It is all coming together. I suspect my aunt June oppressed my grandmother, Mary Magdalene, who my aunt Lillian was said to be a friend of Annie Besant, who formed ties with the liberal Catholics. Annie would have been enthrawled with the Order of Saint Francis that our kindred were the leaders of.
At my second reading at the Berkeley Psychic Institute the woman reader saw me seated at a great oak oval table. Behind me stood a figure wearing a brown robe with a hood obscuring his face. I am the Master of the Brotherhood of the Rose Cross.
“Do you know who this person is?” she asked.
I see Mary Magdalene sitting on a beach in Ventura, alone. She is becoming enlightened. Everyone around her is holding her back, holding her down – to their level! All the people who have been holding me down, are now visible. I am alone. This is what I feared. Everyone I know played this fear.
Above is the Rosamond crest that depicts roses and a cross. Yu can not use a cross in your coat of arms, unless the family went on Crusade.
Mary Magdalene Rosamond and the Rose Brotherhood arranged the meeting of Rena Christiansen and I on the Venice Beach. We were married in the Cathedral of the Souls.
I now can see both my sisters in my daughter as she becomes unblocked by the idea she has no father, and is a Immaculate Conception.
John Of The Rose Cross
Theosophists who might have cared to wend their way to St. Mary’s Church, Caledonian Road (once a Wesleyan Chapel) on Sunday mornings June 12, 19, and 26, would have been entertained by the spectacle of Dr. Annie Besant, the aged President of the Theosophical Society, preaching on “Believe in the Light.” They would have seen her emerge from the presbytery during a processional hymn, heralded by candle-bearing acolytes, defended by a phalanx of six priests in purple birettas, and supported fore and aft by splendid bejewelled “Bishops” with towering mitres! Clouds of incense enfolded the throng and stifled the adjacent congregation, who were compensated by the rhythmical benedictions, showered from the cruciform movements of the episcopal fingers of Messrs. Arundale and Pigott! A deacon carried a huge pastoral staff to prove that they were true shepherds of souls!
The same march occurs a second time accompanied by the canopied host, held by a Bishop above the vast congregation of kneeling Theosophists; and again a third time to the strains of the final processional hymn.
I do not know what particular “Light” Mrs. Besant wishes her hearers to believe in, but I may express my conviction that the people are brought to this church by the personal authority of Mrs. Annie Besant and no other. It is no inner light that has drawn almost the whole of the Theosophical Society into this church, which was built up on “orders” obtained by bad faith and was forced upon the deluded Society by sophistry, besantry, and artifice unequalled in modern ecclesiastical history. It was, I believe, the conception of Mr. Wedgwood, aided by the powerful Leadbeater; but Annie Besant gave the word, and her word is law.
Bishops (from left): Adriaan Mazel, George Arundale, James Wedgwood, and Frank Pigott at George Arundale’s consecration as a Bishop, Huizen, 1925. Mrs Besant stands between Arundale and Wedgwood.
The service I witnessed on June 19 lasted two hours, and was accompanied by all the ritual familiar to the Roman Church, with Modernist changes. A portrait of “the Master” hangs over the illuminated altar and is suggestive of a composite of Christ and Krishnamurti!
The name “Christ our Lord” is used frequently in the liturgy, and occasionally “Jesus Christ our Lord.” Innocent Christians there believe they are worshipping the Gospel Saviour and Teacher. The “gnostic” Theosophists know better; they worship an unknown being whom they say drove out the soul of Jesus, dwelt in his body for three years, and escaped to safety just before the agony of the cross!
They ape the Roman Mass, which they interpret in the Leadbeaterian mode. Mrs. Besant preaches on “Transubstantiation” for fifteen minutes, of which she knows little, believes less, and tells nothing. It is truly a pitiful sight and painful hearing. She takes the sacrament from Mr. Arundale, genuflects before the “real presence,” crosses herself, and does all the acts which she has spent half her life in denouncing, and the other half in surpassing.
Having started out to lead us out of the bondage of ritual into the freedom of Theosophia, Divine Wisdom, she dedicates her closing years to lead us back again into it by the aid of an amateurish pantomime, devoid of historical tradition, sincerity, piety, or beauty.
I say no word of censure for the Roman office, though I do not believe in it; but this Liberal Catholic Church I know to be based on untruth, and built up by a manoeuvre, almost every detail of which I have exposed during ten years of Theosophical contest.
William Loftus Hare “Mrs. Besant and the Liberal Catholic Church” The O. E. Library Critic Vol. XVII, No. 2, September 1927.
See also: “Annie Besant, Theosophy and The Liberal Catholic Church” at: http://www.theosophycanada.com/files/lcc-annie-besant-lcc.pdf
by Walt Whitman
On the beach at night alone,
As the old mother sways her to and fro, singing her husky song,
As I watch the bright stars shining, I think a thought of the clef of the universes, and of the future.
A vast similitude interlocks all,
All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets
All distances of place however wide,
All distances of time, all inanimate forms,
All souls, all living bodies, though they be ever so different, or in different worlds,
All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes, the fishes, the brutes,
All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages,
All identities that have existed, or may exist, on this globe, or any globe,
All lives and deaths, all of the past, present, future,
This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann’d,
And shall forever span them and compactly hold and enclose them.