“Call of Mercury”
The Akashic Library shifted once more, its etheric architecture responding to Peter’s voice. The walls transformed into towering redwoods, their branches entwining to form a natural cathedral. At the heart of the space, a cauldron blazed with shifting flames, casting a vibrant, flickering light. Calliope stood nearby, her quill hovering midair, ready to record the unfolding story.
Temples of Mercury
“This moment was pivotal,” Peter began, his voice steady but tinged with reflection. “Kinko’s—it was just an office supply store on the surface, but in the ethers, it was something entirely different. It shimmered, a temple to Mercury, a portal of communication and connection. I could feel the flow of energy as if the information streaming through the computers carried its own resonance.”
Calliope’s gaze was intent, her quill tracing luminous outlines in the air. “And Witchvox?” she prompted. “You said it played a role.”
Peter nodded, his expression softening. “Witchvox was an online nexus for the pagan community—a space where witches, magicians, and seekers connected. I had barely explored it before that day, but something drew me to it. As I sat in Kinko’s, the screen glowing softly before me, I stumbled upon an advertisement for something called Firedance. It spoke to me immediately. At the time, I thought it was a gathering of fire spinners—a tribe I already felt a kinship with.”
The Mountain Road
“Tell me about Noble,” Calliope said, referring to his white Chevy mini-truck. “The journey there must have been significant.”
Peter’s smile widened, and the cauldron’s flames shifted, revealing a vision of winding mountain roads beneath a star-speckled sky. “Noble was more than a vehicle—she was my horse and chariot, my sanctuary on the road. I had purchased her earlier that year on Kauai and shipped her to the mainland. At the time, I was living in her, sleeping beneath the open sky. Heading into the Santa Cruz mountains, I felt like an adventurer entering a new realm.”
The library responded, casting shadows of dense forests and moonlit roads. “The drive wasn’t just about getting somewhere,” Peter continued. “It was an initiation. The trees seemed alive, their energy whispering secrets as I ascended.”
Wave and Blaze
The Magic Market
Calliope’s quill paused, her expression curious. “And the gathering itself—what did you find there?”
Peter’s tone deepened with awe. “It was like stepping into a living myth. The marketplace was bustling, filled with craftspeople offering items imbued with their essence. It reminded me of the magical markets from ancient tales. It was there I met Oberon Zell and Morning Glory Ravenheart. They radiated a love for Gaia that resonated deeply.”
Alchemy of the Planets
The flames in the Akashic Library’s cauldron leaped higher as Peter’s memories stirred them. Calliope watched the fire dance, her expression thoughtful as she observed its rhythmic movement.
“Tell me about the fire,” she said softly. “You were drawn to it immediately, weren’t you?”
Peter’s eyes reflected the dancing flames. “The fire was alive,” he said, his voice carrying the echo of that night. “Not just the physical flames, but something deeper—a presence, a consciousness. I couldn’t explain it then, and perhaps I still can’t fully capture it in words. But when I danced in that innermost circle, I felt boundless.”
Calliope’s quill traced fiery patterns in the air as she wrote. “The Mercury circle,” she noted. “Closest to the flame. The very energy that brought you to that place.”
“Yes, though I didn’t understand its significance at the time.” Peter smiled at the memory. “I only knew that’s where I belonged—in that swift, intense orbit near the heart of the fire. There was an exchange happening there, a giving and receiving of energy that felt like pure magic. The fire fed me, and I fed it in return, around and around in an endless spiral of transformation.”
The library’s air shimmered with ethereal light as Calliope sketched the concentric circles in glowing script. “And the outer circles?” she prompted. “The slower orbits?”
Peter shook his head. “They didn’t call to me then. The shuffling, the measured pace—it felt too contained, too restricted for what I was experiencing. I was fresh from Kauai, still carrying the wild rhythms of the islands in my blood. The fire understood that; it matched my need for unbridled movement, for direct communion.”
“Yet now,” Calliope observed, “you see the purpose in all the circles.”
“Now I understand it was all part of an ancient alchemical pattern,” Peter acknowledged. “Each ring a planetary orbit, each speed a different quality of transformation. The whole dance floor was a living mandala of personal alchemy—the great work of turning lead into gold. But in that moment, in 2003, I was simply a dancer in love with the flame, moving to rhythms older than time.”
The cauldron’s fire pulsed in response to his words, and for a moment, the library itself seemed to move in a slow, deliberate spiral around them, echoing the dance of that transformative night.
“The fire circle,” Calliope prompted, gesturing toward the cauldron. “Tell me about the dance.”
The flames surged as Peter’s expression brightened. “The fire was alive, an elemental presence that spoke to my soul. I felt most at home near its core, dancing with unbounded energy, feeding it my essence and receiving its vitality in return. Later, I learned that the gathering’s fire was part of a larger alchemical structure. The circles around it represented planetary energies, each moving at a different pace—Mercury close to the center, fast and fluid; Venus slower, more deliberate.”
Calliope’s quill sketched the spiraling dancers in the air. “Not all encounters were harmonious, though,” she said, her tone inviting reflection.
Peter sighed. “No. Jeff McBride approached me during the ritual, his energy sharp and forceful. He carried extendable fans and insisted I not bring them to the event because they were ‘his thing.’ I wasn’t even holding fans—just standing silently, processing the energies under the influence of mushrooms and MDMA. It felt like another iteration of the alpha dominance pattern—a recurring challenge on my path.”
The Prayer Fields
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The Invocation of Pan
The flames dimmed, casting somber shadows. “It wasn’t about him,” Peter continued. “He’s a brilliant magician, a force for good. But his reaction reflected a collective pattern—the need to assert dominance, to claim space. It’s something I’ve faced time and again.”
“And what of the Gorilla King?” Calliope asked, her quill sketching the outline of a powerful figure holding a great drum.
Peter’s expression warmed. “Mitch Boxwell—the embodiment of strength and protection. We recognized each other instantly, warriors on the same path. And then there was Carl Bridge, the Prince of Trolls, with his hammer and dreadlocks. In my fae sight, I saw him as a creature of Earth and Strength, the essence of creation itself.”
As Peter fell silent, Calliope set down her quill. The library hummed with the resonance of the telling, the cauldron’s flames dancing with memories of that transformative gathering. “So Mercury’s call led you to more than just fire dancers,” she said softly. “It led you to your tribe.”
Leaving the Mountain
Peter nodded, watching the flames. “Yes. Though I didn’t know it then, that gathering was a gateway. It opened the door to a deeper understanding of magic, of community, of the very nature of reality itself. Every challenge, every encounter, was part of the greater alchemy.”
The library’s walls shimmered once more, the redwoods fading into ethereal light as the story settled into the akashic records, another thread woven into the tapestry of the Quest.
PREVIOUS NOTES
Call of Mercury (2003)
The Akashic Library shifted once more, its etheric architecture responding to Peter’s voice. The walls transformed into towering redwoods, their branches entwining to form a natural cathedral. At the heart of the space, a cauldron blazed with shifting flames, casting a vibrant, flickering light. Calliope stood nearby, her quill hovering midair, ready to record the unfolding story.
“This moment was pivotal,” Peter began, his voice steady but tinged with reflection. “Kinko’s—it was just an office supply store on the surface, but in the ethers, it was something entirely different. It shimmered, a temple to Mercury, a portal of communication and connection. I could feel the flow of energy as if the information streaming through the computers carried its own resonance. At the time, I didn’t fully understand what I was experiencing, but I knew it was significant.”
Calliope’s gaze was intent, her quill tracing luminous outlines in the air. “And Witchvox?” she prompted. “You said it played a role.”
Peter nodded, his expression softening. “Witchvox was an online nexus for the pagan community—a space where witches, magicians, and seekers connected. I had barely explored it before that day, but something drew me to it. As I sat in Kinko’s, the screen glowing softly before me, I stumbled upon an advertisement for something called Firedance. It spoke to me immediately. At the time, I thought it was a gathering of fire spinners—a tribe I already felt a kinship with. It wasn’t until later that I realized it was far more.”
Calliope’s quill began to move, sketching the scene: Peter at a computer, surrounded by the shimmering light of divine alignment. “So Mercury was guiding your steps, pulling you toward something greater,” she said thoughtfully. “What about the journey?”
Peter’s smile widened, and the cauldron’s flames shifted, revealing a vision of winding mountain roads beneath a star-speckled sky. “I set out in Noble,” he said, his voice warm with memory. “My white Chevy mini-truck was more than a vehicle—she was my horse and chariot, my sanctuary on the road. I had purchased her earlier that year on Kauai and shipped her to the mainland. At the time, I was living in her, sleeping beneath the open sky. Heading into the Santa Cruz mountains, I felt like an adventurer entering a new realm.”
The library responded, casting shadows of dense forests and moonlit roads. “The drive wasn’t just about getting somewhere,” Peter continued. “It was an initiation. The trees seemed alive, their energy whispering secrets as I ascended. It reminded me of the promise I made when I left New York in 2002—to explore the subtle worlds and walk the hidden paths of the Story.”
Calliope’s quill paused, her expression curious. “And the gathering itself—what did you find there?”
Peter’s tone deepened with awe. “It was like stepping into a living myth. The marketplace was bustling, filled with craftspeople offering items imbued with their essence. It reminded me of the magical markets from ancient tales—places where travelers could find enchanted items for their quests. It was there I met Oberon Zell and Morning Glory Ravenheart. They radiated a love for Gaia that resonated deeply. I purchased a Millennial Gaia statue from Oberon, a piece that became a companion on my journey, a talisman of my devotion to the Goddess.”
Calliope’s quill inscribed the statue’s intricate details, its presence glowing in the etheric narrative. “A symbol of connection,” she said softly. “And the fire?”
Peter’s expression brightened, and the flames in the cauldron surged. “The fire was alive, an elemental presence that spoke to my soul. It wasn’t just a flame—it was a being, a lover, a friend. I felt most at home near its core, dancing with unbounded energy, feeding it my essence and receiving its vitality in return. Later, I learned that the gathering’s fire was part of a larger alchemical structure. The circles around it represented planetary energies, each moving at a different pace—Mercury close to the center, fast and fluid; Venus slower, more deliberate; and so on, radiating outward. At the time, I didn’t grasp the full meaning, but I could feel it in my bones.”
Calliope gestured, and the library transformed again. The cauldron’s flames revealed figures moving in spirals around the fire, their movements embodying the celestial orbits. “Tell me more about the dancing,” she said, her voice a whisper.
Peter’s tone softened. “The dancing was everything. The closer you were to the fire, the faster and more intense the movement. I found myself drawn to its core, mirroring Mercury’s speed and fluidity. The outer circles moved more slowly, their pace reflecting the energies of Venus and Earth. It was as if each person embodied the element of their orbit, creating a living mandala of planetary energies. For me, dancing near the fire was a communion, an alchemical exchange that burned away impurities and filled me with clarity.”
The flames shifted again, revealing a starry sky above a darkened forest. Two wild boars appeared, their forms rippling with primal energy. “And Pan?” Calliope prompted.
“Yes,” Peter said, his voice reverent. “That night, under the influence of mushrooms, I invoked Pan. The boars were a manifestation of his energy, a reminder of the untamed, primal essence within me. The forest came alive, every sound and shadow charged with meaning. It felt as though I had stepped into the mythic realms, embodying the archetype of Pan while also discovering deeper layers of myself.”
The fire’s light dimmed, revealing a man standing near its edge, a great drum in his hands. “Mitch Boxwell,” Peter said. “The Gorilla King. He carried the energy of the protector, the builder. We met as equals, warriors on the path. There was no competition, only recognition. He told me about Earthdance, which would lead me to another pivotal chapter in the Quest.”
“And Carl Bridge?” Calliope asked, her quill sketching the image of a man with long dreadlocks and a hammer in hand.
Peter smiled. “Carl was the Troll—a creature of earth and strength. Meeting him felt like encountering the archetypal essence of creation itself. He reminded me of the depth beneath the surface of things, the layers of mythic resonance that shape our world.”
Calliope’s gaze softened. “Not all encounters were harmonious, though,” she said, her tone inviting reflection.
Peter sighed. “No, they weren’t. Jeff McBride approached me during a ritual, his energy sharp and forceful. He carried extendable fans and insisted I not bring them to the event because they were ‘his thing.’ I wasn’t even holding fans—just standing silently, processing the energies under the influence of mushrooms and MDMA. It felt like another iteration of the alpha dominance pattern—a recurring challenge on my path.”
The flames dimmed further, casting somber shadows. “It wasn’t about him,” Peter continued. “He’s a brilliant magician, a force for good. But his reaction reflected a collective pattern—the need to assert dominance, to claim space. It’s something I’ve faced time and again, and each encounter has been an opportunity to transmute that energy, to move toward a shared harmony.”
Calliope’s quill stilled, her expression thoughtful. “These challenges—they’re part of the alchemy, aren’t they? Turning conflict into understanding.”
Peter nodded, his gaze steady. “Yes. The Path is about facing these patterns, resolving them, and stepping into harmony. Even amidst the challenges, this gathering was profound—a convergence of fire, magic, and archetypes that deepened my understanding of the Quest.”
The library brightened once more, the flames in the cauldron flaring before settling into a gentle glow. Calliope set her quill down, her expression serene. “Let it be recorded,” she said. “This chapter of fire and transformation, of synchronicity and archetypal resonance.”
Peter closed his eyes briefly, feeling the warmth of her words. When he opened them, the library’s space seemed to hum with the essence of the telling. “Let it be so,” he said.
2003-8-10
“… While exploring the western coastline of the Americas in the late of Summer of 2003 I receive a Divine inspiration to go to what I perceive as a temple of information and mercurial energies, a path which leads me into confluence with the magi of the modern world …”
Whilst wandering the western coastline of the Americas, I am led to a Kinko’s. Intuition draws me to the internet as I pull up ‘Witchvox’, a pagan community site that I knew about but had never visited before. Here, I see an advertisement for something called ‘Firedance’, a collection of fire magi in the mountains of someplace called ‘Santa Cruz’.
Even though the series will not be published for another 2 years, my experience with the Kinkos was straight out of the Percy Jackson universe, where the shape of the building shimmered in my mindseye and a vision of an ancient Greco-Roman temple, that of the stream of information and it’s articulation which was the energy of Thoth and Hermes poured through the space.
Magi in the Mountains
This was to be my official introduction to the hermetic tribes of the Americas, where I would encounter a number of avatars who would become significant characters in my story.
The Firedancers
Down in the dust bowl I encounter the firedancers, each in wielding with the light and the motion in endless spirals.
There is deep magic here. Something that I am just coming to understand as the vast energies play across my senses in the flickering swirls which speaks to both the quality of it’s element and the hands that wield it.
The Magical Market
During the daytime, I find myself wandering through the marketplace. I find such things fascinating, for they are, to me, the real iteration of the magickal markets of ancient Stories. Where craftspeople peddle their wares, flush with the vibrations of their emanation. It is here I run into a couple, a magickian and priestess by the name of Oberon Zell and Morning Glory Ravenheart. Theirs is a beautiful combination, flush with love for each other. A sense of sanctity that I wonder if I will ever share. We make fast friends, discussing the nature of magick, of wonder and Story.
To see Kiana Love here was surprising, as I had last seen her in the urban corridors of New York. Yet surprising as it was, it carried with it a deeper understanding … a blossoming sense of the forces that lay beneath the surface of the world, forming the architecture of our stories.
A vision comes to me as I see her, and I witness us as a pair of dancing magicians, making our way across an endless forest which stretches beneath a mystical sky. It is the same sense I had when we had met each other in the forests of Starwood in the company of the Seven Sisters, yet deeper, as if I was seeing her occurrence in a more clear way, her myth unfolding before my eyes.
The Magus McBride
I feel the impressions through the field as he approaches, that same texture of positioning. He doesn’t realize it, and I stand there, holding space.
This was to be my official introduction to the hermetic tribes of the Americas, where I would encounter a number of avatars who would become significant characters in my story.
Alchemy of the Planets
As I arrive, it dawns on me that while there are other fire spinners here, such is not the main focus of the event. Instead, it is a collection of intentional magickians and light workers, doing a vast ritual around a fiery cauldron. How amazing, I think, that I have been brought to such a place. Surely such is the proof of the synchronicity at work. That in my ignorance I was brought to something magickal and profound. As I wander about the property, I am amazed by the number of magickal beings that I encounter. Magickians and priestesses. All throughout the day workshops are presented, all offering some kind of healing and personal transformation, with a focus on the all-night rituals surrounding the fire. As I come to understand it, theirs is a very systematized form of magick involving the circular orbit of the planets, far different than the ‘adventure’ form that I was encountering with Serge King back in the islands of Kaua’i.
I feel the ritual, the opening of sacred space, the energies moving through this McBride and his entourage singing across the ethers.
I love the fire. The circling, swirling energy of it. It is a formless thing, full of Life. I feel a strange resonance with it that I cannot explain, yet my energy feels boundless, like the Fire. I find myself dancing around it, feeding it energy, receiving energy in return, around and around and around. Later I am told this is a ‘Mercury’ circle, modeled after the planet closest to the Sun. At the time, this means little to me. Later I will learn that such is part of an alchemical series of rings designed to facilitate the process of personal alchemy, the classic magickal idea of ‘turning lead into gold’. For me, in my elemental nature, it is simply dancing, breathing and feeling the Fire moving through me. I care little for the outer circles, thick with slow-moving, shuffling people. Such does not suit me. While writing from the Now I have appreciation for all the aspects of personal alchemy, this is 2003, and I am just returned from the islands of Kaua’i, dancing for the Fire which is my lover and friend.
As the night approaches, I find myself fascinated with a red-haired maiden. (This is, for the record, not the first nor the last time I’ll be fascinated by maidens) Around her, I sense the swirling energies of Venus, of Aphrodite, and I feel a deep desire. One of the older priestesses notices my interest, and suggests that I invoke the energies of Pan, the Forest God, as we enter the ritual space.
I wander the landscape of the place, intent on shifting my energies. I had read about this kind of thing from the books I had perusing while still living in the City. From what I understood, there was an intentional energetic, in which one simply called upon the elemental qualities and brought them through their being. So then this is what I did, invoking the energy of the forest.
I feel the impressions through the field as he approaches, that same texture of positioning. He doesn’t realize it, and I stand there, holding space.
It is here, sitting by the side of the fire, that I meet a wandering God of Earth. In the fields beneath the surface, I feel him, the aspect of the great Gorilla, of the alpha protector of the pack, made of the myths of the Greek and the Native American. He carries with him a great drum. His name is Mitch, yet I refer to him as the Gorilla King as to his countenance in the Mythica.
Yet while it looked thus on the surface of the world, in the subtle planes of my fae sight I saw him as a creature of Earth and Strength, the aspect of the Maker and the Troll, of the forge and the stone beneath the surface. It was a sense of the elements of the thing that stood before me, as if what he appeared as on the surface was just the tip of the iceberg of something much deeper, something that had opened before my fae perspective.
Leaving the Mountain
The horns of Pan adorn my neck as I make my way down the mountain, thank for the strength of Earth provided by new ally and feeling my self radiant with the energies of the magic and the ritual throughout the night. A smile crosses my face as I sit within it, recognizing that the Path had indeed done what I had set my course to experience, leading me into the magical world.
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