This drawing again is appropriate …
Tidying papers and stuff yesterday, a constellation – postcards and pictures – formed a visual “story”. By gravitation, a community of characters draw together for the tale … a winter’s tale. What is it to be?
I plan to space out my posts a little . I’d like to ease the pressure on readers’ emails, and to have more time to explore other blogs – they are treasure – but the new adventure, to receive as to give, flows in – from every direction, the river. Responses meet my reservoir, and new picture stories happen. Floating my paper boats into swift veins of the waters, one at a time, I follow others likewise, in the Worshipful Company of Bloggers! As in R L Stevenson’s poem “Dark Brown is the River … Where go the Boats?” … they all come home, right here, today. Wherever thou art, I am.
Give it all time. Where is it going? It knows. “Tha’ knows …”
… my tiny fleck on this great river.
Fresh from re-exploring my Coastal Paths, I found these two old postcards, the lighthouse from my mother, the mudmaid from a friend …
“Boat and Lighthouse”, by Martin Wiscombe, painted on driftwood
and “The Mudmaid” by Sue and Pete Hill – on the woodland walk at Heligan
This man is called Bryan. He loves to follow old trains. He is a Friend of the Human Rights Aid Foundation.
And this is the late Valerie Brooks, whose posthumous portrait I drew for the Human Rights Aid Foundation – a devoted supporter of lost children during her lifetime. H.R.A. is a charity dedicated to assisting displaced persons, children and communities all over the world. If the children are our forgotten thoughts, be tender to each one. Let them come through, to breathe … to melt and fly.
Heart to heart talk – on a footpath in Arizona. Sherlock Holmes used to reply, “I see what you see, but I notice what I see.” There are as many cells in the brain as there are stars in all the galaxies, and more. Until quite recently, maps of the brain included a very large vacancy – “Here be Dragons”, indeed. The white-coats now believe that every atom of the intercranial space is consciousness and alive. There is no vacuum. That is progress.
As today’s story unfolds, an engineer arrived at this point to fix my printer, and we discussed Ramadan, Muslim burial ceremony, and the brain. He said all souls at death, as at the gate of birth, meet Allah alike, and dressed in white. A space is made in the coffin for the departed to sit up to receive the Judgment. Then, my email PINGED! – and this arrived:
Brain cell, Universe.
River stone flow snake – this picture also, I show again.
I have three or four big posts in the pipeline, in particular the one about The Field of the Dead; it concludes with Ramana Maharshi’s birthchart, who was born during full moon eclipse. My backlog schedule is almost complete. New themes arise as well, in response to feedback and situations. The reservoir filled up my valley over many years. Straight is the small gate for the waters to come through.
On my windowsill in the morning – the Sun in the Stone. The wise winged philosopher was a birthday gift in about 2003. The flecked granite behind him, is from a beach on St Agnes, Scilly. Those giant round pebbles there, like dinosaurs’ eggs, begin to glow when the sun is setting.
Botticelli’s Aphrodite copy (1992). She comes in from the Sea
Dakshinamurti, the sage of silence. His statue sits in a niche, near Ramanasramam, south of Arunachala. Ramana Maharshi referred to the Self as “the smallest of atoms, the biggest of big things. The hail stone falls in the ocean. It falls as a small drop. At once it melts and becomes the ocean itself. The source of the Self is a pin point. When it is searched for, it disappears and only fullness remains. Hence, the Self is called the ‘atom’. We are like the icebergs floating in the ocean of ananda … Mouna (silence) is of four kinds: silence of speech, silence of the eye, silence of the ear, and silence of the mind. Only the last is pure silence. The commentary of silence is the best … only silence is the eternal speech, the One word, the heart to heart talk. Silence is the flow of electric current. Speech is like obstructing the current for lighting and other purposes. However much a jnani (wise one) might talk, he is still the silent One. However much he might work, he is still the quiet One. His voice is incorporeal. His walk is not on the earth. It is like measuring the sky with the sky.”
Pilgrims in the Ganga, on hampstead heath. Ah! how brave we are …
… and Aphrodite with Ares
I light a candle for Heather. Heather, with our love,
and at first, our tears, go well.
Go well, and free.
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.