"Sex on the Altar" is now available on Amazon.com. Click on the image of the book to the left to see the listing.
"Iconographic and sublime, "Sex on the Altar" by Wencke Braathen is first in the Adventures of Sam and Emily series that levels the playing field in the battle of the sexes—and sex. Wise, wicked, and witty, this debut fantasy fiction is rich in style, prose, lyrics and plot. It encourages constructive discipline and human affirmation—all we do matters. All we do is what we are, as a matter of prophecy and intention.
God has a problem. Mankind does not seem to get it and it is their fault the Queen of Heaven has been sucked into the Earth. There just hasn’t been enough devotion —not enough love. A heartsick God is willing to pull out all the stops and enlists Isis, the Egyptian goddess, a willing plotter, to bring the Queen back. In turn, Isis chooses Emily, a middle-aged woman, to work through, and becomes a smaller version of herself sitting on Emily’s shoulder. As things go haywire, Emily develops a relationship with Sam, and with a gift from the gods, they become expert lovers, which is enough fuel to wake the Queen of Heaven from her slumber in the center of the earth. Isis later calls upon Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalene to start a dandelion campaign to reinstate balance of creation. When Emily suggests Christ and Mary Magdalene jump down from a crucifix and a sculpture, the Christian icons are free to roam like teenagers in love. As they unite in Emily’s body, the Queen of Heaven is able to connect with God who reaches down and pulls her up from the underworld. Immensely serene and shocking, this debut is absolutely stunning!"
BookSurge
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
The Queen of Heaven has returned, and God has welcomed her back after their long separation.
I've been away from my blog for a while. I've been on an adventure with many chapters. It took me across the country and put 6000 extra miles on my small car. Leaving Chicago, I went west across the green plains, through the dry hot deserts and to the wet and misty Oregon coastline. From there I went south, along sacred mountains and through thick forests, before I again entered the desert as I watched in wonder how the landscape changed.
I ended up in the bed of dried lake. It's now called Black Rock Desert, since it hasn't seen water for a long time. Nevertheless, 50.000 enthusiastic souls came to this place for the Burning Man Festival. They brought their own water, along with a tireless desire to create something new. Thousands of tents and RV's came up, and they all disappered again, leaving no trace that there had once been a whole city there existing for only a week. A city with a post office, three clinics, a fire department, a central town square, bars and dancehalls, several temples and an effigy representing mankind visible for miles.
Some wanted to experience the freedom to have the biggest party in history. Bless their hearts, they got it. Some came to express their creativity in ways that would be hard to explain in the city. How do you tell your neighbors that you just have this urge to make your car look like a snail? Or that today you need to wear nylon furred boots, your best bikini and a utility belt? Well, at Burning Man, that outfit was almost common.
Some people came to show their artwork. Sculptures arrived on the flatbed of trucks and needed a crane to lift them off and place them carefully on the playa.
Some people came to create new solutions for the problems that ail our world. Burners without Borders were there, telling us where they'd been and where they were needed next. Entheon Village were making living spaces out of containers for trucks, experimenting with immediate housing for catastrophic situations. Temples were created to honor the many religions of our planet, and to welcome a New Day where we all could come to the same Temple in reverence.
I was part of the crew creating Pantheogenesis Temple. It was dedicated to the Male and Female side of creation, and ultimately to their Unification as One Deity. It consisted of seven different structures: two yurts, a tent garage, a tall dome, a small circus tent and a geodesic dome. The interior Male of a hundred people constructed the spaces. The interior Female of the same people gave the spaces different purpose and character. I watched, as these good people evolved from an expression of our society's conflicted interpretation of male and female, and turned into a new interpretation filled with respect and cooperation that could only be divinely inspired. The temple went through its stages as it created the different spaces starting with the Earth entrance, going through the Heart space before dividing into the Male and Female yurts, all decorated as people brought donated items. My favorite was the God and Godess dome with an elaborate throne for each aspect and chacra colored fabrics cascading down along its inside walls. I had the honor of sitting on the throne for the Goddess as I did my lecture on Mary Magdalene.
But I spent most of my time in the Unity Dome. Both because I was asked to help do textile draperies there, which is my other artform, and because it became my favorite place to be.
If you try to visualize the unity between the God and the Goddess of creation, what would it look like? I don't know if I really had any preconceived ideas, I just knew that the color theme was white, with gold and silver accents, and that I would get fabrics to work with.
I had been given eight small structures to drape. They were small tents attached to square bases intended for meditation, and were circling a large sculpture in white and small mirrors resembling a lotus. I started with some white sheers and placed it over the flexible poles creating the igloo shaped domes. Soon they had white sheer with golden swirls, and golden ties resembling the head gear of Arabian royalty. I got inspired, and hung white buntings along the walls hiding the ropelights. Lovely banners were placed, hanging down from the ceiling together with a large white balloon covered in shimmering tulle. One woman came in and said, "I wondered how we would bring in the Eye of God. See, there is the eyeball." I nodded.
For two days I placed safetypins through fabric, fastening fine silks to the rough metals holding up the geodesic dome and it's white plastic cover. White parachutes covered the sandy floor, in a futile attempt to keep the playa dust out. The more I worked, the more I felt that the space resembled a wedding reception. I giggled to myself. What were we creating? This was supposed to be the most serious space of the whole temple complex!
The answer collected itself through a day, when several people came and visited the dome. The first one was a rabbi, looking older than Metusalah, or rather like Santa Claus in tie-dye, who sat down in a meditation dome and read from a small ancient leather book. He explained to me that it was psalms from the Thalmud, and I invited him to bless the space. He walked between each of the eight units and sang his psalms. I listened in awe as I continued my work.
The next one was Soma from the Krishna camp. I had talked to him before, and invited him to bless the space from his tradition. The Buddhist songs sounded interstingly similar to the Jewish. A Tibetan singing bowl was carried into the dome, and I asked the young man to make it sing and give its frequency to the dome. A woman calling herself Rainbow Jaguar offered to do a Mayan blessing, which I welcomed. She intoned deep sounds and brought rattles and incense as she circled the dome several times making sure she established the right vibration. I learned later that the young man from New York with the disarming smile, was a Sufi master, and had blessed the space several times through out the day. I was glad to know that the Muslims were also represented. A young man dressed in the white robes of a Monk looked at me with eyes of blue velvet and asked with a voice full of love if he could bless the place as well. I'll never know what faith he came from, but it didn't matter. He emanated peace, and called himself Brown Rabbit.
When the photographer from India came, and asked permission to take pictures of a young couple inside the dome for their engagement pictures, I silently welcomed another blessing. The young man was dressed like a Temple Knight, and he seemed Celtic with his pale complection and long dark hair. The lovely young woman was like a daughter of Gaia herself. Everytime I looked at her, I saw another cultural strand in her hair, in her features and graceful movements. The photographer posed them, first for charming presentable pictures. Then he wanted to create something memorable just for them. I made myself blend in with my textiles, as I watched him place them both inside my first completed meditation dome in a tantric position. With the young man sitting crosslegged and the woman on his lap clasping her legs behind his back, I could see how their energy lines would match up and create an empowering unity between them. It would also balance their own chacras and make a moment of shared fireworks for them. I admired how the Hindu photographer gently suggested this, knowing that the Lingam is a holy symbol in his culture, and how the young couple easily complied, eager to learn something new. I stood on the sidelines, hoping I was invisible enough, and understood why the Unity Dome of the God and Godess resembled a wedding reception.
With blessings from all the religious traditions I could think of, the King and Queen of Heaven have now returned to their rightful places. Their special cloud in Heaven resembles a large white balloon covered in sheers, and the mists look like tulle with the golden glow from ropelights creating halos. Their throne is made from plywood cut in intricate patterns, and their backdrop has the colors of the rainbow, draped in flowing fabrics fastened with a safetypin to a point in space.
Wencke.
I ended up in the bed of dried lake. It's now called Black Rock Desert, since it hasn't seen water for a long time. Nevertheless, 50.000 enthusiastic souls came to this place for the Burning Man Festival. They brought their own water, along with a tireless desire to create something new. Thousands of tents and RV's came up, and they all disappered again, leaving no trace that there had once been a whole city there existing for only a week. A city with a post office, three clinics, a fire department, a central town square, bars and dancehalls, several temples and an effigy representing mankind visible for miles.
Some wanted to experience the freedom to have the biggest party in history. Bless their hearts, they got it. Some came to express their creativity in ways that would be hard to explain in the city. How do you tell your neighbors that you just have this urge to make your car look like a snail? Or that today you need to wear nylon furred boots, your best bikini and a utility belt? Well, at Burning Man, that outfit was almost common.
Some people came to show their artwork. Sculptures arrived on the flatbed of trucks and needed a crane to lift them off and place them carefully on the playa.
Some people came to create new solutions for the problems that ail our world. Burners without Borders were there, telling us where they'd been and where they were needed next. Entheon Village were making living spaces out of containers for trucks, experimenting with immediate housing for catastrophic situations. Temples were created to honor the many religions of our planet, and to welcome a New Day where we all could come to the same Temple in reverence.
I was part of the crew creating Pantheogenesis Temple. It was dedicated to the Male and Female side of creation, and ultimately to their Unification as One Deity. It consisted of seven different structures: two yurts, a tent garage, a tall dome, a small circus tent and a geodesic dome. The interior Male of a hundred people constructed the spaces. The interior Female of the same people gave the spaces different purpose and character. I watched, as these good people evolved from an expression of our society's conflicted interpretation of male and female, and turned into a new interpretation filled with respect and cooperation that could only be divinely inspired. The temple went through its stages as it created the different spaces starting with the Earth entrance, going through the Heart space before dividing into the Male and Female yurts, all decorated as people brought donated items. My favorite was the God and Godess dome with an elaborate throne for each aspect and chacra colored fabrics cascading down along its inside walls. I had the honor of sitting on the throne for the Goddess as I did my lecture on Mary Magdalene.
But I spent most of my time in the Unity Dome. Both because I was asked to help do textile draperies there, which is my other artform, and because it became my favorite place to be.
If you try to visualize the unity between the God and the Goddess of creation, what would it look like? I don't know if I really had any preconceived ideas, I just knew that the color theme was white, with gold and silver accents, and that I would get fabrics to work with.
I had been given eight small structures to drape. They were small tents attached to square bases intended for meditation, and were circling a large sculpture in white and small mirrors resembling a lotus. I started with some white sheers and placed it over the flexible poles creating the igloo shaped domes. Soon they had white sheer with golden swirls, and golden ties resembling the head gear of Arabian royalty. I got inspired, and hung white buntings along the walls hiding the ropelights. Lovely banners were placed, hanging down from the ceiling together with a large white balloon covered in shimmering tulle. One woman came in and said, "I wondered how we would bring in the Eye of God. See, there is the eyeball." I nodded.
For two days I placed safetypins through fabric, fastening fine silks to the rough metals holding up the geodesic dome and it's white plastic cover. White parachutes covered the sandy floor, in a futile attempt to keep the playa dust out. The more I worked, the more I felt that the space resembled a wedding reception. I giggled to myself. What were we creating? This was supposed to be the most serious space of the whole temple complex!
The answer collected itself through a day, when several people came and visited the dome. The first one was a rabbi, looking older than Metusalah, or rather like Santa Claus in tie-dye, who sat down in a meditation dome and read from a small ancient leather book. He explained to me that it was psalms from the Thalmud, and I invited him to bless the space. He walked between each of the eight units and sang his psalms. I listened in awe as I continued my work.
The next one was Soma from the Krishna camp. I had talked to him before, and invited him to bless the space from his tradition. The Buddhist songs sounded interstingly similar to the Jewish. A Tibetan singing bowl was carried into the dome, and I asked the young man to make it sing and give its frequency to the dome. A woman calling herself Rainbow Jaguar offered to do a Mayan blessing, which I welcomed. She intoned deep sounds and brought rattles and incense as she circled the dome several times making sure she established the right vibration. I learned later that the young man from New York with the disarming smile, was a Sufi master, and had blessed the space several times through out the day. I was glad to know that the Muslims were also represented. A young man dressed in the white robes of a Monk looked at me with eyes of blue velvet and asked with a voice full of love if he could bless the place as well. I'll never know what faith he came from, but it didn't matter. He emanated peace, and called himself Brown Rabbit.
When the photographer from India came, and asked permission to take pictures of a young couple inside the dome for their engagement pictures, I silently welcomed another blessing. The young man was dressed like a Temple Knight, and he seemed Celtic with his pale complection and long dark hair. The lovely young woman was like a daughter of Gaia herself. Everytime I looked at her, I saw another cultural strand in her hair, in her features and graceful movements. The photographer posed them, first for charming presentable pictures. Then he wanted to create something memorable just for them. I made myself blend in with my textiles, as I watched him place them both inside my first completed meditation dome in a tantric position. With the young man sitting crosslegged and the woman on his lap clasping her legs behind his back, I could see how their energy lines would match up and create an empowering unity between them. It would also balance their own chacras and make a moment of shared fireworks for them. I admired how the Hindu photographer gently suggested this, knowing that the Lingam is a holy symbol in his culture, and how the young couple easily complied, eager to learn something new. I stood on the sidelines, hoping I was invisible enough, and understood why the Unity Dome of the God and Godess resembled a wedding reception.
With blessings from all the religious traditions I could think of, the King and Queen of Heaven have now returned to their rightful places. Their special cloud in Heaven resembles a large white balloon covered in sheers, and the mists look like tulle with the golden glow from ropelights creating halos. Their throne is made from plywood cut in intricate patterns, and their backdrop has the colors of the rainbow, draped in flowing fabrics fastened with a safetypin to a point in space.
Wencke.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
The pioneer spirit.
I'm on a journey that will culminate in the Burning Man Festival in Nevada. Right now I'm in the fresh air of Wyoming looking forward to admire the Grand Tetons tomorrow. I have many reasons for coming here. Old masters inhabit the mountains. I need to visit mine.
On my way from Illinois, I came across a museum dedicated to the first frontiers, the ones traveling in covered prairie wagons, ready to put a plow down in their own land and finally feed their families. The museum was in Nebraska. The building stretches like a covered bridge across the highway. Inside the classy log cabin, an escalator leads to the exhibits inside the bridge. On the way up, you meet the life sized figure of the pregnant prairie woman in her bonnet. Her eager son is scrambling up the hillside towards the father beckoning the visitors to come and see. Their daughter is sitting on a rock nibbling on an apple, reading a book with her cat in her elbow. Below, an explorer next to an Indian are watching, also wondering what story the father wants to share. All the figures are depicted with unusual sensitivity to detail and authenticity. I arrive at the top and feel I have met old friends.
Inside, we first see the struggling families behind their wagons. My headphones are speaking the words of the many women who wrote diaries from their experience. They buried their husbands and children and went on. They gave birth to new generations in a new country. The young girls talked about the prairie library; all the books that were left behind by the travelers who needed to lighten their load and reluctantly left precious volumes in neat stacks, hoping that somebody else would have strength and room to take them further. Young boys wrote about how family members died around them and suddenly they had to take on responsibilities way beyond their years. But they did, and they endured and they survived. And they built this country from the prairie grass up.
The railroad came. The pony express only lasted for eighteen months. Then a new form of information distribution took form; the telegraph. Not long after came the automobile and the chuck wagon got translated into round cornered diners in red and silver.
At first I was offended that these newfangled inventions were displayed right after the sensitive and beautiful description of the pioneers. Then I realized that all these things appeared right after each other in history. And each period lasted for a very short time. This young country was eager to expand, to learn, to bring in the new.
I took in the spirit of the pioneers, of the inventors and promoters of the train which changed the country with the same explosive speed as the impact of the Internet in our time. I felt the openness to new things, the hunger for the latest invention that could improve daily life.
Then I asked, where is this spirit now? What happened to the spirit of embracing the new, looking eagerly for the latest in new thought?
I'm traveling. In the cafeteria I see overweight, over TV stimulated people, who look kind and friendly, but I don't see the spark of new ideas in them. The "sparky" people might not be the ones coming to this museum, but I'm nevertheless looking for them. I need to know that they exist.
I've heard of new inventions that have been hindered from coming to the market or even to consumers attention. Inventions that would challenge us to understand the value of living with free energy, cars that run on compost, or refined metals that can cure anything.
I guess I'm still looking for material goods to prove that we're pioneers. If it can't be planted, or take you somewhere, what good is it?
As I went outside and walked among the prairie plants, it occurred to me that I was looking in the wrong arenas. Yes, these new inventions are important, and sooner or later most of them will come to our attention.
I suddenly understood that we're pioneers of a different kind. We are pioneers of spirit. Give it to America to come up with a new idea and implement it quickly, they've done it before, they'll do it again. The Goddess found a place to speak.
How heavy is your covered wagon? What odd combination of people travel with you? What are you bringing to share where you arrive? Are you the new blacksmith in town, or the schoolteacher? Or are you the one who knows how to heal the afflictions of modern life, the yoga teacher, the nutritionist? Or maybe you know how to hold more light, making it expand beyond your body, and watch the darkness disappear. There are many ways to contribute.
The goddess is returning, and she's speaking through all of us. A new band of pioneers are pulling wagons across the country. The weight of the wagons consists of old ideas, old grudges held for too long, narrow mindedness and family ghosts overdue to be exposed. Along the way to the land of plenty, the wagons get emptied of unnecessary baggage. The lighter wagons find their way first. Do you recognize yourself? Are we the A team returned?
I looked at the figure of the pregnant woman struggling with her skirts, and knew I had been her. I looked at the young boy, and knew I had been his mother. I looked at the girl with the book and knew I had been her. And I looked at the handsome explorer and knew I had invited him into my hut, and shared a meal and my bed with him.
I also know that I'm helping people in this complicated society we live in, people with a new attitude, with a new vision, embracing a new day. I'm also releasing a child of my creativity, which I hope will inspire new hope as we watch the first sun rays arrive over the mountain and we can one more time say Yes!
Yes. To a new time, to new thoughts, to a new era.
Hello A-team, I recognize you.
Wencke.
On my way from Illinois, I came across a museum dedicated to the first frontiers, the ones traveling in covered prairie wagons, ready to put a plow down in their own land and finally feed their families. The museum was in Nebraska. The building stretches like a covered bridge across the highway. Inside the classy log cabin, an escalator leads to the exhibits inside the bridge. On the way up, you meet the life sized figure of the pregnant prairie woman in her bonnet. Her eager son is scrambling up the hillside towards the father beckoning the visitors to come and see. Their daughter is sitting on a rock nibbling on an apple, reading a book with her cat in her elbow. Below, an explorer next to an Indian are watching, also wondering what story the father wants to share. All the figures are depicted with unusual sensitivity to detail and authenticity. I arrive at the top and feel I have met old friends.
Inside, we first see the struggling families behind their wagons. My headphones are speaking the words of the many women who wrote diaries from their experience. They buried their husbands and children and went on. They gave birth to new generations in a new country. The young girls talked about the prairie library; all the books that were left behind by the travelers who needed to lighten their load and reluctantly left precious volumes in neat stacks, hoping that somebody else would have strength and room to take them further. Young boys wrote about how family members died around them and suddenly they had to take on responsibilities way beyond their years. But they did, and they endured and they survived. And they built this country from the prairie grass up.
The railroad came. The pony express only lasted for eighteen months. Then a new form of information distribution took form; the telegraph. Not long after came the automobile and the chuck wagon got translated into round cornered diners in red and silver.
At first I was offended that these newfangled inventions were displayed right after the sensitive and beautiful description of the pioneers. Then I realized that all these things appeared right after each other in history. And each period lasted for a very short time. This young country was eager to expand, to learn, to bring in the new.
I took in the spirit of the pioneers, of the inventors and promoters of the train which changed the country with the same explosive speed as the impact of the Internet in our time. I felt the openness to new things, the hunger for the latest invention that could improve daily life.
Then I asked, where is this spirit now? What happened to the spirit of embracing the new, looking eagerly for the latest in new thought?
I'm traveling. In the cafeteria I see overweight, over TV stimulated people, who look kind and friendly, but I don't see the spark of new ideas in them. The "sparky" people might not be the ones coming to this museum, but I'm nevertheless looking for them. I need to know that they exist.
I've heard of new inventions that have been hindered from coming to the market or even to consumers attention. Inventions that would challenge us to understand the value of living with free energy, cars that run on compost, or refined metals that can cure anything.
I guess I'm still looking for material goods to prove that we're pioneers. If it can't be planted, or take you somewhere, what good is it?
As I went outside and walked among the prairie plants, it occurred to me that I was looking in the wrong arenas. Yes, these new inventions are important, and sooner or later most of them will come to our attention.
I suddenly understood that we're pioneers of a different kind. We are pioneers of spirit. Give it to America to come up with a new idea and implement it quickly, they've done it before, they'll do it again. The Goddess found a place to speak.
How heavy is your covered wagon? What odd combination of people travel with you? What are you bringing to share where you arrive? Are you the new blacksmith in town, or the schoolteacher? Or are you the one who knows how to heal the afflictions of modern life, the yoga teacher, the nutritionist? Or maybe you know how to hold more light, making it expand beyond your body, and watch the darkness disappear. There are many ways to contribute.
The goddess is returning, and she's speaking through all of us. A new band of pioneers are pulling wagons across the country. The weight of the wagons consists of old ideas, old grudges held for too long, narrow mindedness and family ghosts overdue to be exposed. Along the way to the land of plenty, the wagons get emptied of unnecessary baggage. The lighter wagons find their way first. Do you recognize yourself? Are we the A team returned?
I looked at the figure of the pregnant woman struggling with her skirts, and knew I had been her. I looked at the young boy, and knew I had been his mother. I looked at the girl with the book and knew I had been her. And I looked at the handsome explorer and knew I had invited him into my hut, and shared a meal and my bed with him.
I also know that I'm helping people in this complicated society we live in, people with a new attitude, with a new vision, embracing a new day. I'm also releasing a child of my creativity, which I hope will inspire new hope as we watch the first sun rays arrive over the mountain and we can one more time say Yes!
Yes. To a new time, to new thoughts, to a new era.
Hello A-team, I recognize you.
Wencke.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
July 22nd, Feast day of Mary Magdalene.
Today is the dedicated day of Mary Magdalene. She is revered on this day by the Catholic, the Greek Orthodox, the Anglican and the Lutheran churches. Many churches will have a festival in her honor.
Up until 1969, Mary Magdalene was presented as a prostitute and portrayed as the perpetual penitent. There are numerous artwork made of her, more than many other prominent biblical figures, and for hundreds of years they all depicted her in deep repentance for her sins. To identify her, she is still accompanied by the skull, the alabaster jar or the book. Her image was used repeatedly to remind people to repent, or to prove that the priests, bishops and popes regretted their human frailties. In 1969 it was quietly announced by the Pope that she was not a prostitute, and should not be considered the same as the fallen woman described in a couple of sentences in the New Testament.
In Provence, every other church has her as their patron saint. She is revered as a wise teacher who knew the gospel of Christ and taught it to their people. The Cathars in the Languedoc area claimed that they were taught by Mary Magdalene and Jesus Christ, teaching as a team. They also claimed that they had been taught an esoteric secret, a powerful alchemical process perhaps?, something that would question the validity of the dogmas of the Catholic Church. For this knowledge they were killed in the most brutal genocide in modern history, next to the Holocaust. We still haven't found any proofs of the wisdom of the Cathars. There are numerous hints and suggestions, but people are still searching the ruins of their long gone opulent castles once filled with art, literature and music, profound religious practices and equally profound scientific investigations.
So we can honor her with candles, songs and flowers for our hair. We can read all we can find of new excellent research revealing more of her time frame, her culture and the legends she left behind. We can sit by a body of water and contemplate her mysteries.
Why is she called the mistress of water in Aquitania? Why does she hold up a red egg in many depictions? Why are the churches dedicated to her placed on top of older holy sites dedicated to ancient goddesses, always with a well close by? Why is the water considered healing in certain places, and not in others? Is there a way to change the quality of water so that it causes a change in frequencies in the bodies that it touches?
The mystery schools are gone. So much knowledge is lost. So much knowledge has been systematically eliminated from the collective human mind.
My body is made of water. Water flows, runs, mixes, evaporates, rains, has been consumed and eliminated by people through millennium. Somewhere in the annals of time, the water that composes me, must have touched her world.
I need to go inwards. I need to find that molecule that holds the wisdom contained in a hydrogen and oxygen combination. Through my intuition, I should be able to unlock the code.
The water molecule opened up to a different world. The minute sphere of a molecule, became the size of a planet. I stepped into a glass bubble of new possiblities, where different laws of physics rule. In a frequency of a higher caliber, everything vibrates differently and takes on a different meaning. A multicolored light is bathing this world, love in its purest expression. The dimensions are open here. You can easily walk between the world of the angels and the world of humans. Enjoy the forests and waterfalls as a human, and enjoy timeless travel and instant information coded in light, as an angel. Enjoy the loving union possible between humans, combined with the energy flows created by an angel, and experience the sublime multicolored light inside your own body. Let it ignite the three points inside your head, and sense the waterfall of soma, the libation of the gods, flowing to every cell of your divine humanity.
Wishing you love and light on this auspicious day,
Wencke.
Please check out the blog of my fellow researcher Joan Norton, author of "The Mary Magdalene Within".
There is a link there to an incredible crop circle which appeared today.
Heaven and Earth are truly celebrating.
http://blog.marymagdalenewithin.com/2008/07/22/magdalenes-feast-day-crop-circle.aspx
Up until 1969, Mary Magdalene was presented as a prostitute and portrayed as the perpetual penitent. There are numerous artwork made of her, more than many other prominent biblical figures, and for hundreds of years they all depicted her in deep repentance for her sins. To identify her, she is still accompanied by the skull, the alabaster jar or the book. Her image was used repeatedly to remind people to repent, or to prove that the priests, bishops and popes regretted their human frailties. In 1969 it was quietly announced by the Pope that she was not a prostitute, and should not be considered the same as the fallen woman described in a couple of sentences in the New Testament.
In Provence, every other church has her as their patron saint. She is revered as a wise teacher who knew the gospel of Christ and taught it to their people. The Cathars in the Languedoc area claimed that they were taught by Mary Magdalene and Jesus Christ, teaching as a team. They also claimed that they had been taught an esoteric secret, a powerful alchemical process perhaps?, something that would question the validity of the dogmas of the Catholic Church. For this knowledge they were killed in the most brutal genocide in modern history, next to the Holocaust. We still haven't found any proofs of the wisdom of the Cathars. There are numerous hints and suggestions, but people are still searching the ruins of their long gone opulent castles once filled with art, literature and music, profound religious practices and equally profound scientific investigations.
So we can honor her with candles, songs and flowers for our hair. We can read all we can find of new excellent research revealing more of her time frame, her culture and the legends she left behind. We can sit by a body of water and contemplate her mysteries.
Why is she called the mistress of water in Aquitania? Why does she hold up a red egg in many depictions? Why are the churches dedicated to her placed on top of older holy sites dedicated to ancient goddesses, always with a well close by? Why is the water considered healing in certain places, and not in others? Is there a way to change the quality of water so that it causes a change in frequencies in the bodies that it touches?
The mystery schools are gone. So much knowledge is lost. So much knowledge has been systematically eliminated from the collective human mind.
My body is made of water. Water flows, runs, mixes, evaporates, rains, has been consumed and eliminated by people through millennium. Somewhere in the annals of time, the water that composes me, must have touched her world.
I need to go inwards. I need to find that molecule that holds the wisdom contained in a hydrogen and oxygen combination. Through my intuition, I should be able to unlock the code.
The water molecule opened up to a different world. The minute sphere of a molecule, became the size of a planet. I stepped into a glass bubble of new possiblities, where different laws of physics rule. In a frequency of a higher caliber, everything vibrates differently and takes on a different meaning. A multicolored light is bathing this world, love in its purest expression. The dimensions are open here. You can easily walk between the world of the angels and the world of humans. Enjoy the forests and waterfalls as a human, and enjoy timeless travel and instant information coded in light, as an angel. Enjoy the loving union possible between humans, combined with the energy flows created by an angel, and experience the sublime multicolored light inside your own body. Let it ignite the three points inside your head, and sense the waterfall of soma, the libation of the gods, flowing to every cell of your divine humanity.
Wishing you love and light on this auspicious day,
Wencke.
Please check out the blog of my fellow researcher Joan Norton, author of "The Mary Magdalene Within".
There is a link there to an incredible crop circle which appeared today.
Heaven and Earth are truly celebrating.
http://blog.marymagdalenewithin.com/2008/07/22/magdalenes-feast-day-crop-circle.aspx
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
The Temple in the Mountain.
I just listened to an interview with Henry Lincoln from Rennes-le-Chateau on Andrew Gough's Arcadia website. Good to hear his voice again, I learned so much from him last summer.
On the same website, there are references to all sorts of interesting things with a ring of mystery to them, and clips from the movie "Bloodline". I have yet to see the movie, it hasn't made it to Chicago yet, but I seem to be stumbling into it quite often. On the snippets of the movie I got to watch, there is a reference to a temple hidden in the mountain of Rennes-le-Chateau. It probably predated Jesus by many hundreds of years, and was maybe created by the Jews of the first diaspora. This is said by people interviewed in the film.
While I was in France, visiting the Rennes-le-Chateu area, I had already researched LIncoln's material claiming there is a geomatric pattern in the landscape. There are five mountain tops surrounding a plateau with a tall hill in the center. The lines between the mountains make a pentagram, following the lines of Venus as she draws her beautiful patterns across the sky. I walked a lot, crisscrossing the land, eventually finding the hill and climbing it. The top of the hill is a meeting point for many lines in the landscape and seemed to have a strong, almost magnetic pull. I kept looking for signs of an entrance leading into the insides of the hill, which to me seemed hollow.
Was there ever a temple here? All trace of such a structure was gone. but I could sense something.
In my book, "Rituals in Sacred Stone", I write that Mary Magdalene and Jesus, Mariam and Yeshua, visited this temple and did a ritual according to ancient traditions with the priests and priestesses there. I must have written this while the movie was being filmed, but I certainly did not know of the interviews.
Henry Lincoln hinted at the many secrets this landscape held. I apparently stumbled upon a few of them.
My book comes out on Amazon.com this fall. I'll keep you posted. But my smaller religious/fantasy/mythological/imaginative book, is available in September. Check out my other blog for more.
http://sexonthealtar.blogspot.com/
Make note of the opening of the Lions Gate between July 22nd and August 12th.
Wencke.
On the same website, there are references to all sorts of interesting things with a ring of mystery to them, and clips from the movie "Bloodline". I have yet to see the movie, it hasn't made it to Chicago yet, but I seem to be stumbling into it quite often. On the snippets of the movie I got to watch, there is a reference to a temple hidden in the mountain of Rennes-le-Chateau. It probably predated Jesus by many hundreds of years, and was maybe created by the Jews of the first diaspora. This is said by people interviewed in the film.
While I was in France, visiting the Rennes-le-Chateu area, I had already researched LIncoln's material claiming there is a geomatric pattern in the landscape. There are five mountain tops surrounding a plateau with a tall hill in the center. The lines between the mountains make a pentagram, following the lines of Venus as she draws her beautiful patterns across the sky. I walked a lot, crisscrossing the land, eventually finding the hill and climbing it. The top of the hill is a meeting point for many lines in the landscape and seemed to have a strong, almost magnetic pull. I kept looking for signs of an entrance leading into the insides of the hill, which to me seemed hollow.
Was there ever a temple here? All trace of such a structure was gone. but I could sense something.
In my book, "Rituals in Sacred Stone", I write that Mary Magdalene and Jesus, Mariam and Yeshua, visited this temple and did a ritual according to ancient traditions with the priests and priestesses there. I must have written this while the movie was being filmed, but I certainly did not know of the interviews.
Henry Lincoln hinted at the many secrets this landscape held. I apparently stumbled upon a few of them.
My book comes out on Amazon.com this fall. I'll keep you posted. But my smaller religious/fantasy/mythological/imaginative book, is available in September. Check out my other blog for more.
http://sexonthealtar.blogspot.com/
Make note of the opening of the Lions Gate between July 22nd and August 12th.
Wencke.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Sauniere's Magdala Tower.
I visited Rennes-le-Chateau last summer and walked the steep three mile path up the hill from Couiza several times. I had studied the area in detail, and planned a ten day stay at a B&B in a house from 16oo. But when I left I felt that I'd barely gotten my feet wet in an ocean of mysteries. The charming tower Magdala, which Sauniere built at his humble rectory turned estate, symbolizes something I felt as a breathing pulse in the Languedoc landscape.
The first floor room of the tower is furnished like a library. It is small, only about ten by ten feet along the floor, but the room is charming. It's easy to picture the studious priest seeing his favorite book through the glass, before opening the cabinet door of the tall book shelf. He is taking out a leather bound volume and sitting down in an armchair by the fireplace. Or maybe Marie, his housekeeper, friend and companion, would join him during the day, and sit down in the window seat, near the draperies, and look out over the landscape, before opening her text to discuss it with him. To me the little library symbolizes a collection of knowledge, and a desire for learning.
But wait, there is something missing here. The space is too small for the vast volumes the good priest devoured in his time. The cute library is almost too obvious as a focal point proving his engagement in proper religious studies. I walked around the garden with the green house and the tower. They make the ends of the wall he built at the steep mountain side where he could get the best view of the breath taking countryside. I can see him as he walked his morning walks and sat down in the sunshine with another script to study.
Or is this, like so many other things in this area, a carrot, a red herring, a visual effect concealing something else. If so, I fell for it, for a while.
I look underneath the elaborate staircase going from the top of the stone wall down to the orchard and flowers. It looks like there are plenty of opportunities to hide an entrance you would want to conceal. Maybe a hidden tunnel to the crypt underneath the church which is now sealed off with concrete? Someone has apparently thought of this before and dug there without results.
Maybe I'm just a tourist looking at the most obvious solutions, which other people have checked a hundred years earlier. Maybe I'm the country mouse going wow...to everything I see.
Is this the way the Languedoc is hiding it's secrets? There are lovely things to explore on the surface, that will keep you from looking deeper, asking better questions, milling over the stories in your mind and allow new solutions to appear?
The secrets of the Cathars, of the Templars were so intangible, so etheric. We still seem to be looking for treasure, for the magical object that solves it all. What if their wisdom was of a different kind? What do we know about the elaborate teachings of martial arts masters? There is no ancient object to dig for, even though the teachings has been concidered a hidden cultural treasure for centuries. But there sure is a treasure trove of knowledge, techniques and inner wisdom to learn. And luckily, there are still masters in this art form that has the old wisdom and are willing to teach.
Is everything lost from the Cathars? Or is it so well hidden we have to recognize the carrots and dig deeper?
Wencke.
The first floor room of the tower is furnished like a library. It is small, only about ten by ten feet along the floor, but the room is charming. It's easy to picture the studious priest seeing his favorite book through the glass, before opening the cabinet door of the tall book shelf. He is taking out a leather bound volume and sitting down in an armchair by the fireplace. Or maybe Marie, his housekeeper, friend and companion, would join him during the day, and sit down in the window seat, near the draperies, and look out over the landscape, before opening her text to discuss it with him. To me the little library symbolizes a collection of knowledge, and a desire for learning.
But wait, there is something missing here. The space is too small for the vast volumes the good priest devoured in his time. The cute library is almost too obvious as a focal point proving his engagement in proper religious studies. I walked around the garden with the green house and the tower. They make the ends of the wall he built at the steep mountain side where he could get the best view of the breath taking countryside. I can see him as he walked his morning walks and sat down in the sunshine with another script to study.
Or is this, like so many other things in this area, a carrot, a red herring, a visual effect concealing something else. If so, I fell for it, for a while.
I look underneath the elaborate staircase going from the top of the stone wall down to the orchard and flowers. It looks like there are plenty of opportunities to hide an entrance you would want to conceal. Maybe a hidden tunnel to the crypt underneath the church which is now sealed off with concrete? Someone has apparently thought of this before and dug there without results.
Maybe I'm just a tourist looking at the most obvious solutions, which other people have checked a hundred years earlier. Maybe I'm the country mouse going wow...to everything I see.
Is this the way the Languedoc is hiding it's secrets? There are lovely things to explore on the surface, that will keep you from looking deeper, asking better questions, milling over the stories in your mind and allow new solutions to appear?
The secrets of the Cathars, of the Templars were so intangible, so etheric. We still seem to be looking for treasure, for the magical object that solves it all. What if their wisdom was of a different kind? What do we know about the elaborate teachings of martial arts masters? There is no ancient object to dig for, even though the teachings has been concidered a hidden cultural treasure for centuries. But there sure is a treasure trove of knowledge, techniques and inner wisdom to learn. And luckily, there are still masters in this art form that has the old wisdom and are willing to teach.
Is everything lost from the Cathars? Or is it so well hidden we have to recognize the carrots and dig deeper?
Wencke.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
The symbol of the snake.
Are we still scared of snakes? Are we still afraid of acknowledging this power symbol of the Goddess from ancient times? Did St.Patrick effectively drive out the snakes from our consciousness? We know Ireland didn't have any problem with snakes, but had an impressive culture honoring the Goddess and nature. They're gone, and so is apparently our connection to a time when men, women and nature worked in harmony.
If you go back to prechristian times, the feminine was honored in various cultures around the Mediterranean and in Ireland. The image of the priestess holding a snake in each hand was well known, and revered. People of our time are dreaming of snakes. The Goddess is returning, and it is about time that we welcome her.
The symbol of the snake calls for your own inner power to be expressed. If we want to get in touch with the Goddess within, we have to be willing to deal with our own incredible power surging through our body. This does not express itself in gentle, sweet, velvet interactions. This power functions more like a snowplow in front of a fast moving train. It will clear your system of wimpy indecisive thoughts. It will clear your life of situations and people who do not support the purpose you were born to serve.
This is powerful stuff. It is love at its most impressive. Love for the cause, love for life. Love that protects with a flaming sword. Love that cuts through a lot of mush to get to the essence of its purpose.
The snake is a flaming sword. The sword that can also become the snake slithering on the floor scaring Pharaoh enough to let the Israeli people go. It is the twin snakes of the caduceus, showing us how the Ida and Pingala forces twine around our spine, meeting at each chacra power point, creating places for us to balance, to clean, to clear. To eventually let the power of the snake flow unhindered.
Maybe this is a power to be scared of. Maybe it is too much for our cushy selves to deal with. It is demanding. It is not pretty. It does not come across as gentle and sweet and everything nice.
Nevertheless, whether we like it or not, the Goddess is returning. And she's challenging us to not be afraid. To pick up our snake. And to wield it's incredible power.
Wencke.
If you go back to prechristian times, the feminine was honored in various cultures around the Mediterranean and in Ireland. The image of the priestess holding a snake in each hand was well known, and revered. People of our time are dreaming of snakes. The Goddess is returning, and it is about time that we welcome her.
The symbol of the snake calls for your own inner power to be expressed. If we want to get in touch with the Goddess within, we have to be willing to deal with our own incredible power surging through our body. This does not express itself in gentle, sweet, velvet interactions. This power functions more like a snowplow in front of a fast moving train. It will clear your system of wimpy indecisive thoughts. It will clear your life of situations and people who do not support the purpose you were born to serve.
This is powerful stuff. It is love at its most impressive. Love for the cause, love for life. Love that protects with a flaming sword. Love that cuts through a lot of mush to get to the essence of its purpose.
The snake is a flaming sword. The sword that can also become the snake slithering on the floor scaring Pharaoh enough to let the Israeli people go. It is the twin snakes of the caduceus, showing us how the Ida and Pingala forces twine around our spine, meeting at each chacra power point, creating places for us to balance, to clean, to clear. To eventually let the power of the snake flow unhindered.
Maybe this is a power to be scared of. Maybe it is too much for our cushy selves to deal with. It is demanding. It is not pretty. It does not come across as gentle and sweet and everything nice.
Nevertheless, whether we like it or not, the Goddess is returning. And she's challenging us to not be afraid. To pick up our snake. And to wield it's incredible power.
Wencke.
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