Petr Krylov
Tarot Magic
This book discusses the branch of esotericism that deals with event programming by Tarot cards.
The book draws on the authors many years experience reconstructing its theory and verifying it in practice.
In Russia, the book finds its online niche within the context of the Patience of Medici. Legend has it that the Patience of Medici is a magical practice that makes it possible to control the future.
Historical and literature sources have mentioned it under various names for hundreds of years.
Many think that they think, but few think that they think him.
And in their delusion, theyre mistaken that they think.
For only those think who think others.
Stalkerreklats
Chapter 1. Introduction to stalking
So, what is stalking?
Life is millions of options and thousands of roads.
But life is also tens of thousands of rules and limits that form its vicious circle, a maze you cant find your way out of.
Millions of bipedal predators tear to pieces the life of a newcomer to this world, getting him to run around their panopticon like a squirrel on a wheel.
I admit theres some truth to Russian thieves-in-laws view that society is a sheepfold, but I disagree that their outlook is the only true one.
People living in Caucasian mountain regions traditionally value the experience of gray-haired old men more than gold. The old men know many roads and paths through ice-covered passes, rent by bottomless abysses, sharp like the razor of hate, and inapproachable and death-threatening almost all year round. The experience and skill of the elders and their knowledge of their native land guaranteed the survival of the people in the years of hardship, when enemies and adversities came upon the peaceful toilers.
The elders were reverentially called Aqsaqals.
In forest areas, where the sun itself doesnt shed a straight ray across the ground, reflecting instead from myriads of living souls reaching out to it, the chaos of lifes wilderness can entangle the uninitiated into its thickets ever so deep until the traveler loses the strength to get back out. But even in those parts, there were those able to find, by visible signs, a way through lifes confusion and fearlessly set out into the depth of the taiga or the jungle, to return with trophies to those who loved and waited for them.
They were proudly called the Hunters.
In the heat haze of the desert, there appeared, like a mirage, the outline of someone striding like a clockwork soldier; and in a moment so short your mind hardly has time to believe it, the someone from the other world (after all, where he came from even lizards that didnt die in two or three years did die of surprise when they tried to calculate the possibility of that event just kidding) stood near you, giving off heat.
How had he survived in a place with neither water nor shadow for hundreds of miles around? How had he kept his sanity, hearing infinity swishing against timelessness? Exactly where had he come from and where was he going to? What was he looking for? Who had he saved, who would he save, and who would he punish?
With the respect and fear of incomprehension, people recounted his story like a legend to their children, calling him the Ranger.
And then, in leaps about one hundred yards long, branching into a tree of probabilities of what could happen next, a lightning came down, picking from the myriad scenarios for its descent the easiest and the most reliable ones those that kept energy loss to a minimum while offering as many options for further travel as possible.
And if someone doubts that the lightnings path was the best there could be, let them stand to be struck by it and feel, at the last moment of their life, that its power had not been wasted down the road from its birth to its death but that it had been preserved and even multiplied.
The lightning brought the surplus power from the sky down to the earth, restoring the balance.
This goes to show that stalking is not the monopoly of stalkers but the ancient art of survival and orientation, allowing you to understand the world and your place in it and to restore the worlds balance.
The stalker is the lightning of choice and the hunter of intention, the ranger of spirit, the Aksaqal of experience, and the universe itself trying to look into its own eyes to see its reflection and an understanding of itself.
Here are some features of stalking in brief:
1. Stalking is a magical practice over fifty thousand years old and a hermetic technique.
2. Unlike the many known kinds of magic, such as hypnosis, telekinesis, and pyrokinesis, stalking is not so much an outer technique as it is an inner one.
The meaning of stalking often lies in coadjusting oneself internally to the world or its individual parts. This can be done at various levels of consciousness, from physical to causal, with a variety of techniques and tools.
3. Stalking in its many facets is, in essence, the basis of magic itself, and it has never gained much notice because I do believe that there is actually no magic besides stalking in its various types and forms and that all kinds of magic known today are nothing more than schools slapping their labels on it.
4. Stalking is, first and foremost, the art of understanding the world and its goals and of knowing how to open a long, effective dialogue with the world seen as a part of stalking that serves its purposes.
Similarly, a cell learns how to enter into a dialogue with the whole body. And the cell that has mastered the art becomes a nerve cell of the world a stalker.
Chapter 2. How a magician becomes a stalker
To give you an example, I will describe, in a tongue-in-cheek yet frank presentation, the actual way of a magician evolving into a stalker.
Needless to say, the evolution takes years
And, as a rule, more than one life
and not everyone undergoes that evolution, for the not-yet-strong body of the young, self-assured magician is not up to digesting all jokes of magic
But lets not talk about sad things
So, heres the evolution of magicians sure nuff, with fast forwards.
As someone with some experience in spell-casting (something of a practitioner), I can tell you for sure. Imagine, as an example, that youre a magician and she, a princess, not just your average princess buta princess head over heels in love with you.
1. Spells are cast any old way. Whatever the old farts say is tripe; they dont know jack about magicand dont let others know Hold on Lemme get it done in a sec OOOOOONE
tswooo
freeeee Geez what was that?
come to think of it, how do princesses likethe pockmarked?
need to put a spell on a dazzlingprincess who enchants all okay not all I mean that princess there okay not dazzling but still enchanting hell shes got some teeth left, right? maybe a dental appointment would
2. Those who survived step 1 would be well-advised to rhyme their spells so that they come over the target like sea waves and by the way, the rhythm law on the tablet says the same. While that doesnt diminish the backlash, it makes it more pleasant and habitual: the backlash doesnt tear you in halves like a capelin but comes down on you pleasantly, making you get down on the pentacle, and whats more, the pattern left on the walls is much more beautiful than that you get from step 1
Geez, I do need to use rhymes Heres some poetry all right love even the cat is trying to snuggle up the princess is smiling smiling but shes smiling at the wrong one like the fool she is better throw in something stronger there you go get er with the iambic pentameter
Thats right Wooooow isnt that great Whats the end of that line?
Princess? No that doesnt rhyme. Too late, how come I didnt notice it didnt rhyme? If I say something now that doesnt rhyme, its gonna teeeeeeaaaaaaaaar ya in halves like a capeline! Gotta say something that rhymes right now Whatd I say?
Ooooops That wasnt me God help me I swear on my ass! Too late
3. This is for those who tried to practice (as true theorists) both step 1 and step 2 and, cussing and swaying on their feet, said Hell, somebody shoulda given me a warning. They dont make these pants anymore what am I gonna wear now?
Its worth giving a gentle reminder that putting a spell based on your own power is a little exhausting and that nobody does it that way anymore, except maybe when theyre in battle and all staffs and wands are already gone but the enemy in your rifle sight keeps coming out the woodwork, a situation you cant describe without cussing.
And, as a matter of fact, in magic academies you can hear people on the sidelines say that everything good is done not by the magician but on behalf of their astral roof (or their astral basement if their design preferences lie that way).
And, scratching their noggins, still smoking from steps 1 and 2, they leaf rapidly through a catalogue of astral roofs, basements, and oh so tiny mezzanines.
Those still in a position to stay in position pick what they want and then (feeling something bad about to come up after they practiced yelling the name of the roof and put on their least favorite pants and, come to think of it, slippers) proceed to step proceed
4. Well, they dont anymore they used to but boy does it drag you all over the pentacle!
Those who said it couldnt get any worse than step 3 are SNOT-NOSED KIDS!
Its quite another thing under the astral roof: when it comes crushing down on you, once and for all,
you understand you not only realized but are dead sure now that, hell, even though you were wrong about step 2 and especially so step 1, you were saying all those things about which step was it? Well, go find it yourselves Im just fine as I am, lying here on the blood-soaked mat like a meat pancake
When youre boxing with the floor, the ceiling, and the asphalt (whats the asphalt doing here? whatever, never mind), you begin to suspect vaguely that you forgot something something is missing, but theres nothing you can do so you move on to step
5. But the body takes its toll. The bastard wants to live so you understand that you aint never gonna drivethat clunker again or almost never. And even if you do jump in, you wont jump out the earth punches hard when it hits your face.
Perhaps youll lie down instead And why did they hang me out to dry?
Were a team here, right? Why am I the only one on the grind?
Look how many slackers we have cmon, get your ass in gear (dont go over the top with foul language; after all, were making a spell for the posterity what do you think they will make of it?)
Lay em here
They look just fine lying here. Not moving a muscle! Theyre real pros, looking alive the way they do. Their pictures oughta be in the textbooknext to Where it is thin, there it breaks.
After twenty or so passes (you were dying to cast a love-spell on the princess of a shabby empire; everyone was at least when they were still alive), it occurs to you that, just to be on the safe side, you should back up each system component and stabilize the channel, starting, while the going is good, with some three courp I mean, magicians.
Hurray, at least some folks survived the spell-casting.
True, half the mountain range is gone after all, and the island sits at a tilt, but what does matter is that the princess is in love yes, with everybody at once, but thats just a trifling side effect.
But now we can move on to step
Boy, I still remember how to count!
6. If you think about it thinking is something you need to do at step 6the clay tablets say the same written.. I mean carved two thousand years ago before AD before people came along dragons those that were left because they didnt get enough training and couldnt fly to otherworlds
Hell, Im so confused.
Never mind, you get the idea. Why make an apple when theres plenty around?
Just make sure its the right time and the right
place Theres a princess crossing the road dig those legs, right in front of a speeding truck, and here I come, on my white dra I mean, white hor
turns out Im a paramedic in white no, its too late to be a paramedic, the princess will never be the same now that shes just a heap of bones white, white white what? Got it a Mercedes. I wedged it in with a flourish between the truck and her, now shes indebted to me till the day she days, but what does she owe me? Were talking five years here, no less. No, its not a rape, guardian angels are supposed to
All right, a white truck. I swung the wheel with all might, directing the truck to a wall, a white one thats why the truck is white but the princess its all love mission complete and theres no backlash to speak of, although the truck thinks otherwise but hey, whos asking the truck?
After you practice step 6, changing the princess about a dozen times, step 7 logically follows.
7. Stay away from spell-casting theres a bunch of princesses out there, and at least one of them is yours especially if you
or she is your basically, its all the same all you have to do is give one of her sidesa polish
Thats how magicians get to be stalkers.
At least, those of them who survive, of course.
The key difference between magicians as we know them and stalkers is that stalkers dont reinvent the wheel or break through the tunnel of probabilities but take the existing paths and upward streams to go, with the greatest of ease, to the place the world needs them to be at the moment, playing the part the world needs them to play.
And the Traveler has enough roles and scenes
Chapter 3. Dont youget smart with me show mewith your finger where it is
Just kidding Heres one you might know
The Arctic Ocean The weather is windy, snowy, and the sky hangs cloudy 100 yards above. A Chukchi man bobs in a kayak on the lead-colored waves. He sits hunched up over the water, fishing for something that has no compass to migrate to Sochi or Turkey.
All of a sudden, the water gets all rough and bubbling, and a US submarine comes up and swings a hatch open. The captain climbs out, wearing a black coat, produces a phrasebook, and starts saying Im a second-rank captain, and who are you? in the dialects of Extreme North peoples. The Chukchi squints at him shortsightedly and, trying in vain to lift his head up, something hed never done because hed never had to, looks at him askance like a regular Russian pop singer and asks him, in perfect English, the same question geologists ask when someone comes upon them on the third day of their search for oil in bottle crates.
What the f do you want, soldier?
The captain replies, bewildered, trying to speak English as well as the Chukchi, Would Sir Chukchi be so kind as to tell me the way to God-blessed America?
The Chukchi says, Course south-southeast, 250 miles, and be careful with those jars near the shore. The flabbergasted captain gloomily climbs down into the hatch and vanishes out of sight. The Chukchi keeps right on fishing for something that had gotten too hot in the tropics and, if the horoscopes can be trusted, returned to cool down to make a good snack for your beer.
The water gets bubbling and foaming again, and a Russian submarine comes up, swaying heavily.
A boatswain climbs out on all fours, feeling no pain, and shouts down the hatch, Cmon, thaz not a problem we donneed no compass ta figure it out! We ad two liters o spirit that woulda gone to waste otherwise! Then he looks at the Eskimo and, trying to focus his eyes on him, cries in a hoarse bass voice, Hey, Chukchi, which way do we take to Murmansk? The Chukchi replies, South-west-west, 560 kilometers, but be careful not to tip that submarine over when you go down. And the boatswain yells at him angrily, Doncha get smart with me, you snip show me with ya finger where it is!