“There is another essential feature concerning the serpent. It has the power to live for a long time. You may certainly wonder about that and ask how it is possible. You are actually asking yourself this question right now.” The High Priest glanced at him with a witty look, grinned and continued, “Right! Well, hear me out! The serpent in fact goes on fasting to escape the aging process!”
“What?” Pythagoras exclaimed, incredulous. “How strange! And how…? How does this eccentric feat occur?”
“As a matter of fact, the serpent remains still and stays stagnant during the whole winter until it ultimately shrinks. And when this happens, it immediately gets rid of its old skin. A new, bright one then forms to reveal a younger and more vivid serpent. Life never stops growing in this amazing creature, that’s a fact!”
Totally wordless, Pythagoras slouched back on his seat. No questions whatsoever came to his mind. He sat still, assessing the information of such a strange natural phenomenon.
Silence prevailed as Ieto-Baal seemed to give him time to absorb the revelation. The moment Pythagoras turned his face to him; the High Priest proceeded with finality.
“To the Initiate, the serpent is the symbol of immortality and wisdom. It defeats time. Our priests named it Agatho-daemon, the Good Spirit. The circle you see on the wall, my brother, represents the world in its latent form.” He indicated the image on the wall before pursuing his tutoring. “When the Serpent appears in the center with a Phoenix head, it means that the good spirit is moving and turning the world with the power of the fire element. The fire element is the energy; life energy!”
This imperative exposé continued till dawn and throughout the following nights for three consecutive months. Eager to learn more and more, his thirst for knowledge never quenched, Pythagoras participated in all the rituals of Initiation; the same initiation that the Phoenician Hierophants have always performed by the cult of Baal-Melkart, in the city of Sur.
* * *
A soft wind of the divine breath gushed over the face of Pythagoras, as did the mysterious heave that impelled him down the sacred valley below. The full moon shed timid light over the flora and the rocks; its silvery rays caressed the smooth surface of the water of the Kaddosh River, the Sacred River, also known as the Adonis River.
To some, the River sprang out with all its power from the grotto of Afqa that the hand of nature had formed in the heart of the Holy Mountain of Gebel; the Sacred Land of El. The river continued its way down, in earnest, to merge with the Mediterranean Sea.
However, to others, the River abounded with no beginning and no end, the image of its water unscathed and forever clear, while in a soft, continuous movement, the river stretched out towards the beyond; the unknown.
Alone, Pythagoras strolled that night in search of peace of mind, energy for his spirit and shelter for his body. Past the enchanted valley, he climbed the Great Mountain up to the majestic Temple of Adonis reigning as a crown on the impressive green eminence.
An hour later, having reached the Temple, he directed his steps to the annexed monastery, and without hesitation, knocked at the heavy door. He introduced himself to the young priest who opened for him, and stepped inside. The Priests of Adonis, gathered in prayer, turned to look at him while the young priest announced his name. Silent surprise met the nightly intrusion into their sacred sanctuary.
A voice rose in a murmur of awe, “Pythagoras… Pythagoras, the true seeker!” The High Priest, the Hierophant of the resurrected god, moved forward and grabbed him by the shoulders, studying his face with a glint of affection in his eyes.
“Oh… you have grown well, my son. I am Man-Ka-El. You don’t know me, uh, and how can you, but I remember you very well! I had the joy to bless you by the power of El in the Temple of Adonis when you were one year old… one year old.”
“Oh… I see…,” Pythagoras finally understood the warmth with which the High-Priest had just welcomed him. “It is an honor for me to meet you, your Holiness,” he added genuinely. “I did not know that time would offer us an opportunity to meet again! What are the odds?”
Man-Ka-El chuckled. He was newly elected to the High Priesthood when he baptized Pythagoras almost twenty three, twenty four years ago. “Time… hmmm… I always knew that I would see you here one day, son,” he declared briefly in explanation and turned him towards the other priests who stood up to welcome him as warmly.
Pythagoras was invited to spend the night, and so he did.
* * *
Between the holy walls of the Temple, the second day, Pythagoras received the exceptional gift of knowing the Secret of the Alphabet. The Phonetic Alphabet, invented by Thor long ago, carried in its foundation the fundamental keys to a mystical music that had produced, at a later stage, the scale of seven notes.
Imbued with the new education of the day, a bit tired, Pythagoras stepped out and found an isolated spot in the garden to play his music. There, at the peak of the Mountain, his gentle fingers stroke the four strings, his mouth emitted tunes based on the seven notes, and his heart intoned the amalgam of tones and notes that echoed in the valley below. Pythagoras sang his love for that spiritual place, so peaceful, so inspirational always… all the time.
Inside the walls of the sanctuary, time drifted and Pythagoras progressed further in his initiation at the hand of the High Priest that became for him a fountain of knowledge from which he drank eagerly. In the secrecy of the private chamber, they sat that day, face to face, on the cedar wooden table.
“The very first stone building that used special geometrical calculations and the science of numbers occurred here in Gebel,” the High Priest asserted; his voice low in spite of their seclusion. “I suppose you have formed, along the path you have treaded, quite a good idea of geometry? Haven’t you, my son?”
“Yes, I have,” Pythagoras answered evenly.
“Good…! What about numbers then?”
“Numbers? Hmmm… well, I guess they are but mathematical tools,” Pythagoras replied with a shrug of his shoulder, then, with sudden doubt, he asked, “Aren’t they?”
The Hierophant of Adonis stood up, not too pleased. All too slowly, he turned around on his student, scrutinizing him all over. Uneasy and confused, Pythagoras swallowed, once then twice. He watched as his tutor walked back to his seat, veered to him, leaned forward with his palms on the table, and stared deeply into his eyes.
“Pythagoras!” he uttered without anger. “Heed me! There is a part of numbers which is indeed of a mathematical nature. That is quite correct! However…” He left his sentence in suspense to edge closer to him, an inch or two from his ear and whispered, “There is another side of a more sublime nature, and that’s what I am trying to tell you…”
Before Pythagoras could conquer his astonishment, Man-Ka-El marched out, leaving him puzzled to the very last of his brain waves.
* * *
In the months that followed, Pythagoras dwelt peacefully in his little room inside the monastery. His assiduous mind, however, would not rest as he spent most of his time in perfecting his music and unveiling the secret of numbers.
One night, while perched on a rock above the bottomless valley, playing his lyre, the tunes suddenly performed a swift descent and ascent, between the valley and the sky. That astonished Pythagoras but, nevertheless, he delighted in the outcome. The melody he had composed, accidentally or not, had just created an invisible bridge between Heaven and Earth, and by such, mystified his whole existence.
De facto, Pythagoras discerned the existence of a harmony between these two distantly opposed places. That harmony, currently generated or always existent yet hidden, unveiled its secrecy to Pythagoras. With the powerful perception of his inner ear, developed through the years, he heeded the music that the Earth emitted, synchronizing and harmonizing with the aria that the Heavenly bodies diffused.
Harmony… he murmured in awe. Harmony of the Spheres… What a phenomenon!
By necessity and from that very instant, he de
cided to call this very natural phenomenon, the Harmony of the Spheres.
Resting by the Adonis River the next day, Pythagoras reflected for a while on the Harmony of the Spheres he had detected the night before. Satisfied by his discovery, he turned his complete attention now to another important issue; the secret of the numbers!
What could numbers be other than mathematical?
What could be their esoteric side?
Up until now, he reasoned, everything around me moved in a perpetual motion of music, shapes and colors. This could be the mathematical side of their existence. However… what could the other side be, the sublime side; that complementary, yet unseen, mover of life?
Moments passed…
MAGIC! Pythagoras deducted in a flash. Of course! It cannot be anything other than magic!
“Yes!” he shouted.
Numbers are the essence; the measure of all things. The whole existence is naught but of a Mathemagical dimension; a real state of concatenation and an infinite frame of becoming!
He smiled at his smart deduction, and then resumed his meditation, deeper and wider.
And yet different sensations of different places were recorded in the hall of time and space: Above and Below, Intellect and Instinct, Unconsciousness and Consciousness, Logic and Illusion, Freedom and Slavery, Good and Evil, Love and Hate… Heaven and Earth!
With the fervor of a novice, eager to communicate his discovery to his tutor, Pythagoras leaped to his feet and rushed to the Temple. Without halting to take a breath, he scuttled in and through the halls, and past the priests that snapped their heads up from their tasks in surprise. Without decelerating, he threw an apologetic grin in their direction, reached the door of the private chamber and came to an abrupt stop in front of his tutor. Impassioned by that wonderful feeling of accomplishment, he conveyed to him what he had come to discover.
Man-Ka-El did not react nor comment.
This man, the man in purple standing in front of me now, is a true seeker of truth; he is really on the right path towards wisdom. The High Priest mumbled in his heart.
He simply gawked at him directly in the eyes, nodded silently with a little grin then took his usual seat. Without further ado, he uttered evenly, “There is only one God, Al-Elyon, the Most High and the One,” his calm voice issued a totally new topic, moving the conversation up to a higher level.
Chilled by the lack of interest of his tutor, Pythagoras gawked at him in a moment of disbelief. Yet, the introductory words captivated his interest at once. Trained by Thales to master his self-control, he quickly swallowed his disappointment.
Man-Ka-El rubbed his long white beard as he waited for Pythagoras to resume his seat. In his eyes, a glint of approval, maybe of admiration, lifted the spirit of Pythagoras up again.
“Along with Al-Elyon there was Anat-Astarte, described as his wife and also his sister,” the High Priest continued as if he had never stopped. “From their union, came Baal-Adonis, the synthesis of that ancient perception of Reality. Adonis is then regarded as the manifestation, or the incarnation, of the God. This is the Holy Trinity, the Great Mystery of all times.”
“And what is El?” Pythagoras inquired leaning forward to heed the answer. At noticing the lifted eyebrow of his tutor, he hastened to clarify his question, “I mean… How do you define Him in a more… let’s say, exact theological word?”
“Al is the One; the first Light. Period! The Sun is his physical reflection, for it is the most precious and the most powerful element of light and fire. The Sun gives heat to our globe, the Earth, and life to its creatures. The Sun reigns over time and organizes it perfectly. It also controls and best coordinates the movements of all other Heavenly bodies around it. Occasionally, Time - or what we also call Kronos - manages to escape from the Sun, and in consequence, nations lose their tracks! They undeniably stagger through a path of illusion, darkness and diversion.”
Thoughtfully, Pythagoras contended in a murmur, “I see what you mean… I see that.” Then, looking back at him, he posed a pertinent question, “Who is Anat?”
“Anat, my son, is the female principle, the virgin lady. She comes second in the Trinity. El requested from her to plant the soil with love, pour peace in the bosom of Earth, and multiply love in the heart of the fields. She abided with absolute devotion and delivered their son Baal-Adonis to be the Savior of the world.”
Man-Ka-El paused for a second. He stood up, joined his hands behind his back and quietly paced the chamber in front of Pythagoras. “The child came as the supernatural synthesis of their Divine Union, so to speak. He happened as the manifestation of Good Will to all nations. He transpired as the incarnation of Love and Peace; a way for the salvation of mankind. He came, died, and resurrected. He saved the faithful, defeated Kronos, and touched immortality. And so, the son of the first Sun became a second sun to reign over life,” Man-Ka-El ended with eloquence the exposé that revealed the basis of their theology.
Pythagoras felt overwhelmed by that astonishing, and yet clear, description of the three main divine principles that composed the core of his Ancestral religion.
What a resolute way of seeing things, he thought, changing and moving them from a limited perception to an infinite visualization.
It should have happened. It could happen. It happened and it will happen. It will happen only by the good will of the mind and the faith in love and peace; as soon as they inhabit the life of a person, they can be stretched out all over the face of the Earth.
Individual consciousness certainly leads to collective consciousness, he concluded. Yet, Kronos stands still…
Deeply convinced, he absorbed this theology. He deemed it an evolved religious system; a valuable allegorical look over mankind in general, and individuals in particular, and that included their salvation, their spiritual evolution and, hence, their resurrection.
* * *
Clothed in purple as always, contemplating nature from his favorite spot on the rock above the valley, Pythagoras pondered over the issues of religion. A breeze wafted from the valley and, in its course, the trees swayed, the leaves rustled, and the birds fluttered their wings away from the branches hovering over them. Pythagoras closed his eyes for a moment, relishing in the musical combination. He inhaled deeply the peace and joy that the song of nature granted him.
From his spot, Pythagoras watched the great Phoenician Temple of Astarte, lingering in his view, right on the summit of the Mountain of Gebel. Women, like their goddess in a previous undetermined time, came to mourn the death of Adonis. They wept, lamented and pounded their chests. Somewhere, a flute gushed out melancholic notes. The echo on the adjacent mountains, and deep down the valley below, conveyed the sounds of memorial mourning to Pythagoras.
He looked down the valley and to the Adonis River whose water appeared tinted in a blood-red hue. Most probably from the red soil of the Mountain, Pythagoras reasoned. He knew too well that the devoted believers deemed it to be the blood of their god Adonis wounded to death by a boar, some say, by a lion. The mourning ritual continued until the rebirth of life on the third day. The resurrected sun then shone intensely upon the Holy Mountain and its Sacred Valley. On that special day, the believers gathered from all around the area, their heads completely shaved. As per the religious ritual, the god Adonis would come to life once again and ascend straight to Heaven.
In their faith, they believed that the Naaman flowers in and around the river that day sprang from the blood of Adonis. These scarlet anemones bloomed beautifully on the surface of the water and on the river banks. They would console the goddess Astarte in her grief for these flowers have resurrected from the blood of her divine lover as living proof of his immortality.
On that sacred day of resurrection, and in the secrecy of the grotto of Afqa, Pythagoras stood reverentially in front of the High Priest of Gebel. Ready to receive his baptism directly from the source of the Kaddosh River, he knelt in veneration, his eyes riveted on the pure original water.
Man
-Ka-El proceeded. “In the name of Adonis, the son, the resurrected god, and by the power bestowed upon me, I, Man-Ka-El, baptize you, my son, with the Kaddosh water,” he proclaimed, firm with faith, as he dipped Pythagoras’ head three times in the water. He then uttered the mystical words of blessing; “The spirit of the rising god is resurrected in you, Pythagoras, now and through the eternal cycles.”
* * *
The great Hierophant of Gebel advised Pythagoras to seek the meaning of the mystical words of baptism somewhere else. In order for him to understand the deep secret of the self, Man-Ka-El suggested that he experienced an absolute meditative solitude in one particular sanctuary – the Grand Temple of Mt. Carmel. Pythagoras was informed by Phoenician Initiates that Mt. Carmel happened to be the ultimate abode, at the time, for such an exploit that might bring about some kind of illumination. Mt. Carmel, being the most sacred of all mountains and the most inaccessible to the populace could definitely be the best of choices.
Also called in Phoenician Karm-El - the Generous Vine of El - Mt. Carmel harbored a Phoenician Temple dedicated to El and his son Baal or Adonis, united as one, in the form of El-Baal. The Temple, long erected on the top of the Mountain, always received, in the sanctuary of its walls, those thirsty for the drink of the gods.
All around that Holy Mountain, from the bottom base and all the way up, small temples stood here and there. Many natural grottos dwelt in the area, carved in splendor by nature into the rocks and improved, later on, by human hands.
Beside the Great Temple of El-Baal, there existed another important one dedicated to Ashirai (Asherah); the Mother-Goddess of the Phoenicians. Ashirai was the virgin lady Anat herself; the Queen of Heaven who had planted the soil with love, poured peace in the bosom of Earth, and multiplied love in the heart of the fields.
Phoenicians, Egyptians, and other adepts from neighboring countries, all around the Mediterranean world, often sought to find enlightenment inside these monasteries and grottos where they would dwell in total seclusion. Hence, Mt. Carmel, cradle of the monastic and contemplative life, stood as a shrine to the Virgin Lady Anat, the God El, and their ever young and beautiful son Adonis. For the believers, Adonis incarnated the cycle of nature and emphasized the spring; the resurrection of every atom in the kingdom of life.
Pythagoras the Mathemagician Page 11