THE ATLANTEAN STRAIN

Myth, Memory, and Occult Time

Before we continue our descent into the shadows of the Necronomicon Gnosis, I’m taking a brief detour to explore a few different threads within the broader landscape of occult tradition.

These interludes will help us draw unexpected connections and approach familiar mysteries from new angles. Today, we begin with Atlantis, not as a sunken continent, but as a living myth, a psychic imprint, and a symbol of esoteric memory that has shaped magical thought for over a century.

Echoes of a Sunken World

Athanasius Kircher’s 17th-century map of Atlantis, based on “Egyptian thought and Plato’s description.”

Atlantis.

The very name conjures images of a lost golden empire beneath the waves. But what if Atlantis is not just a sunken island in the Atlantic, but a living memory field within the human psyche? Occult traditions speak of the Atlantean strain as a kind of psychic code embedded in our collective unconscious, a mythic inheritance passed down through symbol and dream. In this view, “Atlantis” is less a location on the map than a timeless state of consciousness, an allegory for ancient wisdom and the drama of the human soul across aeons. This article is a journey through myth and memory, exploring how Atlantis evolved from Plato’s tale into a cornerstone of esoteric lore—and how modern seekers can tap into this current of occult time for insight and spiritual growth.

We will begin with Plato’s classic account and follow Atlantis as it surfaces in mystical traditions: from Theosophy’s root-races and Crowley’s lost continents to Kenneth Grant’s prehistoric magical currents. We’ll discuss esoteric evolution, the occult interpretation of the Fall of Man, and the concept of psychic archaeology—the art of retrieving ancient memories through trance and vision, as explored by thinkers like Carl Jung and Rudolf Steiner. Finally, we’ll dive into practical techniques: how magicians and dreamers today might access these Atlantean memory fields through ritual, dreamwork, trance, and visualisation. The tone throughout will be lyrical and mythic-gnostic, treating these ideas not as dry history but as living myths that guide inner discovery.

Plato’s Vision: Atlantis as Moral Myth and Memory

Plato’s Atlantis enters history as a philosophical myth. In his dialogues Timaeus and Critias, written around 360 BCE, Plato has an Egyptian priest recount the tale of a mighty island empire beyond the Pillars of Hercules (today’s known as the Strait of Gibraltar). This empire, Atlantis, was “larger than Libya and Asia put together” and had conquered parts of Europe and Africa long ago. When proud Atlantis sought to subjugate Athens and Egypt, the gods struck it down. In a single day and night of catastrophe, Atlantis was consumed by the sea and vanished, leaving behind a shoal of mud. Plato’s account emphasises hubris and divine retribution: the Atlanteans fell because they grew arrogant and impious.

How Plato described Atlantis

Did Plato intend this as literal history or allegory? Scholars debate this. It reads as a morality tale illustrating the rise and fall of ideal states, perhaps meant to critique Athens.

Regardless, the image of Atlantis took root in the Western imagination as a symbol of a lost utopia and a cautionary tale. Ancient writers like Crantor and Posidonius treated it as true history, while later Renaissance sages like Francis Bacon reimagined it in utopian works (The New Atlantis). Thus, from the beginning, Atlantis straddled the line between memory and myth. It whispers to us of something dimly remembered, a “time before time” when an advanced spiritual civilisation fell from grace. This whisper would grow louder in the occult revival of the 19th and 20th centuries, when mystics began to claim Atlantis as a forgotten chapter of human evolution.

Atlantis in Theosophy: Root Races and the Fall of Man

Modern esoteric lore about Atlantis truly blossoms with Theosophy. Helena P. Blavatsky, co-founder of the Theosophical Society, wove Atlantis into a grand cosmology of human evolution. In her Secret Doctrine (1888), Blavatsky outlined seven Root Races of humanity. The Atlanteans were the Fourth Root Race, preceding our current Fifth (Aryan) root race. Crucially, Atlantis for Blavatsky was not just an island but an epoch in which human beings were very different from today.

According to Blavatsky, early humanity in the Atlantean age was semi-astral and endowed with psychic and occult powers. “Up to this point of evolution (Atlantis, the fourth Root Race) man belongs more to metaphysical than physical nature. It is only after the so-called Fall that the races began to develop rapidly into a human shape” (i.e. fully physical), though they were larger in size than modern humans.

Here we see an occult reinterpretation of the Fall of Man: Atlantis represents a stage before the fall into materiality. In Atlantean times, humans hadn’t yet sunk entirely into dense flesh and ego; they still wielded proto-divine abilities, living in a kind of dreamlike communion with cosmic forces.

Blavatsky’s Atlanteans, however, succumbed to corruption. She describes them as eventually “marked with a character of Sorcery”. In other words, they abused their occult knowledge for power and selfish ends. This fatal flaw led to their destruction by water, mirroring the flood myths found in many cultures. The great island-continent of Atlantis sank beneath the ocean, ending the fourth age. Only a few survivors scattered to seed the next races (some Theosophists say the last remnants of Atlantis perished around 10,000 BCE, echoing Plato’s timeline).

It’s fascinating that Blavatsky’s account both parallels and diverges from Plato’s. Like Plato, she cites pride and misuse of power as the cause of Atlantis’s downfall. But Theosophy extends the story into a cosmic evolutionary context. Atlantis becomes a symbol of the transition from spiritual to material human existence. The “Fall” in Theosophical terms was not a single moment of sin in Eden, but a long process where humanity’s vibration lowered from metaphysical to physical. We “fell” into matter, losing our innate clairvoyance and connection to the divine. Atlantis’ sinking is the dramatic climax of that descent.

Blavatsky’s ideas inspired many occult and New Age narratives to come. The concept of Lemuria—a continent before Atlantis—also entered occult lore through Theosophy. While Plato never mentioned Lemuria or Mu, Blavatsky and her fellow seers (drawing on earlier speculation by scientists and adventurers) proposed an even earlier lost land (Lemuria in the Indian or Pacific Ocean) where the Third Root Race lived. Lemurians were more ethereal and androgynous, and Atlantis arose after Lemuria’s submergence. According to the visionary accounts collected by occultists in that era, Lemuria had been an important centre of human culture in an age long before the rise of Atlantis… Its people rose to a relatively high level of civilisation… and spread colonies across much of the world. In that mythic chronology, Atlantis inherited the mantle from Lemuria. Thus, esoteric evolution is cyclic: civilisations rise, misuse spiritual powers, and fall, only to have a few survivors carry the torch to a new land. This cycle of rise and fall constitutes the occult history of humanity.

For Theosophists and their successors, these lost continents aren’t merely fantasy—they’re part of our spiritual genealogy. Blavatsky claimed to have access to archaic records (some stored in temples, others accessed psychically) that detailed Atlantis and Lemuria. Later, Theosophists like William Scott-Elliot even published maps of Atlantis’s changing coastlines across epochs, which were said to be derived from clairvoyant research and ancient Atlantean records. In these circles, Atlantis becomes a memory code, a repository of ancestral memory accessible through special means. To study Atlantis was to remember what humanity once was and what we might become again.

The Shadow of Supremacy

Before we continue, I feel it is necessary to address a troubling pattern that has become increasingly visible, not just in the world at large, but within the very spaces we once turned to for liberation and mystery.

In recent years, much of occulture has found itself infiltrated by reactionary and far-right currents: bad actors who exploit myth, symbolism, and spiritual language to smuggle in ideologies rooted in exclusion, paranoia, and racial supremacy. This is not merely a fringe issue. The myth of Atlantis, precisely because of its allure and ambiguity, has become one of the favoured symbols for these agendas. And so, given the state of the world and the current degradation of our sacred discourse, the following remarks must be made plainly and without apology.

While the myth of Atlantis has long captivated mystics and seekers, its appropriation by contemporary conspiracy theorists, particularly those aligned with far-right and MAGA circles, such as Jimmy Corsetti, has twisted the narrative into deeply troubling territory. Cloaked in pseudo-history and sensational claims of ancient advanced civilisations, these modern theories often hinge on racist assumptions, subtly or explicitly suggesting that certain people or cultures inherit a superior lineage from Atlantean origins. This is not a new phenomenon. It traces back to the racialised framework introduced by Theosophy, the 19th-century esoteric movement founded by Helena Blavatsky, which we just discussed.

These ideas were later adopted and radicalised by nationalist and racist movements in the early 20th century, including the Ariosophists and eventually the Nazi regime, who folded such myths into their ideology of Aryan supremacy and violent expansionism.

Today, when figures in popular conspiracy culture revive Atlantis as a “forgotten origin of civilisation,” often with subtle cues linking it to specific ethnic or cultural groups, they are echoing that same dangerous lineage, whether they admit it or not.

As practitioners and guardians of the Western esoteric tradition, we must stand firmly against this trend. Atlantis, as a symbol, must not be used to divide or to elevate one lineage over another. Rather, it should remain what it has always had the potential to be: a dream-image of a lost unity, a myth of spiritual memory, and a mirror to the human condition. To use it otherwise is not just historically and philosophically bankrupt; it is spiritually poisonous.

Crowley’s Occult Utopias and Sexo-Magical Secrets

Theosophists weren’t the only ones enchanted by lost worlds, but occultists of many stripes felt the allure of Atlantis. Aleister Crowley himself engaged with the theme in his own peculiar way when he wrote Liber LI: The Lost Continent, a short novel purporting to reveal the civilisation of Atlantis. He admitted it was a “fantastic rhapsody” mingling utopian idealism, satire of modern society, and “hints of certain profound magical secrets”. In Crowley’s telling, Atlantis becomes a canvas for both social critique and esoteric teaching.

Crowley playfully rooted his Atlantean lore in an earlier continent: Lemuria (or “Mu”). In The Lost Continent, he suggests the name Atlantis itself derives from a Lemurian word “Tla” meaning black and “A” meaning woman, implying “Atlantis” translates to “Black Woman” – a cryptic hint, perhaps, at a primordial motherland or goddess. This whimsical etymology shows Crowley linking Atlantis with the idea of an ancient feminine current of power (an Atlantean matriarchy or priestess cult, maybe). Indeed, throughout his fiction, Crowley drops occult breadcrumbs: references to seven Atlantean sages, secret techniques of “dreaming true,” and advanced spiritual training hidden in the narrative. For example, he writes of Atlantean initiates preserving wisdom through cycles by meeting every 33 years and using lucid dreaming to maintain continuity. Such fanciful details were more than storytelling; they were meant to inspire the reader’s own magical imagination, as well as giving clear hints (to those able to discern them) at the sexo-magical secrets of Ordo Templi Orientis.

Central to this cosmology is the concept of ZRO, described as a "mysterious force" or "substance" generated through sexual union. In The Lost Continent, ZRO is depicted as accumulating within two globes, symbolising the Priest and Priestess, through a gesture likened to "twiddling of the thumbs," a metaphor for sexual intercourse. This act represents the convergence of masculine and feminine energies, leading to the creation of a new universe or state of consciousness. Crowley further elucidates this process in his commentary on Liber LXV, where he refers to the "Pearl" as ZRO, a "cloudy Nebula containing the Rashith-ha-Gilgalim"—the "first swirlings" corresponding to Kether on the Tree of Life. This symbolises the genesis of a new universe from the union of the Adept and the Angel, achieved through the principle of love under will at the moment of rapture. These concepts are not abstract but are embedded within Thelemic rituals, notably the Gnostic Mass. The Mass serves as a ceremonial drama that encapsulates the union of opposites—Hadit and Nuit, Adept and Angel—culminating in the generation of ZRO. This ritualistic enactment reinforces the transformative power of sexual magick as a means to achieve spiritual enlightenment and cosmic creation.

It’s important to note that Crowley’s tone with Atlantis is often tongue-in-cheek. He was skeptical of many Theosophical claims (he mocked the more literal-minded occultists of his day). Yet even he couldn’t resist the Atlantean mythos.

Why? Likely because Atlantis as a symbol is fertile ground: one can project spiritual truths onto it without the constraints of recorded history. In an allegorical Atlantis, Crowley could explore ideal societies and advanced initiations that critique his contemporary world and encode esoteric principles. The mythic island becomes a mirror for the magician’s mind.

Crowley also made passing references to Mu or Lemuria in other works, treating them as legendary epochs of hidden wisdom. The notion of a vanished Pacific continent, named Mu or Lemuria, had been popularised by Augustus Le Plongeon and James Churchward around the turn of the century. Crowley didn’t write extensively on Mu, but his contemporaries in occult circles certainly speculated about it. Some of Crowley’s students and successors (like Kenneth Grant) would later weave these strands together, linking Crowley’s Thelema to currents from fabled Atlantis and Mu, as we shall see.

Crowley’s Atlantis was a surreal, magical dreamscape: part satire, part cypher. It shows that by the early 20th century, Atlantis had fully entered the occult imagination, not taken as a dry fact to prove, but as a mythopoetic playground. This opened the door for later occultists to get even more creative, blending Atlantean motifs with extraterrestrial lore, Jungian archetypes, and magical experimentation.

Grant, Bertiaux, and the Primaeval Magical Currents

By the mid-20th century, the British occultist Kenneth Grant took Atlantean and Lemurian ideas into even stranger realms. Grant was deeply interested in primaeval magical currents: ancient forms of occult energy or tradition that predate known history. In Grant’s work, Atlantis and Lemuria often appear not simply as lost lands but as code-names for these timeless currents of power.

Grant’s Typhonian tradition claimed lineage from primaeval sources. One document about his Ordo Typhonis states: “The Ordo Typhonis traces its origins to ancient traditions including those of Lemuria and Atlantis. It was perpetuated in mysteries throughout the Americas and Polynesia before manifesting in Egypt.” In other words, Grant believed his occult order was tapping into a chain of initiatory knowledge that began in Lemuria and Atlantis, survived in secret through indigenous traditions (like certain forms of voodoo or shamanism), and resurfaced in civilisations like Egypt. This is a bold claim of continuous occult lineage stretching back tens of thousands of years.

What do these Atlantean “currents” look like in practice?

In Grant’s books (such as Cults of the Shadow and Outside the Circles of Time), he often links Atlantean magic to surviving cults. For example, Grant discusses a secret Black Snake Cult and the Voudon Gnosis of Chicagoan occultist Michael Bertiaux. He writes that this cult teaches how Voodoo was the ancient religion of Atlantis and Lemuria, surviving at two occult centres today: one in Haiti, one in Chicago. The idea is that Atlantean sorcery did not die; it morphed into the mystery religions and tribal rites of later ages. He even asserts, “Atlantean sorcery achieved its apotheosis in our world during the period of the Egyptian and Mayan civilizations.”. Here, Atlantis is essentially synonymous with a magical golden age—the wellspring of later esoteric systems. Egyptian temple magic, Mayan shamanism, Tantra, etc., are seen as downstream reflections of an Atlantean root-culture.

Michael Bertiau in his studio in 2016

Grant takes these concepts into a cosmic, almost science-fiction register. Influenced by H.P. Lovecraft’s weird fiction (as we saw at length in previous article), Grant speaks of transmundane entities and extra-dimensional gates. In his view, the sorcerers of Atlantis or Lemuria might have communed with alien intelligences or opened portals to other stars, establishing currents that still flow in the astral plane. For example, he interprets certain Lovecraftian symbols as actually referring to prehistoric rites that summon primal deities—the same ones possibly worshipped in Atlantean temples. This gives Atlantis a distinctly gnostic and extraterrestrial twist: it’s not just a sunken land, but a metaphor for lost contact with cosmic gods or inner planes of consciousness.

While Grant’s writings are dense and arcane, the takeaway is that modern occultism fully mythologised Atlantis. It became shorthand for any ancient source of forbidden wisdom.

To claim the “Atlantean current” is to assert one’s practices tap into the deepest strata of human magical potential—a current that has run under history’s surface, accessible to those who know the keys. In Grant’s Typhonian rituals, practitioners might work with symbols of Atlantis or Lemuria to invoke that primordial power, often through sigils, trance, or oracular communication. By “tuning in” to Atlantis, they attempt to awaken atavistic memories within the unconscious, stirring the serpent power coiled in humanity’s collective memory.

This approach connects to Jungian ideas, which leads us to psychic archaeology: the quest to uncover ancient memories buried in the psyche.

Psychic Archaeology: Jung, Steiner, and the Collective Unconscious

Can we remember a place like Atlantis without physical evidence? Occultists say yes… through psychic archaeology.

This term means using paranormal or inner capacities to glean knowledge of the distant past. Rather than digging in soil, the psychic archaeologist digs into consciousness, the Akashic Records, or communicates with spirits of the past.

One early 20th-century example is the medium Joseph B. Leslie, who in 1911 published Submerged Atlantis Restored, an 800-page “history” of Atlantis dictated by the spirits of its deceased inhabitants. Here, spiritualism meets archaeology: Leslie claimed long-dead Atlanteans literally told him their story. This illustrates a common approach—channelling or mediumship to retrieve lost history. Similarly, the famous American seer Edgar Cayce gave trance readings on Atlantis in the 1930s, describing crystal technologies and multiple cataclysms (paralleling Blavatsky’s chronology). Such psychic narratives often fill in rich detail that physical science cannot, essentially reconstructing Atlantis in the imaginal realm.

A more philosophically sophisticated approach came from Rudolf Steiner. Steiner, who initially was involved with Theosophy before founding Anthroposophy, practiced a form of clairvoyant investigation of history. In works like Atlantis and Lemuria (1911), Steiner asserted that through disciplined spiritual development, one can directly perceive the Akashic Record of the past. He argued that ordinary history only covers a few thousand years and is fragmentary, but the Akashic Chronicle – an etheric imprint of all events – is accessible to the initiated vision. Steiner wrote that if a person awakens higher knowledge, “he is no longer restricted to outer evidence… he can behold that which in the happening is imperceptible to the senses, that which no time can destroy… written in the Akashic Records.”. Using this method, Steiner described Atlantis as a real past epoch with multiple phases, much like Blavatsky did, though with his spin on the characteristics of Atlantean consciousness (such as ancient clairvoyance and different air/water conditions on Earth).

Steiner’s psychic archaeology was systematic: he gave timelines (e.g., Atlantean civilisation peaked hundreds of thousands of years ago and ended around 10k BCE), described architecture, climate, and even the psychology of Atlanteans.

Whether one takes this as literal or not, the key is that Steiner treated mythic history as accessible truth through inner sight. In essence, one meditates to remember the world before memory. Steiner saw this as part of human spiritual science.

Carl Jung, on the other hand, approached the question of lost civilisations more psychologically. Jung was familiar with the Atlantis myth but remained scientifically cautious. In a 1936 letter, Jung noted that “flood myths could be explained by the myth of Atlantis if only we knew that there ever was an Atlantis… The contents of the unconscious could be explained by reincarnation if we knew that there is reincarnation.”. In saying this, he acknowledged Atlantis as a possible explanation for certain collective memories (like a great flood), but since its factual existence is unproven, he didn’t lean on it in his theories. Instead, Jung would suggest that Atlantis lives as an archetype of a lost paradise or a forgotten home in the collective unconscious.

Indeed, from a Jungian perspective, the enduring allure of Atlantis might be because it symbolises something fundamental: perhaps the archetype of the Golden Age, the primordial city of wholeness that sank (analogous to the psyche’s knowledge of an original unity that has been lost). Some Jungian thinkers speculate that our fascination with finding Atlantis is really a projection of an inner spiritual longing. One beautiful interpretation, paraphrasing a Jungian idea, is that Atlantis is “a memory of the collective wholeness imprinted on the individual psyche in the form of a longing for a home we never knew.” In other words, we carry an unconscious myth of a perfect land or state (call it Eden, Atlantis, or Shambhala) where we were one with the gods, and we yearn to return to it. This myth may never have been literal, but it’s psychologically true.

Thus, whether through mediumistic trance, clairvoyant reading, or depth psychology, the concept emerges that Atlantis is accessible through inner work. It operates in mythic time, not chronological time. Mythic time is ever-present; it can be entered through ritual, symbol, and story. Atlantis, as a symbol, is always sinking right now in the psyche—an image of the higher self or ancient wisdom being submerged into the unconscious. Likewise, the act of “raising Atlantis” (to borrow a metaphor) is akin to raising lost knowledge from our depths, a personal and collective integration of what has been forgotten.

Modern practitioners often combine these approaches. For instance, a meditation might involve active imagination where one “tunes into” an Atlantean lifetime or temple and narrates what one sees. This could be understood as contacting the Akashic record or as dialoguing with an archetype in the unconscious. In either case, genuine insights or at least profound symbols for one’s spiritual journey can emerge.

Mythopoetic Gnosis: Atlantis as Symbol and Initiatory Myth

All of the above leads to an important point: in occultism, lost civilisations like Atlantis and Lemuria are valued less as historical facts than as mythopoetic gnosis.

The term “mythopoetic” implies that these myths create a certain kind of knowledge or insight through poetic, symbolic truth. Gnosis means direct experiential knowing. So, mythopoetic gnosis is the idea that engaging deeply with a myth can yield personal enlightenment or spiritual knowledge, even if the myth is not literally true in a mundane sense.

Atlantis exemplifies this. Its lore and its destruction can be seen as symbolising the misuse of occult power and its karmic consequences. Whether or not one believes Atlantis physically existed, meditating on that story can impart a visceral understanding of hubris, the balance of nature, and the idea that spiritual power must be wedded to virtue or it leads to ruin. In this way, the myth teaches the soul.

Similarly, the narrative of a lost golden age resonates with the notion of a lost state of consciousness. Many mystical traditions speak of a time when humanity was closer to the divine (the Garden of Eden in Judeo-Christian lore, the Satya Yuga in Hindu cosmology, etc.). Atlantis becomes another face of this concept. Occultists often read the sinking of Atlantis as analogous to the submergence of humanity’s collective spiritual awareness. The land goes under the waves, just as our inner divinity sank under the “waters” of materialism and forgetfulness. But what is lost can be found again: this is the promise of initiatory myths.

In practical occult societies, we sometimes find explicit Atlantean references. For example, certain Rosicrucian or New Age groups claim to revive Atlantean healing techniques or crystal energies; some Wiccan lineages incorporate myths of Atlantis as a prior age of the Goddess. Whether these claims are verifiable matters less than the inspiration and sense of sacred history they provide to practitioners. By believing you are continuing the work of Atlantis, you imbue your practice with an epic significance — you’re not just casting a spell, you’re participating in the great narrative of humanity’s spiritual journey.

We should also consider the concept of Occult Time as hinted in our title. Occult time is nonlinear, cyclical, and qualitative. Myths like Atlantis operate in occult time: they are “ever-present stories.”

When a magician ritually reenacts the fall of Atlantis in a ceremony, time folds and that ancient drama lives again in the moment. Occultists might say that on the astral plane, Atlantis still exists (because the astral is not bound by physical timelines). Thus, one can psychically visit Atlantis now. This is a very different mindset from the archaeologist who looks at Atlantis as a one-time event 12,000 years ago. In occult time, Atlantis is always accessible as an archetypal reality.

To approach Atlantis in this way is to treat it as a mystery school in symbol form. It’s a memory that may be encoded in our myths, our dreams, even our DNA if you believe in genetic memory of some sort. The “Atlantean strain” might even hint at an inherited psychic imprint; some Theosophists believed present humanity retains latent faculties from our Atlantean forebears (for instance, latent psychic abilities that will reawaken as we evolve). In a poetic sense, anyone doing occult work might be reactivating their Atlantean DNA, meaning reawakening those ancient capacities and lessons.

So, rather than argue over whether Atlantis was geologically real, the occultist asks: What does Atlantis mean? And how can I use that meaning to transform myself?

The meaning could be: a cautionary tale of power and ethics, an emblem of humanity’s higher potential (and what happens when that potential is misused), and a source of hope that what was divine in us before the Fall can be reclaimed. This mythopoetic gnosis is inherently personal. Two seekers might have very different visions of “Atlantis” in their meditations, but each vision can be valid as a message from their inner guide.

Remembering the Future

Atlantis, as we’ve come to see, is not just an island in time — it’s an island in the mind. A floating signifier for lost wisdom, collective memory, and perhaps even future potential.

Remember the Hermetic maxim: “As above, so below.” Similarly, we might say: As in myth, so in our life. The rise and fall of fabled Atlantis reflects cycles in our own consciousness. We each have “Atlantises” within us: golden ideals and ages of innocence that seem submerged by the weight of life’s troubles, yet which we suspect still glimmer intact in the depths of our being.

By working with the Atlantean mythopoetic current, we attempt a kind of sacred salvage operation. We dive into those depths to retrieve what was lost. And like an artifact brought up from the sea, the knowledge we recover might help us build a better future. Gnosis from myth is not stagnant; it seeks to transform the knower. If Atlantis teaches about the misuse of power, how might we apply that lesson collectively today to avoid new catastrophes? If it hints at latent human abilities, how might we ethically and humbly develop those gifts as we move into what some call a new age of awakening?

Occult time is a grand tapestry, where the end loops back to the beginning. There are suggestions that we are now, in the 21st century, approaching a kind of return of Atlantean wisdom, but not in the fanciful sense of a continent rising from the sea, but in a spiritual sense. The exponential growth of interest in ancient knowledge, alternative spirituality, and even the symbolic resonance of technologies (crystals and resonances, global telepathic connectivity via the internet, etc.) all hint that the memory code is reactivating. One does not need to literally believe in Atlantis to sense that humanity is trying to remember something about itself, something old and important, as we face global challenges (many involving the elements of nature that feature in the Atlantis tale, with water levels rising, the balance with technology, etc.).

In embracing Atlantis as a living myth, we honour both the power and the humility of human existence. We acknowledge there may have been (or still are) greater heights to civilisation and consciousness than we currently know. We treat our ancestors’ legends with respect, mining them for wisdom. At the same time, we remain humble, aware that pride and imbalance can sink even the greatest society or the greatest personal ambition.

So let Atlantis inspire you. Let it be a meditation: When you close your eyes, travel in occult time to the Temple of Poseidon, feel the hum of the crystal pillar said to stand at Atlantis’s heart, and ask: What message do you have for me? Perhaps you’ll hear an inner voice, or see a vivid scene, or simply feel a peace as if reunited with an old part of yourself. Thank that image and return, bringing a piece of Atlantis with you—a piece that lives through your actions and insight.

In this way, the Atlantean strain continues, not as a tragic memory of what was lost, but as a creative spark for what is to be found. It is the bridge between myth and memory, between who we think we are and who, in the great occult timeline of the soul, we truly have been and will be. The continent sank, but the knowledge did not drown. It transformed into myth, awaiting those with eyes to see and ears to hear. In each generation, a few brave divers of the imagination retrieve it and sing its song anew.

As you go forth, may the song of Atlantis echo softly in your dreams and rituals. And may it guide you to your own mythic truth — the sunken treasure in the sea of your spirit, rising now into the light.

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