The Centaur 

Strangely, the rumors of antiquity can be confirmed: The Schools of 

Mystery, once mocked by bookish academicians, have always existed 

from ancient Greece to Rome to India to Egypt and the mighty Sphinx 

and the pyramids that stand as a testament to esoteric knowledge, and 

then to the ancient Mayans and the Aztecs; and at last, to the Native 

Americans who gave those who were developed and ready the chance to 

develop further. They became Initiates. Seekers. They left those who 

were following a very broad swath, in short, that was slowly traversing 

up a very large mountain and for those who were ready, the teacher 

came. These Initiates were given various techniques, and told to look 

within to expand their very minds so that when they opened their eyes 

they knew and could see that the universe within matched point for exact 

point the universe without with its billions of galaxies, strange spatial 

anomalies and countless worlds; no more, no less. 

 Only a staunch materialist, who was going the way of The Dodo Bird, 

who knew nothing of the Library of Alexandria would argue otherwise. 

 But for all Initiates, there were many trials and tribulations that 

tested both the body and the wit, and even more than that as they had to 

put on their red tunic, sword and shield and intrepidly go into a 

Colosseum and fight and succeed, or be killed. 

 Indubitably, it was called The Razor’s Edge. 

 Max remembered the long journey he had been on. It had been more 

arduous than he had ever imagined. He had been seen as possibly gifted, 

and then chosen to study the long lost art of alchemy. But his mind was 

now sad and fatigued, and growing sentimental as he remembered often 

his childhood friends. There was Robert, a boyhood friend, for instance, 

whom he had played games and chess with testing each other’s wits. 

With time, they had grown into saplings and then into rugged trees. Of 

course, Robert had to prove himself in a rite of passage where he 

had been left in a vast desert to fend for himself, and had gone stark 

raving mad and died. It had been a test: Seek and Ye Shall Find. But 

many of us don’t know how very unforgiving life itself can be for those 

who want to penetrate nature to its innermost sanctuary. 

 

Memories came back like bold-faced headlines. 

 Then there had been Paul and Danny who had been like untamed 

stallions that broke all the rules, but there was something charming 

about them. They ran West and then into the East, and believed in mind 

expansion and thought that they could attain satori as they assiduously 

studied, at first, chemistry and then alchemy itself about how to turn 

base metals into gold. Some of their experiments allowed them to see 

glimpses of alternate realties and to understand that most of what we 

experience is Maya. They laughed and enjoyed themselves, at first. But 

as time went by they grew desperate; for it was that they could see 

mirages of Kublai Khan, but they could never stay there for long. One 

of them was killed in an experiment gone awry dealing with the precious 

element mercury while the other, I believe, it was Danny, inflicted such 

self damage that he had to be hospitalized for the remainder of his life. 

 Naturally, these tests were under the heading Ancient Alchemy and 

The Cauldron – a topic Max had read about quite voraciously but so far 

had eschewed knowing he lacked the proper guidance. 

 He had busied himself with various techniques that would bring 

about transcendence – the idea was to focus on sound and then go to the 

subtlest sound before the mind would fall away from the ephemeral 

world and go back to the world of Atman or the Self. Naturally, it 

could be done with sight, too, and any of the other senses. 

 In short, he was dipping a white clothe in yellow die and then putting 

it out into the Sun until the color did not fade.

 

 Then there had been James Dekoff whom he had befriended when he 

was a young teenager and who had possessed the naive thinking that he 

had been one of the Knights of the Roundtable. James himself had 

excelled in many ways graduating magna cum laude from Columbia 

University and was known as the Russian bear since he was large and 

clumsy, had learned the Russian language on his own, along with all of 

Dostoevsky and Pushkin’s works, and had a surly phlegmatic 

personality at times. He had also excelled at his lessons that had been 

taught in our particular school with much success experiencing sat-chit?ananda, the true Self: for unbeknownst to most, Kali Yuga had obscured men’s minds so that the frailty of the ego was oft confused for the soul 

when, in truth, the former was simply the Shell and the latter was the 

Snail. And the Snail itself was moving quietly along its own path. 

Of course, James represented an advancement in terms of homo 

sapiens, and he had hope of even a rare apprenticeship, and thus, when I 

had met him, he carried himself with a certain air of dignity befitting one 

of his position. 

 But Pride Goeth before a Fall. 

 James practiced deep meditation and studied the ancient texts, but he 

became slothful. We often had esoteric conversations: “All we need to 

do is practice deep meditation – and our samskaras will change on their 

own.” “But what if they don’t?” “Enlightenment is just re-cognizing 

the Self or the Atman and then going through a de-stressing process.” 

“It just sounds too simplistic. I mean, millions have gone before us and 

they have not been enlightened.” “But we are different. We have the 

highest path.” “I don’t believe that.” “Then what do you believe?” 

“That we have the highest path for us.” “Then what is your notion of 

enlightenment?” “I leave it opened ended – much like a mystery of 

sorts.” 

 Life went on – much like God’s mill grinding us, slowly. 

 James continued on his way. Thinking he could melt icebergs. That 

his rollicking, smoke-blowing train was on the right track and all he had 

to do was keep going along the same way. But he neglected his trade for 

every member of a School of Mystery was compelled to disguise himself 

as an everyday man or woman who bore no distinguishing mark except 

to blend in and live an abstemious life. Outwardly, he might have been 

a carpenter or an accountant or an elementary school teacher whilst his 

true vocation lay in perfecting himself and in advancing in as many 

lessons for Soul Growth as was possible in a single incarnation. In truth, 

he thought he was more advanced than he was—we all did— and he 

began experimenting with Magical Commands, namely, mantras and 

siddhis, thinking like a Chinese master, like Lao Tzu, he could fly on the 

back of a crane into the higher Heavens. 

 But then it came time to test his copious knowledge and his own 

crystallized notion of Self as all Initiates had to do – and it failed him 

badly. 

 He entered The Labyrinth and met The Centaur. 

 Through the Olde City, in the tunnels, James walked trepidly and 

with a now daunted courage as he realized he was on his own and that 

all his erudite posturing would not aide him in the least. Its musky odor

he could smell as he held his sword and his shield. He could hear The 

Beast as it lingered about. It moved on its hoofs. When it appeared it 

had a fierce hog’s head that was capable of showing a wide range of 

emotion, and it possessed although verily scarred the shoulders, chest 

and rippled torso of a man that blended into a stallion’s body. The 

Centaur said: “Not much. But I guess it’ll do.” Then it charged him, but 

his Protective Ring of Fire only partially protected him while his 

Magical Commands failed at the most opportune time. He was 

repeatedly gored and called out in agony. His cries were heard 

throughout several streets, and he met a horrible death. The Elder 

Brothers who had seen so much through so many yugas gave little notice. 

Why?

For birth and death to them was simply the rain falling in a stream 

and then merging into a river making its way to the open sea before 

evaporating and falling again to make its arduous journey. 

 

 Max, however, never forgot his friends whom he had started with. 

How could he? When someone in your very own tribe dies, it wounds 

you as you feel cheated somehow – and you swear revenge so that when 

you see Death himself, his macabre face, at last, you will wound him. 

 They had all been on a sacred quest for the Holy Grail. They had 

enjoyed many adventures and hoary and ribald tales, and that whatever 

befell them, whether tragedy or riches, they knew it was more than 

worth it. 

 Day and night, Max continued with his training trying to learn from

others’ mistakes, if possible, as more comrades fell. He remembered the 

old maxim: Many are Called. Few are Chosen. If he wanted to attain 

the higher initiations that he had been told of he would need to succeed 

at all of these tasks and then descend into the Olde City and the 

Labyrinth and fight the Centaur himself in a deadly combat so he 

approached his training more like a religious rite, a sacrament, if you 

will, with much rigor and humility. 

 Finally, Janus approached him. She was nearly, ten years older, but 

a beautiful woman who had not aged and who was part of The Ancient 

Order with long black hair, slender shoulders, and graceful eyes and was 

held in high esteem since she was both clairvoyant and clairaudient. 

Many of these women were from the eastern province of Gnosis far 

from where Max had ever traveled, and often, they were Oracles and 

High Priestesses containing much knowledge and power, and as such, it 

was important for a fighter like himself to have the support and backing 

of this woman. 

 “I will show you that there is only one force,” Janus said as she 

eyed him after having done a reading. “You will see how The Body is a 

step-down Transformer and how the one becomes two, and then three. 

You can use this energy to open the main meridians and the different 

energy points. If you become very good at it, you can pack the Force 

into your fasciae, organs and bones even.” 

 “Will this make me invincible?” Max asked as he gazed at his sword 

 “No,” she laughed. “It is only a good beginning.” 

 “You don’t think I have much a chance against the Centaur, do you?” 

 “Why do you say that?” 

 “Because no one does. They think I will be another sacrificial lamb 

and that our losses will continue.” 

 “Put your mind in the shape of Spirit –and you can do anything.” 

 “How?” 

 “I will show you. But you worry too much and focus too much on the 

outer.” 

 “Well,” Max said, “you might have this proclivity if you had an 

enemy bearing down you wanting to severe your head from your entire

body.” 

 “But what is the outer?” 

 “The outer?” 

 “Is it not Maya?” 

 “Of course, it is.” 

 “Then focus on the truth and your thinking will become much more 

powerful.” 

 Soon after, Max had many fights in the arena where he trained 

slowly compiling an impressive record. He had hand-to-hand combat 

training often tying up with his opponent in a Judo stance as Max would 

close his eyes and remember to see his opponent as a living triangle 

from his navel to his two knees – all he had to was to knock out one base 

of support and he would fall. It was a mathematical certainty. 

Inevitably, they would attempt to throw each other more like brutes. 

Sometimes, they would exchange palm-heel strikes or front-elbows 

before a shrug would come setting them up for one of his patented 

roundhouse kicks. Or he would move in for a Japanese whizzer. 

Whether it was this kind of fighting or sword fighting with Baptiste, 

Max focused on rooting himself much like an oak tree with gnarly roots 

that went deep down into the ground. But not only that, he began to see 

his movements more as an extension of nature, too, and that when he 

struck a blow he could hit his opponent with Earth Chi, too. This is what 

all the ancient fighters had learned and mastered. At first it didn’t seem 

to work – and then his opponents began to feel it as he cracked their ribs 

or even knocked some unconscious. He was progressing, and it would 

come in handy when he eventually faced the Centaur. 

 Again, Janus came. 

 “I will show you The Pearl. You can condense Chi within three 

cauldrons in the human body and thereby create a shiny Pearl. 

Essentially, you will be able to advance much more quickly vivifying 

the physical body and even wiring it to the etheric body. As a warrior, 

you will become very strong.” 

 

 “How do I begin?” 

 “You begin by drawing an eight-sided Pakua.” 

 “Where?” 

 “In your Lower Tan Tien, Middle and Upper Tan Tien.” 

 “The Pakua is on every side of your body and rotates clockwise. It 

brings in the Chi from your body as there are stove pipes sending it to 

the middle of the cauldron where it condenses.” 

 “How do I make it?” 

 “Just imagine it, and it will become so.” 

 “I will.” 

 “Strengthen your Thought Force and it will become your Reality.” 

 “I’ll practice it every day.” 

 “And remember: If you have one Pearl, you are a poor man. But if 

you have many Pearls, you are a rich man and can do many things in 

your life.” 

 “Like what?” 

 “You will be able to create a Chi ball and cleanse the environment, or 

even hit your opponent with it, weakening him.” 

 “That might come in handy in the Labyrinth.” 

 “Lastly, do everything with your Yi Mind.” 

 

With that, she disappeared like the morning mist. Rather quickly, 

another calendar year passed by, and Max began packing Chi into his 

vital organs and even into his skeletal structure to revitalize himself. He 

felt better. More agile and nimble. But if an opponent hit him, more 

rooted like a large hill. Finally, Max understood the ancient fighters that 

had wandered the countryside and who emphasized self-mastery and 

who understood Karate, Jiu Jitsu and Kung Fu more as spiritual 

disciplines instead of merely as self-defense techniques. It was a way of 

life and it was bearing fruition after a long winter and spring. Now 

when he stared into the lengthwise mirror, he saw his Original Face, 

among other things, as he stared at the many frivolous lifetimes where 

he had lived more like the Prodigal Son with a wide range of emotions, 

the incessant thinking, the various outcomes of good and bad, and 

everything in between in many trials and tribulations, bewitched, at 

times, by Fate itself. 

 Now this next perilous step. 

 The knock on his heavy oak door jarred him. It was Janus again –

telling him that tomorrow he would go to the Olde City and fight the 

Centaur. Her voice was steely and cold. Was it because she was upset? 

Because of him? The fight tomorrow? Frankly, it was too late to care. 

He needed his rest for tomorrow was a life or death battle. 

 She greeted him in the morning, “Namaste.” “Namaste,” he replied. 

“I made this necklace for you out of red coral.” “Thank you,” Max 

replied. “It’s been so long since someone has given me a gift.” “It will 

help you to remember that your foe is not so much outside of you, but 

inside of you, and that you need to delve deeper than ever before and 

Conquer by Love to ultimately reign supreme.” “I’ll try to remember, 

Janus, but like all flesh and blood mortals – I’ll most likely need to

remember it a thousand times, more.” 

 She kissed him on the forehead. 

 With that, Max left for he was older now, and his own man as he 

went down Market Street in a pensive mood, and into an ordinary stone 

mason building that was hundreds of years old. By a particular order, it 

was thoroughly protected and it descended by a secret passageway into 

the Olde City. Contrary to common belief, it was far from empty or 

even silent as the cobblestone streets were lit by torches and he could see 

people who looked more Roman in nature, somehow preserved by 

history itself, moving about carrying on business as though nothing had 

changed millennium after millennium. 

 For this auspicious day, Max wore a red tunic, brown sandals, a 

Galea or helmet and armor for his limbs, the simpler, the better; it was 

an ancient tradition of challenge and response, of fight or retreat, that 

had gone on for thousands of years and it would not be broken by any 

man, woman or child; for Man was walking up a winding staircase from 

the very nadir of this world to the higher echelons; and if he proved 

worthy, he gained entry, and if not, then his mortal skeleton, flesh, and 

blood were cast and reposited into the general waters of oblivion while 

his soul rose higher for respite before beginning the arduous journey, 

once more, for self-mastery and defeat of one’s enemies. 

 Max pulled his sword from its sheath, and since Mind was the 

Builder, he created a Ring of Fire for his own protection. He began to 

chant a spell to quiet himself and to even infuse goodness in his own 

actions. He knew that the Centaur would come soon as they were light 

and shadow, good and evil, and in many ways, matter and anti-matter,

and when one moved in close proximity, the other knew. 

 After half an hour, Max could hear the Centaur coming and prepared 

to see the Beast’s face as it had been both jarring for James and many 

others, producing even a feared vertigo for some, but he wanted to 

minimize his own fear and repulsion. He had to. A large silhouette 

appeared. The Centaur then emerged as it had a demon-like face and the 

horns of a ram, and it snarled at him as already it could sense his fear, 

like a malodorous odor. But Max controlled and steadied himself, 

remembered his training, as the Centaur reared on its hind legs and 

began charging at full speed. 

 Quickly, he knelt and shot arrows with the precision of a marksman, 

while preparing his cudgel to break the Centaur’s right hind leg with one 

blow. 

 But the Centaur was a marksman, too! Arrows came his way tipped 

in poison as the beast shouted at him, “Traitor! Friend of Nothing!” 

 An arrow hit him in the chest and almost knocked him over, but 

luckily it hit his armor. 

 The Centaur with its stinking breath was upon him now. 

 The Centaur, half-beast, half-man, hit him with his mace in his right 

shoulder knocking him down and drawing blood as the Centaur galloped 

past and then Max stood up and assessed the damage that was done. 

 The Centaur stood nearly thirty yards away. It would be a short battle 

if the tide wasn’t turned as Max pushed his arms together as though 

holding a great ball of fire near his stomach – and then sent the Ball of 

Fire hurtling towards the Centaur as it hit him and made him wobble. 

 Another massive ball of fiery Chi was sent, but this time the Centaur 

deflected it with his shield. 

 “You made us! Now you come to destroy us?!” 

 Once more, the Centaur reared up on his dark brown hind legs and 

charged, at full speed. 

` Max aimed for the underbelly and hit his mark as blood came forth. 

The Centaur lurched to his left and galloped past as another arrow, sent 

with precision, was deflected by the Centaur’s shield. Strangely, both 

opponents were nearly thirty yards apart, once again. 

 “You have no honor! Man! What are you? A beast that has 

destroyed the world and now you want to kill the Centaurs, too, except 

for Chiron!” 

 “You have killed many of us,” Max said keeping his calm. 

 “We have been trained to keep you in the Lower Worlds,” the 

Centaur replied. 

 “Why?” 

 “Because you are a danger to all of Creation! Or didn’t your Janus 

tell you that?!” the Centaur said as he laughed like a demon himself. 

“Every debased thought of greed, violence, and selfishness that Man has 

ever thought has come here, HERE, to create this underworld that you 

now try to free yourself from.”

 “You’re lying.” 

 “No, it is you who lie to yourself. Oh, those who are short sighted 

cannot see that Man is the Devil himself conjuring a lot of 

phantasmagorical shapes of suffering and deprivation.” 

 “You have no right to kill us!” 

 “I have every right!” 

 With that, the Centaur charged again at full gallop down the Olde 

City Street. A storm of deadly arrows came as Max knelt with his shield 

for protection. The Centaur used his battle axe and barely missed Max’s 

head. Adeptly, Max then pivoted and jumped on the back of the Centaur 

himself as he placed a strong choke hold on him and desperately tried to 

bring him to the ground. 

 He rode on the Centaur’s back for twenty yards or so. 

 It felt strange – almost familiar. 

 The Centaur cursed him with a grimoire spell as Max felt intense 

pain in his hands and arms as though they were burning on fire and 

uncontrollably itching making him mad. 

 “Strength of an elephant!” Max cried out to give himself 

supernatural powers according to the ancient texts. 

 The Centaur staggered and then wheeled about – before falling 

hard onto the cobblestone street. He was gasping for air. A brute no 

more as Max pulled out his dagger and thrusted it several times into the

Centaur mortally wounding him. 

 Other Centaurs came, nearly, a dozen altogether, although they 

would not interfere since all bouts were of an individual nature, and they 

would honor the outcome whether they were pained by it or not. 

 “I have no quarrel with any of you,” Max yelled as his jagged 

knife dripped with blood. “I am only seeking safe passage through the 

Olde City. I’m traveling back to the town of my birth.” 

 Max put his hand onto the back of the Centaur, and he knew it 

was him. There was no other choice, really. He began, at long last, 

sobbing.