When I go for walks or bike rides, I absorb landscape patterns, contours and fields, whose small events inform my life as vividlly as any book.
My bike accident was a spiritual teacher. It happened HERE, where the lower map ends and the next one begins. At this exact spot, Oakridge Lane becomes a dirt track, if you look just to the left of the figure 15. See my earlier post on the subject. I felt a need to continue my journey that had “fallen off the map” – which is what this post is about.
First – a preamble. What is the strength of the soul?
25 June 2013
Strength is supple and able to bend in most directions. Isn’t that interesting? Strength is regarded as hard muscles, force, rigidity bearing great weights and pressure – but it ISN’T! It is fluid, soft. This fluidity enables my “physical strength” to carry things. If there is fluidity, the muscles naturally coordinate and run the task among themselves. That is the principle. It is the way the stones for Stonehenge and the Pyramids were carried – as on a river.
Struggling along at home with the Cube (i.e. last week) – after stitching in two 24-inch zippers, am now starting to sew the squares of coloured cotton together. There isn’t a lot of strength for this. The same principle applies to mental, psychological, emotional strength.
There was a Kabbalah meditation last night, at Susan’s place. We visited our Room of the Soul in the House of the Psyche. Afterwards, we stepped out into her mysterious long garden with its small round lawn, stepping stone path and tall shaggy trees, to sip the wine. Once upon a time, I lived in the house next door, on the first floor. I looked up at the big bay window … from which I used to watch Susan’s garden as it then was: no trees, the ground picked bare by Imre’s hens and his kids. That first-floor window was my Room of the Soul in the 1970s. I lived there for six years. It is where all the dreams – the raw material for my Watershed Tales – were written down.
Life there was very dark, intense and very full of light; it was a beautiful big room with a grey carpet and a view over the gardens; I danced, and my daughter was born. It is amazing to see that place now, and connect. There is no time. An unknown soul now has that space. Yet I am there.
I had a chat with our teacher about my Capricornian accident two weeks back – banging my knee of course. I have decided to ride back to the scene, and walk the Bike through it and onward, like one of our Meditations. The idea of What was it stopping? What is it telling you? Watch carefully. A fall like that is like breaking a veil.
This morning I asked the Tarot for a picture. The card which came up, is 4, The Emperor – Aries – a Red one, and its faculty is Seeing – the hebrew letter HEH. I didn’t see the sand and gravel on the road till too late – obviously – but now I must, and go carefully. The one to the right is The Devil – the “intelligence of limitation and Mirth”; the physical Eye, hebrew letter AYIN. The one to the left is the Priestess – THE VEIL ! – my deep blue subconscious river that was so rudely crashed into.
The ride back to the scene, was in beautiful sunshine, up the Watling road which has a tree-lined cycle path and soars away from London. Later, I skirted a big birdlife sanctuary and reservoir, on the way to the villages. Above Elstree airfield, a few small private planes droned in sleepy circles. I arrived at last – a bit nervous – to The Spot where I bumped into the light. It is just to the northeast of Blackbirds Farm. As it has rained, the dust is now packed solid and trucks have driven over it – big ruts and scattered small gravel.
I stayed there for a while. There is a hay-meadow to the right, fringed with woodland, and to the left, a track leads to the sewage farm. The spot is just past where the map ends and the next map begins. The countryside from here, turns deeply rural. I pushed Bike up the continuing lane. The tempo slowed to the 1950s; wild flowers, sunshine, cool birdsong in the oaks. S m i l e . Being so soft is strength – not hardness. The earthy lane wanders down into a hollow, then up again, then joins up to another old tunnel I know, between the Hill Farm and the Roman A-road north of Radlett. Buttercups and frisky horses, a little hidden stream and the smell of cow-pats … I emerged from the tunnel of very old dignified oaks. Time had stopped.
I fell off my bike last month, because I was going too fast. The tempi collided.
I did a good circuit – Drop Lane, along the Verulam-Colney River – quiet brown flowing serpent – around to School Lane through the witchy Bricket Wood, then down a leafy footpath under the motorway and into Watford. Found my way through urban spaghetti and factories, back onto the Watling main-road, just north of the point where I had turned off. And back to Stanmore; and then a train, to join R for lunch in Kilburn.
The clarity of the quiet flowing serpent was forgotten. The past is painful. Then who should potter along and catch a bus at the other side of the road, but a certain funny old man in his hat … a keen eye for things, but rather deaf.
What is the essence of a situation – any? To be still and let it be itself. Any enforcement with or against it, becomes RESENTMENT.
It is where my esoteric and ancient occult insights and all my learnings, let me down completely – as would any conditioning or vehicle for life. It is where I fall off my map, and am battered and damaged, this is a place whereof I cannot speak, because it involves others, and is confidential. There is integrity and love, the honesty in common, but not in a way which I can easily share, or express myself in.
The essence is – there is nothing to be, do, or say. So try to companion the fact with peace. I did notice yesterday, that I become less agitated. The guilt and fix-it struggle is weaker, much weaker. It is in the past, now. I could not see through windscreen wipers. When it flows itself, the words and frameworks all vanish. But at the time, I forget, or do not manage to remember this fully, and the nonsense goes on.
Poor humans! Only very slowly does it ease. ACCEPTANCE. There is a slower tempo. I wish to adjust mine accordingly so I can perceive and befriend it – like stopping the speed bike and walking and seeing nature.
For instance: R said she begins to find that Thoughts are a bad hand, and the inner Sceptic is no help, and isn’t telling the truth. Begin to chill out more. We are – we have the fact on our plate, like a cold chicken. The cataclysms which depression generates, engrave our life. Like the sun, they plough the field and one day stand as wheat, golden ripe.
I perceive my parental essences, their creativity; and by contrast, R’s parental essences, their burden. It is difficult to live creatively, without a view of ‘the bigger picture’ or map, where everything connects. And yet what help is my “knowledge”, to her? Just different rooms for delusion!! The esoteric viewpoint, and its practice, make me more arrogant and anxious. Yes.
Sorrow, and no drama. No words for this; just ride or walk it along the lane. So this is Kabbalah. This is the soul triad on the Tree, with its intense light and shade, and the rough stony path, and the softness with the trees and flowers; knowledge that strength and power is soft – the silence of the cool river as it slides along its earthy bed. Nature’s tender force shapes twisted roots, tree-bark and summer-droop branches through un-numbered seasons. So it is in life, and is the only way to navigate. My body is soft and ageless when the bones and joints move with sensibility and the breath, enjoy the rotation in the hip when pedalling, and so on. Recalling this for at least a while, each day. Life and friendships tend to follow and enhance the body’s way of doing and being … after a time.
Respect and value another soul’s inclination to solitude and hard graft in this life time – the difficulty of reaching out: negotiating false persuasions that nobody cares or wants to know. In all ways, we contact our Self, and discover what is real.
So what did I see, on my ride across the squares? My inner eye has instantly the truck and the RED post office van (rather old fashioned) which popped out of a dirt-road left turning, and waved to me merrily – I just arrived, and look funny there, with my bike – the place is quite busy, I hear the sounds of work and tractors, unlike the evening quiet when the accident happened.
It’s about 11.30 or midday I suppose. To the left are local waste-management services: to the right, an open field of warm grass in the breeze. Onward, a path up a small hill and then along an old, shady, unmetalled lane: the soft and timeless power of gnarled roots – the tall oak trees. I walk along the edge between worlds. The ride into the next landscape “square” was joyful, picturesque and countrified: so was the Ver Colne serpent water, and meeting the end-threads of my many walks in that region: and riding around the back of the beautiful Munden estate, through faery forests
It all says, “Look where you are going. Here is the Emperor in his red van: the cool Priestess with her buds unveiled; and the Devil who gets cross with Niggles.”
Don’t be tempted or urged to confront stuff directly. It doesn’t work, it just collides and turns to lies. Be extremely watchful of the temptation when it arises, with those whom I care about. Avoid Karma … and embrace relationship.
I cannot be other than I am. I desire to see OBJECTIVELY without windscreen wipers. Inner sight emerges from and after the process. The processing is just a fishing line dangled in the deep – the bait. Life is a bait on the hook. The SEEING is from the other dimension, the bigger picture; and it heals. A bigger picture for instance, is a cluster of fields and a crossroads in it, and when I home in with magnifying glass, there’s this tiny figure who falls and gets hurt, and then picks herself up and continues along the way. I am inside her speck, and also outside, as my visual frame is the wide blue all embracing yet boundless horizon – no spectacles. I am the eagle and the worm: the seagull and the fish. Life on the ground is a rough, stony business; most often magical as the light comes through the trees and the wind stirs the grass.
I saw some deep violet daisies. They shone. Keep that sense of touch open – all the senses. Hearing, smell, sight …
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/