מֵחֵיֹ (Mem Het Yod) – MeCheYo (Ch as in Spanish)
הִנֵּה עֵין יְהוָה, אֶל-יְרֵאָיו; לַמְיַחֲלִים לְחַסְדּוֹ. – תהילים פרק לג, פסוק יח
Psalms 33:18
the 18th verse of Psalm 33: Behold, the eye of the Lord is upon them that fear him, upon them that hope in his mercy
(Ecce oculi Domini super metuentes eum: et in eis, qui sperant super misericordiam ejus).
מֵחֵיֹאֵל MeCheYoEL Mehiel – Against adversities. Protects against rabies and wild beasts. Governs savants, professors, orators and others. Distinguished in literature.
Influence time and dates 21:01 – 21:20 4th Febuary until the 8th Febuary inclusively
MEHIEL. His attribute is God Who Vivifies All Things . He corresponds to the holy name of Alli in the language of the Mongols. His ray commences from the 316
thdegree up to the 320 th degree inclusive, corresponding to the thirty second decade and to the angel called Astiro. He rules over the following days: 22nd May, 2nd August, 13th October, 24th December, 6th March. The invocation is done from 9:00pm till 9:20pm,
This Psalm is good against adversities; he grants the prayers and wishes of those who hope in the mercy of God.
This angel and those who follow, up to the 72nd, belong to the Ninth Order, which the Orthodox call the Choir of Angels.
This angel protects against rabies and ferocious animals; he rules over the wise, teachers, orators and authors; he influences printing and bookshops and all those who engage in this type of business. The person born under this influence will distinguish himself in literature.
Meditate on this name will make your being to be illuminated beautifully, suffused with the Creator’s radiance. Everyone around you will sees the positive, beautiful aspects of your true self, as opposed to the distorted and dark image projected by your ego.
The negative side of this angel rules over all false wise men; he influences controversies, literary disputes and criticism.
Mechiel report: Contact begins with the impression of an evening among pines–tall trees in silhouette against the darkening sky; an owl calls. Typing this, I realize that this is an echo of the evening when I met a lover who would transform my magical life and lead me to seek initiation in a living tradition of witchcraft.
“Angel, show thyself that I may know thee.” [I see a fire in a ring of stones; beside it, a figure dressed in the skins of many beasts, whose head is like a many-faceted jewel or star or seven-pointed magical seal. As I approach, they use a stick to direct my attention to the fire. It is paper burning–old dusty account books with columns of figures, dry as dust. The flames eat it hungrily, turning the pages with glowing fingers, and the letters rise up from the ashes like glowing sparks toward the sky; the stars, also letters, hint at vaster stories.]
“Angel, what is thy office concerning me?” _I come to witness your head fully attached to your shoulders [an echo of events that took place during my later training] and that your mind and body are one. Will you step into the fire?_
The question seems to be a test; feeling my body’s response, I say, “Angel, I will not give my body whole to the flames–but I pray, burn away whatever stories or old ideas sap my energy and do not serve the work of my soul.”
_It shall be well with you._ [The stick they hold is a burning brand; with it the angel pierces my forehead, genitals, belly, and throat. I don’t feel it physically, but notice that my heart and feelings begin to become warm. A strong smell of pine resin. My fingers and toes begin to grow warm, and in my mind’s eye I see, beneath my skin, wormlike embers in the fascia between my muscles and viscera, burning some areas and leaving most intact. As they pass, my body feels like rich, moist earth. Slowly and nonlinearly, the fire reaches into every part of me, and my thoughts become very quiet. Something green stirs in my chest. The angel places the root of a feather against my brow, and my mouth fills up with words, like a rubbery black paste of letters and sounds. I feel the urge to voice combinations of vowels, thus:
aa ae ai ao au
ea ee ei eo eu
ia ie ii io iu
oa oe oi oo ou
ua ue ui uo uu
After doing so, my mouth feels clean and empty, my mind quiet. Eventually, questions return.
“Angel, what do I need to know about writing my own works?” _First, the book of prayer, which bears the seal of thine angel. Say nothing that is already dead, but speak from what lives, for these things you shed like sparks from a flame, alive: let the embers light your way, and land living among the minds of the people. It does not matter to write as others do: this is a work that you alone can do. Let it be easy._
“Angel, what message for Rune Soup and those who talk to angels?” _There is madness in the words of many, and worse is the word of one who knows not but speaks much than the bite of a wild beast. In the fire of your heart, in quiet, the spirit speaks; thus let your words be cast from this place to light the darkness of the world._
Second invocation, 2/8/24
A cracking sound; my forehead and temples are filled with intense pressure. Rain falling all around—powerful and insistent.
“Angel, show thyself that I may know thee.” The interior of a coffee shop. Rain outside; bustle and murmur. Sensory details are very vivid—the grain of wood on the table, steam from my cup. Sitting across from me, a figure in a fine and fanciful suit from a bygone era: watch fob, cravat. Their face is hard to look at: like a raging beast, now a bear, now a lion, now an octopus or owl. Their movements are careful and measured as they add cream and sugar to their cup. I watch, fascinated.
“Angel, what is thy message at this time?” _Do not fear those who offer scorn; take no heed of those whose sight is on illusions that fade, who see in all things the reflection of themselves alone, and take it for truth, being lost in the smallness of their imaginings._
_But look, how great the world, and how subtle and infinite the speaking of that Word by which it is manifest! And who can comprehend the voice of the rain, or translate the decree of the thunders? Great and potent is the mystery which moment by moment reveals itself. And therefore do not heed those who say, I have comprehended it, measured it, placed each created thing in its order, and offer it up, that you may quickly understand. For this is vanity: and write not in this vein, but essay the way into greater wonder; let your prayers open the doors of possibility, that the manifold gifts of the gods may find entry in your soul. For in your soul you are sovereign, and they who would love you will not force you to come forth from smallness, but beckon you in love._
The steam in the cup spirals, suggestive of the shape of a storm. The rain intensifies, with lightening. _In the sanctuary of the Gods is all peace, for are they not the gate by which the storm comes forth?_ The angel drinks. The window shatters, and the image of the coffee-shop dissolves, but the angel remains beside me, and we are surrounded by a great tempest on all sides, above and below: but I do not feel it, and am easy. There are many people in the storm, whirling, speaking loudly and debating. Typewriters and reams of paper are tossed about in great chaos, and men and women tear at each other, biting and clawing, each trying to find solid ground: but they are swept away by the storm. And when the storm passes, the world is wet, and I see green things growing in a field. The angel draws from their breast a sealed letter, and they say, _Open what is given to you._ On the letter is a word of fire, which I cannot read, but whose meaning is [life; truth; wonder; mystery]. And the flaming word seals itself on my brow, and the vision fades.
In the days following this vision, I was greatly disturbed in my mind by truths which I found hard to hold, and which I believed I would be scorned for speaking; but with the courage given by the angel, I shared the words that burned in me, and in speaking truth found clarity and comfort, and my faith was restored.
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