A View from the Other Side

Observations from the winged dude next door.

Archive for the tag “perfume”

Bright Messenger

Archangel ChamuelThe below is another excerpt from Fragrant & Radiant Healing Symphony by Roland Hunt:

“Again, in so-called works of fiction there are to be found beautiful and most vivid descriptions which, in their truth and wealth of detail, speak of authoritative experience, entirely transcending the powers of imagination. Thus the well-known novelist Algernon Blackwood in his Bright Messenger describes the experiences of one who has mingled with the Devas that inhabit the “Nature” Kingdom:

“The stream of life pouring through him became more and more intense; some power of perception seemed growing into white heat within him; transcending the limited senses; becoming incandescent. This tide of sound, inaudible to ordinary ears, was the music which is inseparable from the rhythm that underlies all forms, the music of the world’s manifold activities now pouring in vibrations huge and tiny all around and through him…

“The figure was still definite enough in form indeed, yet at the same time taking the rays into itself as thought it were a body of light. The sunshine filled the air, the space all around him, the entire lawn and garden shone in a sparkling flood of dancing brilliance. It blazed. The figure was merely a portion of this blazing, As a focus, but one of many. And about each focus was the toss and fling of lovely, ever-rising spirals.

“Across the main stream came another pulsing movement, hardly discernible at first, and similar to an underswell that moves the sea against the waves—so that the eye perceives it only when not looking for it. This contrary motion went in numerous, almost countless, directions, within and below its complicated wave-tracery. There were yet other motions, crossing and interlacing at various speeds, until the space about him seemed to whirl with myriad rhythms, yet without the least confusion. These rhythms were of a hundred different magnitudes, from the very tiny to the gigantic, and while the smallest were of a radiant brilliance that made our sunshine pale, the larger ones seemed distant, their light of an intenser quality. These were strangely diffused—these bigger ones—’distant’ was the word that occurred to him, although that inner brilliance which occurs in dreams, the nameless glow that colours mental visions better describes them. Moreover, they wore colours human eyes had never seen, while the smallest rhythms were lit with the familiar colors of the prism…

“He suddenly became conscious of a pattern forming before his eyes, hanging in empty space, shining, soft with light and beauty. It became, he saw, a geometric design. An idea of crystals, frost-forms, a spider’s web hung with glistening dewdrops shot across his memory. The spirals whirled and sang about it.

“this outline, he next perceived, was the focus to which the light, heat, colour, all contributed their particular touch and quality. It glowed now in the centre of the vortex. So overwhelming, however, was the sense of stupendous power involved that, as he phrased it afterwards, it seemed he watched the formation of some mighty sun. It was the whirling of those billion-miled sheets of incandescent fires that attend the birth of a nebula that he watched. The power, at any rate, was gigantic.

“He stood trembling before a revelation that left him lost, shelterless, bereft of any help that his little self might summon—when, suddenly, with an emotion of strange tenderness, he saw the great rhythms become completely dominated by the very smallest of all. The same instant the pattern grew sharply outlined, perfect in every detail, as though the focus of powerful glasses cleared—and the pattern hung a moment exquisitely fashioned in space beneath his eyes before it sank slowly to the ground. It remained in an upright position on the grass at his feet—a daisy, growing in the earth, alive, its tiny delicate face taking the sunlight and the morning wind…

“He could not differentiate the figures from the ever-moving sea of light that filled space wherever he looked. The same play of brilliance shone and glistened everywhere, whirling, ever shifting as in vortices of intricate geometrical designs, dancing, interpenetrating, and with a magnificence of colour that caught his breath away. There were remarkable flashings, and two of these flashings blazed suddenly together forming an immense physiognomy, an expression, rather, as of a mighty face. The same instant there were a hundred of these mighty brilliant visages that pierced through the sea of whirling colour and gazed upon him, close, majestic, with a power and beauty that left thought without a ghost of language to describe them.”

Once again the author describes Dr. Fillery’s contacts with the devas:

“Across the rising upland swept a keen fresh morning wind. Yet bare they were not, this rising upland and this hill. As far as he could see the landscape flowed waist-deep in flowers, whose fragrance lay upon the air; dew trembled, shimmering upon a million petals of blue and gold, of orange, purple, violet; the very atmosphere seemed painted yet vibrant with continuous gentle rhythm as though the actual scenery poured forth its being in spontaneous, natural expression of sound, as well as of form and colour. It was the simplest, happiest music he had ever heard.

“Unable to deal with the rapture of delight that swept upon him, he stood stock still among the blossoms to his waist. Eyes ears, and nostrils were inadequate to report a beauty which, simple though it was, overbore nerves and senses accustomed to a lesser scale. Horizons indeed had lifted, the joy and confidence of fuller life poured in. His own being grew immense, stretched, widened, deepened, till it seemed to include all space. He was everywhere, or rather everything was happening all at once… In place of the heavy suburb lay this garden of primal beauty, while yet, in a sense, the suburb itself remained as well. Only—it had flowered… revealing the subconscious soul the bricks and pavement hid… its potential self had blossomed into loveliness and wonder…

“The sound drew nearer. He was aware of movement. Figures were approaching; they were coming in his direction, coming towards him over the crest of the hill, nearer and nearer; concealed by the forest of tall flowers he watched them come, yet as Presences he perceived them, rather than as figures, already borrowing power from them, as sails borrow from a rising wind. His consciousness expanded marvellously, to let them in.

“Their stature was conveyed to him, chiefly, at first, by the fact that these flowers, though rising to his own waist, did not cover the feet of them, yet that the flowers in the immediate line of their advance still swayed and nodded, as though no weight had lain upon their brilliance. The footsteps were of wind, the figures light as air; they shone; their radiant presences lit the acres. Their own atmosphere, too, came with them, as though the landscape moved and travelled with and in their being, as though the flowers, the natural beauty, emanated from them. The landscape was their atmosphere. They created, brought it with them. It seemed they ‘expressed’ the landscape and ‘were’ the scenery, with all its multitudinous forms.

“They approached with great and easy speed that was not measurable. Over the crest of the living, sunlit hill they poured, with their bulk, their speed, their majest, their sweet brimming joy. He stood motionless watching them, his own joy and worship mastered the final trace of fear.

“Though he perceived these figures first as they topped the skyline, he was aware that great space also stretched behind them, and that this immense perspective was, in some way, appropriate to their appearance. Born of greater space than his ‘mind’ could understand, they flowed towards him across that windy crest and at the same time from infinitely far beyond it. Above the continuous humming sound, he heard their music too, faint but mighty, filling the air with deep vibrations that seemed the natural expression of their joyful beings. Each figure was a chord, yet all combining in a single harmony that had volume without loudness. It seemed to him that their sound, their colour, and movement wove a new pattern upon space, a new outline, form or growth, perhaps a flower, a tree, perhaps a planet… They were creative. They expressed themselves in a million forms.”

Then again Mr. Blackwood makes Dr. Fillery say:

“I hummed again, but this time with my lips closed. The waves of rhythm caught me up and away. I soared and flew and dropped and rose again upon their huge coloured crests. Curtains and sheets of quiet flame in palest gold flared shimmering through the sound, while winds that were full of hurricanes and cyclones swept down to lift the fire and dance with it in spirals. The perfume of great flowers rose. There were flowers everywhere, and stars shone through it all like showers of gold. Ah! I began to remember something. It was flowers and stars as well as human forms they worked to build…”

Sounds of the Universe

rainbow spheres

This is an account of what one student with the AMICA institute experienced. He seems to have literally woken up one morning, able to perceive the Music of the Spheres. From Fragrant & Radiant Healing Symphony by Roland Hunt:

“It was in the Spring of 1934 when I first heard the wonderful Sounds of the Universe. One night with my mind uplifted to God, I fell asleep, desiring only God and Truth. In the early morning I awakened and sat up listening intently, my mind concentrated on listening. No sound came and so I fell asleep again wondering why such a thing should happen. The next day while out on my bicycle riding between St. Annes-on-Sea and Blackpool—not a quiet place—I became aware of a lovely humming of all life—everything in all directions was humming and singing happily. I began to realise that everything was filled with music. The workmen I saw and heard in the distance sent out notes of music with their tools and hammers instead of the ugly sounds and bangs. I was filled with joy unspeakable to hear such things. A car came along and drew up with a flourish of trumpets, and the engine played some lovely tune. I listened in amazement, wondering if anyone else could hear the same things. But alas! They could not and so I had to keep the glorious truth to myself: that Music and Joy fills all space. I saw two lovers coming along the road and I heard them speak, but instead of hearing their Lancashire speech I heard beautiful voices.

“It was all a radiation of Joy, Harmony, and Love. How gloriously happy I was. No note of discord could find a place in me. On another occasion I entered a bus. As soon as the engine started the music began to play loudly above all the music and chatter of the people. Wherever I went there was music. When going to sleep at night I began to hear music in the heavens and later choirs of heavenly music and voices. I could hear Mass being sun and chanted and great bells ringing. I know the are going on without end.

“I heard the Music of the Spheres although until then I knew nothing of such things. Now I know I have been given music direct and spiritually.

“The Music of the Spheres became so loud that I had to pray for it to quieten down, for I had no one to advise me about such matters.

“As I lay down to sleep one night, I felt a swishing sensation and saw a beam of light. It was pale gold and felt like a searchlight. It was beginning to tune in to the Spheres.

“I heard the sons and daughters of God shouting for joy above the earth clouds. I almost jumped off the earth for joy myself when I first heard them. I would gladly have joined them and at that time wondered how I could remain on the earth.

“Some years ago I came to live in Newquay, Cornwall, and during the years I was greatly blessed as the beloved Music continued. Sometimes, to keep what I had found, I had to leave my home suddenly and go ou of doors to some quiet spot.

“On the sand dunes near Perranporth, in the great silence, where the lost church of St. Piron is said to be, the sounds were glorious and I could hardly bear to leave. Waking by the sea I have heard hundreds of violins playing heavenly music and again a great harp, the Harp of God, the lovely notes going, as it were, across the Universe. I loved the wind, for when it was rushing about I could hear the planets clearer than ever resounding on their pathway, and great trumpets would flourish as they passed by my window, as it seemed, along with the wind.

“As I lay listening and loving it all so much, I heard St. Michael and His Angels playing on trumpets and beating drums, fighting the spiritual battle which the world refuses to see and understand.

“I know by all this blessedness that I am only on earth to worship God and serve others in the highest sense. I have never taken any breathing exercises, but without knowing of special breathing, I knew I was breathing the Breath of God and breathed the harmony of all these things into my entire being, and I now desire to be further purified and suppose it must always continue for I know now that this purging process is essential and most necessary… and such remains my prayer.”

Why Scent Matters

cabinet of oils and powdersPreviously, I’ve posted on the 1937 book Fragrant and Radiant Healing Symphony. It discusses the correlations of particular scents with music notes and colors. The power of scent has long been used and scrutinized since humanity began, especially with regard to spiritual matters.

All ancient cultures use incense as a gift to the gods, and perfume to honor them. Dried resins, herbs and other substances were burned, the smoke traveling up to God’s nostrils (or whoever you’re burning it for). Holy people would put on particular perfumes to better connect to the spirits and deities, and to make their bodies more pleasing during ceremonies. These are also used to cleanse a room, such as using white sage to “smudge” or purify the area with its smoke, or van-van oil to clean floors and purify them at the same time.

Certain scents are favored by certain spirits. Traditional church incenses usually involve frankincense, myrrh, and probably petitgrain or another dried rose essence. It’s almost more for the people there than the spirits, since it triggers certain feelings in the congregation that can be very powerful at times. But of course the spirits enjoy it also. A general spirit-calling incense used by a lot of Native Americans of the plains is sweetgrass.

sweetgrass smokeThere are also specific likes and dislikes. Find out, if you can, what the spirit you’re trying to be in contact with likes. Or, if you’re trying to get rid of one, what he, she or it dislikes. I’m partial to sandalwood and leather in particular, so my avatar and close friends usually choose things (soap, perfume oil, candles, incense, air fresheners) with those scent notes for me.

Science has shown in numerous studies that scent is the strongest memory trigger. This includes both distant and recent. So, once you become familiar with the scent most associated with the spirit you’re working with, it becomes a powerful link between the two of you. You may occasionally smell it around you without any physical source for it, which is a strong sign that your spirit friend is nearby.

Scent is one of the few physical luxuries that I have, and this is partly why. It’s a way for people to link in with me, and it’s a way of expressing myself.

The Value of Things

I got something in the mail recently.

As some of my friends know, I collect Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab perfume oils. When I say perfume oil, I don’t mean girly flowery
things developed for department stores with some pop star’s face on it. No, BPAL is entirely different.

These days, cologne is considered masculine, while perfume is considered feminine. Two hundred years ago that wasn’t the case, and
today “cologne” is usually a strong, alcohol-based liquid intended for men.

BPAL, however, is liquid treasure. It’s simply essential and other oils blended in thousands of different ways, with thousands of
different names and labels, none of them categorized by gender. Whether you’re a woman who likes cedar or a man who likes roses, it
doesn’t matter. You just get whatever perfume oils you want and nobody judges.

Someone I used to know in England sent me a few samples a couple of years ago, and I’ve been hooked ever since. She knew I loved both sandalwood and leather, so one of the samples in that very first package was The White Rider, which is simply sandalwood and leather. The White Rider is from folklore, and represents daytime. It quickly became my signature scent, out of that one small original vial.

Recently, after two years of wanting a small bottle of my own, it arrived.

My avatar had gotten a sudden windfall out of nowhere (one of the things I’m always nudging for). She gave nearly half of it to me, to buy The White Rider (there was no question on that) and a second oil of my choice as well. I chose Dragon’s Heart, because it reminds me very much of my older brother.

This is one of the most important things I own. A tiny bottle of perfume oil, that cost less than twenty dollars. But to me, it’s without price. It’s gold brought in a little jeweled chest by a wise man on a camel. For me, it’s a holy thing for several reasons, which I won’t get into here.

Such a simple, small thing.

To a hungry child, a piece of bread is a treasure. To someone freezing to death on the streets, a blanket is worth more than diamonds in those moments.

A picture went around the internet recently of some girl crying because she didn’t get the particular model of iPad she wanted, contrasted with another photograph. A pair of dark feet clad only in sandals made from flattened plastic soda bottles, tied on with bits of frayed rope.

Look around you right this minute.

How much of that stuff is necessary? How much is deeply meaningful? Holy?

“Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.”
– William Morris (1834-1896)

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