Wednesday, August 3, 2011


I didn't even know we could do this, but a vampire woman from Australia (in town to visit her ailing, mortal mother----- it seems the woman wants to expire within sight of the Garden Tomb) showed me how. Granted, true magic depends not on hokkus-pokkus, or other extravagant fandangos. You know that. We've discussed it already. Real power is just that...power. No toads. No chants. No dramatic hand gestures. You just imagines it and it happens. True, the focusing part can be a bit difficult, but certain simple mind exercises help with that (staring into a flame, or stroking a dog, or knitting a sweater even).

We met in the lobby of a hotel. I went in to buy a copy of Vogue for my consort and the latest issue of GQ for myself. It is I, Jonathon talking. And you know how much I desire to 'cut' a fashionable figure, what with my fine, black leather bootkins and all the rest. Blame it on my formative (human) years in Al-Andaluz (the south of Spain to the uninitiated). Do you think a culture responsible for the production of  'trajes de luz' and castanets could do otherwise? Maybe it comes from being here, in Israel, deep within the busom of a completely Mediterranean environment? Sixty percent of the Hebrew population stems from Sephardic roots. They are the children of exiled Spaniards, filtered through the fine, filigree artwork of Moorish lands. The Russians, Ukrainians, Poles and Germans get all the publicity, but the heart of The Homeland comes  from us.

But permit me to get back to the Australian woman. She was very new, maybe three or four years spent in darkness at the most, though her magical abilities were older than that. I'm told she has Aboriginal blood. I'm told she's wandered through the 'dream-time' with deeply talented shamans in the Northern Territories. Some here in town claim she's turned away hurricaines (please don't ask me what they call them in the antipodes) and peered through the eyes of salt water crocodiles.

She came over to my table in the coffee shop. I often linger over a cup, not for the hot, flavorful liquid within, but rather for the intoxicating aroma tickling its way up into the ether. She pulled out a chair and sat down. Very selfconfident, these Aussies. I looked up from a piece on grooming for the executive suite and met her gaze. She smiled, drawing me into her smoky eyes and binding my soul (for a while, at least) to her own.  She knew of our labors and of our meetings with other Holy Land life-eaters. She knew of our efforts on behalf of Israel and Ishmael and  our hopes for The Great Reconciliation. Two distinct, kindred principalities shining out from The Land Of Abraham. And she had an idea. I followed her lead and looked down into my cup. And there, swimming (or treading 'water' actually would be more like it) were three tiny individuals. One was the resurrected John Lennon. One was Yusef Islam. One was Bob Dylan. It was hard to recognize them at first with their hair all slicked back from the thankfully now rather tepid brew, but the Australian 'adept' helped me. I saw what she saw. I knew what she knew. So when she took the stylish ceramic vessel in her hands and walked out of the carefully decorated place, I followed , careful to throw a hundred shekels or so to the teenaged cashier before exiting into the soft, fragrant Judean night.

I had secrets to learn, inborn abilities to discover and miracles to perform.......

<if you like this portal, please click NEWER POST at bottom of entry or simply scroll down, if your page is set up that way> THE GREAT RECONCILIATION...two kindred principalities. Wouldn't that make their father (Abraham) happy... and his Father too?>

No comments: