MEANWHILE BACK ON HOXTON STREET... (back at the GOLDEN DAWN HOUSE.) 2/25/13

We ate the cheese. We ate the grapes. The woman brought us a ceramic carafe filled with new wine. I relished it.... the smooth creaminess... the nutty flavor... the acidic bite...But before I go all Food Network on you, on to the heart of the matter.

As the day waned and the shadows lengthened, the reality of this place began to slowly dissolve. Stones turned into shadows and we who were children assumed or true form. Two heartbeats later all were back in the residence.. seated on the floor of a room with golden walls. Indeed, every surface was gold, resembling nothing so much as the interior of a large cube. There were no windows, or doors. The light, simply...was.

Our imperial guide said - Of such is magic. Vibrations to be manipulated...... Then he looked at me and continued... Tomas, I believe your Doctor Franklin feels the same?..... I nodded, then said - We have dabbled in this world many times and once, months back, slipped into what we assumed to be a parallel universe...... The Great Aurelius corrected - Not parallel...alternate. Had it been truly parallel, you'd never get inside. And do you think there hasn't been a reason for all this?.... Tomas, you block us. You're afraid. You hold back. Stop it..... All of you do that.... You, woman of the Pines..... (Edith nervously dropped a grape, the only still existent souvenir from our time in Rome and it seemed to fall through the golden floor as if through water.).... the emperor continued - tell what you see. Share what you feel. You're descended from a great wise woman. Did you know that?..... She shook her head'no.' ..... The emperor sighed - Well now you do..... Who was she? - asked Edith. But the emperor only laughed. Sarah said- Please, sir, tell us more......  Annie played with her hair. Before continuing, he reached out and gently slapped her hand away.... Don't do that - he said..... wilkravitz chuckled to think such a powerful entity even noticed such things, but Baylah pinched him and he stopped...... Our teacher inhaled, clapped his hands and said - Not now. It's time to smell the pasta..... (You know how vampires savor the aroma, don't you? We told you that.) So we  got to our feet and self-consciously looked around for a way out, til our mentor created a door......

Which vampire was I? What good would it do you to know my name?  You don't know us all. Our world  is like water. Nothing separates us. We flow together like rivers to the sea. The magic is the magic. And we are only vessels. It has been said that God is an ever growing jewel and we are (you too, mortals) facets, glittering upon the surface. They say a lot of things. But some of them are true.

Perhaps I am a solvent sent to break down walls? Miranda knows my name, but I do not think she'll tell you.

A few heartbeats later, the vampires (and other enchanted beings) gathered in a commodious salon and found seats in the warm, soft, deep upholstered chairs, where they silently absorbed the songs of Leonard Cohen. I believe he was singing Hallelujah. Some closed their eyes. But they were not sleeping. Some stared into the low, flickering candlelight. But they were not truly awake. Hallelujah... that was it.

Why don't you Google the words?..... Nothing stands between us. We are One....

Now it's late, at least for those of you upon the western landmass. So go to sleep. The 'Oscars' were but a dream. There's work tomorrow.

Good bye...

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THE IMPERIAL CITY.. a venue for the strange & miraculous 2/24/13

We were there. We were in the Pantheon and our guide was a former emperor. Votive flames illuminated the many idols spaced 'round the perimeter and priestesses sang hymns to the gods. Devotees followed a path, stopping at each station to say the right prayer to the proper deity. 

And we were children, each dressed in child's clothes, fine, light woolen tunics, embroidered along the hems with tiny birds and leaves and honey bees. The emperor Marcus Aurelius wore senatorial garb, the traditional toga, edged with the identifying deep purple border. Beneath that was a loose, tee shirt-like garment going down to the knees. Lesser citizens wore plain togas lacking any sign of rank or station. Two 'slaves' came up behind. But I cannot vouch for their humanity. Each might have been just a magical construct, designed to lend credence to our presence, for few well born Romans braved the streets without them. 

Our apparent pater familia said - Rome was a special place, poised at a time when magic was real and science but its little sister. Few questioned the truth of it all... for it was just the way of things. Grandmothers saw dead souls in their dreams. Generals blessed weapons with appropriate offerings and travelers fed creatures out beyond the campfire's glow.

We left that place, passing out through the massive bronze doors. And the first thing I noticed was the stifling heat. Another age would call it ninety seven degrees. Some would say thirty eight.  Romans of the day termed it 'a fast sizzle' for the length of time it took an egg to fry atop the roadway.  Our mysterious attendants stopped at a stall and purchased long, loose bunches of fragrant herbs, used to beat the air around us, so that we might smell sweetness instead of urine and filth. The juvenile Baylah scrunched her nose. Tomas just ignored the heat, as befitting an Andalusian aristocrat.  Annie stared silently. Then she asked the emperor for a 'kleenex' so that she might wipe her brow. But he just chucked. And Sarah stayed dry, even in this human form. For human we were, or appeared to be. 

Nine heartbeats later a little boy raced passed and his mother came soon after. The emperor merely gestured toward the child and we saw his face. We saw the vulpine countenance .... his short, fine-tipped muzzle.... the black edged, pointy ears.

Edith said - Please, Sir, what is that? (they have such fine manners in The Pines)... Marcus The Good said - That is a boy, normal in every way, save for the spell woven 'round him. Can you feel it? Can you taste it? Magic has a certain presence on the tongue, like sweet, fresh blood such as wood nymphs often have, or cherries brought all the way from Persia.....

We passed a man plucking sprites from the air. He'd quickly pinch a bit of ether beyond his face and from out of nowhere capture a tiny being, like a small, angry dragonfly born to a human mother. Such beauty. Such delicate perfection. And those around him paid dearly, for these things brought luck. Two hundred sesturces. That was the price. From the look of his fine, Galician sandals, business was good. Some paid extra for the cunning, little cages, complete with miniature, upholstered sleeping platforms and tiny mirrors made of polished metal. 

Sarah quietly asked - Forgive me, Sire, but why can he not just conjure the gold?

He smiled and said - Perhaps he has his limits, or perhaps he doubts too much. 

Then he led us into a better grade caupona (street cafe) and sat us down to a cool, fresh lunch of satisfying cheeses and fat, juicy grapes. 

And the magic allowing us to eat mortal food was the best kind of magic of all....

Wonders can be real... Remember that.....

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A Baby Emperor Tells Us Things... the occulus .. 2/23/13

They built The Pantheon when I was a boy. A place for all the gods. A stone and marble ewer for the blending of divinities. Never before had there been such a place. Some say it came in answer to the Jews,  both 'The Temple' crowd and 'The Joshua contingent' (they did not call him Jesus much back then, you know). More pensive elements of our better classes questioned things. The gods of Olympus seemed small and constrained, tied only to the Earth and those who crawled upon it. So we refurbished them in that great, domed space and gave them room to fly. 

Since we were of imperial-senatorial stock, my father arranged a visit to the rooftop, crowned by an intricate head-dress of light weight scaffolding. Many local worthies made the climb to look down through the occulus, high above the city, and see the ceramicists toiling down below, creating patterns on the vast, cold floor. Such a structure... such a dome... The very vault of heaven, held up by dreams and kisses. A place without columns. Some peered through polished lenses, the better to study the developments within, like little Jupiters gazing down from The Mountain.

Some slaves toiled 'round the edge of the circular opening, a great empty teat upon the breast of Rome, installing  alabaster molding meant to frame the lofty skylight. How they scampered about, ignoring the danger. Goats upon the heights, such as one might see in The Alps, or The Atlas Mountains, where the Berbers lived. 

Their foreman, a freedman (I could tell by the cap) harried them, not so much due to any real sense of impatience, but more in homage to 'betters,' like us. 

Now at first the dome was dry, bathed in the orange light of a Roman afternoon. But then it began to rain. Oh, the clouds were already in place. you know how the sun comes in low at that time of day. And my mother did not want us to go because of it, however, Aristobolus, my pedagogue, a highly educated and pampered slave from Syracusa, well versed in the natural philosophies (sciences), guaranteed the weather would be appropriate for such an outting, so we went. And now we were stuck, clinging to the rickety up-rights, in a chill, fall, windy rain. 

Some of the slave laborers did likewise, but the foreman insisted the molding be finished. His patron had something to do with the construction of the place and I suppose he had his orders. But the footing was treacherous and my father and I watched wide-eyed, as a young man, squinting against the rain, crawled toward a precarious perch along the edge. Now any other time a slave would be dispatched to hold his girdle (belt), so that he would not fall. But the foreman was distracted by the stupid questions of a provincial land owner from Umbria and so no guardian was sent out.

The young man tried. He bowed. He gestured. He cleared his throat, but no one noticed. Being a slave and a lowly one at that (why else would he do such dangerous work?) he dared not speak out of turn. Blindings and mutings were commonplace... maimings too. So he brushed the wet hair from his eyes and inched toward the windy precipice, quietly bemoaning his fate (Roman cement dried under all conditions. Our engineering was superb). 

How he grasped the edge. There was nothing else to hold on to. And he fought not to look down to the floor, so far below. The first length of molding, drawn from a pouch over his shoulder fit nicely and the second went in just as well. One more and he'd be finished. But a gull, blown in from the coast at Ostia, swooped low, searching for shelter amidst the intricate scaffolding (you know how little they fear humans). And it hit the frightened, young man, just hard enough to make him flinch, raise his hand and lurch over the edge.

Most people up there with us never noticed,semi- secure beneath a flimsy wooden  barrier. But I did. I heard him call out in a rather choked and quiet moan, lost amidst the wind and rain, as he disappeared through the hole. Some said he tried to grab on. Those below saw it all too. The molding was such that had his fingers been strong enough he could have. There were groves. There were places. But these stones were not dry. The 'batter' had not set. And so he tumbled down through the vault, into this house of gods.

I heard the smack. I heard the crunch. I heard the people scream. The foreman did too. He made a face. Slaves cost money you know. Equipment is not cheap. But then he went back to his conversation, unwilling to offend his guest. I couldn't look at him after that. 

That's when I became ' Marcus Aurelius.' That's when I became 'the good emperor.' 

I know I have digressed. Vampires often do. We have so much to remember, after all.

But I thought I'd share a bit of my youth. 

Tomorrow we'll return to the house on Hoxton Street.

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MARCUS AURELIUS SPEAKS.. On The Study of Magic 2/22/13

This is wilkravitz. It's all coming from me tonight. Tomas fixed it up. He wants a moment by moment account. And he has enough abilities of his own to arrange it. So I think. I speak in my head and it appears on the screen. I don't even have the laptop with me. I don't even know where it is. Probably somewhere back in the 'mews' house. But here'

what's going on now....

Francis and Miranda ushered us into a fairly spacious, neo-classical entry hall. Black and white marble tiles on the floor. White, plastered walls. Niches with Greco-Roman busts.  Just right for this type of house, I'm told. And it was quiet. So quiet. Yet I could hear... no, not hear...'feel' the presence of other souls deep within the building, as if the interior was bigger than the exterior.... a difficult transformation to achieve....At least I know that now.

A man came out to greet us. And you know who he looked like?... Like Adam Sandler with curly hair and a curly beard.... just like in Don't Mess With The Zohan. For real. I mean it. I kid you not ... To quote Jack Paar, who I'm told was also somewhere deep inside there too. ...!!! How do I know how Jack Paar sounded? He was before my time. But I know. I've 'seen' it. I know things!!!???

The bearded one approached and Francis said - 'Divinity,' I'd like to present my esteemed friend, the venerable life-eater, Jonathon ben Macabi and his entourage, late of the New World city of Philadelphia....... The one time Roman emperor acknowledged our leader's presence with a raised eyebrow and a nod. Mr. Spock, upon the bridge of The Star Ship Enterprise could not have done any better..... With that we entered a small, though comfortable sitting room adjacent to the clean, spare hall. The Imperial One sat down first, right by the fire, I must add, and we found chairs nearby. 

For perhaps twelve heartbeats no one spoke. The emperor adjusted the crease in his trousers (Hugo Boss... Sarah told me). Annie stared at a fine collection of small pieces of Egyptian funerary art running the length of the mantle piece. The rest of us just looked at the floor, waiting to be addressed. This man commanded the Praetorian Guard, after all. And no one wanted to be thrown to the lion. 

He turned to Jonathon (also known as Tomas) and said - Ben Macabi, Judean, am I right? ..... Our leader said - Of that line, at least originally, Eminence, though with a fair admixture of Visigoth and Celt-Iberian, since I hail from what was once, your western province of Hispania, though born to this world some eight hundred and fifty years later.

Four heartbeats later he turned from Tomas (also known as Jonathon) to question Francis. And in the voice of a trained orator asked - Why are they here?.... To taste magic, my lord. To be sure, they've seen it many times in the past. Indeed, some stem from the one known as 'Papa.' - said Francis. But they've never seen the source. They know not stoic wisdom and... (Francis would have said more, but the noble Roman held up his hand, so the dapper Brit demurred).

The Great Aurelius said - I am a philosopher. Perhaps you know my 'Meditations?..... We all nodded. Who would have done otherwise?.... And he continued - A 'stoic,' such as I, strives to control passion. We value calm, clear logic. We learn from nature and do what has to be done.

Then he lapsed back into silence. We all just sat there. Annie sighed. She was bored. The emperor saw. She smiled at him. He smiled at her, revealing his small, sharp fangs...... He spoke once more and said - I sit here in this place today, because of a gift received long ago in the trans-alpine city of Vindabona (ancient Vienna). I was near death at the time and so... it was necessary.... Of course you know there are gradations... of magic, I mean. First you learn what 'is.' Then you learn to manipulate. Last comes understanding..... I suppose you could say we follow some of the Hermetic Order... but Hermes didn't know everything.

He addressed Miranda and asked - Will they be here for the spring equinox? ...... I think not, Divinity. - she said...... He pondered a moment, whispering  - Then we'll have to provide them a varied assortment of treats.... 

The emperor stood up. We all did like wise and followed him through a door into another place. I looked up and beheld the Great Dome of The Pantheon in Rome, bathed in a warm, golden light streaming in through the high, round opening, known as 'the occulus.' 

That, in itself was more than enough. But when I looked down, I saw that my friends were all children.... Sarah, Baylah,Tomas, Edith...all of them, giggling with a simple, innocent joy, each dressed in the clothes of their youth.

Only Annie, already in the body of perhaps a seven year old, remained unchanged.

And doves flew 'round our heads....

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The House on Hoxton Street.. 2/21/13 after THE REVELS, in London

Many of the properties along the way have been modernized and are essentially the same as similar residences in say Chicago or Washington. But this house was different. Yes, it was brought up to date, although the date it was brought up to was nineteen twenty five.  And that, in itself, tells us something.  Modern kitchens are not a priority for night-folks. They value deep wing chairs covered in old mohair and tall clocks almost as ancient as they are. 

This house had a library with the requisite detailed paneling... a necro-torium for intelligent magical exploration and a small, but inviting chamber of adepts used for debates and discussions. The furnishings come from the Privy Council of Schloss von Hohenstein and belonged to the sixteenth Elector, who converted to a Vampirian creed in later years and penned many respected essays on Life-Eating.

Tomas had never been to this place. Experimentation occurred elsewhere in his day, primarily tucked away in back alleys near Black Friars and the like, blending right in with the rather bohemian theatrical crowd. But for developments in contemporary space/time/matter manipulation, this was ground zero. That's what Francis said and he knows..

The ride over, bracing as it was, proved trying. Edith moaned the whole way. wilkravitz almost slid off, but Baylah grabbed him. You know dragon skin is very much like snake skin. At least in this bloodline it is. Not slimy, but dry and smooth.... a bit too smooth for those not blessed with the proper 'seat.' Miranda doesn't mind. Francis rather enjoys it, especially this one , Gold Claw,  a gift from the second son of a high born Han nobleman. The beast itself contained it's own magic. All dragons do. How else do you think they survived the Great Comet? No, they're not that old. I don't mean to imply anything like that, but, how else?... As a species, I mean....

Now there was no identifying sign or mark upon the house...nothing. In all respects it looked like a fine, impressive, three story, red brick. Georgian, or neo- Georgian residence, fit for a gentleman born and bred, or perhaps a rather astute businessman. The heavy, oaken door gleamed under a flawless gloss of dark green paint. And the knocker (polished brass) was in the form of a mermaid. I think merfolk were symbolic in the early nights of the Hermetic Order, but now it's just a tradition. 

Gold Claw was trained. She knew what to do and smoothly de-materialized as they drew up to their destination, depositing four night-folk and two mortals upon the carefully laid down, granite pavement. Yes, they were invisible while en-route. And mortal traffic passed right through them. But there was no place for her here...no stable ... no dragon harem, so she slipped back through the ether to her commodious quarters, there to await her master's call.

Francis gestured toward the door and said - Shall we? ...Then he quietly chanted a few words in Old Eastern Vahmperigo (rather like a blend of Old Slavonic with Tartar and Persian overtones) and stepped aside as the portal slowly opened.

Three heartbeats later, after carefully peering inside, the Philadelphia contingent entered. Miranda and her dapper companion followed. The door closed...

And The Emperor Marcus Aurelius came out to greet them....

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DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC?...POST REVEL NIGHTS IN LONDON 2/20/13

In many ways, The Hermetic Order of The Golden Dawn is only a name 'borrowed' by various associations aspiring to some form of metaphysical power and enlightenment. The true organization began over one hundred and twenty five years ago, deep within the winding lanes of late Victorian London. If you've ever seen the film, Young Sherlock, by Steven Spielberg, you've seen snippets of a distorted order centered on sacrificial violence and pseudo-Kemetic (Kemet being the true name for ancient Egypt) mythology. Well, the venue in question tonight is not like that. In truth, it goes back long before The Golden Order and even predates the Masonic and Rosicrucian brotherhoods believed to be it's source.

Those familiar with our strange kind of 'fiction' know about La Ciencia Vampirismo. Tomas has an old, handwritten copy. Sometimes he hides it deep within the Jersey Pine Barrens. Sometimes where they live. I don't know every hiding place. The title can be translated as 'the science of vampirism,' or 'the science of the vampires.' Most present day cognoscenti hold with the second interpretation.  Magic has always been there. Vampires are but one manifestation, though they tend to be true vessels of the creed... if you want to call it a creed. 

The 'Temple,' if you want to call it a temple, rests in a district just to the east of 'The City,' that old, original core dating from the Romans. Today, it's a trendy place, filled with spare and stylish galleries, artistic dining spots and luxurious  boutiques. Some claim The Ripper hid there.  But you'll just have to ask him.

Beatrice fixed toddies. Vampires enjoy hot toddies, rich with the fragrance of cinnamon and cloves. She uses rum. The Philadelphia group prefers vodka or gin, but they did not say anything. And old, seventeenth century chamber music played in the background, on a discretely positioned Bose radio.

They were waiting for Francis and Miranda, Tomas' night-folk friends from the court of The Merry Monarch. Ever see Ralph Fiennes and Uma Thurman in that Avengers re-make they did? Well then no further description is necessary...... Wait a minute. Sarah's giving me a dirty look. (teeth sucking noise).. How can she see me? I hide so well... a creature of the ether...been 'dead' more than two thousand years.... Yeah, hello, It's me, Zebulon. Nice to see you. I'm the pretentious thirteen year old what got hisself stoned for consorting with witches in thirty-eighth century ('first' to most of you)  Jerusalem. Pretty much the only stoning they did during that period.. Stonings were exceedingly rare. But I was the lucky one.... Now, what was I gonna say?... Oh yeah. Francis had on a slim black suit. Google the Vera Wang tuxedo. You'll see what I mean. Miranda wore one too. But her's was even slimmer. I think he did have a bowler,  just not on his head. 

When they came in, sublimating through the garden wall, Tomas smiled. Three hundred and thirty years since the last time, yet he remembered it all. Nell Gwynne was quite the hostess. Vampires don't bother much with introductions, They all possess some level of telepathy. He might have said something for wilkravitz and Edith, but even they have a certain heightened sensitivity.....

Then they all wrapped themselves in warm coats (gloves and scarves too, I might add) and walked out to join the night. 

A long, sinewy, undulating Chinese dragon waited by the curb, ebony black with golden claws. In fact, it took up most of the tiny thoroughfare. But the isolated pedestrian or two never saw it. And a man carrying a large, zipped, leather artist's portfolio walked right through the dragon's lower back and kidneys without causing the slightest stir. The 'temple' is a place of magic, you know. 

So following Francis' lead, they all climbed onto the creature's back, grabbing hold of thick, gold cords circling its body. And after the life-eater helmsman issued a clipped command in flawless Mandarin, they took off through the streets, as the snake-like steed bore them on their way.

London after midnight offers many such sights. Pity so few can see them... 

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FORTY EIGHT HOURS IN LONDON ... THE VAMPIRE REVELS..an epilogue .. 2/19/13

The fine, black Bentley arrived after sundown, depositing Tomas and company on the doorstep of a picture-book, snug, little mews house two doors to the left of number (censored) on a certain, narrow, Mayfair street known for the best 'bijou' houses in London. It's the townhouse most dream of, fifteen hundred square feet of tastefully arranged Georgian furnishings gathered from an assortment of august domiciles throughout the West End.

 Four drowsy night-folk, plus two mortal associates climbed out of the snug, darkened interior and , for a moment anyway, into the chill, violet evening. Someone inside expected them, for seconds later the red, lacquered door opened and they entered. 

A tall, woman greeted them. She said - Good evening, Don Tomas (in the classic Spanish manner), my name is Beatrice. Let me show you to your rooms.... They followed her down a tiny, brick, winding staircase to a comfortably appointed cellar, sporting original, wide plank, Regency flooring and discrete, little sleeping cubicles, rather like day-sleepers on a train and just right for discerning vampires. Tomas and Sarah took the first one, squeezing in with the driver, as he deposited their luggage. Baylah moved into the second. And Annie took the third, a nest prepared especially for her, with an assortment of children's literature from Christopher Robin to Anne of Green Gables... first editions all.

They made any necessary ablutions in a former coal bin, now a small, well equipped wash room and water closet (not for vampiric benefit, to be sure) and changed clothes before gathering upstairs in the fire lit sitting room.  Beatrice wanted to call for the car, but Tomas said they'd walk. Vampires love the cold, night air. And they were adequately dressed for the temperature. Tomas had his warm, black, leather coat. Sarah had hers. Baylah's was a faux-fox number picked up in Boyd's back home. Look, each one had what they required. Life-eaters know how to travel. And their human companions are well kept too. wilkravitz liked his hat, a genuine, British 'deerstalker,' with attached ear flaps and a soft, warm rabbit lining. Edith made do with a fine, cashmere scarf.

And so they set out... moonbeam-wanderers, upon the streets of London. Tomas had an appointment with a certain gentleman at Foster & Son, eldest bespoke footwear and leather goods in the city. Perhaps he'll take a cab? Perhaps he'll sublimate? Maybe Sarah will decide? Baylah keeps her own counsel, though I'd wager she heads for The British Museum. Vampires enjoy wandering the empty, nighttime galleries. Entrance isn't difficult. Not for them. And if she brings back a souvenir or two from the gift shop, you can be sure she'll deposit a more than adequate sum.  Edith wants some pub grub. Mayfair has the best...more in the manner of bistros or casual brasseries, but she doesn't know that. wilkravitz wants to peruse the book shops, but he'll probably join her. Maybe end up with a stroll through Chelsea, one-time borough of artists...the Dante Rossetti crowd and all that. Tomorrow night, they all meet up with vampire acquaintances for less mundane activities. Will there be a feeding? Well, I really can't say. Disembodied spirits are not always privy to everything...... Oh, yes...'Annie,'..... Beatrice is taking her to a venerable, little toy shop, where they've promised to let her bite the toes off a specially chosen assortment of dolls....It's a 'thing' with her. Some of you know that.

But if this night is ordinary, the night-to-come belongs to The Hermetical Order of the Golden Dawn, an old, arcane, enchanted group given to other-worldly investigations and certain spiritual activities.... 

For those of you who like being prepared, do some homework. Read 'Bohemia In London,' (1907) by Arthur Ransome . It's there, hidden away on those little magical devices you all have. Google it..... 

Did I say it right?

Now permit me to leave, for I've friends in The Tower....

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