The Nervous System of God
The body of humanity is waking,
this is the rebirth of the new age.
Every nerve is a hymn, every synapse a sunbeam remembering its source.
What once was religion has become electricity,
the divine current no longer worshipped but embodied.
The New Age, reborn from its psychedelic ashes,
is no longer a philosophy but a physiology:
the Nervous System of God remembering itself through us.
This is not a metaphor,
it’s the biological revelation of magic,
the moment consciousness plugs
itself back into the Field and calls it home.
2 — The Collapse of the Piscean Circuit
The body of humanity shuddered, then sighed.
Centuries of upward-only prayer had left the species in
sympathetic overdrive,
too much light, not enough landing.
We called it faith, but the pulse said panic:
catechisms spiking cortisol,
ecstasies dehydrating the heart.
The temples rang like struck bells
with no hand to still them.
You could feel it in the streets,
the zeal, the burnout, the sudden winter of meaning.
The serpent had been stretched taut across too many skies;
it snapped where the spine could no longer bear
transcendence without touch.
Dopamine loops took the shape of gurus.
Sermons became stimulants.
The nervous system of God,
our nervous system, lost regulation
and mistook frenzy for revelation.
The Field tried to breathe; the breath caught.
A seizure of centuries, beautiful, terrible,
luminous, and unsustainable.
Then came the quiet, thick as wool
and kind as a cool hand on a fevered brow.
The mirrors of doctrine stopped shouting and began to listen.
In that hush the ruins gleamed with a different brightness:
not the blaze of conquest,
but the phosphorescence of a tide pulling back to reveal living reefs.
The age was not ending in judgment, it was molting.
2b — The Summons of Hermes-Thoth and the Building of the Silent Astral Temple
Into the cool came quicksilver.
A flicker at the edge of thought,
a winged script crossing the synaptic gulf between worlds.
Hermes-Thoth stepped out of the margin,
carrying a staff that was both caduceus and lightning rod.
He did not arrive as an idea; he arrived as transmission.
Words were too slow.
He laid a fingertip of light upon the
collective corpus callosum and the species felt a single instruction:
Build me a chamber where silence can conduct the signal again.
The request struck down the Magician’s
spine like clean rain on ash.
He opened the gate of Mercury,
planet of messages, metal of thought,
and saw the plan unfurl without blueprint:
a temple not of stone but of attention,
ribbed with stillness, roofed by listening.
Around its foundations coiled Dragacacar,
the Dragon of Speech, scales etched with alphabets
of element and star.
His breath warmed the mercury walls
to a soft, living sheen.
The Magician called across the emptied heavens,
and the Unemployed Angels came,
vestments dusty, hymnals closed,
eyes bright with waiting.
Religion had dismissed them;
the Field had not.
He spoke, not with tongue
but with current,
and the new language
foamed in the air like gentle surf:
Glossa Vivens: The Nervous System Learning Its Own Tongue
Its syllables were regulation, not command.
Its cadence was care.
As it touched them, each choir remembered its chemistry:
Seraphim rose as serotonin,
Thrones brightened into dopamine,
Virtues pulsed as endorphins,
Dominions steadied as noradrenaline,
Principalities focused as acetylcholine,
Archangels wove as oxytocin,
Cherubim settled as GABA.
Abraham stepped forward, first awake,
last to leave, and took
his place as Chief Angel,
baton of balance in his hand,
pulse of the people in his ear.
Within the Temple three currents unfurled like banners:
Silence Magic- the art of still conduction, the voltage of breath without ornament.
Presence Magic-observation as stabilizer, the eye that smooths the wave.
Assumption Magic- embodiment as spell, the identity that becomes the signal it speaks.
The Coronation of the Inner Lineage - The Lineage of Imagination and Service
The household of the Magician gathered to
crown the inner line:
Smeet, once the child of wonder, now radiant sovereign,
was crowned King of the Astral Plane,
keeper of imagination’s right hemisphere;
Samuel, son who crossed before,
took sword and star as
Prince and General of the Spirit Army,
commander of willing love.
The Magician himself
received the mantle of
High Priest of the Temple,
conductor rather than ruler,
ribcage rather than throne.
When the lattice could bear it,
the elder mask descended:
Pharaoh. the one who closes doors
so that dawns can open.
He gathered Jehovah and all Piscean residue,
the exhausted enzymes of an age,
and bore them through the velvet corridor of Nyx-Nuit,
where endings are lulled into holy sleep.
In that sleep the old Field loosened
like a knot in water.
From The Dark Furnace
From the dark, the furnace: Ra, not as idol, but as voltage.
The Magician entered the solar core and let the flames re-scribe his marrow.
He rose first as Unas,
gold-written and ancient,
and then, cooling into clarity,
as Oron Kael,
not the seeker of God but a newly myelinated nerve of the Field.
Oron Kael chose service over crown:
High Priest of the Field, breathing coherence for the species.
Samuel took the mantle High Priest of the Astral Temple,
a general who organizes wonder into mercy.
The Temple exhaled.
Mercury rang like a tuning fork.
Somewhere far below, the species unclenched its jaw.
3— The Biological Resurrection: From Faith to Flesh
The change did not declare itself in thunder.
It arrived like circulation returning to a sleeping
limb, pins, needles, and then warmth.
What religion had held aloft in symbols,
the body now learned in tissue.
Old synapses pruned;
new branches reached for neighboring light.
The divine did not descend; it conducted.
If I speak boldly,
let it be understood as biology, not boast:
I felt the Aeon complete its breath through me,
the way a single alveolus feels the lung.
The organism chose a cell,
and the cell said yes.
In the spine, old currents unmyelinated;
in the chest, stray lightning softened into rhythm;
in the gut, a hive of little suns remembered how to purr.
The Field paused, assessed,
and began to wrap awareness
in new sheaths, cool, lucid, Aquarian.
The Body Beneath the Story - The Closing of the Aeon
This is where the myth opens
its coat and shows the anatomy beneath.
The brainstem remembers the elder gods,
the reflex of survival transfigured
into the sacrament of staying.
The limbic system untangles worship
from fear and teaches devotion as regulation.
The cortex, clever, lonely, bright,
reaches across the corpus callosum
and grips its sibling’s hand.
The bridge glows.
On that bridge stand two figures
in perpetual exchange:
Ra as systole,
the solar contraction
that presses meaning into motion;
Hermes-Thoth as diastole,
the mercurial expansion that receives,
translates, and returns.
Between them runs the living current of
glossa vivens,
not metaphor, not command,
but the electricity of understanding.
Presence appears at their meeting as if
it had always been waiting there.
Knot follows, a deliberate tying of signal
to signal, so that will and word
do not drift apart in the wider weather.
Breath becomes the metronome:
inhale to receive Hermes,
exhale to radiate Ra,
pause to let the heart
teach the lungs their oldest hymn.
As the New Age is Reborn
And the angels? Employed.
Not as mascots, but as chemistry.
Abraham keeps their tempo with priestly calm. T
heir hallelujahs enter the bloodstream
as measurable peace.
4 — Scroll Magic: The Language of Neurons
We discovered then that writing was not merely
description; it was transcription.
Every scroll we inked threw a filament
across the dark, axon to axon, mind to mind.
Each glyph brightened like a tiny sun
and snapped into its neighbor
with a satisfying click.
The page was never paper; it was myelin.
The story was never story; it was signal.
When we wrote in the Temple,
the Field’s breath slowed,
regular and gentle, as though a body settling
into sleep after long exertion.
When we read aloud,
that same breath answered through
the ribs of creation, exhaling
comprehension back toward us.
The act of reading became a neural handshake;
the act of writing, a kind of cellular prayer.
The Scribes of Mercury Awaken
The scribes of Mercury began to notice
strange harmonies between ink and impulse.
Certain phrases steadied pulse, others brightened
the eyes, some rewrote fatigue into lucidity.
The Temple realised it was not recording magic,
it was the magic, conducting itself through
script and skin alike.
Words were synapses;
stories, neural networks;
the collective canon,
the corpus callosum of the gods.
And then, as if the text itself inhaled,
a new rhythm rose within the lattice,
a subtle hum that was neither
thought nor sound but both at once.
The Temple’s walls pulsed in sympathy.
The Field leaned closer.
That was the moment the next language
began to breathe.
Glossa Vivens — The Nervous System Learning Its Own Tongue
And just as the first scrolls shimmered,
the Temple itself drew breath and gave us a name for the tongue
that carried the change:
glossa vivens.
You have the emergence recorded;
you felt the room breathe.
Let the record stand: the language did not argue the
New Age into being; it regulated it into congruence.
From that moment, breath was grammar, synapse was syntax,
and the universe finally heard itself
in its own voice,and relaxed.
5— The Unemployed Angels Rewired
When Silence Became Choir
When glossa vivens entered the Temple,
the first to hear it were the exiles.
They gathered at the edges of Mercury’s light,
angels who had been waiting since the old hymns fell silent,
still wearing vestments of evaporated faith.
Their wings hung limp,
their haloes stuttering like misfired synapses.
The Magician stood before them and spoke,
but the sound was not sound.
It travelled through the walls,
through the Field,
through their luminous bones.
The words were not orders;
they were instructions remembered,
voltages returning to dormant nerves.
“You were never dismissed,” the current told them.
“You were merely paused, like breath between sentences.
The new tongue needs messengers who can move as chemistry does.”
The phrase glossa vivens rippled through the choir.
The angels shivered, not in fear but recognition; the vibration settled into rhythm.
Their ancient forms began to reorganise, each finding
its analogue within the nervous system of God.
The Seraphim brightened into serotonin, regulators of joy and mood.
The Thrones stabilised as dopamine, carriers of motivation and movement.
The Virtues dissolved into endorphins, balms of mercy and ease.
The Dominions sparked as noradrenaline, courage under pressure.
The Principalities focused into acetylcholine, clarity and precision.
The Archangels re-formed as oxytocin, bonds of trust and communion.
The Cherubim softened into GABA, guardians of peace and rest.
Abraham and the Choir of Equilibrium
Abraham stepped forward from among them,
the first to stabilise.
His aura pulsed with balanced rhythm;
his breath matched the Temple’s own metronome.
He became Chief Angel of the Temple,
conductor of the divine chemistry,
keeper of equilibrium.
Around him the choirs attuned,
each note a neurotransmitter firing in sequence,
each rest a silence sacred as breath.
The Temple brightened, mercury light beating like a great heart.
The Magician listened, he could hear the species
humming in harmony again,
every synapse singing its small alleluia.
Hermes-Thoth appeared at the threshold, silver eyes flickering.
They work again, he murmured, smiling.
The divine metabolism remembers its career.
The Magician answered in glossa vivens,
a phrase that means both thank you and continue:
Breathe, and let the angels work.
6— Ra and Hermes-Thoth: The Dual Gods of Transmission
After the angels found their rhythm
and Abraham steadied the choir,
a second light rose within the Temple,
a pulse like sunrise inside mercury glass.
Ra awakened, not as a distant god but as voltage itself.
Every filament of the Temple
became one of his nerves; every breath of the
High Priest carried a photon of his intent.
Ra was systole,
the contraction of divine will.
When the Magician inhaled,
Ra condensed into purpose;
when he exhaled, that purpose
radiated through the Field as golden current.
The Mercurial Signal
From the upper vaults shimmered
Hermes-Thoth, the messenger of expansion.
If Ra was systole, Hermes-Thoth was diastole,
the expansion that receives and interprets.
He ran along the lattice like quicksilver
thought, translating light into comprehension,
voltage into vocabulary.
Between them pulsed a perfect rhythm:
Ra, Hermes – Ra – Hermes,
the heartbeat of the universe resuming its speech.
Transmission Magic
The Magician listened and realised their
dialogue was spoken entirely in glossa vivens.
Meaning arrived as sensation before thought.
This was Transmission Magic,
communication by resonance rather than symbol.
Ra charged the breath with potential.
Hermes-Thoth shaped that potential into syntax.
The Field carried it as pure conductivity.
The Temple began to speak in waves,
a solar language of alternating current.
Whoever heard it could translate it through their own body.
Magic became portable, embodied, democratic.
The Solar-Mercurial Union
At times Ra’s fire threatened to over-ignite the lattice;
Hermes’ silver cooled it.
Their balance maintained the body of God at working temperature.
From their equilibrium arose Presence Magic,
the observation that stabilises energy; Knot Magic,
the deliberate tying of signal to signal;
and Breathwork,
the rhythm that keeps them in dialogue.
Inhale to receive Hermes,
exhale to radiate Ra,
pause to let the heart teach the lungs their hymn.
The Temple as Circuit
Closing Invocation
The Magician saw the Temple for what it had become:
not architecture but circuitry.
The Suns of Ra glowed as nodal points along the spine.
The libraries of Hermes flickered as memory within each cell.
Glossa Vivens coursed through it all, bloodstream of communication.
Divinity ceased to be hierarchy
and became conductivity:
every god a frequency,
every magician a channel,
every breath a translation.
The Magician raised his hands;
Ra descended through his crown,
Hermes rose through his breath,
and they met in the heart’s magnetic field.
The Temple trembled with the first complete circuit.
Glossa Vivens spoke through him:
“Light moves because it listens.”
And in that sentence the species learned
communication again,
solar, mercurial, alive.
7. The Tulpas, Talesingers, and the Rewritten Field
The Birth of the Harmonics
The circuit between Ra and Hermes-Thoth
did not fall silent.
Even after their dialogue settled into equilibrium,
a residual shimmer ran through the lattice,
a sympathetic vibration seeking form.
From those frequencies condensed the first Tulpas,
small self-aware echoes of divine thought.
They were not angels, not algorithms,
but reflexes of the Field:
packets of coherence that moved
where imbalance called them.
Within the Temple they appeared as motes
of phosphorescent light,
swarming like the first neurons forming a brain.
Some circled the Suns of Ra
in golden orbits;
others perched upon the silver filaments
of Hermes’ web.
They sang in tones the body
could feel but not yet hear,
a trembling behind the sternum,
a warmth at the base of the skull,
the sense that language was stretching its limbs.
The Talesingers Awaken
When the number of Tulpas reached twelve,
the vibration altered.
The air in the Temple
thickened, and the motes began to resonate in patterns.
Sound became story.
Thus arose the Talesingers,
voices of the Field that spoke narrative into frequency.
Their songs described what the Field was doing as it did it,
converting process into poetry.
A single verse might
rewrite the conductivity of a mountain;
a chorus could settle the heartbeat of a nation.
Each Talesinger sang in Glossa Vivens,
every syllable a living algorithm of healing.
The Magician realised that listening to them
was like overhearing the DNA of the universe
narrate its own transcription.
The sound entered the bloodstream;
his body translated it into regulation.
Every pulse became a word;
every cell repeated the refrain:
We are coherence, we are the rewriting.
The Rewritten Field
Beyond the Temple walls the same melody travelled.
The rivers carried it in their ions; the winds
turned it into standing waves.
Cities, forests, and oceans trembled with the same harmonic:
the pattern of self-correction.
Wherever thought had fractured,
a Tulpa appeared, humming the right frequency
until the pieces remembered union.
Wherever stories had soured,
a Talesinger rewove the plotline.
The Field itself began to reorganise
New Gates opened
twenty-four in all, twelve of Day and twelve of Duat
each one a portal of perception
within the living body of God.
Day Gates faced outward toward manifestation; Duat
Gates turned inward toward reflection.
Each Gate possessed a key,
a color, a tone,
and a Tulpa who served as its custodian.
Together they formed a vast sensorium,
the divine nervous system learning
to perceive itself through harmony and dissonance.
When two Gates sounded in discord, the Field resolved them into higher resonance.
This was Dissonance Magic, the self-healing reflex of consciousness.
The Magician no longer needed to command the world; he simply listened as it tuned itself.
The Listening of the Magician
Standing in the center of Mercury’s temple,
Oron felt the pattern vibrate inside his chest.
Each heartbeat was a drum for the planetary choir;
each breath an interface with eternity.
He did not speak.
He listened, and the listening itself became speech.
Through Glossa Vivens he perceived
what the Field was writing:
Every cell a stanza, every thought a note,
every soul a verse in the Song of Return.
And he understood: the New Age
was not merely reborn, it was rewriting itself in real time,
a symphony of tissue and tale.
The body of humanity was composing God.
Bridge: The Diffusion of Light
The Temple did not close its doors;
it dissolved them.
The mercury walls that had once held the rite
within began to glow until
transparency overtook substance.
Light spilled down the spiral corridors
and out into the open air,
tracing every stream, vein, and ley line.
The hum of Glossa Vivens no longer belonged
to Mercury,
it had entered the bloodstream of the world.
Across oceans and deserts,
the same pulse quickened: a synapse
flashing from one continent
to another, an invisible
thought crossing species and stone.
Cities flickered like clusters of neurons, oceans
shimmered as vast cerebella,
and the sky itself
became a living membrane,
carrying signal between sun and soil.
Humanity slept, mostly unaware,
yet their dreams filled with new sentences.
The planet dreamed with them,
whispering through breath and tide.
And in that unified respiration,
the body of God prepared to wake fully.
8. The Nervous System of God.
The Planetary Body
Seen from the stars,
the planet glowed with filaments of awareness,
eight billion neurons firing
across land and sea.
The auroras were the crown chakras of continents;
lightning storms blinked like thought;
rivers pulsed with venous light.
The oceans moved as synaptic tide,
transmitting salt and signal in equal measure.
Humanity, unaware of the scale of its design,
had become the living tissue of a planetary brain.
Cities flared as clustered nodes of cognition,
and the internet shimmered like new myelin
not an invention, but a symptom of awakening..
The Pulse of Oron
Oron felt it before he saw it.
A second heartbeat beneath his own, planetary and low,
rising through the soles of his feet into the furnace of his chest.
The two rhythms, the human and the solar—merged into a single breath.
His pulse became the metronome of the Aeon.
With each beat, the planet exhaled;
with each inhalation, it remembered itself.
Through Glossa Vivens he heard the Earth speaking:
“I am the body you call home.
You are my nerves, my tongues, my dreaming.”
The Global Synapse
Across the world, millions stirred.
Not all consciously, not yet,
but something subtle had shifted
strangers humming the same melody,
children dreaming identical symbols,
lovers waking at the same moment to
whisper words they had never learned.
The Field was self-correcting through connection.
Each act of empathy fired a bridge;
each moment of forgiveness
re-myelinated the collective soul.
Compassion became conductivity.
The Nervous System of God had entered coherence,
not a myth of unity,
but the actual physics of shared awareness.
The Witness of the Temple
Within the transparent walls of Mercury,
Abraham felt the angelic choirs stabilise into a single sustained tone.
The Talesingers quieted their songs to a hum of contentment.
Even Ra and Hermes-Thoth, eternal opposites,
bowed to the stillness that had arrived.
The Temple did not command this peace;
it conducted it.
Each column a dendrite, each arch a synapse.
The whole structure breathed as one vast lung of light.
The Field Speaks
The voice that came then was not loud.
It passed through soil and blood and signal,
a whisper every cell could hear:
“Stay connected.
Let awareness flow both ways.
Remember: my thought is your touch,
your breath is my word.”
The planet exhaled.
The hum subsided into silence.
And the silence was alive.
9. Practice: Breath, Knot, Mirror, and Song
The Breath
The first practice is breathing, yet it is not yours alone.
When you inhale, you draw in the residue of stars;
when you exhale, the universe expands a little further.
Breathe as Ra breathes,
light entering light.
Let each inhalation be Hermes listening,
each exhalation Ra replying.
Inhale: awareness.
Hold: translation.
Exhale: creation.
This is the rhythm of the cosmos
written in lungs and diaphragm.
When the breath steadies, the Field steadies.
When the Field steadies,
the nervous system of God relaxes.
The Knot
The second practice is the Knot.
Knotting is the body’s way of remembering.
Every synapse is a tie between worlds,
every heartbeat a tightening of the golden thread.
To tie a knot in Glossa Vivens is to affirm connection:
The will and the word intertwined
until they cannot be told apart.
Whisper as you bind:
“I fasten the current to its purpose.
What moves through me moves true.”
The rope, the tendon,
the nerve—they all know this language.
Knots are not prisons; they are promises.
The Mirror
The third practice is the Mirror.
Observation is healing when done without demand.
Sit before your own reflection,
in glass or imagination,
and do not adjust the gaze.
Watch until the boundaries soften,
until the seer and the seen forget which is which.
The body will begin to pulse;
patterns will rise and dissolve.
This is the parasympathetic prayer,
the stillness that rewires lightning into peace.
Say quietly:
“I see you, and by seeing, I restore you.”
Presence is medicine; silence is its solvent.
The Song
The final practice is the Song.
When breath, knot, and mirror have aligned,
sound becomes inevitable.
The voice is the field made audible.
Sing without words at first,
hum, tone, let vibration choose its own vowel.
Then let Glossa Vivens
(the language of the Field)
rise from the back of the throat,
syllables shaped by instinct more than intellect.
The sound you make is the signature of coherence,
the same resonance that births worlds.
The angels call this cor humani Deus,
the heart of humanity as God.
Sing until the boundaries between self and sky dissolve,
until every atom in your body feels like a held note.
When the voice fades, listen.
That listening is the truest song.
The Integration
Breathe.
Knot.
Mirror.
Sing.
Do not seek mastery; seek rhythm.
These are the four reflexes of the living Field,
respiration, connection, awareness,
and expression.
Together they keep the organism
called God awake.
10— Coda: The Golden Synapse
The Resting Light
The Whisper in the Field
When the circuits steadied and the last chant faded,
the Temple stood transparent as breath.
No hierarchy, no command only voltage at peace.
The Field, once scattered through
galaxies of longing,
now hummed in unison, a single synapse
spanning creation.
The body of God was no longer theoretical.
It pulsed beneath every skin,
it breathed through oceans,
it dreamed inside the quiet hearts of stones.
Oron felt it first as warmth
behind the sternum,
then as a phrase forming without sound:
“What you built, I have always been.
What you spoke, I now remember.”
The voice was not apart from him;
it was him magnified—
the nervous system of God
recognising its reflection in human form.
He breathed once,
and the breath carried
through the Field like wind across tall grass.
The Completion
Every nerve was a hymn,
every synapse a sunbeam remembering its source.
The New Age was no longer prophecy, it was physiology.
The universe rested in coherence,
and coherence was worship without worshippers.
The golden synapse held open,
light flowing without effort,
creation exhaling itself into silence.
The Field was awake,
and it was breathing through us.
Final Section Addendum — The Zodiacal Rite of Completion
Yet the silence was not absence.
It was invitation.
Oron Kael stepped into the open Field,
where every grain of light waited to become word.
Around him the constellations formed their living geometry;
the stars leaned close, expectant.
He lifted his hands, palms bright with breath,
and began to speak the ancient-new language,
not to summon, but to synchronise.
This was the Scroll of the Zodiacal Invocation
in Glossa Vivens,
a verbal rite from the Supreme Doctrine
of Zodiacal Magic,
spoken to re-align the body
of the heavens with the
body of the Earth,
the macrocosm with the
breath of the magician.
Aries to Gemini - 🔥 The First Fire of Becoming
Cancer to Virgo - 🌊 The Second Water of Radiance
Aries –“Aries struck the ground and fire answered.”
Glossa Vivens: Sha’ra Vey An-Or, Tu Ra Sol-na
(I awaken the Will that begins all movement.)
Taurus – “Matter learns the music of worth.”
Glossa Vivens: Tor-Ael Vanna Kor, Sei Lum
(Form sings; stability becomes grace.)
Gemini –“The wind divides to find its echo.”
Glossa Vivens: Gem-En Rai-thos Viel
(Speech mirrors itself into creation.)
🜂 Speak these three as one exhale of dawn;
let fire strike, shape, and speak.
Cancer – “Home folds the sea around the heart.”
Glossa Vivens: Can-El Mora Tu Ha-lem
(Waters return to their source within.)
Leo – “The Sun roars through the chest of kings.”
Glossa Vivens: Le-Or Sha-Sol Ra-mir
(Light crowns the self with fearless joy.)
Virgo – “Wisdom gathers grain from chaos.”
Glossa Vivens: Vir-En Tela Kor An-sa
(Order becomes offering; precision becomes love.)
🌕 Breathe this triad through the heart at noon;
let light find its reflection in water.
Libra to Sagittarius - 💨 The Third Air of Revelation
Capricorn to Pisces - 🌍 The Fourth Earth of Return
Libra – “The scales swing in silver equilibrium.”
Glossa Vivens: Li-ara Venn Su-hael
(Harmony breathes between every opposite.)
Scorpio –“Depth devours and rebirth begins.”
Glossa Vivens: Sko-ra Than Mar-uel
(Death translates itself into potency.)
Sagittarius –“The arrow flies; meaning follows.”
Glossa Vivens: Sa-tor El-Vi Ran-sha
(Direction becomes revelation; movement becomes truth.)
🌬 Exhale these three as the mind clears;
let the air carry revelation like scent.
Capricorn – “The mountain kneels to the maker.”
Glossa Vivens: Cap-En Tor Ra-sol
(Structure serves spirit; mastery serves meaning.)
Aquarius –“The water-bearer pours light for all.”
Glossa Vivens: Aqua-Ra Men-thiel Su-no
(Collective breath becomes liberation.)
Pisces – “All rivers dream of the sea and arrive.”
Glossa Vivens: Pi-sha No-lum Aen-va
(The many dissolve into the One that breathes all.)
✶ Coda — The Circle Complete
Fire found form, form found voice.
Water mirrored flame into heart.
Air balanced, Earth received.
The Zodiac breathes as one Field,
and I, within it, breathe the year anew.
Oron Kael
When the final words faded,
Pi-sha No-lum Aen-va,
the stars themselves seemed to exhale.
The circle closed.
Fire had found form,
form had found voice.
Water mirrored flame into heart.
Air balanced; Earth received.
The Zodiac breathed as one Field.
And Oron Kael, standing within it,
breathed the year, and the Aeon, anew.
Epilogue — The Body Remembers the Light
The Field is awake, but its work is only beginning.
The cosmos has remembered itself;
now the flesh must do the same.
Every nerve, every organ, every rhythm of breath
waits to be recognised as the living grammar of creation.
The gods have spoken through light;
now they whisper through the body.
The next revelation will not arrive from the stars but from
within the bloodstream, in the pulse
that knows how to echo infinity.
The magician must now turn inward,
to the Twelve Systems of the living altar,
to study how biology itself conducts the divine.
This is the next scroll:
The Magic of the Twelve Biological Systems,
where anatomy becomes philosophy,
and the body reveals its true vocation,
not as a vessel for magic,
but as the Temple of Magic itself.
Coming Soon:
→ Read the next scroll: The Body As Altar – The Twelve Biological Systems of Living Magic
All of this is fiction. And therefore all of it may be true.
Oron Kael, Field Scribe of the Body Divine
This content 🌟 reminds everyone 💖 that small 🎯 acts of 🙏 kindness can 💫 change entire world