel. Perhaps it is both.

I see a male hand held out to me in offering. It is brown, and callused. As it reaches towards me, I can see a silk cuff at the wrist. I hear a man’s voice say, “Take back your heart, Sister.”

I’m hesitant. I’m not sure if I want to…. but, I take the hand, and feel it help me begin to rise up.

My eyes open. I offer my thanks, and open the circle.