Volume 4 / Number 2  

Jean Cocteau: Man of the 20th Century
Secret History & Sacred Geometry in the Chapel of St. Peter
Tool Danny Carry's Interview: Subterranean Kingdom
Den of Thieves: A Toolean Interpretation of Rennes-le-Chateau
Pilgrimage: Cocteau's Message to the Future
Beauty & the Beast: The Hidden Story Behind Cocteau's Fairy Tale
Sleeping Beauty & the World Mountain
Omega & Genesis: Underground Cities, The Deluge, & the Holy Mountain Hypothesis
The Tower of Babel: Vessel of God
The Compass of Enoch
Cutting of the Orm: New Cabala, Ancient Astrology
13: Secret Powers, Sacred Number
9: The Digital Horizon
Le Serpent Rouge Reinterpreted
The Prophet

The Compass of Enoch

By Boyd Rice

Comparative mythology guru Joseph Campbell went on record as saying that if you’re on the right path, there will be times in your life when it will seem as thought you’re being "guided by invisible hands." These hands will "open doors that you never knew existed", and lead you to where you need to go. It has certainly seemed to be the case in regard to our own researches. On more than one occasion (many more) Tracy Twyman or I had seemed to have come up against a brick wall, when suddenly a peculiar intuition or a book picked up and opened at random provided the very clue we needed to proceed to the next level of our inquiry. A medium whom we know told us that the spirit of Jean Cocteau was watching over us, and perhaps he was, because so many of these odd coincidences seem to relate to Cocteau and his role vis-a-vis the Priory of Sion. The most spectacular of our discoveries in regard to Cocteau has to do with an elaborate geometrical configuration encoded into his mural at the Chapel of St. Peter. We have chosen to call this configuration the Compass of Enoch.

Having discovered the symbolism and geometry described in the article Secret History and Sacred Geometry, I was satisfied that I’d done as complete a job as possible deciphering what Cocteau had intended to convey. Yet a nagging instinct kept telling me I’d missed out on something somehow. Something pivotal remained there, yet to be found. I poured over the charts and diagrams I’d made. I compared them to other Cocteau murals. Then it hit me. Nowhere did I see the M figure so prominent in the other murals. Going back to the photo enlargement of the St. Peter mural, I saw an M shape almost instantaneously. It was formed by two points on the archway of the vaulted ceiling on the top, and on the bottom. It was entirely consistent with the pentagonal grid I’d already identified, and appeared to be made up of two overlapping pentagonal triangles. The dots that identified the uppermost peaks of the M were repeated down the archway in a semi-circle. This suggested that more M shapes might be present in other angles. This proved to be true, but the cropping of the photo prevented me from following this idea to its logical conclusion. Again I’d hit a dead end.

But again I had a peculiar bit of intuition. What if a series of these Ms (as my initial research seemed to suggest) were patterned in a circle so as to form some sort of bizarre configuration? IT seemed logical that there might possibly be thirteen such Ms, as M is the thirteenth letter of the alphabet, and thirteen Ms would be the equivalent to M.M. - Mary Magdalen. I drew a circle marked with 26 points, two for each of the topmost points of the thirteen Ms. When I completed the operation I was flabbergasted. Before me was a geometrical configuration like unto none I’d ever seen. It possessed an unbelievable sense of symmetry, order, and harmony. It seemed both simple and complex at once. It was like a star pattern with thirteen dual-pointed prongs; that is to say, 26 points in all. It looked not unlike a number of other occult star patterns, yet seemed to possess eccentric characteristics which made it wholly unique.

Could this strange star-like geometric pattern be Cocteau’s rendering of Mary Magdalen as Venus the Morning Star? And if not, what are the probabilities of decoding a handful of esoteric references, following them to their logical conclusions, and arriving at a geometric figure composed of thirteen superimposed letters of any kind? The odds must surely be astronomical. Assuming a person consciously contrived to set out to create such a configuration, the process involved in arriving at it would no doubt be long and arduous. They’d probably need advanced skills in math and geometry, neither of which I possess. Yet I sketched this out in a few minutes time with a straight edge and ball point pen, based only on the pattern which seemed implied and the order it seemed to suggest.

Though I was very pleased with the outcome, it seemed that the figure had to represent more than merely a decorative pattern. It’s very order and symmetry seemed to suggest it might serve some other functional purpose of some sort. The very fact that I had been able to arrive at this configuration seemed to constitute proof that the clues which had lead me here had some kind of tangible meaning and veracity. But I felt that the meaning surely went deeper, and extended to levels beyond what I was able to immediately recognize (and perhaps beyond my capacity to comprehend.)

Because this was based on geometry, I experimented with placing numbers at that points of the stars. After a few elementary tests, I discovered that this configuration could be employed as a sort of simplistic calculator. By choosing a number (8, for instance) and adding any even number, one could trace the lines back and forth across the circle (starting at the first number chosen) the same amount of times as the number being added, and arrive at the correct sum at the end of the process. To subtract, one merely followed the same process in a counter-clockwise manner. For uneven numbers, one merely added or subtracted a 1 as indicated. This, of course, is highly simplistic, and seems hardly to possess any real functional benefit. But it’s significant insofar as it reveals the presence of a mathematical/geometric principle encoded in the very shape of this star. That being the case, there is a distinct possibility that this symbol could very well possess the capability of being used for some higher order of computation.

Even as deceptively simple a calculation device as this is, it could be applied in an infinite variety of ways. The configuration itself could be a key, along with which a countless variety of pre-arranged variables could be applied. The numbers 1, 2 and 3 could just as easily be converted to denominations of 150, 300, 450 or virtually any other equivalent multiple. The lines between the various points could represent, for instance, a day’s journey, and a simple single letter code could indicate the difference between a day’s journey by foot, horse or sea. With as few as two or three letters, a code could be implied telling how far distant reinforcements were from an embattled army. A few more letters added could reveal their numeric strength. One can imagine a system like this being employed by the Knights Templar, whether in warfare or in banking. Travelers depositing gold in a Paris repository of the Templars could be given a receipt encoded with a few letters or symbols, and redeem the slip in Florence or Jerusalem for the exact same amount. In short, any variety of secrets could be vouchsafed from the intrusion of prying eyes. The sequence of letters of numbers on the circle could have been altered on a semi-regular basis, so that even someone in possession of a key would find breaking the code an impossibility without knowledge of the updated variables. This configuration, then, could represent a medieval version of the WWII enigma machine.

We can’t say, of course, whether this was the coding device used by the Templars. But it’s evident from even the most obvious applications of this symbol which we’re thus far deduced that such a device would have been very advantageous to any organization with secrets to keep. Since Jean Cocteau seems to have been privy to a good many secrets having to do with the Templars and their inner doctrine, the possibility that this system is linked to them cannot be ruled out. Of course, Cocteau was an ingenious individual, and it is highly possible that this icon was something he created, as a key to unlocking the secrets encoded deep within the recesses of his own work. Both possibilities are compelling

It seemed likely that this star could probably be used for multiplication and division as well, and after a few tentative experiments, the thesis was borne out. Depending on the sequence of numbers used, the device could have radically different applications. Thus far, every variation I could think of testing worked out with amazing precision. In one of the more straightforward applications, I chose a sequence of numbers starting with 3 and 9. If you start at the number 9 and trace the lines of the star back and forth four times it leads you to 36, or 4 x 9. The same procedure done twenty-four times leads you to 216, or 24 x 9. The process is consistent and reliable, and works with equal precision on the sequence based on multiples of 3. An interesting byproduct of using sequences based on 3 and 9 is that all the subsequent numbers produced bear the same intrinsic mathematical relationship to one another as the 3 and 9, i.e., 9 is 3 three times. So, for instance, if 162 follows 54, you can conclude that 162 = 54 x 3. Or if 216 follows 72, you can conclude that 216 = 72 x 3. And the same is true with all the other numbers involved, so the math is working on two levels at once, producing a series of numbers based on even multiples, and another series based on multiples of three. These are fairly simple calculations, and most people could undoubtedly do the math in their heads. But again, any number could be chosen as the starting point which defines the sequence that follows, and the number of possible combinations and permutations is virtually infinite. But another interesting function is possible: if (as we suspect) this symbol dates back to antiquity, it could have been used to allow people with no knowledge of arithmetic to make accurate calculations. Remember that in the Middle Ages, most people were illiterate, even kings. Realistically, only a handful of people then living would even have had the need to calculate numbers on even the level thus demonstrated. Presumably, most would only have needed to know enough math to keep track of their sheep, chickens, goats, and so on (a process which in most cases would be done with their ten fingers.)

But we suspect that this configuration could well have possessed other uses. It could possibly have been a calendar of some sort, with each of its 26 points representing 26 weeks, or a period of six months. A six-month calendar might make sense since our modern system based on sixes dates back to Sumeria, from whence we got the 60-second minute, 60-minute hour and so forth. Using a calendar such as this would have allowed the ancients to map out the exact amount of time between the winter and summer equinoxes. After marking a passage of 26 weeks, they would merely have to reverse the process to begin charting the next six-month period, ending the mapping of the year back at the same equinox they started at. Since the equinoxes marked the times of planting and harvest (elements crucial to their survival), it’s easy to see how a device such as this would have been useful.

Having found most of these preliminary hypotheses valid and demonstrable, the question naturally arose as to whether any other ancient symbols might perhaps possess similar capabilities. Since some of the shapes contained in the object of our study seemed suggestive of those formed in the cross used by the Knights of Malta, I sketched out a Maltese Cross. Intuition suggested superimposing a second such cross overtop of it, resulting in an 8-pointed star. Almost immediately, it appeared that this symbol, too was possessed of the same intrinsic function - albeit on a much more limited scale. It began to wonder how many ancient symbols concealed this attribute. Remembering an odd 8-pointed Templar cross that Tracy Twyman and I had seen at Rennes-le-Chateau, I tested it and found similar results. If each movement around the cross represented the base number multiplied by the number of moves, this would be a very elementary method of showing someone basic multiplication. But it also revealed another layer of meaning. For each straight line connecting a larger number and a smaller number, the larger number represents the sum of the smaller number added to the base number. It’s altogether obvious why this should occur, and yet the result somewhat surprised me. And again, though this is utterly fundamental in its simplicity (one could even say primitive), this symbol dates back to a time when the foundations of some of the most complex cathedrals in Europe were laid out by men using ropes marked off with knots for measuring devices. And too, although the numbers we’ve chosen to demonstrate this are purposely simple, virtually any number sequence could be substituted to achieve an identical result. It is as though this is a highly elementary version of the more complex 26-pointed star.

The 26 points on the star are, as I have said, dual points on a 13-pronged star. Since this star represents only a six-month period, a second such star (representing the rest of the year) can be superimposed overtop this, representing 13 sets of four, or 13 months comprised of four weeks each, resulting in a sum of 52 weeks. It is said that the original zodiac had thirteen houses. If so, the number would seem to add up. This is the hypothesis that Tracy Twyman has arrived at, and has discovered a system based on thirteen months comprised of 28 equal days each, resulting in a year of 364 days. These numbers seem to make even more sense, and I refer the reader to her calculations presented in the article The Cutting of the Orm in this issue.

At any rate, having only scratched the surface, we’ve found that this configuration can be used as an encrypting device, a calculator for addition, subtraction and multiplication, and who knows what else. It is a calendar, perhaps a symbol of the zodiac, and a key used for the understanding of and initiation into the mysterious realm of sacred geometry. Copies of this sigil and our admittedly rudimentary enquiries into its possible functions/applications have been forwarded to experts in the field of trigonometry, and world-class cryptologists. No one who’s seen it thus far possessed any previous knowledge of its existence.

Taking our inquiry a step further, I tested the hypothesis that this emblem could have been used to calculate the passage of time - that it was used as a clock of some sort. Using Tracy Twyman’s theory (predicated upon the Compass of Enoch) that time may once have been calculated in sums of 13, 26, 52 and so on as my point of departure, I immediately arrived at some very specific results. In her system there are 13 months in a year, 26 hours in a day, and 52 weeks in a year. In other words, they are all multiples of thirteen. There are also 52 seconds in a minute and 52 minutes in an hour. Redefining the measuring of hours, minutes, seconds, etc, would seem utterly, gratuitous, except for the fact that the numbers all add up, and possess a sense of inner logic above and beyond our own current system of reckoning time. The numbers all echo one another. The smallest measurement is defined by the same number of component units as the largest: the 52 seconds in a minute echo the 52 weeks in a year. Note also that the day has 52 half-hours. More stunningly, a week is composed of 364 half-hours, which reflect precisely the Golden Year’s 364 days. So each unit of measure can be shown to coincide precisely with each other unit of measure. Thos which don’t are multiples of one another.

How all of this could be used to make the Compass of Enoch into a working clock can be demonstrated just as easily. Used in conjunction with a free swinging pendulum, the likes of which can be seen in many museums of science, the two could have made a very functional (and very precise) timepiece. How it works is this: the pendulum swings back and forth, moving slowly around the perimeter of a circle. As it progresses, it knocks down domino-shaped pieces of wood, thus marking the passage of time. Its clockwise forward motion is facilitated by the turning of the Earth, and it completes its journey around the circle in one full day and night. Therefore, if the Compass were divided into two halves (one representing day and the other night), those using it would be able to calculate the passage of time at night, when no sun or shadows were present. This theory has been run past Andrew Novik, who works at the atomic clock in Boulder, Colorado, and Novik concurs that the notion appears wholly likely, particularly within the context of the Golden Age hypothesis in which night and day would have been consistently equal year round.

So there you have it: a few preliminary theories about what the Compass of Enoch is and how it may have possibly been used. These examples have been limited to only a few because of space constraints in this magazine. There are many more. While these examples are surely theoretical, they seem to be supported by a large number of readily demonstrable facts - very compelling facts. And we were lead to these theories and facts not by mere baseless conjecture, but by a very real geometric pattern revealed to us by Jean Cocteau. These initial discoveries in turn lead us to ideas we might never have otherwise explored or formulated - ideas that have opened a possible window into our ancient past, and to the world as it might have existed in the fabled Golden Age. These ideas will be explored in depth by Tracy Twyman in her article on the Golden Calendar. Read on...