The old woman looked out her window and watched the snow fall. She opened her ears and listened to the sound of ether move through the crystalline structures as they fell through the air to gently lay rest on the white shining earthen floor. Symphonies of bliss, structured ripples of form. The old woman watched as all the birds waited out the storm in the pine trees. The evergreens. Those trees that always stayed green. The ‘long seasoners’ some called them. Those great majestic ones who never waiver in their guardianship. She watched as birds of all kinds gathered together, protected they sang. Their songs filtered out through the pine tree branches, arteries and veins. Rippling down into their roots deep into the earth.
“The language of the birds is the tongue of Secret Wisdom, embracing Cabala, Astrology, Alchemy and Tarot. Its vocabulary is myth, and symbolism is its grammar.
Writing was a sacred art: alphabets were not just collections of letters, but calendars, calculators, compendiums of facets of nature and concepts of divinity. Initiates had to be familiar with one hundred and fifty Ogham alphabets. In order to preserve secrecy they would write in code, using more than one alphabet, and would sometimes further confuse matters by the transposition of letters, writing backwards, or in a foreign language.
Robert Graves in his grammar of poetic myth, ache White Goddess, quotes an example of an encoded message: a poet asking another “When shall we meet again” might receive the answer “When the brown-plumaged rook perches on the fir below the fortress of Seolae, that would spell out CRAS – the Latin for “tomorrow”. http://www.innerlight.org.uk/journals/Vol24No4/langbird.htm
The old woman leaned closer to the glass window and looked out past the aspens. There she saw a tall juniper surrounded with crystal light beings. Rainbow bodies of our ancestors. Tones of frequencies unheard by all humans. The sound of snow brought peace wherever it fell. As the birds filled the evergreen hearts of ancient royalty together the drumbeats got stronger. Centrally located pine forests grow. Activating deep chakras within the Earth, ripples into weakened places around the globe. The frequency goes to were it is needed. Infused by languages long forgotten by most. Doesn’t matter, thought the old woman, the system still works either way, whether people know it or not. This cycle doesn’t depend on human participation, but it can be effected by it. Only if… she thought wishfully.
The sound of the snow orchestra kept playing, all around her tones from the angelic world played on in coordinated codes of falling light. Unified fields penetrating all. She let her mind muse on this vision as she watched it come to life all around her.
She put on her shawl and wrapped it around her. She walked outside into the fall. As each crystal landed on her she heard its song, deep into her bones it went, up her spine into her cone. Like a pine she vibrated, hummed the tune on. Her insides changed as the sound rippled through her, she opened her eyes and looked around. Where was she? Whose dream was this? She watched others carry on without noticing her. She wondered where she was. They were simply caught, awestruck by their own fancies. Each turn she took showed something new, a different nook. Then out of the corner of her eye she saw him watching her. A slight smile on his face. His wrinkled skin and the deep dark light in his eyes shined forward into her time.
“why do you create all of these worlds?” she asked him.
“I don’t create them, they do. I just draw them in” he said with a smile.
“but they don’t seem to know where they are” she commented.
“they don’t care” he replied. “I keep them contained within their fancies”
The old woman looked at him. She knew who he was. She looked around at the people carrying on around her. Like billions of little bubbles each one containing its own world, some larger then others depending on their mutual fancies.
As she backed off a bit so she could see better the form of the whole. He smiled back at her as he said “That’s what some angels do”
“I give them what they want” he continued. “They like where they are. They enjoy themselves. They get something from the worlds they create. It feeds them somehow. Who am I to judge? I just keep them happy”
“I know who you are” she said.
“Good” he relied.
A door opened to her left. She walked towards the room hidden in the dark. The stone walls surrounded her. The granite kept it cool. As she got closer to the door she realized she has to kneel down to walk through. She willed her way in as the opening got smaller and smaller. Once she was inside she looked around and she knew where she was. The room of the world altar. Was this the world she had created? She looked around at all the items, patterns, ancient writings and modern scents filled every corner. The windows opened to universes everywhere. Her fancy was here. Had she been tricked? She ran her hands across an old wooden table. markings on it reminded her of bird tracks. Going each and everywhere the symbols, as the sounds were sent off into the ethers, messages of important rhythm flowing to the next place in time.
“Zeus incarnated as swan and eagle, Horus was hawk-headed, and Thoth, the Egyptian god of magic,wears an ibis mask. In early Arthurian sagas, Gawain the Green Knight is called Hawk of May. The owl was the symbol of wisdom, sacred to the goddess Athene, Pasiphae and Bloduwedd, the bride of Gwydion, who was turned into an owl. As Circe. the witch, her bird is the falcon. She is also the long-legged crane, fishing the shallows for the divine child who floats on water in his ark of rushes. The Holy Spirit that descended at Pentecost, pictured in Christian iconology as a dove, bestowed on initiates the gift of tongues.
The dove was sacred to both male and female deities: to Hercules as shepherd and to Zeus as herdsman. The Great Goddess was worshipped with doves at Heiropolis, Crete and Cyprus, and in western Arcadia her stable holds a black dove. It was said that her black doves flew from Egyptian Thebes to Dodona in Epirus, where the temple was dedicated to Zeus and the moon-goddess Dione or Diana, and nested in the oracular oak trees of the sacred grove. The black-dove priestesses, chewing on hallucinogenic acorns, translated the oracles, so both literally and poetically the priestesses spoke the language of the birds.
According to Apollonius Rhodias, Jason’s ship The Argo, was built of oak from the sacred oak grove at Dodona. The figurehead could speak, and guided the Argonauts on their quest for the Golden Fleece, so naturally she also spoke the language of the birds. Argo is a gloss on the word argot meaning slang or dialect, and jargon is the specialised speech peculiar to specific sects or subjects.
In the Oxford English Dictionary jargon is also listed as the name of a “smoky kind of zircon”. There is a legend that when Lucifer fell, a jewel tumbled to earth from his crown and became the Holy Grail. Was this gem a “smoky zircon” or jargon, representing the language of angels and the birds, and that the quest, whether for Holy Grail or Golden Fleece, was in fact a search for the Secret Wisdom?.
Alchemy has no regular vocabulary, but uses bird symbolism. Initiates say “Vulcan (the secret fire) induces the birds to fly”, which indicates that sublimation is taking place. The pelican shows that distillation is in progress, and successful sublimation is symbolised by the eagle.
According to the Zohar, the earthly Paradise was called “The Bird’s Nest”. The Messiah would reveal himself in Galilee. A star of all colours would appear in the East, the power of the Messiah would be made manifest, and the Messiah would enter his place, The Bird’s Nest, where angels would offer him gifts. The Bird’s Nest occupies the central Sephira, Tiphareth, on the branches of the Tree of Life, where the phoenix’s egg will hatch.” http://www.innerlight.org.uk/journals/Vol24No4/langbird.htm
The old woman laid down on the stone floor. She closed her eyes and felt the snow flakes tapping on her head. She opened her eyes and looked around. The snow had started to slow down. The birds came out of the pines and started to fly around. The sun broke through the clouds and lit the crystals up. Rainbows sparked everywhere. The land was new again. The silence holy. She pulled her shawl closer, smiled and walked back into her adobe house. The fire crackled and the smell of sage oil greeted her as she sat down. She looked out the window again to see once more, the juniper waving in the wind. She picked up her knitting and continued to knit.