20 September 2019
I woke to a Promethean poem this morning. Unfortunately it faded. I am left with the sense of a large almost-round grey pebble. The message within its fall to gravity was the fire. It is the fire. It was bonded with the flow of water. But water is flowing Stone. The water which flows as Stone contains the fire which falls to Earth; each day a fall of meteorites most of them incandescing to powder in the atmosphere – Air; these primordial processes prevail regardless of small human guilt.
The Stone is in my hand and its weight flies into the infinite core fractal of interior space, and inside each of Jim Ede’s pebbles is God. This is noticed through the anguished human claptrap.
Two realities reside here: one, that we humans spoil the earth, and the other: how can we so arrogantly presume to? It is in Gaia’s destiny to clear some of her surface areas for a time and alter the climate composition. As our Solar system moves deeper into the Photon belt, each organism is aware and agitated through changes in the DNA.
This is an unusual and Holistic idea. The substance or impression of Holistic ideas transcends – is greater than their composition. Their composition – how they print out – is subject to the interpretation: the words.
The substance, the dimensional weight falling through my body however – this is true, and it is what I call transmission, reception of the Promethean fire.
Let it do its work. Through countless receiving channels it is spelled out into this or that interpretation. Generally speaking there is agreement, that when we fully embrace and accept responsibility with our suffering, there is joy. There is unexpected, boundless joy, whatever appears to go on, or apparently engulfs it. Where one spark is covered for a time, another shines out. Watch a glowing fire in the hearth; it whispers along the wood like a slow snake.
Human beings need to suffer from their rattling mind and its environmental disorders, disasters and creation of deserts, in order to begin to step free from this convention mind – to work with and as Nature, Gaia, not against.
“To begin to” is the operative word here. Fixed holding-positions get left behind. Awaken into prayer and progress with the day, again and again and again and again; recreate the Power of Creation. An infinitesimal neutrino penetrates the leaden shield into the star; from star to star … again comes around the Promethean gift of Fire, the spark within each of us planted; the phoenix bird of song and light and joy in the recovery and resurrection: “I am the Resurrection and the Light.” “I am the love of the Light.” “I am the core of Love itself.” “Let there be Light.”
Coursing the sap in stem, nectar aflame,
each power to one beloved nadi clings.
The force through spine’s sushumna sings
‘All presence’, ‘Heart’s ocean’, ‘Swan of peace’, ‘Supreme’.(1)
As Her light pervades my body, I am detached;
my form as Self, Self and the world are matched
[(1) In one of my Ramana Gita sonnets, these are names roughly corresponding to atma nadi (Self), para nadi (that which is beyond manifestation) and amrita nadi (nectar of immortality) in the text. The nadis are the meridian map within the Yogic body.]
The alchemist blows a little on the banked fire, and it glows. The breath. The body.
In a stone-age cave, the warming flame flows along the log like lava, like water with Light which is air and the Earth’s solar core. Everything, each and every phenomenon has this potential (See the link to “beyondhumanstories” further down this post) … within the plastics and perverted materials, nothing is other than the core. Sooner or later it returns to the core, as technologies arise to biodegrade our unconscious waste, for we become conscious, first individually here and there, and then collectively as a tide through tipping-point. Alchemists are able to quicken the interior process, and to see above the tide. Wherever an alchemist is at work, the environment blossoms. Alchemists are gardeners. We potter and we ponder and we fish.
The slow fire along the log burns out old Karma and all its fascination and even beauty. It cleanses the slate, to the horror and grief of all who saw and were aware of, for instance, the burning of the Amazon forest. A cruel human may have caused it or encouraged it to spread; but it was to be. It shocks and burns the soul. It starves further the respiration’s resources. The respiration is the whole planetary balance and swirl of currencies and weathers. Why is this happening?
I think the new human will have, and has already a bond with nature, with creature, fish, plant, tree and rock which we used to plunder and exploit and harm. The new human is so deeply, painfully connected with what she harmed that she plays into the restorative power of transmutation and the burgeoning of Life. Humankind is no longer separate from the forest and creatures of the field, no longer separate from the seas, no longer a player of golf.
The new human re-learns the ancient unifying magic; the art begins where nature ceases to act. Already this is developing as a fact. Those who despaired and yet were willing to hope, drop away from the old system. They begin to create local solar technologies. They nurture the family and patterns of relationships. Relationships are geometries and sacred forms and problems of harmony. With the ripple effect, they enter and inspire one another.
I wanted to say … concentric waves or ripples. Where the Stone falls and breaks surface, there is a centrifugal ripple: concentric rings. These move subtly through immediate society and communities, creating further impacts and their rings. Watch a fall of rain on the pond. I don’t publish 99% of my work because it could be misunderstood. I am not totally sure of it myself, or of peoples’ capacity to misinterpret and to twist. The Stone goes on and on falling into my fractal core and there is no time to stop and buff it up into shape to pass through the gate; for always it comes. I trust that where I work, the Companions of the Light take care of it. Their power to reach the ground and to start a wave passes through where I sit and write it down, and travels to other antennae. I write the same thing over and over and over for the telegraph wire. I’m a starling sitting on it. There is never enough of it. I write and sing so others unseen are inspired. There are notes that travel above and below the standard spectrum; the invisible octaves of the ground of being.
While I was cleaning the house upstairs yesterday, Genevieve’s conversation with Paula Aamli (https://beyondhumanstories.com/podcast-hope-beyond-hope/?fbclid=IwAR3SX5Z8FWTfCgpMmcSayAIQghOQgphJJaq4Mx8c394Ey4X80_e4Yht4Pz8 uplifted and helped me to turn to face my pain; for Paula discovered – through facing hers – that though the present human engine is destroying its future, there is an unexpected response of joy, gratitude, discovery and noticing the infinite resource of life even in a walled in city garden, and certainly within the soul’s courage. There is more to this than we know.
It is the infinitesimal fractal potency of the small! The 9thGene key is called the Power of the Infinitesimal. Beauty is the story, the dimension which cuts through every science.
I was told long ago, in 1969: Your beautiful thoughts are not enough. The stuff of beauty is sterner. The way is to evoke and inspire that beauty in someone else. Ah, but I see today, the beautiful thoughts are, and create the Way. The beauty didn’t come into my hand like soap. It had to be worked for, leaned into and with, discovered, suffered, recreated.
The new chapter is respirational, back and forth, in and out. When the old breath is done it dulls and expires: the new breath coming in underneath it be-stirs things. So rises and falls the Tao in our world.
When I woke this morning with the Promethean poem I lay for a while listening to the hammering builders who’ve taken off a roof, up the road. I could just hear the dark yammer of their radio. Listening to radio news and watching media is a yammering, de-sensitising skin which most of us wear. It reinforces the screen of isn’t it all dreadful and bad, and it deadens the feeling. Journalists are able to witness and report horrors with this leaden blanket. I don’t have that protective numbness. The Guardians force me in this way to stay sensitive. I don’t read the papers or watch the media. My ear is to the ground; I pick up what I need to know. The human commentary on atrocity and damage and guilt, is more than I can bear. Many of us walk with only one side of our bodies and half of our brains and heavy clouds in our heart and loins. I used to have dreams about only being able to walk with one foot, the other was tightly curled up asleep underneath.
The Tarot key that intuitively blossoms today is the 8th– Soul strength, the woman guiding the lion to sing and to speak. “Make your pattern accurate, profound, honest, courageous.”
It is another such beautiful September day, this morning, sharp and fresh. Water, stone, meteorite – recollect that vast numbers of comets and meteorites and cosmic bodies are petrified water. Water of Life.
The Stone warms up to flow as water with the fire inside.
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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. See also Aquariel
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