Category: Gnosis
Lydia of Thyatira remains a spectral presence in the Book of Acts; her trace a cipher left at the crossing where the Logos enters Europe, threading itself into the weft of a world asleep. Scriptural testimony records her only fleetingly: a seller of purple, a foreigner to the Roman tongue, yet the first whose heart…
Amongst the corridors of flesh and thought lives a hunger that surpasses reason and limit; the ancients named it the Divine spark, a thunder that splits the silence of mortal form. Tradition whispers that the seventh completes and the eighth ruptures; the septenary cycle of planets and powers closes its ring, only to open a…
“To the seven churches in Asia… and from the seven Spirits before His throne.” (Revelation 1) I. The Lampstands and the Veil of the Rose In the pale chamber of Revelation, the number seven emerges as the iron structure and subtle perfume of the entire vision. It rises as the geometry through which the Divine…
The altar is never without a tremor, never entirely silent; the one who keeps vigil soon discovers that, beneath the veneer of domestic order, lies a wilderness of ancient voices, children weeping in the dark, the echo of footfalls at the threshold where the known surrenders to the feral. Under the gaze of the lunar…
At the doorway of Assiah, beneath the weight of matter rendered Holy, stands the Ace of Pentacles: a radiant emblem whose secret name is Kether clothed in earth. Within the Tarot, this single coin of gold descends silently from a realm veiled by luminosity into a landscape deeply tangible, bearing within its silent descent the…
In the shadow of Caesarea Philippi, where the rocks whisper older hymns and the waters recall the memory of vanished gods, the Logos turns his face towards Jerusalem. His voice carries the gravity of revelation, and He speaks openly of wounds, death, and a rising whose secret is locked behind stone. Those who follow listen,…
Each grain that settles on an altar, every crust of wax forgotten at the base of a candlestick, speaks in a tongue older than written prayer. There are quarters that remember hands, spaces that crave the cadence of ritual touch, the circulation of water, the faint spirals of incense at dawn. In Provence, Martha confronts…
When the night has folded the world into its silent cloak, a tremor may traverse the soul: shivering that begins somewhere deeper, where absence whispers and memory is in embers. Delirium tremens, in the language of physicians, describes a violent unraveling: a crisis that visits when the substance once invoked for relief is exiled, leaving…
When the soul stands at the border of the unsayable, certain presences arise, subtle and unyielding, weaving themselves through the marrow of the day. In the cloisters of ancient Egypt, between the sand and silence where speech dissolves and the heart sits waiting for visitation, the Fathers of the Desert charted out a region of…
In the dim chapel, upon marble that breathes the centuries, the script carves its wound: Tuam ipsius animam pertransibit gladius. The phrase, lifted from the Gospel according to Luke, echoes as a living sigil. This is the sword that passes through the soul, the gladius announced to Mary by the lips of the aged Simeon.…
