“Ye must go to New Babylon, bring the dawn to Nacht’s reign. The stars say her heart can warm; you must warm the witch and her icy horde before Moon returns. But first you must go west… Go west until there’s nothing left but crag and sea—to Land’s End. There ye shall find the Vesica. Behold the Old Man shining above the sea, and ye shall know ye have arrived. Now go, Vulcanus, before it’s too late—Go ! ”

I cling to my ethercycle as it beams through the night, its amber glow trailing behind like the tail of a comet. Something else is driving, accelerating to top speed. All I can do is hang on. So numb inside, I could easily let go—crash, die. But a mysterious strength lives through me, keeping me alive, steering me toward some unknown “X.”

Waves smash up against the cliffside as we wind through treacherous seaside switchbacks. Lightning in the distance makes the torrent of rain visible in a steady rhythm, like a drumbeat. Entranced, I fuse with my bike, entrusting myself to the future it pulls toward.

A sudden incline rocks me awake. The rain has become soft; a dense fog now hugs in from all sides. My bike makes a slow crawl upward; its warm light rays out like a sphere of fire into the abysall darkness of this new moon night. At a certain height the rain subsides altogether, and—as the fog thins—the opening of a cave comes into view. The stars scintllate behind it, calling me forth. The ocean waves are only a whisper at this high point. All I hear is the impatient whistle of the wind.

My etherbike stops at the mouth of the cave from which I now discern a soft green light emanating; I enter like a sleepwalker. The inner sanctum glows out from groves of luminescing moss, groves carved—I can see—into the floor and walls from the rhythms of some ancient surge of viriditas; the serpentine lines converge at a triangle in the middle of the room. Shimmering water collected in the groves on the ground throws peaceful shadows upon the walls. Some imperceptible force pulls me toward the triangle; I step into it. The back wall of the sanctum comes into view; protected from the wind by a rocky overhang, it opens out onto the ocean. Starlight glitters in the crests of distant waves. And, emerging from behind the clouds, setting Saturn gleams just above the horizon. Virga’s enigmatic counsel becomes clear:

“Behold the Old Man shining above the sea, and ye shall know ye have arrived.”

Suddenly the sanctum begins to resound; the water collected in the mossy groves on the ground fans out spherically from the floor and up the walls. The luminous groves throb rhythmically all around me, intensifying the green glow until it reaches the frequency of pure light. The surge crescendos as rays from the periphery of the sanctum converge at its center—where I stand, in the triangle. The light permeates the region of my heart and lungs, filling me with a warmth that dissolves the boundary between myself and the cosmic All. My inner eye begins to perceive the world of spirit, a torrent of voices vying for my attention; one wins out and says,

“Forgiveness, allow…”

Tears run down my cheeks. I know this voice. Could it be? I ask and see:

“Gerna?”

I perceive—in response to my query—an inner gesture, as if another being were present within my soul, nodding in affirmation: Yes,

“I, Gerna, and We, the being of Love—King of Light in the realm of shades.”

Registering a second Presence, I feel—simultaneously—the wrench of tragedy and blissful consolation: agape pervades my soul, a love so divine I cannot comprehend it.

“Forgiving, forgiven. Love forgiving all. We shall never part. Everlasting warmth of heart. Love shall redeem us all. Let the moon fall—Love shall redeem us all.”