The Eleventh Holy Night

BULL/TAURUS

In exploring this Zodiac of the Bull we now move from the sphere of the hierarchies to the the region of the Holy Cosmic Spirit from which forces emanate towards the planets.

The Holy Spirit is also called the Lunar Logos because of its kinship to the Moon. This kinship was the result of an important task during Christ's descent towards the earth. The birth of the Sun Logos into the Body of the Sun was made possible by the Holy Spirit principle working into the sphere of the Moon through the communion of the entire circle of the 6 Elohim and Jehova as we have seen in previous posts. The Holy Spirit is connected, therefore, to the Moon Sphere by virtue of this union and the entire third hierarchy of angels, in particular their representatives the Angels.  It is for this reason that the Holy Spirit has a special connection to the Astral body of man or the soul, which was created on old Moon and its connection with the consciousness of the entire soul - the Consciousness Soul - or the 'Conscience Soul'.

We see this relationship between the Moon and the Sun through the Holy Spirit in the various cults of the Bull in Egypt and Sumeria. In Egypt the Egyptian Goddess Isis was the Goddess of the Moon, and her image arose out of the union of the Moon with the Sun, that is, of Sophia with Isis and through them, the union of the region of Virgo with the region of the Bull. This connection was depicted in various ways depending on what forces were prevalent at the time, for instance:

In the Third Cultural Epoch whenever the influence from the sphere of the Virgin was the more prevalent there arose the image of the Moon Goddess Isis, representing the Sun spirit, the Divine Sophia, the World-Soul, carrying her Sun-child Horus. Whenever the image of the Bull or the entire macrocosm prevailed in Egypt, Isis was seen with Cow Horns on her head - as an image of her representation of the World Spirit. Furthermore when, within these cow horns was  depicted the Solar disc, it signified the upward striving of the Spirit of the Bull from the Sphere of the Moon to the Sphere of the Sun or the region of Ram. This depicted an ascent from Holy Spirit to Christ, which signified a move from the Third Cultural Epoch, Egypt to the Fourth, Greco-Roman Epoch, when Christ would be born on earth.

The Luciferic principle had cut itself off from the Holy Spirit on old moon. It chose not to strive upwards to the Sun Sphere but to remain egoistically within the boundaries of the Moon Sphere. The  Luciferic Holy Spirit did not seek to find Christ and, it is for this reason, that in the Greco Roman era the Bull was associated with the Luciferic principle.

The Holy Spirit that emanates from the region of the Bull down into the Moon Sphere was seen at the baptism of Jesus by John the Baptist through the agency of his angel in the form of a Dove. He saw this image of the dove because, interestingly, Rudolf Steiner tells us, the cow seen inspiratively, takes on the image of a dove, since astrally the cow is like a bird. 

It is the Holy Spirit, which once again enables the birth of Christ into the Nathan Sun-Soul, the being of Jesus of Nazareth at the baptism in the Jordan. Christ is born, not only through the highest earthly representative of the region of the angels or Waterman - John the Baptist - but also because of another mystery.

The Luke Mary is that being who was once seen as Isis by the Egyptian Initiates. And her own descent into the human soul ran parallel to the descent of the Nathan soul to earth carrying the Christ being through his sacrifices. Isis/Mary descended from the region of the Sophia and enabled human beings to develop the Sentient and intellectual souls in preparation for Christ's incarnation. After her own short incarnation, the heavenly Isis/Mary was united once more with the Divine Sophia at her death. It was her unification with Mary of the Matthew Gospel which connected the Matthew Mary with the Sophia making the birth of Christ into the soul of Jesus of Nazareth, possible. This communion of heavenly and earthly representatives from the Sphere of the Bull and the Virgin - was the archetypal image of the spirit which must enter the soul to enable the birth of Christ there.

Similarly, it is also the Holy Spirit from the region of the Bull that, in uniting with the sphere of Twins or Seraphim, (represented by the sacrifice enacted by both Christ and the Zarathustra individuality at the baptism), that created the possibility for the birth of the highest principle of Sacrificial love, Christ, on earth. Christ, the Sun Being was then able to walk the earth and to speak of a love that is not inspired by 'blood' kinship, but a love that is free and inspired instead by 'spirit' kinship. He could do this through the agency of this region which rules the Larynx and speech (Bull) and the Spirit of Community (Twins).  It is for this reason that speech connects us with others in a loving marriage of souls. Rudolf Steiner even goes so far as to say that the Larynx will one day not only speak forth words, but will be a creative organ, a higher version of the organs of reproduction which are, at present, possessed by human beings. The larynx will offer itself up, chastely, to the Holy Lance of  Love - the Holy Spirit - in order to bring to 'birth' the spirit of Christ, not only in the soul, but within the soul of a 'community' and in the Soul of the earth, as a moral creative force. In this way The Bull also connects the realm of Twins with the realm of Goat, the realm of Archangels, in particular Michael who, as the highest Archangel of the Sun and the Countenance of Jehova, had a special relationship both to the Sun Logos and the Holy spirit  - the Word and Thought - that is, the Cosmic Intelligence of Christ.

Luke was the apostle connected to the Sphere of the Bull. Luke was a 'Bull Initiate' and therefore a doctor because the Holy Spirit is connected with all forms healing. It is connected with healing because it is the Holy Spirit which brings about a connection between the human being and Christ - the great healer. Luke therefore, sees the Mystery of Golgotha from the perspective of the healing Nathan Soul, or Jesus son of the Isis Mary. When we see the image of Mary holding her child in her arms in Bethlehem as Luke depicts it, it is the fulfilment of the prophecy seen by the Egyptian Priests, who saw the image of Isis holding the Horus child. 

It is the human being who also heals Lucifer by connecting Lucifer with the Holy Spirit again in the human soul.

So on this Holy Night when we gaze up at the region of the Bull (Thought), may we see the connection between it and the Holy Spirit, the Lunar Logos working particularly through the Moon Sphere realm of the angels to enable the birth of Christ (The Word) firstly into the body of the Sun and secondly into the body of the Sun-Soul Jesus of Nazareth. May we see the Gospel writer Luke writing of the Nathan Soul and the Isis Mary. May we see how the Luke Mary united with the Solomon Mary so that she became, the Mother of God, a 'Vicarious' incarnation of the Sophia on earth, and how the Holy Spirit united again with the Mother of God twice more: at the Wedding at Cana and at the Pentecost in order to bring about a free 'common love' among men who are not blood kin.

May the Spirit of this Holy Night working in our souls unite us with the Spirit of Christ in the sun of our hearts so that we may unite in loving communion and speak forth the word of God!

On Writing THE SIXTH KEY

THE FOURTH KEY

The Roman God, Janus, is depicted with two faces staring in opposite directions: one face looking into the past and the other into the future.

The past can tell us a lot about who we are and what we will one day create, or do. That’s why I find it essential to retrace the steps that led me to a new novel and in so doing the fourth key to writing The Sixth Key is closely linked to my love of history and my passion for mysteries.

My love of history began at around age fifteen when I first read Gone With the Wind. I became a lover of historic novels and developed a fascination for history itself. My passion for mysteries was ignited when I saw my first Indiana Jones movie. The idea of lost artefacts, codes, puzzles and unsolved enigmas, excited me so much that I told myself I would one day write thrilling mystery novels based on true history.

Two books later, the protagonist in my historic mystery thriller, The Sixth Key, is Otto Rahn - the living inspiration for Steven Spielberg’s Indiana Jones. Rahn is racing against time to solve numerous puzzles, codes and enigmas to find a lost artefact that actually existed in history and although the book is predominantly set in the late 1930’s, it is interwoven with other historic time-lines.

I guess we never know what influences will work on us strongly enough to become actions. The best we can do is to look back every so often, like the God Janus. We might then better understand the present and even prepare ourselves for the future. In this case – a sequel!

On Writing the SIXTH KEY - The Third Key:

The Third Key to writing The Sixth Key has to do with the fact that some people belong to their time and others do not. What do I mean by this? Like Otto Rahn, my protagonist, I realised at an early age that I didn’t belong to the Australia of the 1970’s but to the America and Europe of the 1930’s and 40’s.

I didn’t fit in at all. While my friends were listening to the soundtrack of Jesus Christ Superstar, or the music of Jimi Hendrix, I was enjoying old recordings of Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole and Billy Holiday.  Skirts were getting shorter, hair was becoming straighter and longer and the shoes were growing chunkier, but I wanted to dress in flowing silk gowns and beautiful stiletto heels like Ginger Rogers, with my hair short and curly, like June Allyson. And when my generation was flocking to movies like Mash or The Godfather, I snubbed my nose at them, preferring to stay at home to watch The Maltese Falcon, Frankenstein or Alfred Hitchock movies on TV. I even recorded them with my little cassette tape recorder, so that I could practice the lines. I was such a dork!

So when the time came to write The Sixth Key, it is not so hard to see why I was drawn to set it primarily in the late 1930’s, with a protagonist who is a mix of all the sensitive male heroes to have ever graced the silver screen, partnered by a heroine who has the moxie of Katherine Hepburn, the intelligence of Lauren Bacall, and the vulnerable, ethereal beauty of Louise Brooks.

I know my parents worried about me in those days, when I wanted to spend half my life in ‘hot rollers’, trying to speak with a husky voice like Greta Garbo. But as you can see, not belonging to your time can sometimes come in handy!

WOMAN WITH THE ALABASTER JAR

  

S

INCE that experience in the field, beneath the shading tree, Mary had carried her mother’s jar with her wherever she went, and it was with her now as she snuck out of the rooming house, and made her way to the residence of Simon the Pharisee.

Months ago, when Mary and her sister heard Lazarus’ retelling of his experience at the Baptism of Jesus, they had felt a sense of destiny, and had begged their brother to take them to Capernaum, to the place where Jesus taught and healed the people.

Mary’s only fear had been, what she might see, hovering over him. But she had not seen anything but light, and love, and life. A life so abundant that she understood instantly, she must offer herself up as his disciple. And yet, she hesitated, for her malady continued to plague her, and the words of the rabbi at Magadala still echoed in her ears, even after all these years.

The courage to go to Jesus had only come this night, when she heard him say these words to those who needed healing:

Come unto me all who are heavy laden, all of you who are burdened and I will give you rest.

She thought of these words now, and warmth entered into her heart as she walked resolutely, clutching that jar made from cool translucent stone, which held her mother’s oil.

It seemed to her appropriate to use this very oil, in just this very jar, to perform the most humbling act which she knew how to perform: to prostrate herself before him, to anoint his feet, and deliver her soul into his care. And it did not matter to her that her Lord was dining at a house that belonged to a well-known and respected Pharisee, among men of wealth and stature, who would make fun of her and call her to account, for her madness. She did not even fear their opinion, nor indeed, did she worry for her family’s shame!

Something beyond these trivial things moved her legs. A sense of the wonder-working-magic of destiny had taken a hold, and it worked deeper than her doubts and fears, to fire up her limbs, and to guide her up the steps, through the antechamber and through an open door that led to the sumptuous and well-appointed dining hall.

The reception room was grandly lit, music played and servants hurried past, backwards and forwards, carrying food and drink to be laid out on the long table. She was dressed simply and could seem like one of them, and so she slipped in unnoticed. She was not prevented from finding Jesus at the table and from going to him where he was seated on a couch.

She saw that he was in deep conversation with the Pharisee Simon and with the other rabbis, who were scattered here and there among the closest Disciples of Christ Jesus. 

Simon said to him, ‘This evening, John’s disciples asked you if you were the awaited one. You said you were not a prophet, for the age of prophets is past, the age of Abraham is past. You said you were something more. What do you say that you are then? John the Baptist would not eat and drink with us, but fasted and lived in the wilderness…you, on the other hand, are here among us, drinking and eating…is this the conduct of a Messiah?’

Magdalena came from behind him to kneel at his feet. She set down the jar and took out the stopper. She bent reverently to pour the oil but paused, for he had begun to speak.

She heard him say, ‘How shall I liken the sons of Abraham? They are like children who sit in the market place, and say to one another: ‘We have played a happy tune, and yet you do not dance to it! We have played a mournful tune, but you have not wept!

‘You expected quite another Elijah, and quite another Christ – you expected a prophet who was one of you, and a king, who will not be among you for his high mightiness! You say that John the Baptist is no prophet, for he will not eat bread nor drink wine with you, and you say the Son of Man, who eats with you and drinks with you, is a gluttonous man, a wine bibber, and therefore, cannot be the Messiah! But your eyes see only outward forms…and so you do not recognise that what lives within John the Baptist makes him the greatest of the sons of Abraham, the greatest of those that are born of a woman. And you do not see that I am not a king, but I that I am the kingdom, for I am not the son of a woman, I am the Son of God!’

At this point, he turned to look at Mary and in that moment the sun and the stars were his eyes! She saw a darkened chamber and moonlight, and she was once more a bride. For she recognised the bridegroom of her dream!

Her heart fluttered with panic, like a bird caught in the confines of a house. And yet, in her heart’s voice, she heard these words,

When a bridegroom knows his bride, this knowing leads to love. So it is with a teacher and a pupil. I love you because I see the light in your heart. See these men, they are learned, but you possess in abundance what they do not have!

Stunned, trembling, her heart asked him, ‘But I am a sinner…I have a curse!’

You see many things, Mary. In the past those who had spirit sight, carried this power in the length and thickness of their hair, now you must let go of this power, if you are to gain a new knowledge through me.’

He had said this in silence, and she felt the warmth of his life entering into her.

‘If you do so, I shall close your eyes to what is troubling you…’

She began to cry and her tears fell over his feet. Hastily, for she did not wish to defile him, she gathered her hair to wipe them away, and realised, that in so doing, she was laying at his feet all of her old treasures. This affected her heart so dearly, that she found herself bending further and touching her lips to his feet in a kiss! And another! In a moment she was pouring her mother’s oil over them, and while the tears continued to flow, she rubbed his skin and anointed his feet with her mother’s very essence, and kissed them again and again, for he was now her comforter and her guide.

This is what I have done for you so that will perform a task for me. One day, before my death, you will anoint me with this oil once more and wipe my feet with your hair. Your soul will be the tower that shall bring the God in my soul closer to the man in my body so that I can accomplish my task - the task of dying. Until then you shall be the flooring of my soul.

She would give up her life, she said to him silently, to do this.

He touched her head with one hand, and a spark flew from it and it was as if it entered into her spine. Of a sudden she was a child again and yet wise also. Rest, warmth, love, goodness had entered her to the marrow, and from the heights of this ecstatic ritual of forgiveness and acceptance, she heard the thoughts of the Pharisee and they pulled her down to earth:

If you are the prophet they say you are, why don't you not know what kind of woman this is that touches you? She is a sinner and she defiles you!

She had heard it, but once again, not with her ears, with her heart-sense.

Taking his eyes from her, Jesus said to Simon the Pharisee, ‘Why do you forsake this woman?’

The man was aghast. Christ Jesus had read his thoughts!

 ‘Answer me this riddle,’ Christ Jesus said to him. ‘There was a certain creditor who had two debtors: the one owed five times more than the other. When they had no money to repay the debt, the creditor forgave them both. Tell me, therefore, which man loved the creditor the most?’

Simon did not need to think on it, for he spoke directly, ‘I suppose it must be the man who was forgiven the most. He will love the most, who owes the most. Much for much…little for little.’

‘Shall I apply your principles to this woman then…?’ he looked down at Mary, ‘See how she kneels! How she washes my feet with her tears and wipes them with the hair on her head. When I entered into your house, you did not give me water for my feet, you did not anoint my head with oil. This woman has anointed my feet and kissed them, while you have not even given me a kiss of welcome. You, who have much, have given me little, yet she, who has little, has given me much. Why does she treat me so well, while you show me not even those polite attentions and tokens of respect that one should offer a guest at a feast? It is because in her heart, she has a light that sees who I am, and that is why she loves me! She does not love me because I forgive her the most. It is her abundant love, the light in her heart, which attracts my forgiveness. The little love you show me is a sign, that you do not know who I am, that is why I forgive you less.’

Then to Mary he said, ‘Magdalena…your love is great, and in the same measure, so are your sins forgiven you…go in peace.’

She gathered up her alabaster jar and left the room. Behind her she could hear a great commotion, for those who were present were saying in their hearts, ‘Who is this sinner who can see what others cannot? How can this Jesus of Nazareth, think himself able to forgive sins, when he is only the son of a Carpenter…he is not even a rabbi?’

Magdalena came out into the night, leaving those words behind as if they were dust on her shoes, and looked about at the trees and the air and the sky. She saw no devils, she heard no whispers. She saw only the light of those pinpointed stars above, and she heard only the nudging of the sky onwards in its rounds. There was a solace in this quiet, in this peace, a solace that she could not describe even to herself!

The chill autumn air touched her skin only lightly, as she walked back to where she was staying with her brother Lazarus and her sister Martha.

For within her, radiated a warmth that was like a midday sun.

INCE that experience in the field, beneath the shading tree, Mary had carried her mother’s jar with her wherever she went, and it was with her now as she snuck out of the rooming house, and made her way to the residence of Simon the Pharisee.

Months ago, when Mary and her sister heard Lazarus’ retelling of his experience at the Baptism of Jesus, they had felt a sense of destiny, and had begged their brother to take them to Capernaum, to the place where Jesus taught and healed the people.

Mary’s only fear had been, what she might see, hovering over him. But she had not seen anything but light, and love, and life. A life so abundant that she understood instantly, she must offer herself up as his disciple. And yet, she hesitated, for her malady continued to plague her, and the words of the rabbi at Magadala still echoed in her ears, even after all these years.

The courage to go to Jesus had only come this night, when she heard him say these words to those who needed healing:

Come unto me all who are heavy laden, all of you who are burdened and I will give you rest.

She thought of these words now, and warmth entered into her heart as she walked resolutely, clutching that jar made from cool translucent stone, which held her mother’s oil.

It seemed to her appropriate to use this very oil, in just this very jar, to perform the most humbling act which she knew how to perform: to prostrate herself before him, to anoint his feet, and deliver her soul into his care. And it did not matter to her that her Lord was dining at a house that belonged to a well-known and respected Pharisee, among men of wealth and stature, who would make fun of her and call her to account, for her madness. She did not even fear their opinion, nor indeed, did she worry for her family’s shame!

Something beyond these trivial things moved her legs. A sense of the wonder-working-magic of destiny had taken a hold, and it worked deeper than her doubts and fears, to fire up her limbs, and to guide her up the steps, through the antechamber and through an open door that led to the sumptuous and well-appointed dining hall.

The reception room was grandly lit, music played and servants hurried past, backwards and forwards, carrying food and drink to be laid out on the long table. She was dressed simply and could seem like one of them, and so she slipped in unnoticed. She was not prevented from finding Jesus at the table and from going to him where he was seated on a couch.

She saw that he was in deep conversation with the Pharisee Simon and with the other rabbis, who were scattered here and there among the closest Disciples of Christ Jesus. 

Simon said to him, ‘This evening, John’s disciples asked you if you were the awaited one. You said you were not a prophet, for the age of prophets is past, the age of Abraham is past. You said you were something more. What do you say that you are then? John the Baptist would not eat and drink with us, but fasted and lived in the wilderness…you, on the other hand, are here among us, drinking and eating…is this the conduct of a Messiah?’

Magdalena came from behind him to kneel at his feet. She set down the jar and took out the stopper. She bent reverently to pour the oil but paused, for he had begun to speak.

She heard him say, ‘How shall I liken the sons of Abraham? They are like children who sit in the market place, and say to one another: ‘We have played a happy tune, and yet you do not dance to it! We have played a mournful tune, but you have not wept!

‘You expected quite another Elijah, and quite another Christ – you expected a prophet who was one of you, and a king, who will not be among you for his high mightiness! You say that John the Baptist is no prophet, for he will not eat bread nor drink wine with you, and you say the Son of Man, who eats with you and drinks with you, is a gluttonous man, a wine bibber, and therefore, cannot be the Messiah! But your eyes see only outward forms…and so you do not recognise that what lives within John the Baptist makes him the greatest of the sons of Abraham, the greatest of those that are born of a woman. And you do not see that I am not a king, but I that I am the kingdom, for I am not the son of a woman, I am the Son of God!’

At this point, he turned to look at Mary and in that moment the sun and the stars were his eyes! She saw a darkened chamber and moonlight, and she was once more a bride. For she recognised the bridegroom of her dream!

Her heart fluttered with panic, like a bird caught in the confines of a house. And yet, in her heart’s voice, she heard these words,

When a bridegroom knows his bride, this knowing leads to love. So it is with a teacher and a pupil. I love you because I see the light in your heart. See these men, they are learned, but you possess in abundance what they do not have!

Stunned, trembling, her heart asked him, ‘But I am a sinner…I have a curse!’

You see many things, Mary. In the past those who had spirit sight, carried this power in the length and thickness of their hair, now you must let go of this power, if you are to gain a new knowledge through me.’

He had said this in silence, and she felt the warmth of his life entering into her.

‘If you do so, I shall close your eyes to what is troubling you…’

She began to cry and her tears fell over his feet. Hastily, for she did not wish to defile him, she gathered her hair to wipe them away, and realised, that in so doing, she was laying at his feet all of her old treasures. This affected her heart so dearly, that she found herself bending further and touching her lips to his feet in a kiss! And another! In a moment she was pouring her mother’s oil over them, and while the tears continued to flow, she rubbed his skin and anointed his feet with her mother’s very essence, and kissed them again and again, for he was now her comforter and her guide.

This is what I have done for you so that will perform a task for me. One day, before my death, you will anoint me with this oil once more and wipe my feet with your hair. Your clairvoyance will be the tower that shall bring the God in my soul closer to the man in my body so that I can accomplish my task. Until then you shall be the flooring of my soul.

She would give up her life, she said to him silently, to do this.

He touched her head with one hand, and a spark flew from it and it was as if it entered into her spine. Of a sudden she was a child again and yet wise also. Rest, warmth, love, goodness had entered her to the marrow, and from the heights of this ecstatic ritual of forgiveness and acceptance, she heard the thoughts of the Pharisee and they pulled her down to earth:

If you are the prophet they say you are, why don't you not know what kind of woman this is that touches you? She is a sinner and she defiles you!

She had heard it, but once again, not with her ears, with her heart-sense.

Taking his eyes from her, Jesus said to Simon the Pharisee, ‘Why do you forsake this woman?’

The man was aghast. Christ Jesus had read his thoughts!

 ‘Answer me this riddle,’ Christ Jesus said to him. ‘There was a certain creditor who had two debtors: the one owed five times more than the other. When they had no money to repay the debt, the creditor forgave them both. Tell me, therefore, which man loved the creditor the most?’

Simon did not need to think on it, for he spoke directly, ‘I suppose it must be the man who was forgiven the most. He will love the most, who owes the most. Much for much…little for little.’

‘Shall I apply your principles to this woman then…?’ he looked down at Mary, ‘See how she kneels! How she washes my feet with her tears and wipes them with the hair on her head. When I entered into your house, you did not give me water for my feet, you did not anoint my head with oil. This woman has anointed my feet and kissed them, while you have not even given me a kiss of welcome. You, who have much, have given me little, yet she, who has little, has given me much. Why does she treat me so well, while you show me not even those polite attentions and tokens of respect that one should offer a guest at a feast? It is because in her heart, she has a light that sees who I am, and that is why she loves me! She does not love me because I forgive her the most. It is her abundant love, the light in her heart, which attracts my forgiveness. The little love you show me is a sign, that you do not know who I am, that is why I forgive you less.’

Then to Mary he said, ‘Magdalena…your love is great, and in the same measure, so are your sins forgiven you…go in peace.’

She gathered up her alabaster jar and left the room. Behind her she could hear a great commotion, for those who were present were saying in their hearts, ‘Who is this sinner who can see what others cannot? How can this Jesus of Nazareth, think himself able to forgive sins, when he is only the son of a Carpenter…he is not even a rabbi?’

Magdalena came out into the night, leaving those words behind as if they were dust on her shoes, and looked about at the trees and the air and the sky. She saw no devils, she heard no whispers. She saw only the light of those pinpointed stars above, and she heard only the nudging of the sky onwards in its rounds. There was a solace in this quiet, in this peace, a solace that she could not describe even to herself!

The chill autumn air touched her skin only lightly, as she walked back to where she was staying with her brother Lazarus and her sister Martha.

For within her, radiated a warmth that was like a midday sun.

THE FOURTH KEY

The Roman God, Janus, is depicted with two faces staring in opposite directions: one face looking into the past and the other into the future.

The past can tell us a lot about who we are and what we will one day create, or do. That’s why I find it essential to retrace the steps that led me to a new novel and in so doing the fourth key to writing The Sixth Key is closely linked to my love of history and my passion for mysteries.

My love of history began at around age fifteen when I first read Gone With the Wind. I became a lover of historic novels and developed a fascination for history itself. My passion for mysteries was ignited when I saw my first Indiana Jones movie. The idea of lost artefacts, codes, puzzles and unsolved enigmas, excited me so much that I told myself I would one day write thrilling mystery novels based on true history.

Two books later, the protagonist in my historic mystery thriller, The Sixth Key, is Otto Rahn - the living inspiration for Steven Spielberg’s Indiana Jones. Rahn is racing against time to solve numerous puzzles, codes and enigmas to find a lost artefact that actually existed in history and although the book is predominantly set in the late 1930’s, it is interwoven with other historic time-lines.

I guess we never know what influences will work on us strongly enough to become actions. The best we can do is to look back every so often, like the God Janus. We might then better understand the present and even prepare ourselves for the future. In this case – a sequel!

On Writing THE SIXTH KEY

THE SECOND KEY 

I’m often asked how long it takes to write a book and I have to restrain myself from answering: ‘How long is a piece of string?’ 


There is so much more to a book than those hours  a writer sits plying the craft in glorious abandon. But I’m not talking about those nights one can’t sleep because a particular plot line isn’t working, or a character just isn’t developing. I’m talking about the deeper influences that long before one puts pen to paper or finger to key, mould the thoughts and feelings that will one day surface as the epiphany I spoke about in my last blog.

I was born in Brazil where Catholicism mixes easily with magic and the occult. Some of my earliest memories include lying in bed listening to the sounds of the Macumba drums while my grandmother told me stories of the martyred saints; they include hearing whispers about people who attended these magic rituals in order to debunk them but returned forever changed. 


My atheist father was always looking for conspiracies and rejected all religion and superstition with a passion. Conversely, my mother was a religious seeker and exposed me to a cornucopia of faiths. At one stage, I had a mother who was not only sanctioned by the Catholic Church to conduct exorcisms, but who was also, incidentally, a Freemason. Interesting!

As you can expect, this mystical milieu did have an effect on an impressionable child: I was very afraid of churches and anything atavistic for a long time, but it did have the effect of stimulating my curious nature and opening my mind. It is not so hard to see how all of the above would come bubbling out of me when I began to write The Sixth Key: a book about a man who is afraid of churches and is unwittingly drawn in the world of occult conspiracies, corrupt priests, heretics, black magic rituals and secret masonic societies.

As Sherlock Holmes would say, ‘Elementary, dear Watson!’

SIX KEYS TO WRITING - THE SIXTH KEY

THE FIRST KEY

My latest novel The Sixth Key is published and in bookstores and now, as I bask in the warm afterglow of past labours, I find myself turning philosophical. You see, it's my habit to retrace my steps, to search beyond those numerous drafts, sleepless nights, moments of self doubt and, of course, the usual last minute panic, to find the impulse that led to the book: the epiphanic moment – the birth of the idea.

James Joyce was the first to apply this word epiphanic to literature – a moment of insight which briefly illuminates the whole of existence and makes time stand still. For me these moments always come in the middle of life: while I’m on the way to driving my daughter to the mall or when my son is physically moving the house with music - everything is normal one moment, and the next - Eureka!

So what was the epiphanic moment that led to The Sixth Key? It came the morning I had a meeting with my agent and publisher. I was locked in dense Sydney traffic, and all at once the world faded away and three things popped into my head: Hitler, the Grail and the Apocalypse - I had my book!

In reality such a moment is only the tiny peak of an enormous iceberg and the very first key to what lives in an author just waiting to bubble up as an epiphany. As a literary device I will say there were six keys to writing The Sixth Key and in the coming blogs I will explore them with you. Are you ready for an adventure? Bring your rope and your flashlight, because as my protagonist Otto Rahn says, one has to dare to travel to hell if one wants to find heaven – I dare!