There is a Book that is a Door. A portal into the World of real magic. A way of seeing the subtle planes of our awareness.
You enter the portal, and the space changes. The view shifts. All around you is a great courtyard, with a set of rainbow doors around it’s circumference.
A man appears then, a golden cloak wrapped around his shoulders.
“Blessings. I’m Peter Fae.” he says.
“I’m the creator of Into the Mythica. Welcome to my portal to the magical World.” and bows.
“A little bit about me. In 2002 I set off on a journey into the real magical World. Into a place that I called ‘the Mythica’. Soon after I did, I was led to the island of Kauai, where I received a vision, to track the journey with my photography,, using the photos to piece together the landscape of that mystical realm.
In this way I became an explorer. A cartographer across the underlands of the Mythica, gradually discovering the nature of the mystical World and my place within it.
It’s been a wilde ride. My adventures took me all across the realms, meeting the authentic avatars of the modern magical World, where I would study the arts of magic in sacred mountains, make my way across the realms of faerie, and walk the rainbow road to Heaven on Earth.
“As part of my mission, I created this site to showcase what I discovered. To tell the tale of my adventures and help You, the Readers, discover the lands of legend and track your own way to a brighter reality. To discover the magic that lay within you.
As for how we do that, well, it’s all about our Stories.”
Suddenly you look up, and all around you are books. Books in every langugage, books of every color. Books of gold and books of copper, books of whispers and of wine.
He walks down the corridor, following the line of books.
“Our lives are Stories” he says. “Threads of time across the canvas of experience. A heroic journey from one reality to another. Where we cross a landscape of vibration, part of the Great Story of human awakening. Yet, so often, we are not aware of that blessed gift. We do not see the pattern beneath the surface, that grand design that leads us all back Home.”
He turns then, down the endless corridors, past what seems like miles and miles of books.
“To showcase this, to reveal the mystical World and the many realms of the Mythica, I had to build a device. A way of witnessing the unfoldment.”
Peter reaches up to one of the bookshelves, drawing down a thick leafed tome. Emblazoned on it’s front is what looks like a the pages of a book opening into leaves. Beneath the glyph, it says ‘Into the Mythica’.
He smiles. Holding the book with reverence. “She’s more than a book. The Mythica is a portal, a gateway into the realms of real magic. A window into the patterns of the akasha. Stepping into these pages will change your very reality.”
“What’s that you ask? How do you get to the Mythica? “
He smiles. “That, my friend, is the Question.
“The Mythica is a state of being defined as a location. She is the land beneath the land, the topography of our inner world.
“I could see it. There was another World. Another reality, occurring at different moments in space and time. Yet seeing it was one thing. Finding a way to share that with the people was quite another.
“How to map the lands of legend? How to reveal the territories I had discovered through my sacred witnessing? Somehow, I knew my photos had something to do with it, each of them a sparkling point of light, a moment of memory lighting the way along the Path.”
He places the book on the table. Gently unfolding a golden leaf-shaped clasp which slides silently open. As he does, the pages open with a sparkling light from which a great starlit tree blossoms.
He looks at You. “The first thing to understand is, the Mythica is not a book.
The Mythica could never fit into a single book. She’s as big as the Sky, as vast as the Creation itself. No normal binding could not contain the pages of the World Tree. To tell the Great Story, I needed to create something deeper. A new kind of Storytelling. A gateway, made of fine things, that opened the Author and the Reader to a new reality.
She could not be just a book. She was a gateway to the akasha. To the library of Stories. One that could grow infinitely large, a chorus of voices remembering the World, together.”
He gestures then, spreading his arms wide. Pages, some blank, some written in every language there could be, fall from the starlit ceiling.
“Yet to hold space for all Stories, I had to start with one. With my journey, and what created the Mythica. Through my tale, I would fulfill my mission, opening a portal into the magical World.”
“Here in the Mythica, i’ve built a way for us to see those Stories from a new angle. A way to look into the library of our lives. To use our Stories to teach the mystic arts.”
“Into the Mythica is a living Story.” he says, walking down the hallway of books, the floor and ceiling glittering like mirrors of space and stars.
“She’s more than an art piece. In a real way, this website is more of a window than a painting, a way of witnessing the breath of our Stories themselves. A way of seeing the Mythica’s unfoldment through the weave of our many myths.
He stops, picking a golden book from the shelves, gazing at it with reverence.
“In this way …. she is never done. Stories have no ending, nor do they begin. Like the essence that lay behind the characters we play in the grand tale of our shared unfoldment, Stories are forever.”
“There is a language of legend” he says. “A modern hieroglyph that opens the windows on our World. Where Story seeps through the stitches and brightens the cracks of our horizon. “A way of speaking. Of witnessing a new World into being. Come, I will show You …”
“The World of magic is deep. And must be directly experienced. In our own way, we must come to the remembrance, to clear the lens of our perception such that we may see and experience the brighter version of our reality.”
“Yet every adventure is different” he says, opening up a book. A book with blank pages.
”Through Story, we’ll be learning about that magical place. The realm of real wonder that I call ‘The Mythica’
He walks down a corridor, through what feels like an infinite library. Bookshelves lay in every direction, holding space for a horizon of Stories. He pauses, breathing into a smile.
The scene changes then, revealing a pair of rainbow eyes. Within, you can see the reflection of a road. A rainbow road. A bridge across Worlds.”
“She is always there for us” he says reverentially. “Waiting. Waiting for us to listen. To awaken to who we really are.”
”Yet to see the World of real magic, we must change the colour of our eyes,finding the rainbow in the rain.”
He pauses, and you feel a tremor, a note of sublime bass, humming through your feet. As if the breath of the World, herself.
”It can be difficult” he says. “So many have forgotten. Yet proof exists. Here, within the hallowed shelves of the Mythica, you will find windows into that sacred place. Photos and Stories witnessed in the World of real magic, to help You find your way Home …”
In the Mythica, we look beneath the surface of the World. Shifting our awareness to reveal the subtle energies that are always there, waiting to be heard by our open Hearts.
“There are many ways to see the world“ he says, as he opens his hands, revealing a portal between the octaves of perception…
“She is a portal” he says. “A window into the Worlds beneath the World. Leading to the places of magic and wonder we have witnessed on the Quest.”
”Our Stories are sacred things” he says, running his fingers across the spines, softly touching the parchment. “They are our personal myth. Our personal legend. The sacred path upon which we walk.
Sculptures of Story
“Greetings, and welcome to the Academy” Peter says, opening the door. You enter, and perceive a great hall surrounded by curving walls of books and doors.
He bows. “So … in the Mythica, we approach Stories in a sculptural way, that is to say we recognize our selves as living stories, made from the bedrock of meaning itself.
“This is important, for when we talk about our personal reality, we recognize that it’s a shapeable thing, a sculpture made from the clay of consciousness itself. What is known as the ethers.
You walk forward together, deeper into Story. Peter stops by a statue along one of the bookshelves.
He smiles. “You know, back-in-the-day there was a movie called ‘Clash of the TItans’, which I loved. In one of the scenes, Zeus, the head of that pantheon of Divine embodiments, picks up a clay sculpture from a wall of figurines representing the characters of the mortal world. As he does, he molds it with his fingers, shifting it into a new shape.”
The scene shifts then into a vast gallery, with sculptures as far as the idea can see, an infinite variety of shapes standing along an infinite tunnel.
He stops, picking up a slab of clay and mushing it between his fingers.
“Feminine, masculine, the differnet colors and textures of the human plane, these are all just shapes … shapes in the clay. Here at the Academy, we come to see that we are not the sculpture, we are the sculptor. We are not the clay, nor the traditions and other impressions that make up our lives. We are instead the awareness that inhabits the clay, discovering it’s curves and gravities in our sacred exploration of what it means to be human.”
You continue walking down the passage. Sculptures of all manner of size and shape flank your movement.
“When we work the mystic arts, we address this relationship, that of awareness-through-the-clay. We come to see the conditions of our reality as patterns in that clay, impressions that give it shape and, consequently, create our reality.”
He continues walking. “The question here is, are we simply the folds in the clay? Simply a pattern in the weave of the worlds? Or is there something deeper? What if I told you there was a Divine blueprint, a seed within your self waiting to emerge? What if the most embodied version of current self already lay within You?
This inevitably brings up the question, are we adding to that clay in the formation our personality and it’s magics?
“Yet … what if there were already something there? A Divine blueprint, a seed within your self waiting to emerge? What if the most embodied version of your current self alreadylay within You?”
He pauses, and looks at You across the ethers. “What if there was an Angel within the Clay?”
Story & Song
“See, in a very simple way, all spells are sculptures. An organization of energies brought into a shape. From this context, all traditions, all lineages, all belief systems and styles of manifestation are simply rearrangements of very fundamental things. Subtle energies that underlie the more complex forms.”
“It’s very much like music. While we often appreciate the grand orchestration of a musical piece with it’s many layers, hearing the play of chords and progressions along time, it is easy to forget that chords are made of notes, which further break down into rhythms, distilling down to the primal elements that make up the much larger piece.”