“Let him who seeks cease not to seek until he finds, and when he finds he will be astonished and when he is astonished, he will wonder and will reign over the universe”.
Gnostic Gospel of Thomas
It is more than a little ironic that I find myself trapped inside a cast iron mould for there was a time when I was very young that I asked myself “what is a stone?” I was way ahead of Carl Jung and spent my time asking stones of all shapes and sizes to reveal their inner most secrets. I was rewarded with rich insights about life and the connection between everything.
As a boy I read that in the 3rd century AD Cleopatra the Alchemist was a Greek alchemist, author, and philosopher. She experimented with practical alchemy and is credited as one of the four female alchemists who could produce the philosopher’s stone. I also heard stories of how alchemists, claiming to be able to produce gold, were imprisoned, tortured, or executed when they failed to deliver. Apparently, in 1404 King Henry IV of England signed a law making it a felony to create gold and silver out of thin air.
Unsurprisingly no one was deterred by such proclamations. Just as bootlegging thrived during the years of Prohibition, alchemists took little heed of the ever present threat of being tortured in very gruesome ways. To be honest, it only served to make the whole endeavour more tantalising.
I had heard of recipes being passed between alchemists and longed to acquire some of them. Unfortunately I lived out of a big town and it was practically impossible for me to access the books, filled with material dating back to antiquity, that were tucked in quiet corners of stores such people frequented.
When I did manage to find something, it was like I was reading a cryptic riddle. Obsessed with secrecy alchemists deliberately described their work in metaphorical terms and their so-called recipes included suggestions like, mix the divine with arsenic but make sure the astrological constellation is favourable. One chapter that I poured over actually talked about having faith, praying to God and keeping my house in order.
Despite the esoteric, cryptic nature of this material, I persisted and found some advice that gave me a starting point. Apparently, I needed to build and keep fires going. However, our living conditions were crowded and my mother was worried about me setting the whole place on fire, so I built my first furnace out in the woods. Under cover of darkness I gradually assembled a collection of what might now be called laboratory devices. I did not want the inquisitive to find and see what I was doing. I was painfully aware that I and everyone associated with me, could end up in front of the inquisition and hung from a tree branch for doing something like this.
Undeterred by singeing my eyebrows and burning my arms and legs I worked day and night and began to enjoy success of sorts. I was literally a prisoner, held captive by the drive to work harder and unravel the mysteries. But then a rumour went around that I was a black magician who was conspiring with demons and I had to flee for fear of being subjected to the kind of torture I alluded to earlier.
Older, and perhaps not that much wiser, I set up in even more remote, wild places and hired servants to keep the fires burning twenty-four seven. This was essential as if they were to go out we would have to start from scratch. I also paid a corrupt priest to turn a blind eye to what I was conjuring out in the woods.
Unfortunately, the ruler of my region was a wastrel who had squandered her money supporting what might now be known as ‘toy boys’. When word reached her that I was turning metal into gold she sent a messenger demanding that I come and refill the coffers. I had heard stories of others like me being kidnapped and forced to make gold and so I fled seeking even more remote hiding places.
Of course, the truth is that the only gold I made was true gold but I am not about to divulge how I did that. I will leave that to some rising, modern day influencer to figure that out.
Wild Mother Calling 