Vox Meditantis

29th August, 1583

By the grace of God I set downe these wordes, though my hand doth tremble as I write. Three days past I did flee from the towne, my furnace and apparatus secreted amongst the roots of an ancient oke, deep within this darke wood where none dare venture save the most desperate of soules.

The fire that hath consumed my thoughts these many months doth now seeme a curse upon my very being. In my chamber I did attempt the Great Worke, seeking to transmute base metalls through the sacred flames, as prescribed by the learned Raymundus and other masters of the Arte. Yet each time I kindle the coales, each time the mercurie doth bubble and hisse within my vessels, I am minded of that terrible night when Goodman Fletcher did accuse me before the magistrates of conjuring diabolicall spirits through mine alchemickal fires.

Here in this wilderness, where the owles cry mournfully and strange vapours rise from the boggy ground, I continue my labours by moonlight. The very trees seeme to watch as I prepare my tinctures and elixirs, their branches swaying like accusing fingers. My small fire crackles and spits, casting dancing shadowes that take the forme of demons and accusers. How precarious is the line betwixt natural philosophy and witchcraft in the eyes of the ignorant!

How are you feeling right now? Such a question doth pierce my soule like a blade. Mine heart is heavy with feare, for I know not whether I pursue God’s sacred mysteries or invite the Devil’s temptation. The very aire about me feels thick with malevolent humours, and I start at every sound – be it the breaking of a twig or the distant howling of wolves. Sleep eludes me, for in my dreames I see the flames of Hell reaching toward me, and I wake with the taste of brimstone upon my tongue.

Yet I cannot cease from my endeavours. The fire within my breast burns hotter than any furnace – this insatiable hunger to unlock Nature’s secrets, to discover the Philosopher’s Stone that shall bring healing to mankind and glory to the Almighty. Mayhap it is Divine Providence that hath led me to this desolate place, far from the prying eyes of those who would name me heretick or worse.

I heard tell from a passing tinker that Sir Humfrey Gilbert hath lately claimed new lands for Her Majestie beyond the westerne seas. Would that I possessed such courage to venture forth! Instead I cower here like some beast of the forest, tending my hidden flames and praying that the smoke doth not betray my presence.

The fire speaketh to me in tongues I struggle to comprehend. Is it the voice of God guiding my work, or Satan’s whisper leading me toward damnation? I shall continue to record these matters, should any future philosopher discover my bones amongst these rotting leaves and wonder at my fate.

Gloria in excelsis Deo, may He preserve me through this darke night of the soule.

In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.

The late Elizabethan era saw England’s first formal overseas claim and intensifying suspicion of occult practices, both echoed here by Sir Humphrey Gilbert’s 5th August 1583 proclamation of Newfoundland and his death at sea on 9th September, and by ongoing fears under England’s witchcraft statutes of 1542 and 1563. Gilbert’s act at St John’s – cutting turf to signify possession – signalled early English imperial ambition, though no settlement endured and his homeward disaster underscored the risks of Atlantic ventures. In later years, these precedents fed subsequent colonising efforts and narratives of empire, while anxieties over conjuration persisted into the seventeenth century’s prosecutions.

Bob Lynn | © 2025 Vox Meditantis. All rights reserved. | 🌐 Translate