(this blog post is also available as a video)
In my last video on Cripple Creek’s relatively small mudflood, I discussed the gold telluride found there known as sylvanite — a compound of gold, silver, and tellurium — and showed the four main locations of sylvanite, according to the mainstream narrative. Those locations are Transylvania Romania, Kalgoorlie Australia, Cripple Creek Colorado, and Kirkland Lake, Ontario and they form what I call the Sylvanite Triangle.
But there are many more than just four sylvanite deposits. Focusing in on the US, the sylvanite deposit in northern Montana near a town sometimes known as Sylvanite, Montana, also aligns with the triangle. The sylvanite located here is in fairly close proximity to a forest of 800-year-old cedar trees (cedars that are not being protected by the US Forest Service), and both cedars and redwoods are large, aromatic trees that often show up near deposits of telluride ores.
For example, the sylvanite in Cripple Creek is about 20 miles south of a petrified forest of redwoods in Florissant, Colorado. And a similar telluride called calaverite, found in Calaveras County, California, is in proximity to some of the largest redwoods in the world, the sequoias, as well as cedar trees. Even Telluride Colorado aligns with the Sylvanite Triangle, though no cedars are present and the petrified redwoods are a bit far away.
In his book Sylva Sylvarum, Francis Bacon noted that cedars grew very large, and credited that for the species’ longevity. And it’s the size of such trees that seems to be a relevant variable to the tellurides that show up nearby.
As I pointed out earlier, the title of Bacon’s Sylva Sylvarum is based on the latin word for wooded forest. It’s usually listed as Sylva Sylvarum or Natural History, but Bacon qualified the title in the book: “For this writing of our Sylva Sylvarum, is (to speak properly) not Natural History, but a high kind of Natural Magick. For it is not a description only of Nature, but a breaking of Nature, into great and strange Works.” By a “breaking of nature,” I think Bacon was alluding to the process of dissolution after incorporation, after a chemical wedding, and we still use the term “dissolution” for divorce today.
The very first experiment described in Sylva Sylvarum involves a way to separate salt from sea water, an act of spagyrics, which is both the combining and extracting of medicinal ingredients.
The etymology of the word alchemy isn’t cut and dried, but some believe, and I’m one of them, that alchemy derived from the Greek word khymeia, which, okay, means chemistry. But earlier on it meant to “pull together,” another way of describing incorporation. And if khymeia meant incorporate, might al-khymeia possibly mean the opposite of that? To un-incorporate? If so, then Bacon was definitely referring to alchemy when he wrote, “let all compounds be dissolved!”
An incorporation or wedding of chemical elements like gold and tellurium brings to mind the 17th century Rosicrucian allegory, The Chymical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreutz. It’s a bizarre story in which (spoiler alert) the bride and groom both die and are brought back to life, but it also brings in several tangents like the constellations, the role of gold in exchange, the role of time in debt, and even an arcane function of cedar trees, as they initially guide Christian Rosenkreutz toward the location where the chemical wedding will take place. Let me just briefly repeat that: the cedar trees guide Christian toward the location of a chemical wedding.
And I do see a lot of cedars and redwoods, large aromatic trees, in proximity to various deposits of sylvanite, many of which are located in the United States. Because in addition to the Sylvanite Triangle, there’s another one, the Celestial Triangle, that also correlates to several sylvanite deposits.
The Celestial Triangle was researched in-depth by Caillea Crone several years ago, who believed it to be a deliberate alignment of national parks and monuments corresponding to a triangle of star constellations. Crone believes it was an intentionally mirrored and flipped reflection of the dimensional gates of the heavens. But, the Celestial Triangle also happens to correspond to several deposits of sylvanite.
The ancients believed there were two primary star gates or portals through which the soul travelled. The Silver Gate is located in the hand of Orion and Crone believes it corresponds to the Gateway Arch in St. Louis, Missouri. The Golden Gate is located at the foot of Ophiuchus and corresponds to the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. These two gates in Ophiuchus and Orion are 180 degrees apart across the galactic equator. Orion is a constellation often noticed in the sky, but in relation to my research into sylvanite, I find it interesting that a metal ion — a molecule of metal with an electric charge — could also be called an ore ion (Orion).
The Silver Gate was believed to be the portal through which the soul entered the material realm through the mater or mother and was also believed to be the portal at death that one would take to reincarnate back into the same family line. But the Golden Gate was the portal at death that one would take to instead ascend to the heavenly realm and leave the earth and physical incarnation behind. That this would occur through the golden gate is reminiscent of the description of gold by Philemon in Carl Jung’s Red Book, as assisting those who would ascend.
The third gate of the Celestial Triangle is the Lion’s Gate, represented by the Lion’s Gate Bridge in Vancouver, British Columbia. It’s associated with the Lion’s Gate portal through which the soul can gain clarity and enhanced perception. Astrologers date its opening in Leo from late July to early August, reaching its peak on August the 8th of each year.
Each of the three bridges on the triangle points are near deposits of sylvanite. For the Silver Gate, that location is the Pea Ridge Mine about 75 miles southwest of the St. Louis Arch. For the Golden Gate, the location is Carson Hill in Calaveras County, directly on the alignment and about 135 miles due east of San Francisco. And for the Lion’s Gate, the location is at the Ashloo Mine about 100 miles north of Vancouver.
Another sylvanite deposit on perfect alignment is in Twisp, Washington at the Wolverine Prospect. In fact, it aligns with BOTH triangles because it’s located where the they intersect. Twisp is about 20 miles east of the Cedar Creek Trail at Lake Chelan with a forest of 100-year-old cedars, and it’s about 30 miles from the Trail of the Cedars, with trees described as “giant.”
Also on the vector between St. Louis and Vancouver we find mines in Idaho, Wyoming, Montana, and South Dakota.
Another cluster is found on the vector between St. Louis and San Fran, which includes the Charlie Ross mine, the Mohawk in Goldfield, and the Ann-Mason mine, all in Nevada, as well as Telluride and Cripple Creek, Colorado. These deposits are located between the junipers of Cedar City in western Utah and the petrified redwoods of central Colorado.
Next are the loosely aligned mines along the vector from San Francisco up to Vancouver, including the Days Creek Chieftain and Grants Pass Jewett mines in Oregon and the Dedrick Yellow Jacket Mine in California. This cluster of deposits is near the Klamath and Fremont National Forests of both redwoods and cedars.
My interest regarding the Celestial Triangle is how it aligns with cedars and sylvanite, but Caillea Crone determined that this alignment was based on the location of national monuments. The first national monument designated in the US was Devil’s Tower in 1906, described at the time as a “stump” and it does loosely correspond with the Celestial Triangle, being located about 50 miles from the mines in Terry and Custer, South Dakota. In fact, just west of Deadwood, a town with an interesting name, is a cluster of six deposits of sylvanite.
There are two more locations of a similar columnar basalt (though Devil’s Tower is said to be phonolite) and these basalt locations also correspond with the Celestial Triangle, the Devil’s Postpile (designated as a national monument in 1911)and Skinner Butte in Eugene, Oregon, which is not a national monument.
I’d like to point out that when geologic anomalies like Devil’s Tower and Postpile are designated national monuments, most people are relieved, believing that government control affords these sites protection. But this relief is often misplaced because, ultimately, such control simply allows the government to pick and choose WHO will investigate and exploit these areas, and which members of the public are no longer allowed on these public lands past the barrier rope or after hours.
But what’s really interesting about this alignment is that of the four hundred deposits of sylvanite on earth, nearly half of them are located in and around this Celestial Triangle. Why? And why does the triangle veer off to the St. Louis Arch to encompass this one lonely deposit in Missouri?
One person many of these sites have in common is a 19th century explorer named John Fremont.
Fremont and Kit Carson, reportedly both freemasons, were exploring and mapping the western states for the US Army in the early 1800s and Fremont organized his early expeditions from St. Louis. Fremont named the San Francisco bay the Golden Gate, and we see in his notes that Fremont uses survey data from Vancouver — making St. Louis, Vancouver, and San Francisco key locations on his fact-finding missions.
In his diary, Fremont explained his overall mission: “This was our projected line of return — a great part of it absolutely new to geographical, botanical and geological science — and the subject of reports in relation to lakes, rivers, deserts, and savages hardly above the condition of mere wild animals, which inflamed desire to know what this terra incognita really contained.” I think the word “contained” reveals that Fremont and his superiors were very interested in the minerology of the western US and how it could best be exploited, which we see borne out in his private letters. In 1848, he wrote a letter to John Torrey, a botanist who would later publish a catalog of Fremont’s plant findings. He tells Torrey, “I mentioned to you that I am drawing up to be presented to Congress a brief memoir upon California. It is intended to give some data for forming an estimate of the real value of the country, particularly required at this time…”
Fremont had two concerns that stand out in his correspondence: the mining of gold and the cataloguing of large trees. His letter to Torrey goes on to say: “In mentioning trees I am anxious to be as exact and definite as possible, and will thank you for the name of the large cedar of the Sierra Nevada, California, (juniperus) brought home on our previous voyage, and also of a large tree belonging to the division of cypresses probably brought in at that time. It is called Palo Colorado by the Californians, or Red wood. During our last journey I measured some 15 & 17 feet diameter and 285 feet high.”
1850 was an important year for Fremont with regard to mining gold. On May 2nd of 1850, Fremont got this report back regarding a gold sample he sent to Robert Patterson: “Your specimen of California gold ore has been carefully examined… The fineness of the gold was 888.5 thousandths.” On May 19th, Fremont wrote the following in a letter to Richard Robert, “When I left California in January last, this rock had been opened but in one point and only to a depth of about two feet. The gold showed in the side in a thickness of about two feet.” And two days later, on May 21st, Fremont drew up a power of attorney, stating, “Whereas, I, John Charles Fremont, of California, am proprietor of Lands in that Territory containing Gold ore, and also, as it is believed. Quicksilver ore, and desire that said Gold and Quicksilver ores should be mined and be made available…” And then, on May 28th, Fremont reported to Charles Mayer: “I have heard by letter at second hand by Mr. McG from his Son at the Mariposas, that a piece of rock was broken from my vein containing several pounds of Gold in one mass.”
Fremont became an veritable institution of the west and numerous places were named for him, including Cripple Creek, as well as Fremont County, Colorado, just to its south.
One of the national forests of redwoods and cedars near the Oregon sylvanite mines is also named for him, as is the town of Fremont, California and Fremont Peak south of San Jose. In fact, places named for Fremont are too numerous to list, but what’s perhaps most important is that it was Fremont who NAMED the Golden Gate Bridge, writing, “[T]o this Gate I gave the name of Chrysopylae or Golden Gate for the same reasons that the harbor of Byzantium was called Chrysoceras, or Golden Horn.”
Was Fremont’s naming of the Golden Gate an act of geomancy? He wasn’t naming the bridge, of course, as that wasn’t built until 1933, ironically the year that the ownership of gold was outlawed by FDR. He was naming the entrance to the San Francisco bay, but was he deliberately connecting Chrysopylae with Ophiuchus, and the Golden Gate of the heavens?
I can only speculate, but from his notes, we know Fremont determined latitude using Polaris in Ursa Minor, and longitude using Arcturus in Bootes, as well as other stars. It’s certainly plausible that he knew of the Golden Gate’s location in Ophiuchus. But the fact that Fremont was utilizing Arcturus in the Bootes constellation predictably took my mind to Shakespeare, Bacon, and the work of Petter Amundsen.
I’ve mentioned Petter’s work before and some of his finds that were disclosed in the documentary, Cracking the Shakespeare Code. And like the controllers who deliberately projected the Celestial Triangle on the upper northwest, Petter found that Francis Bacon and the Rosicrucians hid a map of constellations in Shakespeare’s first folio, and that this was also a map meant to be projected onto the earth.
The map was hidden in the introductory poem, To The Reader, a text I partially deconstructed in an earlier video called A right triangle, the Shakespeare first folio, and the tritone.
Petter decodes a Greek substitution cipher in To The Reader, where the first letters of every odd-numbered line are replaced with Greek letters. These odd-numbered lines spell out the constellation Bootes in Greek and the even-numbered contain the letters of Wain, which is the Big Dipper in Ursa Major.
References to Bootes and Wain also show up in Henry the Fourth, Part 1 on page 53, a number important to freemasons. It’s interesting to note that at least one of the archive.org copies of Shakespeare’s first folio omits page 53 from the histories, as if this page might contain something worth hiding.
Page 53 of the histories does contain a few items of interest, including a word used only once in all of Shakespeare’s work: the word “Oneyers.” I referenced it in my earlier video, Of Monsters and Money in which I discuss money (moneye) as “one eye” — a coin, the end result of mining ore.
And this word Oneyers is in close proximity to the word Bootes, spelled not as footwear (which is what the context suggests) but as the constellation. Petter Amundsen famously found the Bootes-Wain alignment on page 53 of the histories, as well as the Egges and Bacon signature line of Francis Bacon.
He plotted these two lines into a cross, then found another instance of Bootes on page 37 of the histories, another number important to the freemasons. Here he divines the star name Deneb in Cygnus, which I think is supported back on page 53. Because, if you draw a line down from this masonic angle number 53 to Bacon’s name, the line runs through another mention of Bootes as “Botes” and in the line above, the word “Dog,” a reference to the Dog(s) of Bootes (a lesser-known constellation). So if you plot the line from Wain to Bootes in the heavens, and also plot the signature line from Egges to Bacon, that signature line hits the eye of Chara, one of the Dogs of Bootes. And if you extend that line from Chara, through the name of Bacon, you’ll hit, again, Deneb in Cygnus.
And we can take this even further, because, according to Peter Dawkins, Bacon also plotted a navigational line into North America, from his estate at Gorhambury to Jamestown in the New World, and from here, we can plot what turns out to be a smaller companion to the Celestial Triangle.
Dawkins writes that, “The ley line across Gorhambury estate from Bacon’s Mount and on through the Tudor mansion is orientated approximately in the 287° compass direction… the line goes straight to the place in Virginia where Jamestown, the first settlement of the Virginia Company, was originally located. In doing so, it passes close to Oak Island, Nova Scotia.”
If we use the line from Oak Island to Jamestown and orient that with a line from Deneb in Cygnus to Arcturus in Bootes, we can extrapolate a position for Wain. And projecting it onto the earth — as a mirrored reflection — we find that the third point of the triangle, representing Wain, lands on a small town in New York state called Swain.
The mainstream will tell us this is a coincidence, and that the town of Swain was named in 1852 for a Mr. Swain (no first name given). On the line from Jamestown to Swain we find a few points of interest. One of them is Washington, DC. Another is the Gettysburg re-enactment battlefield.
What’s notable here is that this triangle’s proportions are almost identical to those of the Celestial Triangle. When reversed and scaled up, the Bacon Triangle almost exactly overlays the Celestial one.
And near Swain, there’s something odd in the landscape. If we follow the road called England Hill, it meanders northwesterly, then straightens out north of town and heads due north to this anomaly in the landscape. What is this? From above it looks like an illustration of a tree, or maybe the petrified ROOTS of a tree leading back to what looks like a sawn-off stump.
Looking at this takes my mind back full circle to The Chymical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreutz. You’ll recall that this is the story where the cedar trees direct Christian regarding which way to take to get to a chemical wedding.
Once he arrives, he’s put through several bizarre tests of the initiate and on the fifth day of his adventure, his guide leads him to a cave that Christian probably shouldn’t enter. It’s an area known as the King’s Treasury, in which there’s a triangular sepulchre. Inside this is a copper vessel with an angel standing inside. In the angel’s hand is a tree that continually drops fruit into the copper vessel. When the fruit hits the vessel, it turns to water and flows out into three further vessels.
Christian and his guide venture further down and find the dormant body of Venus. Behind her is written, “When the fruit of my tree shall be quite melted down then I shall awake and be the mother of a king.” Another version of this idea is quoted from the castle’s astrologer, Atlas, a paragraph further down, who reportedly had said, “When the tree shall be quite melted down, then shall Lady Venus awake, and be the mother of a king.”
In this story, the only character claiming Venus as his mother is Cupid, whose job it is to join together, incorporating two into one. But it won’t be until the melting tree finishes its task of dissolution that Venus will then be mother to a king, whose alchemical task is complete.
Soon after this, the bride and groom, the young queen and king, are abruptly beheaded and nobody seems surprised at this. It’s all a part of the chemical wedding and a plan is immediately put in place to bring them back to life.
This process is complicated and more detailed than we need to go into here, but the relevant piece is that the bodies of the king and queen are eventually melted down, like ore, presumably as an act of purification. The last half of Shakespeare’s The Phoenix and the Turtle, seems to apply here:
Here the anthem doth commence:
Love and constancy is dead;
Phoenix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.
So they lov’d, as love in twain
Had the essence but in one;
Two distincts, division none:
Number there in love was slain.
Hearts remote, yet not asunder;
Distance and no space was seen
‘Twixt this Turtle and his queen:
But in them it were a wonder.
So between them love did shine
That the Turtle saw his right
Flaming in the Phoenix’ sight:
Either was the other’s mine.
Property was thus appalled
That the self was not the same;
Single nature’s double name
Neither two nor one was called.
Reason, in itself confounded,
Saw division grow together,
To themselves yet either neither,
Simple were so well compounded;
That it cried, “How true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one!
Love has reason, reason none,
If what parts can so remain.”
Whereupon it made this threne
To the phoenix and the dove,
Co-supreme and stars of love,
As chorus to their tragic scene.
This poem is about incorporation and dissolution, the compound in twain. It’s another chemical wedding, tragic because the phoenix and the turtle dove are caught in the loop of drawing together and pulling apart.
I omitted reading the first half of this poem in the video, simply for time, but it begins in a single Arabian tree. Critics believe this tree to be the “lote tree,” the Sidrat al-Muntaha, marking the boundary of the seventh heaven. A lote tree is also referred to as a “sidr” tree, a name phonetically similar, though botanically unrelated — we’re told — to the cedar tree. But there’s another Arabian tree that comes to mind — the Cedars of Lebanon.
Please join us in Sylveritas to continue the conversation.