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Sometimes, I consider the newest wave of fresh-faced young occultists, with their easy access to so much information. I am often impressed by the way they know so much of the secret knowledge . I remember scrabbling through rare books when I could steal glimpses of them. Everything was so hard to find, twenty-five years ago. Now, every grimoire ever written can be found with a few strokes of the keyboard.
I always find these kind of things disingenuous. For goodness sakes you had it so much easier than the generation before you did too. And the generation before that and certainly better than the dark ages. Were you any less serious than a 19th century occultist? There have always been folks exposed to the occult and only took it as a curiosity and never took it further. And there have always been people who took it all the way and died or went totally mad—and there have always been a number of folks in between. There may be a bigger mass of us now, but there are more humans period. This is a renaissance of information, sharing and innovation. Not unlike the 19th century actually. I think its worth embracing.
I can liken this kind of sentiment the op made to a ridiculous Miranda Lambert song where she laments the long lost days of shaking your polaroid to make it come up compared to the instantaneous i-phone pictures…Wow things were so much more meaningful when you had to wait 3 minutes for a photo rather than 3 seconds…. Give me a break.
And then, we find out: Knowledge is not the secret.
Agreed. There is knowledge and then there is self-knowledge. You have to find it in your own awareness and transform the wisdom into a living will. Without making it your own, it simply remains words and scribbles. The knowledge itself is not magical, it is the driving consciousness behind it.
Juha Helminen, “The Knowledge” from Invisible Empire.
To paraphrase Socrates,
A wise woman knows she knows nothing…
Science Saved My Soul
Through binoculars, for every star you can see with your naked eye you can see 100 around it, all suspended in a gray blue mist. But through a modest telescope, if you wait for your eyes to adjust to the dark and get the focus just right… you will see that mist for what it really is: More stars. Like dust, fading into what tastes like infinity…
I knew the faintest twinkle of starlight was a real connection between my comprehending eye along a narrow beam of light to the surface of another sun. The photons my eyes detect (the light I see, the energy with which my nerves interact) came from that star. I thought I could never touch it, yet something from it crosses the void and touches me.
That blue twinkle will blow up one day, sterilizing any nearby solar systems in an apocalypse that makes the wrath of human gods seem pitiful by comparison—yet it was from such destruction that I was formed. Stars must die so that I can live.
I stepped out of a supernova… And so did you.