Magical States of Consciousness: Pathworking on the Tree of Life - Melita Denning 1985

Computers and Castles

Pathworking has been with us for a long time, and we have learned a great deal about the ways a Pathworking should be given and received. However, we can at the present time look at it from a new angle, and understand more about the techniques we possess: we can see further into how Pathworking works, and thus, perhaps, how we (meaning you the reader as well as us the authors) can make it work better for more people.

In itself Pathworking has long been recognized as a powerful magical procedure, leading the mind through the successive influences upon each Path, through preliminary alterations of consciousness, and thus bringing it effectively to the climactic alteration which is the entry into the sphere. The plan of these necessary influences is based on the explorations of master thinkers in Qabalah who not only have been able to deduce (or to intuit) what should be effective, but also, by meditative introspection within themselves and by observation of their students, to observe what was effective. Nevertheless, everyone who has conducted Pathworkings has had the experience of finding a few participants who, on one or more occasions, have had difficulty with some particular Path.

Difficulties are not always a bad thing. So long as it does not happen too often, the experience of not “making” a particular Path the first time can be good for a person. With two Paths (26 and 24) not “making” them the first time is built into the system. We may also recall the examiner who, when a youthful candidate came through the driving test with a brilliant score at first attempt, said “I’m not going to give you your license this time, because I feel you should have a little more practical experience first.” Meaning, “I feel you are doing all this with your very good intellect, but intellect won’t help you in an emergency; and the deeper levels of your mind, which will help you, need time and practice to assimilate what you’ve learned.”

In a Pathworking, too, the object is to engage the deeper levels of the mind, the so-called Unconscious, which has been given that name chiefly because the rational mind is unconscious of it and its activities. A tremendous amount of activity goes on incessantly beneath the relatively placid surface of the mind. Sometimes some of these hidden functions will force themselves upon the attention of a rational consciousness which is in some way maltreating them, and sometimes they have to be coaxed into daylight for therapeutic purposes; but much of what we are learning about the unconscious functions of the mind teaches us simply to replace the lid and “don’t peek at the rice before it’s cooked.” The unconscious functions will produce their own results by methods which have to be respected, and the rational mind’s understanding of them only helps insofar as it leads us to give them optimum supplies and conditions for doing their own thing. Instead of a pot of rice, a pot of honey would be a better image for the desired return gift to us.

In fact, a hive of bees is not a bad analogy for these “functions” of the unconscious. In understanding non-material processes, whether those we ascribe to Deity or those we ascribe to the psyche, it is a time-honored procedure to look for analagous processes in the material universe, and judiciously to draw conclusions from the comparison.

A striking threefold analogy can here be considered.

The physical body is made up of an incalculable number of cells, each living its own life without impinging on our main consciousness either physically, emotionally, or intellectually except by means of messages sent through the nervous system (which is made up of cells too). If a healing process is going on in one part of the body we may be consciously aware of symptoms of intense activity, such as heat, swelling, etc. We may apply, or swallow, materials intended either to prevent interference with the healing process by micro-organisms, or else to supply the bloodstream with nutrients to aid the healing, but the real work seems to be a joint effort of the bodily cells acting in concert among themselves.

Supposing a “foreign body” such as a bullet becomes lodged in an inaccessible part of the anatomy, where it is not lethal, and where it may even remain undetected by the main consciousness? It is too large and deepseated for the cells to work to eject it as, in time, they would eject a thorn or a splinter; but it causes disruption to surrounding tissue and could in time do further harm if not isolated. Accordingly, the cells normally build around the bullet, in process of time, a complete enclosing wall of insensitive scar tissue, thus encapsuling the bullet so that it is no longer a threat to the functioning of the body as a whole.

Now let us consider our hive of bees. Supposing, as sometimes happens a slug gets into a beehive to break down the comb and consume the honey. It is too large for the bees to eject, and if they merely killed it its putrefying corpse would continue to be a nuisance to them. Therefore, the bees solve the problem by entombing the intruder in their wax (one of the most sterile and incorruptible substances in the natural world) which they deposit little by little until the slug is completely and permanently encapsuled.

This analogy of the body-cells and the bullet with the bees and the slug is already remarkable enough: but now comes the third point, the analogy with the human mind.

Supposing a person has to cope with a traumatic experience which can neither be thrown off nor, at the person’s present stage of development, assimilated? Life, after all, must go on.

The traumatic memory (as the experience has now become) frequently passes from the conscious mind, which has no faculties to handle it, into the power of the unconscious. The unconscious usually deals with it very thoroughly, hedging it about with forgetfulness, with taboos which prevent any accidental approach to it, with a complete neurosis if that be necessary so that at no time is it likely to rise into consciousness while it might cause more damage to the personal life.

It is significant that in this type of happening, when the person has matured so as to be able to cope with the original cause of trauma: when it has lost relevance, or has become somewhat diminished in proportion to other experiences—or when the person is at least confronted with the stark fact of having survived what had once seemed lethal—then that which had been buried for so many years can come spontaneously to remembrance, to take its place among the happenings of the life. The mind finds within itself a power of growth and development which is, in fact, beyond that of any physical organism.

Nevertheless, when we think of the host of body-cells, and the hive of bees, dealing by similar means with their respective intruders, there is nothing here to prevent us from forming the image of a throng of “mind cells” dealing with the trauma.

In primitive life, whether human or other, the multiplicity of the unconscious mind is already to some extent in evidence. The conscious mind can, properly speaking, attend only to one matter at a time although the attention can move rapidly among several matters. An unconscious monitoring of the perceptions of each sense, however, needs to be constant, so that the attention of the conscious mind can be drawn to it if need be; while obviously the actions of heart, lungs, etc.—which, being instinctual, are also monitored by the unconscious mind—have to continue. There are circumstances, however, which suggest that in the primitive state the division of functions in the unconscious is kept as simple as possible: sleep or torpor during the digestion of a meal may not be only for the conservation of energy, since we know how anxiety, or even an entertaining television program, can impair digestion for some people.

When we turn to the unconscious mind of a human being of today, however—with the multiplicity of instinctual drives, inherited qualities, mimetic impulses, educational influences, personal experiences, collations of public opinion, dramatic moments gathered from the media, moods induced by bodily states, moods induced by the environment—our personal transcription and interpretation of every influence which has impinged upon us from before birth, any part of which can be evoked by circumstance at any moment—we must conclude that the intensely complex cellular filing system of the brain is not only a necessary instrument, but also a representative image, of an equally “cellular” unconscious mind.

The question of the relationship of mind and brain should not side-track us. While it is worth pointing out that up-to-date researches are coming continually closer to the perception that brain is a product and instrument of mind (instead of mind being a mere product of brain, as the old view of materialist medicine has it), the question is barely relevant here as we are concerned entirely with living beings who use mind and brain together.

The “cell-mind” theory, which from many evidential viewpoints presents a model corresponding with reality, has been arrived at along avenues of inquiry other than ours, by experts Minsky and Papert who call their theory “The Society of Minds.”³ They call attention to groupings which we may term committees and sub-committees among the “small minds” of their system (which are the same as our “cell-minds”), and above all they point out the great amount of understanding we can gain of the workings of human thought, by exploration of the possibilities of the computer. We take up our own theme again from that point, whose value we heartily endorse. Seeing that the computer is an invention of the human mind, it is hardly surprising that the human mind can find something of itself mirrored therein and, gazing upon its own likeness, can find much which it had not consciously realized from its unaided inward cogitations.

A conclusion which follows clearly from these observations is that it is not the judgmental rational mind, but the unconscious, which bears the true likeness to the computer: to a computer which, before we begin deliberately to feed any data into it, is already pre-programmed with all the impulses, influences, and memories aforementioned.

Here the question arises: How, in such a situation, does the conscious, rational mind retain its supremacy and remain the decision-maker?

The supremacy and the decision-making prerogative assumed by the rational mind to be its natural privileges are, in part, illusory; as, indeed, those privileges are when wielded by almost any human individual or group. The first privilege depends on the second, and the second depends upon what the mind, person or group knows and how it, he, she or they may have been conditioned to feel about that knowledge. It is not necessarily a question of whether it, he, she, or they think “logically.” “Logic” has about as much to do with the matter as a food-processing machine has to do with the quality of the dinner: the machine can only process what is fed into it, and has no part in the selection of those materials. And for most people, the material offered to the conscious mind for judgment is pre-selected by the preprogrammed unconscious, even if external human agencies have no direct hand in the matter.

How do you, then, achieve true autonomy? The first and most important step is to realize that you are a complete person, not just a rational mind. Don’t fight yourself. The unconscious mind is not “always right,” but you as a complete person have it as a component just as you have your physical body and your rational mind as components. All this richness of identity is “you”: not as something to deplore, but as a cause for rejoicing.

You do of course need to be in communication with your unconscious mind, and to train it. That is very frequently overlooked. To many people the idea of giving up the absolute overlordship of the rational mind is frightening: they can quote horrifying things which have happened when somebody’s rational mind has failed to be in charge.

It is true that horrifying accidents do occasionally befall people who are certainly to be accounted sane and rational. Admittedly such accidents can be caused by a desperate bid for notice on the part of a badly repressed unconscious mind: but another and equally frequent cause is that the unconscious has no voice in the matter at all. If you muzzle your watchdog, you can hardly blame him for not warning you of trouble.

Here is an instance, with the harrowing details omitted. A scientist, highly qualified in inorganic chemistry, was alone in a laboratory with a colleague who was also a close friend, when an accident happened which neither man could either have caused or have foreseen. The colleague’s life was in mortal jeopardy. Instant action was needed: but what? For a moment the scientist’s mind was a complete blank: then, troubled by that delay, as soon as a line of reasoning came to his memory he acted on it. Chemically sound, it was biologically deadly, and it killed the man he was trying to save.

Of course every possible psychological theory was tested out, both at the inquest and by clever acquaintances, as to what might have gone on in the survivor’s unconscious mind. Nobody could reach any plausible conclusion, for, quite certainly, nothing that went on in that region could possibly have surfaced in time to influence his actions. He had lived inside his intellect for years: his unconscious was totally unprepared to step in and take over, nor had the necessary information ever penetrated that deeply.

The intellect does not produce swift action: the unconscious mind can move like lightening in its own manner. In the days before everyone had a desk calculator, there were many people whose daily job entailed figure work, and who could tot up long columns of figures swiftly and accurately. They were not the people who could be heard saying, “Three and four is seven, and nine makes sixteen, and …” Their unconscious minds recognized and leapt at certain groupings of figures, perhaps not adjacent in the column, and combined them in a flash. It takes a lot of practice, and, too, the unconscious likes to work (or play) with patterns; but, if there is only enough practice, it can make the patterns for itself.

Remember the driving examiner: “I feel you should have a little more practical experience.” All these things considered, personal autonomy—being a truly responsible human being—has to be a result of being on communicating terms with your unconscious, going along with it. Certainly, rational consciousness can put in its own resolutions: these may be thrown out by the computer of the unconscious, but acceptance is (as with any computer) mostly a matter of the way the resolution is expressed. You have to know the code, the formula, the ritual. And—with this particular computer—you may have to keep repeating the action, or you may have to give the machine a jolt.

Another peculiarity, and this is a valuable one, of the human computer is the manifold valency of a single symbol. It is not only the standard type of “symbol” which is meant here, like “EGG means Easter, gift, springtime, new life, hope, future, treasure” or “RED means fire, heat, blood, love, anger, danger, Stop.” That type of symbol belongs to a special language of symbol, and has a special value: but besides this there is the fact that every image, word or concept is a “symbol,” and can mean to different people a good many things besides its direct significance.

The true domain of these associated ideas is in the unconscious, where any image, word or concept can be as a stone cast into a pool, sending the ringed ripples running outwards in every direction; but by natural aptitude, by practice (again) and by a certain knack of pattern-forming “mnemonics”—more and more of these associations can be called speedily into consciousness. Frequently, however, their presence in consciousness is not necessary and they will be most effective remaining below the surface. To quote The Magical Philosophy: “A good memory and a quick apprehension are valuable qualities in the mind which is to be trained, but the sure method for all is the ancient follow-my-leader dance of associated concepts. He who excels is he who, ahead of the rest, seizes and carries away the longest and most cluster-laden vine-trail of ideas; but the others are not left empty-handed either, and even the slowest finds his share.

“Let us pass to other likenesses. Symbolism is like a tuning-fork struck outside the personal mind, which sets ringing its corresponding bell or glass within. Once this has occurred, it is within the mind that the play continues, and the melody is developed from that first note …”⁴ Our computer becomes, in fact, a synthesizer.

All this gives us a practical subsidiary reason why Pathworking should be done: to intensify and strengthen communication between levels of the psyche, to the benefit of our abilities in general. It is also very relevant to the way Pathworking is done.

Naturally the text of a Pathworking needs to be attractive to the conscious mind, because the conscious mind has to accept it and pass it through to the unconscious. Our only alternative would be to give Pathworkings only in subliminals or sleep-tapes, and the technical and other problems involved would be considerable. Besides, people really enjoy Pathworkings: not only Order members but all kinds of people love to participate whenever an opportunity is offered. And something which is good for you and can also be enjoyed, is even better for you.

So a Pathworking is presented as a fantasy adventure: fantasy because it involves the imagination to a high degree, and genuine adventure—not fiction—because the alterations which are involved in the states of consciousness are always an adventure. (That is, essentially, the experience for which people rush to Pathworkings.) This designation also gives the critical rational faculty a socially acceptable reason for relaxing and sitting back: the action of the narrative clearly takes place in a region to which earthly norms of probability don’t apply.

Whether you are giving a Pathworking, then, or listening as a participant, you should be aware that the narrative is really addressed to the unconscious rather than the conscious minds of the listeners. Once below the threshold of consciousness of each listener, every word and phrase of the text is liable to trigger chain-reactions in a number of directions simultaneously. Even if some of these reactions do rise to the surface, the conscious mind can register only a few of them because it can only give attention to one at a time: whereas the cell-minds of the unconscious can not only at one time hold all the aspects among themselves, but can continue to multiply and combine them to their own satisfaction.

This may be more easily recognized if we point out that the participant is really in a dream state.

Clinical research on sleep (specifically) has established certain facts concerning the relationship of sleep and dream. During a period of sleep, the depth of sleep varies. Persons in very deep sleep are unconscious of dream or, indeed, of anything else. Coming into lighter sleep, they begin distinctive “rapid eye movements” and if awakened during that time will prove to have been consciously dreaming. Outside of research conditions, however, many people can recall that at some time or other they have awakened slowly and naturally from a vivid dream and, although “awake” in the sense that they would have known if anyone spoke to them, and perhaps they also knew whether it was yet morning, etc., yet the hallucination of the dream has still been strong enough for them to retain it and to follow its action with a part of their awareness before full wakefulness blotted it out.

This type of experience, with observation of the subject matter of dreams in renewed sleep, and also a consideration of passive imaginings on the part of children, leads strongly to the conclusion that that part of the psyche which dreams, dreams continuously, whether we are awake or asleep. We are not conscious of it when we are oblivious to all, nor when the activities of the conscious mind occupy our attention: but in a relaxed state of awareness, whether we are waking or sleeping, in proportion as our consciousness is free from its active occupations some part of the contents of the dream-mind can rise up into it.

For the multiple simultaneous activities of the dream-mind, waking rationality may sometimes be detected in its illicit task of trying to patch two simultaneous dream episodes into one, apparently in the mistaken certainty that they must have been one originally. “It seems to me I cut my leg, but then it seems to me at the same time I was doing something to the car. Maybe I was putting a plaster on the car, or getting a spanner to my leg—I don’t remember clearly.”

People who are sitting passively participating in a Pathworking, therefore, no matter how conscientiously they may be listening to the text, should not be troubled if some of the visual imagery, or the conceptual fantasy, which rises into their conscious mind is at odds with the words they hear. The only real danger is that if this discrepancy seriously disquiets them, this may in fact break the thread of continuity for them. If a change in consciousness is to occur, the continuity must be maintained, so it is a good thing always to warn participants beforehand not to be surprised or troubled if seemingly divergent ideas or visual imagery should arise. They will not necessarily find a place for every idea suggested by the text, and may find themselves bringing in ideas which are not in the text at all. They should give acceptance to these alternatives, then still go on listening to the text and following the narrative.

A difficulty is sometimes proposed concerning the order in which items of description are given in the text of a Pathworking. If the text has, for instance, “a castle with a square tower built all of red jasper,” as soon as the word “castle” is uttered someone may visualize a castle with a round tower of gray granite. If the text has “A tall figure approaches us” and the figure proves to be a tall woman, someone is likely to have pictured it as a tall man. The visualized image has in such cases to be adjusted.

In the light of the foregoing paragraph on divergences in visualization, it may already be apparent that these changes are no such great matter as the questioners imagined. A visualized image can be so transformed unconsciously in the course of a Pathworking, that a few conscious changes will do no harm so long as they are made easily and naturally without any emotions such as dismay, anxiety, annoyance, which would be entirely out of place.

When for some specific purpose (which would not be a Pathworking) it is needful that a group of people should simultaneously visualize an exact image, the attention of the participants is first called to this and means are taken to clear their minds of any irrelevant image. The description of the desired visualization, couched in brief phrases and in the simplest possible language, is next read out to them in its entirety so that they can get the general picture. It is then given again, phrase by phrase, so that they can accurately build up the image.

That is quite a different procedure from the methods of Pathworking, and it is intended to serve a different purpose from the inner development of the participants. It is true that to inaugurate a Pathworking a clear break from extraneous matters is made, but the participants do not lay aside their identities; furthermore, when once the inner movement along the Path has commenced, the flow of thought and feeling, image and event should be continuous except where the text clearly proposes and creates a break. So you watch your castle walls blush from gray to red: or maybe you leave the gray one where it is, and a little further along the road you find the red one. Why not?—it’s your adventure!

Remember, whether you are leader or listener, the keyword for success with the unconscious is “play,” not “work.”

It is in fact this incessant adding to and divergence from the text as the unconscious mind follows a Pathworking with the probability that different sections and cells of the unconscious will react in their own distinctive ways—which makes it a real, vital and deeply individual experience for each participant. As in Impressionist painting, the imagination’s multicolored and imprecise brush-strokes produce an exciting, 3-D, stereoscopic effect. It is like a real journey in which uncertain objects appear in the distance, loom out of mist, or change color and outline with the fresh perspective of every few paces. If, afterwards, you show your friends snapshots or even slides of such a journey, they may find the scenes interesting, entertaining or even sublimely beautiful: but you yourself are still likely privately to wonder what became of all the magick the camera failed to capture, the magick which was born of change and movement and of inner response.

Some people who have been strongly impressed with the opportunities for self-discovery and self-development offered by the current style of adventure games—“Dungeons and Dragons” and the rest—have raised a criticism against traditional style Pathworkings that such opportunities do not exist therein: there are no moments of deliberate personal choice for the participants. An obvious reply would be that Pathworking is not that type of game: but to leave the question there would do less than justice to the type of “game” which Pathworking in fact is.

Although the text of each working certainly serves as a framework upon which the necessary symbols and correspondence are displayed, so to put it, this is not its only function. The narrative is in itself suited to the position of the Path upon the Tree, and its consequent spirit and nature: presenting situations and trials characteristic of the Path and of the philosophy associated therewith. The various hazards and dilemmas of the Path are admittedly resolved, often by the action of the Guide of the Path and without any direct reference to the individual participant: but, provided only that the narrative has held the attention, no matter what individual changes may have been wrought in the details, the archetypal nature of the situation ensures that the unconscious of the participant will live through each episode as a personal experience. While the “testing” function of the adventure game is largely absent, the “training” function is present and active, and brings with it the emotional exhilaration which is a vital characteristic of adventure games. It is not desired that a participant should “fail” any test, but sufficient of the moral possibility of failure is implied in the narrative to keep the unconscious attentive and eager to assimilate the teachings of the Path.

For the listeners, as we have seen, great breadth in interpreting the experiences of a Pathworking is valid. The reader needs none the less to give the text accurately and clearly, without making it a class-room lesson. A Pathworking text needs to be read slowly enough for those who may never have heard it before to formulate the images, but in a warm and lively enough manner to hold each person’s interest and to stir the creative faculties. This is not too difficult, provided you yourself are thoroughly familiar with that particular text so as to be able to visualize, phrase by phrase, what it describes, and to live through it with the hearers. This permits the building up of mind contact between reader and listeners.

This mind contact, so difficult to describe, is a well known phenomenon in the worlds of teaching, of entertainment, of business management and many others. In general terms it consists in welding a number of receptive individuals, by means of seizing their attention, into a sufficient unity for a “group aura” to be formed: and at the same time establishing deeper communication with them through that aura. This means they will assimilate with greater ease, and fewer intellectual difficulties, whatever material the leader or teacher passes on to them: it also means—and this is a point of no small importance in Pathworking—that the leader is able to “feel,” and sometimes with absolute precision, the location and extent of any dropping-out among the listeners, any failure to continue traveling the same route.

It might occasionally happen, from whatever cause, that most or all of the group discontinue this inward participation: in such a case the leader would have no choice but to discontinue the reading at some convenient point, and to close with a meditation in the Sphere of the Path’s origin, or (at discretion) in the Earth Sphere, with suitable symbolism and correspondences introduced in either case. There should of course be no sense of “blame” attaching here, although a subsequent discussion as to the nature of the obstruction should take place later. If the leader feels that only one, or a minority, of the group has ceased to participate, then the Pathworking should be continued to its proper conclusion and the matter should be privately discussed afterwards with those who have seemed not to “make” the Path. (It should be recognized that emotional upset on the part of a participant, although not a standard occurrence, is much more likely to indicate success than the reverse.)

Some people may be simply unready for a particular Path, and should be advised to take it again at a future time, the interval to be a matter for discretion. Sometimes a participant may drift (so to speak) from a particular Path through having failed to discern its true inwardness: in such a case the mere alerting of the unconscious by the incident may be enough to correct the mistake for another occasion. One of the most frequent causes of “failure” is an inexperienced Pathworker’s attempting to participate at the level of the rational consciousness alone, whether as a result of having a particularly competent intelligence or through mistrust of the deeper faculties, and some reassurance may be needed on that subject. Or, as a different kind of problem, some totally extraneous cause of emotional discord may prove to exist among the participants. The putting aside of all mundane concerns at the inauguration of a Pathworking needs to be no less than total.

It remains to be considered why the initial “failures” for all participants in the 24th and 26th Paths are, in fact, built into the workings.

The case stands thus. Every Sphere that we enter represents an alteration of consciousness. A Netzach (Venus) state of mind is quite different from a Yesod (Luna) or a Hod (Mercury) state of mind. But into all of these we can, and do, enter within the Astral World (Yetzirah). Entry into the Sun Sphere (Tiphareth), however, requires not only an altered state of consciousness but also an altered level of consciousness. Certainly it is possible to enter into the Tiphareth of Yetzirah, the Sun Sphere of the purely astral level: but this as a life experience tends to be, for some people, Qliphothic (unbalanced) simply because the solar influence is so potent and intoxicating that we require a higher level of consciousness to control it. People who have entered upon the astral Sun Sphere have sometimes in fact become badly unbalanced, mad-drunk and blinded by the vision of their own glory, which is a true glory indeed but no greater than that of any other living soul. Some of the Roman emperors, and some geniuses of the creative arts who nevertheless lacked mystical insight, have been among that number.

In entering Tiphareth, therefore, as an initiatory experience, we need to be certain to pass the portal of the World of Briah. Briah, sometimes called the “Mental World,” is the very high, wonderful and beautiful World which lies between the Astral and the World of the Divine: our Pathworkings will not give us more than a glimpse of it, but yet it is by these workings that we learn to be sure and confident on the ways between Sphere and Sphere, between World and World. To cross the boundary of Briah, and to know ourselves to have crossed it, is the most important thing in our Pathworkings now.

Three Paths lead into Tiphareth, but by only one of these can we gain our first admission, because to interpret the significance of the other two Paths aright you need to have the viewpoint of the Sun Sphere—the Sun Sphere of Briah already. It is like the matter of that famous utterance of Crowley’s “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.” That is a saying of the Sun Sphere, and perceived in the light of that Sphere it is a great spiritual truth: but seen only in the light of the astral world, or of the material world, it can mislead utterly.

So it is with the Paths to Tiphareth. It is to be noted that these are not taken, as the other Paths have been, in descending numerical order—26, 25, 24—but 26, 24, 25. The 26th is the Path of Capricorn, the Goat. It leads to the heights, but only to the barren heights of the mountains. This Path shows us the goodness of all that has form, and the goodness of our own nature. If seen from the mystical viewpoint of the Sun Sphere, all this would be right and true and even sacred: but seen without this perception, it could lead only into materialism, narcissism, obsession. Therefore at this stage we are led safely back, not to the Sphere of the beginning of this Path—Hod—but to the Sphere of Earth.

The next Path taken, the 24th, leads in the opposite direction from Capricorn, down to the depths: it is the Path of Scorpio, whose Hebrew letter is Nun, the Fish. As children of Nature we should not see Death, the inevitable, as an evil. That is true: but to see it as final, or to desire it as final, is false and is to love falsehood. The philosophy of the Sun Sphere is that the descent is made only in order to rise again into life, refreshed and renewed. Thus without the true perception of the Sun Sphere, just as on the 26th Path we could not love Life aright, so on the 24th, we cannot love Death aright. Again we are led back to safety: but now, not to Malkuth but to Yesod. Even in these seeming failures, which are really important lessons, we are making progress upon the mystical Central Column of the Tree.

The 25th Path is the Path of the Archer. Again, as on the Path of Capricorn, we have the image of revelry, intoxication. But here is something different: we are lifted in vision beyond the self-seeking of that Path, and beyond the self-losing of the other Path: and without striving we follow where our high destiny leads us. If we had not learned, and practiced, how to entrust ourselves to that which is outside human reason—confidently, neither fearing nor desiring to cast ourselves away—how should we now trust ourselves to that which is above human reason? And only by that confidence and that trust, by that forgetfulness of self which comes of absorption in something greater, can we rise to that change in our level of consciousness which is entry into the Sphere of Tiphareth.

Having completed the 25th Path and made entry of the Sun Sphere, the 26th and 24th Paths are worked again: but now there is, for each of them, a true resolution in Tiphareth.

3. “Of Two Minds” by Patrick Hughe, in Psychology Today (December 1983).

4. The Magical Philosophy, Book I, Chapter VI: “The Work of the Mind.”