The Lost Star
© Linda Falorio, 1989
New Moon, August 1981
The mass of the Shenandoah Mountains brooded to the south, a
somber presence dark and imposing against the steel gray summer sky, obscured by
bion-blue haze, eternally waiting. So that in contrast our mammalian awareness seemed
too-quick, nervous and distracted, and we became exhilarated, giddy, and expectant as the
car began its climb from Front Royal into that strangely silent isolation imparted by the
mists that settled shroud-like upon the shoulders of the mountains. The road ahead twisted
at an impossible angle, disappearing behind a profusion of gnarled trees and too lush
growth of moss and fern and red-cupped lichen. It was our first experience of these
ancient Eastern mountains, once part of what would one day become Africa in that long ago
time of super-continent Pangea, and we wondered at their beauty and their mystery.
On the advice of a friend, we had decided to travel Skyline Drive
from Front Royal to Rockfish Gap where we would pick up route 64 East and head for the
coast, on our way to what would become an annual pilgrimage to the Outer Banks—Cape
Hatteras—the northeast corner of the Bermuda Triangle, Graveyard of the
The going was slow,
yet the twisting road, and shifting,
moisture-laden mists, with intermittent rain and dazzling fog made the time seem magickal,
as if we traveled to that Pure Land beloved of the Taoist Immortals as we
passed Matthews Arm, Elkwallow, Thornton Gap, Pinnacles, and Skyland. The sky had darkened
into evening when we at last approached Loft Mountain, "campground with trailer
The sense of magick continued through the evening, as a wild
bird, species unknown to us visited our camp and we conversed with it in the manner of the
Greek Mopsus, who understood the speech of birds. A chorus of crickets and frogs
raised voices in the deep forest night, as we burned incense, invoking Nuit under her
night-stars, astrally adorned with heavy golden jewelry—cuffs, anklets, and
Egyptian collar against indigo-stained skin.
On impulse, I asked for the "lost" star, of Liber AL
(see page 19 of original manuscript in Crowley's hand), and a sigil burned itself into
awareness. As if in response to a kind of calling, a black, glittering, amorphous
entity came upon me from behind, hovering, sinking icy astral fingers into my
consciousness. Then there came a feeling of possession, of wildness, as the entity,
time out of mind somehow connected to our kind, transmitted in a melodious voice her
urgent message: that denial of the body and its pleasures is a lie; that sin is
a lie against innocence; that our birth right is to experience the universe as joy,
as beauty, as laughter and as pleasure.
The Ancient One made known that in distant aeons she had been
banished from our Urth by other gods, and now having been called, returned to bring her
Truth. Ever ready to redress the wrongs inflicted by the lords of death, she would bring
justice, would bring our world back into balance—with
violence if need be—even while her message remained one
of joy, and the promise that those who fear not Life need not fear what might come
to be in some future purging.
Overwhelmed by Her energy, power, and passion, images surfaced:
an altar of cool stone, an ancient priesthood who worked their dark antediluvian magick on
this mountain top in some long forgotten epoch, as they sought to open a stellar gate and
call through the Ancient Ones from dimensions beyond our space-time. Thus they communed
with vast, ineffable intelligences and powers that we moderns dare not open our small
minds to, lest we become as "gibbering idiots, slavering at a gibbous moon".
My partner and I had reawakened an ancient ceremonial site of
tremendous power: I banished, tried to sleep, yet the feeling lingered, lingers still.
Fall Equinox, 1981.
Upon invoking Nuit, the lost star spontaneously
appeared as if imprinted on a door which immediately swung open upon a dark and glittering
expanse, where, in the distant darkness, mysterious shapes proceeded up a staircase to the
stars, disappearing into a violet night sky. When I then asked to be shown the guardian of
the place, feathered eyes of a sea of peacocks (89 by E.Q.) fanned before me. [
Note: 89 by E.Q. = "a secret door", "a Great Old One",
"the bird of Set", "the androgyne", "the Winged Mouth".
The sigil resembled nothing so much as two interlocking shems,
Sumerian hieroglyphs for the ancient spacecraft of the gods who came to planet Earth from
eight-armed Nibiru, which is the symbol of Chaos, and of the twelfth planet
of Balance and Unbalance (see Zecharia Sitchin, The Earth Chronicles—Book
I: The Twelfth Planet). The sigil had proved itself to be a gate, apparently
quite old, associated thus with peacocks, sacred birds of the ancient Yezidi. Earlier workings had revealed its further associations with the Spider,
and with the union of male and female energies.
Fall Equinox, 1987.
Working the tunnel of Zamradiel brought the further
realization that this sigil of the Lost Star is also closely aligned with the
cult of the Marassa, the Divine Twins, Androgyne and Gyander, that it is a vever of
the ancient voudoun priestess, Ayizan, and heralds Her current now
returning, ancient Ancestress from the distant Stars.