My Dear Immortal Goddess, I have a vision of you: You, like Inanna, Ishtar, Astarte, Isis, and Mary Magdalene, among others, are Sophia's divine incarnate daughter, and you have a mission to fulfill with Gaia before you leave her. Yes, for now you are an immanent sacred body, not yet again a transcendent soul. But you will ttanscend once more when your immanent presence is no longer necessarily on Gaia's earth. . . Our own two souls, I believe, were once, long eons ago, before the fall of souls, united in love as one according to the laws of the Union of Opposites and the bridal chamber of the hieros gamos. By her divine providence, Sophia has brought us together once more. If we are reunited in this earthly life, you and I can regain the Pleroma together and serve Sophia and the Logos forever in the peace and love of felicity. I remain your loving and devoted disciple, mentor, and soulmate. With Love and Hope for Earthly Felicity for All ~llaw Sophia's first instance...

Though I've eulogized her, made references about her, and written poems to her in this blog, I've never told anyone – not even her – exactly what makes her so overwhelmingly attractive to me that my obsession over her borders on madness or maybe holiness, or so the story goes. . . . In numerous essays I've written about my Zahir (I capitalize zahir because she is my own personal zahir), but I've never discussed the feminine wiles and attributes that attract me to her so obsessively. This, then, is all about her, and why she consumes every thought I have, every breath I take. In my time-jaded, yet discerning, eyes she is the most exquisitely attractive image on the face of the planet. Whoever agrees or doesn't doesn't matter at all to me, for I love her unconditionally. Every man's obsession is his alone, and my Zahir is mine. She is a bit taller than average, and thin: five-eight, maybe, and 120 pounds with her boots on. She has small breasts, long legs, a ...

Someone once said they won't enjoy old age because there's no future in it. More profound words were never uttered if we cannot see beyond our own lifetimes. Could it be that we live just a few decades on the face of this earth, struggling as best we can to make the most of this short time, only to fade away to nothing but whatever legacy we've left behind when we die? Do any of us really believe in our heart of hearts that that's all there is? Could it be that there is no further purpose for our existence – not so much as even some mysterious purpose beyond our human perceptions or understandings? To believe in your heart and mind that this life is all there is seems incomprehensible to me. If you are in touch with your own soul, you intuitively know there is more. In previous essays I've discussed the pleroma, hierosgamos, the union of opposites, the bridal chamber, the esoteric knowledge of the Gnostics, pagan myths and their relationship to modern day religious ...

When I began to look deeply into Gnosticism – particularly Sophian Gnosticism – I found that underlying all the intellectual, spiritual and religious works and studies, the ecclesiastical rituals and ceremonies, the Eucharist, or all the aspects of the Bridal Chamber, there is a profound simplicity to the entire concept of its existence. Tau Rosamonde Miller of the Church of Gnosis explains it this way: "Gnosticism is better understood through art, music, and poetry and not through intellectual pursuit . . . . It is better understood in terms of Buddhism than of Christianity. I find that one of the simplest, truest ways of describing the experience of Gnosis is found in the lines of the Tao Te Ching, 'The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao.' Just substitute "Gnosis" instead of "Tao". In this instance the terms can be interchangeable." But the simplicity of Gnosticism might best be understood by the term Wild Gnosis . The concept of Wild G...

My uncle, Albert Pendergraft, committed suicide in 1944, apparently from a longtime overdose of alcohol and depression. He blew his head off with an S&W .38 Special revolver. Born just three years before his death, I have no recall of the event, but Albert, no doubt unintentionally, left a life-long gift for me – or for anyone else who cared to partake of it for what it was. So far as I know I am the only one who did, though my older brother may have. The gift was what I believe was his suicide note – a poem of love for the land he roamed that depicted a key part of the philosophy of his lonesome life. For several years late in his life he was a ditch rider. For sure, he was a recluse: he had great love for Gaia, but little love for his fellow man or their gods. Albert was born on a remote ranch in Johnson County, Wyoming, in 1894, just four years after Wyoming became a part of the United States. The son of a Texas Trail cowboy, he spoke so seldom that he became known as Silent Al ...