Just in…

*Ron Gasparri*, founder of MSI – Modern Scientific Illuminism, colleague, co-conspirator and friend has been so kind and generous to have written and posted a terribly good review for the book “Dreams of the Magus – Where Angels Fear to Tread.” It is as follows –

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Indirect Prose, Profoundly Enlightening, Esoteric & Kabbalistic Revelation

“Some books are well-written. Some books have relevant information. Some books are filed with grand, meaningless rhetoric. G. Peter Madstone’s “Dreams of the Magus” is well-written, contains relevant information and has meaning throughout its easily readable, flowing style that is reminiscent of Robert Anton Wilson’s style, as found in his masterpiece, “Quantum Psychology.” Before I go on, I have to proudly disclose that Pete is a good friend of mine and rather than assume that would skew this review in a positive direction, it actually made me read it with a more critical eye. That’s the point; as near and dear as the Western Esoteric Tradition is to me, I would never actively promote anything that claims to be a device for illumination that didn’t provide any light at all.

I read “Dreams of the Magus” in one sitting and that’s how I recommend everyone reads it. There are obvious Kabbalistic allusions throughout this book and in this context, both the new aspirant and seasoned Esotericist alike will appreciate, and receive. Many have the perception that Magick is just something that Harry Potter does with his wand in hand. After reading this book, not only will that misconception be erased, it will be exceedingly clear that there is far less “hocus pocus” involved at all. The overall implication I took away from this lucid, well written guide is that Magick is a lifestyle that empowers one to take responsibility for every aspect of his or her life. It is a proactive approach that leaves Chaos as little room as possible to meddle, and that is not paranormal at all. That shouldn’t diminish the importance of active ritual, but it should put it in context. Universal energy made use of to manifest a desired reality works best when one ensures it can augment self under the best possible conditions.

There a few typos that made into the final draft, but they do nothing to take away from the value of this guide that should be in every serious student’s collection.”

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Added to this review comes another 5 star rating! Of course, as author of this book, I will take a shameless moment to also blow the same horn. This is an extremely valuable book which can benefit anyone who reads it in some unimaginable ways. That’s it…

You can buy this book anywhere online or order it from you local independent booksellers if you prefer to support the  smaller entrepreneurial spirits that drive our culture in non-homogenized ways. For now, here’s a link to my Amazon book page –

http://www.amazon.com/dp/1449547419/

My “First” Enlightenment

Many, many years ago…

So long ago it seems as if it is a past life. So many chapters in my life have been read, re-read, read again and forgotten. This is one of those chapters in my life that I forgot existed. You might expect that the moment of one’s enlightenment would be never forgotten, but remembering such a moment is contrary that moment’s essence, and its life is lost in the annals of a memory replayed over and over. I had never re-read this chapter in my life (like I have so many others), but I stumbled upon it this morning while doing some preliminary plastering on my home’s exterior.

And so it begins –

I find myself sitting at the feet of a nameless master. But wait, I must step back a bit to explain how I got here.

I have always sought the most serious answers to life’s puzzling questions – serious answers to this joke we call life, and so, before entering college I decided to go to India to seek out those who knew. I travelled the countryside for months. I had meditated and sat satsang with yogis, sages and fakirs. I had seen it all, and yet still had not found what I was looking for.

I spent weeks at an Ashram waiting for Sai Baba to appear, hopeful that this God could answer my questions. When he arrived, I was granted private audience with him. While he explained to me that he was not the one for me, he said the One was calling and that I must go back on the road. I must continue my journey. Before I left, and in the typical nature of wise ones, Sai Baba muttered something so cryptic (I was rather young and naive) to me that had me wondering as I walked out the door, “Is this God bisexual?” This, in and of itself held no import to me whatsoever, as I had met bisexual Gods before, I just never quite understood them. Gods and men all have choices to make, and it is far from me to judge another. I later learned that this God has controversy follow him like flies follow un-showered Frenchmen (of which there are many – flies and un-showered Frenchmen).

I encountered Babaji some weeks later, and he, too, said he was not the one. I had to ask him in reply, “If all are one, how can you  not be the one?”

He smiled some cryptic smile as his sparkling eyes bored deep into my soul and I ended up with the biggest headache I ever had. He told me to go to the Ganges and bath so I would be clean for my meeting with the one True One. I went to the Ganges, high in the foothills of northern India, and bathed in the holiest of earthy waters. I ended up with dysentery.

After this, I continued on my journey, asking many where I might find the one. People would say, “Ahhh, you seek the Silent One! Continue on your path, young man – he awaits you.”

Weeks had passed as the blisters on my feet grew into slathering, oozing , puss-filled monstrosities fusing with the cotton fibers of my socks. Weeks of doubts, wishes to be elsewhere, hunger I had never known, and sights to behold unfolded before me. I knew I would soon be dead if I could not find the One.

One morning I entered a small village ready to give up on my dreams of understanding all there was to be understood. I asked an old man about the One. He pointed. There was a door. I went through the door. My eyes fell upon a not so unusual sight of a man in robes meditating on a cushion. Could this be the One I sought? Could this be the One that awaited me – that One who knew I was coming to see him? I sat down silently before him and waited.

Silence.

Hours pass – he begins to snore.

More hours pass – he stirs.

A little movement under the folds of cloth that covered this wise one, and some low moaning begins. Chanting, or maybe only the response of one whose legs are stiff from having not moved from the typically uncomfortable full-lotus position?

I could take it no longer, and so I spoke as this moaning (chanting?) continued getting louder. I asked expectantly and abruptly, “Are you the One I seek?”

His reply?

“Shhhh…. I am Master Bei Ting.”

I knew I had found the One.

A Stranger in a Strange Land

Recently I found myself planning a trip to the States. I don’t have a personal assistant to do this like some world-travellers do, and taking care of the details was not the easiest thing to do from my location, but thanks to the internet, the job was made somewhat do-able.

For those of you who don’t know, I currently live in France, and while my French is passable enough (barely) in ordinary circumstances, confirming things such as flight and hotel details on the phone is impossible for my limited skills, and sometimes the internet cannot answer all the questions one might have.

So, I opted to book my flight out of England, which was a decision made easier when I saw the prices to fly to the US from Paris – the UK has much better deals, even directly from the airlines. This simply meant that I would take a short flight across the channel and into a land where I am comfortable with the language (at least the written language – the Queen’s English still remains a mystery to me, even though most of the words are the same).

Unfortunately, I could get no decent connection from the UK to the US, so I had to spend the night somewhere around London, preferably close enough to the airport so I could get my first flight out the next morning without stress.

I must qualify that when I have travelled in the past, I have always been a Motel 6 – Travelodge – Ramada Inn kind of guy, but these don’t exist in England, so I did my best. I ended up booking a hotel at more than twice the price of one of these “ordinary” establishments, thinking that prices have gone up in the few years since I travelled, or just plain expensive around Heathrow Airport.

When arriving at the hotel, I thought that it was actually a pretty nice place, and I would probably be getting what I had reluctantly paid for. At reception, the night manager offered me a choice of rooms — I could have the room that was reserved for me, or I could benefit from what was a “quiet” night and take an upgrade to a club/suite at no extra charge. I said, with no question, “Okay.”

It was off to the west-wing and through a set of extra security doors to a land where the carpets are plush. I was to see how the other-half lived, and I wouldn’t be disappointed. Big screen TV in the living room, another TV in the bedroom, and one in the bathtub. Sofas, plush chairs, and even a safe! So… , call me naïve, but a TV in the tub? This place was nicer than any apartment I ever rented! There were a half-dozen fresh cookies by the coffee machine which I quickly went for, and a good-sized refrigerator that I knew was the “mini-bar” —  I avoided this like the plague.

It’s not that I don’t drink, but I was not about to pay double the price for the same thing I could have down at the bar, which was where I was headed anyway for a nice glass of wine (which turned into three). My first glass of wine was accompanied with a request for my room key, and an assurance that this wouldn’t be billed to my room, so I figured “good, I’ll pay cash,” which is how I like things, anyway. The bartender came back with a “Thank you, Sir,” and walked quickly away, so I left a 5 pound note on the bar.

A bit later, I felt like another glass of wine (my second, and usually my limit), so went back to the bar. I noticed my 5 was still on the bar where I left it, and offered it up with my second glass, where it was declined. The bartender told me there would be no charge for the drinks this evening, so I thanked him, and told him to keep it as a tip. This offering was flatly refused with a comment that “everything” was taken care of. I was told, “We don’t like our Club patrons bothered with details.” This is what led to my having a third glass “on the House.” I thought this whole thing was pretty good, and knew I would do it again if I ever got the chance.

It wasn’t until returning to France and telling this story to my wife, that she began to explain the ways of the world to me. Apparently, this is not unusual in the least bit, and she was somehow thoroughly familiar with it. She asked me if I raided the mini-bar, and I said “No, but I ate all the cookies! Why do you ask?” She told me that the mini-bar is ALWAYS free in these situations, stocked not with the usual garbage, but with chilled wine, champagne, and snacks a good step up from Beer-Nuts — all this without any additional room charges. I thought I had been around, but was starting to realize how naïve I really was.

What kind of world is this?

Imbalance and the Tree – Part 2

So to continue, in this microcosm of what is always “running and returning”, I am back to elaborate from where I left off. Imbalance, of course, is always a risk, and plays a divine (for lack of a better term) role in our course. This imbalance exists so that we may find balance through correctional activities that compensate for vibrational (habitual or otherwise) shifts that we so relish (while, of course, denying them). The desire for balance teaches us our mobility – it teaches us to walk, and will teach us to recognize when we are faltering on our path. It is a good system.

The risks on the straight and narrow can all be sourced from one thing, and this is mistaking it for a short-cut, or a fast track. This path is actually more demanding, requiring a discipline hard to come by. By not exploring the branches of one’s potential through direct experience, the fruit on those branches could be said to be studied from a distance. This is, however, a relatively short-term condition (in the greater scheme of things), for as one reaches the central point of the tree, s/he is availed all that exists to the right and the left in a direct way, and can be willingly, albeit momentarily, in these realities as s/he chooses, knowing the price to be paid if this existence, or pole, is not balanced by its opposite, or mate.

Suffice it to say, whatever path one finds themselves on, it is one that leads somewhere – it is always one that leads to new realities, and new ways of thought and existence. Pitfalls are essentially irrelevant if seen as negative experience. Duality reveals itself as an illusion, and the journey is one that takes us to the place we find ourselves in, in each and every moment. If we cannot be where we are, we have failed, forsaking the present moment by a future moment that does not exist, and will only arrive malformed due to our own neglect of taking notice of where we are in this moment. We cheapen our own existence by thinking of it as less important, even mundane, in comparison to what we believe to be a positive trait – that called hope of a better future.

Hope is superficial, and sitting on a chair, wishing things were different. If you get up out of that chair, you are no longer hoping, you are creating. If you are totally within this creative activity without thought of its outcome, you are in the moment, and assured that all subsequent moments will unfold perfectly. This reality transcends all hope, and you stand as being the one responsible for your creation.

When Your Writing Slumps…

Slumps — this is what a soufflé does when it fails for reasons unknown.

So what do you do when your writing slumps, otherwise known as the dreaded “writer’s block,” also for reasons unknown?

Well, if reasons are unknown, then there is no reason to look for any because there probably aren’t any to be found. This being the case, there is only one thing you can do with this slump, you can write about it. Drop everything you’re supposed to be doing, everything you’re supposed to be writing, and forget about it. Then you just pick up a pad and pen, or just fire up the old machine (which is probably on anyway), and begin writing. Write about how empty, dry and desolate you feel because you are not fulfilling your purpose in life.

Or, begin by writing about how you have absolutely nothing to write about.

Or, begin by documenting the events that led you to this state of being a miserable wretch.

Or, accept all this and just move on. Begin having fun doing what you do best, and that is writing — even if it is not the writing you are supposed to be writing.

Just dive into those words that come to you. Leave these words uncorrupted as they fly through the portal of you imagination into reality. Write as you have forgotten how to write, free and spontaneously,  flowing and going with the words as they pass out of your mind. Go … go … go into that night where there is no light but the light of the written word. Go … go … go with your words as they spin tales of woe and peace. Go with them as a passenger on a mysterious journey without any destination.

Go … go … go write what you will. Go back into your work with a pen in your hand. Go back into your work where your only need is the need to write and the need to share.

Go … go … go where you go without a care in the world. Go away with yourself to a place in your past, a place where you first wrote your name — that place where you first felt the joy of success. Go back to this day, for this is the day when you began to write —

and so begin again today.