Subconscious & the Worldview 1987
Provide-ence is an ongoing tapestry through which we wake and go to sleep, as the thread goes in and out. When I die, I sleep to wake again. Each life is a training ground, or school, TO WALK the map. Each time I am born I find myself with the familiar set of fascinators (problems) but differently expressed; and the means to progress them. Next spring, the same leaf opens, to a different angle on the tree. The lilies of the field and the squirrels are provided for, and so is each nut to the ground; the galactic and subatomic detail and the DNA beyond our grasp.
How do I find the Providence rather than an Accident? – by opening and slowing down my perception, at any moment. Slow down my thought. Accept tough love also.
sleeping parents 1 – 1987
The fragile flat coastlines to our dark hidden continents, interact, and tend to ignore providential warnings from the sea. “Many times through the aeons and small millenia, the trees go back and forth; humans adapt; life and death breathe in and out; systems exhaust their time and are replaced. Observe the tipping point, and keep practicing,” said my Kabbalist Elder last night. Very few humans make conscious choices. How do we recognise them, from the mass heritage of floating pressures to bear? What is Accident and what is Providence?
Sleeping parents 2 – 1987
Accident is a rush of waves against each other, an untidy conglomerate of tempi. In the dimensional spectrum, subjective states awake or sleep. When you shift levels, the blind intercourse of billiard balls completely changes its nature. The message of the Upanishads is: “it is only the body that dies.” Ah, the poor wordy scholars! Accident is revealed as Providence when time within it slows and stops, like it does before a sudden death; and the level opens wherein you see with it, the screenplay of your whole life. The pattern, the tapestry appears.
The sudden death is but the lifting up of a veil I thought was life and history.
My Elder has a strength and breadth of outlook, which helps to lift mine above the local fusspot plane.
Sleeping parents 3 – 1987
Thanks to WordPress, I expand and alter the map whenever I wish. Here’s what today’s post originally began with, as intended:
Mr C and Mr O …
My defining symbol and hope, emerging through recent events – that the tea party guys and the re-elected President agree to trade moneybags and get real in the coming fiscal emergency, because actually they need each other now – and not to bite the hand instead of the cakes.
… begin to spell C and O … co-operate, or else.
Firemans lift (Copied from “multiracial team” in http://www.photosearch)
I discovered through a providential intra-blog-link prompt, an http://phaelosopher.com, who writes wise words: Thought for Food. This was last night. He reminds me – don’t give away the power to the whole fantasy – ELECT MY SELF.
Whom have I the power to elect, at any moment, any meditation, any movement or thought, wherever I am? My Self – the Godcosm. This unlimited room of my being is private, unimpeachable, all powerful and eternal. It is rather like Douglas Harding’s way of being built open. Elect my Self. There is no other way to begin.
Sleeping parents 4 – 1987
When I think of all those stars and stripes across the pond, whose job is to demonstrate how not to be, with their impassioned presidential cutouts, and the political hell of it all … and my emotions getting caught up in it, wanting to understand … My own thesis (or this-is) now reflects: the true empowerment is Here inside – not the outreach glamour and worry, nor any society, personality or governmental type.
And not my cher ami in Golders Green either, who just this moment, while I was sitting here wondering what to write next, poked his phone, and chucked me out of his heart. He hasn’t done this for well over a year. I know his problem’s pattern of old, how it builds up and suddenly breaks out; and to NOT TAKE DELIVERY – but my hands shake, my mouth goes dry, and adrenalin spikes. Why? It is a deep trauma embedded long before his day. I feel punched in the gut, furious, deeply hurt and shocked – ALL OVER AGAIN. I am also in an utter frazzle how to compose a cool bog-off return text, to rebuff his flak. I also feel free, which is fragile. Go for a blowout in the hills, and don’t think. Poor bloke is starting his second Saturn return. Wash him outa my hair.
Sleeping parents 5 – 1987
Whom do I give my power to? How difficult it is to “keep practicing”! – the visceral black cloud whirls up a storm to break my house.
Frightened child awakes – 1987
When it is that difficult to have a relationship with a man I love dearly, and sometimes don’t like – thank God we don’t live together – why should I expect and require the other stars and stripes of the world to get along? The human condition starts here at home at my kitchen table in a mess, and nowhere else … and another ancient feeling in my solar plexus seems to uplift through it, seeking some altitude, solace, a view, and even a smile.
Roll with it! Tao with it! Grieve and tear, and yet rejoice in what the Providence provides, the whole of which I cannot see, but sense, and know to be true – the wild fling of life out flung, chucked out from his heart – so what? It was hemming me in a bit!
Each time the heart is broken, it actually expands … if you let it.
Pain into the open, goatish Pan – 1987
And do you know? An hour or two went by, and I didn’t walk out, I put in the writing at the beginning, about Providence, from this morning’s journal; and found in a ready file, a scanned sequence of Sleeping Parents which interweaves my stories of election and lovers’ tiff so providentially … and I am now HAPPY. To be honest, I am not pleased with him this week, either. Some time off, suits me fine – school’s out. Aligning to the event, the hurt, and letting the creation flow, slows down and turns it around like a fruit. Pain is a potential blessing; honour the situation. We are pissed off with each other – so it balances! I won’t give power to theories and replays, worrying about him – I know him. He has multiples of nine lives.
Drawing with eyes-i closed – 1987
It is a beautiful autumn day, a long dark cloud-bank cruises along the rooftops of sunlit houses and the air is pale oyster shell. There is the joy of being. It seems when I said No to the useless argument, my inner peace awoke. The tempo of my being curved towards encircling. We live in interesting times, and Mercury is retrograde. I feel the winds of change.
BLOG NEWS – I shall shortly be putting in my “About”, the links to my two new blogs.
Aquariel (http://janeaquariel.wordpress.com ) is a companion to this one. It has one post in it so far, and I shall probably add to it once a fortnight.
The Reckless Fruit (http://therecklessfruit.wordpress.com) is something quite different. It is still in preparation. It is a book – my 150 “Taunton Black” charcoal drawings, with sketches, doodles and poetry, done at school during the 1960s, and contains my best work. It is a documentary in two parts. It is being published as a thing complete, when ready. I finished revising and uploading Part Two, and I go on to complete Part One, “up” the timeline, so it can be read in sequence “down” the scroll, when finished.
The Reckless Fruit has ten chapters so far. They are posts, still listed at the bottom at present, but I shall move them to the side bar, to access.
There were a few teething problems in both blogs, so I’d be grateful if anyone giving it a try would comment if pictures are not appearing where they should, etc.
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 also 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). Watch this space.
All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012. May not be used for commercial purposes. May be used and shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address https://janeadamsart.wordpress.com/