I Will Tell You of Atlantis.

Come here, my friends and I shall tell you, tell you of Atlantis.

It stirs something deep in our souls,

something that is lost, that wants to be found.

The Siren's songs echoes in the waves, beckoning.

I see a city; part in ruin, part within the Hollow Earth and some, home to colonies of carbuncles.

The oceans certainly meant to swallow it all whole.

It is lost. Like the Library of Alexandria, it is lost.

Like the 50 miles of temperature-controlled shelving below the Vatican, it is lost.

Like the sacred groves of Druids, it is lost.

Yet, not to the rivers, not to the seas.

Within the God like power of oceans lies the remnants of the Ancient City.

It calls to us to remember when we guarded the Knowledge.

Truths, long past, lost, turned to ash, turned to dust, turned to silt.

Every molecule in our body has shared every incarnation of memory it has been apart of physically, mystically and psychicly. We can remember what it is like to be a tree.

We can remember what it was like to breathe underwater.

We did it for nine months, naturally.

Atlantis Magick calls to us; singing far below the waves.

It calls to us, 'return to me, my people, return to yourselves.’