The divine ordeal of terror ended when I finally understood that there wasn’t a narrative on reality more solid than any other. And it was just afterwards that my heart was pierced and I couldn’t but fall in love.

For many years I identified the ocean of love I became surrounded by when I embraced confusion with the “Angel”. And it stayed. In occasional, scattered messages. A wink. A clue. Guiding me onwards.

As I made myself familiar with the rules of the now almost visible astral realm underlying reality, I realized that emotional intensity and willpower were key to manifestation. But it was the “ocean of love” that I wanted to experience again. However, manifesting things with the aid of magick might not be the best path there. After all, I had only reached that endless ocean when I had finally emptied myself.

Yet if what is manifested through the astral is a reflection of what is inside, a different point of view emerges. Wasn’t that ocean a reflection of an inner unknown self, seen only once the filters were clean? What if instead of an external Angel, it was a sparkle of the beauty that you might project if you work hard enough to become the Sun?