Tensions are imagination trapped in illusory codes. The tension appears to have the power to materialise, but it has no substance after the thought. Whenever I get through a bit of rotten concrete I turn and see how weak it is. The human lower mind is powered mostly by negative apprehensions. This is why it became embedded in our psyche and expectation, that we have no power to see above the hedges or to change direction – no power of Magic.
There is a huge gulf between general human bedtime, and the real human nature to draw together the stars and move with them consciously, joyfully. The power and the dawn and the history of Magic is simply … this! to take up my bed and walk.
The tapestry is the stars and the Great Heaven: quantum unity. This theme of the tapestry is mirrored back to me from persons I move with, this week: things they say. My tiny thread-loop in the tapestry stands in the lane at night and looks up at the sky.
Back in history, some priests got hold of Magic and began to manipulate aspects of it with a tendency which grew and grew. For a while they had power and the passwords to re-shape people and environment beguilingly. It concealed from them, the Power. They lost sight and lived inside dark glasses to write history. Tension bred and grew, which obscures and fragments the Power. The political world is ruled by Tension, which manifests nowadays all our yesterdays. But I see the Power and I see the monster in the waves. The Power is hauling it up and out to be seen. Tension appears eternal (so does hell) but in due course it breaks and self destroys. It dismantles. It is rotten concrete whose reinforcing wires get rusted and snap.
The Tension which obscures the Power is separative. By “separative” I do not mean the sword-tip which parts the elements to live with and enhance each other, like brush strokes of colour. “Separative” is the dreary default dream-like notion that I am an isolated object, and therefore powerless, a frightened wage slave, reading only the headlines.
The Power which dissolves the Tension, is “all there is”. There is as Robert used to say – the power that knows the way. I need only turn toward it voluntarily, and see. This is metanoia: a word meaning ‘repent’, in the sense of ‘turn around to face the light’. Whenever and wherever this happens in the world, those stars come out and form a constellation linking oceans: a golden net.
I just came across this, in Katie Spero’s blog Let Yourself Learn: – together with a golden mountain and what happens when the subtle thread to your friend strengthens over the ocean:
“When you part from your friend, you grieve not;
For that which you love most in him may be clearer
in his absence as the mountain to the climber
is clearer from the plain.”
A Story – adapted from Alan Jacobs’ “Myths of Siva: Siva Nilakantha”
“Once upon a time the Gods in heaven and Demons in Hell formed a parliament. To create ambrosia, they planned to churn the Milky Way as if to make butter. They tore great Mount Mandarva from its roots, for a churning stick; Vasuki, snake of the world became the rope.
“As they whirled and stirred the celestial ocean, to their horror there rose to the surface, a hideous black oil-slick – Kalakuntha, the world’s poison: Time itself. The Gods and Devils in terror like smart young ladies seeing a mouse, appealed to Lord Siva.
“Siva dipped his hands in the sea. Drinking the poison to the last drop, he held it in his lily throat which – as if kissed by a serpent – turned a sinister peacock blue. Now named Nilakantha, Blue-throated One, he retired to his cave in Mount Kailas. All the sages and rishis made their pilgrimage.
“Ramana on Siva’s hill Arunachala says, ‘When the selfish thought returns to the Self, Self-awareness shines, distilled and pure: the elixir of health and wholeness, ever enduring.’
“Mixing too much with the world, I swallowed poisons churned up by confusing my activities, good and bad. With a deep exhalation, I cleanse my body. Drawing in fresh prana, I use that attention to dive within and find in my heart’s cave, Siva Nilakantha … ever illumining those who, from dreaded Kalakuntha, call upon His transmutation.”
Alan Jacobs 1993
“Within a cavern of man’s trackless spirit
is thrown an image so intensely fair
that the adventurous thoughts that wander near it
worship, and as they kneel, tremble and wear
the splendour of its presence, and the light
penetrates their dreamlike frame
’till they become charged with the strength of flame.”
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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.
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