On Power and Sofia

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This is Zofira.  She lived in west London during the 19th century – a tantric kabbalist and pianist.  I am told she looked a little like Anandamayi Ma;  so here is my impression of her.

Happiness on the path is when I follow a teacher’s direction.  Then I feel useful and well used. The teacher as provided, may be embodied, or an inner guide.   This is fundamental to every level of human psychology.  Life refines the relationship, the glamour and the power to discriminate … like a sculptor polishing the mountain ridge with rain.

 

rock swirl, cornwall

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I went to Dingwalls to celebrate a friend’s 70th birthday bash.  He is a rocker, an old r&b man.  He brought in his minstrels and his gear, and sang his love songs to the Key of F.  After half an hour, the decibels were doubled.  His hundred or so guests flocked to the free bar, and turned their backs to shout at the tops of their voices.   There was nowt but noise in amplified competition back to back.  There he is rocking his heart out, ear splitting, and who hears a word?   Like Haydn’s symphonies for the court gossip, he is just the background.

It looks so sad:  a mislaid respect and friendship.   Who respects creative people nowadays?  Celebrity … fame of whatever kind, is a disappearance of attention.

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A little further thought, on Osho Mr Rohan Chandra (yesterday’s post):  his “hollow bamboo” being not yet an open and unobstructed channel for the flow of ruach.

Yet the hollow bamboo is a flute – the music they made:  the pipes of Pan to blow across.  His disciples surrendered to an enamoured sexual-spirituality, hard labour, disillusion and fallen tower, and somehow remained wide open to it all.  Many of them took the fallout on the chin, broke down, grew and remain splendid.  Their initiation was through the matter, a fleet of transparent dancing orange flames’ conversion into boiler suits.  Those supple flames were pounded down like yeast by a force of destiny transcending their teacher.

I knew one:  a compulsive labourer with donkey engines and old boats on the Clyde, which he planned to convert single handedly into Encounter-therapy dream barges – what a character.

Do nothing too much, and nothing too little, being perfectly poised.”

Prana governs the universal gravity;  and the Tree of Life holds in its branches the Presences, the wind through a thousand strings, the song.   What a lot (it seems to me) souls who have a guru standing in front, miss!   Yet they would say the same to me:  for bhakti is Reality, either way. In the west, bhakti is not well understood.  Gurus are put there to address and eventually dispel the figurehead habit.  They sacrifice their no thingness to the worship and the show.  They give it away.

When one puts away the party cloth of in-love, there remains an indescribable fibre, true to the situation and the soul. 

Resignation after falling, 1987

The power of Recollection is gravitation’s glory of golden particles, each weightless.  Gravity is a flock of starlings over Rome, wheeling, bouncing, turning, sketching DNA in spirallings of snake, ribbon and dolphin.   Gravitation is of particles of no-thing drawing together – the little flittering birds.  The indistinguishable small is the gravity of huge orbits, galaxies, gilgalem:  the tiniest oscillation holds together all the oscillants.

Re-reading Dion Fortune’s novel The Sea Priestess:  the high priestess has the recollection of the Whole:  SOFIA.

This is a whirling primal energy enscrolled – the way the flower within the seed contains all future flowers and their seeds – by Mother Isis, the Moon.

Closing my eyes, I see the horizontal simple bands of earth, slumber and sky:  the ancient plant, animal and conscious life in mineral shell.

 

Tattvas & ancient world 1969

Nothing alters the wisdom, the moon which fingers of any one hand point to – wherever they may point to, next.

The Moon in deepest sense, governs our tides, our cycles of breath and embodiment. Her pattern with the Sun is Isis with Osiris.

Goddess or fairy queen, 1957

Here is something interesting:  in The Sacred India Tarot, card 17 The Moon is Chandra, scallywag of Indian mythology.  He is two faced.  He is brilliant, and he is deceitful.  In Kabbalah, the `moon is yoked to Yesod, the Tree of Life’s Foundation:  the personal ego and seat of all projections, where we work on ourselves.

In alchemy, the Moon is yoni to the Solar linga:  the integrating power of our breath, the prana of the marine tides.

Krishnamurti said somewhere, “there is no conflict in the going out and coming in of the tide.  It is one movement. The essence of conflict is peace.”

 

marbling wave

In the high transparent seas of Dion Fortune’s vision, she makes Brean Down (in the Severn estuary) point out into the Atlantic, so as to receive the cleansing storms.  To call on Mother Isis;  in her galactic gown, she rises over the horizon as in Apuleius’ vision in The Golden Ass.  We will rock you, rock you!

Sink into the deep blue ocean note:  la mer, el mare.

The All which is recollected, is silence:  thus the Sage.

Tree of Life/Alchemy/Queen scale colours

The High Priestess in the Tree’s pith or core is the blue stem rising from the centre Sun and through the dark of Daat the Unknown Cognition – that dark sphere in the Tree’s upper face. Within all the Sefiroth, Daat is their transformational point:  no thing.

The Priestess and two versions of The Fool:  JA  hermetic tarot 1991

The fullness has no addition. It is the F 0+0 L-ness.

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Zero: Priestess of black Isis:  ja 2003

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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.

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