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Pilgrimage on the Sacred Grid

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  • holderlin66
    Overview of our Planet allows both historical and future perspectives. Bottling future religious fire, is not like bottling beer. Someday, as in Church
    Message 1 of 17 , Aug 28, 2004
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      Overview of our Planet allows both historical and future
      perspectives. Bottling future religious fire, is not like bottling
      beer. Someday, as in Church Pilgrimages/as Jan has noted, MAGEs we
      might be able to open a bottle of Agni raw fire and drink it down
      with Christic bubbly delight.

      "All of this, as it relates to locations of nuclear plants and
      new churches for the Asuric Beings to be thrust into cannisters and
      dumped in mountains like sacred Native American grounds and Yucca
      Mountain or tossed to leak and rust at the bottom of the seas,
      reveals a failure to understand the Beasts of Light that we must
      needs encounter as Picture and Imagination and as Science and
      Technology. Central to such understanding is the core of the
      Immortality of Humanity and the mystery of the Occult Core of the
      Nine Layered Earth.

      Jan wonderfully contributed;

      "Churches were sited not only upon holy, healing wells and caverns of
      ancient initiation but also deliberately built upon vortex sites of
      evil earth energies, often of a very baleful, raw kind and
      consciously transformed within the community of the church, often by
      means of ceremony and chanting, re-enchanting into raised and useful
      form what was seeping from darker regions of the earth. A form of
      search and transform - a Manichean journey into the darkest places
      secure in the magical power of Christ-light. This is no longer
      understood and it is the task of those who can to detect and act in
      an appropriate way upon such energies, as there are ever more
      sources."

      Current Pilgrimage notes added free of charge:

      http://www.lewrockwell.com/spectator/spec368.html

      "As we crossed over the escarpment at the Mount of Joy —
      traditionally the place where pilgrims caught their first glimpse of
      the spires of the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, but now a
      grim and dirty picnic spot with a hideous modern monument to a
      recent visit by the Pope, a kiosk selling soft drinks, and no view
      because the cathedral has been obscured by suburbs and trees — our
      eyes winced in the late afternoon sun, which hung directly in front
      of us. To the left, the heavens were black with the storm clouds
      that had soaked us throughout the morning; to the right, the
      brilliant blue sky had been washed bluer by the day's rain. Whether
      this dramatic bisection of the firmament reminded other pilgrims too
      of Last Judgments with heaven on one side and hell on the other, I
      don't know; but there can be few more dramatic or moving experiences
      than arriving at your destination, in my case after walking for 16
      days and 300 miles, as the sun is setting in front of you. Perhaps
      this explains why, alone among the great mediaeval pilgrimage
      routes, the Way of St James is now more popular than ever.

      Anyone who has walked west for weeks on end instinctively
      understands that a pilgrimage is a metaphor for life, and that our
      life's journey has only one certain end, namely death. Not that the
      camino (as the pilgrim's way is universally known) has anything
      morbid or even particularly religious about it. Instead, it is
      rather like a peripatetic dinner party, or a school outing for grown-
      ups. Far from being a conscious act of mortification, the camino is
      for many just a cheap holiday offering outdoor activity, a hippy-
      dippy lifestyle, or at most a whiff of right-on spirituality. Often
      pilgrims look like the sort of people who go to Stonehenge for the
      solstice, and their relationship to Christianity is tangential at
      best. On one of my first nights, an Irishman expounded the truths
      revealed in Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code (that Mary Magdalene was
      Christ's wife and that they had many children) while a tubby Native
      American woman from Quebec, who played a deep-toned Red Indian pipe,
      explained the superiority of Celtic religions over Christianity
      because of the pre-eminent role accorded to goddesses by the former.
      I learnt, too, how tolerant the Moors had been in Spain, unlike
      those evil Christians with their cult of St James the Moor Slayer —
      a point of view, I felt, which had probably not been shared by the
      Christian slaves on whose backs the bells of Santiago cathedral were
      carried to Cordoba, where they were placed upside-down by the mosque
      as an insult and a humiliation. So far, indeed, were the minds of
      most so-called pilgrims from the clouds of incense emitted by the
      enormous censer, the famous `botafumeiro', which is swung on a huge
      pulley operated by eight men at the end of the daily pilgrim Mass in
      Santiago cathedral, that the most pungent smoke I detected during
      the walk came when a blonde German girl and two long-haired
      Argentinian boys repaired to a bench by a village church to puff
      their way through a remarkably fat spliff.

      But what the pilgrims lacked in traditional spirituality they made
      up for in traditional charity. They were kind, considerate, friendly
      and generous to one another. For weeks people from all over the
      world walk, sleep, eat, wash, snore, fart and pick their blisters
      together in conditions of extreme privation. The pain is constant
      and everyone's feet swell up like Hobbits'. You sleep in the
      pilgrim `refuges' which have sprung up all along the way — large
      dormitories, often bug-infested. People who back home in Milan or
      Paris would shudder to invite a stranger into their home for a drink
      seem happy to throw themselves into sudden intimacy with people they
      do not know, often including sleeping in what amounts to the same
      bed. At Leon, a barrel-bellied, bearded man snored like an open
      sewer with a partial blockage, keeping the whole dorm awake, and a
      boy from Bavaria attempted vainly to quell the noise by getting out
      of bed and rattling the snorer's bunk at three in the morning. When
      that failed, he simply rummaged in his rucksack until he found an
      unneeded object to throw at him; but no one bore the man, still less
      the boy, any serious grudge.

      Perhaps the greatest deprivation is of a lie-in, or anything
      approaching it. Spaniards have a love of noise and a hatred of sun,
      and they are the usual suspects when, without fail at 5 a.m. or
      earlier, alarm clocks start to ring and bags start to rustle, as
      those walkers start the day who wish to finish by lunchtime. Then
      the slow torture begins, for those still in bed, of listening to the
      zip and unzip of camping gear and to the infuriatingly gentle swoosh
      which light waterproof fabrics make when they are being packed into
      a rucksack. Many early risers have torches which they fix to their
      foreheads and so, for what seems like for ever, the dormitory
      resembles Nibelheim, as strange figures move around furtively
      performing unnatural tasks in the gloom. Yet no one complains, for
      that would infringe the unspoken but universally understood rules of
      pilgrim camaraderie.

      Given that these simple truths about doing without are immediately
      grasped by anyone who experiences them, I found it incredible that I
      never once heard the word `penance' from the lips of a priest in the
      villages and towns along the way, even when they specifically
      preached on pilgrimage. Instead those few pilgrims who attended Mass
      were treated to sermons composed of what my Canadian walking
      companion (non-religious) pithily described as `a lot of New Age
      bullshit' about self-discovery and the unity of humankind. Even the
      Archbishop of Santiago, in his sermon, told the throngs in his
      cathedral that `We are all pilgrims' — a nice enough thought,
      perhaps, but rather irritating for those of us who actually were.
      Never did any cleric explain that a pilgrimage is a physical act of
      penance by which sins can be redeemed — not only one's own but also
      other people's. And yet the Christian religion has no greater
      message than the injunction to imitate Christ by performing self-
      sacrifice.

      A pilgrimage, like life, is a stony, hard, often lonely and
      sometimes desolate path..."
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