Episode 01 The poet’s vigil

dans l’attente de la rencontre avec ses amis.

waiting to meet his friends.

of Éleusis to Dendérah, the forbidden evolution.


Little by little on the boats, the lanterns lit up. Some garlands positioned the presence of more sumptuous yachts. Many of these lights were directed towards the massive metal mass planted near the shore, off the beaches of the south. As a sign of rallying for the holidaymakers, the large “V” garland which in the setting was becoming more and more detached from it, pointed upwards as to raise a capital on the sea. If it hadn’t been for July, we could have believed in the Christmas carnival in the Laubeuf parking lot. Except for this garland of light, the rest of the carrier was disappearing into the night that was advancing from the east. On the bridge, warplanes turned into ghostly figures in the shadow of the central castle. Alone at the rear and facing the coast, the rear deck shone and still indicated the height of the building on the water. The brightness of its two voluminous projectors that reached you, was a testimony to their unbridled power. Later in the night, this bewitching light would find some justification. For the time being, it was disturbing and obscured the impression of freshness that was gradually spreading despite the absence of breeze.

You had to be able to detach your gaze from this boat, to stop being distracted by the evolutions of its star which brought to port the sailors, those American sailors many of whom would meet at the Fernande’s club, a step from the docks. It was also necessary not to get lost in the game of track invented by the speedboats and their weak spotlights from the illuminated fortress of Sainte Marguerite island to beyond Théoule to capture the rest of the landscape.

Cannes seen from the Cross of the Guards in summer, the Suquet, the islands. Photo of the author.

Opposite on the right, in the sunset of the Mediterranean, the ridges of Estérel stopped from Glow. On the left, your eyes were walking on a semicircle of lights woven majestically from the foot of the hill to Palm Beach and, a little more in the background, to Juan les Pins

cannes la croisette la nuit
Cannes La Croisette at night

Behind you, on the side of the mountains that you could still guess, the lights of Grasse and its region would close this magical circle of which you were the center. Pushed to look at everything at once, to lose nothing of what was happening around, you almost had to stand at the little cemented cross on the rock where you sat to not take the turn. The rumors that rose on both sides of the hill animated these glimmers and led your senses into a whirlwind of pleasant but evanescent perceptions.

 The roar of a Ferrari up the Leader Boulevard startled those around the cross who looked out over the landscape. Hearing later in the night the round of a few Ferrari or the drier noise of the Porsche was normal but so early was surprising. It had to be understood that, by not finishing, the evening annoyed a few night owls determined to go out at once rather than suffer the heat at home longer. So there would be no transition from day to night tonight. The crazy rhythm of the men was not going to find a lull, but to tell the truth, here and in the middle of summer, it was nothing shocking.

But when you searched among the residences at your feet, two quieter places attracted you. First towards the west, just opposite overlooking the small valley that separated you, an elderly man rested on the tiled terrace of his villa, under the cap of a venerable pine parasol. From all the windows and doors, the light cut a beige and white façade from which stand out Italian shapes impregnated with the East. The terrace, whose semi-circle at the end stands on the ravine, facing the sea, and matches the round shape of the swimming pool, was soon visible. A corner of perfect blueness centers the gaze and at regular intervals a swimmer appeared and disappeared behind a massive pink lilac that encroaches a little on the blue circle with the outline of white marble. She was an old lady in a one-piece swimsuit, blue and white.

On the other side, towards the east, at the bottom of the slope that descends from the cross, encrusted among the villas that overlook the large buildings on the seashore, the inner courtyard of a residence that is a little more imposing reveals a square of lawn with, at the end, a swimming pool. Blue and green exacerbated by the whiteness of a strong spotlight stood out from the cream walls and ochre roof of the Roman tiles. On the right side of the lawn, behind the swimming pool, the smoke from a barbecue went up. A man stood next to it. A little later, a tall, blond-haired girl crossed the lawn to go swimming. She wasn’t wearing a bathing suit.

The night caused the few families and their noisy children to leave. The silence began to take possession of the place, silence from here that could not erase the permanent rumor caused by the hectic life of the seaside. Soon, sitting on the rock, only a young man remained facing the landscape. In shorts and t-shirt, with a sporty look in freedom of competition, one could validly wonder what he was doing there alone.

And Pierre would have answered you because that night he wanted to talk, to tell you everything. He would have started by smiling at you, amused by your claim to want to question a well-identified character. Tonight, as often, he had worked to move away from words and on the well-known principle that there is no thought outside words, he had abandoned his thoughts to enjoy himself in a state beyond thought, in the midst of the unspeakable.

He was going to smile at you with accuracy and delicacy because it was certain, you would take him for a dreamer and you would be quite wrong: the dream belongs to the realm of words, of thought and he was far further away, he lived immensely in the company of the Higher Being than since any kid, he had discovered himself in his heart. His gaze in this state was enough to make you recoil at his firm insistence that you should step aside.

Or you were not able to evaluate the scope of this gaze and your gross ignorance was sacrilege to dare to come and break this continuum of space-time in which life, our life finds its first condition of eternity or else you knew how to recognize this gaze to settle in silence at respectable distance if you founded the hope of sharing the lessons of this meditation once the journey was over. There was a third possibility, the worst: recognize this gaze and rush to Peter to present him immediately with all the questions revealed by your status as a novice eager to learn to understand better the mystery of man. Pierre wasn’t ready, and especially tonight, to accept such an overconfidence on your part.

These questions you had to ask yourself and if you did not feel the need to start the path of spirituality in this way, it was infinitely better for you not to start and above all not to start disturbing others with these kinds of questions. In case you sat at a distance, Peter, at the end of his journey, that night, would have helped you as it is natural to initiated brothers and sisters, so as to facilitate your arrival at the end of the path.

Of course, you would have agreed on the obvious principle formulated in this Tantric proverb that you both know: 

“better not to start. Once you’ve started, it’s better to finish. So do not venture into the path of spirituality if you do not feel the need.”

And, with a bit of luck, Pierre would have told you his concern: how was he going to finish this road tomorrow? More importantly, how was he going to help all those friends who tomorrow were coming and who he had trained on this path?…

Tomorrow was in a few hours, at the dawn of that azure night…he knew he didn’t know, but he felt ready!


Tomorrow they would all come, from Mannheim, Heidelberg, Baden-Baden, Basel, Nancy, Strasbourg, Romain and Claudine of Paris and all the other friends from all over Europe, not to mention those who, among the companions and knights of their movement, had insisted to participate in their gathering.

In fact, it was Pierre who initiated their meeting but the friends warned him that there would be changes to the program. Pierre relives their faces, the good moments spent together.

In his head he made the lights of the landscape disappear. His gaze turned to the forest of the Palatinate from the top of the ruined dungeon of an old castle in Vosges sandstone. He traveled through the landscapes of the südlicheweinstrasse on the Neustadt side, where they had first met at Amadeus and Regina; the banks of the Neckar in Heidelberg, the valley near Baden-Baden where they had created their hideout… Germany, the Rhine valley where they had all met and loved four years ago!

That night he remembered that they had to sleep on the shores of Lake Maggiore at Monte Verita or then on those of Lake Lugano near Montagnola since it had been decided that the caravan would form in Basel at Werner and Barbara then by Lucerne and the tunnel of St Gotthard, would come by Turin and the Italian highways, without taking the tunnel of Tendern.

Françoise, his wife, was on the expedition because she had gone up there to leave the children on holiday with their grandparents. All of them came with children over 14.

Tomorrow they’ll be here! They had known each other not in any bierstub or a weinfest but at Amadeus and Regina, in a former post house with vast outbuildings rearranged into a hotel, swimming pool, sauna, jacuzzi, summer garden, winter garden, dance floor under the vaults of the cellar, spiegelzimmer, wasserbed…where it was so good to live and love oneself indoors as summer outdoors under the lime tree, in the old bus or further in the wood under the large oak tree.

Here everything was ready. He had received Frantz’s check and yesterday he was still at the club to pay before the ceremonies, the artisans Sandra had hired to make the sets. Together with the rest, he could also pay for the last supplies of the same day.

To be sure, his banker was stunned when he asked him to withdraw the money in cash. It is that a young executive working in Sophia-Antipolis could not be as rich as the millionaires of the neighboring Castelleras! But so much money was circulating in the region that the operation was done without too much comment.

Freed from these material worries, Peter was left that night only to retrace the path that had brought him here. Through all the steps already taken, the promise of finally reaching the end of the journey was even more certain.

 The Journey of Spirituality

The origins of this pressing necessity of embarking on the journey of his spirituality seemed remote that night. He thought of the steps they and his friends had arranged: the club, bancassurance, the various subsidiaries of the company, the school of love, the group of soldiers with white coats and red crosses on their left shoulder, to their expressed desire to put the sword under the custody of the sacred, to the few rites that had made them communicate to the sharing of the mystery of human life.

Tomorrow, they had agreed to celebrate the mysteries of Eleusis again, and in his personal dream, he drew from the very source of these mysteries brought back from Egypt in the quiet Greek bay near Athens.

He would invest himself in the royal priesthood to pose himself as the king of the hermetic work, as the ancient theologians of Heliopolis had demonstrated. He would represent the incarnation of man in the one who leads us to hear the Word when the human soul leaves this carnal body to join the country that always has been his. Through this incarnation, he would show others the marks of eternity received from the one he called Father at the time, so that they too would know how to reach the end of their path, with us.

With his powers from the higher world, he would use the forces of the double world as he had just demonstrated the possibility during the experiment in the computer room shielded and protected by a Faraday cage in the company where he worked. Pierre had long hesitated about the form his message would take. He had, however, opted for the rite of the initiates of Upper Egypt rather than transform himself into a tulku lama, a gömchen or even a Tibetan naldjorpa.

This approach to the mystery lived, this dream so awakened, Peter had finally consented to write it, to resume his scriptural activity as a poet as before, he had done it from 10 to 20 years. But tomorrow, he could not simply recite, or even declaim, this text before the assembly of his friends. The fantastic hope, after all these preparations, of being able to live this approach to the mystery of man, had inserted itself into him until it became obsessing and worrying. If he did not quickly live these moments of supernatural grace, the cruelest madness would prevail and his spirit and certainly also his soul.

That night, he could have explained to you that the choice of the Egyptian rite was more in the institutional aspect that he intended to give to his translation of the mysteries, an aspect that he preferred to base on the knowledge of this unique civilization in the history of mankind that could live in social cohesion for six thousand years without resorting to slavery, rather than on the impermanence of the soul and the durability of the higher beings who, and Peter kept a faith in them, were still unable to help social misery and eradicate the country of the brigands even gentlemen!

In a society where materialism is losing ground among its difficulties and the shortcomings of its unreasonable technological race, spirituality is resurfacing to re-establish the primacy of human values. The poet tears the veil that hides the mystery of man.

Through a new contemplation and respect of this mystery, he continues his work and through his constant place between heaven and earth, he gives men a new first translation of this mystery, a first reactualized revelation.

Secondly, and in compliance with this essential teaching, social rules are laid down, the control of which is ensured by ad hoc organizations.

For more than a year, their group had expanded to form a company with more than five thousand members and tens of thousands of supporters. By June of the previous year, approximately 500 contracts had been signed with members who were investing in the company to work in some way for their community.

These organizations were moving in the direction of promoting human values derived from understanding the mystery of life. They were situated in this non-market economy, this quaternary economy which enriches people with solidarity and human relations alongside the production of material goods.

Within a year, the number of members had increased steadily. Tomorrow, the resumption of the celebrations of the mysteries of Eleusis would mark a new stage in the development of their movement and these rites would publicly found their political enterprise in the service of the marriage of human cultures, in the service of tolerance and spiritual paths towards a more widespread wisdom in personal and collective attitudes.

 The Poet’s Choice

The origin of this choice, Peter found it in a childhood often spent on his rock, in the heart of the Vosges forest at the foot of the fairy garden, in the forbidden country, his study and athanor as a young poet, to question before him, right in the eyes those buildings loaded with symbols that the elders had erected in the name of their beliefs.

la porte des pierres, lutzelhouse, alsace
the Türgestel

In an open horizon of 180 degrees, Pierre questioned in the northeast the Strasbourg cathedral still present in good weather. To the east: the rock of Mount Saint-Odile which married the Celtic megaliths with the Christian convent. Southeast: the Nazi extermination camp of the Struthof, probably one of the only Nazi extermination camps that can be scrutinized as a whole, looking straight at the horror, with the depth that the eyes of the poets know how to take. Finally, in the south-west: the Roman temple of Donon. On your back, you had to add the Türgestel, the false legend of its stone with human sacrifices, the fairy garden from where they flew to the neighboring Schwarzwald or the far Harz!

Among all these places of life and death of men was the cause of his choice: give priority to the plan of social organization and not be limited to the carnal surroundings of the soul.

Peter had walked and met the Higher Being. Since then he was confused by the new facility he had received to build peace and happiness around him. In front of the nearby night, he recited for comfort a thought of Rama Krishna: “There is involution and evolution! It’s a path you have to go back and forward. You go back to the Higher Being and your personality blends into his; it’s samadhi. Then you come back with this increased personality to find your “me”! You will then discover that you, like the world, come from this Higher Being and that God, man and nature are the different faces of a single reality.

This disconcerting facility to visualize the positive future of humanity could not be limited to simple meditation exercises, to teaching novices. Peter had engaged himself in the gigantic and endless work of humanizing our world to put man back at the heart of society, and like the insider promoted Pharaoh, he could see himself perfectly on the turret of a chariot descending the avenues of our cities to imbue in the minds of his contemporaries the political fact in his eyes unavoidable that the sword must again be under the custody of the sacred in order to revive a human organization based on the principle of Love and no longer on the principles of Authority and Efficacy.

This choice was not intangible, but the dilemma could not continue permanently…

Pierre had tried to reinforce this choice by supporting his knowledge of his profession as a poet with solid university studies on the subject and, at the age of 19, had not missed the opportunity to be awarded the honorary title of laureate of the Faculty of Law of Strasbourg in the History of Institutions and Contemporary Political, Economic and Social History. Often in front of an audience with whom he discussed such matters, Pierre, without violating his usual modesty, referred to this academic title. It was his favorite hiding place because he had learned to become modest in the expression of ideas he worked from his poetic perceptions.

Tomorrow, the outcome of their intimate encounters would find a dimension that he wanted ultimate. Tomorrow, as he had dreamed and then wrote, he would expose himself naked in front of others, not naked as at the beach because between them all it had become a customary banality through the practice of the language of the bodies. He would try to expose his soul in a difficult exercise that could be imagined as follows: go up on his cross to cross the passage of death and then come down again, triumphant over death [1]. Would he be able to go to the depths of himself to the point of understanding with him who is his source of life, to understand himself, to love himself with this source of life to the point of making only intangible communion with it, to the point of being this infinite source of life?

Peter had imagined starting this last stage of the journey as Pharaoh, the one who in the Egyptian priesthood represented the King, the one who reigns in every human being and who returns to us to death by flesh, whether our human identity accompanies him or not… this King who is very close to Christ the King of Christians, as much as they still refer to the teaching transmitted by Moses.

Peter knew that very quickly he had to distance himself from this position of pharaoh to go further, to overcome this ritual image, this human and priestly place and to realize once again the demonstration of the possession of the triple initiation to the earthly, superior and double world. This break, he would make it in a state of decoralization, a technique of which he possessed more than the rudiments if not a good mastery.

In case of problems, he would use, as a last resort, the technique in these troubleshooting cases that he had developed with his friend: the Hindu shamadi with whom he sometimes approached Shiva! Shiva, the ishta devata, the favorite god of his friend, his shakti, who makes life with death as when in his poet’s goodies playing in his athanor, he made gold with mud. The shakti is a shakti. But it was just a spare tire. Pierre preferred to use the direct route he had taken.

The rest of the trip was more difficult to describe even though Pierre had already traveled it several times. What Peter especially hoped for was to be able to count on the three partners he had taught so that they too could receive the initiation to the double world, the last of the three they lacked.

In fact, everything depended on Laurie, the only one with whom he had been frequently so far in a state of decorations, the only one at least who would not fail to follow him in confronting the forces of the double world, these forces already used before our official history by the Celtic druids, the initiates with white skin and blue blood and then their descendants with an olivaster complexion.. Laurie whose body he had been able to overcome the nudity of his body, the inferno of his embrace when she tightened him from his thighs and tried to pierce him with his sex buried deep in his belly… Laurie from whom he had learned to taste the delights of his soul!…that soul that is the key to the universe!

[1]in the Tibetan version of this ultimate exercise, the subject, through the mastery of all who constitute his non-being (or non-self), crosses the limits of carnal death and attains the condition of living god, of Buddha, the Buddha that Peter would translate into Christ, the one who rose from the dead.

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