Announcing The Book of Onei: An Antinomian Dream Grimoire

Onei Cover

The complete Book of Onei is now available through LuLu in paperback and e-book format – including all the poems, spells, myths, and rituals excerpted here on this blog as well as many others. This book is the most personal work I have ever published and represents more than a decade of composition and revision and nearly two decades of active work in oneiromancy.

It reflects my love of visionary poets like William Blake and Li Ho, the influence of my father’s strange philosophy, and years of patient assistance and counsel from friends old and new. Without the extensive editorial assistance of Bob Giordano this book would not exist in its present form. Zoe Dantzinger also deserves special mention for reading over the final version of the book before its release. Finally, I’d like to thank Lorna Smithers, whose amazing review of The Book of Onei can be found here.

For readers of my Noctiviganti novels, this is a further and deeper exploration of night wandering and dream magic in a context that is not entirely fictional.

For readers familiar with Form is the Illusion: A Magical Philosophy, this is the application of the same concepts in magical practice.

Readers of my Gods and Radicals articles will recognize similar themes and images, as well as a few of the poems. This book, on the surface, is less political than my work for Gods and Radicals – but only on the surface.

More than anything else, this book is a record of my most personal work – the work I’ve been doing for many years now and expect to keep doing for the rest of my life. The poems, stories, and rituals in the Book of Onei are only a glimpse – Onei itself is limitless.

 

Paperback $6.99:

http://www.lulu.com/shop/christopher-scott-thompson/the-book-of-onei/paperback/product-23852094.html

 

PDF $1.99:

http://www.lulu.com/shop/christopher-scott-thompson/the-book-of-onei/ebook/product-23907818.html

The False Prophet

The Book of Onei is an antinomian dream grimoire, providing deceptive yet true information about the art of Oneiromancy or dream magic in the form of poetry, fantasy, and intentionally ambiguous instructions.

Clear water from a sacred stream

Has sanctified your vow,

But you remind me of a dream

That none remembers now.

 

You took a year I’d made of loss

And healed it in a day.

But that, I knew, would bear a cost

I wouldn’t care to pay.

 

Now none remembers what you said,

The grief upon your brow.

You told us all to worship dread-

And who remembers now?

 

– from the Book of Onei, Part III: The Powers of Onei

 

Image by Mihaly Zichy

The Man Who Learned to Love the Law

The Book of Onei is an antinomian dream grimoire, providing deceptive yet true information about the art of Oneiromancy or dream magic in the form of poetry, fantasy, and intentionally ambiguous instructions.

 

I closed my eyes on all I saw.

And when I opened them, I’d learned to love the Law.

I found the garden where the shadows grew,

And look, I brought some home for you.

 

I closed my mouth on all I’d said.

I traveled west and south, and glorified the dead,

To taste their waters and to know if they were mine,

Or something else I’d lose in time.

 

I took my hand from all I’d held,

And offered recompense to dreams that I had felled.

They said I bore no guilt at all,

But still they’ll watch me when I fall.

 

I closed my ears on all I’d heard.

The things I’d loved the most all died with just a word.

I kept them close to me for years,

Till they could be reborn as fears.

 

I took my mind from every scent

And none could ever find the places that I went.

The place in Avalon where Mordred grew.

And there was something there for you.

 

I’ve brought a chalice made of things I’d set aside.

I’ll share this cup with you, and you can be my bride.

We’ll drink the thunder and we’ll ride the rising night,

And you can help me learn to love the light.

 

– from the Book of Onei, Part III: The Powers of Onei

 

Image by Konstantin Makovsky

Under the Bright Dark

The Book of Onei is an antinomian dream grimoire, providing deceptive yet true information about the art of Oneiromancy or dream magic in the form of poetry, fantasy, and intentionally ambiguous instructions.

Czech postcard from the 1920's

Do not hold on to that which cannot be used to destroy the world.

-The Livik

 

I was under the dark when the wind came down,

And the stars were drunk, and the ocean cried.

I walked alone. Though I had known

In time, I hadn’t tried.

 

The world, disordered, spun as fast

As if it meant to break.

I liked it there, and didn’t care

To suffer for its sake.

 

I’ve lived for years just mesmerized

By lights, like falling stars.

Out here beyond the world, I’ve watched

The angels and their wars.

 

I said the words that seemed the best

And watched my temples fall.

Those other lives I could have lived

Just don’t exist at all.

 

– from the Book of Onei, Part II: The Lore of Onei

The Country of the King

The Book of Onei is an antinomian dream grimoire, providing deceptive yet true information about the art of Oneiromancy or dream magic in the form of poetry, fantasy, and intentionally ambiguous instructions.

Dora Wheeler, Fairy in Irises, 1888

When your faith descends from heaven

When you find you cannot fly

When you lose the strength to bargain

With the powers of the sky,

 

When the things they keep demanding

Seem impossible and grand

You can come into the country

Of the powers of the land.

 

They have drunk from deeper waters

And their holiness is dark.

And to them the light is precious,

So they value every spark.

 

They are not inclined to question

What you’ve done or where you’ve been-

Though you’ve wandered far from wisdom

You can always come again.

 

There is gold beneath the mountain

There is treasure in the sea,

There’s a chalice and a fountain

Granting things that cannot be.

 

There are palaces and temples

In the cities on the plain

Made of bone as smooth as marble

Where the windows run like rain.

 

There’s a grove of golden peaches,

There are apples, green and red,

There’s a hierophant who teaches

From the gospels of the dead.

 

There are kings and queens, created

To be gods before the Fall-

Though you wandered there for ages

You could never see it all.

 

And your anguished hope of heaven,

Once a parched and withered thing,

Will be branches red with berries

In the country of the king.

 

– from the Book of Onei, Part II: The Lore of Onei

 

Image by Dora Wheeler

Darkness and Silence

The Book of Onei is an antinomian dream grimoire, providing deceptive yet true information about the art of Oneiromancy or dream magic in the form of poetry, fantasy, and intentionally ambiguous instructions.

John Bauer (1882–1918)2

If you want knowledge, seek out darkness and silence.

 

I glance behind me, but there’s no way home.

The waves are foaming like a rabid dog,

Like monsters, always watching. On my bones,

On every branch and rock and fallen log,

The ice lies thick. The silent heavens sleep-

Unreadable, malicious. Earth is still.

She won’t disclose the secrets that she keeps.

Night creeps a little closer. From the hill

I hear the howl of wolves. I feel the eyes

Of basilisks upon me. Lions roar.

Don’t question heaven. Do not leave your door.

 

Dream necromancy is dangerous, especially if the spirit discovers your secret name.

 

Animal masking allows you to contact the cthonic powers.

 

To honor the gods, fumigate small images of them by hand in a cloud of incense.

 

The gods crave meat; the meat craves fire.

 

There are two types of death in dream. The dead force is like a black hole – without consciousness, dead and soulless although capable of movement. The live force is the exact opposite.

 

The universe is like the desert: a vast empty space made up of tiny particles lit by a blazing light.

 

There is no final invitation to Onei. You must find your way each time.

 

The pattern will always assert its essential points. Only a certain level of play exists in reality, and that which is destined cannot be prevented.

 

Some genii loci will abandon their home if it is clear-cut or otherwise abused. It becomes a soulless place.

 

There are time travelers who visit different eras by possessing dreamers as they sleep. If they come upon you in a night wandering dream they will try to stop your throat so you cannot get the words out, but if you force the words out you should be able to say your protective charm.

 

The whole world is filled up with gnosis. It is people who must become free in order to fill up gnosis.

 

– from the Book of Onei, Part II: The Lore of Onei

 

Image by John Bauer

How Doubt Left the Empire

The Book of Onei is an antinomian dream grimoire, providing deceptive yet true information about the art of Oneiromancy or dream magic in the form of poetry, fantasy, and intentionally ambiguous instructions.

Frederick Sandys (1829-1904), Harald Harfagr ~ Originally published in Once a Week, 1862

The Empire of the Adoration, also known as the Qalina, grew up out of the chaos left behind them by the Sons of the Crow. The Sons of the Crow destroyed the City of Wisdom and the City of the Gods, then disappeared into the Blue Desert for several years. They came out of the Blue Desert to destroy the City of the Sublime, where the worshipers of the Sublime had rebuilt their temples. They retreated for seven years into the Brokentooth Mountains, then came down again to burn several more cities.

 

The Flagbearer and his followers had stopped them, but the Flagbearer had been burned alive, because the priests of the Adoration did not trust his purity. Then the Temple of the Adoration became the ruler of the ruined lands, and imposed its teaching on every community. The Qalina was its High Priestess and its absolute ruler, and her followers believed in the legend of the Adoration: how it was he who brought the sun from the depths of outer space and installed it above the primal waters, how he pulled the ghosts of which people were made from out of the heart of a dying star in order to populate his new-made world, how he imprisoned the Chaos Worm beneath the same primeval ocean before calling up the islands and continents from beneath the waves, and how he saved his beloved people from being murdered by the vengeful stars, before imprisoning the stars in their cells in the firmament.

 

All believed, and no one questioned. But there was one who doubted, not the faith itself, but his own ability to live up to it. People called him the Doubtful, and they used to chase him through the streets and throw things at him. The priests would question him when he came to the temple, asking him why he doubted the faith. But he would deny that he doubted, saying only this:

 

Though he split the land from the water,

Though he put each star in its own true place

Though he spared us all from the slaughter

I fear his face.

 

“Fear and wisdom are closely connected,” said a kindly priestess, washing the offal from off of his face. “You have the makings of a priest.” But he shook his head, and the expression of fear on his face contained a tincture of a doubt, and so the priestess drove him out.

 

From the depths of his terrified heart, the Doubter bargained, holding his hands up to heaven in a pouring rain. He wanted to serve the Adoration, and he wanted to love him, but the possibility of the one seemed to render the other meaningless. No man can bargain with heaven, so his prayers were not answered. The priests of the Adoration demanded a goodness of which he knew he was not capable. This would not have hurt him, except that he knew his neighbors, and though all of them were pious, none of them were capable of true goodness either. This one was an adulterer and this other one a gossip, this one cheated at card games and still another was a drunk. And as for the Doubtful, he had killed a man, though it was a long time ago and in another city far away.

 

He knew his own crime was a heavy one, but the church demanded a facade of piety, and this was something of which he did not feel capable. And so he sank deeper into doubt and despair, wandering along the roads of the Qalina and sleeping wherever the night surprised him.

 

He awoke one morning on the side of the road, as the cold light of a white dawn drained the darkness from the sky. There was a black crow standing on top of him, perhaps considering if he was dead enough to make a meal.

 

“Don’t take my eyes,” he said. “I am not yet ready.”

 

The crow cawed once at him and flew away, but the Doubtful was disturbed by what he had seen in its eyes. For just a few seconds, before the crow flew away, weird images had flickered there like dim reflections: a blind old woman singing in a lifeless desert as vast as the world, a madman tracing the cracks in a human thighbone between the walls of a ruined city.

 

“What did I see?” he asked aloud, and he heard a laugh.

 

“You saw a bird,” said a man, “for there was nothing else to see.”

 

The man was walking along the roadway with a stick in his hand, and his eyes were bitter and mocking. “You are not a believer, I see,” the man said.

 

“I am not. But neither am I an unbeliever.” The Doubtful stood up, brushing the dust of the road off his clothes as well as he could.

 

“Allow me to guess,” said the man. “They cast you out, because you would not worship their ridiculous god.”

 

“I never found their god ridiculous,” said the Doubter. “I found him terrible beyond all hope. What god could be so ruthless as to demand goodness of men?”

 

The passerby laughed. “That is droll, I’ll admit. But this goodness they ask of you is as meaningless as their god. You need not cling to these shadows and dreams. Accept the reality of what is in front of you, and seek no other.”

 

“Yet I doubt that too. You ask me to trust my eyes and not their dreams. I know no cause for trusting either.”

 

“Then you are far more lost than I. One must know where to stop doubting.”

 

“I don’t think I believe that,” said the Doubter, and the other man shook his head and walked away.

 

“The trouble is not that you couldn’t see,” said another voice, “but that you couldn’t play with the things you saw. Don’t you have any dreams of your own?”

 

The Doubter looked in every direction, but all he saw was the crow, perching nearby on the branch of a silver birch tree.

 

“I must have dreams of my own,” he replied at last, “to be hearing you speak.”

 

Then the crow on the branch stepped out of his crow skin, and revealed himself as the magician called the Three Times Exiled. He grinned a grin from the branches of the tree, and the Doubter grinned back although he did not know why.

 

“Where are you from?” he asked. “For you are no mortal man.”

 

The magician bowed, and said these words:

 

I’ve lived here on the borders of the night,

Where dark divides from light.

I’ve walked the marches made of fire and snow.

 

“I am only a visitor from the Country of the King, where no one believes anything but everything is real. You may join me there if you like.” And then he sang this song:

 

There are palaces and temples

In the cities on the plain

Made of bone as smooth as marble

Where the windows run like rain.

 

There’s a grove of golden peaches,

There are apples, green and red,

There’s a hierophant who teaches

From the gospels of the dead.

 

There are kings and queens, created

To be gods before the Fall-

Though you wandered there for ages

You could never see it all.

 

And your anguished hope of heaven,

Once a parched and withered thing,

Will be branches red with berries

In the country of the king.

 

“Why should I believe that?” asked the Doubter.

 

“You should not.”

 

The Three Times Exiled jumped down from the branch, and the ground where he landed sprouted bells on stems, waving like flowers in a summer breeze. The sound of music filled the air

 

“Neither believers nor unbelievers will ever find it. I don’t ask you to trust what others see or claim to have seen. I don’t even ask you to trust what you see yourself. I ask you only to play.”

 

The Three Times Exiled waved his hand, and a light burst forth from the Doubter’s forehead and swept the world like a cloth washing paint away. The landscape around them became a world of wonder. But it was not exactly as the magician had described. Instead of a city made of bone there was a plain of windows, scattered here and there for hundreds of miles. Some of them were set into the ground and some rose up straight out of it; some of them floated in the sky and some moved from place to place. And every window looked out upon a different world, some of them fiery places and some of them snowy, some of them mountains and forests, others temples and palaces. The possibilities were so amazing that the Doubter merely gaped, and did not even notice that the magician had gone.

 

“This is different than what you sang of…” he began, but then he saw he was alone. For only a moment, he stood dismayed. Then he walked off into the World of Windows and was seen no more.

 

Image by Frederick Sandys

The Book

The Book of Onei is an antinomian dream grimoire, providing deceptive yet true information about the art of Oneiromancy or dream magic in the form of poetry, fantasy, and intentionally ambiguous instructions.

Sidney Sime ~ It (1911)

When the sun and the moon still gave no warmth, and maneating giants still roamed the earth.

 

There is a book in Onei that contains all knowledge, including the knowledge of first things. If you are given access to the Book it can be a blessing or a curse.

 

I opened up the Book to find the place

That spoke of ancient things. My hands were cold,

My lips were purple. And the lamp was old –

 

It guttered angrily and cast off smoke

That stained my fingers black. I found the page

And what it said was this – “There was an age

 

In which the sun and moon, though dimly white,

Gave off no heat. Like lifeless rocks they hung

Above a world where primal darkness clung

 

And in that darkness, there were moving things

Like giant, hungry shadows. In the deep

That ancient chaos still remains asleep.”

 

– from the Book of Onei, Part II: The Lore of Onei

 

Image by Sidney Sime

 

Information Speed

Form is the Illusion is a book about Relationship Theory, an unusual system of metaphysics developed by the late David Douglas Thompson. Relationship Theory addresses questions of ontology and epistemology in a way that is likely to be of interest to pagans and occultists.

William_Blake_008

Δ Ƶ = Δ X / Δ Y

 

A relationship change equals a change in something per a change in something else, or an acceleration in information speed.

 

Some information sets are too large and complex for quick results. In this situation, success is relative – you aren’t necessarily hoping to transform the entire set instantly, but to introduce enough new information energy to set a process of change in motion.

 

A relationship change is always a change in one zed object per a change in another zed object. If you’re hoping to introduce change energy into a complex system, you need to have a clear understanding of which zed object you hope to change relative to which other zed object.

 

In ancient times, victims of theft would try to avenge themselves on whoever had stolen from them by inscribing a curse on a lead tablet and burying it in such a way as to gain the attention of the chthonic deities. If we describe this working with the formula Δ Ƶ = Δ X / Δ Y, delta zed is “vengeance,” delta X is divine punishment on the thief and delta Y is the anger of the gods. “Vengeance is obtained through divine punishment due to the wrath of the chthonic gods.”

 

The poem “Curse Tablet,” originally published by Gods and Radicals, was not actually inscribed on lead or buried with a dead man, but the poem refers to this symbolism to create connections in information space:

 

I write these words on sheets of lead

And leave them in a dead man’s hands

To bring them to the silent lands

 

Of root and water, and of rot.

I whisper them into the ear

Of one who can no longer hear.

 

I show them to the gaping eyes

Of one who lies beneath the leaves.

Oh gods of dread who punish thieves,

 

Leave off all lesser punishments and hear!

The thieves who rule the world have gorged

On others’ bread and meat. They’ve forged

 

New manacles to bind the wrists

Of any who resist. They kill

Whoever will not do their will.

 

Oh gods who dwell beneath the earth,

Arise tonight and hunt for prey

More worthy of your power. Slay

 

The kings of thieves, the lords of men,

And not the poor who steal their bread.

I write this curse on sheets of lead

 

And leave them in a dead man’s hands.

I whisper them into the ear

Of those who sleep, but always hear.

 

I show them to the empty eyes

Of those who lie beneath the leaves,

Oh gods of dread who punish thieves!

 

The poem aims to create two different types of change simultaneously, both of which can be described using the formula Δ Ƶ = Δ X / Δ Y:

 

1- Justice is obtained by drawing the attention of the gods who punish thieves away from the powerless and toward the powerful.

 

2- The capitalist system is weakened by strengthening the resolve of those who oppose it and perhaps raising questions in the minds of other readers as well.

 

The poem calls on the gods using mythopoetic symbolism (the sixth bell). It presents an argument about the relative blameworthiness of different types of theft, an argument intended for the reader as much as the deities (the fifth bell). It uses formal meter and rhyme for aesthetic effect (the fourth bell). It appeals to an explicitly radical and pagan belief system to trigger a response in those of a similar ideological bent (the third bell). As people read the poem and share it, it affects their participation in anti-capitalist politics (the second bell). The physical act of typing the poem up and publishing it makes all this possible (the first bell) – and this, rather than “art for art’s sake,” is why the poem was published in the first place.

 

The more people read the poem and share it, the more information energy it generates. You can expect only so much from a single poem, but what if that poem is only one tiny piece of a much larger cultural and artistic movement? Now we’re talking about metapolitics:

 

“A way of expressing and enacting political goals through cultural, spiritual, and societal change, rather than overt politics… metapolitics is founded upon the idea that political change cannot occur until a culture is first created which lays the groundwork for political power.” (Gods and Radicals)

 

As my father pointed out in “Notes on Relationships,” a “change in something per a change in something else” would be graphed as a slope. A slope describes an acceleration. This type of magic enhances change, by increasing the information speed of certain ideas, making a small but meaningful contribution to a much larger project of transformation.

 

Image by William Blake

Sorrow of the Gorge

The Book of Onei is an antinomian dream grimoire, providing deceptive yet true information about the art of Oneiromancy or dream magic in the form of poetry, fantasy, and intentionally ambiguous instructions.

1280px-Eugen_Bracht_-_Das_Gestade_der_Vergessenheit_(1889)

A shock of light above the gorge,

One moment of the sun.

The cliffs are like a closing mouth

Of frozen rock, and north and south

The frigid waters run.

 

I pause and glance ahead. The path

Is vertical and thin.

An ancient, rusted chain is here,

I wrap it round my hand in fear.

It bites into my skin.

 

The roots and boulders, tangled thick

As fingers intertwined,

Jut out as sharp as broken bones.

I cross a heap of ancient stones

And pour out half my wine.

 

“Come out and taste the wine,” I call,

“Come out and drink your fill.”

The wind comes roaring through the trees

And something in me dimly sees

The spirits of the hill.

 

I light an incense-stick and bow.

“I know it’s cold up here.

The world has changed, and we have come

To hate the things we started from,

The magic and the fear.

 

“The face of death is hid behind

This horror we have made.

But fools prefer what’s clear and bright.

They turn their backs on every sight

Of mingled light and shade.

 

“Still, there are things we owe the ghosts.

And some do not forget.”

A mournful bird came floating by.

The mountain ghosts did not reply.

They haven’t answered yet.

 

– from the Book of Onei, Part II: The Lore of Onei

 

Image by Eugen Bracht

A Journey to Onei (3)

The Book of Onei is an antinomian dream grimoire, providing deceptive yet true information about the art of Oneiromancy or dream magic in the form of poetry, fantasy, and intentionally ambiguous instructions.

Andreas Achenbach, Norwegian Coast by Moonlight, 1848

“The Book of Onei is not The Book,” my father once said. I remember him still, walking beside me on that sunless beach – but was it before he had died, or after? “The Book of Onei is only a guide, a book of riddles that don’t always lead to any answers, a book of truths within lies. I have been to Onei many times, but I have never been to any of the cities or nations mentioned in the Book of Onei, nor have I seen their ruins, nor met their citizens. As far as I can tell they do not exist, and most likely they never existed – not even in Onei.”

 

“Then what is the Book of Onei?” I asked him. “Is it just a fraud?”
“The Book of Onei is both a key and a lock,” he said. His face was haunted, as if he always listened and always waited – perhaps for a footfall. “Those stories mean something, but I do not know what. The Book of Onei hints at something, but I am afraid to ask.”

 

“Perhaps all this darkness is just a means,” I said, and yet he would not hear me and would not answer.

 

“So what is The Book, then?” I asked him.

 

“It contains all knowledge, all knowledge on any topic. It contains the secrets of the Primal Darkness! It is the gift of the Veiled One, the most ancient of all the Powers in Onei.”

 

“Did she give it to you?”

 

“And why would she have done that? I snuck in to the library, the Great Library of Onei, and I stole what I wanted. I walked out with the Book of Onei in my coat pocket! What power would give me any aid or comfort?”

 

“Maybe that isn’t something she would even care about. We know nothing about her. Perhaps the Book of Onei means nothing to her. Perhaps she wanted you to have it. Perhaps if you had ever made use of it, she would have shown you The Book.”

 

Still he did not answer, would never answer. He only looked at the ocean, at the light that flickered across the dark waters, and recited a poem:

 

“I’m Prometheus,” he told me,

“I’m the traitor and the thief.

But his eyes were still defiant

Through his horror and his grief.

 

Then the eagle stuck its beak in

For the hundred millionth time,

And I watched in guilty wonder.

Was I worthy of his crime?

 

Have I used the gift he gave me?

Have I kept the embers warm?

Have I fed the god inside me

Striving daily to be born?”

 

And now here I stood, deep beyond the Borders of Onei, among the gorges and mountains. How far would I travel, how many mountains would I have to cross, until I discovered the secret? Was there even a secret to be uncovered, or only lies within lies?

 

I dug into my bag and found the Book of Onei, opened it up to a random page and read a poem about these mountains.

– notes found in the handwritten original of the Book of Onei

 

Image by Andreas Achenbach

The Powers of the First Darkness

The Book of Onei is an antinomian dream grimoire, providing deceptive yet true information about the art of Oneiromancy or dream magic in the form of poetry, fantasy, and intentionally ambiguous instructions.

Nightmare image Valere Bernard {1680}

Alone at night, I hear the doorknob turn,

The hinges creak- and standing in the light

Are cold and silent men. I stand in fright,

 

And one by one they float in through the door.

Their suits are charcoal gray, their ties are thin.

On every mouth, a Mona Lisa grin.

 

Their eyes could just as well be balls of glass,

Their faces stuffed and mounted. Waves of dread

Pass over me and through me. Like the dead

 

There’s nothing there at all- an absent space

Just papered over by a face as clean

And free of comment as a pure machine.

 

“We’ve found him,” says the first one

And I turn, to try to get away. The power comes

And lifts me off my feet, completely numb

 

From crown to sole. Cold, drunken currents flow

And hold me in a field of fearful awe.

They know the truth. I disobeyed the Law

 

And now the consequence has found me out.

“You should have kept your mouth shut,” says a voice,

“Or joined the Legion while you had the choice,

 

“But chronicling our secrets…” As I scream,

Their faces start to glow. They circle in

Like feeding sharks. But, though I may have sinned

 

I still remain defiant. Down below,

In Death’s primeval waters, there is lore

Of hidden things that none have known before,

 

And I can steal it if I slip the trap.

The horror closes in. My fingers make

A sign of power, and I bolt awake.

 

My wife’s asleep beside me in our bed.

The kitchen light is flickering. Outside,

The city sleeps. And I am still alive.

 

– from The Book of Onei, Part 1: The Art of Night Wandering

Image by Valere Bernard

The Three Types of Dreamer

The Book of Onei is an antinomian dream grimoire, providing deceptive yet true information about the art of Oneiromancy or dream magic in the form of poetry, fantasy, and intentionally ambiguous instructions.

the-old-mill-by-moonlight-1885.jpg!PinterestLargealbertpinkhamryder

Lightseers- night wanderers who most easily or frequently contact celestial and benevolent entities.

 

Earthseers- dreamers who dream true things, but of Earth and not of Onei.

 

Darkseers- night wanderers who most easily or frequently contact cthonic and horrifying entities.

 

It’s not that the blue-green mountains don’t appeal.

I can feel their majesty,

Their sense of distance.

It’s just that there’s also something else-

For instance,

The something wicked that this way comes

In the witching hour,

The drunken trembling of branch and stem

And the formless Power.

And if I should sometimes prefer

To attach myself

To some beautiful chaos-

I can pay what it costs.

 

– from The Book of Onei, Part 1: The Art of Night Wandering

Image by Albert Pinkham Ryder

Offering Prayer

The Book of Onei is an antinomian dream grimoire, providing deceptive yet true information about the art of Oneiromancy or dream magic in the form of poetry, fantasy, and intentionally ambiguous instructions.

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Burn the appropriate candle and recite this prayer when you leave an offering to the powers:

 

This hungry pit shall open wide

And gorge on meat and wine.

These flames will burn as night-clouds turn

To watch this work of mine.

 

This shaft will gape so none escapes

Its toothless maw tonight.

While blue-white stars look down in awe

To see the flames so bright.

 

Oh gods of endless space and sky,

Oh gods of underneath,

Oh gods who live and gods who die

And gods who wait beneath,

 

Accept these morsels from my hand,

Drink deep, and eat your fill.

I seek no benefits tonight

Unless you share my will.

 

– from The Book of Onei, Part 1: The Art of Night Wandering

Image by Henry Fuseli

To the Keeper of the Gate

The Book of Onei is an antinomian dream grimoire, providing deceptive yet true information about the art of Oneiromancy or dream magic in the form of poetry, fantasy, and intentionally ambiguous instructions.

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A prayer with offerings to gain entrance to the Borderlands:

 

Phantoms of the forest gather

In the shadows of the trees.

Hidden voices whisper, whisper.

I have come for all of these.

 

Praises to the guardian spirit,

Keeper of the in-between.

There are ways that I must wander,

And you know what ways I mean.

 

Here beneath the bone-white birches

And the blue-green spruce and pine

I have brought you bowls of chicken,

Goblets filled with rich red wine.

 

Spirit of the borders, hear me.

Throw the doors of twilight wide.

Tell the skulls that guard the pillars,

Grant me leave to pass inside.

 

– from The Book of Onei, Part 1: The Art of Night Wandering

Image by Arnold Böcklin

A Vade Mecum

Lucien Lévy-Dhurmer, Silence

The Book of Onei is an antinomian dream grimoire, providing deceptive yet true information about the art of Oneiromancy or dream magic in the form of poetry, fantasy, and intentionally ambiguous instructions.

1- Seek out darkness and silence.

2- Drift on the river of sleep and daydream.

3- Hear what the voices tell you; see what you see.

4- Record all glimpses of Onei, in daydream or nightdream.

5- Answer all riddles; complete all quests.

 

As hard at it can be to enter Onei intentionally, it is always possible to walk the Borderlands – the place in your mind between sleep and waking, between Earth and Onei. Spirits, dreams and messages from Onei will find you there.

 

I’ve lived here on the borders of the night,

Where dark divides from light.

I’ve walked the marches made of fire and snow.

 

Each night I lock the doors and close my eyes

To watch the rivers rise.

I’ve tasted all those memories- I know.

 

Though there are things that I can never mend,

If I could choose again

I’d take the path I took so long ago.

 

– from The Book of Onei, Part 1: The Art of Night Wandering

 

Image by Lucien Lévy-Dhurmer

Magic Harp-Strings

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The Book of Onei is an antinomian dream grimoire, providing deceptive yet true information about the art of Oneiromancy or dream magic in the form of poetry, fantasy, and intentionally ambiguous instructions.

 

Clouds roll across a purple sky.

The witch pours out a cup.

The orange coals of incense burn.

She knows the goblins, how they yearn

To come and eat us up.

The wind cries out as if it’s drunk.

The gods will soon be here.

The witch prepares a plate of meat.

The spirits come, and as they eat

She turns away in fear.

The Presence takes her, and her eyes

Roll up into her head.

Like passing clouds the spirits trace

Their shapes across her dreaming face,

The scriptures of the dead.

The gods are here, they’re always here,

Although they are not seen.

They walk across the purple skies

Or in a witch’s staring eyes

Or somewhere in between.

 

– From The Book of Onei, Part I: The Art of Night Wandering

Image by Franz Von Stuck