It is difficult indeed to depict the enchantment, the inebriation of ecstasy, the communion of Saints in the nights of. In one such night, the Patriarch Jacob, living reincarnation of the resplendent Angel Israel, while resting his head upon the Philosophical Stone, read within the stars the promise of innumerable descendents, and he saw between heaven and earth the mysterious septenary ladder through which all the ascend and descend.
To experience the Truth, the Reality, or “That”... is only possible when we are absent from the “I.”
On the day of the Lord, I was inspecting, searching, inquiring into the mysteries of my own final hour. I saw and heard things that the profane and profaners are not allowed to comprehend. Then, I directly experienced the last stage, the setting of the “I,” the catastrophic end of “myself.”
Thus, I lived the crucifixion of the intimateand the descent into the Holy Sepulchre. The fight against Satan was terrible... Then, my priestess wife sealed my sarcophagus with a large stone while sweetly smiling... and from the Golgotha of the Father, lightning, thunder, and terribly divine voices were heard.
All of this reminds me of the Rune Sig, which is the terrific lightning from the Central Sun.
SULU-SIGI-SIG is the secret name of the sacred frightful viper.
Certainly, the star of five points is a constant repetition of the Rune Sig. This star resembles the trace of the zig-zag of lightning. In ancient times, human beings trembled before the Pentalpha.
Within the archaic mysteries, Sig was the phallus, and through it we return to the Maithuna (Sex Yoga).
Sig is the Sun, and its letter is the “S,” whose sound when wisely prolonged is converted into the subtle voice, into that sweet and appeasing whistle that Elias heard in the wilderness.
The Finalis sealed with lightning, with the Rune Sig, and amidst thunder and lightning these tremendous words are heard, “Father, into thy hands I commend my Spirit.”
The luminous flaming sword, which turns threateningly in all directions in order to keep the way of the Tree of Life, has the dreadful figure of the Rune Sig, and it reminds us of the zig-zag of lightning.
“Woe unto the Samson of the Qabbalah if he permits himself to be put asleep by Delilah! The Hercules of science, who exchanges his royal sceptre for the distaff of Omphale, will soon experience the vengeance of Dejanira, and nothing will be left for him but the pyre of the Mount Oeta, in order to escape the devouring folds of the coat of Nessus.”
Unhappy is the one who permits himself to be seduced by the original She-Devil, the no-name woman, who is a rose of perdition from the infernal abyss.
Disgraceful is the initiate who falls inebriated into the arms of the sanguinary Herodias, the Harpy Gundryggia, and one hundred women more.
Woe! Woe! Woe to those initiates who succumb to the fiery kisses: not of many women, but of that one woman of antonomasia, of that symbolic woman who does not try to grossly seduce with suggestions of mere animal sensation, but with the most perfidious and delectable arts of subtle sentimentalism and romantic emotionalism.
Therefore, it would be better for these initiates to have not been born, or to have a millstone hung about their necks and be drowned in the depths of the sea. [Matthew 18:6, Mark 9:42, Luke 17:2]
Disgraced are the ones who—instead of rising towards the Golgotha of the Father and descending into the Holy Sepulchre —will instead be fulminated by the terrible lighting of cosmic justice, who will lose their flaming swords, and descend into the kingdom of Pluto through the black path.
Anguished sleeplessness, the frightful jealousy that makes our existence bitter, cruel distrust, the filthy vendettas covered with wounds, and the abominable hatred that distills blood are always flapping tenebrously around about the ebony throne of the king of the Infernal Worlds. There we also find the gnawing avarice that continuously, mercilessly devours itself, and the disgusting rage that tears at its flesh with its own hands.
To that end, we also find the insane arrogance that miserably ruins everything, and the infamous treason that always defends itself and nourishes itself with innocent blood, yet cannot be satisfied by the corrupted fruit of its perfidies. There is also the mortal venom of envy that destroys itself when incapable of destroying others; also the cruelty that is precipitated into the hopeless abyss; and the macabre and frightful visions —the horrifying phantoms of the condemned ones—the fear of the living ones—those nightmarish monsters—and the cruel sleeplessness that causes so much anguish.
These and other fatal images are girded around the horrifying forehead of the fierce Pluto and fill his ominous palace.
Telemachus, the son of Ulysses, found millions of hypocritical Pharisees in the kingdom of Pluto; they are whitened sepulchres who fake love towards religion, but are actually filled with arrogance and pride.
Descending into more submerged regions, this hero found many patricides and matricides who were suffering frightful torments. He also found many wives who bathed their hands with the blood of their husbands, and traitors who betrayed their country and violated all of their oaths. Nevertheless, even though it seems incredible, these traitors were suffering less punishment than the hypocrites and simoniacs.
Thus, this punishment is the will of the three judges of the Infernal Worlds, since these hypocrites and simoniacs are not content—as the rest of the condemned ones—with simply being evil, but moreover boast of themselves as being saints and thus deviate people with their false virtue. Thus, they place people far away from the path that leads towards the Truth.
The Holy Gods who have been impiously and hypocritically mocked by everybody in the world, and who have become insignificant before the masses, are now with all of their power avenging themselves of the insults that people have inflicted upon them.
The terrible ray of cosmic justice also precipitates into the abyss those fallen Bodhisattvas who never want to rise again. They are accused of three crimes:
Every great work, any judgment, is always sealed with the Rune Sig, with the flaming sword.
You must seal all of your magical works, invocations, supplications, healing chains, etc., with the Rune Sig. The zig-zag of lightning must be traced with your right hand and your extended index finger, at the moment when you also sound the letter sssssssssssssss as a prolonged, sweet, and gentle whistle.
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