This is part 7 of a series. Here are Part 1 & Part 2 &Part 3 & Part 4 & Part 5 & Part 6


Hail to you dear readers!

Did you know that ‘Hail’ comes from the Old Norse heill – which means a sense of good luck of prosperity? It comes from the same root as ‘health’, which derives from the sense of being whole, and of good omen. You see, there’s a whole (heh) number of connexions to it, ranging from health to wholeness, to holiness and sacredness.

So the next time someone hails you, implicitly or explicitly, remember that on some deep level, one might say they are wishing you well – uttering the intent that you will be well, whole and complete.

A person can do that for you, without even realising it, and after all, when you consider the wider implications of what happens in the dark spaces which exist before you’re aware of thoughts and actions it doesn’t seem quite as far-fetched as before, does it?

“[I] Waxed and throve well;
Word from word gave words to me,
Deed from deed gave deeds to me,”

The above verse comes from Icelandic poetry – an Old Norse piece purported to be the sayings of the god Oðinn. I will tell you this – that simple verse contains the secret you need to do this work.

To lay out the words like bricks in a road – one at a time – so that you can get to where you want to go. To tell your tales without restraint; to make what you do inevitable and irresistible.

Remember back in part 1, when I said that this isn’t for you? When I said that, if you dream of wealth and power, then this isn’t for you?

I was telling you the absolute truth, and you may find that, as you are beginning to realise why I said that, you’ll experience something strange.

Because this isn’t for you.

That, on the other hand?


And because of that fact – that it is – and yet this is still not for you, a person can, if they wish, begin to understand a peculiarity of language.

This is not for you. That is.

It doesn’t matter if the line above doesn’t make sense yet, just as it doesn’t necessarily have to be anything other than a small step along that path.

What matters is that you’ll realise that, even if you don’t understand it yet, you will. And you will, because like everything else, that understanding happens before you’re actually aware of it.

So, it’s actually perfectly sensible to realise that you know things, and have understandings, which you don’t know you know yet, isn’t it?

After all, so much is going on that you’re not aware of – and so much indeed already has, and will have gone on, without you being aware of it, hasn’t it?

Think about your breathing, and notice how it carries on without you being aware of it. Now, imagine what it would be like if you had to be aware of something to make it happen. What would happen if something caught your attention?

Obviously, stopping breathing every time something pulls your awareness in another direction would be severely detrimental to you as an organism. So you carry on breathing unless something blocks your oxygen extraction, and yet you’re not aware of that, are you?

Remember – this is not for you.



That genius, that faculty which we have spoken of, is the essence of what we do.

And ‘that’ is different to ‘this’, is it not?

If we’re talking about the merest, purest, most precisely focused form of work, which will enable you to access your creative powers in all their myriad forms – as we surely are – then when you begin to notice that genius, that impulse, you are noticing what it has already done.

Everything is that.

Everything that you perceive, everything you are aware of, is that.

By now, you already know what I am saying – you already have known it since forever, whether or not you are aware of it, yet. And now, as any good storyteller does, it is my job to allow you to become aware of it – to use communication to direct your awareness.

Remember our storyteller and the seeker of esoteric knowledge? Recall back in part 5, the storyteller said:

“Just so – yet how would you answer my questions? How will you discover what lies buried in the earth? Do you come to me for truth, lies, or esoteric wisdom?”

And the seeker thought for a moment, for they knew much, even before that moment.

“All of them.”

“Just so.” The storyteller grinned. “So, the tale goes thus:


“There is a tree with roots that stretch down into the deepest worlds, and up to the highest heavens. Its branches spread out beyond the sky, widening out into the spaces between the very stars themselves. Buried below the tree’s trunk, there is a treasure, the likes of which no mortal man has ever seen. There, in that dark earth, waiting to quicken to life, lies the secret to all things.

And it came to pass that a seeker heard of this treasure, and resolved to discover it at any cost. For nine nights they travelled to that tree, and for three more they circled its vast trunk, clambering over the roots which lay above the surface as they tried to decide where to begin their excavation.

Now, if you’ve ever dug near a tree, you’ll know that roots can spread wide, and dive deep. So our seeker thought long and hard before selecting a particular root and beginning to dig, for the work was hard and back breaking.

Three feet down they dug, then a grave’s-depth, then nine, and then twelve, following that root all the way. Down they went, digging, trying to find the end – deeper and deeper until the walls of earth towered above them, until the weight of soil began to fall inward, slowly at first – the merest trickle. The seeker was so intent on digging that they did not notice the trickle become a small slide, and it was only when the ground began to rumble that they realised their mistake.

By that time, of course, it was far too late, and the earth came down upon them, hard and fast, entombing them in darkness!

They lay trapped in the darkness, unable to move, barely able to breathe, and what air that there was was running low soon enough. No matter how they struggled, they could not move – and indeed their struggle merely used up the air even faster.

Irrevocably imprisoned, and surrounded on all sides by the press of earth, the seeker resigned themselves to death. Time passed and the seeker’s thoughts and hopes and dreams exhausted themselves – how could they not, for they were unable to move from inescapable gravity of death, just as the body could not move.

But the smiling face of Death did not appear immediately, for it keeps its own time – and so the seeker found themselves with naught to contemplate but their surroundings. Surrounded on all sides by impenetrable darkness, so the seeker began to see a strange light, one which did not extinguish the darkness, but emerge from within it, complementing and enriching it somehow.

And by that light, clear and unwavering, burning blue and cold, so the seeker beheld a dark little man, sitting before him, and calmly smoking his pipe.

Now the seeker could not speak for fear of earth entering their mouth, but they knew, without knowing how, that this little man was a dwarf – a spirit that lived in the realms under the earth, and who may pass through stone as easily as you or I might pass through water.

Such spirits, the seeker knew, were master makers and smiths. Tales were told of their smithing skill, and it is said that is they who crafted the items which the gods esteemed as the highest of all gifts.

The spirit sat calmly, the smoke of his pipe rich and heavy, watching the seeker. Without speaking, he conveyed curiosity. What, he wondered, was this mortal doing here?

Though unable to speak, at the other’s question, the seeker found they could answer in kind. Swiftly, they told the spirit of their quest and misfortune, as I have told you, and begged for aid.

For that creature’s part, there was much laughter.

Did the mortal not know that such treasure was the province of such as he and his kin? It lay, so the spirit explained, deep within the earth, glittering brightly as lit by a hidden flame at the centre of all things. No mortal could ever behold it, it lay so deep amidst the crushing pressure – so much so that the weight of the earth which pressed down currently upon the seeker was as the merest pebble.

Only such spirits as he could pass within to that most interior of realms, he explained.

And oh, how the seeker despaired and fell silent in their way, feeling all that weight anew. Yet into their despair crept the curiosity of the spirit – why should the seeker fear the earth, what were they waiting for?

So the seeker explained that they were trapped and waiting for death, and that there was no escape. The spirit looked on open-mouthed, so much so that his pipe fell from his mouth!

Why should one wish to escape the earth? He shook his head in stupefied wonderment. Rock and stone, earth and soil was all one could ever need, surely?

Would that I could be as you, lamented the seeker, but alas, I am not.

The spirit’s perplexity increased. For after all, he noted, he and his kind had arisen from the earth and nothing but! It surrounded them, and permeated them – were all mortals this silly?

With a hand, so the spirit gestured, and the earth gave a groan. What little room there was about the seeker collapsed inward, sealing them in completely!

The crushing weight was all about them – the air slowly being squeezed from their lungs…

Until, suddenly, they found themselves moving amidst the blue light, swimming through the earth – and to their surprise, the dwarf had grown to normal size!

Smiling, so he reached into his pocket and handed the seeker a pipe of their own – and with a shock, the seeker realised that their skin was as dark as the spirit’s!”

(Join me next week for the conclusion of this particular story, when you can finish joining the dots that this part has started to connect, even if you’re not sure how yet)