Robes of Light- Spiritual Protection

“The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao,” – Laozi’s Tao Te Ching

This is an article trying to encapsulate an aspect of mysticism which by its very nature can never be truly known. The very act of trying to solidify something that should remain ethereal and just beyond our grasp. Trying to define, categorise and identify parameters and boundaries can go against the open and flexible state needed to experience and be in flow with the divine.

This is why I believe the concept of being humble is so important. Thinking that you know the divine or ‘God’ in an intellectual sense, that it can be nailed down through wordplay can fall into the trap of linguistic confinement of the divine. Although, on the flip side, being inauthentically humble and ostentatiously portraying false modesty is the worst kind of vanity.

I believe the time in my life when I was closest to mysticism and the divine was when in the view of most of society, I was totally insane. I travelled the world with little or no money, and the clothes I wore were those I found. I lived in a tree, a cave, a bomb shelter. Wherever I could find shelter of a night. This was the time that I encountered the most spiritually enlightened of characters. Characters that would probably not come near me now as I would attempt to interrogate them of their knowledge and essence, capturing them through photos and film. Imposing my clunky perceptions that I would endeavour to communicate to the world believing that I had the depth of perception to authentically share them with the world

This article has its roots in certain occurrences that I experienced but its scope is far wider than those events. The first happened In the late hours of a UK weekend, as pubs shuttered and crowds spilled onto the streets, a girl’s terrified scream cut through the night. Ignored by the passing revellers, her cries drew me down an alley where I confronted a man assaulting a bloodied woman. As I intervened, the assailant turned his fury on me, delivering a punch that should have felled me but strangely didn’t. I stood unflinching, my calm gaze meeting his anger. Though he had struck me, I chose not to retaliate, like a force of stillness and peace had come over I pointed out to him that he had punched me, and I didn’t retaliate and even if the girl had hurt him that doesn’t excuse his behaviour. His aggression dissolved into apologies and confessions of personal turmoil. I entirely expected to have a massive bruise the next day but there was nothing.

Another incident occurred while I was at a beer garden with my girlfriend of the time. A total stranger to us began to badmouth the female companion he was with while she was away in the restroom. He also behaved inappropriately and disrespectfully towards the woman with me, coming onto her as if I wasn’t there. His entire egoic attitude suggested he believed the world revolved around him. I perhaps unwisely called him out on his behaviour, and he proceeded to repeatedly punch me, I again resisted in returning his blows as I had a feeling if I did, I would kill or seriously injure him. He was wearing a ring, and it broke as it struck my face, a testament to the force he was striking me with. His psychotic lack of empathy was hilariously illustrated by his blaming me for this breakage.

Despite the onslaught of violence I again found myself unscathed, devoid of injuries or visible marks. It was as if an ethereal shield had protected me from the physical blows, a resilience that transcended the limitations of mere flesh and bone. ones that go beyond the realm of the physical and into the realm of the ineffable.

I could give other examples including remaining unscathed after falling from a great height. Conversely, there have been times when my mortality and susceptibility to injury was all too present such as a bad cut to my hand when I slipped while woodcarving. This has me speculating what are the circumstances that facilitate these occurrences.

It seems that there are times when the usual laws of physics do not apply. Where the material seems to be allusive to what one might expect becoming more ethereal. Moving closer to the behaviours of light than the expectations of matter.

This concept beckons us to explore a captivating notion: that strength and resilience may not solely stem from the accumulation of matter, as typically believed, but rather from a transcendent shift from the material to the luminous. It hints at a graceful dance between solidity and radiance, where the essence of strength emerges not from sheer mass, but from the ethereal quality of light itself.

This concept was beautifully illustrated in the Darren Aronofsky movie Noah, where the watchers who are essentially earthbound angels find freedom and authenticity by returning to their light bodies. Leaving behind their bulked-up, cumbersome rock encrusted form like a grotesque, exaggerated caricature of an 80s action hero into a state of rapture. Their transformation is a ballet of liberation, as they transcend the limitations of their former existence to embody a form that is fluid, graceful, and weightless—a testament to the boundless potential of the human spirit. With each movement, they exude an aura of freedom and joy, their essence intertwining with the very fabric of the universe in a mesmerizing dance of self-discovery and rebirth.

The controversial representation of the watchers in the movie Noah takes obvious influence from the equally controversial book of Enoch which was banished from most canonical bibles except that of the  Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church.

Book 10:6–8: “And again the Lord said to Raphael: ‘Bind Azazyel hand and foot, and cast him into the darkness: and make an opening in the desert, which is in Dudael, and cast him therein. And place upon him rough and jagged rocks, and cover him with darkness, and let him abide there forever, and cover his face that he may not see light.'”

The Robe of Light

I am going to relate this experience to the teachings and beliefs in various spiritual traditions starting with Gnostic Christianity and the concept of the robe of light.

Though commonly seen as a symbolic shield against worldly temptations, guiding individuals along a divine path, the robe of light isn’t merely metaphorical—it’s also believed to provide tangible physical protection, as recounted in various tales. In “The Testimony of Truth,” the Gnostic believers are physically attacked by the followers of the demiurge who accuse them of being heretics. The text describes how the attackers “beat them with sticks and stoned them,” Despite the violence, the believers remain steadfast in their faith and call upon the “robes of glory” to protect them from harm.

Gnostic scholar and author, Karen King suggests that the robe of light represents the divine nature within each individual, which is obscured by the limitations of the physical body and the material world. Through spiritual practice and the attainment of gnosis, the individual can remove this veil and reveal the radiant, divine light within.

This intriguing paradox surrounding the robe of light illuminates a profound connection between external safeguarding and internal illumination—a reflection of the ancient adage “as above, so below.” By acknowledging the divine essence within and harmonizing with elevated spiritual principles, individuals endeavour to surpass the veils of material illusion, seeking direct communion with the divine, a state known as gnosis.

The Beserker

Within pagan traditions, the concept of protective forces or garments is prevalent, often intertwined with spiritual symbolism and beliefs. In Norse Viking lore, figures like the Berserkers stand out, embodying a connection between physical invincibility and their attire, typically animal skins. These skins weren’t mere clothing but conduits of a profound spiritual bond with the animals and the elemental spirit world. It was believed that donning these skins bestowed upon the warriors a supernatural shield, rendering them impervious to the blows of battle—a testament to the powerful fusion of material and spiritual realms within ancient belief systems.

The Spiritual Protection of Achilles

Achilles is a fascinating character in mythology, often celebrated for his near invincibility in battle, a trait largely attributed to his demi-god status. One of the most poignant aspects of his backstory is his immersion in the river Styx, a tale that offers a rich allegory for the concept of ethereal protection.

When we think of rivers, we typically envision flowing water. However, the river Styx resides in the afterworld, a realm that transcends the physical materiality of the living world. This otherworldly river is often described in terms of light and spirit, rather than the familiar liquid form we know. Some modern interpretations depict Achilles being bathed in earthly fire, but such adaptations fail to appreciate the profound significance of his cleansing in ethereal waters or light.

The idea of Achilles being bathed in the river Styx suggests a transformation that made his body beyond the reach of mortal harm. By immersing him in these waters, his mother, Thetis, endowed him with a protective layer that rendered him nearly impenetrable within the earthly dimension. This transformation implies that Achilles’ body was not just physically strengthened but was also imbued with a spiritual fortification.

The crux of Achilles’ story hinges on the fact that his mother did not immerse his heel in the water, as she held him by it during the ritual. This small, unprotected part of his body became his singular vulnerability. Ultimately, it was this heel that was struck by a poisoned arrow, leading to his demise.

The Superhuman as Spirit-Aligned

In our modern mythology of superheroes, we often see strength depicted through physical prowess and brute force. Yet the frequent association of these heroes with animals—spiders, bats, panthers—hints at something deeper. These connections mirror shamanic traditions, where animals symbolize spiritual power and alignment with nature’s forces.

The word “super” comes from the Latin superus, meaning “above” or “beyond.” True superhuman strength lies not in material domination but in transcendence. It is a strength born of spirit, not flesh; of light, not matter.

Conclusion: An Invitation to Mystery

Reflecting on these experiences, I do not claim to understand the divine or its workings. To do so would be to fall into the very trap I caution against—trying to define what must remain undefined. Instead, I invite you to explore your own relationship with the divine.

What moments in your life have felt touched by something beyond? How can you cultivate humility and openness to the ineffable?

Mysticism reminds us that strength and resilience are not about what we can control but about what we can surrender to. In that surrender, we find a radiance that transcends the material—a light that cannot be grasped but can guide us, if we let it.

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