This is a path of dire circumstance. A razor's edge. Blind faith is your only guide as you dictate the shape of your own reality. You must disregard the opinions of others and remain focussed solely on your own direction. Distractions line the slippery path - the tightrope between despair and ecstasy. It is easy to slip and fall.
The Magician is constantly The Fool. Blind and ignorant. Selfish and proud.
You never know if what you follow it true. There is nobody to tell you either way. For all around is opinion and unproven THEORY. Nothing is true. All could be delusion. You wander from high to low to deeper despair to manic suicidal depression. You seek the next high ...
Then an outside force overwhelms your senses. You receive undeniable proof. You are in bliss once more. The lapdog to the invisible power. Spreading the word. Then like a drug it fades and you find no substitute to produce that high. It fades into memory like a dream.
You drag hyperspace through all the fanciful and ridiculous. You seek others who've experienced the same.
You find nobody else. You feel alone.
Then shadows flit and float. Part manifestations out of the corner of your eye. Impressions of persons lost. It rekindles your faith. You know it is not lost.
Life this time is just make or break. You seek you true name as you know the birth name in this illusion is not the true you. At night you attempt to connect to that constant within. The point you know your consciousness resides.
It is little comfort to have wondrous real dreams with smell and touch and sound and thoughts. Cognitive thoughts in your mind during dreaming. Which makes you realise your dreams are not figments of imagination. They are as current and as real as the living now. They are real dramas when you are within them on another frequency.
Thereto you have a form and a consciousness. You have a theme. You have a name. But there you shape shift. Here you are constant. The scene is solid like cement. Here is the illusion. For thought is meant to shift and change its identity like the amoeba.
Hence my choice to be the Hermit. The purveyor of my own dream. I repel fame and fortune and thus in this reality I am the pauper. It makes it all a struggle. I repel identification and the lime light yet I know my art is powerful. Very powerful. Unique. I could make a name for myself with it.
But I have a huge fear. How to handle success. How to handle my ego which knows it is something. It will do something I will regret. That is my fear. Hence I create thought forms to repel the success I am meant to have.
The countless hundreds of souls who've experienced first hand my mediation ... my mediumship ... my messages ... would be the first to tell you the accuracy and the depth of my talent. I know there are thousands of testimonials for a book if I wished to write one.
I remain alone. I remain in sorrow. In personal torment. Here on this backwater island. I should be in the limelight.
Now I've forgotten how to get on that road I've been in the dark for so long.
Magic is how you make it. Magic makes how you are. Magic is you. It is the tool which you craft your reality. We are all unique dreamers plugged into a collective dreamscape. It really isnt the real life we think it is.
Nothing is cast in stone as surely as we are led to believe. It is only because we are made to believe something that the something is real. I believe my life is going nowhere and I am a nobody now. It is how my magic has been made to work on me for the last few decades.
Somehow I need to break that believing mould by disbelieving it. Somehow I must begin to believe I am to be famous and that my power will lead me to the dizzy heights I really want inside but which I am so scared of.
Someday ....
