​​​​about albionspeak Lessons of Eternity
Often I chide my students to stop talking only about themselves. "Of course all teenagers are narcissists," I tease, "but good writers conceal their conceit. Avoid the pronoun I." In this website curriculum, however, I don't follow this advice, but rather roll and wallow and mark my turf in first-person testimony to distance myself from organized religion. I don't speak for humanity, and I don't prescribe my religion or method to anyone else. As an I, I also distance myself from you, dear Reader. I won't tell you what to think. I'm just presenting one man's journey in & out of time… Might you be interested? In drawing this pronoun-boundary between us, I offer you the space you might need when I assert or suggest something that disagrees with you. I'm not going to pretend, through generalizations about the Human Condition, that we (you & I & the human race) feel the same way, share the same experiences, or that we're even in the same race. More strangely perhaps, I can't insist my facts are any more "real" or "true" than other people's competing versions (although I do find incoherence hard to swallow). And while in these pages I offer my metaphors and paradigm with all the humility of a Copernican Revolution, I map myself alone and make no appeal to your unique life or anyone else's.
This is because I believe in Infinity, and Infinity presents every possible truth & lie & life & reality, including the many that overlap in content, as well as sibling worlds that are mutually contradictory. You say the world will end tomorrow. Who am I to disagree? It just might. That is, your world, your trajectory. You and I may cohabit this world-point at this world-moment, but apparently by tomorrow we've gone our separate cataclysms. In your reality, poof!, world over. But in mine, God forbid, we go on stumbling for generations, breeding more people, destroying our planet, the blind killing the blind…
Which brings me to a point of disagreement (sort of) between me and my teachers… Repeatedly when they instruct me on the true nature of reality, I voice my concerns. Shouldn't all people have access to this information? Wouldn't the world be a better place if everyone just knew? My teachers never say no and have coughed up few arguments for secrecy, but neither do they promote transparency or global awakening. They just echo their early refrain, "Business is with individuals not mankind."
And I guess I should understand. After all, what makes me a good teacher is I treat each child as a unique person. When I help a child with a lesson—any child, any lesson—at that moment the world outside my classroom is irrelevant. My wife could be bleeding out. The world could be ending. I'm not oblivious. I'm just fully present, including to the fact that my teaching often proves futile. Even so, my time isn't wasted. Testable content is not the only measure of my business.
But when I'm not teaching, the world matters to me. This world. I care. People need to be saved. From what? From themselves. I care about animals and plants and the seas and the biosphere. I care about my children and their children and your children and civilization and mass extinction. I care about all suffering. Socrates showed wisdom and/or virtue can't be taught. So what was he teaching? And if wisdom can't be taught, how do we save the world? Each must save himself.
I ask my teachers hypothetically—granting their assertion, that the individual soul is the base unit of human eternity, that each soul has absolute, thus infinite value—then, if so, surely some worlds are more conducive to the growth of individuals than others. (I need not point out that such slippery-slope suggestions can lead to policies for "world improvement," as opposed to putting the individual first—the seeds of totalitarianism.) "Doubtless," they answer sympathetically. (I am forgiven my attachments.) "But [other worlds] are not our concern."
That is, my teachers see the world very differently from us, from their external/eternal vantage. In an early lesson on Beauty as a Door to the Outside, after Scribe & I learned that flowers and birds are examples of beauties, we got the brutal assessment: "World [is] mostly not beautiful." Some worlds might not be worth saving. But which worlds? Whose worlds?​​
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I am Albion. In this website I offer a comprehensive curriculum of the soul. I thought of calling this website "How to Save the World" or "How to Be a Sorcerer," because it indeed represents a call to action. Instead I'll stick with ​albionspeak. Wisdom matters much more to me than impulse. I'm a real teacher, and I offer real lessons. Step by step, discursively or otherwise, I present here a (serious) college level class on the deepest mysteries of existence, mysteries I have much experience with personally. I have actively trained under enlightened masters of sorcery for nearly three decades.
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I bring you one facet of the Jewel.​
§Hail aliah
§Albion
​​​​​​​The Table of Contents below is too long to display fully. If you click to the right of these Lessons, you'll see the primary source documents displayed under each. These original sessions are a world treasure.
About (written mostly in 10/2014)
Images & Attributions (in order of appearance)
1. Banner: Rhiannon C. 2016
a) Jewel Mandala (2): D.C. Albion 1994
2. Jewel Mandala (2) (center): D.C. Albion 1994
3. Albion Glyph: William Blake, "Glad Day" or "The Dance of Albion," c.1794
https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/47/William_Blake_-_Albion_Rose_-_from_A_Large_Book_of_Designs_1793-6.jpg
4. (enlarged) Jewel Glyph (Vilansit's Triangle) taken from Jewel Mandala (2): D.C. Albion 1994