This is the text of my journal entry for my scrying of the 18th Aethyr, ZEN. See my previous post on scrying the aethyrs for instructions and a description of exactly what the Aethyrs are.
I light a candle, recite the 19th call, and lay down with my eyes closed to let the vision overtake me.
I see something swirling in the blackness behind my closed eyes. Like a whirlpool of energy, with a nonspecific visual component. The suggestion of a spinning tunnel. I move forward through it, and am again in blackness.
A table comes into view. To my right, a window with a frame and muntin made of a dark wood. Through the glass I can see rain gently falling onto low hanging tree branches. A tall white taper candle is lit in a holder on the sill. A chair made of the same dark wood rests next to the table.
On the table is a book with a forest green cover. There is a single word title, but I am unable to clearly see the letters. I sit in the chair and open it. Inside, I find the entirety of it to be written in Enochian. I am unable to understand any of it.
Looking around, I see I am in a sort of log cabin. It has a feeling of coziness to it. Looking around with the window to my right, on the far wall past the table is an upright piano, also made of the same dark wood as the cabin and other furniture. There is a comfortable L-shaped couch with a coffee table. Left of the piano are two windows flanking the front door.
With my back to the window, to my left is a kitchen area. There is a bar counter with a sink. Beyond that is a grey refrigerator and wall of counters and cabinets. In front of me, past the kitchen, is a hall leading further into the house, and beyond that a staircase leading to a second level.
I begin to wander the cabin. I move to the piano, lift the cover, and plink a few notes. I walk to the refrigerator and open it. Taking a clean glass from a cabinet, I pour myself a half full cup of orange juice. Drinking it in one gulp, I walk to the sink and rinse the glass clean. As I’m setting it down the front door opens.
A man enters, closing an umbrella and taking off a dark grey rain poncho. He places them in a coat stand and holder that is next to the door. As he does so, two enormous wings pop out from behind him and shake the rain off with a shudder, like a dog drying itself.
“Sorry I’m late” he says, walking to the counter where I’m standing. He wears a light grey suit with a vest. “That’s ok” I reply. “Are you the governor of this place?”
“Yes, you can call me Zazie”. He extends a hand for me to shake. As he says the name only the first two letters form solidly at first, “Za”, and the rest seems to swirl in uncertainty until it settles on “zie”.
I shake his hand and ask what this place is. “Well, its yours” he tells me, taking a seat on the opposite side of the bar. I think about this for a moment, before realizing I am being a poor host. “Would you like some tea?” I ask him. He says yes, and selects an oolong as I fill an electric kettle and start it heating. I get him a glass and packet of tea for him, and a black tea for myself, and wait for the water to boil.
“If its mine, and you’re the governor, does that mean you work for me?”
“In a way, sort of.”
The kettle finishes heating, and I pour our water for tea.
“It’s peaceful here, isn’t it?” Zazie asks me, sipping his tea. “Yes” I respond. “Is that some play on this place being named ‘Zen’?”
“Is it not what you expected?”
“Shouldn’t there be a rock garden or something if that’s the case?”
“Are you sure there isn’t?”
I get an image of a rock garden outside of the cabin, ran pelting the sand.
I frown. “Have some tea” he tells me. I take a sip.
The conversation moves to the nature of this place, and the Aethyrs as a whole. I ask if there is some separate existence to them outside of my head.
“What is the difference?” Zazie asks me.
“Well, persistence of existence when I’m not thinking about it. Daily life being experienced in it. Others experiencing it apart from my awareness of it.”
“Could you not come here whenever you want? Can you not bring others here if you wish?”
“In a way, I guess.”
“So what is the difference?”
I understand what he is pointing at, and for the life of me I cannot think of any argument that would seem to satisfy my desire for a tangible difference. I realize there is a light glowing from my chest, around where my heart is.
We talk for a short time more. As I’m looking at my mug, I feel his hand ruffling my hair. As I look up, I see its one of his wings doing it instead of a hand. He smirks.
As we are speaking, and drinking our tea, I gaze around the cabin in a lull in the conversation. Despite the rain falling outside, it is immensely quiet and still in here.
I look back to Zazie, and the view of him and the cabin fades away. There is nothing but a void. To call it black would not be accurate, because there is not even blackness here.
I have no form. Zazie is here as well, and also has no form. Yet, we are aware of each other.
I, for lack of a better phrase, “reach out” toward him. He does the same, and our formless awareness touches. There is no physical sensation, just a knowledge that we have made some sort of contact. From this, there is an understanding that this is the “true form” of the Aethyrs, and of everything.
I feel a familiar stillness. It is the same stillness felt at times when meditating, doing Magia unbinding practices, or during/after awakening experiences. In this place there is nothing but that stillness. I am that stillness, as is Zazie, yet we are distinct from it and from each other.
The stillness that is me begins to spread out. Like an infinite blanket, it stretches to infinity.
There are no qualities here. No conditions. No descriptions. No experiences other than being aware.
Awareness of Zazie and of the void fades away as well. There is only the infinite stillness that is me.
And there is only one way to describe the experience, because it has no qualities beyond being:
I am.
The vision pans back “down” and I see the cabin and Zazie again. Overlaid on this vision is the infinite blanket of stillness that is me, still spreading further and further over everything, as if it is bunched up somewhere “above” and is flowing from there.
Zazie nods at me and sets his mug on the bar. He smiles and stands. We both understand that any message for me here is complete, and it is time for him to go. We say our thanks and goodbyes, and he leaves.
I sit alone in the stillness, rain falling outside, for a few more moments before opening my eyes, and the vision ends.
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