Magic of Hildegard von Bingen

       

 In the eleventh century, amidst the Rhineland hills, a child, a divine whisper, was born—little Hildegard.

 In those delicate years when innocence fluttered like a butterfly around her spirit, she manifested peculiar gifts: prophetic visions, which many attribute to divine revelation. 

Her family recognized a divine calling in her and sent her to the monastery.

Within this monastery, encircled by stone walls, lofty windows, dense forests, and mountainous landscapes, she cultivated her talents.

At twilight, she conversed with the stars. 

They came down from their heavenly heights and whirled around her in a manner that resembled a magnificent dance. The stars worked together to reveal their esoteric truths, and she, in turn, protected these secrets by writing them down and singing them back to them.

In her garden, Hildegard could hear the plants speak. 

They shared their dreams of growth and healing, spreading the tales of their ancestors, who had flourished before them. 

She tended to them with love, and they thrived under her touch.

As years passed, her reputation as a healer took on a life of its own. She was in everyone and everything, and so beautiful were her secrets that no person can truly know the sweetness with which she sustained people.

In her teachings to women, she pulled back the veil on a delicate yet profound act: a kiss. 

Picture it—a kiss—a simple gesture yet so much more. 

For Hildegard, this intimate moment is not merely the exchange of affection but rather the divine prelude to creation. She would say, “To kiss is to summon the universe,” and she was correct. 

She would speak of this act with a reverence reserved for rituals long forgotten, as if to kiss were the most holy of all actions.

Oh, but that is such a simple thing; the kiss is just a simple flicker of a common contact, right? Yes, perhaps. But even the simple can become sublime, and the common can become celestial.

Curious, but true, I find myself thinking and talking a lot about Hildegard and what it must have been like to be a part of her earthly sphere. Those who lingered in her presence must have felt like they were engaging in a flirtation with the divinity itself.

“The longing of the Spirit can never be stilled,” said Hildegard as she offered revelations with a refreshing directness—no parables and no murky ambiguity.

Like a rain of devotional light, this quote enters the garden of my imagination and begins to tease my thoughts into a festivity: we think, or so we convince ourselves, that we have our passions under control, neatly tucked away within the boundaries of reason.

But then.

In a sudden twist of fate, out of nowhere, unexpectedly—a crack, a roar!—and the flames unleash themselves, gasping for air. What joy, what chaos! Wild spirits passing through the limbs as though they are soaring sunward in a way that cannot be changed or reversed. 

Once again, my thoughts, as if possessed by a restless spirit, start to move in continuous circles. They ask me, in their own way, these questions: Which heavenly bodies are wrapping themselves around Hildegard's Moon and Mercury, and what mysteries lie hidden in their astral dialogue?

When I peek into her cosmic depths, I find Aries swirling around her Moon and Leo twirling beside her Mercury—how fitting and not surprising at all!

As I possess no interest in repetitious astrological interpretations, I waited a while to hear what secrets lay hidden within the nebulous realms surrounding Hildegard's Moon and Mercury. 

My heart was open, but my mind needed discipline. So, I waited in tranquility for the language to touch me with something ineffable—a kind of reverence.

I was aware that if I were to sit and wait in the vast, silken void of time, I would make my ears the receiver for the tenderness where constellations reveal themselves without any preconceived assumptions.

And, oh, what discoveries reached me! 

With the Moon in Aries and Mercury in Leo, Hildegard's mind was filled with visions and phrases that were constantly churning. It was as if they were waiting for the invocation of a voice, for the spark of articulation to fall into the abyss of existence.

In Hildegard's thoughts, these archetypes danced like a pair of ravenous flames—crackling, roaring—teaching her that the spirit is a relentless lover, unchained and unyielding, eager for the magical interchange that makes things work and allows one thing to nurture another.

How artful, to ponder this planetary predisposition, clawing and gripping at Hildegard’s very essence. 

So often portrayed as a compassionate, sweet nun, Hildegard was nothing but PASSIONATE, and passion is a beast of a different nature—a wild creature that pays no respect for neatly kept lines. 

Sooner or later, creatures would rise again, unreasonable and insane, unapologetic and fervent, demanding her attention and care not for what makes sense but for what brought her to feel alive. 

She knew that in that place, alongside these creatures, lies the charm and the key to liberation, sweeter than any affirmation or mantra recited in desperation.

What a splendid thought to think: Hildegard was not one to tame the wild within but to let it soar, not into some chaotic void but toward the luminous heights of her choosing. 

Now, one might assume that a nun would be stripped of passion, confined by rules, yet I would argue that she tasted liberation that surpassed even the so-called freest souls upon this Earth. 

Wrapped in prayer and devotion, Hildegard found a kind of freedom that eludes those who chase it relentlessly. She wasn't interested in winning over the acclaim of the social elite or anybody else; instead, her heart sought to engage, with a fervor matched only by the most ardent of lovers, in a sacred dialogue with the divine.

Many local villagers came to her asking for help with their ailments, and some even journeyed from distant corners of the earth. Even the most exalted among mortals—kings and popes—descended from their towering thrones, looking for advice on important matters: health, hygiene, sexuality, etc. 

She found joy not only in healing their scarred and bruised bodies but also in soothing the wounds of shame, guilt, and fear that sat, curled up in pain, crying in the depths of their nature.

In her gentle touch, the fragrant aromas of her herbs, and the spellbinding rhythm of her words, people discovered the tender promise of renewal—a resurrection of spirit in a world so often bereft of light. 

But how, you may ask, did she reach out to others, drawing them into her calm, into her light, healing them? I don't know; it's a secret that eludes me, yet I wish to know.

Perhaps her heart received the information coming from the library of the Spirit; it then communicated this information to her brain, which in turn communicated it to her entire body. 

And so, the healing unfolded—not by mere chance or random occurrence, nor as a flicker of luck—but through the authority of the Spirit finding its way to the heart, brain, and finally the body. 

Again, I am not entirely sure if these are the mechanisms at play, and I don't have a way to confirm their validity. 

Determined to share her vision, Hildegard began writing her insights and teachings, creating works that spoke of the divine nature of all living things. 

She meticulously prepared her literary masterpieces, “Scivias,” “Book of Life’s Merits,” and “Book of Divine Works.” Alongside these, she composed a notable medical treatise, “Causes and Cures,” and explored diverse facets of science and healing in her discourse, “Physica.”

I consider these books to be a treasure chest, though I have not looked into their depths as much as my curiosity would demand.

However, my spirit, attuned to their echoes, dares to summarize them with the following truth: behind the fold of these books lies a profound reflection of our existence, a mirror held aloft toward the heavens.

Hildegard did not confine her genius to writing alone. No, this creatively liberated woman composed music—but not just any music—no, no. What she crafted, if I may be so brave as to say, is an elite, alchemical sound that acts to evoke, to provoke, and to stroke the very essence of our souls. 

It is no wonder she is considered a patroness to musicians of our time. For in her melodies, one discovers not just notes on a scale but rather a manifesto proclaiming that music is, at its essence, the very breath of the universe itself. 

Indeed, for Hildegard, the sound was more than a beautiful resonance; it was the detonating force of creation, the elemental correspondence of etheric spaces, and the root of all things. 

Works like "Voices of Angels" and "De Spiritu Sancto" offer gentle caresses as they speak of these ethereal spaces. 

In the end, my treasured reader friend, thank you for visiting this story; your presence provides warmth to these words, and my heart overflows in gratitude to you. 

Speaking about Hildegard involves navigating through a complex web of identities: saint, philosopher, doctor, feminist, witch—the list is endless, and each label is a delicate mask that conceals the complexities of her true essence. 

Truthfully, I didn't feel confident exploring the multifaceted nature of these themes, as I thought it would be a daunting task. I confess: my wish with this story is not to contradict, unsettle, or unravel the thoughtful words and well-reasoned statements woven by others, particularly those well-versed in Christian scholarship regarding Hildegard. 

No, I am here, learning about the holy court of our souls and celebrating the magical confluence of humanity and the divine, where Hildegard's legacy neither contradicts nor confines but inspires and awakens the sacred within us all.

Story by 
                                                        Luca Kamila drew this.