A Hermes Trismeg Wallpaper and Music Site


Der Übermensch: The Christ Child – O Magnum Mysterium


Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina     “O Magnum Mysterium”     arr. Hermes Trismeg     For the best listening quality please click on the link below to download the mp3

O Magnum Mysterium - Palestrina (15.7 MiB)

O magnum mysterium,
et admirabile sacramentum,
ut animalia viderent Dominum natum,
jacentem in praesepio!
Beata Virgo, cujus viscera
meruerunt portare
Dominum Christum.

“Lost Cathedral” Wallpaper


Guillaume Dufay     “Ave Maris Stella”     For the best listening quality, please click on the link below to download the mp3

Ave Maris Stella - Guillaume Dufay (11.4 MiB)


Oh sounds transcendent,
after centuries of night,
from the timeless sea arising:
clarion bells.
And from the mouth of Gabriel:
cantus firmus, fauxbourdon,
and Puer Aeternus’ treble descant.

Enter now the hallowed grounds.
Join the spectral congregation.
Through morning mists and shadows blue
see hallowed structure, tall and true,
bathed in nature’s dew.

Soaring vault.
Lancet windows luminous.
Occult chancel.
Inner sanctum.
Final alter.

Nurturing Child of God,
being born for us,
give us sanctuary.
Seat of authority high,
to you we draw nigh.
We entreat for all things good.

Sturdy transept.
Arcade of gold.
The veil of the temple is rent.
Foundation firm, the risen Lord,
Maris Stella wondrous.
Hail star of the sea,
glowing on high,
giving light to the blind.
Our devotion does awake.
Freely given, now we take,
on bended knee,
the body and the flood.
Ancient Mariner spume.
Preserve the way
happy gate of heaven,
transforming the name of Eva.

We sing to you our hymn.
Establish us in peace
oh unique virgin.
Undertaken to be our own.
To the most High be glory.
We do ever rejoice.


H. T.  2014





Erik Satie – Gymnopédie No.3          Sebastian Knauer



‘I have to go back soon,’ says Adam one afternoon. Yes, I know he has to go back soon. He has to go back to London and to school. It is hard, where we are now, to keep a track of time. But I have marked one day in the calendar: the end of April is Adam’s birthday. He will be sixteen.

‘You are a Taurus,’ I read aloud. ‘Your planetary sign is Venus, your star-stone is Emerald, and your Significant Colour is pink.’

‘And what does that make me?’

‘Your planetary sign is Venus – which means you are extremely lustful and sexy. Your Colour is pink, which means you are queer.’

‘We know all that. Tell me about my star-stone.’

‘Your star-stone is Emerald – which means you belong here, with me, in Ireland, which is the “Emerald Isle”. Which means you should forget about going home. In fact, you couldn’t leave even if you wanted to, because these woods are enchanted – no-one who enters the woods of Liscannor ever comes out again.’

Adam rolls over on his back. He is looking up into the trees – into the filigree of branches and leaves and bright diamonds of sky. ‘I never noticed this green before,’ he says after a while. ‘I never noticed a green like this.’

I know what he means. It is the green of the Irish Spring and it is all around us. It is quite unlike the solid green of Summer. It is a shimmering green that hovers on the boundary between this world and another world. You never see this green in cities, and you rarely see it even in paintings – for it is the hardest colour to catch.

The shadows of leaf and branch brush lightly to and fro across Adam’s body. It is a study of soft creams and pinks, and of greens and browns where shadows are.

‘What are you thinking?’

‘I am thinking of the colours I would need to mix if I painted you.’

Adam wrinkles his brow.

‘Which colours would you need?’

I place my hand on his chest and I run my fingers down the cliff of his ribs and across his flat tummy. ‘Creams and browns and umber, mostly. And highlights of Chinese White, and touches of Malachite Green.’

‘No pink?’

‘Pink for the nipples maybe, and a mix of pink and umber for this interesting area around them.’ – I circle a nipple with my finger tip. Then I run my hand under his side. ‘And here it is all umber and ochre and weed green and patches of black.’

‘And anywhere else?’

I stroke his tummy and gather the hair of the pubis and stretch it between my fingers. I scoop his balls in the palm of my hand and let them tumble back slowly. ‘Henna’, I think, ‘for hair, and flecks of gold. And the occasional touch of blue for a vein.’


‘Yes, blue – here, and here – shadowy rivers of blue under your skin where the skin is thin and see-through.’

Adam props himself up on his elbows and examines himself.

‘You’re right,’ he says after a while. ‘I never noticed.’


Sion Liscannor