Chapter 15 of 18
The Faces of the Day
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You have met the planet, the angel, and the weekday itself. Those are the near faces of the Day, the ones that look back at you from almost any calendar you have ever used. But the same seven powers wear many more masks than those, and the Day surface can show any of them when the moment asks for it. A spirit out of a Renaissance handbook, a name spoken once in a hotel room in Cairo, a beast set over a weekday by people who watched animals more closely than we do, a tea steeped to match a planet’s temper, a seal drawn in coloured ink in a Solomonic manuscript: these are further faces of the same seven, and not one of them is a stranger to the others.
The trick to reading any of them is to hold the weekday spine in mind. Each day belongs to a planet. Saturn keeps Saturday, the Sun keeps Sunday, the Moon keeps Monday, and so down the week, the same order the hours have followed since antiquity. Hang any tradition on that spine and it falls into place at once, because every tradition was already hung there. The Olympic spirit of Saturn, the bear that dens through winter, the dark aged tea, the Saturnine seal: meet any of them and you have met the same slow patient power, only dressed differently. What follows is a tour of those wardrobes.
The Olympic Spirits of the Arbatel
In 1575 a small Latin handbook was printed at Basel under the title Arbatel de magia veterum, the Arbatel of the magic of the ancients. It is one of the soberest of the old magical books, more a manual of piety and good counsel than a book of conjurations, and at its heart it divides the visible heaven among seven governors it calls the Olympic Spirits. Each rules one planet, one weekday, and a fixed number of the provinces of heaven. The numbers are not random: each spirit’s tally of kings is a multiple of seven, the planetary number, descending as you fall from the slowest sphere to the nearest. They are the planets given names and offices, and the Day shows them as the tradition-face of each weekday.
Aratron
Aratron is the eldest of the seven, the Olympic Spirit of Saturn, and the Arbatel hangs on him the epithet Lord of Lead and Time. He rules the outermost and slowest sphere, and his dominion is the slow hidden side of the world: agriculture and the working of stone, alchemy, long life, treasure buried in the earth, the granting of familiar spirits. Whatever endures by patience and whatever is found only by digging answers to him. His reckoning runs to forty-nine kings, the square of the planetary seven, and the tradition counts him at four hundred and ninety years.
The upright face of Saturn is endurance, structure, the discipline that builds something lasting. Its shadow is the same force gone cold: melancholy, and the heart that buries its treasure and forgets where. To work with Aratron is to take limit as a teacher rather than a punishment. He is the same Saturn-note you will find worn as the angel Cassiel who rules Saturday, as Binah at the head of the dark pillar of the Tree, as Greek Kronos and Roman Saturn of the sown field, as Hindu Shani the slow stern judge. Lead, onyx, the colour black: these are not loose associations but the one Saturn looked at through different doors.
When Aratron is the face of your day, the day asks for patience rather than push. Finish the slow thing; mend the foundation; sit with what you have been avoiding. Read him as permission to go deep and slow, and as a caution not to mistake hoarding for security.
Saturn · Earth · Binah · black · lead · onyx · Saturday · The World
Bethor
Where Aratron contracts, Bethor expands. The Olympic Spirit of Jupiter governs the sphere just within Saturn’s, and the Arbatel names him the Bestower of Riches and Long Life. He is the most openly generous of the seven, the spirit who raises people up and opens doors that were shut: dignities and high office, reconciliation between enemies, treasure gained honestly, the prolonging of life, command over the spirits of the upper air. His tally is forty-two kings, six times the planetary seven.
The upright Jupiter-virtue is magnanimity, the wide hand that gives without keeping score; the shadow is excess and pride, the bloat of one who confuses largeness with greatness. Bethor teaches that real authority is the kind people are glad to serve. He is the Jupiter-note you will meet again as the angel Sachiel of Thursday, as Chesed the sphere of mercy, as Zeus and Jupiter the cloud-gatherer, as Norse Thor whose day Thursday still carries, as Hindu Brihaspati the guru of the gods. Tin, royal blue, the open hand: turn any of them and the same expansive mercy looks back.
When his is the face you meet, the day favours growth and reconciliation. Ask for what you need; mend a quarrel; make the larger gesture. Read him as the green-light day, the day to be generous first and trust that it returns.
Jupiter · Air and Fire · Chesed · blue · tin · sapphire · Thursday · Wheel of Fortune
Phaleg
Phaleg is the War-Captain among the seven, the Olympic Spirit of Mars, crowned by the tradition as the Iron-Crowned War-Captain. His name carries the old root of division and battle, and he is the cutting edge of the heavens: war and the honour won in arms, courage under pressure, victory in any contest, the clean decisiveness of a thing settled by strength. Every situation that must be fought for and every fear that must be walked through answers to him. His tally is thirty-five kings, five times the planetary seven.
The upright Mars-virtue is courage, the will that acts when action is costly; the shadow is cruelty, the temper that breaks what it could have built. Phaleg teaches that the sword is for the defence of what you love, not the proof of what you are. The same Mars-note sounds as Samael or Kamael of Tuesday, as Geburah the rigour that prunes, as Ares and Mars the field-guardian, as Norse Tiw whose day Tuesday keeps, as Hindu Mangala the red planet of the warrior. Iron, red, the bloodstone: each is a doorway onto the one fierce will.
When his is the day’s face, the work is to act, to defend a boundary, to do the brave hard thing first. Read him as a call to courage and as a caution: aim the force, and never let the heat outrun the cause.
Mars · Fire · Geburah · red · iron · ruby · Tuesday · The Tower
Och
Och stands at the heart of the seven as the Sun stands at the heart of the sky, the Olympic Spirit of the Sun, named the Perfecter of Medicine and the Stone. He is the great healer and the great alchemist among the spirits: gold and the perfecting of metals, healing and the making of perfect medicines, wisdom, the prolonging of life. The Arbatel famously credits him with the power to grant six hundred years of perfect health. His tally is twenty-eight kings, four times the planetary seven and itself a perfect number.
The upright solar virtue is radiance that warms without burning, the generous centre; the shadow is vanity, the centre that demands worship. Och teaches that the true sun gives its light away. He is the Sun-note worn as the archangel Michael of Sunday, as Tiphareth the heart of the Tree, as Helios and Apollo, as Egyptian Ra, as Hindu Surya in his chariot. Sun, gold, Tiphareth, Michael, the healed and radiant heart are facets of one thing, and to find any is to find them all.
When his is the day’s face, the day is yours to centre and to shine in. Do the thing that is most truly yours; heal something; be generous with your light. Read him as the day of vitality, of standing in your own warmth without needing the room to revolve around you.
Sun · Fire · Tiphareth · gold · gold · diamond · Sunday · The Sun
Hagith
Hagith is the spirit of attraction itself, the Olympic Spirit of Venus, named Rose-Crowned, Transmuter of Copper to Gold. Her dominion is beauty and adornment, love and friendship, the making of the unloved into the loved, and the transmutation of base metals into gold, for Venus is the alchemist of relation as well as of substance. Whatever is drawn together by desire and held together by affection answers to her. Her tally is twenty-one kings, three times the planetary seven.
The upright Venusian virtue is love freely given, the harmony that reconciles; the shadow is possessiveness, love that grasps, beauty made into a snare. Hagith teaches that to be loved you must first be willing to love. She is the Venus-note worn as Anael or Haniel of Friday, as Netzach the warm green sphere of feeling, as Aphrodite born of the sea-foam, as Roman Venus of the garden, as Norse Freya whose day Friday carries, as Hindu Shukra the bright morning star. Copper, green, the emerald, the open heart: all are the one love in the dress of its tradition.
When hers is the day’s face, the day is for connection and beauty. Reach toward someone; make peace; make something lovely; let yourself be drawn. Read her as the day to lead with the heart and to remember that affection given is not lost.
Venus · Earth and Water · Netzach · green · copper · emerald · Friday · The Empress
Ophiel
Ophiel is the quick and clever governor of the swiftest planet, the Olympic Spirit of Mercury, named Messenger, Master of Arts and Sciences. His dominion is communication and commerce, the arts and sciences, alchemy and especially the fixing of quicksilver, and the granting of familiar spirits. All that passes between minds and all that turns one thing skilfully into another answers to him. His tally is fourteen kings, twice the planetary seven; the Arbatel says he can give a hundred thousand familiar spirits at need and teach all arts swiftly.
The upright Mercurial virtue is intelligence, eloquence, the bridge-building mind; the shadow is trickery, the silver tongue that deceives, cleverness without conscience. Ophiel teaches that the mind is a tool that takes the shape of the hand that holds it. He is the Mercury-note worn as the archangel Raphael of Wednesday, as Hod the sphere of intellect, as Hermes the messenger and guide of souls, as Roman Mercury of merchants and travellers, as Egyptian Thoth the scribe, as Norse Odin whose day Wednesday still bears. Quicksilver, the opal, the winged sandal: each is the same restless intelligence through a different window.
When his is the day’s face, the day rewards thought, words, and exchange. Write the message; make the deal; learn the thing; move quickly and lightly. Read him as the day for the mind and the tongue, and as a reminder that cleverness is best when it is also kind.
Mercury · Air and Water · Hod · orange · quicksilver · opal · Wednesday · The Magician
Phul
Phul governs the nearest and swiftest-changing sphere, the Olympic Spirit of the Moon, named Silver-Crowned Lord of the Tides. His dominion is water and all its creatures, the transmutation of metals into silver, the healing of the diseases of water, long life, and the familiars of the waters. He is the closest of the seven to the body and to the changing moods of ordinary life. His tally is seven kings, the planetary number itself, the smallest of the seven, for the Moon is the lowest of the heavens and nearest the earth.
The upright lunar virtue is sensitivity, memory, the soul that reflects and nourishes; the shadow is moodiness and illusion, the changeable heart that mistakes its own tides for truth. Phul teaches that to feel the tides is wisdom, to be drowned by them is not. He is the Moon-note worn as the archangel Gabriel of Monday, as Yesod the sphere of the astral tides, as Selene and Artemis, as Roman Diana, as Egyptian Khonsu and Isis, as Norse Mani whose day Monday keeps. Silver, the pearl, the reflecting water: each is the one Moon seen from a different shore.
When his is the day’s face, the day belongs to feeling, rest, dream, and the body’s rhythm. Tend yourself; listen inward; do not force what wants to flow at its own pace. Read him as the day to honour your tides rather than fight them.
Moon · Water · Yesod · silver · silver · pearl · Monday · The High Priestess
The Thelemic Names
The next set of faces is the youngest in the book and asks to be read with a steady hand. In April 1904, in a flat in Cairo, the English writer Aleister Crowley recorded over three days a short text he called Liber AL vel Legis, the Book of the Law, and made it the founding scripture of the movement he named Thelema, from the Greek for will. The figures named in it and in his later visionary writing are drawn mostly from Egyptian funerary religion, reread through the lens of his own system. We set them down here soberly, as history and as symbol, hung on the same weekday spine as everything else. Several are figures of light; one is a figure of dissolution recorded plainly as the tradition gives it, not as anything to be courted. Read them as the tradition’s own statements of what each principle meant, not as instructions.
Nuit
Nuit is the first speaker of the Book of the Law, Crowley’s reading of the Egyptian sky-goddess Nut who arches her star-spangled body across the whole of the heavens. In Thelema she is Infinite Space and the Stars Thereof, the boundless that contains all possibility. The famous line “Every man and every woman is a star” is hers. Her colour is the deep blue-black of the night sky; in the correspondence she answers to the great zero from which all number unfolds, the unbounded against which a single point is defined. The upright face of this principle is openness, the willingness to contain all experience without grasping; its shadow is the dissolution that refuses all form.
She is the all-containing feminine ground in a modern skin, the same note sounded by the Gnostic Sophia, by the Kabbalistic Ain Soph, by Hindu Shakti as the field of manifestation, by the Taoist uncarved infinite. Set over Sunday here, she frames the day as one of openness: the field is wide, nothing is yet fixed, you may choose your course freely. Read her as an invitation to want without fear of the wanting, and to let the day be larger than your plan for it.
Sun · star-blue · the zero · Sunday
Hadit
Hadit is the speaker of the second chapter, his name drawn from the Egyptian winged solar disk. Where Nuit is the circumference that contains, Hadit is the centre that experiences: the Winged Secret Flame, the dimensionless point at the heart of every experience, the spark of self that looks out. His emblem is the winged globe; his image is fire and a serpent. The upright face of this principle is presence, the vivid first-person aliveness of being here at all; its shadow is the contraction into a self that forgets it is one star among infinite stars. He is not a god to be served but the witness at your core.
He is the indivisible point of consciousness in a modern skin, the same note as the Hindu Atman, as the spark of Kether reflected in each soul, as the Hermetic centre whose circumference is nowhere. The eternal pairing of point and circle, flame and sky, is the figure the Taoists drew as the seed-dot within each half of the great wheel. Set over Monday, Hadit turns the day inward: the question is less what is around you than who is here experiencing it. Read him as a call to inhabit your own point of view fully rather than watching your life from outside.
Moon · Fire · the point · Monday
Therion
Therion is the Greek word for beast, the title Crowley took for himself. In his wider writing it names the solar generative force in flesh, the masculine pole that finds its fulfilment in being given over to a great work. The number 666, drawn from the Book of Revelation, he computed as a solar number, “the number of a man,” not a sign of evil. His colour is gold; he answers to the solar Tiphareth current. Read soberly, he is the masculine pole of a union, not a figure of menace: the upright face is generative strength offered in service, the sun that gives its light to the whole; the shadow is force used for its own glorification.
He is the solar generative force in a modern skin, the same note as Hindu Shiva paired with Shakti, as the alchemical sol joined to luna, as the bridegroom of the sacred marriage found across the traditions. Set over Tuesday, he calls you to bring your full force to bear and offer it toward something larger than yourself, rather than spending it on display. Strength offered up is greater than strength kept for show.
Sun · Fire · Tiphareth · gold · 666 · Tuesday
Aiwass
Aiwass is the name Crowley gave the voice he reported dictating the Book of the Law, identified in his account as “the minister of Hoor-paar-kraat,” the god of silence. Whether one reads him as a discarnate intelligence, as Crowley’s own higher self, or as the Holy Guardian Angel of the older grimoires, his office is transmission: the carrying of a message from the silent god to the human scribe. He answers to the Mercurial current of message. The upright face is genuine inspiration, the sense of receiving something larger than the self; its shadow, read soberly, is the danger of mistaking one’s own voice for a higher one, or of surrendering judgement to a supposed authority. He stands for the discipline of listening as much as for the gift of being spoken to.
He is the messenger-of-revelation in a modern skin, the same office as the angel who dictates to the prophets, as the daimon that counselled Socrates, as Hermes the herald, as the Holy Guardian Angel whose knowledge and conversation the older magicians sought above all. Set over Wednesday, the day of Mercury and the messenger, he favours listening, receiving, and faithful transmission: notice what arrives unbidden, write down the thought from nowhere, but test it. Be a good channel, alert to inspiration and careful with it.
Mercury · Air · Hod · orange · 93 · Wednesday
Ra-Hoor-Khuit
Ra-Hoor-Khuit is the speaker of the third chapter and the active half of the composite deity Heru-Ra-Ha, joining the sun-god Ra with Horus to give the hawk-headed solar warrior. In Crowley’s reading he is the Crowned and Conquering Child, presiding power of what he called the Aeon of Horus, said to have begun in 1904. His image is the hawk-headed man enthroned; his colours the fierce gold and red of the midday sun. The upright face of this principle is righteous force, courage that defends and decides; the shadow is force without restraint, vengeance that outruns justice. He is paired always with the silence of his twin, Hoor-paar-kraat.
He is the solar warrior in a modern skin, the same note as Michael with his sword, as Hindu Skanda the war-born son of the sun-line, as Norse Tyr who gives his hand for justice, as Apollo whose arrows are sunlight. Set over Thursday here, he favours direct, decisive action and the defence of what is right. Read him as a green light for the clean cut and the clear decision, tempered always by the reminder that his twin is silence.
Sun · Fire · Tiphareth · gold and red · Thursday
Babalon
Babalon is a central figure of Crowley’s later visionary writing, elaborated in The Vision and the Voice of 1909. The spelling is deliberate, drawn from the Babylon of the Book of Revelation but reread: not a figure of condemnation but of sacred ecstasy and surrender. She is Our Lady of Babylon, the Cup of the Saints, the grail that holds the blood of those who have given themselves up. Her colours are scarlet and gold; her emblems the cup and the woman who rides the beast; she answers to the Venusian and Binah current, love joined to the great mother-sea. The upright face of this principle is unconditional self-giving, the ecstasy of surrender that dissolves the grasping self; read shallowly, its shadow is the loss of self that becomes mere abandon.
She is the great receptive mother in a modern skin, the same note as the Gnostic Sophia in her fallen and redeemed aspect, as Binah the supernal sea that receives all, as Kali who dances on her consort, as the Christian grail. The image of the cup that contains everything is far older than the Book of Revelation. Set over Friday, the day of Venus, she favours wholehearted giving and the letting-go of self-protection. The deepest union requires the willingness to be given up.
Venus · Water · Binah · scarlet · Friday
Set / Choronzon
This last Thelemic face is recorded soberly, exactly as the tradition gives it, and it is plainly not a thing to be courted. Set is the old Egyptian god of the desert and storm, the necessary adversary of the divine order. Choronzon is the demon of dispersion that Crowley and Victor Neuburg recorded encountering in the Sahara in 1909, named in the Golden Dawn and Thelemic cosmology as the guardian of the Abyss, the gulf that separates the lower spheres from the three supernals, associated with the false sephirah Daath. His number is 333, the number of dispersion; his emblem the storm and the desert waste.
The face this figure shows is almost wholly shadow: the chaos that scatters, the despair of the crossing. The tradition’s teaching is not that anyone should seek him, but that the work of growth eventually demands the dissolution of a false and partial self, and that from inside, that dissolution feels like meeting him. He is the adversary-at-the-threshold in a modern skin, the same office as Egyptian Apep the serpent that Ra must pass each night, as the desert temptation the hermits met in the wilderness, as the dark night of the soul of the Christian mystics. The figure who guards the crossing must be passed, not defeated.
Set over Saturday here, he may carry a sense of an old certainty coming apart. Read him not as a curse but as a marker: the day asks you to let a false or outworn self loosen its grip, to hold steady through fragmentation rather than clutching at the pieces. The crossing is passed by endurance, not by force, and the gulf is meant to be crossed.
Saturn · Daath · black · 333 · Saturday
The Sacred Animals
Long before anyone wrote down a planet’s metal or a sephirah’s number, people read the week in animals. A creature seen clearly is a planet you can watch move. This set hangs seven beasts on the weekday spine, each one the planet’s temper given fur or feather or scale, each one carrying an archetype you can feel in your own body when the day turns its way. They are not literal totems handed down from any single nation; they are the planetary virtues read in the animal that wears them most plainly.
| Day | Animal | The face it shows | The planet it carries |
|---|---|---|---|
| Monday | Wolf | The Teacher, Pathfinder of New Ways | the Moon’s loyalty and feeling |
| Tuesday | Hawk | The Messenger, Visionary Scout | Mars’s keen decisive strike |
| Wednesday | Fox | The Clever One, Trickster of Pathways | Mercury’s wit and boundary-crossing |
| Thursday | Eagle | The Illumined Mind, Spirit Messenger | Jupiter’s noble height |
| Friday | Deer | The Gentle Power, Grace That Disarms | Venus’s drawing gentleness |
| Saturday | Bear | The Introspect, Keeper of Dreamtime | Saturn’s deep inward patience |
| Sunday | Salmon | The Homecoming, Wisdom Through Return | the Sun’s radiant return to its source |
Wolf
The wolf is the wild that still answers to loyalty, hunting in a bonded pack under a leader, at once the feared raider and the wise guide of folklore. Its upright virtue is loyal pathfinding, the strength that serves the whole and finds the track for others; its shadow is the lone predator, the leader who becomes a tyrant. The wolf teaches that the freest creature still chooses to belong. It is the pathfinding teacher in fur, the same note as the wolf-guides of the shamanic traditions, the Roman she-wolf who fostered the city’s founders, the Norse wolves who run beside the moon and the sun. Set over Monday beside Gabriel and Phul, it asks you to find the way forward and remember who runs at your side.
Moon · Water · Yesod · grey-silver · silver · Monday · The High Priestess
Hawk
The hawk hangs high on the wind and stoops in a single decisive plunge, the far-seeing herald whose sight misses nothing and whose strike is sure. Its upright virtue is keen-sighted courage, vision joined to the decisive act; its shadow is the predator’s coldness, the strike made without need. The hawk teaches that true courage begins with clear sight. It is the martial scout in feather, the same note as the hawk of Horus the avenging solar warrior, the falcon loosed to the hunt. Set over Tuesday beside Samael and Phaleg, it favours clear sight joined to decisive action: take the high view, pick your target, then strike without hesitation.
Mars · Fire · Geburah · russet-red · iron · Tuesday · The Tower
Fox
The fox is the cunning crosser of boundaries, equally at home in field and farmyard, slipping unseen between the wild and human worlds, the byword for quick thinking. Its upright virtue is cleverness and adaptability, the wit that finds a path where others see a wall; its shadow is trickery for its own sake, cunning without honour. The fox teaches that wit is a tool whose worth depends on the hand that uses it. It is the Mercurial trickster in fur, the same note as Reynard of the fables, the Japanese kitsune of the boundary, the clever messengers that Mercury and Hermes govern. Set over Wednesday beside Raphael and Ophiel, it rewards wit and the clever crossing of a boundary you thought was closed.
Mercury · Air · Hod · copper-red · quicksilver · Wednesday · The Magician
Eagle
The eagle flies highest of all and is said to gaze unblinking into the sun. Where the hawk scouts the field, the eagle rises above it entirely, king of the air and carrier of the soul toward the heights. Its upright virtue is the illumined view, the noble expansiveness that sees the whole and judges generously; its shadow is the pride of the heights, the disdain that looks down. The eagle teaches that the higher you rise the wider you should see. It is the Jovian king of the air in feather, the same note as the eagle of Zeus that carries the thunderbolt, the eagle as emblem of empire, the bird that bears the soul to heaven. Set over Thursday beside Sachiel and Bethor, it favours the larger view and the rise toward something higher.
Jupiter · Air · Chesed · gold-brown · tin · Thursday · Wheel of Fortune
Deer
The deer is the soft-eyed creature of the forest edge, swift, alert, and utterly without aggression, whose beauty moves the heart of every hunter who pauses to watch it. Its upright virtue is gentle power, the grace that disarms hostility; its shadow is the timidity that flees every challenge, gentleness that cannot hold its ground. The deer teaches that softness is its own kind of strength, that grace can move what force only hardens. It is the Venusian grace in hide, the same note as the deer sacred to Artemis, the hind that leads heroes to enchanted country, the soft-eyed creatures of the love-poems of every land. Set over Friday beside Anael and Hagith, it favours the soft approach: disarm a quarrel with tenderness, let your kindness do the work.
Venus · Earth · Netzach · fawn-brown · copper · Friday · The Empress
Bear
The bear is the great solitary beast that withdraws into the dark of the den through the long winter, sleeping and dreaming before its spring return, the keeper of the cave and guardian of the inward season. Its upright virtue is restorative introspection, the strength that withdraws to renew itself; its shadow is the withdrawal that becomes mere isolation, the den that becomes a hiding-place. The bear teaches that the deepest strength is gathered in the dark and the still. It is the Saturnine keeper of the inward season in hide, the same note as the bear sacred to Artemis of the wild places, the bear-dreamers of the old northern traditions, the constellation of the Great Bear that turns slow about the still pole. Set over Saturday beside Cassiel and Aratron, it calls for withdrawal and rest: turn inward, honour your dreams, gather your strength in the quiet of the den.
Saturn · Earth · Binah · dark brown · lead · Saturday · The World
Salmon
The salmon travels far out into the open sea and then, after years, swims back against the current to the very stream where it was born. In the old Celtic lore the Salmon of Wisdom ate the nine hazelnuts of knowledge and became the wisest of all creatures. Its upright virtue is the wisdom of return, the courage to swim against the current toward the source; its shadow is the exhaustion of the one who returns too late, or the refusal to come home at all. The salmon teaches that the deepest wisdom is found by returning to your origin carrying all you have learned. It is the solar homecoming in scale, the same note as the Salmon of Wisdom of Irish legend, the sun that returns each dawn, the hero’s return at the end of every quest. Set over Sunday beside Michael and Och, it calls you home to your centre and to the wisdom of your own journey.
Sun · Water · Tiphareth · silver-rose · gold · Sunday · The Sun
The Planetary Teas
Here is the most domestic set of faces in the book, and the proof that the spine reaches all the way down into your own kitchen. Seven teas, one for each planet, chosen so that the leaf’s own temper matches the planet it serves. You do not need a temple or a special hour for these; a kettle and a quiet few minutes are enough, and the cost of a packet of tea is the cost of the whole rite. The grand power that the Olympic spirit wields over a whole sphere is the same power steeped small, brought down to the steadying or the brightening of a single ordinary day. The same Saturn that governs longevity and buried treasure grounds your restless evening in a dark cup; it is one depth at two scales.
| Day | Tea | Element & character | The planet it steeps |
|---|---|---|---|
| Monday | Gyokuro | Water; jade-dew, deep and inward | the Moon’s tides and dream-states |
| Tuesday | Lapsang Souchong | Fire; pine-smoked, warming and fortifying | Mars’s bracing fire |
| Wednesday | Sencha | Air; grassy, bright and clarifying | Mercury’s quick clarity |
| Thursday | Earl Grey | Air; bergamot-crowned, expansive and noble | Jupiter’s gracious lift |
| Friday | Rose Oolong | Earth-Water; floral, gently sweet | Venus’s heart-opening tenderness |
| Saturday | Pu-erh (aged) | Earth; long-aged, earthy and grounding | Saturn’s patient depth |
| Sunday | Golden Yunnan | Fire; solar gold, honeyed and bright | the Sun’s vitality |
Gyokuro, the lunar tea, is the finest of the Japanese greens, its bushes shaded from the sun for weeks before picking so the leaves grow deep and sweet. Its name means “jade dew,” and it brews to a soft, almost oceanic sweetness that draws the mind toward the lunar tides. A cup of it is the Moon’s tenderness made drinkable, the same force Phul wields over the great tides brought down to the soft inward tide of your own evening. On Monday it invites you to let the mind soften and make room for dream.
Lapsang Souchong, the Martial tea, is dried over smoking pinewood fires until it takes on its unmistakable smoke, bold and warming and fortifying, the cup with fire in its making. It is the war-spirit’s fire made drinkable, the same Mars-force Phaleg wields in battle brought down to the bracing of your own body before the day’s contest. The tea dried over fire carries the fire into you; on Tuesday it asks you to gather your strength and meet the day warm.
Sencha, the Mercurial tea, is the everyday green tea of Japan, steamed rather than pan-fired, brewing to a clear grassy cup that sharpens the wit and clears the head. It is the messenger-spirit’s quickness made drinkable, the same Mercury-force Ophiel wields in arts and letters brought down to the sharpening of your own thought. On Wednesday it rewards a clear, quick mind: clear your head, then write and speak and decide.
Earl Grey, the Jovian tea, is black tea crowned with the bright oil of bergamot, long the byword for a refined, generous cup that tastes of occasion. It is the great benefactor’s expansiveness made drinkable, the same Jupiter-force Bethor wields in raising and reconciling brought down to the lifting of your own spirits. On Thursday it favours openness and the gracious gesture: lift your mood, think on the larger scale.
Rose Oolong, the Venusian tea, is partly oxidised oolong scented with rose petals so the floral sweetness rises through the smooth leaf, the cup that opens the heart. It is the love-spirit’s grace made drinkable, the same Venus-force Hagith wields over beauty and bonds brought down to the opening of your own heart. The rose laid among the leaf is the planet’s own flower in the cup; on Friday it asks you to let yourself feel and reach toward connection.
Pu-erh (aged), the Saturnine tea, is the dark fermented tea of Yunnan, aged for years or decades in pressed cakes before it is drunk. Time is its making: it is the only one of the seven improved by age, and so the truest Saturn-cup, the one whose own nature is patience. A cup of it settles the nervous mind, the same Saturn-force Aratron wields over stone and time brought down to the steadying of your own evening. On Saturday it calls for patience and grounding: brew the deep dark cup, slow down, let the day settle.
Golden Yunnan, the solar tea, is the black tea of Yunnan picked with an abundance of golden tips, brewing to a bright amber-gold cup, rich and honeyed and smooth. It carries solar gold in its very leaf. A cup of it is the solar spirit’s vitality made drinkable, the same Sun-force Och wields over gold and healing brought down to the brightening of your own morning. On Sunday it invites you to wake your warmth and shine from your centre.
The Planetary Pentacles
The last set of faces is drawn in ink rather than steeped or grown. The Key of Solomon, the Clavicula Salomonis, is the most influential of the figured-talisman grimoires, copied through the late-medieval and Renaissance manuscript tradition and finally edited from the British Library copies by S. L. MacGregor Mathers in 1889. It gives each planet a set of pentacles: circular figures inscribed with divine names and verses, each cut on the planet’s own day and hour and each made for a single named purpose. They are the planet’s authority condensed into a drawn seal, and on the Day they surface as a tradition-face of the weekday they belong to.
Read them not as instructions to cut a literal talisman, but as the tradition records them: each names the exact work its planet’s day is shaped for, the door that stands open under that planet’s hand. The same Saturnine command that the Olympic spirit Aratron holds by his office and the angel Cassiel holds by his rank is here pressed into an inscribed figure; the drawn seal, the named spirit, and the ruling angel are three doors onto one authority. What each seal teaches matters more than its ink: that the deep powers answer to right authority and not to grasping; that command is a discipline before it is a privilege. The nineteen seals below run across six of the seven planets, three for the dark and deep planets, fewer for the bright.
The Pentacles of Saturn
The Saturnine seals are figured in black on Saturn’s day and hour. The First Pentacle of Saturn is the chief of the set, the master-key that, in the grimoire’s own phrase, “terrifies and constricteth the spirits of the West,” holding the rest in order. It teaches that authority over the deep powers begins with mastery of one’s own depths. The Second Pentacle of Saturn is the treasure-seal, cut to drive away the spirits who guard buried treasures and clear the way to what is hidden in the earth; it is the talismanic skin of the same hidden wealth that Aratron grants, and it teaches that what is unearthed should be worth the digging. The Third Pentacle of Saturn is the night-seal, cut for invoking the spirits of Saturn at night, the hour most proper to the slow dark planet; it teaches that the deep powers keep their own hours, and that the wise worker meets them at the right time rather than forcing them. All three surface on Saturday beside Saturn, Cassiel, the bear, Pu-erh, and Aratron.
Saturn · Earth · Binah · black · lead · onyx · Saturday · The World
The Pentacles of Jupiter
The Jovian seals are figured in sky-blue on Jupiter’s day and hour. The First Pentacle of Jupiter is the chief seal, cut to invoke the spirits of Jupiter and open their whole bounty; it is the talismanic skin of the same Jovian increase that Bethor grants, and it teaches that the honour worth having is the kind given to one ready to bear it. The Second Pentacle of Jupiter is the seal of fortune, cut for glory, honour, dignities, and riches, drawing the great benefactor’s gifts directly to the seeker; it teaches that honour and abundance are gifts of a generous order, given to those ready to receive them well. Both surface on Thursday beside Jupiter, Sachiel, the eagle, Earl Grey, and Bethor.
Jupiter · Air and Fire · Chesed · blue · tin · sapphire · Thursday · Wheel of Fortune
The Pentacles of Mars
The Martial seals are figured in red on Mars’s day and hour. The First Pentacle of Mars is the war-seal, the master-key cut to invoke the spirits of Mars and open their whole power of courage and victory; it teaches that the strength Mars gives is for the fight that must be fought, not the one that need not be. The Second Pentacle of Mars is the surprising healing seal, turning the war-planet’s force against all kinds of diseases: the same force that wounds in battle is here turned to the mending of the body, and it teaches that the iron of Mars builds the blood as surely as it spills it, that the keenest edge is the one that heals. The Fourth Pentacle of Mars is the seal of dominion, cut to fill the Martial spirits with terror and so compel their obedience by sheer authority; it teaches that force must be mastered to be useful, and that the mastery of force begins with the mastery of one’s own. All three surface on Tuesday beside Mars, Samael, the hawk, Lapsang Souchong, and Phaleg.
Mars · Fire · Geburah · red · iron · ruby · Tuesday · The Tower
The Pentacles of the Sun
The solar seals are figured in gold on the Sun’s day and hour. The First Pentacle of the Sun is the chief seal, cut to repress the pride and arrogance of the solar spirits and bring them into rightful order; it is the talismanic skin of the same rightful centre that Och embodies, and it teaches that even the brightest powers must bow to a higher order, that the answer to arrogance is the quiet authority of the true centre. The Second Pentacle of the Sun is the seal of command, cut to compel the solar spirits to obey; it teaches that radiant power obeys only a rightful centre, that command over the Sun’s force must come from a true authority. The Fourth Pentacle of the Sun is the seal of vision, cut to enable the operator to see the invisible spirits and bring the unseen into the light of sight; it is the seal of solar revelation, and it teaches that the Sun’s deepest gift is to make plain what was hidden from ordinary eyes. All surface on Sunday beside the Sun, Michael, the salmon, Golden Yunnan, and Och.
Sun · Fire · Tiphareth · gold · gold · diamond · Sunday · The Sun
The Pentacles of Venus
The Venusian seals are figured in green on Venus’s day and hour, and they are the gentlest of the Solomonic set: where the Saturnine seals constrict and the Martial seals overawe, these draw together. The First Pentacle of Venus is the chief seal, cut to control the spirits of Venus and open their whole bounty of love and grace; it is the talismanic skin of the same drawing-together that the Olympic spirit Hagith grants, and it teaches that the love worth having cannot be coerced, only attracted, that grace is given to the gracious. The Third Pentacle of Venus is the seal of love and respect, cut to attract both the affection and the esteem of others; it teaches that the love worth having is joined to honour, that to be truly loved is to be esteemed as well as desired. The Fifth Pentacle of Venus, which the old text records bluntly for the extraordinary love of women, is the most pointed of the set; understood as a figure of attraction and never of compulsion of another’s free heart, it teaches that the deepest love is freely given, and that what is grasped at never satisfies the way what is offered does. All three surface on Friday beside Venus, Anael, the deer, Rose Oolong, and Hagith. Read them not as charms to compel another’s heart, but as the day’s invitation to lead with your own.
Venus · Earth and Water · Netzach · green · copper · emerald · Friday · The Empress
The Pentacles of Mercury
The Mercurial seals are figured in mixed and iridescent colour on Mercury’s day and hour, and their work is the work of the mind. The First Pentacle of Mercury is the chief seal, cut to invoke the spirits of Mercury and open their whole power of mind and message; it is the talismanic skin of the same quick intelligence the Olympic spirit Ophiel grants, and it teaches that knowledge is a servant whose worth lies in the use it is put to. The Second Pentacle of Mercury is the boldest of the set, cut to bring to effect things contrary to the order of nature: it belongs to the alchemical reach of Mercury, the planet of the great work that turns one thing into another, and it teaches that the deepest Mercurial art is transformation, the mind finding a way where none seemed possible, yet bound always by what is right to attempt. Both surface on Wednesday beside Mercury, Raphael, the fox, Sencha, and Ophiel. Read them as the day’s invitation to think clearly, speak truly, and open the door that thought can open.
Mercury · Air and Water · Hod · orange · quicksilver · opal · Wednesday · The Magician
The Pentacles of the Moon
The lunar seals are figured in silver on the Moon’s day and hour. The First Pentacle of the Moon is the chief seal, cut to call forth and invoke the spirits of the Moon and open their whole power of tide, dream, and passage; it teaches that the lunar powers move by their own rhythm and answer to one who summons them at the right tide. The Third Pentacle of the Moon is the protective seal, cut to defend those who invoke the lunar spirits and guard the operator through the workings of the night; it teaches that the Moon rules the night and can make it a refuge, that the one under her keeping need not fear the dark. The Sixth Pentacle of the Moon is the warding seal, cut to hinder all who work against the operator and turn back the schemes of opponents; it teaches that the Moon, who rules the hidden tides, can turn the hidden workings of others to nothing, and that the surest defence is steadiness rather than counter-attack. All three surface on Monday beside the Moon, Gabriel, the wolf, Gyokuro, and Phul.
Moon · Water · Yesod · silver · silver · pearl · Monday · The High Priestess
These are the further faces, then: the governor named in a Basel handbook, the name spoken in a Cairo flat, the beast that dens through winter, the leaf that wants years to ripen, the seal drawn in coloured ink. They look nothing alike, and they are the same seven powers throughout. That is the whole point of the spine. You do not have to choose between them or learn them as separate systems; you only have to know which day it is, and let the day show you whichever face you most need to see. The wolf and the Olympic spirit Phul and the cup of jade-dew tea are all Monday telling you, in three languages, to turn inward and trust your tides. When the Day shows you one, it is offering you a door; behind every one of them stands the same room.