Keys in the Enochian Language

Dear Carol:

What in the world is a wa?

Today, as I studied the image of the Anonymous 16th Century Gentleman, I heard the bells of Rome or perhaps Florence ring in my bedroom for about 5 seconds. It was a beautiful thing to hear, and I said, "How did you do that? Do it again." And he did it again. And when I was at the library with my head in the Renaissance, I found another fascinating puzzle and an account of a "dazzling light." After I read this, I wanted to buy a crystal ball and start gazing.

When Queen Mary, Bloody Mary, imprisoned her half-sister Elizabeth in a nice country estate, Elizabeth was never sure that she would live to adulthood. In 1551, she met the renowned scholar, traveler and astrologer John Dee and she asked him for a horoscope. Dee correctly predicted Elizabeth would rise to a high place in the kingdom and live to old age and that Queen Mary would die childless. When Elizabeth gained the throne, she made Dee court astrologer and a wealthy man.

In 1581, Dee had an experience in which "there suddenly glowed a dazzling light, in the midst of which, in all his glory stood the great angel, Uriel." [I wrote this in 1992. My addition to this in 2008; the female counterpart Uriel is the Archangel Ariel, the version I received of this Great Soul.] Uriel told Dee that if he would obtain a "shewstone" (crystal) and gaze into it, he could communicate with otherworldly beings. Dee complied but he never could see anything, so he hired a series of scryers (try getting a job crystal-gazing these days!), all unsuccessful until he hired Edward Kelley, an alchemist and Hermeticist. Kelley wrote Theater of Terrestrial Alchemy, which I would love to read and which included a drawing of the Philosopher's Egg. It looks kind of like a floating chicken egg.

Keys in the Enochian Language Kelley said he saw an image in the crystal that hung there while he made a wax copy of it. He called it "The Keys in the Enochian Language." He said it was the language of angels and of the inhabitants of the Garden of Eden. Dee and Kelley believed it to be a pre-Hebraic language, which they learned to speak. Kelley would look into the crystal and see a "Spiritual Creature, like a pretty girl of seven or nine years of age." She called herself Madimi, and Dee named one of his daughters after her. The spirit Madimi pointed out to Kelley letters and symbols on the Keys design, and Kelley relayed the information to Dee.

Spirit Guides, Self-Realization I have seen several books lately in the bookstores about the Keys in the Enochian Language. The design is considered to have applications in magick, and everything we know about it so far comes from Dee and Kelley. The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn devotes numerous pages to it. This book defines scrying as "traveling in the spirit-vision." This is a good description of what I am learning how to do. [Additional to this 1992 information is this image I found on the Phaistos Disk at about that same time, left, color added by me on both designs.]

But I don't need to travel in the spirit-vision to have a great experience. Sometimes, the experience travels to find me. A few nights ago, we had an awful electrical storm with bolts of lightning (yightning) flying everywhere. I fell asleep and dreamed I was a teenager again in my old house in Jesup. I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror styling my hair as the radio was blasting the Red Hot Chili Peppers, who were singing "Give it away now." Suddenly, it seemed a bolt of lightning hit me and, in my dream, I thought it came through the window. It hit the top of my head and sent an electrical current down to my feet and back up again. It didn't hurt me but I awoke, angry with my partners because I knew they had caused it. I sat up in bed and said, "Don't ever do that again! If you want me to turn down the radio, just say so. Not everyone likes the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I understand that, but there's no need to shock me just because you don't like rock music." My Partners were caressing me on my wrists and ankles, calming me down.

Then I thought, "They wouldn't do that for just no reason. It must be something alchemical." I modified my instructions to, "Don't ever do that again without telling me first." I looked back at the cards I had laid out just before going to sleep, and there it was in the reading (these words are the actual words on the cards, Tarot of the Spirit deck) - "Courage≠-Transformation-In Dreams-The Tower-Lightning Path." In your deck these cards are the 7 of Wands (Fire, Seven of Clubs), Death (Major Mystery, Transformation), 9 of Swords (Earth, Nine of Spades), The Tower (Major Mystery, Blast of Light), and 8 of Wands (Fire, Eight of Clubs).

After recovering from my indignation, I admitted the shock sensation had not been unpleasant. I read later that in the Middle Ages up to the 19th century alchemists experienced the deafening noise as trumpets, rather than rock music, and they believed the electrical shock to the top of the head to be lightning. This experience really reveals one meaning of The Tower card, that the transformation afforded by Death is preceded by the blast of light afforded by The Tower. It's a lot of little deaths or transformations of the existing individual culminating eventually in a great big death that provides the major evolution and the ultimate transformation. Write soon.

Dear Claire:

Wa means internal peace and happiness. If you would read Clavell, you would know that. And you are the only person I have ever known to enjoy being shocked, unless you count Dr. Fu Man Chu, but he was just a fictional character. He must have been some kind of alchemist, though, considering his old age of 168 and the craving he had for Elixir Vitae.

Jessie is a horsewoman now. She has been riding Paige's pony and Shasta's pony. Kids here learn how to ride about the time they learn how to walk. And yesterday, while we were at the drive-thru at C&S, a tree frog jumped out from under the dash and scared the you-know-what out of me and delighted Jessie, who was yelling, "Fwog! Fwog!" all the time I was trying to catch it. No telling what all the other Saturday morning bankers thought to see me jumping all over the truck. Finally, I had it and I had to get my money and drive off one-handed, while the little tree frog filled my hand with wart-laden tree frog urine and while Jessie was still yelling "Fwog! Fwog!" Then, I didn't know what to do with it that would not result in its immediate demise, so I drove over to McDonald's and turned it loose in one of their cute little landscaped McIslands, with Jessie crying "Fwog! Fwog!" and looking at me as if I had thrown her little bear out the window. I tried to explain to her that the truck was not a very fwog-safe place, not many bugs to eat and real, real hot.

Jessie just sat down on my typewriter cover and cracked it and I lost the moral of my fwog story, if there was one.

3 hm

Jessie never gives up. She loves the keyboard.

Today was Jessie's birthday and her party seemed longer than my labor. This was the first party where other children were invited, and all the child books I have read (and verily I say unto you, I have read a bunch) have said that the number of the guests should be the same as the age of the child. Well, Jessie has watched too much Batman (Fram! Whap! Thump!), and if there had been more than one guest, then there would have been more than one mother wanting to spank my child. She rapped Paige with her broom, her chicken feed bowl and her hands several times. Now, as a mother I can see all the things that Paige does to aggravate Jessie, but she has to learn to live in the real world where she is not allowed to crash-cripple-smash the opposition, or even her friends. If there is one thing I have found out about motherhood it is that no matter what your child does to another child, you do not want anything done unto your child. "Mother's is got a hard road."

I was thinking about cutting Jessie some bangs but I'm not going to do it. Bangs are forever. I have always wished that Jessie could have her Aunt Claire's curly locks, which I would have known what to do with. The more I reflect on it, the more I realize what a good mother you would have been.

Pre-school starts tomorrow. Three days a week kills me. I don't know how I will ever manage five. Maybe I can keep her on a three-days-a-week schedule and let her graduate from high school at age 24. Jessie just came in here and said, "I want to taste some water. You are tasting wine. I tasted some wine one time and yuck-a-do." It's remarkable how well she expresses herself when she disapproves of something I'm doing.

I salvaged as many little creatures as I could find out of the pool. I just dumped the second treatment of ten gallons into the pool, and you should see it. It is blue. I also got a great lecture on the shelf life of chlorine, which I am delighted to pass on to you. It is sold to the dealer fresh at 15% and is sold to the customer a week later as 12%. If the customer rides it around in the back of her truck for 4 hours, it reaches the pool at 6%. All that K-Mart and Wal-Mart carry is about 5%, because it has been trucked around for 3 months, and even under optimum conditions which include refrigeration out of the sun, it is only good for one to two weeks. Now, is that all you ever wanted to know about chlorine, or not?

And here it is only 7:05p and I have to go take a nap, after getting my chile into her jammies and picking the appropriate little animals for her to sleep with. I know this letter is short, but your daughter is not pulling dishes that you think are worth the earth out of the piesafe and stuffing them into the Fischer Price Laundry Center ($28.95). Write soon.

Dear Carol:

I am so complimented that you think I would be a good mother, because I think you a wonderful mother. What a beautiful childhood you are giving Jessie. You mother her but you don't smother her. I think you must instinctively know, "Seed corn must not be ground." It can't be right to produce from little children a lot of grown-up, profitable professionals rather than personable people. Have you ever seen the profitable professionals satirized by Nicolas de Larmessin, in late 17th century, in his engravings of trades? You would love to have the originals hanging round about your know-it-all center. The professionals are all clothed from head to toe with the tools of their trades, and that's the totality of their personality. I think I am clothing myself like his version of the astrologer. I like these clothes much better than the cafe owner's clothes.

You are more The Empress card (Major Mystery, Maternal Instinct) than any other card in Tarot. The Empress is the two-way door to life and death and, like The Empress, you preside over things being born and things dying. It's very clear to me how you came to be a maternity room nurse, and now you are giving your lucky animal menagerie a chance at a wonderful life on McCarol's Farm. I would have said old McCarol's Farm, but I didn't want to rile you. I'm sure you would tell me you live on McCarol's Ranch, not farm, as you have yet to plant anything on your property.

Here's my big news. I am moving back to Jesup as soon as Susan returns from Mexico. I will surely miss her. She has never doubted anything I told her, and I have told her some strange things. I love Atlanta but it's what you do first in life that your insides are made of. I look forward to living once again in the low country and sitting on the back patio watching the Great Blue Herons winging it across the pond like blue pterodactyls. I miss the squirrels and the hawks, the hummingbirds and the rabbits, the mourning doves, the quail, and the swamp. Reminiscing about the place, I wrote a poem about the Altamaha River swamp. A swamp is a beautiful place, once you overcome the fear of it. Being raised on it helps. We spent our youth there, you and I, fishing, skiing, wading and swimming, partying on houseboats and camping. This poem will take you there in your mind.


Flow me now, deep river, to a paradise I know,
Long cool summer water, take me easy and slow.
Never swift and shallow, rushing sudden downstream,
Just sleepy and drifting, like this place in my dream.

Where dawn's early light, sweet cool sunbeams make,
Yellow gold brilliant white, in green pine tree brake.
Tiny sparrows, finches flitter, they circle, away fly.
Quails rustle dry brush, black crows callous cry.

Bristly boars root and snort in palmetto bush near.
Look, into the river leap three whitetail deer!
Armadillos scurry by, squirrels scamper up trees.
Possums rabbits raccoons Spanish moss and oak leaves.

Bright and bold sings the sun its fiery orange tune.
When day sunshines hot, hawks soar at high noon.
Woodpeckers tap rat-a-tat on distant hollow trees,
Bluejays and redbirds chase dragonflies and bees.

On far slippery shores of light and dark river,
Moccasins nap sunning and then away slither.
Willow tree branches are dripping green snakes.
They wriggle, then drop, on an otter's furry face.

Scorpions spiders snakes, here deserve our forgiving.
They're honest and brave, trying to make a living.
Mosquitoes gnats chiggers have over us some power,
Yet measure their lives by the minute, the hour.

Early evening 'bout dusk in fishy graveyards,
Crunchy white bones of beached alligator gars.
Swollen river rolls by, water gargles and gurgles.
Bobble half-swallowed logs toting green turtles.

Down under the water, buttery catfish play.
Blue cats swirling sand in the bottom channels stay.
River up, redbreasts swim in an old cypress knee.
River down, fishes trapped in the stump of a tree.

Who! Hoot owl evenings, sweet honeysuckle dreams,
Blackberry bush thickets, far away panther screams.
Here two yellow moons, they both ripple and shimmer,
Twinkling firefly night sky in a black river mirror.

Lie back on cool grass, see that shooting star above?
Love gave us all these we were born just to love.
We're made of inside of what we do in life first,
And our birth foretells our death foretells our birth.

In my latest dream outing, I saw and heard John Lennon sing the best song he ever wrote. I was in a crowded pub in Ireland, and people were strumming guitars, singing in Gaelic and drinking ale in pint glasses. Everyone was very excited, and I turned to the man beside me and asked, "What's all the excitement about?" He answered, "We're going to hear John Lennon sing his latest song." Then, we all walked through a portal, one of the many times I've walked through with this happy group of spirit-people who I first met in Susan's hallway.

The other side of the portal was a theater, like an opera house, and a man led me to a front row, center seat. An orchestra materialized on the stage and began playing the most beautiful music I've ever heard. John Lennon walked onto the stage and sang his best song ever. I told myself to remember the song and I tried to materialize pen and paper to write down the lyrics but I became caught up in his wonderful performance. He sang only one song and got a standing ovation.

I was never really a big Lennon fan when he was alive, so it surprised me that I would see him, of all performers, in concert. I would have preferred Jimi Hendrix playing "All Along the Watchtower." Wouldn't that have been wonderfully eerie?! Oh, by the way, I'm enclosing part of a poem I found at the library. It's called "An Anatomie of the World." John Donne wrote it in 1611 but it could easily have been written yesterday. I just love this!

"And new philosophy calls all in doubt,
The element of fire is quite put out;
The sun is lost, and th' Earth, and no man's wit

Can well direct him where to looke for it.
And freely men confesse that this world's spent,
When in the planets, and the firmament
They seeke so many new...

Tis all in pieces, all coherence gone;
All just supply, and all relation:
Prince, subject, father, sonne, are things forgot,
For every man alone thinkes he hath got
To be a phoenix, and that then can bee
None of the kinde, of which he is, but he."

Write soon.

Dear Claire:

Have you seen Elvis? (I just had to ask you that.) I'm glad that you are moving back to Jesup. Even Adam and Eve were happier in the country. I taped the Keys in the Enochian Language above Jessie's little dining room table and chair for her to ponder. Maybe she'll have an insight into it or, hopefully, Madimi will appear and begin instructing her in her A, B, She's.

Jessie and I just went for a walk in the backyard, which ended abruptly when she announced, "We go inside and get cold water." After the way she dawdles, she has her nerve. She wanted to lay up on the sofa and watch cartoons and be a couch potato, but we went back out and I loaded in 7 more barrow loads. I am for sure through, now. (Ooooo. I just noticed I have a blister.)

It's unseasonably hot here--94 outside--and I don't think I'll go back out there until it cools off a little. I need to give Moore a bath, but not yet. It may just cloud up and rain and then I won't have to. Moore is busy wandering around mapping out a new route for his occasional stampede. I was intending to go out to the barn and put fill dirt in the stall, but it's too hot out there to consider doing much of that. One wheelbarrow full and it was time to go. I can only hope that it will keep me from having upper arms like Kate Smith. The only immediate result that I can see is that it makes me have brown, dusty stuff all over my person.

I actually expected medical science to find a cure for old age syndrome before I became afflicted with it. Miss Med-Sci has let us down once again.

It has started to really rain, thank heaven, so I don't have to wash that fool horse or shovel my fool self. Jessie is practicing her anatomy on Kitty Emil. "Ear." Jab. "Eye." Jab. Emil seems to really love it, being the perverse kitty that he is. I just put Fern Gully on for Jessie. We went to K-Mart earlier today and got her the movie and some "fip fops." We had been looking for a good pair, and the ones we found today don't have a between-the-toe piece but have a little strap for behind-the-heel. They are gaudy pink plastic with Minnie Mouse on them and perfectly hideous. And Jessie is so proud. Jessie is going to cripple herself with these fip fops because she keeps them on the wrong feet.

I was just struck with a flurry of housecleaning zeal, which was fortunately short-lived. It was a cleaning frenzy, but like most of my frenzies it didn't last very long. I'm almost out of Direct, so that's about when the fat lady will sing. Here is some trivia for you. Trivia is Latin for "three roads" (tri-via) and came to its present usage because anywhere three roads converged, the Romans put up a bulletin board of sorts with all the news and little bits of information.

Believe it or not, I just did a Jazzercise workout, and this is going to be a short letter because the new exercise routine leaves me without enough energy to type. Whew! I try to get Sandra Dee to work out with me; Lord knows she needs it, but all she is interested in is trying to get petted while I am doing the floor exercises. If Friskies doesn't come out with Friskies Light, Sandra Dee is going to pop.

I found a huge lump on my side the other day; it was really scary until I figured out that I had one on the other side, too. Hipbones.

I guess I had better go out and catch Moore. There isn't much catching to it. When I go outside, he comes up to me hoping that I will feed him. I had to have shoes put on his front feet Saturday. He had a small split on one of his hooves, but it was all the way through the hoof wall, so it would only get worse. He will have to wear them for about 12 weeks (two trims) and then he can go barefoot again. Write soon.

P.S. I guess I didn't love that swamp as much as you did, or maybe it's just that I still live near one and you don't.



Page 1 - How I Wrote This Book | The Root Doctor
Page 2 - A Spell is Cast | The Voodoo Priestess | Psychic Healing
Page 3 - Sudden Death | A Hole in the Wall | Crystal Woman
     Spirit Tunnel
Page 4 - The Seance | The Light
Page 5 - The Portal | Wings of Love | Bene Ha Elohim
     Lord Pacal and the Maya
Page 6 - Pacal's Bride | Wacah Chan | A Murder was Committed
     The Mysterious Woman | A Swarm of Sparks
Page 7 - The Vortex | Portal in the Cathedral | Guede Cosmo
     The Androgyny | The Philosopher's Stone
Page 8 - Sexual Alchemy | Tantra Yoga | Feng Shui
Page 9 - Keys in the Enochian Language | The River of Life
Page 10 - The Number Four | The Phaistos Disk
     The Star of David
Page 11 - Sacred Indian Ground | Spirit Possession
     Rules of Congaylia | The Heaven Plane
Page 12 - The Lovers | Ancash-Tica
Page 13 - Searchable Index | Bibliography

Copyright Notice - Disk of the World - Text and images copyrighted March 21, 1993-2023, Claire Grace Watson, B.A., M.S.T., U.S. Copyright and under the Digital Millennium Copyright Act of 1998.