Red Horse, JA 2008
From the Buddha’s teaching …
“THE TOWER is as wide and spacious as the sky itself.
“The ground is paved with (innumerable) precious stones of all kinds, and there are within the Tower (innumerable) palaces, porches, windows, staircases, railings and passages, all of which are made of the seven kinds of precious gems …
“And within this Tower, spacious and exquisitely ornamented, there are also hundreds of thousands … (innumerable) of Towers, each one of which is as exquisitely ornamented as the Tower itself, and as spacious as the sky.
“And all these Towers, beyond calculation in number, stand not at all in one another’s way; each preserves its individual existence in perfect harmony with all the rest; there is nothing here which bars one Tower from being fused with all the others, individually and collectively; there is a state of perfect intermingling, and yet of perfect orderliness.
“Sudhana, the young pilgrim, sees himself in all the Towers, as well as in each single Tower, where all is contained in One and each contains all.
Paraphrase by Suzuki from the Buddha’s AVAMTAMSAKA SUTRA
7 June 2012 THE MARE BY THE SEA
Reflect on this, the Avatamsaka Tower Sutra. A molecule changes only its activity through (for instance) water’s solid, fluid, steam and electronic states. As the potency of all that IS – as Hermes Trismegistos says in the Emerald Table – I am THOUGHT into existence. Where any whirl begins is thought, eventually dropping a birth through female thighs. Look upon the cosmos – the Galaxies. Each and all are conscious Great Beings including in themselves each of the others, and their cellular and atomic and sub-particle quantum memories: thou art God. This is God the dust of stars. And because God is ALL This, with nothing to keep it out, God is no thing other than it all, and thus the … silence which the pranava mantra stirs.
Wherever we are FLOWERED by God I AM, we are hard and bright in the sky.
Reflect on being flowered by God, seeded, sowed, scattered among the other stars in their stately dance. I AM here, fulfilling the dream of my condition whether I like it or not. I seek to unveil.
The contemplation of myself as a star among my uncountable Companions of the Light in the stately Sarabande, raises me along the path of life, like an invitation to tread the measure. I am companion to spores of yeast and ferment in the grape.
Rather like inside the Yellow Submarine, each little blue door opens to an utterly diverse and abundant ongoing eternity – the team of history.
The vision is psychedelic, and I could travel into anywhere, I could be a blade of grass or a daffodil; yet oddly, this embodiment, 63 years old, with back-ache – in a room with cloud white walls and rosewood floor, jeans, aging toes, hands at work, fragment of shirt – and all its focus of imagined trouble and tedium – is selected by default and interest. Who is I?
Replies: “the job to do. Get along with it.”
Two hands: Apple pentacle
However, the moment of Self enquiry is profoundly restful. And rest, among and in and of the galaxies, is all I seek; for it contains the ALL. Do you?
I have old floorboards which I ripped the lino from, long ago, and stained and polished like a violin case; not the vinyl wood pattern we all have nowadays. The focus of my whorl is at the back of my neck, between the shoulders, downward sinking a bit – rather where my unheadedness begins or grows. It is the little hook of life.
The primary condensation: I felt and saw that Himalayan point, just one moment years ago, with the incandescent healing touch. Its impression and ancient I is unforgettable. Revelation is an instant, through the veil. It hits your I, and brands the retina for ever.
It is a shining white mare by the sea; I ride her bare back, no bridle: the power I am astride, the white fire up through my stem. The foam and smell of the salt breaking sea; the indigo sound; the wide pearl of the receiving sands. The surging muscle of the mare. The bare wind.
Vedic goddess JA 1999
Picture myself agallop on the mare, I have no head, like Chhinnamasta – the fountain of Life-awareness; I hold my head in my outstretched hand looking up, she laughs at me. The steady still song in my veins.
Turn to David Frawley’s TANTRIC YOGA AND THE WISDOM GODDESSES (find this book through www.vedanet.com) Chhinnamasta’s mantra is:
Om srim hrim hrim aim vajra-vairocaniyai hum hum phat SVAHA
David Frawley writes: Srim is beauty and light. Hrim is inner transformation. To Vajra-vairocani, the lightning bolt of spiritual realisation. Hum is the power to cut through illusions. Phat concentrates the force of the mantra. SVAHA offers it to the inner fire of awareness.
Her meditation is: upon the seer, withdrawing attention from what is seen. The seer is the utter receptivity. Cultivate perception, the root of the sensory tattvas.
Her Seer is Ganapati Muni. His skull-veil broke, and a column of light rose from his head. The fontanel broke for the fountain.
Home again at last.
Perceiving the milky fountains of ida and pingala, I catch them in my open hands and celebrate. I have not just one head, but many – as many as I have multiple hands to catch; each full of life and talk, a little vessel. They bounce out of the stem like fireworks at Buckingham palace. Each one speaks PHAT a unique Word of Life, and as it fades, another speaks; a feu de joie.
Worship her with the mantra and the white surge of salt, of BINAH. She is oceanic Binah – the Understanding. It strikes like lightning, and fills the bay.
She invokes the fairy story of the Queen who pricked her finger by a window and wished for a child as white as snow, as red as the blood, and dark as the ebony forest: the three Gunas. Kabbalah and Vedanta are the sound of one hand clapping. Kabbalah means “Receive”. Vedanta means “The End of Knowledge”. The sound is the glory.
And she is Venus, who just passed through the Sun’s electronic field, relative to us on Earth. Geophysically, this planet solidifies the Sun’s heat. Scientifically, she seems to accord to astronomers, ways to peer through the veil and receive information of distance and number. Mythologically she is in cahoots with Uranus, some of whose orbital peculiarities she shares. Aphrodite as Uranus’s fallen seed – his castration by Chronos – rode in upon the waves, and was painted by Botticelli. On earth, they ran to throw a mantle over her beauty.
Botticelli “Birth of Venus”
Venus is a sphere upon a cross, like Chhinnamasta whose little lid is severed; whose whole head is the sky.
And she powers the Tree of Life. She is a Hidden Intelligence – as in the tales of alchemy which warn against beholding unprepared, Our Mother under the Earth.
Healing is a by-product of Revelation. I shall surely feel a lot better soon. Revelation straightens the crooked ways, but first it shows what they are.
Enriched I am, with the Diamond Jubilee light show onto laser screen, royal residence support – the peeling veils of Buck House into streets, council flats and interiors of the land, as Madness belted out Our House on the roof. The pealing belfry on the river. Joy. The Queen’s extraordinary stamina at 86 to meet and centre and receive the huge tribute, day after day, is the ancient chrism of her office, which transcends and sustains her. Faith, dedication and service.
horses by the sea JA 2007
My adventure invites fellow travellers. I am a poet, an artist and a seer. I welcome conversation among the PHILO SOFIA, the lovers of wisdom.
This blog is a vehicle to promote my published work – The Sacred India Tarot (with Rohit Arya, Yogi Impressions Books) and The Dreamer in the Dream – a collection of short stories (0 Books) – along with many other creations in house.
I write, illustrate, design and print my books. Watch this space.