Return of the Storm God - Chapter 8a
The Realisation of the Axis
The Realisation of the Axis: From Form to Stone
Perhaps the most important – yet under-recognised – element of ancient mythology within our Drift culture is the concept of axis.
The symbolic structure of the Djed – the pillar of alignment, vision, and resurrection – had long existed in Egyptian cosmology. In earlier chapters, we explored how this axis was encoded not only in mythic terms, but also in function: as Khnum, the spinner of form upon the rotational axis of creation.
To fully appreciate the cross-cultural span and deep temporal range of this central element, I will again draw attention to how it emerges in later cultures – particularly in Britain, and most clearly in Ireland. As well as certain areas where it crops up in the Bible, usually in a typically distorted manner.
It is by necessity - to prove the continuity and importance of the foundational concept of axis in myth and legend, politics and social structure - that we will be spiralling in and out of times and places that are conventionally viewed as entirely separate.
Yet, there comes a moment in Egyptian history when this axis moves from symbol to stone – when the abstract becomes embodied in perhaps its most complete expression, under the reign of a single pharaoh. That moment is marked by the figure of Khufu.
Khufu – the legendary builder of the Great Pyramid of Giza - did not invent the pyramid, nor did he operate in a vacuum. The symbolic groundwork had already been laid under Djoser, whose stepped pyramid at Saqqara formalised the sacred mound; and under Sneferu, whose experiments in scale and gradient produced the first true pyramidal forms, following Djoser’s preliminary attempt. But it was under Khufu that the principle of field alignment reached its apex. His reign gave rise to the structure that would become the most enduring architectural expression of the Djed, of the man-made benben tor: the Great Pyramid of Giza.
In the name Khnum-Khufu, we find the formula already encoded: “Khnum protects me” or more precisely, “I am formed by the potter of the gods.” In his cartouche name, Medjedu, we find the Djed itself - the spine of Osiris, the axis of resurrection, now fixed in form. Khufu does not merely commission a monument. He embodies a principle. His pyramid is not a tomb. It is the realisation of alignment - the physical anchor of the axis in the world.
In the name Medjedu, the core element is the root med (Egyptian: md), which carries meanings related to measurement, structure, and central alignment. In ancient Egyptian, md is found in words such as mdw (𓌳𓏏𓅱), meaning “word” or “speech” - particularly in mdw nṯr, “the divine word” - which refers not simply to sound, but to measured utterance, structured communication, and regulated declaration. The same root also relates to measure more literally. In other contexts, md can signify reckoning, computation, or the process of setting things in balanced relation to one another.
This root meaning is not isolated to Egyptian. It appears widely across Indo-European languages. In Latin, medius means “middle” or “centre”; meditari means “to consider” or “reflect” - an act of mental regulation; mederi means “to heal,” from which we derive the word medical - restoring internal balance. In Greek, mesos also means “middle,” while metron means “measure,” the source of geometry, symmetry, and meter. From these come English words such as medium, medial, median, mediate, mediation, medicine, and measure. All of these relate to concepts of centring, regulating, or holding in balanced proportion. They describe something neither extreme nor absent, but a functional point between - the place or principle by which opposites are resolved or held in dynamic tension.
Seen through this lens, Medjedu can be understood as a name referring to a principle or agent of balance - something that governs or maintains proportion from a central, structured position. It is not simply “middle” as location, but medial as function - the operation of internal coherence. In this sense, Medjedu would denote the veiled regulator of ratio, the unseen function that holds a system together. This interpretation fits precisely with the conceptual logic found in pyramid construction: the pyramid is centred on an internal chamber, aligned with cardinal points, and structured entirely on measured proportions. The med is embedded in its geometry - an unseen reference point that ensures balance.
Therefore, Medjedu names not just a figure but his role: the concealed principle of central measure expressed in form. It is structurally equivalent to the middle term in a ratio, or the unmarked axis in a balanced field. It expresses the same logic as Ma’at - not as an external force, but as an internal constant. The name Medjedu encodes a stabilising presence: something that holds true, stays central, and maintains form by aligning everything around it.
Therefore, as an epithet or Horus name of the greatest pyramid builder of all time - Khufu - the term is entirely appropriate and descriptive of his function in constructing the greatest monument of the ancient world. It encodes the central role of balance, alignment, and proportion - the defining features of the Giza project and of Khufu’s symbolic legacy. The term conveys the function of maintaining structural order through precise measure. In the context of pyramid construction, this expresses the core symbolic role of the king: the embodiment of internal coherence realised in built form. Exactly as the lugal in Mesopotamia operated from the ziggurat, Khufu enacted his role from the pyramid as the axis and ordering principle. The Great Pyramid is the architectural manifestation of this function. The name Medjedu expresses this directly - centrality, measure, and the unseen regulation of form.
In Egyptian tradition, the king’s legitimacy was grounded in his role as the one who measures. The symbolic act of holding the measuring rod (𓍿 nḥ) and outlining with a cord was central to foundation rituals, especially the ceremony known as Pedjeshes - the "stretching of the cord." This rite was performed to align temples and monuments with the stars, particularly the circumpolar constellations. It was a geometric and cosmological act, linking the king’s body and role directly to the regulation of space and time. The measuring rod thus became a symbol of divine authority - not in the sense of command, but in the precise function of establishing order. This was Ma’at in physical form, and the king, as holder of the rod, was its agent.
This idea of rulership through central measure is embedded in the name Medjedu, with med carrying the meaning of measure, centre, or balance. It implies regulation, proportion, and structural coherence. The king is not an enforcer but the fixed point through which alignment is established. He is the axis - or in later Pythagorean and Platonic terms, the mean between extremes. The pyramid itself embodies this logic, with its geometry fixed around a hidden point of balance. The measuring rod used in its layout is an extension of the same principle. The king becomes king by holding that alignment - literally, by measuring correctly in accordance with cosmic law.
The Irish Celtic connection
A remarkably similar topological and phonetic structure appears in early Irish kingship mythology, particularly in the sovereignty rites associated with the Hill of Tara. In this system, the land is personified by a goddess - most clearly in the figure of the Morrígan. She is not simply a dark goddess of war and supernatural chaos, as she is often reduced in modern retellings, but rather the guardian of the land’s structural integrity. The Morrígan appears to the would-be king in a ritualised encounter, sometimes as a hag or spectral woman. Only when the king embraces or unites with her does he become king - not by force, but through recognition by the land itself. This rite is known as the banfheis rigi - “the marriage of the king to the sovereignty goddess.”
Scholars have proposed that her name derives from a Proto-Celtic form Moro-rīganī-s, usually rendered as “phantom queen.” But when re-evaluated through symbolic typology, a deeper logic emerges: Mor reflects mare, the sea – the abyssal field. Morrígan is another Queen of the Sea, a Stella Maris archetype. She is not a ghost but the goddess of the fluid domain – the cosmic sea from which kingship arises. This aligns her directly with Inanna, the Queen of Heaven, who was both the goddess of the sky and of the great salt sea – the dual field of stars and abyss, light and depth.
In one of her forms, Morrígan appears as a crow, or badhbh – a name which echoes the Egyptian ba-bird of the benben mound, the soul in flight. The root dbh/bhv, pronounced with a breathy voiced stop, phonetically shadows the English dove, itself a sacred bird of the feminine spirit. The Morrígan as crow is thus not a bringer of death, but a flighted field-being – the ba of the land, watching from above. The association here with death is of the Egyptian type: the ba being also the resurrected soul in the Tuat (Tuath).
She is also consort to The Dagda, the "Good God" or “All-Father” – a figure whose attributes (thunder, club, cauldron, fertility, and weather) unmistakably mark him as a Storm God archetype. Together, the Dagda and the Morrígan form the axis: the masculine wielder of force and the feminine field of reception. Their union is not romantic, but cosmological – the alignment of impulse and substrate, breath and form, thunder and sea.
As god of fertility, rain, and the harvest, the Dagda aligns with Osiris and other resurrection archetypes. His generative power arrives with the rains, but it is the goddess who enables him – preparing the field, gathering the waters, and sustaining the cycle. Without the Morrígan – the watery abyss and skyward sea – the Dagda’s potency has no vessel, no return path. Like Osiris, he must descend, dissolve, and be re-formed through the field. The axis is only complete when breath returns to the body – when the masculine current is held, veiled, and reborn by the feminine. This is his form as Donn, associated with another benben – this time in the sea off the Irish coast, known as the Bull Rock.
The Morrígan is not ruler, but enables the rule - she decides whether the would-be ruler is aligned. This mirrors precisely the Egyptian logic of Ma’at. The king must measure, and be measured. At Tara, this judgment is enacted through the mythic encounter.
The legend of the Lia Fáil - the Stone of Destiny - reinforces this cosmological logic. The king must ascend the stone, a raised benben at Tara – the Tor – he becomes the ArTor - in order to be confirmed and justified. Lia Fáil echoes the Egyptian benben and the Mesopotamian ziqqurat: a stone axis, rooted in the land, marking the centre of alignment.
As the Stone of Destiny, it becomes the local expression of the Tablets of Destiny - the cosmic mandate granted to the lugal, the measured king. The right to rule is not hereditary. It is granted by proving oneself in alignment with the unseen structure of the land, the goddess, and the sky. The all-seeing position is always at the top of the hill, the summit of the mountain or Tor.
There can be no doubt, in my view, that the Irish legends are extensions of shared typology and phonemic structure originating within the broader Drift Culture - a continuum that stretches back to ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia. These archetypes became diversified through localised adaptation, preserving the core symbolic logic even as names and forms shifted. In time, they were overwritten or rebranded by Christianity, but the deeper core structures remain traceable beneath the surface.
The foundational typology - of the Storm God of the Mountain and his consort, the sovereignty goddess - appears to originate in the highland zones of Turkey, Armenia, and Anatolia, well before its crystallisation in either Egypt or Sumer. Yet it is in Egypt that we find the most precise, mathematically-aligned expression of this cosmology - encoded in its monuments, mythology, and ritual architecture.
This dual structure - ruler as measure-holder and land as validating field - exists across both Egyptian and early Irish systems. In Egypt, Medjedu is the encoded function of balance; in Ireland, the Morrígan is the embodiment of balance as it appears through land, lineage, and cycle. Both represent a pre-modern understanding of kingship not as political authority, but as alignment with the total field - cosmic, terrestrial, and symbolic. Sovereignty is not conferred from above or seized from below. It is recognised through balance - a function of the centre. Thus the ArTor is the steward of the land and his queen the structural support inherent in principle; unseen (in the ‘dark’) yet ever-present.
In the Egyptian records we have the Wadi Maghara, where Sneferu and other ancient kings such as Djoser are attested. The Mag-hara, is a place where the bounty of the Earth is derived – of mining activity – from the caves below. This underworld is consonant with the realm of the Duat or Tuat. In Ireland, the Tuat becomes the Tuath. The Tuatha are the people of the Goddess. And the goddess is the Great Mother. Thus, the Tuat is also the ‘twat’ of the mother, the place of entry for the father, and place of emergence of the children of god and goddess. Thus, we have the Egyptian origins of what the Christian writers have given to Ireland as a version of their ancient heritage.
"The Battle of Magh Tuireadh" is the Christian writers’ legend of a supernatural battle at Cong in Co. Mayo in Connaught against the Fir Bolg, and a second in Sligo against the Formorians (fo-below, mor/mer/mar the sea). In Morrigan, we find the Mor or Mar root, which is equivalent to the Celtic name Mhairi, or Mary, and Gan, the equivalent of Can or Cain, in the Gothic Script; a hydronym-related word relating to established axis in the land (as reflected in the Biblical myth of Cain, who is marked with the ot cross of the axis).
These redactors and rewriters of history have taken an admixture of ancient Egyptian and Mesopotamian cultural Celtic heritage of the Pythagorean Celts/Chalds, and turned them into a bridge to the Christian and Biblical, for as we have seen, all is ultimately traced back to the Noah myth.
In Mainland Britain, Morrigan becomes Morgan le Fay, another aspect of the watery goddess of the magical earth mother. The triple goddess is again encoded also in the Lady of the Lake and Guinevere. With Lancelot (du Lac) becoming the icon of the lance, the penetrative phallic object that pierces the mother in the generative act. Therefore, Lancelot is consonant with the phallus of Osiris, or of Orion in the inherent logic of the skywalker original.
This became the Church equivalent of a national identity in legend given to the British mainland Celts, again as a bridge towards their Christian Biblical culture, as Arthur became an archetype of a servant of Christ, seeking the Grail Cup of the Last Supper.
Contrary to consensus etymological derivations, we see the most likely and logical roots. We have through the concept of medjedu, the god of fertility, rain, and the harvest as the Dagda, which aligns with Osiris and other resurrection archetypes. His generative power arrives with the rains, but it is the goddess who enables him – preparing the field, gathering the waters, and sustaining the cycle. Without the Morrígan – the watery abyss and skyward sea – the Dagda’s potency has no vessel, no return path. Like Osiris, he must descend, dissolve, and be re-formed through the field. The axis is only complete when breath returns to the body – when the masculine current is held, veiled, and reborn by the feminine. This is his form as Donn, associated with another benben – this time in the sea off the Irish coast, known as the Bull Rock.
Only though refusing to bind to classical isolationist etymological derivation, we recognise a more continuous route to certain modern English words as expressions of lugalship, measure, and ratio. The monarch is known as “majesty” – a title which ultimately derives from the same conceptual root: med – meaning measure, middle, or central function. The “ruler” is literally the one who rules – not in the sense of domination, but in its earlier meaning as an instrument – a measuring stick. The “magistrate” is the figure who administers justice and balance through the application of measure – law as Ma’at. All of these terms carry forward ancient phonetic and structural logic, originally encoded in Egyptian. Each is an expression of the king’s role as one who measures, maintains centre, and sustains structural order.
And everywhere we witness deliberate demonization and or distortion of the sacred Mother Goddess of the original Drift culture. This constant is as much a key to decipherment as our hydronyms, luminyms and mathematical ratios. It has become the hallmark of Church interference through the distortion of cultural myth and legend; usually given as a legendary history of the people that they ultimately wished to convert to Christianity.
(Whilst hydronym is a common and accepted term, I have been required to create ‘luminym’ to categorise ‘light words’, and ouonym for those specifically relating to Osisirs-derived words. I now extend my nomenclature to hydro-luminym, for the words that combine both polarities, for words such as lugal, garden etc. And where these hydro-luminyms are specifically related to theology (god and goddess) I will term them theanonyms.)
Again, we see a line of continuity from the fertile delta of Mesopotamia and the sands of Egypt and the Nile Delta, from 3000BC, to the Isle of Erin, to the mouth of the Tyne in the 7th century AD. Where consensus academia sees coincidence and entirely fragmentary and isolated cases of local indigenous legends, myths and iconography, we have shown a continuous drift of a highly advanced culture across thousands of miles and many millennia.
The very symbol of our legal system today remains a woman bearing the scales of justice – an image rarely interrogated for its mythic origin. Yet this figure is nothing less than a modern echo of Ma’at: the ancient Egyptian goddess of truth, balance, and cosmic alignment. Her scales were not legalistic abstractions, but structural instruments used to weigh the heart against the feather – a literal test of alignment with the field of order. In that original system, law was not imposed; it was measured. Justice was not a set of statutes, but a question of resonance with the structure of being. She is often equated with Justitia, and thus seen as a Roman invention, formally instituted under Augustus. Yet this again reflects consensus academia divorcing the ancient goddess from her deeper symbolic root.
The goddess of justice not only bears the scales, but also the sword of Truth, and is blindfolded – a representation not of ignorance, but of the seer-veiled. What may appear as contrary or anachronistic iconography is in fact fully supported by the Egyptian sense of the Wedjet eye: not merely a symbol of vision, but of perception beyond the seen. It is the eye that surveys the field – the All – not just the manifest form. The blindfold represents not a lack of sight, but the inner sight of the goddess – the veiled seer – expressing serpent wisdom and alignment with truth. She not only sees all but is the veiled principle of the measure of all, the sacred ratios behind all quantified form.
This mathematical function is not speculative - it is depicted throughout Egyptian art and theology. Gods and kings are shown holding the measuring rod, the staff, or the sceptre, each symbolising aspects of regulatory power. The was sceptre indicates dominion rooted in alignment. The heqa sceptre is the shepherd’s crook, a symbol not of control but of guidance and care. The measuring cord and plumb line in temple foundation scenes express the literal and symbolic act of laying the world in order. These instruments are not accessories of power - they are expressions of function.
This symbolism is echoed - though often misunderstood - in the Hebrew Bible: “thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me” (Psalm 23:4). These are not simply signs of divine protection; they are tools of structure, comfort rooted in order. The rod and staff represent the king or god's role in keeping the field coherent - holding balance, defining limits, and guiding the path through proportion. This reflects the same idea preserved in Medjedu - the one who sustains balance from the centre, by measure.
Thus, the continuity of this structural kingship model - from Egypt to Mesopotamia, to pagan Ireland and Britain - fused with Biblical tradition, and embedded in our own language - is not incidental. It is the survival of a deep field-function: kingship as calibration. The king, the majesty, the magistrate, and the measuring rod are all aspects of the same ancient equation.
A world divided by a common language
This system of centralised measure is not confined to Egypt or Mesopotamia. Chapter 6 contains many examples of megalithic building work across the Drift Culture, using a standard unit now known as the megalithic yard. This shared measure, found in the layout of stone circles, alignments, and mound complexes across Britain, Ireland, and mainland Europe, points to the same principle: sovereignty and sacred building governed by proportionality. These builders were not constructing at random. They were working within a consistent framework of number, orientation, and spatial calibration - the very same field logic expressed in Egyptian pyramid design and expressed symbolically in the person of the king or sacred agent.
As we saw in the earlier chapters, the role of the goddess as the original source of sovereignty and order was gradually de-emphasised. Over time, she was displaced by a system of male-dominated rulership that increasingly centred on authority, conquest, and hierarchical control. Kings who once embodied the balance of natural and cosmic order became warlords and empire builders. The function of alignment was replaced by the assertion of dominance. Rulership shifted from a position of mediation between the people and the land to one of ownership of the land itself. Claims of divine lineage were used to justify control, and the sacred role of measure gave way to the political language of possession. The transformation was not symbolic alone - it fundamentally altered the relationship between power, place, and legitimacy.
The ultimate expression of this transformation came at the end of the Egyptian era and into the Hellenistic and Roman periods, where the older principle of balanced kingship was replaced almost entirely by imperial domination. In the Greek and later Roman world, the idea that might is right became the operating logic. Sovereignty was no longer a relationship with land or measure, but a demonstration of force. Indigenous systems of alignment, ritual kingship, and cosmological order were steadily suppressed or absorbed. Rome imposed a singular model of rule across its empire, demanding submission rather than legitimacy. In time, the central seat of authority would shift from the imperial throne to the ecclesiastical one - consolidating not only political but spiritual control in the hands of the Church. This culminated in the establishment of the Holy See, where the Church of Rome would claim universal authority, echoing and extending the Roman claim of rule over all nations.
It did so by consuming all of the ancient Egyptian culture and transforming it into its own. This cultural appropriation was almost all-encompassing. The symbolic language, ritual structures, cosmology, and theological frameworks of Egypt were reinterpreted, rebranded, and absorbed into Roman and later Christian forms. What had once been expressions of alignment with nature and cosmic order were recast as doctrine and dogma. The transformation of wisdom and science that had reached its peak during the pyramid-building era - more than two thousand years earlier - became the hidden foundation of Rome’s most powerful instrument of control: the Bible. Within its pages, fragments of ancient myth, ethical law, cosmic structure, and initiation rites were rewritten to serve the aims of empire and spiritual obedience. What had once been the architecture of balance was now the architecture of belief - centralised, codified, and enforced.
Therefore, to understand how this transformation took place - and why such a radical inversion of meaning and function occurred - we must return to Giza, and to the pinnacles of cultural achievement in ancient Egypt. We must trace the origin of that architecture of alignment, long before it was reinterpreted as an architecture of belief. And to do so, we must begin not with Khufu, the most renowned of them, but with his father - Sneferu - the initiator of the grand building programme that would define Egypt’s symbolic and material legacy. It is with Sneferu that the architectural logic of balance, form, and measure found monumental expression as the pyramid.
It is important here to distinguish the architectural stages that preceded Khufu. While Djoser’s step pyramid at Saqqara is often hailed as the first pyramid, it is more accurately understood as an intermediary structure - a symbolic elevation of the earlier mastaba tomb form, built in ascending layers but not yet achieving the smooth-sided geometry of the later pyramids.
By contrast, Sneferu was the first true pyramid builder, initiating a deliberate programme of architectural refinement. His three major pyramids represent the transition from stepped monument to aligned, smooth-faced pyramid. Sneferu’s work does not follow Djoser’s form but surpasses and reorients it, establishing the pyramid as a structural and symbolic realisation of axial geometry, rather than an elevated tomb alone.
Sneferu: The Geometer King
Before Khufu fixed the axis in stone at Giza, it was Sneferu, his father, who tested, measured, and initiated the path. His reign does not simply precede the pyramid age - it prefigures it. Sneferu was not merely a transitional pharaoh; he was an initiated geometer, one whose building programmes and symbolic markers reveal a deliberate engagement with field alignment, sacred ratio, and the living symbolism of Ma’at.
His cartouche encodes this directly: the folded cloth, symbol of measure and containment; the plumb-lined cross, the calibrator of balance; and the Horus bird, poised upon a foundational platform - not as ornament, but as structural glyph. Sneferu’s legacy is not just the Bent and Red Pyramids, but the formalisation of sacred structure, the preparation of the Phi-field upon which Khufu would later build.
The Historical King
Sneferu (also spelled Sneferuw, Snephru, or Seneferu) reigned during Egypt’s Old Kingdom, and is generally considered the founding king of the Fourth Dynasty. His reign is estimated to have lasted between 24 and 48 years, with most scholars favouring a figure around 30 to 34 years (circa 2613–2589 BCE). He succeeded King Huni, the last ruler of the Third Dynasty, and is believed to have legitimised his position through marriage to Hetepheres I, likely Huni’s daughter. Through this union, he fathered Khufu (Cheops), his successor, who would go on to commission the Great Pyramid at Giza.
Sneferu’s name means "He has perfected me", derived from the full ritual formulation Ḥr-nb-mꜣꜥt-snfr-wj - "Horus, Lord of Ma’at, has perfected me". It is sometimes vocalised as Snefru or Snofru, and he is also referred to in later Hellenised sources as Soris (Greek: Σῶρις), according to the Egyptian historian Manetho.
Sneferu’s importance in Egyptian history cannot be overstated. He is remembered not only for the scale of his building projects, but for initiating one of the most significant architectural and symbolic transitions in the ancient world: the evolution of the pyramid from stepped structure to smooth-sided form. His reign marks the beginning of Egypt’s most iconic phase of monumental construction, characterised by precision alignment, sacred geometry, and state-coordinated labour at an unprecedented scale.
The principal sources for Sneferu’s reign are fragmentary but consistent. He is named on the Palermo Stone and the Turin King List, as well as in inscriptions from later periods, including the Middle Kingdom. His name also appears in graffiti at sites linked to his construction projects, and he is mentioned in literature from the New Kingdom as a beneficent and wise ruler. These attestations, while sparse, support the view that Sneferu was both politically effective and mythologically resonant.
Sneferu is credited with the construction of no fewer than three major pyramids: the Meidum Pyramid, the Bent Pyramid, and the Red Pyramid. Each of these structures displays critical advancements in engineering and symbolic form. The Meidum Pyramid began as a stepped mastaba but was later modified to approximate a true pyramid; the Bent Pyramid represents an experimental phase in angle and load distribution; and the Red Pyramid - the first fully successful smooth-sided pyramid - stands as a culmination of these trials. Together, they represent the most comprehensive pyramid-building programme ever undertaken by a single ruler.
Beyond pyramid construction, Sneferu launched expeditions to the Sinai Peninsula and Nubia, extracting resources such as copper, turquoise, and high-quality limestone. Relief scenes at Wadi Maghara – a turquoise and copper bearing valley in the Sinai peninsula - depict Sneferu’s campaigns and his symbolic authority over foreign lands. These expeditions reflect not only the growing administrative capacity of the early Fourth Dynasty, but also the ideological scope of kingship as expanding outward in alignment with cosmic and territorial order.
Sneferu’s mortuary complex at Dahshur reveals a sophisticated understanding of spatial planning and celestial alignment. His burial place - likely the Red Pyramid - is oriented with remarkable precision to cardinal points, establishing a precedent that would culminate in the axial perfection of Giza under Khufu. The presence of valley temples, causeways, and subsidiary structures at these sites indicates that Sneferu’s reign saw the crystallisation of the pyramid complex as a complete ritual and cosmological system.
Although overshadowed in popular imagination by his son Khufu and the grandeur of the Great Pyramid, Sneferu’s legacy is arguably foundational. He laid the architectural, political, and symbolic groundwork for what would become Egypt’s most celebrated and enduring achievement. His reign represents a moment of synthesis - where ritual, form, geometry, and divine kingship converged into a unified project of national and metaphysical alignment.
What followed under Khufu was not a new invention, but a continuation - an expression of a field that had already been structured and stabilised. To understand Khufu, one must first understand Sneferu: the king who first aligned vision with stone, proportion with permanence, and kingship with cosmic architecture.
Sneferu’s cartouche is not merely a personal identifier; it is a structured glyphic sentence that encodes his cosmological function. To read it properly is to grasp the initiatic logic of early dynastic kingship. In the formulation Ḥr-nb-mꜣꜥt-snfr-wj - "Horus, Lord of Ma’at, has perfected me" - we are presented with a ritual declaration: the king is not self-authorised, but perfected through alignment with Ma’at, via the agency of Horus.
The glyphs tell the story: the plumb-lined cross represents balance and the measured vertical, echoing the mason’s tool of calibration. The folded cloth, which recurs throughout divine and royal names, symbolises containment, proportion, and the veiled field - frequently associated with goddess function (more of which later). These are not ornamental signs; they are structural indicators of kingship as a mediating force between the human and the cosmic.
Sneferu’s cartouche including the folded cloth and cross plumb-line signs
In several renderings of Sneferu’s cartouche, the Horus falcon is shown perched upon or emerging from a platform glyph - an image deeply evocative of vision aligned with foundation. Horus, the seeing force, is not hovering abstractly. He is grounded. The inclusion of Ma’at - truth, balance, reciprocity - within the core name confirms that the king’s identity is one of relational order, not autocratic command.
The name "Sneferu" or "Snofru" itself contains a soft resonance of breath and completion - s-n-f-r - rhythmic, rounded, almost as if spun. This sonic impression mirrors the function: the one who is made round, smoothed, perfected by the field. Read ritually, the name declares: I am the one whom Ma’at has shaped; I do not rule by will, but by alignment.
It is this encoded harmony - between geometry, breath, alignment, and name - that reveals Sneferu not only as a historical king, but as a ritual agent of cosmic calibration.
The Three Pyramids: The Geometry of Becoming
Sneferu’s building programme is unmatched in Egyptian history - not for height or grandeur, but for the sheer scope of architectural experimentation and transformation. No fewer than three major pyramids are attributed to him: Meidum, the Bent Pyramid, and the Red Pyramid. Taken together, these structures form not just a series of mistakes and corrections, as often suggested, but a coherent process of geometric refinement - a symbolic journey from instability to alignment.
It is important to remember that while we conventionally attribute such achievements to individual rulers, the reality was far more complex. These were collective undertakings, involving large teams, precise architectural planning, and a highly developed infrastructure of logistics, labour, and ritual coordination. What we are witnessing - through the modern lens - is not an anomaly, but the natural evolution of social organisation and symbolic intelligence at one of its earliest and most coherent expressions.
The entire nation of Egypt appears to have been mobilised around these monumental projects - not under compulsion alone, but through a shared cosmological purpose centred on kingship, Ma’at, and the sacred axis. This stands in stark contrast to the later Biblical caricature of slave labour under tyranny - an archetype that projects trauma into myth, casting Egyptians as cruel masters and Hebrews as their righteous victims.
What the archaeological and textual evidence supports instead is a high cultural achievement, made possible through co-operative organisation, profound technical expertise, and a unifying mythos that gave form and purpose to the work of an entire civilisation.
The development of Egypt’s pyramids follows the same patterned progression seen throughout this book: from riverine subsistence to structure, from necessity to form. Each stage builds upon the last, like a cultural benben rising from its predecessor - a process mirrored in cosmic evolution itself, from primordial field to form, from energy to structure.
Once water, food, and shelter were secured, humanity turned to measurement, myth, and form. The Egyptian pyramid age exemplifies this transition better than any other epoch. It is not an anomaly. It is the clearest expression of what happens when coherence emerges from survival - and structure follows.
The Meidum Pyramid
This pyramid is often attributed in part to Huni, the last ruler of the Third Dynasty, with the suggestion that it was begun under his reign and later completed or radically transformed by Sneferu. However, the evidence for Huni's involvement remains inconclusive. What is better supported is that Huni may have commissioned other, more rudimentary step-style pyramids elsewhere. The Meidum structure, as it stands, bears the clear architectural hallmarks of Sneferu’s reign, indicating that he either significantly altered or wholly reconstructed it as part of his early programme of pyramid development.
Its design began as a step pyramid, which Sneferu later modified in an effort to create the appearance of a true pyramid by filling in the steps with limestone casing. The outer layers eventually collapsed, likely due to the steep angle and inadequate foundational support. Nevertheless, the symbolic gesture remains: this was the first clear attempt to unify the stairway and the mound, transforming stepped elevation into continuous form. It marks the point at which Egypt diverges significantly from the Mesopotamian ziggurat - shifting from a platform of ascent to an integrated field-axis structure.
The Bent Pyramid
The Bent Pyramid at Dahshur is often interpreted as a structural failure, its angle shifting abruptly midway. But this transition - from an initial steep slope (approx. 54°) to a shallower one (43°) - may not be error, but design evolution. It produces a distinctive curvature, a torsion field in stone, suggestive of correction and accommodation. The pyramid becomes a diagram of responsiveness - symbolising adjustment to tension, rather than collapse under it.
This structure is also remarkable in that it preserves much of its original smooth casing, offering insight into how pyramids once appeared. It embodies a transitional principle: halfway between the stepped aspiration of Djoser and the axial finality of Khufu.
The Red Pyramid:
Sneferu’s final and most successful pyramid, also at Dahshur, is the first fully realised true pyramid. With a uniform angle of approximately 43°, it achieves structural stability and symbolic coherence. The name "Red Pyramid" refers to the reddish hue of the limestone, but its real significance lies in proportion: this pyramid represents the successful encoding of slope, axis, and enclosure - a stable mount of ascent.
Taken together, these three pyramids reflect a coherent sequence:
Meidum: the stepped impulse - verticality striving for continuity
Bent: the correction - the curved resolution of misalignment
Red: the realisation - the emergence of stable, aligned form
This is not merely architectural development. It is initiatic geometry. Sneferu was not experimenting blindly - he was encoding a field logic in stone. Each pyramid marks a phase of becoming, with the Red Pyramid serving as the platform of final alignment upon which Khufu’s axis could be grounded.
In this way, Sneferu’s architectural legacy is not a precursor - it is a precondition. Without his symbolic and structural calibrations, the Great Pyramid could not have arisen. Sneferu did not simply precede Khufu. He enabled him.
Tools of the Temple: Measure, Masonry, and Metrology
To understand Sneferu’s contribution to Egyptian civilisation, we must also examine the instruments through which his architectural vision was made manifest. The tools of the temple - the plumb line, square, chisel, and cord - were not simply functional items. They were sacred instruments, employed not only in construction but in the ritual calibration of space.
The plumb line, for instance, is not merely a device for verticality. In Egyptian symbolism, it defines the central axis - the descent of measure from the unseen to the seen. This is the line of the Djed, of Ma’at, of divine alignment. When Sneferu’s cartouche includes the plumb-lined cross, it is a declaration of this capacity: to bring heaven into structure.
The square, similarly, is not only a builder’s tool. It encodes the 90-degree corner, the cardinal principle of orientation and enclosure. In the Egyptian lexicon of form, the square links heaven and earth, horizon and vertical, the seen and the imagined. It is not coincidence that the Greeks later equated the word for truth (aletheia) with straightness. Ma’at is the same: the measure that does not deviate.
The chisel - seen in Narmer’s serekh and echoed in the wedge-like headpieces of early tools - is a symbol of entry, of defining edge and boundary. It penetrates the field. In the symbolic logic of initiation, the chisel opens space for order to enter. It is force with purpose.
The cord - used to lay out the temple - was itself part of the "stretching of the cord" ceremony, where priests and royal surveyors aligned sacred buildings with celestial bodies. Seshat, goddess of measurement and inscription, presided over this rite. Sneferu’s projects, from pyramid base to valley temple, all reveal signs of such alignment, confirming his active participation in the cosmological dimension of rulership.
These instruments were not neutral. They carried meaning. They were expressions of a metrological philosophy, in which number, angle, proportion, and alignment were not abstractions but realities to be embodied. Sneferu’s reign represents the first large-scale application of this philosophy to national infrastructure: an integration of cosmic principles with material execution.
What emerges is not simply engineering - but initiation in stone. Every pyramid, every foundation trench, every plumbed corner is part of a larger grammar - a language in which Egypt spoke to the gods through form. Sneferu was the first to inscribe this grammar across the land at scale. He was the architect not just of buildings, but of alignment itself.
Sneferu and the Field: Ma’at, the Feminine, and the Breath
Sneferu’s reign is inseparable from the principles of Ma’at - not only as a goddess of justice and order, but as the structural field through which Egyptian kingship was expressed. In early dynastic thought, Ma’at was not merely a moral ideal. She was architecture itself: the invisible logic of proportion, alignment, symmetry, and balance that governed both cosmos and kingdom.
Sneferu’s glyphs, temples, and pyramid complexes reveal a king who understood this. His title "perfected by Horus, Lord of Ma’at" is not metaphorical. It is a declaration of alignment to a pre-existing structure. He does not invent stability; he submits to it. This is the essence of Ma’at - not control, but correspondence.
In this context, the role of the feminine principle becomes central. The field is not generated by the king. It is the domain of the goddess. The king enters it, measures within it, and acts in service to it. The folded cloth glyph in Sneferu’s name is part of this grammar. It is not an object. It is a field-sign: a symbol of containment, of unseen ratio, of that which enfolds.
Throughout Egyptian theology, the feminine governs structure:
Seshat measures.
Isis restores.
Wadjet protects and sees.
Ma’at stabilises.
The masculine does not override these functions - it activates them. It initiates within the field already defined by the feminine matrix. Sneferu’s acts - his constructions, his measurements, his symbolic titles - are all performances of this principle. His kingship is not domination. It is conductivity: the channel through which balance becomes embodied.
Breath, too, is relevant here. The king as speaker - the one who names, commands, enacts - does not breathe alone. In Egyptian thought, Hu (utterance) and Sia (perception) are twins. They operate only in relation to the field. Sneferu, as an initiated king, breathes in alignment. His speech carries weight not because of power, but because of proportion.
In this way, Sneferu’s kingship becomes something more than governance. It becomes the ritual management of resonance. He is not a ruler over Egypt. He is a participant within Ma’at - an enactor of the balance that allows Egypt to remain in form. The feminine field surrounds him. His greatness lies in his capacity to enter it and align.
This is the hidden code of early kingship - not divine right, but divine resonance. Sneferu’s monuments, titles, and proportions reveal this truth. He was not simply a great builder. He was a field-calibrator - a masculine vector acting within the sacred geometry of the goddess.
From Sneferu to Khufu: The Djed Becomes Medjedu
With Sneferu, the axis was set in motion. But it was Khufu - his son and successor - who would inscribe it in permanence. The transition between these two kings marks one of the most profound pivots in Egyptian history: from symbolic experimentation to monumental realisation, from initiatic alignment to fixed embodiment. It is a shift not of ideology, but of degree - a transition from movement within the field to the stabilising of the field itself in stone.
Khufu is best known for the Great Pyramid at Giza, but its significance is often diminished when read purely through the lens of engineering or funerary tradition. In the context of Sneferu’s reign, the Great Pyramid becomes something else entirely: the culmination of a cosmological process first made manifest at Meidum, tested in the Bent Pyramid, and structurally perfected at Dahshur. It is not just a tomb - it is the Djed rendered materially, the axis realised in full.
This interpretation is supported by the name Khufu uses in his cartouche: Medjedu. This is not a casual label. It carries the resonance of the Djed pillar (stability, verticality, resurrection) and the concept of concealment and projection encoded in Medjed - the veiled force seen in funerary texts, translated as a wrapped, radiant figure who "shoots rays from his eyes". The name Medjedu thus unites the two streams: Djed (axis) and Med (measure, sight, projection). Khufu becomes not merely a king, but a form-bearing axis: the one who contains and emits, the measure that stabilises.
Conventionally, Medjed has been translated as ‘smiter’. Smite is usually skr in Egyptian, and the only reference to smite as medj appears in the original translation by Faulkner. He seems to have associated a line referring to a strike from the eye - or fire from the eye - with aggression, and from that decided the word must mean ‘smite’. This is despite no depiction of Medjed acting in a combative or aggressive way. For that reason, I will not be referring to Medjed as ‘smiter’.
(skr appears to be the origin of scar, since a smite causes a wound, and a wound leaves a mark - a gash or groove. This follows the established logic of kar as hydronym: a cut or channel shaped by force. Old Norse skar, meaning to cut or cleft, reflects the same. The Nile riverbed is one long scar worn by water, as are all rivers.)
Where Sneferu built through adjustment and flow, Khufu anchors it in one form. His pyramid is aligned to true north with astonishing precision - far more accurately than any modern structure built without precision instruments. Its proportions encode phi (ϕ), pi (π), and 4:π relationships, grounding cosmic harmonics in geometry. Its base-to-height ratio mirrors the hemisphere; its internal shafts point to stellar coordinates. Every feature speaks not of burial, but of ascension, field resonance, and immortality through alignment.
Yet none of this occurs in isolation. Without Sneferu’s threefold experimentation, Khufu’s singular precision could not have emerged. The father’s work is not just a prelude - it is prerequisite. Sneferu moved through stages; Khufu set the centre. In symbolic terms, Sneferu built the field; Khufu planted the axis. The Djed becomes Medjedu.
The transition is also theological. Under Sneferu, kingship is a participatory alignment within Ma’at. Under Khufu, it becomes the point of field convergence - where the king is not just aligned, but embodied as measure. From this moment on, Egyptian architecture no longer merely reflects cosmic order - it anchors it and radiates it. The pyramid is no longer a ritual echo. It is the symbol of original resonance itself.
Thus the Giza Plateau begins not with an attempt to perfect the multigenerational experiment, but with completion of it. The line from Djoser to Sneferu to Khufu is a progression. And in Khufu’s name - Medjedu - we see it clearly: the hidden one made measure, the Djed revealed, the sight of the gods stabilised on earth. The entirety of the great sea of space and all the stars and planets within it embodied geometrically, and grounded at Giza. As above, so below.
Names of Power: Medjedu, Madjedu
The ancient Egyptian writing system did not preserve vowels. Like other Afro-Asiatic languages such as Hebrew, Egyptian script recorded only consonantal roots. As a result, any vocalisation of Egyptian names and titles is ultimately interpretive, reconstructed through comparison with Coptic, later transcriptions, and scholarly tradition. This well-known feature allows for the academically legitimate variation between forms such as Medjedu, Madjedu, and even Ma-Djedu - each representing an informed phonetic reconstruction, not a fixed spelling.
In this context, the component "Me" is particularly significant. In English, "me" refers to the interior self - the seat of identity, memory, and agency. In ancient Egyptian, the overlap between "Me" and "Ma" is meaningful. "Ma" carries the resonance of the mother (Ma’at, Mut, Maw) and of truth, balance, and origin. This duality - the self and the source - reflects the Egyptian tendency to encode multiple semantic layers within even the simplest phonemes.
"Medjedu" - the name used in Khufu's cartouche - contains Djed, the symbol of stability and enduring structure, most commonly associated with Osiris and the backbone of the cosmos. Egyptological consensus affirms that the Djed pillar symbolised the axis of endurance, regeneration, and cosmic order. The suffix -u may be read as a masculine plural, but more significantly in divine titles it often indicates active embodiment, function, or collective force.
Taken together, Medjedu or Madjedu may be read not simply as a personal name, but as a title of function: "The Embodied Stability," or as this article series proposes, "The True Axis" or "The Mother Axis." This is not a speculative imposition but a legitimate extension based on existing naming conventions, phonetic openness, and symbolic structure.
Egyptological tradition often prefers Greek renderings - Isis for Aset, Osiris for Asar, Horus for Heru - which over time have disconnected the name from its function and the symbolic language in which it arose. The same process can be observed in the treatment of Medjed, the later figure appearing in the Book of the Dead, whose name and form likely derive from the same symbolic stream as Khufu's Medjedu, even if not recorded under that title until much later.
(It is even likely that medjed, found much later is a remembrance of the function of Khufu as Medjedu, like a glyph or symbol such as a cross is designed to remember Jesus. Such brands are common nowadays, especially in the digital age where icons have replaced words in many cases. Symbols such as Pi or Phi represent actual numerical values, etc.)
Medjed pictured in the Greenfield Papyrus with attendant female and 2 birds representing earth and sky, earthly and heavenly, the very function of the benben as axis between both. "Among them I know the name of Medjed the Slayer, who belongs to the House of Osiris and shoots arrows with his eye, but is invisible." - Am-Duat, excerpt from spell 17.
Image from the Book of the Dead (Greenfield Papyrus) as translated by Faulkner.
In this chapter, we simply assert the academic legitimacy of phonetic variation in Egyptian names, the symbolic weight of the Djed pillar, and the credibility of interpreting names like Medjedu within the established patterns of Egyptian divine and royal titulary.
The Folded Cloth and the Arc-Type
The glyph for folded cloth appears across a wide range of divine names in Egyptian script. Often classified simply as a determinative for femininity or textile objects, this glyph holds a far deeper symbolic function when examined within the structure of divine naming and archetypal encoding.
In names such as Aset (Isis), the folded cloth does not represent a garment. It signifies containment, completion, and enfolded potency. It is frequently paired with the bread loaf glyph (X1), another feminine marker – the feminine goddess determinant st. Together, these signs articulate the matrix of the goddess-field: one enfolding, one nourishing. This pairing defines the structural duality of the sacred feminine - not as character or myth, but as field logic - the one who binds the breath and permits form to take shape within proportion.
The same phonemic construct seen in Egypt as Isis/Aset is found in Mesopotamia as Ishtar, in Britain as Eostre, and elsewhere such as the Biblical Esther and Astoreth.
From this symbolic pairing emerges what I term the arc-type. The folded cloth is not literal fabric - it is an arched fold, a toroidal bend, a visualisation of proportion. When read in conjunction with the bread sign, it no longer encodes measure, but enclosure by ratio. These glyphs are not ornamental. They are linguistic scaffolding for sacred geometry - symbols of binding, shaping, and completion so ubiquitous they became invisible to modern literalists. We have become so used to speaking these ancient word forms – as well as the hydronyms and luminyms - in modern English that we fail to appreciate them. Unfortunately, if we do, there is a host of consensus academics and experts on hand to deny that such associations exist, and that these continuities are entirely coincidental.
My revised reading of the folded cloth sign finds direct support in funerary art and temple inscriptions, where the goddess is shown wrapping, veiling, or encompassing the divine form - Nut stretched over the heavens, Isis enfolding Osiris. The cloth here is not a covering of modesty. It is the veiling of structure, the shaping of the field around what must not be shown.
In the ritual mummification (krst), we find the same code. The body is wrapped - limbs bound in linen, the spine set. The Djed is not merely enclosed; it is prepared. Stabilised. Made ready for resurrection. The krst becomes a microcosmic Djed - not simply a corpse, but the axis wrapped in the field of return.
Understood correctly, the folded cloth glyph is both linguistic and architectural. It encodes the fold, the arc, the veiled centre. It is feminine - not by gender, but by function. That which surrounds, contains, protects, conceals, and harmonises.
This arc-type - so consistently used, yet so rarely interpreted - is foundational for understanding divine names such as Aset, Madjedu, and others. It leads directly to the figure of Medjed: the veiled one, the wrapped axis, the form that embodies the unseen field.
Here we glimpse a deeper truth: an instance of collective memory active across epochs. Ancient archetypes resurface - not as stories, but as functions remembered. Before the 20th century, Medjed was virtually unknown. Then, with the arrival of modern media - television, comics, animation - he reappears, embraced as a floating ghost by Japanese youth. Scholars, meanwhile, labelled him a male figure in a shroud. These are not interpretations. They are projections. But even they echo the truth known to Egyptian initiates.
The ancients did indeed intend to depict a veil - but they never drew it. Instead, they drew a benben torus with eyes. A standing form. An axis in motion. The eyes - Wadjet - representing projected vision. The legs signalling field movement. What this form conceals, and never shows, is the essence of Isis: the constant of proportion. The unseen ratio. The goddess is not the ghost. She is what the ghost hides.
In my IXOS work, I have shown how such structures are not inventions but recursions - nested within the universal quantum field itself. These are not inherited stories. They are accessed patterns, reawakened through resonance. The ancients understood this implicitly. They knew the universe was not constructed from particles and forces alone, but from field, measure, and proportion. What modern quantum theory is now struggling toward, the ancients practised as sacred continuity.
They accessed it through shamanic states, guided meditation, ritual trance, and - yes - plant entheogens. These were not all hallucinations. They were states of alignment, wherein the gates of perception were widened and the field itself became visible beyond the material world. Yet, such practices are still marginalised by mainstream historians, dismissed as superstition or pseudoscience. But what they reject as ‘woo’ is simply what they cannot yet measure. The so-called supernatural is only the unmeasured natural. As Arthur C. Clarke famously observed, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” The same may be said of symbolic science: what we cannot yet measure, we too often dismiss as superstition.
The ancients did not mistake mystery for ignorance. They held it intact - wrapped, veiled, exact - until such time as we could see again what had never stopped being true.
Like all peoples throughout history, they saw pattern and form - but they also saw the dead as ghosts who interact with the living. They experienced synchronicities and egregores as meaningful, natural realities. They were not sceptical about the hidden realm. They accepted it as part of the total field. They did not dismiss the unseen - they lived within it. Crucially, they sought not just to revere it, but to understand it - and to express it in coherent, communicable form. That, at its root, is exactly what science should be: not the rejection of mystery, but the disciplined effort to bring it into measured awareness.
To fail to grasp this is not just to misunderstand the Egyptians. It is to fail entirely to understand our ancestors - and ourselves.
The Veiled One: Medjed in Ritual Form
Medjed appears in funerary papyri - particularly in Spell 17 of the Book of the Dead - as a veiled, mysterious being who “shoots rays from his eyes” though he cannot be seen. To modern viewers, the figure can appear comical or abstract. Yet within the symbolic grammar of Egyptian ritual art, Medjed is nothing less than a living glyph of concealed force, encoded with cosmic function.
He is typically depicted as a toroidal or elongated ‘bread’ form, with only two eyes visible - styled in the familiar manner of the Wadjet eye. A red sash crosses horizontally at the centre. The body beneath is a white, cocoon-like form. Egyptologists often acknowledge the figure’s ambiguity, but tend to treat it as marginal or late. Within a symbolic reading, however, Medjed is the veiled proportion within the form of the Djed - not a shrouded ghost, but the axis wrapped around the unseen constant.
The red sash marks the central crossing: a symbolic echo of the stabilising bands of the Djed pillar. The diagonal X - the so-called Andrew cross - is common in Egyptian iconography, signalling the breath-axis, the toroidal fold. The visible eyes - Wadjet - represent field perception, directed insight, divine sight. The 'veil' of form is not anonymity. It is sacred concealment.
A vignette from the Papyrus Cairo JE 95658 scroll. Dated between 1077 BC and 943 BC.
A detail taken from the Papyrus Bodmer 100 scroll, dated to approximately 1069 to 945 BCE. Note the seated Isis figure as the duality of Ma’at with her feather, also holding a single feather. And the X cross adornment beneath the folded benben motif. Here we have Medjed, the trinity, the duality and the singularity expressed in one simple picture. This time the Wadjet eyes are placed centrally, with the belt above, aligning therefore with the conventional placement of the uraeus on the forehead, whilst the eyes are not in Wedjet form, but appear as human eyes in the head. Clearly the Medjed is intended to portray the human head as axis of seership here.
To the ancient Pythagoreans, ratio itself was sacred - not to be spoken of lightly. And in later traditions - Judaism, Christian esotericism, and Freemasonry - the notion of an unspeakable Name of God emerged from the same root logic: that to name directly is to profane, to expose what should remain veiled.
Medjed is not a character. He is a structure of that silence - one without a mouth to utter, but with two eyes: the visible lights of primal form origin. The eye as light is traditionally masculine, but the feminine is present in the function that gives that light form. This is Wadjet - not merely an emblem, but the name of the function itself. The eye is named for the goddess, because it is she who sees through proportion.
The eyes identified as belonging to Horus, Osiris, or Ra are not purely male symbols. As usual in Egyptian theology, they express a harmonised function of god and goddess - light and field, vision and form. The masculine projects; the feminine gives shape. Medjed holds both - open-eyed, voiceless, veiled.
The cross sash symbolism is not unique to dynastic Egypt - it is also embedded in Drift Culture memory, going back to Vinča times. I have shown many instances where the figure of the god derives from the same stellar template as Orion - the proto-Osiris - where the crossed form recurs. The X-cross appears in numerous archetypal guises: the crossing of arms in funerary art, the intersection of flail and crook, and here, across Medjed’s belt/sash. These are all Storm God markers - encodings of the same multilayered symbolic system projected through the Orion constellation.
Here we have continuity across ages and geographies, for Orion was pre-existent - the ‘first king’ - who has often been misunderstood as a predynastic human ruler. Scholars have mistaken Osiris for an ancient king, missing that it is Orion, skywalking god and archetype as Osiris, who was first - and never an historical ancestor.
Medjed, then, is not peripheral. She is central - but veiled. Her obscurity is not marginality - it is function. She is the enfolded principle of stability, of alignment, of sighted breath within the dark. She represents what the Djed looks like in motion, in ritual, in the field.
He is the external appearance and form.
Medjed is both - she, as field, breath, and veil; he, as projected presence, the axis made visible. He is the visible material form that has emerged from the primal essence. The veiled one is not a ghost, but the seen face of an unseen alignment. What Isis enfolds, Medjed expresses. The Djed walks - because the goddess binds it.
In modern scientific terms, She is the physics of the field - the coherent structure, the proportional intelligence that underlies reality. He is the visible: the material, the light, the measurable output of that field. The feminine generates the conditions; the masculine appears within them, and emerges from them.
Before particle physics came to dominate modern theory, physics accepted the presence of an ether - an essence that filled space, through which all waveforms moved, and from which matter emerged. The ancients understood this intuitively. Water, the transparent medium of life, was not simply symbolic of the ether - it embodied its qualities. It was the living analogue of the unseen substrate.
As I have shown, this view is not mystical abstraction. It is based entirely on observation of Nature - from the very beginning of human history. The sacred feminine, the veiled field, the generative ether, was not an imagined realm. It was the primary reality - acknowledged, encoded, and lived.
This is not theory. This is what was seen.
There is nothing unscientific in what the Egyptians expressed in their architecture and mythos.
It is merely in existence earlier than we have appreciated in our science books.
Orion and the Cross of the Field
In Egyptian cosmology, Orion is known as Sahu or Sah - the celestial form of Osiris. His three-star belt was seen as a sacred triad, while the four outlying stars form a tilted X or lozenge-shaped cross - clearly rendered in temple iconography and stellar diagrams. Four points aligned diagonally. This celestial geometry was not decorative. It encoded a cosmic axis - resonant with the Djed - and directly reflected in the proportions and orientations of sacred architecture.
Within Orion we see seven points of light - a number deeply embedded in myth and sacred systems across cultures. But beyond enumeration, the configuration also expresses a harmonic sequence: a central 1 (the crossing point of the X), flanked by a duality - 2 - which together form a 3 (the emergent Trinity), and are surrounded by 4 (completion, stability, form). This sequence - 1, 2, 3, 4 - is the Tetractys, the sacred tetrad, and when drawn as a triangle of descending rows, the decad.
From these numbers, all proportion and ratio emerge: waveform, harmony, music, geometry, light. The Pythagoreans taught that one must meditate on the Tetractys to know the All. This was not poetic mysticism - it was the geometry of becoming. A cosmological unfolding, with each stage emerging from the former, and the former nested within the next. Recursive, generative, harmonic.
This is not abstraction. It is fractal holography - the patterned breath of creation.
It was understood then. It is verified now. Modern physics may name it differently, it may now have the tools to observe it more closely and to measure it in its finest forms, but nowhere has it been expressed more clearly and simply than in the Tetractys.
The Eye of Horus - also linked with Wadjet - contains beneath it a vertical line, an angled line, and a spiral: a pillar, a proportional alignment, a returning cycle. This symbol compresses the Djed, the sight-line, and the spiral of recurrence into a single hieroglyphic logic. The red sash across the body of Medjed, the visible eyes, and the hidden pillar all resonate within this symbolic system.
The X-cross of Orion is found not only in heaven, but in the ground plans of tombs and temples. The horizontal Djed stabilises the vertical axis; the belt marks the centre. The sash worn by Medjed can thus be read as a terrestrial mirroring of the Orion belt - the visible breath-line drawn across the veiled pillar.
Medjed’s body becomes a living diagram of this: Orion brought to earth, the goddess veiled within the form, but marked by sight and measure. He is both celestial and embodied - a standing cross in ritual expression.
Egyptian symbolism always encodes dual planes: the divine within the mundane, the heavenly within the glyph. In Medjed, we see this most directly. He is not a ghost. He is the field-form of the Djed - the Orion cross made visible through proportion and concealment.
This geometrical and cosmological resonance frames Medjed not as mythic invention, but as symbolic continuity. It is the breath-line of the stars, drawn through a veiled figure. The same logic underpins the temple, the proportions of statues, and even the ankh - the loop and the cross, the breath and the pillar.
This concept of the axis between the heavens and earth is also expressed in the Biblical tale of Jacob’s ladder where the starry gods (which by now have become arch-angels and angels) - come down and the earthly go up to meet the heavenly ones on the Stairway to Heaven, symbolised in the the djed pillar. Jacob in the Bible plays the role of the Sumerian lugal.
Hu and Sia: The Breath and Sight of the Axis
In Egyptian theology, creation is not a single event but an ongoing act, sustained by speech and perception. At the centre of this process are Hu and Sia - utterance and knowing - who accompany Ptah, Atum, and Ra in their respective cosmogonies.
Hu is the breath, the spoken word, the vocalised command that shapes reality. Sia is insight, perception, and interior knowledge. These are not abstract principles but structural components of Egyptian cosmology. Without Hu and Sia, Ma’at cannot be established, and the Djed - the stabilising pillar of cosmic order - cannot stand.
In the ritual threat to cut the tongue of the Freemason initiate, we see the silencing of Hu, to maintain the veil of secrecy. In the blindfolding or veiling of the eyes, the suppression of Sia. These are not merely punitive symbols - they are reminders that truth and structure are fragile, held in place by aligned speech and clear seeing.
Medjed, as the veiled axis, encapsulates this alignment. He is silent yet present. She sees, yet remains unseen. He holds within his form the principle of the Djed, and within his symbolism, the presence of Hu and Sia.
Placed within the Duat - the field of Osiris - Medjed becomes the veiled breath and perception within the unseen world. He is not merely an attendant or lesser figure. He is the encoded axis of consciousness, standing invisibly but essentially. He is the ever-coming ‘millions’ in form, as the epithet of Atum - the iusa, the ever-coming son, whose name as iu represents eternity or ‘millions’ as the resultant forms to emerge from his sacred breath and Word Hu.
Together with Ma’at and the Djed, Hu and Sia form a tetradic structure of field logic: speech, sight, order, and spine. Medjedu is not simply a name - it is this tetrad made symbolic. Not personified, but stabilised in image, proportion, and name.
Sia would become our Greek psi, the root of psyche. And it is within our psyche that we experience the phi - as philosophy.
The ever-coming ius are not only the emanations of Atum’s sacred breath - they are also the generations of the living who die and return in soul form, passing through the spirit back to the source. This cycle of return is central to Egyptian cosmology. And yet, it has been fundamentally misinterpreted - then amplified and ultimately weaponised by later religious traditions.
In Egyptian theology, these ius are the mythic souls who must be justified in the halls of judgment, passing through the ‘many mansions’ of the afterlife journey. Their return is not automatic - it must be earned through alignment with Ma’at. This is the true meaning behind the promise of Jesus in the later mythos: that the soul must return to the Father, and through the spirit, to the veiled Mother. That return is the resurrection. It is not genetic. It is symbolic.
The figure of Jesus does not promise salvation to a chosen people. He echoes the same Egyptian structure: that all must become ius - ever-coming ones - and all must be justified in their crossing. The Promised Land is not geography. It is the metaphysical domain beyond the gate - the threshold between the living and the dead. The ‘Jews’ in this context are not an ethnic lineage. They are a spiritual archetype: those who cross over.
The Bible encodes this Egyptian truth - but through mistranslation and later agenda, it has been falsely racialised. The call to enter the Promised Land was never a tribal claim. It was a universal rite of passage for the soul.
The ritual is specific - and far older than the biblical rewrite. The journey of the soul takes place in the Duat, the unseen realm through which the deceased must travel. There, one must navigate the sacred river, pass through the Field of Reeds, and become justified upon the mountain. These stages are not allegory. They are formal elements of the Egyptian afterlife structure - mapped, enacted, and preserved for millennia.
This is no history of a chosen people fleeing enslavement led by a messianic leader who finds truth given on a mountain called Sinai. It is not the record of a special race escaping Egypt and being pursued across the Red Sea. The very phrase ‘Red Sea’ is a mistranslation - what was crossed was the Reed Sea (Yam Suph), the boundary between the living and the dead.
The myth is precise. The assumed history is baseless.
Once again, what was universal has been narrowed. What was spiritual has been racialised. And what was once a ritual map for all souls has been rebranded as the tribal origin story of a few.
Sia to Psi: The Geometry of Perception and Its Concealment
In Egyptian theology, Sia is perception - consciousness aligned to the field. It is not limited to vision, but reflects interior knowing, originally expressed through hearing the Word: the utterance of Hu. Together, Hu and Sia flank the creator - Ra, Ptah, or Khnum - and represent the operational trinity: breath, sight, and creative axis.
The central god is enclosed within the serpent - its sinuous waveform expressing the wisdom of the goddess. Yet once again, it is her function, not her form, that traverses the bark. Isis is not shown. She is inferred through ratio, breath, and curve.
Sia, as the receiver of the Word, is essentially what we would now identify as psyche - the field function of the mind, perception, and inner knowing. As such, Sia reflects the full Medjed typology: the trinity of visible function, sustained by the concealed presence of the feminine field.
The meaning of psyche - the soul, the perceiving and remembering function - corresponds directly to this triadic structure. There is no proven etymological derivation from Sia to psyche, but the typological consistency, symbolic resonance, and functional alignment make the inference strong.
The Greek letter Psi (Ψ) - later associated with psyche, psyche-logos, and parapsychology - visually encodes the same logic. Its form shows a central axis with two flanking curves: a glyphic mirror of the solar bark triad. The god stands at centre; Hu and Sia flank either side. The trinity is expressed in form, but the structure is not complete.
A fourth is always veiled. Isis - the serpent wisdom - is never shown, but always implied. She is the proportional field behind the form. The visible axis depends entirely upon the concealed constant.
This same structure is later co-opted and rebranded. The six-point field cross, once mapped beside the name Sia in magical papyri, is looped and transformed into the Chi-Rho monogram. On Cuthbert’s coffin, the overwrite is visible again: Christ, written as the Chi Rho ‘ᛁᚻᛋ ᛉᛈᛋ’ (IHS XPS), the Chi-Rho appears beside the Algiz rune (ᛉ) - a symbol of upright breath and divine protection. When inverted, it marks the death of the axis.
Image of Cuthbert’s coffin with runic Chi Rho inscription.
Constantine’s Chi Rho on the labrum depicted on an ancient silver medal. Note the flanking by the 2 forms exactly as Hu and Sia do on the Egyptian bark. Note also the total lack of any depiction of Jesus or the crucifixion.
Church authorities have since described Algiz as the runic equivalent of Chi, tying it to the monogram of Christ. It is also, notably, a straightened version of Psi - a glyphic reduction of the triform field to a singular spine.
There have been other examples where Chi Rho structures predate Constantine. Ptolemaic coinage depicts a Chi Rho beneath a hawk’s feet - a full five hundred years before Constantine’s supposed vision before the assault at the Milvian Bridge. The symbol existed long before Christianity, and certainly long before the invention of a religion based on a man from the first century AD. Moreover, for centuries, the word chrestus is a Latinised form of chrestos, which had been used as a word meaning ‘good’, ‘useful’ - essentially a word meaning ‘true’. It thereby retained the ancient Egyptian essence of what was later to be falsely applied to a mythical, non-historic man-god by the Romans.
Clearly, the Chi Rho was not Christian in origin. It was never designed to represent Jesus. It is far older. And it now stands as clear evidence of a deliberate Church deception - one that insists on a fabulous historical narrative while overwriting the visual record. As we have seen, crosses, star-forms, and axial structures existed long before Christianity, appearing in Egyptian, Mesopotamian, and pre-Roman symbolism across the ancient world.
It is no coincidence that Chi Rho is also encoded in the modern name for the site of the Giza complex: Cairo.
One famous example of the field function of Phi and Isis survives in plain sight: the Book of Kells. On the so-called ‘Chi Rho page’ of the Gospel of Matthew, we find the Medjed structure in the archetypal typology once again - fully encoded, ritually precise, and entirely unnoticed for over a thousand years.
· A face at centre (Christ) – the visible male form
· A phi-wrapped axis (Rho) – the veiled Isis ratio literally forming the Phi glyph φ
· A wedge above (Wadjet) – the feminine masonic structural wedge and the apex eye symbol of serpent wisdom.
· A throne to the side (Isis) – an affirmation that the intent is for the initiate to perceive Isis specifically here 𓊨
· All wrapped in the Egyptian glyph of the ‘folded cloth’ - 𓋴 - the Egyptian sign for the letter s – specifically related to the sacred feminine in the name for ‘she’ in Isis – an almost comical and transparent nod to the original – one of Rome’s famous puns, no doubt (of which we will evidence many more later)
· Isis veiled yet again, by her own cloth.
The visible trinity appears, but the field remains hidden. Isis is not drawn, yet she holds the measure. The Church is fully aware of its debt to ancient Egyptian theology, as well as the mathematical principles inherited from the Pythagorean schools, and it has made a conscious choice to obscure both. This concealment is not incidental, but strategic, serving to preserve ecclesiastical authority by severing the visible symbols of doctrine from their older, structural origins.
Kells then is yet another Roman Churchian ‘shell’ – the superficial representation deliberately created to veil the mother and the ‘gel’, within. Note the use of the Egyptian hydronymic K, as in karst, here. A hardened dry shell without the anointed status conferred by the st of the goddess. Christ as male only; God as male only. A beautiful yet deceptive red herring. An occult blind. Intended to please the eye, but conceal the sight of the Mother Goddess within. Yet another veil of Isis; this time deliberately imposed to conceal her from the ‘profane’ in imagery that speaks one language to the initiates and shepherds of Yahweh, and another to the psycho-civilised flock. As originally krst, this is a theanonym, but here in the Christian, the goddess element has been removed or hidden and becomes a mere hydronym - or metaphysically a luminym (as it is supposed to express The Light). Only when god and goddess are united into a theanonym, is the original meaning expressed in the intention of the word.
Thy rod and staff, they comfort me, but they also control me.
The purpose of religion is to control, not reveal.
Let those with eyes to see and those with ears to hear understand the message of the Gospel of Matthew, of which the Kells Chi Rho page is the first:
“…Whoever has ears, let them hear.”
The disciples came to him and asked, “Why do you speak to the people in parables?”
He replied, “Because the knowledge of the secrets of the kingdom of heaven has been given to you, but not to them. Whoever has will be given more, and they will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them. This is why I speak to them in parables:
“Though seeing, they do not see;
though hearing, they do not hear or understand.
In them is fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah:
“‘You will be ever hearing but never understanding;
you will be ever seeing but never perceiving.
For this people’s heart has become calloused; (my emphasis)
they hardly hear with their ears,
and they have closed their eyes.
Otherwise they might see with their eyes,
hear with their ears,
understand with their hearts
and turn, and I would heal them.’
But blessed are your eyes because they see, and your ears because they hear. For truly I tell you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see but did not see it, and to hear what you hear but did not hear it. - Matthew (13:9-43)
It is important to recall that the major records of early Irish history, including the legendary invasions of Ireland, were all compiled or authored under the auspices of the Church. There is almost no surviving documentation of the Celtic Church prior to the Synod of Whitby. What we possess is a programme of gospels, saints’ lives, and monastic works produced after that point, including the Book of Kells, the Lindisfarne Gospels, and the writings attributed to Cormac mac Cuilennáin. Although these materials are often dated back to figures such as Patrick and Columba, archaeological evidence has consistently demonstrated that the manuscripts and edifices in question were produced centuries later.
The history of the so-called Celtic Christians, along with the broader narrative of those inhabiting the Celtic regions of Ireland and Northumbria, has been almost entirely constructed by Roman Church historians well after the periods they purport to describe. As is frequently the case in such traditions, the alleged original sources for these histories are stated to have been lost.
Subsequent scholarship has attempted to reconstruct historical continuity from within the framework provided by these ecclesiastical records. However, in doing so, scholars often presume that behind the mythologised and saintly accounts lies a broadly accurate historical timeline. Yet the evidence continually undermines that assumption. The Roman ecclesiastical claims are regularly found to be inconsistent with the archaeological record, and no definitive pre-Roman Christian presence in Ireland has been conclusively verified.
Despite this, Irish linguistic and mythological traditions preserve substantial residues of Sumero-Babylonian and Egyptian heritage. Terms such as Tuath (which clearly echoes the Egyptian Tuat or Duat, the realm of the dead) survive as linguistic fossils. The name Danand, later reconstructed into the goddess Danu, may or may not be related to the Danube river or the figure of Dana/Inanna, but such identifications are late reinterpretations built on older phonemic strata. What does remain consistent is that riverine names exist in dan or don forms, and the pagan goddess was always associated with them.
Even the term Tanistry - the dynastic succession practice in early Ireland - finds a possible echo in the Egyptian city of Tanis, a royal seat in the later dynastic period.
Crucially, the oldest extant manuscript in the Irish language, Lebor na hUidre (the Book of the Dun Cow), dates only to the twelfth century. This timeline places the preservation of Irish mythological and historical material firmly within the post-Roman Christian monastic system, and long after the oral traditions it claims to represent.
I have documented in this book the most compelling evidence available for the Celts as non-Christian pagans possessing a cultural system of their own - one almost entirely at odds with the Roman version of events. The extant archaeological and etymological record demonstrates this consistently, over millennia. To date, nothing in the consensus version of history offers a comparable volume of evidence, nor such consistency of logic and structural rationale.
The evidence presented here is potent, but it is not intended to be encyclopaedic. Scholars, specialists, and independent researchers will undoubtedly find thousands of additional examples throughout the historical and archaeological corpus. This work is not a compilation of total evidence - it does not aim to be - but rather a clear and focused demonstration that the historical narrative of the Northern Hemisphere and the Western world must be urgently and fundamentally revised. The entire framework supporting the dominant illusion - an illusion initiated by the Christian Church - must be re-evaluated from its foundations.
Isis is always veiled - and she is always implied, both in symbolic form and in proportional ratio - while that which is made visible and officially taught is itself only a veil. The Egyptians once considered Isis, and the sacred proportions associated with her, to be deliberately hidden: a metaphysical and artistic statement of function. The Church, however, undertook to hide her for very different reasons - not as reverence, but as erasure. Her concealment became a mechanism by which the Church could rewrite world history as a Biblical narrative: one in which the goddess had already been removed, denigrated, and ultimately demonised.
This allowed a male-only priesthood, serving a male-only god, to extend its empire - conquering indigenous cultures and appropriating their spiritual, material, and natural wealth. Such actions, if carried out under modern political ideologies, would be categorised as fascist, dystopian, or totalitarian. We might reference the Communists, the Nazis, or the warnings of Orwell, Huxley, or Wells. Yet in doing so, we maintain the illusion that dystopia is a thing of the future - when in reality, what Orwell imagined in 1984 had already taken root in Britain by around 684. Western civilisation has, in effect, been under the control of its own ‘Big Brother’ for well over a thousand years.
Orwell’s Ministry of Truth and his protagonist Winston Smith are not so much speculative fiction as they are metaphorical reconstructions of the Church’s historical redactors – those who rewrote and reorganised the records of the ancient world to serve a new imperial theology. And it is the goddess – Isis – who was the first to be entirely written out.
Orwell’s Ministry of Truth and his protagonist Winston Smith are not so much speculative fiction as they are metaphorical reconstructions of the Church’s historical redactors, those who rewrote and reorganised the records of the ancient world to serve a new imperial theology. And it is the goddess, Isis, who was the first to be entirely written out.
The subjugation of the feminine, and the destruction or rebranding of the goddess, appears repeatedly in Church-related myth and iconography. We may speculate that Medjed’s red cross sash on a white background is echoed in the image of the Christian knight bearing the red cross, and in the figure of St George, whose emblem shows the red cross conquering the serpent. For the initiate, this is a clear signal: we, the male dominators, control the serpent wisdom.
As shown in earlier chapters, the Church’s invention of St Patrick, who is said to have rid Ireland of snakes, encodes the same message. The name Patrick can be understood symbolically as Ptah–ric – that is, the Ptahic or Pythagorean wisdom of the serpent, now owned (ric) and wielded by the Church. The sacred field of knowledge, once feminine and open, is declared closed and subordinated.
In the same way, even the name Christ may be read structurally: Ch–ri–st. By the cross (Ch), we rule (ri) the goddess (st). What was once an image of field balance and sacred breath has been turned into a cipher of domination.
Again, with the Biblical version of its most influential character – Paul – we find ample room for scrutiny. And not without precedence, nor reason. Paul was said to have originally been named Saul – a name etymologically linked with Sheol, the Hebrew underworld – implying a status of being ‘dead’. His transformation occurs in a mystical vision on the road to Damascus, after which he is no longer Saul but Paul. Yet nowhere in the canon is this shift explained.
Significantly, all that changed was the initial S - the sacred feminine glyph in Egyptian, symbolised by the folded cloth - replaced by P, which is the visual representation of Greek Rho. The feminine is removed, and Rho appears. Just as in Roman iconography, where the Chi-Rho was formed by adding a simple loop to the six-rayed star long associated with the goddess Isis, Ishtar, and Inanna. With a single curved stroke, the feminine radiance became the masculine arc - the breath inscribed upon the spine. The star was now the Christogram. The goddess had become a god.
Is this what also occurred in the transformation of Saul to Paul? A typological overwrite disguised as a name change? A hoodwink - a wink to the initiates, a pun for the redactors? The act of folding the cloth, of veiling the feminine principle, followed by the inscription of speech - the Roman P, the Rho - as the voice of the empire?
The story of Paul includes a telling episode: he is said to have once held the robes of those who stoned Stephen. Symbolically, he does not throw the stones - he folds the cloth. This places him in the role of the veiler, the one who conceals the feminine, not by force but by complicity. He does not act overtly - he facilitates. He is not the hand that strikes, but the hand that binds. In this way, Paul becomes the transition figure: the one who once served the goddess field — perhaps even as an initiate — but now stands as the mouthpiece of Rome. The Rho-man. The axis-bearer of the new doctrine. The voice of the Church.
Stephen’s role, too, reveals itself under symbolic scrutiny. The name Stephen derives from the Greek Stephanos, meaning crown - or prince. In this context, Stephen is not simply the first ‘Christian martyr’. He is a placeholder - a rhetorical construct. A projection of guilt, to be assigned to the Jews. A sacrificial 'prophet figure' who is ritually condemned by his own people, echoing the gospel motif that would soon be formalised in the Jesus narrative.
But more significantly, Stephen appears as a symbolic prefiguration of Titus – the Roman prince, son of Vespasian (the declared messiah), and the executor of judgment. Where Stephen is stoned for speaking against Jewish resistance to divine truth, Titus enacts that very truth by destroying the Temple, stone by stone – thereby fulfilling the “prophecy” retroactively inscribed into the gospel narrative.
This inversion tactic was a common feature of Roman literature and imperial rhetoric: blame the enemy for one’s own aggression, then claim the moral high ground. It is the essence of political brinkmanship and serves as a justification for war – what would now be called a false-flag operation. Here, it is employed not on the battlefield, but in the construction of scripture itself – a literary inversion masquerading as divine fulfilment.
And in one of history’s darker ironies, Josephus records that Titus’s most effective weapon in breaching the city was the siege engine - designed to hurl massive stones at the besieged Jews. The motif of stoning thus moves from symbolic execution to imperial judgment. What was written as a pious death becomes realised as political punishment - Rome’s vengeance dressed in the garments of prophecy.
In this way, Stephen becomes a rhetorical prototype for Titus – the son of the messiah, the ‘son of man’ (this now explains the ambiguity of the term son of man, as a literal statement relating to Titus, and made to be spoken by Jesus as though a reference to himself - who in the Bible was never a son of man but a son of god), the rightful judge. Paul, by folding the robe, is both veiling the feminine and handing over the field to the Roman line. The narrative, far from being an account of historical events, is a crafted literary structure: Stephen rebukes the Jews, Paul stands by in complicity, and Rome is exonerated by the implication that justice was already being fulfilled.
Thus, Paul’s supposed conversion – from persecutor of Christians to Christian par excellence – is not so straightforward as the canonical narrative suggests. It appears, instead, to serve a symbolic and political function: the veiling of the old field and the inauguration of the Roman axis.
In Egyptian, R is the mouth – the voice of utterance, the projection of command. P, derived from the Phoenician glyph for head, becomes the face of state authority. In Paul, these merge: he becomes both the breath and the visage of a new religious order – not as a channel of gnosis, but as its regulator. Its administrator. Its redactor.
This interpretation may appear speculative, but it rests upon a consistent pattern. The Roman Church did not invent its theology from scratch. It worked by appropriation, redaction, and symbolic overwrite - often using highly literate puns and typological substitutions to signal meaning to the educated class, while maintaining simple narratives for the general population.
Let us not forget that, although we now view the Bible as theology or sacred literature, at the time of its imposition upon the indigenous cultures of the empire, it was not religion — it was theocracy. It was official history. And it was written by the victors.
As I have shown throughout this work, there is barely an historic crumb to this great loaf. Yet this is what the Romans invented - a fabricated chronology dressed in borrowed symbols - and imposed it as the history of the world. It is a story still maintained by those who follow the religion, unaware that what they revere is not revelation but revision.
When Churchill said, "History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it," he was not joking. Once written, codified, and enforced through coercion, torture, and fear, it takes but a few generations for the memory of all that to fade - and for the fabrication to harden into fact.
Once established as authority, and enforced through icons and repetition, the Roman Church succeeded in creating a psycho-civilised society - a population whose own history appeared to validate its theology. The myth became the mirror. The lie became self-perpetuating.
This is a tactic well known to all dictatorships: amplify the lie, repeat it often, encode it in ritual, and let time do the rest. A two-tiered system emerges - a feudal state of self-appointed elites and docile plebs. The former speak in riddles; the latter are trapped in stories they believe to be their own. It is, in effect, a civilisation suffering a collective Stockholm syndrome - hoodwink bound by reverence to its captors, and loyal to the system that erased its past.
What is The Church?
Far from being a minor footnote in Egyptian history, Medjed is perhaps the most significant symbolic figure ever recovered from the ancient corpus. Within this single form is encoded the entire cosmological architecture of Egyptian metaphysics: the axis of alignment, the relationship between the material and immaterial, the fecundity of the Earth, and the breath of life issuing from the unseen source.
Medjed’s form unites these elements with precision. The Wedjat eyes at the apex signify not merely perception, but conscious, directed sight - intelligent seeing, the faculty of awareness that governs both projection and return. This is the Holy See, not as ecclesiastical office, but as axis-seeing: a feminine principle of divine observation from the centre of all form. It is the apex around which all revolves, from which all arises, and through which all is known.
The Wedjat eyes carry the full power of the uraeus - the cobra, striking forth with wisdom and warning, representing the projective clarity of divine sight. At its root lies the ancient Gothic word UR, meaning origin, placed here at the AR, the peak - the crown point - of the toroidal mount. Thus Medjed is not a passive figure, but a living Ar-Tor: the origin-torus, the architectural eye of sacred structure.
This is linearity derived from the physics of the sphere and the spiral. Nothing in nature is a straight line at the most fundamental level. All atoms are comprised of vortices and space in motion. Everything in nature has a tangential spirallic structure underlying all linearity. The flowing spiral or vortex is the substrate of all things.
When Rome overtook the ancient wisdom of the goddess - absorbing and subsuming her under the emerging figure of The Mother Church - it did so through stages of symbolic overwriting. It built its doctrinal foundations atop the substrate left in Egypt: the marshlands, deserts, and sacred waters of the Nile. But it transferred the axis.
Giza was abstracted into metaphor and relocated mythically to the Levant, where the Temple of Jerusalem became the new symbolic centre. Following the Roman suppression of the Judahite uprising in AD 71–73, that axis was transferred again - this time to Rome itself. It was there that the omphalos, the navel of the world, was reestablished, not in alignment with cosmic principle, but according to imperial self-aggrandisement. This was the Rome-centric axis - the manufactured centre of power, claiming divine authority through conquest, not coherence.
The Temple of Apollo at Delphi and the Temple of Jerusalem would ultimately be merged in conceptual and symbolic form - through cultural appropriation and ecclesiastical architecture - into a singular axis centred in Rome. Both temples had been viewed as omphalos sites: central points from which divine order emanated. In this transference, the Roman state laid claim to the divine axis - severing it from its sacred past and rewriting its symbolic origin.
The Temple of Apollo at Delphi marked the Greek interpretation of the axis mundi, the centre of the world. Apollo’s sacred emblems were the anchor and the dolphin - both bearing profound symbolic and linguistic significance. The anchor denotes stability, grounding, and convergence - the meeting of above and below – within the cosmic sea - while the dolphin signifies guidance, flow, and resonance across the sea of being. These are not random emblems but inherited archetypes: the same axis-breath logic found in Egyptian cosmology.
The name Delphi itself derives from the Greek delphus (δελφύς), meaning womb. The same root gives us delphinos (δελφῖνος), meaning dolphin, but originally linked not to an animal per se, but to the concept of womb-birth from the waters. In pre-Greek forms, this is etymologically and symbolically tied to the Tuat or Duat - the Egyptian womb-world and realm of passage. The dolphin is the psychopomp of water - a living axis - and the sacred guide across the threshold.
Dolphins and whales are also the only air-breathing creatures that birth their young in the salty sea water – which recalls the Mother Goddess as the salty sea of space that brings forth the stars as her offspring (see Tiamat). Dolphins are also known to inhabit both salt-water oceans and less briny waters in rivers. They traverse both aspects of the Mother, as sea and river dwellers, and breathers of the etheric air – a reference to the Hu breath which she imbues as the life after the birth – which is conferred in the Egyptian iconography by the Ankh. Hence the derivation of Ankh-Hor.
Her form as the amphibious Hecate displays similar archetypes as the birthing in the waters, but is specifically an inland archetype, in riverine areas and marshes etc.
Delphi, as omphalos, was not originally a Hellenic creation. The site predates classical Greek culture and likely absorbed older Anatolian and pre-Mycenaean goddess traditions. The same applies to Apollo, who was not an indigenous Greek deity in origin. He was a solar-transformed Horus - a projection of the falcon-light principle inherited from Ptolemaic Egypt, adapted into Indo-European theonymy. As the “far-shooter,” Apollo retained the traits of Horus: divine eye, radiant force, and judicial axis. The Oracle at Delphi preserved this function - a centre of utterance and vision, where the Ur or Or (the originary field of sound and seeing) was ritually accessed.
The Omphalos (Om-Phallus) is a legendary Greek form of the Egyptian benben – which is the Egyptian version of the original Tor. Yet, as a Tor icon, it emerges from the primordial earth or sea. A navel is not typically a nub that arises from the belly, but is an inwards remnant of the umbilical cord. Here we have another example of the duality which exists in all Egyptian psychology and observation of nature, and this reveals the mystery as a fundamental archetypal and scientific approach written in etymology derived from natural observation.
The root word mag – as in Maghara, Magh Tuireadh and magistrate, magic and magus – is also reflected in the word magen. The Magen David is the Jewish icon and is present on the flag of Israel. A magen is translated as meaning ‘belly’ and ‘shield’. The symbol of the Magen David is a six pointed glyph, present on the Seal of Solomon, and depicts the hexagram. This is a unification symbol, meaning ‘As Above, So Below’, where Light enters Matter, the Father enters the Mother, to create ‘the son’. So, where the benben rises upwards towards the mother sea and the light and lights that dwell in the sky, so does the opposite manifest. The sky and the light descend into the earthly Mother that brings forth the bounty from the womb, or belly, of the earth. This womb is the sacred Tuat of the Egyptian Mother. The sacred duality is forever bound in principle in nature. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. And where the two meet, they become one under the principle of Ma’at.
The Seal of Solomon is the shell that of the earth – the surface, below which is the Sheol state and land of the dead – the Tuat or Duat in the Egyptian mythos and ritual. Here is where all the potential exists for either eternal afterlife, or decay though the breakdown of the shell – or soul – via the demonic forces. This again is a purely naturally derived concept, as this is where the dead decay and are broken down by the bacteria and fungi to become organic elements. All these words are derived from hydronyms: soul, sheol, shell, seal and shield.
All relate to the contrasting dualities of above and below, life and death, hard and soft, container and contained. All polarities have a transcendent third point of alignment relative to the poles at the balance point – the axis, and the principle of Ma’at. Solomon’s seal was contained in his ring of power. Solomon plays the Biblical role of lugal king – the pharaoh - and was the constructor of the temple, just as the Egyptian king was the constructor of the Temple or pyramid in Egypt as co-creator, measurer and builder with the direction and guidance of the goddess Seshat. In the Biblical myth of Solomon, we have the Egyptian original retold.
The heraldry of the family that would be instrumental in the establishment of the Zionist state of Israel contains all of the iconography from the geometric stars and Anunnaki/George/Cuthbert cross, to the mythos of the Storm God (the lightning arrows wielded by the Ar of the Tor), including the shield that bears the benben/omphalos at the centre, the sun symbols and the Janus eagle of Rome. This banking family have been instrumental in the founding and shaping of the Israeli state, from the myth to political reality. Moreover, the same inter-locking banking fraternity that they helped establish has become a power base around which the entire capitalist machine has formed. The great beast that has become the controlling axis of all life on earth.
Whereas the roots are entirely mythic and lie firmly in Biblical appropriation of Babylonian and Egyptian observances, the mythic lineage to the patriarchs is claimed to be a genetic racial, tribal, heritage. The consequences of this erroneous belief dictated by men divinely chosen by a male-only god, versus unworthy gentile majority, has been the cause of much consequence for the world.
Apollo’s mythic birth is located at Delos, near Mykonos - a site long held sacred, even before his association. Delos features three sacred mounds, and became known as the birthplace of both Apollo and his twin sister Artemis - the solar Storm God figure and his lunar counterpart. But it was at Delphi that Apollo reached his symbolic apex. Here, at the navel of the world, the axis was fixed. And it is no coincidence that initiates of the Pythagorean tradition - what I refer to as our Drift Culture lineage - revered Delphi as one of their primary sacred centres.
Delphi was originally called Pytho - the place of serpent wisdom. It was the seat of Pythia, the high priestess known as the Oracle of Delphi, through whom the utterance of Apollo - or rather, the field’s seeing-word - was channelled. Her muse is the Python in the underworld. This naming preserves the primordial link between vision, serpent force, and spoken measure. The so-called Pythagorean tradition did not originate this logic - it merely recovered it. The structure of logos - the measured word, encoded in serpent-wrapped breath – was already ancient by the time of Plato, and long before any retroactive attribution to a man named Pythagoras.
This is the imagery of ancient serpent wisdom - fully developed in Mesopotamia and Egypt millennia earlier, encoded in the uraeus, the Wadjet eye, and the breath-symbolism of Hu and Sia. The tradition remembered at Delphi was a continuation, not an invention.
Where the benben tor rises and is seen, what is hidden is the duality that descends into the underworld, beneath the surface, and is veiled – as Isis is veiled. What veils her is the shild – or magen – of the belly. What sshe conceals is that which is to come forth, as she is the potential of the new form through birth. She is the gestator and source of life, whether as Gaia the Earth or as Tiamat, the eternal sea. She is the transparent one, the breth of life and the water of life. She is the unseen ratio of the substrate, or the ether – the Matrix. Whereas the god as masculine is the seen and measurable – the product of the Matrix.
It is from this context that Medjed, the seen form of the plumb, the veiled one, emerges into symbolic prominence. He is not invented anew - he is recovered in pieces. From the Wedjet eyes of Egypt to the oracle at Delphi, from the Djed of Osiris to the anchored dolphin of Apollo, the axis is one and the same. It is sighted, grounded, and resonant.
The roads that once led to the sacred field would now be made to lead elsewhere. “All roads lead to Rome” was not merely a statement of logistics - it was a metaphysical redirection. The Ru-Ma - the “path to the Mother” - became the name of the empire itself: Rome. The Roman state assumed the maternal veil while suppressing the feminine field that had given rise to the structure it claimed. What had once been Medjed’s inner vision, encoded in the Wedjet eyes, became The Holy See - an institution of male authority cloaked in feminine naming.
Thus the axis was relocated - not by force of theology, but by control of where the centre is drawn. The omphalos was no longer natural. It was imperial. This time, they did not construct the pyramid near the Nile, they established The Vatican by the Tiber
The name Vatican, conventionally derived from vātēs (seer), is already an admission of its function: a centre of vision, pronouncement, and authority. Yet phonetically, the name also encodes a deeper symbolism. The “Vati” (seer or prophet) aligns with the ancient Wadjet principle of divine vision, while “Can” echoes the biblical Cain — the founder of cities and bearer of terrestrial lineage. Cain who bore the cross mark – the ot – of the axis, and who became a man in the Biblical version. This is not revelation from above, but a man-made axis, a constructed omphalos to replace the field-centre that once stood at Giza.
The original symbol of ‘Christianity’, long before the crucifix became dominant, was the anchor. It would be several centuries before the crucifixion scene - depicting a tortured man nailed to a wooden cross - came to define Christian iconography. The early ‘Christian community’ did not visualise Christ as a suffering victim, but rather encoded their theology through symbols of hope, grounding, and concealed truth.
As noted by Clement of Alexandria (modern scholarship places Clement around 150–215 CE, and his status as ‘bishop’ was retroactively assigned), the anchor was used among early Christians as a symbol of hope and spiritual steadfastness. But its deeper significance lies not in its maritime associations, but in its form. The anchor is a structural glyph - a central pillar flanked by two outward-curving arms - a geometrical analogue of the Djed pillar, the stabilising axis of Osiris. This is not coincidental. The anchor, like the Djed, symbolises stability, endurance, and resurrection.
In this configuration, the anchor encodes the axis of breath and return: the spine or column through which alignment is held, crossed and grounded between dual poles. These flanking curves - visually similar to the serpents of Wadjet - represent polarity and balance, not unlike the two eyes of Horus and the two wings of Ma’at. The result is a glyph of cosmic equilibrium, embedding the logic of tension and stillness, initiation and return. It is, in essence, a field-centred form: the Djed rendered as anchor.
That this would become the earliest Christian symbol is not surprising when seen in historical context. The emerging Christian movement did not invent its iconography in isolation. It was drawing upon - and syncretising - the symbols of the pagan and Egyptian traditions that surrounded and predated it. Rome’s polytheistic culture, with its absorption of Egyptian, Greek, and Near Eastern imagery, served as a fertile ground for this symbolic fusion.
The anchor, then, is not a Christian innovation. It is a continuation - a veiled survival of the Egyptian axis symbol, reframed within a new theological context. Christianity inherited this structure not by accident, but by cultural transmission - a repurposing of the sacred glyph of stability and resurrection that had long belonged to Osiris.
This same anchor form reappears in the Chi-Rho - the earliest monogram used to represent “Christ.” In this symbol, Chi (Χ) represents the stabilised cross: the axis fixed within the field. Rho (Ρ), with its looped arm, represents the crown or return curve - the arc of re-emergence, the breath rising along the central line. These letters, taken together, do not form a name in any traditional linguistic sense. They encode a symbolic function. Christ, in this formulation, is not a person but a field condition: the breath of life suspended on the axis of light, the stable return of spirit through structured proportion.
This Chi-Rho structure is functionally identical to the Egyptian Ankh-Hor configuration: the ankh representing breath and life, and Hor(us) as the rising principle, the ascendant axis. Together, they express the same metaphysical principle - eternal life stabilised in form, held between dual arcs of polarity.
The logic of axis and breath encoded in the Chi-Rho carries through even into the word Church itself. The word, when broken etymologically and symbolically, reveals a hidden structure: CH–UR–CH.
· CH (Chi) marks the crossing - the point of anchoring or intersection.
· UR designates the original mount, the source or sacred place of emergence - a term present in Mesopotamian and Egyptian traditions as the primal ground.
· The final CH mirrors the first, forming a symmetrical closure, a double anchor.
Read structurally, the word Church is not merely a term for a building or institution. It is a verbal glyph of the axis: a spoken form of anchoring symmetry. The structure remains encoded in language, even as its original symbolic function has been forgotten. What endures today is an empty vessel - a word still bearing the imprint of cosmic alignment, though long detached from its field-bearing role.
These layered symbols - the anchor, Chi-Rho, Ankh-Hor, and even the word Church - all preserve fragments of the original knowledge of alignment. They do not point to doctrine, nor to institutional power, but to a deeper cosmological principle: that life is sustained through balance, through breath, and through rootedness in the axis.
The true Christ, in this reading, was never intended as a martyr figure, but as a living Djed - a stabilising field principle, the breath held in proportion, the axis made animate. The anchor was not a poetic metaphor for hope or faith; it was a structural map of the field - encoded in form, hidden in language, and left waiting to be remembered.
The Storm God Speaks His Name in the Tetractys
If we return to the material introduced in Chapter 3, and once again look to the winter skies, we see revealed in plain sight the archetype at the heart of this system: the constellation Orion. What is visible there is not merely a hunter, as later Greek myth would have it, but a precise stellar geometry - a sacred configuration encoded in light.
The four outer stars of Orion form a tilted X, enclosing the three central stars of the belt. This seven-star pattern contains within it the logic of the Tetractys, the Pythagorean triangle of unfolding and return. When seen diagrammatically, the shape suggests a fish-form - the two lower outer stars drawn upward into the centre to form a tail, and the top curve completing the head - thus forming the ichthys, the sacred fish, and simultaneously the ark, the vessel of containment and rebirth.
Within this configuration, the three stars of Orion’s Belt function as a Trinitarian archetype - a central axis flanked by dualities. In symbolic terms, the 4 (the outer stars) collapses into the 3 (the belt), which resolves into 2 (the dualities), and finally into 1 - the central axis or source. This is the metaphysical logic of the Decad nested within the Tetrad - a recursive unfolding from many to one, from field to form.
This same seven-star structure was later mirrored in the mythic geography of Rome, the seven hills upon which it was said to have been founded. Rome projected itself as original, but the geometry it encoded was already ancient - a continuation of the Anunnaki symbolism found throughout Mesopotamia and Egypt. The seven-pointed configuration also echoes the seven ali/ari forces - the helper gods of Atum, who represent the complete expression of the totality. This archetype appears in many ancient constellations, but most profoundly in Draco, originally understood as the polar serpent - the axis around which the heavens revolve.
Yet it is Orion, and by extension Osiris, who held pre-eminence in Egyptian cosmology. Orion was not only a celestial reference point but a mathematical archetype, a stellar embodiment of Pythagorean wisdom. Through this understanding of star, ratio, and axial geometry, the Egyptians were able to produce the most precisely aligned and symbolically coherent architecture in the ancient world. The pyramid is not an abstraction; it is a direct expression of this knowledge: a triangulated form rising from the field, a static toroidal motion, a mount spiralling inward through Phi.
It is, quite literally, a Pi–Ra–Medjed: a structure of Pi (π), Ra (the radiant source), and Medjed (the veiled axis). This same structure appears echoed in biblical and exilic naming traditions such as Pithom, Pithos, and Pi-Ramesses – each preserving elements of the same symbolic code.
The form of Medjed encodes all of this. His body, shaped like the benben - the primordial mound - is crowned with the Wedjat eyes, symbols of vision and balance, the projecting awareness of the field.
At the apex of all Egyptian arches and triangular forms sits a wedge - a stabilising keystone. In symbolic terms, this wedge is Wadjet herself: the protective eye, the projected sight, the wisdom force. This is also the implied function of the pyramid’s capstone - the missing piece, or the unseen seal. It is for this reason that the capstone was later mythologised as the All-Seeing Eye - not as surveillance, but as stabilisation. It is the wedge of alignment, the eye that completes the axis.
In this context, Medjed - veiled, central, and eye-borne - becomes not only a metaphysical figure, but also an archetype of psychological control. What was once the encoded axis of divine balance has, in modern times, been reduced to a cartoonish ghost in a hood - a floating figure with two eyes peering through a white shroud. This trivialisation conceals a deeper irony. For Medjed, as an eye-veiled figure, is, to me, the very origin of the term hoodwink - the act of covering the ‘eyes’ to obscure the truth, while simultaneously signalling to those "in the know". The fact that officially, the term relates to putting a hood on a hawk – the icon of Horus – makes me all the more suspicious. The veil, in this sense, winks - a private gesture of encoded knowledge, an initiatory joke that hides the axis in plain sight, to those ‘with eyes to see’.
If we continue our skyward gaze at the giant skywalker, see now how the symbol of the anchor/ankh-hor, with the dolphin is clearly visible also in Orion. Trace the central line through the central belt star down to the sword star line – this is our djed pillar. Extend the line from the centre upwards above the top 2 shoulder stars. Then draw a 2 curved lines back from the bottom to meet the lower left and right feet stars. We now have the curved horns of the anchor. A perfect image of an anchor in Orion, simply by joining the dots.
Now consider the 3 belt stars as forming the head and tail of a dolphin curling round the central rod of that anchor.
How fitting, then, that Emperor Titus - the Roman general who presided over the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 CE - should mint coins bearing the anchor and dolphin, sacred emblems of Apollo. These were not arbitrary decorations. The dolphin, as psychopomp and axis-guide, and the anchor, as stabilising Djed, had long symbolised divine order and cosmic centrality. Apollo, the Hellenic Horus, embodied the solar principle and the sacred eye - the far-seer and axis-setter.
The anchor and dolphin motif had already been associated with Augustus, who established the imperial cult and absorbed Egyptian symbolism into Roman statecraft after the defeat of Cleopatra and the annexation of Egypt. These motifs, minted on imperial coinage, were visual declarations: Rome was the new axis, inheriting the legacy of Delphi, of Egypt, and of the sea-womb mystery cults once tethered to the goddess.
The dolphin, in particular, is saturated with mythological resonance. In Greek tradition, it was the creature that guided souls to the afterlife - a role echoed in its association with Dionysus and Apollo alike. The dolphin was said to rescue the lost, guide ships, and even save drowning poets. It was also linked with Delphinus - the star constellation named for it - further strengthening its astral dimension as a marker of passage.
It is also a sexually liminal figure: both phallic and aquatic, associated with pleasure, protection, and the mysteries of fertility. Its link with Triton, the son of Neptune, situates it within the trinitized marine symbolism of the trident - a three-pronged axis figure of immense symbolic power. The trident itself mirrors many ancient triadic icons, from the flax glyph on the 3200 BC Mesopotamian Warka Vase, to the 8th century AD Algiz rune, the triple flamed torch of Hecate, the witches broom stick (an inverted algiz, which also emphasises the feminine form as a representation the female pubic region), and the crucifix with its threefold form.
The anchor and dolphin also carried a shared motto in Roman symbolism: festina lente - “make haste slowly.” This was not a contradiction, but a maxim of wise action: forward motion rooted in stability. The dolphin signified agility, grace, and movement across the unknown; the anchor, in contrast, symbolised grounding, pause, and balance. Together, they expressed precisely the dynamic the Egyptians encoded in the Djed - not speed, but aligned progression.
Indeed, the anchor’s most enduring symbolic association across cultures is stability. This is also the core meaning of the Djed pillar in the Egyptian tradition: a stabilised spine, a fixed axis amidst flux. By placing the anchor alongside the dolphin on imperial coinage, Titus was not simply invoking seafaring or aesthetic balance - he was proclaiming that Rome had become the axis. The stabilising force. The fixed point. The new Djed of the world.
In this way, the dolphin and anchor encode far more than seafaring. They are archetypes of direction, salvation, and structural stability - inherited from the mysteries of the Nile and rebranded under Roman authority as tools of imperial mythology. To see these symbols on Titus’s coin - the man who razed the Temple and established a new sacred centre in Rome - is to recognise that iconography was policy. He was not merely minting currency. He was declaring cosmic succession.
Moreover, the anchor is a symbol that is dropped - deliberately - into the sea. It seeks stability in motion, grounding in the fluid medium of the goddess. The sea, though not depicted in the coin, is implied — just as the feminine field is consistently veiled in Egyptian typology. The stabilising axis is made visible, but the matrix in which it anchors is concealed.
This is the same logic found in the ancient title Stella Maris - “Star of the Sea” - attributed to Mary, the mother of Jesus. In her Marian form, she inherits all the attributes of the older goddess typologies associated with water: the oceans, rivers, springs, and also the heavenly sea - the night sky. Hence, Mary in blue: the day-sky seas of Nut. And the Black Madonna: the primordial deep, the sea of galactic night, the cosmic Nun.
In Egyptian cosmology, the earthly waters are called Nu or Nun - the infinite depths. From this, the Christian term nun for female religious servant subtly emerges. But nuns are never co-priests. They are not equals. They do not lead. They serve. Just as Nun in Egyptian cosmology is the substrate but not the actor. In Roman Christian order, the divine feminine is retained only as vessel, never as voice.
This is the inherited Roman model - the ‘good woman’ as subservient, veiled, useful, and peripheral. A distortion of the goddess principle, not a preservation. Christianity did not elevate the feminine. It relegated her. And in doing so, it ensured that the stabilising matrix - the sea in which the axis is set - remained forever hidden beneath the surface of the symbol.
In this coin, we see the Roman appropriation in full: Titus, destroyer of the Temple of Jerusalem, is visually linked to the solar archetype whose oracle once defined the omphalos of the world. The symbolism is unmistakable - Rome had assumed the centre. The Temple was razed, its treasures carried back to the capital, and the axis of sacred alignment - once astronomical and ritual - was now imperial and ideological. Titus appears to fulfil the very Biblical prophecy he had no hand in writing: "Not one stone shall be left upon another." With this act, the Jewish diaspora was initiated, and a new axis mundi was established - Rome as the new holy centre, its iconography drawn from the wombs of Egypt and Delphi, now cloaked in the image of Apollo.
Later, Clement of Alexandria would codify this symbolic shift in visual form:
“Let our seals be either a dove, or a fish, or a ship scudding before the wind, or a musical lyre, which Polycrates used, or a ship’s anchor, which Seleucus got engraved as a device; and if there be one fishing, he will remember the apostle, and the children drawn out of the water… we are not to delineate the faces of idols… nor a sword, nor a bow, following as we do peace; nor drinking-cups, being temperate.”
- Clement of Alexandria, Paedagogus, Book III
Clement is presented to us as an early Christian patriarch in Alexandria - yet no such ecclesiastical position existed at the time. This is not history, but retrospective propaganda, later packaged as orthodoxy and still accepted today by consensus theology and institutional academia. It is claimed that his parents were pagans, and that he “converted to Christianity” - but no coherent or unified Christianity existed at this time. What is clear, however, is that Clement was an initiate of the ancient mystery traditions of Egypt and Greece.
This passage reveals a transition point in the emergence of Christian iconography:
· The Apollo-derived symbols - the anchor, dolphin, lyre, and boat - all reappear here as preferred Christian emblems.
· The axis image of the ship and steering oar is embedded in the original Orion template, and finds continuity in early Christian art.
· The fish is layered: originally the ichthys of stellar lights in the salty sea of the Mother Goddess, now repurposed as the piscatorial apostle motif.
· The dove, once associated with the ba soul and maternal spirit, now becomes a minimalist Christian glyph of innocence and peace. (As I showed earlier, the Irish dove sound is in dubh, which is black, the matrix of the goddess of the dark watery depths and eternal heavens).
At the same time, Clement actively distances the emerging theology from its Storm God origins. He proscribes the bow (Apollo's original weapon) and the sword - despite the fact that both featured prominently in Biblical and prophetic literature:
· “They shall beat their swords into ploughshares…”
· “I came not to bring peace, but a sword…”
Even the cup is forbidden - the sacred hydronymic vessel that symbolised the Grail, the king bearing the queen, the solid surface carrying the invisible feminine. Ironically, the cup and the wine would later become central to Catholic ritual, revealing a deep reversal of Clement’s own proscriptions.
This inconsistency is telling. Catholicism had not yet been conceived in full - it was still evolving, being retrofitted to serve the Roman need for theological centralisation. The canon was not fixed; it was flexible propaganda, written retrospectively to fulfil an imperial agenda. Christianity did not begin with a man and his followers in 30 CE. It began as a literary and symbolic architecture of control, grounded in mythic backfill and canonical reconstruction.
Again, the lyre, as Dagda’s harp has become emblematic of Ireland and is the emblem of Guinness, that popular brew of ‘the black’ which bears this image.
That Titus’s father, Vespasian, had been declared the Jewish Messiah by Josephus - himself a captured Jewish activist-turned-Roman propagandist - is one of the most consequential moments in the history of the Western world. Titus, as the son and military arm of this "Messiah," became the ultimate fulfiller of the so-called prophecy: the destruction of the Temple and the scattering of the people. The Judahites were defeated, their sanctuary reduced to rubble, their claim to divine chosenness voided. And yet, at this moment, the New Testament did not yet exist. The Gospels had not been written. The Christian Church had not yet taken form. But the narrative was already underway - not as sacred history, but as imperial propaganda literature.
With the destruction complete, Titus, Josephus, and other Roman intellectuals began the next phase: the writing of a myth. They would construct the story of a divine man - a son of god - whose teachings reflected the new imperial order, whose words resonated with Roman ideals of obedience and submission, and whose prophecies aligned perfectly with the events Titus had just enacted. Central to this narrative was the destruction of the Temple - but it was not reported as a past event. It was written as a prophecy, placed in the mouth of the divine figure. The fall of Jerusalem, which had just occurred, was backdated into the speech of the god-man, cast as sacred foresight.
In doing so, the authors inverted the temporal sequence of cause and consequence: the Roman act of conquest became the fulfilment of divine will, and the gospel narrative became not the memory of a self-appointed messiah, but the justification of Roman dominance. This inversion became the cornerstone of the Gospel narrative - not prophecy fulfilled, but history rewritten as prophecy, and Rome installed as the executor of divine judgment.
At the heart of this narrative construction is the word evangelion (εὐαγγέλιον) - meaning “good news.” In the Roman world, this term had nothing to do with personal salvation or spiritual gospel. It was the formal term used to announce imperial victory - a military proclamation of conquest, to be read aloud in the cities and provinces of the empire. The originally spelled ‘euangelion’ was the good news of Caesar - the message that the emperor had triumphed and that peace had been imposed.
To adopt this term for the teachings of the so-called Christ was no coincidence. It was a deliberate imperial coding: the announcement that Rome’s own messiah had come - not to overthrow the empire, but to fulfil and replace the Jewish tradition entirely. The Gospels were not grassroots testimony. They were the literary evangelion of a newly Romanised religion. The ‘good news’ was not divine revelation. It was imperial propaganda - the theology of the victors, canonised and enforced.
Isis Unveiled
I have recovered Isis not only as the goddess of the waters of life - the essence and substrate of all - but also as the underlying essence of ‘God’ itself, expressed through proportion and ratio. She is the mathematical perfection and omnipresent principle at the heart of what has long been considered the Creator. Her presence is expressed throughout nature in phi-based forms: in spirals, curves, vortices, serpentine patterns, and cyclical flow - all of which feature prominently in works such as The Book of Kells and The Lindisfarne Gospels. These works represent the most visually reverential goddess-related imagery ever produced by the Church, executed with extraordinary skill and devotional intensity. They have since become emblematic of what is now recognised as Celtic art.
In these intricate patterns, Isis speaks - not in name, but in form. The sacred ratio that structures her presence is encoded throughout the visual language of these monkish artforms, yet it remains veiled. The Hu-breath of her utterance - the animating word - remains unheard and unrecognised.
This work seeks to redress that historical imbalance, and to restore a rightful reverence for Nature as it was once held - when god and goddess were understood as mutually entwined expressions of a single field. This is not a call to re-establish a new religion, nor to reinstate an old one, but rather to recover the direct reverence for Nature itself. The symbols are not the thing: they are human representations of that which is already present in all life. The divine is not confined to myth or dogma, but lives in the pattern, the breath, the ratio - and in the field through which all arises.
In that spirit, I will continue to present further evidence in support of my claim: that the Egyptians developed, and accurately encoded, a multi-layered archetypal system for the codification of nature - one rooted in observation, proportion, and symbolic structure, rather than abstraction or superstition.