יֹבֵמֵ (Yod Bet Mem) – YoBeMe

בְּרֵאשִׁית, בָּרָא אֱלֹהִים, אֵת הַשָּׁמַיִם, וְאֵת הָאָרֶץ. – בראשית פרק א. א

Gensis 1:1, KJV: In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.

Vulgate: In principio creavit Deus coelum et terram.

 יֹבֵמֵיָה YoBeMeYA / Iabamiah

Influence time and dates: 23:01 – 23:20, March 6 through 10. He rules over the following days: May 28, August 8, October 19, December 30, March 12. 

IABAMIAH. Her attribute is the Word That Produces All Things. Her ray commences from the 346th degree up to the 350th degree inclusive, corresponding to the thirty-fifth decade and to the angel called Thopibui.

This angel rules over the generation of beings and phenomena of Nature; she protects those who desire to regenerate themselves and to reestablish in themselves the primordial harmony, which they will accomplish by raising themselves before the gods and purifying those parts that constitute their nature through the elements: Thus they will regain their birthrights and their original dignity. They will once more become the masters of nature and will enjoy all the prerogatives that the gods gave them at their creation. The person born under this influence will be distinguished by their genius; they will be considered among the luminaries of philosophy.

Meditating upon this name overcomes doubt and fear, these letters reveal the order that pervades chaos.

The negative side of this angel rules over atheism and all those who spread dangerous writings; she influences critics and literary disputes.

FIRST CONVERSATION

I really enjoyed this invocation — in times of transformation, it’s good to be able to remember the source! And there’s something about working near midnight (I like to keep the angels’ hours, when I can, though it’s certainly not necessary) that really does it for me. Contact begins with a flashing image of the opening to a downward shaft, square, in white plaster, with a ladder inside leading into light.

“Angel, how may I know thee?” Enter in; here is the source of me and thee and all things. I am in a very quiet, bright, holy place. It’s like the original of an echo I found in a previous invocation — in the library of Harahel, I think. Great and unspeakable are the mysteries. I watch the coming into being of heaven and earth, as a gentle separation in the layers of light; both always and everywhere present, and interpenetrating, but somehow distinct. They are as close as lovers. The angel is present as an empty space or vessel that holds this experience. In this field of being is something like a star, moving externally and internally in more dimensions than my brain can visualize — creating a sort of tunnel, not of absence but of bounded presence, within their oneness, a place where events occur and worlds move within worlds. The patterns of eddies and movements within this space become more complex over the time of my vision, layering like fractals. It is only one substance, now heaven, now earth, now body, now spirit, subtle and solid. Though it exists within the field of limitless light, it is not separate from it, but is one of its countless possibilities, which could be selected by the paths of different stars through the firmament. I am aware that these other paths and possibilities and worlds are also present within the field, even overlapping with this one — but for me in this vision, only what exists within this space resolves into the real, by virtue of the separation and union of heaven and earth.

“Angel, why is it thus, and not otherwise?” It must begin somewhere. The star that you see is my body, and the path it takes contains all my possibilities, and so is it for you. In beginning, nothing is lost; in ending, nothing is left out; and all is made new from the world that came before. I see many star-tunnels, crisscrossing, overlapping, an incredible tapestry, kaleidoscopic, fading into light always, perfectly clear and infinitely mysterious. Being in this field is holiness; there is nothing to do. Heaven and earth nestle together in the the candles’ flickering light and the scratch of my pen on the page. It is beautiful, and I want to stay here forever, and know that there is nowhere else to go.

The angle, gently and quietly, suggests that I go to bed and sleep, and be reborn into the world of possibility, the earth my body and heaven its dreams.

SECOND CONVERSATION

This invocation was also performed on the road, in the private chamber of a dear friend, with a window facing east. Contact began with a feeling of vast peace and a sense of myself as formless. On every side, penetrating and permeating the visible world, the impression of a vast sea whose waves form latticeworks of light through their interactions. A roaring sound in my ears, so loud it drowns out my thoughts. Then, when my thoughts are still, it falls silent: The waves fall still, though the subtle waters remain. My senses feel very acute.

Then, suddenly, from a space above the altar, a visible sound, a blinding cry, which causes everything to vibrate, extending outward as quick as thought in all directions and continuing unbroken, an incredibly rich and vast song with countless voices, human and nonhuman, singing, speaking, crying, howling, laughing, moaning, crashing, crowing, a cacophony of incredible rhythms and harmonies and dissonances, layered in fractal intricacies. It’s like hearing every sound I’ve ever heard, all at once, but each distinct, and each part of one great sound. It’s like staring at the sun.

The air is shaking, and everything my open eyes see appears to sparkle and shimmer, the waves of sound shaping waves of light, with nodes in patterns like atoms in molecules, dancing in that universal sound like trees in a gale: Dust motes like stars, the stillness of the room intensely alive. I can feel each hair on my body, each muscle and nerve, and notice the breathing of cells deep within my organs. It is exquisite, almost to the point of being unbearable: a sweet torture, to experience this world, just one small room, one small moment, in all its specificities: seen and unseen, spirit fully manifest, matter fully ensouled, enchanted into being, no difference between the mystical and the mundane, no place to hide from this sound, this light.

How can a human bear such light? The question has barely arisen in my mind when I am aware of a presence surrounding both myself and everything I can see or sense: it is a gentle, strong protection, a deep low note in the song that continues without ceasing, and I understand it as an anchor, a place to rest, a shield and support that sustains me amid this vast, creative, ever-changing, infinite, awesome chaos. One note, one tone, to keep this experience from being lost. I understand also that this presence, even as it sustains, also veils me from deeper and higher notes, worlds beyond even this exquisite sensitivity, whose frequencies would utterly destroy me were I able to experience them. It is only by grace that I am shielded from the full vision and experience of that Being which contains, in its fulness, my nonexistence as well as my existence as the wave holds peak and trough.

Visually, a raging light appears to be streaming in all directions from a positionless center, furious, peaceful —- it is the same as the song I can still hear. This world appears only as the light softens toward its twilight at the infinite periphery of the darkness in which it shines. But as my soul contemplates this light, this song, it occurs to me that what seems like an undeniable presence, this creative outpouring, is in fact more like an absence, a gate or an opening, a withdrawal of potential that allows, moment by moment, actuality to appear. It is a positive presence created by the removal of all that is not, so only What Exists remains, creating itself unceasingly as all that Is not yet, as it enters into the space of creation, becomes: and all that passes away returns again to the crashing stillness, the unspeakably full and abundant void of being and nonbeing.

At some point my consciousness vanishes utterly into that shining sound, and I can’t say for how long; when I become aware of myself again, I am in my body, which is already (still?) writing, breathing, living. Have I been here the whole time? Once more the altar-space is wood, cloth, paper, stones, water; once more my body is as it has so often seemed — but I feel renewed, cleansed, light, full of wonder and possibility, at peace. The only sounds, now, are the scratch of my pen, the beat of my heart, the breath whispering in my nostrils, my soul singing.

After closing the ritual, I could not stop singing, wordlessly, until I heard my friend returning, and even then human language did not return for some time; I spent the rest of the day in an intense, near-hallucinatory state of wonder and creativity. The feeling of rejuvenation is still with me as I revisit the record, this very word.