🜏 The Son of Silence
"The Art of Speaking with the Gods in the Language of Silence"
I do not seek the end of the path,
because the path itself is the temple,
and the temple is within me.
The Sacred Confession
You don't choose Magic. It's Magic that chooses you, when the memory of ancient oaths still flows in your blood.
Ever since I was a boy, I felt the call, not an external sound, but an internal vibration, like a song that passed through my bones.
My mother, a sorceress and fortune teller, was the first to show me that the invisible is not an idea: it is a world that lives alongside ours, and that responds only to those who recognize it.
Her hands traced signs in the air, she spoke with the cards as if to ancient friends, and I, silently, observed.
It was then that I understood that magic was not fiction, but language. A language that few remember, and that those who master it can use to communicate with the world.
The Vocation
There wasn't a specific day when I decided to become an esoteric priest. It was like awakening from a lifelong dream. The images, the symbols, the visions... everything converged toward an inner certainty: magic was my destiny.
My mother was my first teacher, and when I began attending the School of Esoteric Magic in Varese, Italy, in the 1980s, I began to understand the structure of the sacred, the geometry of thought, the power of numbers and sounds.
I studied forbidden texts, ancient manuscripts, forgotten grimoires. Not out of curiosity, but out of thirst, that hunger for knowledge that devours every boundary and is never sated.
The nights were long, and time folded between a candle going out and a new invocation written in my book of formulas.
I still remember one of the first ceremonies where I truly understood what opening a portal meant.
The altar was arranged according to the sacred directions: to the east was the symbol of the solar falcon, to the west the bowl of water with the reflected moon.
I lit the resin and sandalwood incense, and the smoke began to rise slowly, as if searching for something only it could see.
I opened the book, handwritten in black and red ink, traced some symbols in the air, and spoke the words my mother had taught me as a child:
“Sa en Kemet, per aa em Khetu...”
(“The Black Earth speaks, may the Gates be open...”)
The air changed. It wasn't suggestion: it was presence.
A beat greater than my heart, a force that descended into the circle and moved with me.
In that moment, I understood that true power lies not in commanding spirits, but in recognizing oneself as part of their breath.
Since then, every ritual has become a dialogue, every invocation a prayer shared between worlds.
Time and the Way
Many years have passed since then—decades of practice, research, study, and silence.
But if someone were to ask me if I'm "finished," I would answer: you never arrive.
The path of the Esoteric Priest is a circle, not a line. It has no end point, because each conquest opens another threshold.
I have walked in stone temples and temples of the soul, I have met Masters, visible and invisible, and each time I have learned that the greatest secret is not hidden in rituals, but in the silence that precedes them.
Magic is not power. It is service: to the divine, to harmony, to the Light that dwells in every creature.
Over time, practice became teaching, ritual transformed into shared knowledge, and what I had learned in my studies and my waking nights became the seed of the Temple of Aron Ra.
A place where magic is no longer locked within the walls of secrets, but opens up as a science of the heart and mind, a path to awaken the divinity that humanity has forgotten.
There is no end point on this journey.
Every day, every ritual, every word spoken with awareness is a step toward the same Light.
And it is there that I return, every time, with the same humility as when it all began, a boy before the altar, listening to the silent voice of the invisible and responding with the breath of his heart.
Aron Ra