Sun Manifesto

“Dreams are illustrations from the book your soul is writing about you.” Marsha Norman

This quote appeared on the wp link column, just as I was posting.

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Discovery 1963 - a painting done at school

Discovery 1963 – a painting done at school

Last week, a spontaneous meditation arose in my journal, after posting “A Bed for a Language“.  Then at the weekend, my father rang up about the Voice he heard at night, which told him: “I am You are a particle-ar expression of the universe. There is no separation”.   (See previous post, The Wrestlers).

This is germane to a new wheel – sphere – of time.   I’d like to know who else is feeling this, and seeing through a frameless window:  2013.   For sure, many bloggers are.

old Kabbalah engraving - look through into Beriah

old Kabbalah engraving – look through into Beriah

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(23 January) – Here is last week’s brief, profound  impression:  it came in the early morning before I got up.  It is simple.  Elect to KNOW, that all about and in and around me are atomic particles of prana – the BEING to breathe into – my traumas too, are life giving atoms – seeds of Consciousness.   Rather than weep and wail with their nightmare (=tension), let trauma particles convert into prana particles, which in essence they are.  The tidal breath.   Walk the shining sands within my heart.

This potentially changes everything.  It is the Great Meditation of the Sun;  the grains of sand in Mother Ganga.

It is a crucial transmutation to this day and age.

Why?  Because the imprint of despair, fear and pain DISABLES whole societies.   Whereas the conversion of it to prana-awareness EMPOWERS me and you in all directions, as society.  It is subtle, inward and secret.  We have to keep practicing.

The solar photon moves in every direction of infinity, connecting with itself.  Life on earth is a golden lattice through the waters.  Gold in the rock is congealed sunlight.   The sun on a wet street is a path of gold.  Yet we value more, our trinkets!   What monkeys we are.  Keep practicing.  Keep opening the shutters.

Self empowering is the decision to charge each particle positively, unhampered by regret, rage or revenge.   A radically different Universe/environment opens.   The collective human consciousness is pinned down at the moment by a mass negative persuasion, afflicting us at every level of lower Yetzirah (World of Formation, the psyche).   To some observers, this appears as the Greys, aliens, insomnia and paranoid government conspiracies.

Self empowering is the local decision anywhere, to turn this fantasy – the miasm – RIGHT ROUND, here and now.   Despair, negativity and horror are socially acceptable and condoned – a deep herd instinct, blinkers –  a corral into which to shove the sheep.  Yes, what appears to be a sinister focus clumps together and is self made.  And yes, here and now is the alternative,  to embody, and to make it CONTAGIOUS in any way we can.  But it needs exercise.  Take off the blindfold.  Blow the brave gold dandelion clock.   It explodes into seeds of light:  speech.

The seeds are dainty, fragile, almost invisible.  But they are SUNS.  But they are Suns, and nothing (when they are aware and embodied) can adulterate them.  Nothing can destabilize Reality.

So … to locate the dandelion seeds in and around heart and solar plexus being, sponsoring these rather than the old metalled road of Name and Blame – is the high and inward art.

solar lioness orbits 1988

solar lioness orbits 1988

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I am practical about God.   I am a subatomic particle in God’s body, and I wake up.  Even just sometimes for a moment, is a start.  I am a starling in the flock murmuration, and I wake up.   Gravity is the action of co-creativity.   Nothing moves in isolation, except thoughts which are apparently born, strive and die.   Blind thoughts.

What do I identify with?   The dark thought which stresses so invitingly?  Or the seed of Light?

My thoughts and wounds and resistance are local turbulences which like sunspots appear dark against the Light.   They are the Light – intensely so.   My thoughts when I awaken, disrobe – like the man and his coat with the blustering wind which tried to blow it off him, and the sun whose warmth made him take it off.   And I am not alone.

The dark thought is One and the Same –  seed of Light.

To truly recollect the stepped-up Presence of the Companions of the Light … stop to feel  the atoms – pin-points of space and being.   Let my brackish brick panics  crumble into the golden powder of the Light:  self empowerment – hold the lamp and light my way.

Key arcanum 9:  Hermit Yod - Hermetic Tarot 1991

Key arcanum 9: Hermit Yod – Hermetic Tarot 1991

This is the purpose of catastrophes in life – for the Awakening power which converts them.  The Awakening power is a COMMAND STATION.   I command.  It is my sweet revenge on the delusion in all ages which harassed and trampled the feminine earth and our children.

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"God - as the ignorant misconceive him" - arcanum 15, hermetic tarot 1991

“God – as the ignorant misconceive him” – arcanum 15, hermetic tarot 1991

Paul Foster Case wrote: “Materialistic science seldom perceives that what it calls ‘laws of nature’ are no more than incomplete reports of what has been observed by persons in nowise liberated from the delusions engendered by superficial interpretation of appearances.  All that any research worker in any field of science can study, is what enters his mind through his impression of sensation.  If he change his outlook, he will enter another world, and will be able to wield powers which go beyond the limits of the mere statistical averages … For modern science, a ‘law of nature’ is actually no more than a statement of what probably may be expected in a given set of circumstances …” 

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“… The inverted pentagram on the Devil’s brow is the ignorant belief that will power is of personal origin, so that each human being has a will of his own which he is free to exert, contrary to the laws of God and nature.”

Builders of the Adytum (www.bota.org)

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Link to The Reckless Fruit (2)

So … we flip that pentacle round.  We poke some fun at the pompous old billy.  We tweak his beard.  We laugh at ourselves.

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Anne Davies, Paul Foster Case & Students in the 1940s

Anne Davies, Paul Foster Case & Students in the 1940s

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The Will of the Wheel of the Sun, is the power of all the Worlds, of which I am you are a particle.

My father heard this also, independently, a few days later.  And you?

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(24 January) – The same particle brushes the Himalayas with a feather each aeon of the Tahagatha –  or appears as Hermes to my untidy kitchen table.  Reality has infinite space, inward as out.

A still small voice from time to time brings me thoughts of a deep transformative simple kind which I long to grasp and make permanent !  It is to do with non-possessive, non-possessed.   They slip away like fish.  The intention feels weak because I cannot pin it down, yet it is vast like GRAVITY (or starlings).  The still small voice leads the way from thickets into the light.   Trust it.   It will keep coming, and it is only my monkey mind which is weak.

Professor Branestawme inside the clock orbits

Professor Branestawme inside the clock orbits, 1988

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Lead, lead, lead into and as the Light.

Yes, the notion of prana particle is – translates in life to – self empowerment, authority to be myself, and to select where and how and with whom I want to be – as Hermes Trismegistos said, re deep sea fish and mountain high – (see the quotation below).   It coopts to the  (divine) operation of the Will.

Hermes & Pythoness

Hermes & Pythoness 1987

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Hermes sings:

“Become higher than all height, lower than all depths, comprehend in yourself the qualities of all the creatures, of the Fire, the Water, the Dry, and Moist, and conceive likewise that you can at once be everywhere, in the Sea, in the Earth. 

“You shall at once understand yourself, not yet begotten in the womb, young, old, to be dead, the things after death, and all these together, as also times, places, deeds, qualities, quantities – or else you cannot yet comprehend God. 

“But if you shut up your soul in the body, and abuse it, and say ‘I understand nothing, I can co nothing, I am afraid of the Sea, I cannot climb up to Heaven, I know not who I am, I cannot tell what I shall be’ –  What have you to do with God?  For you can understand none of those fair and good things AND be a lover of the evil limitation.  For it is the greatest evil, not to know God.

“But to be able to know, and to will, and to hope, is the straight way, and Divine way, proper to the Good;  and it will everywhere meet you, and everywhere be seen by you, plain and easy, when you don’t expect or look for it;  it will meet you waking, sleeping, sailing, travelling, by night, by day, when you speak, and when you keep silence.  For there is nothing which is not the Image of God.”

Hermes Trismegistos,  
Divine Pymander 10th Book:  The Mind to Hermes, Dr Everard translation

Hermes and the age of Pisces

Hermes and the age of Pisces

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It amounts to – not being tangled in the hedge of neurotic fears, but to place my aim (I am) on the particle … like a little skateboard.   Keep practicing.   Little particles, like motes in sunbeam, move around and through my middle.  My vessels.  Decision.   The Window.

abba aima ama:   ahieh asher ahieh

(Father, dark-Mother, light-Mother:  I am That I am, as spoken from the burning bush.  Moses had a speech impediment:  he could not pronounce consonants.  So the Name given him to pronounce, being consonant-free, has no impediment, no separation.

Of the same kind are TAT TWAM ASI – that thou Art /sanskrit, and the Tamil NAM YAR? who am I? /Ramana Maharshi.)

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Before Reality (satori) chop wood, draw water – after satori chop wood, draw water:  a Kabbalist friend has a very good version of this story, when he gets back from work this evening, I shall call him, and add it here.   For me, the strange discomfort of being human.  Headache, incipient unwell cold, insomnia & weary …  Time stops and life goes on.   Much to balance out.  Does the old brook complain about flowing over grit and sharp earthy stones?

Hermes Trismegistos Alexandria lineage - ja 2003

Hermes Trismegistos Alexandria lineage – ja 2003.  Note the Thoth bird ibis, standing on the dragon

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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 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.

NB – new post arriving in Aquariel shortly

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/

The Wrestlers

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Quantock dancers

Quantock dancers

Relationships, persons and childhood memories are teachers and things of beauty – a  treasure that goes higher and deeper than any mainstream art collection.  They remind me to handle life, each detail, tenderly.

This letter from my father today, enclosing photo cutting:  he was 90 earlier this month –  another mountain goat …

“Herewith the Wrestlers.  I had forgotten how much I loved this on the wall;  I suppose I lived with it a very long time both at Manor Farm and at Pitt, and it was well hung both places.  This is rather a good photograph showing the relief very clearly, and those three wonderfully related lines of the shoulders and head of the upper man.

wrestlers

“Thinking of speaking of Buddhism with you last night, of course discovering it while we were in Cornwall and Limpsfield was my first intimation of another reality beyond or within the mud and tears, and so was very exciting.  I grew up of course as an R.C., becoming disillusioned as a teenager, into a totally uninterested agnostic through the War.

“It was talking with Louis Adene in Mevagissy, and hearing about Gurdjieff and Ouspensky that awakened me to another possibility, and I automatically joined the Buddhists in London, and then the thunder-clap of Krishnamurti.  That became the real sign-post, and so these last years I wade about listening to all sorts of voices, but always as much as I can, just paying attention – allowing attention to be – on what is happening now. 

“Yesterday was a fine cold winter’s day.  Today it is cold raining, and all the gutters rattling.  I have just been reading about the vast energies positive and negative of the Universe which cancel each other out, so that in fact nothing is happening !

“With love”

my father at Pitt

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When I was 6 we lived in Cornwall near Caerhays, where I fell deeply in love with flowers and jewels.  My father was managing a farm which belonged to a teutonic tyrant called Mr Strauss.  We had to move after two years, because Mr Strauss wanted to cut down all the trees.  My father climbed to the top of a beautiful oak and sat there defiantly.  Nowadays there are more trees in southern Cornwall than ever before.

Herbert Read (whom my parents knew when we were living on the North Yorkshire moors) introduced him to a circle of Cornish artists, poets and free thinkers – Lionel Miskin (his oldest friend), Louis Adene (who lived in a wood near Gorran Haven), the Fussels and Derek Savage.   At the same time, he discussed Buddhism with my maternal grandmother in their letters.  My mother thought it was rather droll – but at least it made him happier.  As a young man, he was shell shocked from the War, very passionate, and of uncertain temper.   Probably he suffered from traumatic stress, which no one recognised in those days.  He stoically brought up his family, farmed – he was a pioneer in the return to organic farming – played the violin, and wrestled his spiritual path.   We moved house six times before I was ten, and in each house a “monastery” was set aside with a rolled up blanket for him to sit quietly.

When my father was 70 he caught a dangerous illness from swimming in a French river.  As he convalesced, each breath came to him as a jewel, a mystery beyond knowledge.   Since that time of nearly dying, he is much more serene.  The pressure of trying to be “enlightened” now, once and for all, fell away.  He didn’t call it “enlightenment”, and I don’t  like that word, either.  He called it “to be a human”, and still does.

My mother’s father, Jim Ede, gave us a cast of Gaudier’s The Wrestlers.  It weighed a ton and used to hang above my parents’ bed like a guardian angel.  I grew up with it, and it influenced my drawing.  Last year it was sold, and is now on its travels.  The photo above was taken at an exhibition “1913: the Shape of Time” at the Henry Moore Institute in Leeds, where it is on show until 17 February.

Here are The Wrestlers in my father’s old house:

wrestlers 1

His letter trips a wave and starts a wing!  Before Cornwall, we lived on a large sheep farm in Bransdale on the Yorkshire moors.

Breck Farm, Bransdale

Breck Farm, Bransdale

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14  breck photos 5

Mrs Coseira (with me and my sister) was a Polish woman who came in to help my mother. She was very pious, and she couldn’t bear to look at the Wrestlers, and always averted her eyes when she went in my parents’ room.   The donkey was called Daniel.  He had a job at Scarborough by the sea, and he was having a holiday with us, from all his hard work during the summer.  I remember the warm smell of the sack my mother tied round his middle for us to ride, and the deep crunch of the snow;  and my sister’s “hattacoatatrousers”.

In Bransdale I began to draw.  My mother made big drawing books out of cheap lining paper, unrolling, folding, cutting and stitching them with coloured darning wool.  As fast as she made them, I filled them, drawing for up to eight hours a day.  She said we would need a second removals van to carry them all, but she kept the three best books, and I have them still.  Here are a few favourites:

Gallery of Bransdale drawings, 1954

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"The Friends", circa 1957

“The Friends”, circa 1957

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… and a Cornish garden.  We moved from Yorkshire (which was very remote) to Cornwall because I had to go to school;  and there in Redruth my brother was born.  In those days, the china-clay-pit pyramids glistened along the spine of Cornwall like an alpine range, constantly changing with the light.

Cornish garden, 1955

Cornish garden, 1955

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my father with Bartok. 1950

my father with Bartok. 1948

Tangier 1951

Tangier 1951

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Finally, my two favourite alchemical engravings from Alexander Roob’s Alchemy & Mysticism.   Hermes is coming through the Great Sea, carrying carefully the world and the serpents;  he is the quicksilver, and the little cubes hidden in every part of nature are the golden prittvi, ineffable treasure in each atom of the earth of life.

The divine mercurial water, by Baro Urbigerus, Hamburg 1705

The divine mercurial water, by Baro Urbigerus, Hamburg 1705

The source material for the lapis can be found everywhere: in the earth, on the mountains, in the air and in the nourishing water. M.Maier, Atlalanta fugiens, Oppenheim 1618

The source material for the lapis can be found everywhere: in the earth, on the mountains, in the air and in the nourishing water. M.Maier, Atlalanta fugiens, Oppenheim 1618

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And …

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The Key:  Hermes heals

The Key: Hermes heals the born child  1987

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Hermes healing the interior black dragon 1987

Hermes healing the interior black dragon 1987

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dancers, 1987

dancers, 1987

Who are the Wrestlers?

Jacob’s angel meets us on the ladder, the Tree of Life.

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It is the following day:  I have to add a bit more, because my father tends to drop timely messages in my box..  When I rang him just now to thank him for sending the Wrestlers photo, he said, “Listen to this.  Last night I was told – I had to get out of bed and find my glasses and go to my desk and write it down – I was told by a Voice, very clearly – I am … You are … a particle-ar expressing of the Universal energy.  There is no separation.”

Then he reminded me, he joined a London buddhist Sangha back in 1957 or so, when we were living in Surrey.  He went to the Sangha leader, tense with questions about enlightenment and how to live.  The Sangha leader had a little room with nothing in it at all. He sat in his robe, looked up and said, “The Past is Over.  The Future has not come yet.  The Present is Now.  DO NOT WASTE IT”.

It aligns with the way the light leads through to Light, this year.   It is unmistakable – but we have to work at noticing it.

Here’s a photo of him with my mother, taken in the Lake District about 15 years ago:

mary & peter

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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 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/

Tales from the Watershed – “A Bed for a Language”

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Renaissance angel choir 1957

Renaissance angel choir 1957

The Watershed Tales, as I polish and publish them, are profound integrative therapies.   This is why I share them;  we have all been there.  It is a pool.

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“A Bed for a Language” – Dreams No 160   13 August 1975

BUT I can’t remember how my baby was born!

I was unripe for childbirth, the baby was born nevertheless, from between my thighs, but I didn’t feel very much, I wasn’t all there,  I seemed to be abstracted …  What have I lost?  Something I should have shared with the baby, and so I am sad.

There’s such a battle going on, outside.   Outside in the field near the wood.

The birth happened in a place where no preparations were made; no one knows who the father is.    I live with my parents because I have no home of my own.   And I just wanted to copy my sister, so I’m like a child with this baby,  I show it to people,  I hold it proudly,  naked, like a doll.   My father lost his temper – I haven’t tucked her up in a warm blanket or shawl, she’ll catch cold, be ill, come to harm, why am I so insensitive?   He stormed at me for my neglect, and I – oh my God.   I rushed around, looked everywhere for blankets, coats, fabrics, anything,  to wrap the baby in and keep her warm.   My sister  had hers in a hospital,  with a husband and nurses and everybody to tell her what to do, and support her, and her baby nice and warm and clean in a cot beside her.   I have none of these things.   There’s nobody to show me what I must do, they all assume that I know, and blame me if I don’t.   There’s nothing round here for me and my baby, but hard splintery floors, and rough bits of blanket that I have to scrounge, can I borrow that old coat that’s hanging up in the larder?   Please?  and it’s difficult to lay her in these and make her comfortable.   I cannot do anything right.   I’m afraid of dropping her, and terribly afraid she may have caught cold through my neglect –  and I should have known;  it’s obvious.

mother and baby 1954

mother and baby 1954

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She is a great burden to me, this little one.   How on earth am I going to manage?

Words.  

‘Place them where their point is a necessary one, not in a heap of old clothes.”

The place is a barn, a loft with a big floor of worm-eaten planks and some sacks of old grain,  it’s starting to rain, and there are holes in the roof.   A spectacular battle is going on in the field outside, but there’s no time to watch – when was this baby last fed?    I have to find some warmth for her, make her feel loved and wanted, take care of her constantly so she won’t be cold.

How astonishing!  that she should so blithely leave the womb, the warm womb, and carry on in the harsh cold world outside as if she were still inside,  as if nothing has happened!   This makes me glow, and I carry her around and cuddle her, begin to love her.   I don’t know how I knew she’s a girl – I didn’t look, and her nappy doesn’t need changing yet.   I told my mother it’s all the same to me if it’s a girl or a boy …  but look!  she talks!

It is a girl because of a certain delicacy in her features,  the way she is made.

She amazes me.   She talks to me quite distinctly, all the time, telling me precisely what she needs.   She’s a real person, she forgives me every minute my blunderings, nobody else forgives me.   “I’m not ill,” she says   “or hungry.  Look, this bit’s coming undone, and there’s a draught on my tummy.   I’m getting wet, it hurts.   I don’t know.   Hold me this way.   I need to float.   The star in the water.   Not the people outside …”    She shows me how to love her,  and I grow fonder of her by the minute,  and less inept.

But oh,  her nose is running … Mummy look,  the baby’s forgiving me everything.  Look, look.  She speaks;  she’s not ill or crying.

“Mum,” she says clearly and directly, right up through the years – and my inconsolable tears right now – “You neglected me when I needed you to be a real Mum.  You abandoned me.” (I can’t bear to hear her say that.)  “You went off into your astrology journey, you let him do it again, you left me behind on the train.   But Mum, I know why you had to.   You were trying to put right, what he did.   You tried to heal us both, and you knew no other way.   In Jamaica that time, when you let him and your father abort me, you were only 17, and it was 1864.  They sent you away from home disgraced, empty and bleeding, and you loved him, he was your first, you still bleed.   Well here we are again.  You should have protected me.   But Mum, I love you, you should hold me, tell me things, share with me.  Why don’t you?  Trust me, and trust yourself.   You are my Mum and this is love, because we love each other.”

“My darling girl,” I said,   “I am sorry.  It is so feeble and useless just to say sorry.   My voice can’t reach back this far, to the real pain here, of how utterly sorry I am.   I neglected you, I failed to protect you, whom I love and wanted so much.   What you say is true.”

The barn is almost in the open air, or perhaps it is the leaks in the roof.   Some of the rain is coming through, and my mother is helping me to put up a make-shift tent of polythene,  to protect us;  the baby lies on the rough floor in front of me,  wrapped in a rug which keeps coming undone.

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The time to stand and stare at what is going on outside in the field is granted only to those who are not involved with surviving.   The rain spats and drips on the polythene, and through holes in the wooden rafters  the spectacle can be seen,  a rabble of soldiers.   It is a puppet show of shadows;  divisions charge and retreat from each other,  up and down.   A mere child has this mite of life in her hands which is enormously heavy and is teaching her tenderness.   See how the war outside is cutting the ground and uprooting the trees, with every imaginable crude weapon.   The little maid  – the new baby –  opens her arms and legs in soft semi-brieve and is talking.   Of what, we do not know.

One division in the field charges another by throwing javelins high in the air.   They descend in an arc.   They are actually making headway, because the enemy keep dodging and flinching.   Javelins – so lonely and graceful a sport.   It seems rather a forlorn hope, to fight a war with them.   There is such a time lapse before they reach the ground.   The soldiers, running with tapes to measure how far they have thrown, make additional intervals within this hostile communication.

How can I pay any attention to that?   I am talking to the baby, keeping her warm.

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Something about the man, later on in this 1975 dream-sequence.   He left designs, drawings, symbols – totems perhaps? – on the glass of an upper window-pane,  engraved.   It is some place he was in, or came through, and he left his mark on it, or findings,  like the way he scribbles in the margins of books.   In that place he was not happy.   In that place he was incarcerated, where the realm is not one of good/bad polarities, but of an intolerable sharpness, a fight to the death, the ruthlessness he fears.

He left these signs on the glass, imprints of protest at what he went through, at what happened to him.   At the same time they are creative guide lines; his graving-tool:  a language.  He scratches on the glass wall. The imprint is faint but unmistakable.

Through the frost patterns, you can almost see a bed with white sheets.   I remember just one of them a little.   It was a kind of circle, shaped like a nuclear mushroom cloud,  cut into the glass and shaded at the bottom, with delicate precision.

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maeterna 1954

maeterna 1954

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After Thought …

For all children caught in wars …

Losing my child in 1864 at 17, to the Victorian male priestcraft, is an emotional holocaust which ricocheted intensely through the present lifetime in which she was, and is, most joyously found again.

Young Sarah hoped for a boy, a little Caleb.  Caleb was her seducer, a dandy 19th century heart breaker with veiled eyes.  He was a cousin of Sarah’s father, a successful sugarcane merchant in Kingston Jamaica.  Caleb was a mathematician, with a silver way with words.  He touched and penetrated the young Sarah in a way that awoke her esoteric memories – indelibly.

sarah & caleb - on the Circle Line to Euston Square, I suddenly saw the line of Caleb's mouth ...

sarah & caleb – while on the Circle Line to Euston Square, I suddenly saw the line of his mouth … dear me!   He does look tricky!

The story of Caleb and Sarah is taken on trust.  In general, it echoes through my “today”, as an adequate healing instrument. To heal is to be whole;  to understand that Consciousness takes on any role, any mask, any contour or suitable name, for deliverance.  It is for my honesty to discern what is useful, to be aware, and to use well what is given.

 “Caleb” is not really to blame for what would later transpire.  (Who is?!  It goes far back into the hidden continent.)  He was under contract by “upstairs” to administer a Karmic correction for some magical disturbances in the deep unconscious past.  He did the job, then disappeared to New York.   But Sarah longed for that same child of his, which she had lost.   The desire was obsessive, she searched, and its gravity drew them together a century later, to react the play.  Touching a downward spiral during his second stallion appearance, he got swept into a dark Karmic vortex, which his nature amplified.  Enough said.  Many colliding issues rebounded, back and back.  An antipodean seer who “saw the form” advises me to leave it be, the west wind will do its work.

blow brave golden clock

blow brave golden clock

I believe we all have nuggets of our living Gold to deliver us – whatever the suffering, initially.  It can be re-traced, spoken from the heart and kidneys – the seat of fear – and let go.  Then everything changes.  I did my archaeology;  you do yours when the pressure is on, by following your inner scent in a creative way.  Marian Milner abandoned the tourist guide at sites of ancient art and history, and went off on her own to follow “what the eye likes – the inner fact.”   You don’t need to “be an artist”.  Let the living matter draw and write you.  It is a garden.  Each herb when touched, tinctures the world a little.

Patterns of pain and abuse may be rooted in previous lifetimes.  A sensitivity at this depth of the river bed, transmutes them in the fourth dimension.  FOR giveness – Give way to the Force – is my stone in the river bed to roll when dislodged – the Water of Life.   (See the poems about this in “Poems of Eclipse to Ramesh”).  

Before judging, forgive for the Work as a whole to do itself;  my opinion of events is a passing cloud, and ultimately irrelevant.  As I see clearly – when the healing is “handed over” –  the Angels carry it through.  Theirs is the spatial currency, and mine the marvel of life, as and when transfigured.

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It is incredible how deep this is known through the silence now.  The silence is the blossom inside the sea.

Renaissance madonna 1956

Renaissance madonna 1956

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children on a train in France

children on a train in France 1954

My Essay on Karma is at the end of The Miasms, Karma & Homeopathic healing.

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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 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.

Aquariel Link

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/

Tales from the Watershed – The Man in Lime Street Station

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Street. Liverpool 8 1968

Street scene. Liverpool 8 1968

This week, I post three Watershed tales, which have been on my mind.  Here is the second one, in this sequence. It mirrors in an odd way, “The Knight”.  The oil-pastel paintings are from my old sketchpads when at Liverpool art school.

Many of my recorded “Watershed” dreams from the 1970s are “relationship koans” – stories of strange and sometimes “brief” encounters …

children in trains 1954

children in trains 1954

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Dreams No. 258   17 August 1976

WHICH IS the train to London?   There are just too many platforms at Liverpool Lime Street terminus – slots for departure on which to put your pennies.   The noise of the great station throws me;  small local trains and big ones with diesel engines for distance wait the guard’s whistle – the hands of the clock, a tick from the tock.   If I’m on the wrong platform, it’s that hard to cross to the right one, around this or that engine, up here past the ticket office, over sweaty stairs, down past Information – the timetables are covered in fog – it’s a matter of life and death.   Some  parts of this station are even outside it, away in the city;  and by that time my train has gone.   Can I find out, a matter of moments before it goes?   I haven’t very long, but I’m in no hurry –  oddly.

Because I’m sitting on the platform,  on the ground.

We walked to this spot together.   Me and this man I once knew.   But I never saw him before in my life.   He says I knew him well, several years ago when I was at college.   A penny for your thoughts, dear!   And I do have a sort of memory of him.

tao generation & destruction cycles

I have seen and talked with him in the alleys of Taunton, and among my dreams of a disordered and dark city to adventure and lose myself in  – just like Liverpool it is, where sailors buy coffee-coloured ladies, and the kids scream and steal and light fires on the cobblestones.  He is so familiar.  Love and death is a tough tune of sadness;  the Anglican Cathedral shelters dropouts, tramps and charwomen with mops;  they bomb the dole in the pubs,  and the trollops in greasy Parliament Street glow like painted angels.   He looked out for me.   He knew who I was, he watched over me.  I used to see him also in the smaller town, Taunton where I went to school.

Liverpool 8 1968

Liverpool 8 1968

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We talked first of Liverpool.   Oh, I’m about to cry, the great wave which opens my heart!   He is from Liverpool, but Ireland was his home.   In his voice there lilts the brogue.   I  forgot all about him!   Yet intimate we were, and are.   He was a big, very fat man.   And he looks ugly because he has not a hair on his head, and his skin is yellow as a lemon.   But in his face and manner, a peculiar sensitivity and grace.   It reminds me of a song.   Or was it a poem, a joining of musical notes from different places and times, where did I hear or read it?   “Twas there I learnt readin’ and writin’, at Brockets where I went to school.”   And twas there you learnt all of me fighting with the schoolmaster Mr O’Toole!   No maid saw he, as fair as …  the dew (he lost me) from Bantry Bay to Dairy Kay …  just to keep her from the fog – the foggy dew.   And from there to Dublin Town … it is crystal clear.

colours in Liverpool 8 1968

colours in Liverpool 8 1968

Now that boy – d’you remember? – called Micky Malone came and stole her affection away!   and oh,  lathered him with his shaghlele did I, ’cause …  He trod on the tail of me coat, like that.   D’you remember those fields, I run after you …  the little glistening hills of rainbow – our ancestry begod, it flows in the peat?

That I met in County Down.  He said wistfully,  “It was the only …  thing he …  ever did wrong.”

O

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We sat on the platform, the uncertain moment before parting.   We spoke of our past and of now.   He’s very kind to me.   He seems to like me just as I am.   And hideous fat and lemon though he is, I fancy oh yes to bed with him, it is in his quiet touch like the bud of a yellow rose.   The sadness is everywhere about this imminent yet indefinite departure of mine, my lord.

“You need a man to be firm with you,”  he said  “don’t you.”   At Taunton art college, and in Liverpool too, my jeans were torn, my feet were bare on the street, and my hair wasn’t washed.   “But …”  he lifted his shoulders and looked at me very straight   “you’re a woman, you’re no eejit.   You’ll go where you will, and one day you will turn around and find me.   I’m here, you know.”   “Yes,” I said, very sad  “but I’ve got a man back in London.   And he’s very firm with me, really he is.”   My friend on the platform sitting close to me on the ground said  “and is it sexual?”   “Yes,” I said.   “Really. Then that is good,” said he.

But that’s not true, is it.  It isn’t.  It’s all broken and ashamed.  And if I said No it’s not sexual, that wouldn’t be true either.   What is the boundary of the loyalty, my body to the man back there in London?  He keeps me on the rails.   So to speak.

couple in a coffee bar 1987

couple in a coffee bar 1987

The trains on their rails coughingly wait to depart, and some of them have gone, and I don’t know which of them is mine for the long journey.   I think I’ve got a few minutes before I get in.   The man accepts this with tenderness and regret.   “But you must follow what is going to happen to you, mavournin, mustn’t you, all the way.”   For I had said so myself.   We kissed each other very gently on the lips.  My box opens for him again.   He is so powerful.

Anglican cathedral, Liverpool 8, in 1968

Anglican cathedral, Liverpool 8, in 1968

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We shared some kind of a drink in a glass.   Or the dregs of such a drink which were left.   Bittersweet taste and clean and pure and yellow it is, and I’ve got to go and get a full glass of it.   I got up, put my purse in my pocket, I left my green suede handbag with him to look after, and went off down the platform alongside the train to the stall where they sell drinks displayed aloft in all kinds and colours.   Some of them are milkshakes and some are essences.   And some look like ice-creams, they are the colour of violet with square crystals.

“It’s quinine that y’want then,”  they said,  reaching for it.   But …  Quinine is terribly, terribly bitter!   Am I wrong?  They give it for malaria.   What if he’s got jaundice, is that why he’s so yellow?   If his liver is ill, then quinine wouldn’t be at all the best drink for him, or for me either.

I can’t make up my mind.  I must have that yellow drink, none of the others have that flavour and colour where I belong.

There were only a couple or so big diesel engine trains left to go as far as London now.

I woke up, it took me away!

It’s alright.   I left me bag,  the little green one,  with him.   I’ll be back.

ribbed water

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solis luna conjunctio

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.

Aquariel Link

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/

Tales from the Watershed: The Knight

This is another in the Watershed series.  (For others, try “tales from the watershed” in the search box, or look under Categories.) This dream and the conversation within it, held a “visitation”  from beyond my general awareness at age 27, but may have been inspired by Olaf Stapleden’s “Sirius”.  The setting is medieval, and I do not know who the Knight is.  He bore the hallmark of many incarnations’ encounter.  On the Tree he is Tifareth with Gevurah – perhaps Adeptus major.  On reflection, I recall a very early Tarot reading which someone did for me.  It contained the Knight of Rods/wands and the King of Swords!  An interaction of  …  the gift of Intuition (rods) with Karma (swords)?   The King of Swords is a difficult character.

I couldn’t find anything to illustrate the “lozenge” spaces in the church roof, so in the Gallery at the end, is a play of hebrew letters and symbols.

The photos of the sea were taken by my daughter on her coastal path.

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The Flowering Staff

The Flowering Staff (cf alchemy The Raven Phase/D.Goddard)

Dreams No.266 – 11 September 1976

A TRACT of mediaeval history led me to a plain church in which I sat with many people I knew well, for a service of atonement.   The church is in one of the villages near the sea-coast where we have been fighting.   We got supplies of food, fuel and rags for bandaging from this village and others.    I am newly convert from pagan to the holy Roman faith, it is the only church of God in the district, so I must attend it.   While the priest was getting ready, I looked around the big square room, and up.   In the ceiling there were windows –     curious geometrical apertures to the sky.   These forms held each a lozenge of  mysterious dimension.   They held the eye.   They led the eye upward to light without sound or speech.

Kabbalah 1989 15

On the floor an animal was walking.   The openings had no words.   The beast walked a measured pattern or design, reflecting on the floor the apertures in the ceiling.   Wherever it went it left a trail of smudgy white light – the  mystic co-relation – to bear witness.

The imprint is a sacred script.   The aura is the Communion.   I understand through this medium:   “If you gaze or meditate upon the sacred geometric apertures leading through roof to light, you may talk to God without words.   Each aperture is, as you know, a holy hieroglyph of Creation, cut through the stone of Sinai.   The language of light goes directly to God.   It is outside your speech.   Yet it may come to meet you.

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At once I was reconciled to the church.   Any place that can provide in the roof, openings to God beyond my speech, to talk to God in silent wonder, without intermediary, is …  very, very alright indeed.   Is not each temple, every religious form, but a shell, a roof to see through?   Does the wall of anybody, a prison make?

 mist 2

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A steep cliff path leads from here to the shores of the bleak sea coast where the fighting has been.   The grass is short, upon chalk.   We have all been here on summer days and left things, left our treasure here.   By the cliffs the sea is smooth and grey, the air sultry, the rocks are tall dark pillars.   This strange yet familiar sea coast features in the epic battle in ancient and medieaval times, in which I took part,  and which we lost.

The Commander of these forces is my friend.   His efforts are systematically frustrated by the King’s inability to cooperate or work with him.   As clear as the great books of legend, the sagas of the Nordics, the Celts, the Aryans, the Huns, we were hordes, and timelessly we galloped over marshy plains to the hills, pitched battle with spears against the enemy, pitching our own tents in the field.   We were fed and supplied by the villages, in one of which stood the church of silent and ancient light.   And at the end one day, we saw from the cliff-tops by the coast,  the sea now stormy and rough with rain and wind.

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cliff top

 I stood there with my friend.

My friend the soldier was a tall strongly built man.   He had long black hair and he was gentle of speech.   We stood together on the cliff and saw one of his wooden ships sink broken into the rough wild sea.   It left a smudge of timber only in the waters, like a stain of blood.   I wept and staggered backwards, leaning on my friend the soldier.   He was deeply moved by my emotion on behalf of his cause.   “Will you be my wife?”  he said.

Raven Knight

Raven Knight

Because I was more a witness in time than a participant, I felt I was dramatising.   I was not sure how sincere my grief was.   “You would be a very great General,” I told him passionately  “if only you didn’t have that King.   He pulls you down, doesn’t he.  He rules without knowledge or foresight.   He destroys this country, he can’t even rule himself!”

But he spoke again gently, and said I must not speak harshly of the King.   “He is not a soldier you know, he has his own job to do.   He is as good a King as he can be.   Don’t you see, he comes to it by birth, not by training.   Though he does uphold the Sword of our Order, his versatility is his undoing –  he, ruling over others, cannot rule his heart!   Try  to understand my task of unity.   And listen:  my King, any King, is as good as the metal forged through fire and water, of my loyalty to him.   This is my sword,  my vow.   He isn’t easy to work with.   But I do not envision such difficulties being swept away, for they are of our life and understanding.   They are what God gives us, and with equanimity we must encounter them, as we meet each wave of the sea.   Even the unendurable we must contain, and learn to value.

2 - Cup and sword

“In this difficult garden we meet alike the tragedy, failure and triumph of joy!   and to all, we must be equal.   Do you see, the only treasure we can carry through from birth to birth is the way we meet our truth?

“For this glory only am I a soldier.   What use can it be, to blame or destroy my King?   What would that change?   Resentment is a dangerous gesture.  To resist destiny is foolhardy.   Would you reverse this Sword?   Use well and honestly, what is given to hand.   This alone, dear heart, is the undying Spirit.   I am as true as this loyalty to my King, to which I am born!”

“You,”  I told him  “are both weak and strong.”

seabird

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I saw my self as his wife once or twice, in a looking-glass.   I saw my self with my hair drawn back.   I wore a long dress of silky stuff, which left my shoulders nearly bare.   I saw myself as his bride, preparing for him.   And yet I knew the wedding was not to be, other than in Spirit.   For he was out on the cliffs by the wild sea.   And he must die in battle, and would be for ever a Knight.

princess with dove, 1957

princess with dove, 1957

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Down on the stony beach,  by the sound of the waves breaking,  we were salvaging.   A big hole had been dug by one of the tall black rocks.   It was choked with debris from the storm, and with rocks, pebbles and timbers from the wreck.   The Knight searched deep in it for the silver coins, which were the cargo of his broken ship.   He found a few of them.   And I found a little pair of miniature folding scissors that I have lost, and I looked for my treasure, and salvaged some of my life.

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rainbow rock

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GALLERY of GLYPHS & SYMBOLS – to view, click on any image

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Rotation through magic circle of elements/archangels

Rotation through magic circle of elements/archangels: facing south (YOD) turn right to west (HEH), then through centre to east (VAV), then turn left to north (2nd HEH) and repeat inversely – a figure eight movement.  Additionally – Pilgrim at the west door journeys to the east.  Cross and Triangle inset, show the Tetragrammaton JHVH cycle

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corwall 2011 072

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.

 

Aquariel Link

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/

Sacred India Tarot Archive – Buddha Rupa: Creation of Page, Knight, Queen, King of Pentacles

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Concluding the Suit of Disks: the Buddha’s Life and Teaching
by Rohit Arya and Jane Adams.  This post includes Rohit’s essay on Kirtimukha

Sacred India Tarot buddha Kubera Yaksha

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A Lens ...

A Lens …

Sacred India Tarot buddha Hariti wife of Kubera

In sanskrit, the rupa is an image of the divine.  Some traditions allow no images.  Other traditions allow that our whole lives are Image-ination.  The rupa may be a portrait, or it may be an impression engraved on the collective subconscious.  This post reflects on some ripened imprints of the Buddha’s teaching, pictorially.  Buddhist meditation is practical, methodical and based on psychology.  We need a working view of our own asuras – the demonic energies in our subconscious – which also drive us to realisation.  Light and shadow work together.

Rohit’s Notes (2003) 

“Page – Rahula, the son and disciple of Buddha … OR Ananda, cousin and closest disciple.

“This is a difficult choice, as both fit well.  The picture we have is of Buddha giving his son his ‘inheritance’ – the begging bowl.  Ananda was inseparable from Buddha while he was alive, and seems to have been a very earnest and slightly stupid young man – the only one in the crowd of monks around Buddha, who did not attain to the final realisation. 

visual reference for Page of disks

visual reference for Page of disks

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“Maybe we can cheat a little, drop the wife of Buddha from the composition, make Ananda a young man instead of a boy, but retain the difference in size between him and the Buddha.  

“That was an artistic convention, to depict the immense difference between Buddha and all other mortals, but in Ananda’s case, it was especially true.  By doing this juggling around, we maintain the power of the original image, which is one of the best known from the Ajanta murals – as well as cast Ananda in the role of the page.”

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“(from the book with the deck) – In a reading: a young person of great potential.  Whether it will manifest is another matter, but at present the potential is immense.  Dainty and finicky personalities;  sometimes visionary and psychic people, in contrast to the practical, grounded, unimaginative personality.

“Alternatively(shadow) – Unresolved personal issues: chronic bachelors of either sex, and in extreme cases, learning disabilities.   Slow and steady progress should pay off in the long run – diligent and plodding. … The special insight of this card is: ‘the situation you are in will teach you a lot, but experience, not wealth, may be your only gain.'”

Jane’s Notes (2013)

This is one of my favourites of this suit – the teasing expression of the Master, as he holds the bowl a little beyond the disciple’s sight, to enable him to grow.  It makes life the more “interesting”.

Sacred India Tarot, Page of Disks/Pentacles

Sacred India Tarot, Page of Disks/Pentacles

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Knight of Disks/Pentacles

In terms of the Buddha-Rupa or Image, the two following images show Rohit’s earlier concept :

Visual reference 1 for Buddha Knight

Visual reference 1 for Buddha Knight

The nobility of the chivalric warrior – the best of the Kshetra caste of Guardians …

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Boddhisattva – the Buddha in the making …

Visual reference 2, Buddha Knight

Visual reference 2, Buddha Knight – the Avalokiteswara

“This picture gives some idea of the elegant nature of the concept.  This is the Buddha – there are many Buddhas – who has given up his chance for final liberation, and is working to help all living beings achieve it.  Only then will he enter the final Nirvana.”

Before I began to sketch this out, a Stop Press arrived from Rohit:  “The Knight as Kirtimukha, the Face of Glory! – regard the previous suggestions as cancelled!”

“The important thing to realise, is that Kirtimukha is the Green Man of India, or to be precise, the Green Man as India experienced him.  He is usually found above sculptures of gods forming an arch of vegetation, which erupt from his mouth and flow from his hair, usually from the Crown chakra.

Green man door bell (Wikipedia)

Green man door bell (Wikipedia)

“Even houses have him over the front door, even in the heart of a city like Bombay.  He is tropical vegetation run riot in all his representations;  so ideally his very face should be composed of twigs and leaves and creepers and so on, with no real human flesh tone.

“Kirtimukha is always just a face, with no body and even no neck.  He could be depicted as some sort of ‘vegetation sun’ at high noon, over a fertile and lush landscape.  Alternatively, he could be forming an arch or bower of vegetation over a meditating Buddha.

“That the Knight should be Kirtimukha and not a Bodhisattva, came to me in a dream!” 

fired clay mask by Walter Storey - www.in-between.org.uk

fired clay mask by Walter Storey – www.in-between.org.uk

Gautam the publisher commented:  “I would substitute the Knight of pentacles with Kirtimukha, for the very good reason that he is the Green Man as viewed in the Indian cultural prism.  That is one of the archetypal planetary energies, and we need them in alignment with us.  The Green Man exists in all cultures so we cannot afford to leave him out of our pack.”

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Jane’s Notes, 2013

by Katherine Soutar, dancing cat designs

by Katherine Soutar, dancing cat designs

The Buddha during the throes of his Enlightenment, kept firm contact with Nature:  his hand was held to Earth.  So we depict the Knight centering the Earth energy.  Without a mastery of the telluric pulse, Guardians and Bodhisattva ideals are not much help.  The telluric pulse – the Earth – represents likewise, our subconscious, and the cellular memory within it, of the ancient animal, vegetable and lizard kingdoms – reaching even into the record of the rocks;  the aeons of our planet’s fiery cooling to become a forest grower.  The Knight in this revelation represents aspects of the Buddha’s conscious memory – the Tathagatha who was, is now, and will be.

Kirthimukha, the Green Man, the face of glory, is the threshold guardian on all temples.  Earth is female, vegetation is male, this he is.   He is a luminal being between the edge of ordinary and Awakened consciousness.  He is a filter of negativity, and deflects worldly impulses.

Kirthimukha is a forgiveness koan, forgiveness with the Judgement.

Ivy and Oak

Ivy and Oak at Buckland Filleigh

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Rohit’s Notes – (from the book with the deck):

“The Buddha is haloed by Kirthimukha, one of the earliest manifestations of the Divine in nature known to India. 

“The Kirthimukha is a protector deity, a threshold guardian belonging to one of the two oldest groups of Cthonic deities in India:  the Yakshas from the word Yakshamam – we shall protect.  The other group is the Nagas – serpent energies of the earth.  These are easily the oldest and perhaps original gods of India, predating the Vedas.  Even the Buddha was at birth taken to the shrine of his clan’s guardian Yaksha – Sakha Vardhana. Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism had to totally assimilate Yakshas and Nagas before they gained wide acceptance. 

“Kirthimukha is the male aspect of nature, for while the earth is female, vegetation is masculine.  … Europe knew him as Dionysius, then the Green Man or John Barleycorn, while the Sufi mystics still experience him as Khwaja Khidur – a gigantic being, a spiritual initiator and mentor, whose footsteps sprout vegetation…  the special meaning of this card is forgiveness.  Let go of grudges and hate, and let time take care of the rest.” 

(cf Ace of Disks/Pentacles in this series, the Buddha’s birth.  The babe walked at once, spouting lotuses.)

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Now comes Rohit’s liberating tale – The Story of Kirtimukha – a fascinating cosmic psychology.  It is timely, because this BUDDHA series will be followed by the Suit of Cups/Lotuses – the Story of Siva and Parvati.   The websites of the asura images, are well worth a visit, also.

“IN MANY INDIAN TEMPLES, you will find over the main gate, or over the door frame of the inner sanctum, a monstrous disembodied head glaring or grinning down at you.  This is the Kirtimukha, face of glory.  Our myth seeks to explain how this seeming incongruity came to occupy this respected position:

AsuraLord from https://mythoughtsbornfromfire.wordpress.com/2012/12/12/asura/

AsuraLord from https://mythoughtsbornfromfire  – NB, this site contains other good illustrations

“In the Indian mythological system, the asuras (demons) are cousins of the gods, and indeed are created from the same cosmic material.  They are demonic however, because they identify the Self with the body.  All their cosmic power is perverted in finding ever fresher ways to satisfy the material consciousness.  That gets them in self-destructive trouble over the long term, though in the short term they create some trouble of their own.

“This situation actually works for the good of all sentient beings in the universe, as the asuras are infinitely more powerful than the ‘gods’ – a situation that the Norse divinities knew only too well – and if they were more disciplined or wise, they could have taken over heaven on a permanent basis.  As it is, the asuras are always a chaotic force in the evolving universe. 

“One such asura suddenly got it into his mind that since he was the strongest being in the universe, he deserved the most beautiful woman existing.  This sort of logic is typical asura, but for them to think is to act.  He turned up at the abode of Siva the great God himself, and peremptorily demanded possession of Siva’s wife Parvati.  Now Parvati is the Great Goddess, and this was stupidity on a scale that even the asura should have quailed at. 

“Siva being pure consciousness, merely projected back at the asura a crystallization of his own insatiable desires.  This new entity was far worse than anything the asura had seen.  It was the living manifestation of a raw hunger, a world devouring flame that needed more, ever more, and was still left empty.  The immensity of his own endless desire was now in front, and the asura turned and ran.  The new demon chased him, intent on eating him up, devastating and devouring all that was between him and his prey.  Peril breeds perspective, and the asura realised that his only hope was Siva.  According to Indian mythology, you cannot refuse to grant quarter and protection if it is asked for.  So now Siva had one suitably chastened asura on his hands – as well as an enormous problem that seemed determined to eat up the universe.

“The Hunger was accepting of Siva’s mercy, but he had a problem.  ‘What do I eat now?‘  He was brought into being to solve a crisis, and now his own existence was jeopardised – which reflected poorly on the God.  Siva came up with the sort of Trickster solution so beloved of India – ‘Why don’t you eat yourself?’

“A god’s word is worth following, even if it seems senseless and destructive, and with faith in the Lord the demon did just that.  He began to chomp and champ away, beginning with his toes and working upward in a grim straight line that never wavered, never doubted and never ceased to masticate.  Finally he came to the neck and that was it – he could no longer contort himself to provide any room to bite. 

“Siva laughed, the earth shaking peal of pure joy that Kalidasa said was the Himalayas – the frozen laughter of Siva. 

“This episode was a grimly humorous illumination on the nature of life.  Life feeds on life, no matter how monstrous that may seem at first glance.  Desire forms a perfect feedback loop that ends up eating even what is desired.  This concept was known to the Sumerians as Ourobouros, the serpent eating its tail.  Life feeds on Life.  It is wildly exhilerating and liberating to realise and accept this concept, but it seems monstrous to those who have not had the experience.

16 kekuli serpent

“Siva named the Hunger Kirtimukha, the immortal face of glory.  He is seen above the doors of all temples.  Siva who is Constant Awareness, wants you to be aware of the real nature of the universe, to accept it.

“A philosophy of life and spirituality that will not acknowledge the dark side is only a milk and water religion after all, not really nourishing in the long run.  To live in the world, is to be aware of that constant hunger, and as always Siva or god is the only way in which you can transcend it. 

“To recognise Kirtimukha is to grow up, to have an adult understanding and acceptance of the universe, not a child’s fantasy.  In Jungian terms, Kirtimukha is a visibilization, a personification of the Shadow (or some aspects of it).  Kirtimukha is thus a threshold guardian to maturity, to the deepening of experience which is called wisdom.”

Vajrapani

Tibetan-Buddhist Wrathful deity Vajrapani

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Here is the finished card – Kirtimukha, the Face of Glory

Sacred India Tarot Knight of Disks - Buddha Kartimukha

Sacred India Tarot Knight of Disks – Buddha Kartimukha

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We arrive at archetypes of the Buddha which depict his Taurean nature, at home in the physical elements.  He tried the traditional path of starvation, but it had no relevance to the Great Middle Way which is central to his teaching.  Suffering is the result of imbalances and extremes of desire, to either side.   Physically the Buddha must have been well toned, with a beautiful opulence in his skin, in the way he walked, and in his bearing.  The quality is celebrated in the Court cards of this suit.  He was also – as are all great Sages – at home in the feminine side of his nature, as in the male.  There is something of the androgyne, or ardhanariswara in the manifestations of sacred Wisdom and Understanding.

This study is Siva Ardhanariswara, Lord whose half is Woman – with Siva’s vehicle, the white bull Nandi – but it serves as well here:  there are very few depictions in Indian art.

Ardhanariswara, ja 1993

Ardhanariswara, ja 1993

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Rohit’s feedback – 18 July 2003

I have no real observation I need to add onto the Page card, as it is very beautiful and astonishingly similar to the Ajanta tempura painting in original – except that I like what Jane has done in giving Rahula a little beard.  At that adolescent age that is exactly what young men do, experiment with fuzz in order to feel more mature. 

The Knight card captures what I had in mind very well.  An interesting point about the Kirtimukha archetype only recently came into my knowledge.  All over India, the Kirtimukha is a threshold guardian placed above the doorway of the shrine.  In the state of Maharashtra however, he is always placed on the central position of the last step before you step into the shrine or on the lower wooden frame of the threshold.  I was not aware of this when I first wrote to Jane, but it is common in Hindu, Buddhist and Jain temples all over this particular state.  It is an interesting difference, but we shall stick to the larger viewpoint about the Kirthimukha that prevails all over India.”

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The Queen of Disks/Pentacles is Hariti, wife of the great Yaksha Kubera.

A Yaksha is a tree spirit, a spiritual organism of nature.  Hariti was Kubera’s Shakti or fertility.  She was taught a lesson by Buddha, for stealing children: she never had enough, it seems.

Rohit’s Notes 2003

“The picture we send should be an adequate reference.  She is certainly slightly thick and stumpy around the waist, to depict the fertile earth energies.  But do not make her too fat.

(from Rohit’s book with the deck:) “Hariti had a superabundance of maternal and nurturing energy.  She had a hundred children of her own, but they were not enough to satisfy these desires.  She began to kidnap children in a peculiar display of avarice.  Popular apprehension held that she was eating them, but actually she kept them entertained in a never never land as companions for her children.  The parents of the lost children appealed to Buddha to intervene.  He concealed Hariti’s youngest child who is her favourite, and waited till she was frantic with fear and worry, to return the child with the old admonishment to do unto others … Hariti was appointed the guardian of small children from that day on, so all ended well. 

“Hariti represents a peculiar strand of malefic-beneficent earth mother deities known to India as the Matrikas.  They are guardians of boundaries of cities or villages, and can still be seen in that role today, in shrines on the outskirts of villages …  The Yakshas and Yakshis of India were both the oldest and its most popular gods, and they have inspired some of its greatest art.  There is always an exuberant feeling to Yaksha energy, which remains in the defining characteristics of the goddesses still worshipped.”

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Queen of disks reference

Queen of disks reference

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Buddhism at one time spread wider in the world than any other faith.  The Law of Compassion and Deliverance moves harmoniously with the root principles of Hinduism, Japanese Shinto, the Tantras and the Chinese Tao.

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Sacred India Tarot Queen of Disks - Buddha Hariti, wife of Kubera

Sacred India Tarot Queen of Disks – Buddha Hariti, wife of Kubera

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Reflection

Peace includes every turbulation of the ocean.    This series on the Buddha began with a blue flower, and flows into the sea.  I saw a TV programme last night about the colour blue – from Picasso’s blue period, through an artist who threw himself into the sky for the love of the Blue, to the “Earth Rise” photograph in 1968, taken from the Moon’s atmosphere.

Earth Rise zr28z

Blue is the colour of the Beyond.  Yet blue is the colour of our Home, and closer than our breath.  In Tarot, blue is the tonal vibration of the feminine-subconscious.  Blue is first sight of the Sea.

For me, the wish fulfilling Blue Jewel is the Buddha’s colour … dive into it.

convolvulus - Version 2

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Visual reference, buddha king of disks

Visual reference, buddha king of disks

King of Disks/Pentacles: Rohit’s Notes 2003

“The King is Kubera the Yaksha, again an earth energy.  The two options we send should be adequate.  I prefer the fatter version for it ties in with the Pregnant Male attributes of some deities, proto ardhanariswara so to speak. Kubera is claimed by the Hindus and Buddhists as well as the Jains, and worshipped by all of them, even today!

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(From the book with the deck) “Kubera has been the actual god of wealth worshipped in India for over two thousand years, in unbroken continuity.  For most of that time India was a very rich country, so he did well by his people.  Kubera is one of the Lokapalas – world guardians – as well as a Digapala, guardian of the quadrant: in his instance, the North … he is known as Vaishravana in Tibet … The pregnant male is a way of saying that he was a dual concept god, possessing both male and female energies.  Iin Buddhist and Jain representations he normally guards the shrines of Enlightened beings.  At the Ajanta caves, relief sculptures of Kubera and his consort are found outside almost all cave temples to the Buddha.

“Insight of the card:  What can you teach others from your experience?”

Visual reference, buddha king of disks

Visual reference, buddha king of disks

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Sacred India Tarot Buddha Kubera Yaksha, King of disks

Sacred India Tarot Buddha Kubera Yaksha, King of disks

The King of Disks by contrast has a fiery red earth tone – the illumined male. This composition suggests a “double decker” mode of life.  The little king inside the wheel is the servant to the greater.  He believes he ‘does it all’.  The Greater King encompassing him, whom he rarely perceives, and who Turns the Wheel, is his Allowance and grace.

Life is like a red double decker bus.  Dealing with persons in the world and in my lower mind, the view is limited to the coffin sides:  to conditioned viewpoints, angles and edges.  But when I am on the upper deck – which is of course open, like a London tourist bus – those ideas are not sufficient for the living Truth perceived.  I see over the roof-tops, I see all the landmarks, I am in the sky and I am amazed.   Both views hold.  They are the way we are embodied.  To perceive from the upper deck, is to experience a life-situation COMPLETELY, with the Buddha’s compass … a “Long Thought” for the journey.  The knack is to become a good bus-conductor, up and down the stairs.  Passengers get on and off.

Wheel rolling King

Discriminate rightly, the personality and the Self – as in the Buddha King.  Such is double decker.  The wheel rolling King is all around the wheel and in its centre.

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14 Arcana

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Rohit’s Feedback 18 July, 19 August 2003

The Queen is in many ways the most gorgeous card in the entire suit, and there is nothing I can say about it.  The concept is just dazzling in its beauty.  The belly of the Yakshas does not denote fat and flab, but the fact that they are turgid with the creative and generative power of the Prana.  The abdominal cavity is the only place in the body that can accommodate extra prana, hence the swollen belly of yogis who live on about as much food as an ant.

5 Arcana

The King –  like the Queen of Pentacles, this card too is tremendously beautiful and vibrant.  The framing within the body of the Buddha is a wonderful touch, while the elephant looks delightful.  

“In all sculptural representations of the Kubera Yaksha that have survived, there is usually a piece that has been vandalized.  This would be a citron or matulinga fruit, rich in seeds, symbol of  inexhaustible bounty, which would have been broken off or filed away as a talisman.  The famous image of Siva in the Elephanta cave sculptures, described in Stella Kramrisch’s ‘The Presence of Siva’ has a similar fruit.  Looking at the picture I realised Kubera’s hands are empty.  Instead of the fruit, we could place the geometric Kuber Yantra instead, though it would be a six-pointed star, the prime symbol of the Yaksha deities in India.  That would communicate the point of wealth as well as being a breakthrough in his depiction.  

“The visual reference for the Yantra we are sending you.  What we need is merely the central six pointed star, with the concentric circles of lotuses around it, a simple outline practically.  Keeping it as a circular figure would be best, instead of bounding it within the square of the metal of the yantra.   In all other respects, the card is perfect.”

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It appears that alas, this addition to the deck got overlooked – except maybe the yantra on the elephant’s head.  However,  I would be disinclined to furnish the Consciousness implied in Buddha’s open hands, with any objects.  His gesture allows space, and all being.

So here is a nice round fruit – a Kuber Yantra for the archive:

kuber yantra

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and finally …

Tibetan Dakini

This portrait of a Tibetan Dakini was commissioned in 2003 – my exact copy of someone else’s painting.  I do not remember the name of the original artist.

The next Sacred India Tarot Archive posts will cover the Suit of Cups/Lotuses – the courtship and marriage of Siva and Parvati.

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For other Sacred India Tarot posts, look under Recent Posts, or Archive of All Posts in the title bar.

Rohit Arya

Rohit Arya is an Author, Yogi and Polymath. He has written the first book on Vaastu to be published in the West, {translated into five languages} the first book on tarot to be published in India, co-authored a book on fire sacrifice, and is the creator of The Sacred India Tarot {82 card deck and book}. He has also written A Gathering of Gods. He is  a corporate trainer, a mythologist and vibrant speaker as well as an arts critic and cultural commentator. Rohit is also a Lineage Master in the Eight Spiritual Breaths system of Yoga. 

Earlier posts about the deck, including the first 15 Major Arcana archives are in http://aryayogi.wordpress.com   The deck is copyrighted (c) 2011 to the publishers, Yogi Impressions Books pvt, and available also on Amazon and internationally.

 

Jane Adams

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/

Murmuration – The Wanderer and the Holy Vessel


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Trust Providence and tie the leg of the camel!

Here’s another murmuration majesty: video link – starlings at Gretna Green – and here  is the starling flock video link I posted last week but without the narrator.  Skip the ad at the beginning … and look also at the starlings on Otmoor link on the same page.

I am in a Karmic shift. This post is rather cryptic.  I want to try to express something that I feel in the guiding principle and its picture language, universally.

To resolve my issues, I need to look beyond my impulse and conventional scar tissue, listen, find and celebrate what I call The Long Thought – those longwaves through life, which inform and complete things.   They take hours, weeks, years and often, centuries to deliver in full.  Anything I do contrary to these, if I get carried away, falls to pieces.   I feel physically weak.

Imagine: the whole alchemical Kabbalist consciousness, is a starling flock.  The individual bird is the ordinary ignorant person trying to act separately, according to social programming, conditioning and fear.   The Flock – the murmuration –  is the guiding principle or Supra-intelligence:  look how the Flocks glide through each other, creating swift and stunningly beautiful forms.

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K2, photo by fosco maraini

K2, photo by fosco maraini

Consulting the wise old Rabbi Ching, I got the Mountain keeping still, changing to Fire inside the Mountain: Grace.  I am thinking as a Kabbalist again, from Tifareth.   Gevurah keeps still, sword in ground.   Hesed moves over the sky.   I want to act in alliance with and unseparate from the Beauty of the movement, which is apperceived in stillness.   It needs to be in concert with the flock murmuration – not a bird of prey apart and rebuffed.

Oh bother!   Hexagram wrong way round.  Grace is Fire under Mountain, I had Fire over Mountain … (never mind – still that piece of advice came through) –  it changed to The Wanderer, which I had before, recently, and is less auspicious.   “Strange lands and separations are the wanderer’s lot.”    However, it is helpful:  “Penalties and lawsuits should be a quickly passing matter – (fire does not linger but travels on to new fuel) – and must not be dragged out indefinitely.  Prisons ought to be places where people are lodged only temporarily, as guests are.  They must not become dwelling places.”

“The back is named, because in the back are all the nerves that mediate movement.  If the movement of these spinal nerves is brought to a standstill, the ego with its restlessness, disappears.  When a man has become calm, he may turn to the outside world.  He no longer sees in it the struggle and tumult of individual beings, and therefore he has that true peace of mind which is needed for understanding the great laws of the universe and for acting in harmony with them.  Whoever acts from these deep levels makes no mistakes.

“The heart thinks constantly.  This cannot be changed, but the movements of the heart – that is, a man’s thoughts – should restrict themselves to the immediate situation.  All thinking that goes beyond this, only makes the heart sore.” 

Richard Wilhelm

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thunder mountain i ching

The Mountain hexagram has an inner brilliance because the Yang Light in both trigrams rests on the top.  Keeping his back still he no longer feels his body, he goes into the courtyard etc.   This means he doesn’t get waylaid by his inner-considerings.  The moving centre works.

There is a beauty in the Tao of this hexagram with its preceding one, the opposite:  Thunder, Arousing, Movement, with the Yang lines at the base of each trigram.  The Mountain is when this movement comes to an end, ready to receive its complementary, Then Yin ripens to her full extent and changes at the baseline, to Yang.  Grace is implied when the Fire is inside or under the Mountain … glowing through it.

woodlamp

woodlamp

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I trudged home from my daughter’s little castle, as a pricked balloon of defeat, bewilderment, shame and misery that what I believed to be the right thing to do, ISN’T.   It was horrible, agonizing and now I had probably upset her again.   Is this the movement of the flock of Starlings, the Mountain, the Kabbalist?    It crushed me.  As time passed, I surrendered to the heart of the matter:  I am the one to say sorry – not be expecting him or anyone else to.  I am sorry I abandoned you the way I did.    I told her, and we had a long chat.  She thanked me for being a tiger, and I thanked her for being a lion.   This is Providence.

The way of the Kabbalist treads the tides of panic, receiving them in full so that clarity dispels them.   This image relates to the Violet Crystal – the waves on the shoreward sea.   Now I see them, and how it felt in my violet crystal room;  I was so lonely here.  Out there on the sea and beach, the world was playing.  I want to go out there and try to join in and do it too.

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Solomon ibn Gabirol, 11th century

Solomon ibn Gabirol, 11th century

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Today is our tutor’s 80th birthday – Go well!   Keep practicing!  Last night it happened to be my turn to host the three-weekly group meditation in my house – a party.  The meditation he led, was an unusual one, on Providence.

aziluth - world of emanation

aziluth – world of emanation

In the beginning which is now, No thing:  an infinite point of light appears, and emanates nine more lights.  The philosophical geometry of paths, triads, Worlds, expands and proliferates, as the Upper and Lower Faces of God interchange.  Holy, Holy, Holy art Thou – kadosh. All is made of thought:  Lord thou art All, thou art God: and earthing it manifests the mysterious All … in every locality.  It breathes in and out, across the stem of time.   The paradoxical feeling – who am I? – but I am – is a living dialogue, God beholding God, the tsim-tsum of Genesis.   The entire canvas so far, of cosmos, atoms, molluscs, dinosaurs, humans, climates and cities, is sketched.

My intellectual rapidity and its consequent faux pas and preoccupations, gets in the way of my devotion and receptivity.

beriah - world of creation

beriah – world of creation

There was a Tree of Life birthday cake for him, with blackberries, strawberries and 10 Sefiroth candles lit for him to blow out.  It made a little fiery vessel inside the Mountain.  It wandered into the small living-room on my careful hands, as a flock of souls moved around it, marvelled and settled.  It was childish, simple and beautiful – a tear – and very Capricorn.  Week after week, year after year, my tutor lights the candles, opens the Tree, comes down it again and blows them out.   Last night, he gave it one big Blow;  Everyone sang.

I am listening to Liszt’s Sacred-Office for piano plainsong – the Leslie Howard CD called “Meditation”.   It is tender, simple, chorale and serene.  It soothes my mind.

So!

yetzirah - world of formation, psyche

yetzirah – world of formation, psyche

In my last post, I was revving myself up to deliver a letter, wasn’t I.  Well I didn’t.  My daughter in her wisdom and understanding rescued me from something rash.  It felt rotten, having the wind taken out of my sails in full Capricorn self righteous blast, believing myself assisted by divine starlings no less, and then disabled.   The Great Work’s peril is a moment’s personalised projection.

But I hold my head high now.  The letter was concise and to the point, about something I needed to express clearly, for a very long time.  She saw it and she made her point, and it will not be sent.  It is sufficient.

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assiyah - physical world

assiyah – physical world

The trick is to know I am not Providence’s special hobby, nor is Providence my tip for the horses.  It gives me leeway, enough rope to feel a whole situation round my neck, and provides for us an “open” closure …    I go “out to lunch” in a fury, but come back for tea.   Calm down dear – it’s just a commercial!

Well I did come back for tea, and on I go, relieved and strong again.

The principle is Thy Will be Done – the visible law of the universe, like the starlings.   The  problem is when I try to “help” and think it is my duty to.  Why do we Capricorns always need to “set things straight” – get clarity, and examine certain truths?  Ha ha!  One starling in the flock thinks she knows where it is going:  she does – but she doesn’t.   A Kabbalist is aware of the Law of changes:  they do their own work.   There is a marvel and a mystery in the fluid concertedness of events and skies.   Fly! dance, twist and turn, flutter an uncluttered room, feet on rosewood floor.   Providence, like the air, flows through me.

The murmuration:  the mountain Keeping Still, the wanderer and – (when the fire is within) – the holy vessel.  Fire is within the keeping still.

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Ibn Gabirol of Malaga

Ibn Gabirol of Malaga

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Navigation

Navigation

I saw the movie The Life of Pi last week, and am reading the book again.  The author observes how Pi’s life and spirituality is filled with yeast.  The yeast of life is the prize of a scary, long voyage – from the bedrock.   We have the dark and the light, the ferment of the grape and grain.

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Master R in 18thC London JA 08

Master R in 18thC London JA 08

Curieux scrutateur de la Nature entiere, 
j’ai connu du grand tout le principe et la fin. 
J’ai vu l’or en puissance au fond de sa riviere, 
j’ai saisi sa matiere et surpris son levain.

J’expliquai par quel art l’ame aux flancs d’une mere 
fait sa maison, l’emporte, et comment un pepin 
mis contre un grain de ble, sous l’humide poussiere; 
l’un plante, et l’autre cep, sont le pain et le vin.

Rien n’etait, Dieu voulant, rien devint quelque chose, 
j’en doutais, je cherchai sur quoi l’univers pose. 
Rien gardait l’equilibre et servait de soutien. 

Enfin, avec le poids de l’eloge et du blame 
je pesai l’Eternel;  il appella mon ame: 
je mourrai, j’adorai, je ne savais plus rien.

A sonnet by Comte de St-Germain/Master R

I would appreciate an English translation of this poem, from a French-speaking reader – any offers?  Very broadly my understanding of it goes:  “Studying nature, I learned her principle.  I saw in her river’s depth the gold, and seized its potency.  I understood how the soul in the mother’s womb rises like yeast, and carries the lodging onward;  and how a tiny grape seed and a grain of wheat when placed together in moist earth – the one a plant, the other a pip – ferment to bread and wine.  Without God’s will, nothing grows.  I searched in vain:  I found no ‘thing’ to equilibrate or uphold the Universe.   At last, on the scales of praise and its opposite, I weighed Eternity:  it called my Spirit.  I died. I adore.  I knew nothing more.”

4 pattern

Ah …  artist’s medium comes – an inspirational object for contemplation.   He appears, and draws me back into the flowing flock.  I had not thought of him for a while.  Why now?  Perhaps it was the word “yeast” in the Life of Pi.  A warmth of “home” comes over me, with his “altar, bird, torch”, and the mystery of fermenting grape and grain as grace in the soul’s soil.    The depth of my distress last week, may have summoned him.   Hawks – my mind’s dogged ploddings near the edge – are baffled.   Watch with the little birds, the swirling flock carefully, and note the stray predators.

Extracts from St-Germain’s “The Most Holy Trinosofia”:

altar bird torch master R 1

A yellow altar stood opposite me, from which a pure flame ascended having no other substance for its alimentation than the altar itself.  Letters in black were engraved at the base of the altar.  A lighted torch stood beside it, shining like the sun.  Hovering above it was a bird with black feet, silvery body, a red head, black wings and a golden neck.  It was in constant motion without however, using its wings.  It could only fly when in the midst of the flames.  In its beak was a green branch;  its name is ‘to be given Life’.  The name of the altar is ‘Kether – when shall be the gate of entrance’.

These are copies of Master R’s original work.  None of his luminous paintings – he ground pearl dust into his pigments – survived beyond his 18th century embodiment.   His music for violin and voice is stored in the British Library.

altar bird torch master R 2

Altar, bird and torch are the symbol of all things.  Nothing can be done without them.  They are all that is good and great  … You could have seized instantly the bird, the torch and the altar;  you would have become altar, bird and torch at one and the same time.  Now, to arrive at the most secret place of the Palace of sublime sciences, it will be necessary for you to pass through all by-ways.”

Master R : 08 - Version 2

Manly P Hall comments: “‘To be given life‘ and ‘when shall be the gate of entrance‘ mean  together, ‘Immortality shall be conferred at the gate of the House of Wisdom.‘  The name of the torch is Light; but translated, the characters read: ‘the dernier (coin) shall be hidden away and forgotten‘ … or ‘the body of the wise man shall be concealed‘.

“The altar is the human body; its material parts – the square – are arranged in the spiritual order – a triangle. … the whole figure is a symbol of spiritual regeneration, the mystery of Melchisedek … it sets forth perpetual re-energization by the use of the Stone.  It tells of the very power, which St-Germain himself possessed, of continuing from century to century by means of the subtle Elixir, whose secret was known only to himself and his Masters …”

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The branch is masonic acacia, which was laid on Hiram’s grave.  Above the coiled kundalini up the torch, I painted the Hebrew Letter SHIN, the Mother Fire-letter, whose path is Hod Malkuth on the Tree of Life:   secret fire to our roots in earth.

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Hands

I love the idea that the starlings do their concert on a winter evening, to warm themselves for the night.  The warmth grows to a secret fire, and suddenly accelerates, coalesces to the Art of one vast organism performing the worship with great black swirls and giant wings.  It is one of nature’s orgasms. The avian organism – the individual’s little death – is the soul in touch … tantra … with its Self all over.  Let us gather together, draw together. Let us form a vessel for the dew of heaven.  Orchestral musicians suddenly are uplifted from their desks with the edgeless song.  The most difficult corners in Life, yet are this, and form the deepest chords.

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Morning after:  here on Otove’s blog comes a timely and clear expression about when to tell truth or white lies, and sattva-guna.   Actually the word used there is Satya, truth, not sattva, purity – my mistake!   The sanskrit root syllable sat however, is “existence, being”.

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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 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.

Aquariel

Aquariel Link

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/

The Opportunity

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solstice dervish card 2 copy

It is a still point of turning worlds.  Some wobble yet remains.  Why?

I realise today, the close of the Mayan calender is my opportunity to STEP FORWARD, dropping off a tattered old cloak.  And surely this is how many of us feel!  Hence the astral dramas, the fairytales, projections and gorgeous scary websites of Planet Ascension load of bull, over the years.   Ascension is a private fact.  When the cloak comes off, the skin feels torn.

In my mind’s eye are these three cartoons of Alan Jacobs, done back in the early 1990s – particularly the third one –  he is an excellent model !  (Click to view as gallery.)

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The opportunity is REAL, ongoing, right now, for me to change a Karmic deadlock – a profoundly private matter.   I feel weak, skinless, a pale pool of tears under the blankets, but I wrote a letter this week. It is concise, and I wait the right moment to show it to my daughter, then deliver it:   Closure, for a very harrowing wound.   A short delay, gives me the opportunity to calm down, to be less “punitive”, to give the one who injured us, his own opportunity to amend.  Should he not take it, we at least took ours, and things will organically improve.   It is for giving.

So that is the scene at the moment, and I cannot go into more detail.  But I do know that we, and you, are not alone in facing a crucial issue at present – not unlike the US fiscal cliff – and how to let it go through.   It is no good acting on the impulse of my surface mind, with all its stiff hedges and corners.   I wait for it to be “moderated”.  This morning, the Priestess comes up through the pool, and I realise I can now share the process, with its universal inner language of images and metaphor, HERE.   The grief weeps, for I know I am not alone, and you are not alone, in dealing with Progress.

Priestess, King of Swords, and the alchemist

Priestess, King of Swords/Rose Cross, and Alchemist

Here are the images, then.  Pictures say more than words, which only introduce persons at a party.  The transpersonal healing touch is Reality passing through Reality.

It is caterpillar to butterfly, egg to chick, acorn to oak, and bud to flower.  It is soft, invisible and cosmic.  It is a graviton in the field-colossus of gravity – a starling in the flock.

murmuration-of-gretna-green-starlings-post-by-jchip84

and now, WATCH THIS VIDEO link – http://antiworldnews.wordpress.com/2012/04/09/stunning-bird-murmuration/ – 2 videos

The right moment to touch the key – whatever is needful in old-time, during the wintering around a turning point – will come.  A lot of autumn leaves float and circle in the breeze before they settle:  tea leaves in the cup.

My dead friends on the left pillar, encourage the “closure” of the wound.  Who is little “I”, playing out the drama?   Anyway, I find in my deceased friends, the strength of the released.  The right moment awaits the necessary data – the flock – to inform it fully and perform.   I am now in the region of the soul, not of the personality.  The process forgives, then judges, then liberates.  I respect in his soul, without prejudice, the probability that he may refuse the offer … with a tiny chance he might take it.

The Fool by a Well

The Fool by a Well

There is first an alchemical assimilation.  Slowly, my REAL LIFE rises through the pool.  The Priestess of the oracle responds to my problem as it sinks.  I detect a yielding compresence – Companions of the Light – and touch home base.   The available data settles, as the waters calm into a clear picture, reflecting sky and moon.  At first there is eclipse.

Priestess, 1988

Priestess, 1988

The change in my inner life – to silverdance it through – the point, the region of peace … I feel it now.  It is the point of the turning worlds, and I shall get the letter delivered and closure done, in the orbit for it which arises.

Here again, is the redoubtable Alan in 1994:  what a clothes-horse !   Bless him.

jason dumps a vasana '94 j&d11

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… and a rare sibling get-together last week – my bro, my sis and me

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PS – Elene’s article on ‘parallel in no time‘ arrived this morning in my email, it is bang on the button.

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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 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 2012-2013. May not be used for commercial purposes. May be shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address https://janeadamsart.wordpress.com/