Resurrect the Star

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Tarot Keys Tower, Star and Moon, representing the paths on the Tree which converge on Netzach

Tarot Keys Tower, Star and Moon, representing the paths on the Tree which converge on Netzach

These three Tarots tell me a story:  the cracking of the seedcase, the watering of the shoot, the evolutionary journey to ripen.  When the Tower falls, it reveals its inversion, a well.

I was thinking along the archetypal lines of 2016, 2017 … and today brought a link to a colour meditation on the same theme, which feels timely:
http://colourconscious.com/aura-soma/2017-a-year-for-the-star/   … “By listening to our star and living our truth we take responsibility for the only part that is truly in our hands …” (Dominic Yeoman)

The ‘Philosophus’ chapter in Paul Foster Case’s The True and Invisible Rosicrucian Order offers 6 keys for lovers of wisdom to contemplate further: Death, Star, Chariot … Temperance, World, Sun children.

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tarot philosophes 7.1.17

Sextet arrangement: tarot philosophus 7.1.17

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Arranged here in a six pointed star – the Seal of Solomon – is a visual analogy  that natural man is the seed-case of the spiritual man.  I’m a dull stick these days.  “Philosophus” means cultivating clarity, and the word is derived from Philo Sofia – lover of wisdom … “who might be compared to a man who has learned to read the architect’s plans. The house is yet to build.”

What is clarity?   Clarity is a process of alignment, perhaps a desire to contribute to a positive humanity, a collective Lighthouse.

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Lighthouse by Simon, circa 1965

Lighthouse by my brother Simon, circa 1965

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This morning  I seemed to be mouldering in a puddle – recovering from seasonal flu.  Then I thought of the Lighthouse:  a reflective focus.   Its shaft, its beam, penetrates the ocean depth and crosses the sea.  If I focus on that and give it time, my thought moves from fog into ‘precision tools’, into the quickening of community.   As I open into interior silence, I wait:  have faith: give it space.   The lenses above and below, converge.

click on image to view

 

The lighthouse shaft underwater, releases a flow of strength. Pictures are resurrected, taking on vibrance and meaning.   “May God be resurrected and his foes perish …  (Psalms).  As wax melts before the flame, as smoke is driven by the wind …”

bota-key-14-temperance

 

RESURRECT … and my dark sloth slithers off the branch.  There is a golden sound now in the Archangel pouring quintessential water and fire onto muddy Leo and Scorpio creatures … beneath the shadow of his iridescent wings and rainbow …  dipping his toe in the bottomless brook:  “Guidance is not a mere article of faith.  It is a matter of daily personal experience.”

 

 

 

bota-key-19-sun

When it connects, it feels like scales dropping off as the Sun dawns.  There is a beautiful enigma with the androgyne who dances within the laurel of the World, and with the Children in their field:  they sparkle through the dew.   The smiling sunflowers all (except one – ) turn their faces to the children – the Seed of the Sun.  One sunflower-head watches the Sun, for form’s sake.  The childrens’ whole sexuality is in bud.  My fields are irrigated with the golden flow of their joy.  The world is darkened, but so is the closed interior of the unbroken seed.   The seed breaks into halves and into children.

 

 

In a nutshell, duties to life and community are perceived in a flash, which take time, labour and obscurity to realise.

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The dawn comes.  I have to approach it again and again and again.  To repeat by turning back the page to see what I wrote before – or what anyone else wrote – is not sufficient.  The key is turned afresh, to enlighten.  I have no illusions the enlightenment will last but it doesn’t matter:  it will come again. The Oracle never clones itself.

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child-and-grandmother-2

Child and Grandmother, 2016

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The other 3 Keys (in the sextet above, in this post) are Death, the Star and the Chariot.   Death scythes the fertile ground.  The Star waters it.  The Chariot stands like a hyacinth or … a lighthouse with its keeper inside.

Go into the lamp room with its lenses and reflectors.  It is simple.  Light a candle, light my fire and let it travel across the sea.   Light it with a match or knock a spark from two flints.   The spark is within the stone (I wrote snow), like the flame within the wood, the cream within milk, the Upanishad.   The spark is Netzach on the Tree, the mating game … only connect.

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Netzach, Hod, Temperance on the Tree

Netzach, Hod, Temperance on the Tree

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In the hells on earth, there are gleams here and there, which give an individual  some strength to carry his child or to care for another;  persons leave their homes and go out into the thick of it.  The manna is directed into the core of Hope in the human seed.

What is the Star of Hope?   Hope is not an abstract.  Hope is the capacity to transfigure a dark situation into a light one.   Hope illumines the dark and turgid, and dispels hatred and fear.   One moment I am dead.  The next moment I am alive and kicking.   This is Hope.

This is what is meant by the Star …  the star the Magi followed.  Hope is an irrigation, converting desert into orchard and oasis.  It can begin nowhere else but here.

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Elisa & Mary in Iona - 2016

Elisa & Mary in Iona – 2016

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2-swan-camel

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.

All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012-2017. 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/

 

More Sketches of Beethoven

Beethoven and ... Rostropovich?  I found this forgotten early drawing from the 1970s, while searching for the two which I have lost.  I used to find it 'easier' to draw him than I do now!

Beethoven and … Rostropovich? (circa 1972).  I found this forgotten early drawing from the 1970s, while searching for the two which I have lost. I used to find it ‘easier’ to draw him than I do now! I love listening to the Beethoven cello sonatas.

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Continuing this “Beethoven series” inspired by Elene’s researches :  this post includes some journaling over the weekend, and portraits of the master by others, and from my new sketches.

First: a detail from my “watershed” series of dreams during the 1970s:

September 1976 – from “Paris and the Hollow Way”
(Watershed Tales)

“Smelling the flowers which grow around the end of Boulevard Malesherbes, I see the bright food in the brasseries, the Gaulish striped canopies over smoked glass. Avenues which radiate from this place are planted tree-deep with bouquets gathered this morning from the tart grass; the dew is still upon them – the waters of a river, where the pit of the railway once was
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“And yet this place in Paris has mile upon mile of shattered streets and dirty weathered brick.  The sorrow moves me, through field upon field of unhoused space, like Liverpool after the war.  As far as I see, no man lives here.  It moves me in strange ways.  I discussed these ways with the old hoardings of scarred planks and corrugated iron which give and take along the road. What tragedian devastated this land?

“No man,” they replied.  No man is an island.  But they live and speak.  Their answer is in nomadic ways, in syllables of philosophy I cannot recall.  They are my notice boards, my inner adversities that talk.

“So I came at last to an arrangement with Beethoven, of whom I was very fond.  I found him in a room without much light, and a musty smell … maybe a Viennese cellar during Napoleon’s bombardment?  I agreed to draw a portrait for him of his daughter.  She’s a small child, and her facial features are very dark.  For hours I toiled with each line and contour.  I saw Beethoven’s light within her, her soul so clear where she sat, but I couldn’t get it right.  The expression of her mouth and eyes, came into me, but I couldn’t connect.  I hesitated. I erased and drew, and erased again and drew.  The difficulty stared me in the face like having to learn all over again to walk, and made me cringe with pain.  I struggled to achieve at length an approximation:  my facility is lost, and I forgot the way.  There are no short cuts I can take.”

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The young child Beethoven?
portrait by an unknown artist, discovered in 1972
and … how might he have looked?

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I was reminded of this, because I had rather a struggle to draw Beethoven over the weekend.  I lost two early sketches of him which I like – maybe I gave them away – so I tried to reconstruct them.  The creative process doesn’t always flow.  Beethoven often had titanic difficulty with his compositions, scribbling and shouting and scratching out and searching for what he heard in the rain and the trees, from God.

Beethoven on a walk ... Pastorale

Beethoven on a walk … Pastorale

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Journal 24 July – Beethoven and Vera
He really is around … two new followers to my blog, who write about him and about pianos – did they come in through Vera Moore?

On Emily’s piano yesterday however, the three or four out-of-tune keys were very noticeable, and I couldn’t ride it well;  it was evening after a long tiring day.  When I played, the flowing faculty wasn’t there, and I stumbled along the up-down action.  I rang the tuner:  he said it could be tuned again in two or three months, but if it gets unbearable he will come and see what he can do.  One small consolation:  my own piano – a Spencer upright – is easier!

Strings and hammers - detail from a larger painting

Strings and hammers – detail from a larger painting

It was a revelation for me the day before, that to play Beethoven we must meditate with love: that is, to wait and let him enter.  He reaches the soul universally and constantly regenerates and sprouts runners along the higher astral ground – a hardy perennial.  The perennial is love – the humanitarian love which strove and strode nobly with his wrecked health and domestic furies.

I need to tune into that love, spontaneously or deliberately, to play him at all.  I have to walk with him and feel the rain, meditate and imagine the wild wind in the trees I see, and the noble themes it whispers onto a sodden notebook page.  The love and the divine beauty had to force a way through discordant tinnitus.

Beethoven walk: by Julius Schmid

Beethoven walk: by Julius Schmid

This must have made the silent sound of the outer world unbearably alluring – to see the movement and feel the wet rain.  On his walks the nature devas counselled him: he sang and scribbled and “raved”.  To rave is to be ravished in the elements.  People who knew him recorded the way his face opened into a raptus.  The raptus of old Beethoven fought the daily cacophonies inside his ears, and strode the serene paradox of the late quartets and the Opus 111 Arietta.

I did long ago, a small oil sketch of B walking in the grass hatless – can’t find it yet – did it get left behind at the red hedgehog?  Yesterday it was clear to me that my enormous labour of love at the red hedgehog in 2011 (a small and struggling concert venue), to clean and sand down and varnish the floors which were filthy, was for Beethoven.  I did it for the Peter Donohoe Beethoven series there – hook, line and sinker:  an esoteric assignment if you will.  If I hadn’t cleaned and brightened the floors, that wonderful Beethoven series might not have happened or touched earth there – a peak symbolic moment.  The sublime got through the chaos – the timeless touch spread fore and aft, and struck its Sound and Glory.

Klein, Franz / Micheli: Beethoven-Maske mit Lorbeerkranz, nach der Lebendmaske von Klein

Klein, Franz / Micheli: Beethoven-Maske mit Lorbeerkranz, nach der Lebendmaske von Klein

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As I mentioned Vera Moore above, suddenly my world with her is here too.  She is with me.  She was my piano teacher in Paris in 1965:  her eternal Life in a rickety household, rather like Beethoven’s – but she lived till she was 90:  her strong caress of the keys, like wrapping a baby – her reverent joy – giving birth to her “son of Art” and bringing him up through the French Resistance and after the war:  her powerful and abrasive personality as a younger woman and single mother – I hear again the obstinate ripple of her voice.  It didn’t bother her if her old Gaveau was out of tune – she couldn’t afford the tuner.

Vera Moore when I knew her - this drawing from memory is from the early 1970s

Vera Moore when I knew her – this drawing from memory is from the early 1970s.  I can imagine her sitting with me, and what she might say about this note or that note, wrapping my fingers round it like a baby with a shawl … her way with poetic images and her LOVE … her instruction to play what I am learning, like a chorale, without any inhibitions – sing it inside, with the touch.

I read somewhere that Liszt could draw forth the heart and soul from an out-of-tune instrument and captivate his listeners.  There must be a way of using those odd sounds.

One of Vera’s students helped her to write a piano Method.  I don’t think I heard Vera play Beethoven, but when Beethoven’s window opens in my soul, I may be pretty sure she will come through it as well.  Her gift like his, is a delicate seed of power, grace, humour and peace, in a turbulent nest.

I think Vera taught her piano students the “horizontal” caress which holds and rolls along the white and black keys, and on rare occasions comes through me in a moment of delight (I soon fall off !).  I believe Liszt played like this, glancing sideways with seductive smile (“isn’t this amazing?”); and Paul Roes aims to reconstruct it in his “Music – the Mystery and the Reality“.

Vera Moore in the 1930s - from Winifred Nicolson's  painting of her

Vera Moore in the 1930s – from Winifred Nicolson’s painting of her.  Search ‘vera moore’ on this blog, for my two posts about her.

I do prefer old uneven character pianos to the mechanically-perfect electronic keyboards.  You can hear straight away, even through a high open window.

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A sketch of Beethoven in his teens.  This one 'works' for me - and took just a few minutes.

A sketch of Beethoven in his teens. This one ‘works’ for me – and took just a few minutes.

silhouette of Beethoven at 16

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Here is a timely message from a fellow blogger:

“Draw a circle
place inside of it
every aspect of your
human experience …
all emotions
all actions
all shame and guilt
all the things you would love to forget
and all that you hope
you will never forget.

“Make it a place where all of it fits.
Let them no longer be strangers
to one another.
Let them take off their shoes and stay a while
rub elbows
break bread
toast to one another’s health and long life.

“When everything that you have experienced
is located in one place
you are
finally
‘One with Everything’.”

Charlie Morris wrote this poem … this morning, about everything in his life, the human texture, difficulty and joy, being in this one room unconditionally and inclusively, which is “God”.  It is not spiritual or unspiritual.

So Beethoven poured basins of water over his head to cool the fire of composition.  Now see and breathe interior peace in and as the room.  Nobody is alive without depending on something or someone for their well being.  No one goes it alone.  Look at what I depend on!  If my path with the Inner School was taken away, where would I be?

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Gallery, working from Kloeber and Carolsfeld’s portraits
– click to view

 

I spent the rest of the day trying to draw Beethoven – three more efforts.  It is much more difficult for me than it used to be – and so is playing the piano.  I found my Robbins Landon book which has lots of pictures, and an interesting photoshop idea online, with B’s life mask.  I got very bogged down and stuck.

I also extracted from my 2011 journals, the gist of Peter Donohoe’s Beethoven series at the red hedgehog (zum roten igel in North London) – I might put it in my next post, with my sketches of PD’s master-class.  Then my energy was all gone.

Gallery – click to view

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Gallery

Beethoven kept this painting by Joseph Mahler on his wall throughout his many changes of lodging.  It must have been among his few possessions – apart from the thousands of pages of his notebooks – which survived.  He will have identified particularly with its heroic quality.  Another of his treasured paintings was the one of his grandfather.

I decided to ‘have a go’ with this one, but quickly found the pose too artificial and romantic to reproduce convincingly!  So I switched to the idea of him conducting from the keyboard – keep practicing !   Keep trying  …

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Helen Ede in 1974, on my last visit to her.  She is knitting a sock for 'Old Bonesie', my grandfather.  Through the window you could see the Pentland Hills south of Edinburgh

Helen Ede in 1974, on my last visit to her. She is knitting a sock for ‘Old Bonesie’, my grandfather. Through the window in Jordan Lane, you could see the Pentland Hills south of Edinburgh

I hear the severe ecstasy of my grandmother, Helen Ede – her face and eagerness shaped somewhat like his. She used to play Beethoven’s Waldstein Sonata on her Bechstein … in whose dusky dark tones I explored his slow movements.  When her memory went, or she fell off a note, she would say ‘h’ai’ crossly.

We spoke together about the Arietta in his Opus 111 – after listening to her old record of Claudio Arrau playing it. Her face lit up: I cannot reproduce her voice, but she said something like this:

“… the long trills where the sun comes out.  You have in the beginning an austerity, and through the variation the austerity slowly relents, letting go of its own form, to melt and smile and dance.  You know that place where the dotted rhythm begins to go around, and around, to break it up – dissolving the form into light without ever quite losing it … ?  it falls open and time stops.  It seems to me that through that light, very gradually emerges again the variation.  The theme didn’t quite disappear, but is transcended and transfigured.  Then slowly the bar lines return, and the theme resumes.”

Beethoven in last quartets mode

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Imagining old Beethoven in private, his deaf face, his pain transfigured, alone in that mess of a room, having just poured another bucket over himself … I hear in some of his piano music, the Dionysian cyclic mandala or mantra rhythm, like Dante’s cosmic rose, dissolving into light.

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“Ochh Jane,” says my grandmother in her Scottish-German accent, “Oh what a sight to see.”

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Claudio Arrau 1986: from the record sleeve of Opus 111

Claudio Arrau 1986: from the record sleeve of Opus 111

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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 2012-2014. 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/

Mysteries of Isis – part 6: The Veil

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Continuing with Isis, primordial matrix of humanity :  touching now on the veil.

Annapurna, viewed from the Pass of 27 April

Annapurna, viewed from the Pass of 27 April

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“In 1950, 3 June, they reached the summit of Annapurna and sacrificed to the goddess. He watched his gloves roll away into the abyss.”

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In our stories, Eve passed the primordial knowledge to Adam.  The embryo in the womb is feminine, before she sprouts the differentiation which is male or female.

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the monk within the world 1987

the monk within the world 1987

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A metaphysic is developing –  men fear the way the Great Mother Ge gets her tentacles into them, and so they substituted a “squid economy“, strangling the planet.

In my previous post is a drawing of Adam and Eve:  her eyes and indeed her whole face, are concealed by a rosebud:  Adam (erect) looks at her.

Jacob Boehme wrote some centuries ago (“The Way to Christ”): “It is because mankind are ashamed of their members and nakedness, that they borrow their clothing from the earthly creatures. For this they would not have done, had they not lost the angelical form and assumed that of a beast.  This borrowed clothing, together with the awakened earthliness and subjection to the powers of heat and cold, is a plain and full proof to man that he is not truly at home in this world. For all earthly appetites, cares and fears, together with this false clothing, must perish and be severed from the soul again.”

Boehme goes on to describe how serpentine Satan told Eve “Her eyes shall be opened, that she might taste, prove and know evil and good as he had done”, but did not tell her that “heat and cold would awake in her, and that the property of the outward constellations would have great power over the flesh and over the mind; his only aim was that the angelical image might disappear in her and Adam. For then they would be constrained to live in subjection to the gross earthliness, and the constellations or stars…”

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Kabbalists perceive that God is behind the entire testing process, behind the division of night and day, and behind the creation of woman into that shadow. As woman is Isis, hers is the primal power to dispel the darkness which cloaks her, and in which the gentlemen of the east veil her. The fashion for women to willingly be covered, respecting their spiritual heritage, is also a passing show: her power uncloaked is in the home, to her man and their children, to her sisters and to Allah. The veil protects her in the street.

But as a contemporary symbol, it also casts woman into the shadow – she is not seen, nor does she meet a man’s eyes.   The contemporary symbol conveys a religious tension and its extreme symptom against the feminine – when the veil anagrams subconsciously, to evil – and she, like the magdalene in all cultures, is stoned.

Who is behind the black veil floating and fluttering along the road? She feels secure, safer and at peace with God. Her way of grace is unthreatened. Inside the flowing black veil is her vitality and her lamp.  In the middle ages, when the Christian religious tension was extreme, intelligent women took to the veil to work creatively;  they entered convents and took up positions of artistry and management.

Our Isis is veiled by the night and by the sea. She opens her face to the man who trusts her.

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the veil - shekinah

the veil – shekinah

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Shekinah is the holy place in the temple veil.

The true meaning of jehad is not war.  It is to strive to do good for God.

Dion Fortune’s Moon Magic begins (more or less) with a swiftly walking woman in a black cape, whom the man feels compelled to follow.  She reminded him:

sandeman

In folklore, the Sandman was an enigmatic figure, said to bring good sleep and dreams and also nightmares, by placing sand in the eyes.  The image symbolises the passage of time to death – a bardo or state of consciousness between the worlds.  Mothers would rock the child to sleep:  “the sandman will come for you.”  The Sandman as gate keeper, walks a path by the waters, encompassing a range of archetypes from Cain and Abel to Eve.

Our Mother Isis rules the realm of sleep, the tides of the moon, the dreaming and renewal.

Angels and Queens 1957

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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 2012-2014. 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/

Mysteries of Isis, part 5 – the Cosmic Apple

apples 2

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I am fascinated with ambiguities in Adam and Eve, which fall naturally into this series on Isis.  As with Mother Isis, our attitudes towards Eve were bent to the standards of difficult times in history.

Isis and Osiris are a version of our primordial parents:  they grew together in the womb of God.  Who came first – the womb or the seed:  the chicken or the egg? Were they punished, as tradition tells, or was theirs a natural Kabbalistic “descent” from the higher worlds, into the “ascending” evolutionary animal, vegetable and mineral kingdoms?

hens at glensaugh

Our responses and reactions to the enigma of our original Face, are played out through our relationships and projections onto each other – generation upon generation.

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From some earlier writing:
Consciousness, in its gravitational Fall into a world to see, hear, taste, smell and touch – those five senses across the Apple … needs and seeks a creature’s skin in which to dwell. Creation descending into the creature, encounters the evolutionary process ascending to meet its own potential, or genesis.  As embryos in gestation, we are ourselves as little fish in the womb.  We are the worlds.  We look up to the stars.

Fishes, 1988

Fishes, 1988

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What I see and feel is experiential, relative to my five worldly senses by deduction and belief.  But my perception has not the curve of sub-atomic or galactic Reality.  I live an illusion – an illusion I am able to see.  The slice cut across the apple is not the whole apple.  No:  the whole apple is Above and Below the cross-section with five seeds only, that I see.

Everything – all matter and what matters – evolves towards the nature of its own Beginning. The apple of my eye seeks to know her Self as a whole.  In the Beginning, all was made and seen to be good, like a phrase or symphony long before it is written or played:  the prototype of all that is to be.  The cosmic Apple is lodged in all creation from primordial suns to tiny crystal –  the cosmic Serpent is our DNA:  the ultimate and instantaneous vision of itself.  Thus I am in ascent, through the myriad tapestry of my toil, towards the completion of my eternal Beginning.  I live and travel inside the skin of innumerable creatures, very few of whom look within the …

i eye

Where is my eye in God?  I AM … I am that I am – AHIH ASHER AHIH:  TAT TWAM ASI.   This is yet again a creature’s skin.  Some five point creature or star calls itSelf ADM, generic humanity, and opens its arms to the holy Logos – who am I?  That consciousness in holy Logos, ascends.  It is forming a vessel, a skin or cloak – a veil – of evolution, to receive and welcome That which descends, coming to encounter it from a galactic gnosis opening very far beyond the frame of ADM. 

pencil pentacle

Who, I wonder, ate the apple of That?

In the beginning of itself, there is time no longer. 

From Arcanum Four, 2011

Somerset Levels

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The other day, I found on a shelf The Way to Christ by Jacob Boehme.  It fell open to page 99:  “… It is but One Thing still, only the property of the tincture was divided; the desire of self-love was taken out of Adam and formed into a woman according to his likeness. And thence it is that man now so eagerly desires the matrix of the woman, and the woman desires the limbus of the man – the fire-element, the original of the true soul by which is meant the tincture of fire.  These two were one in Adam, and therein consisted the magical begetting.

Boehme then expounds on sexual guilt and the borrowed bestial form: vanity in Satan’s persuasion. But the above passage is interesting. I do not think that Eve was Adam’s rib, but it suggests (earlier) that Adam’s masturbatory fantasy, or self love (as in the Egyptian and Indian cosmologies) needed a helpmate:

“And then man must be tried, whether he would stand and subsist in his own powers, before the tempter …  a tuned instrument of divine joyfulness for the spirit of God to strike upon. This was tried by that tree, and this severe commandment was added, ‘Thou shalt not eat thereof, for on that day that thou eatest thereof, thou shalt surely die.’

(Adam was excited: what then is “to die”? What should I know?)

“But it being known to God that man would not stand, and that he had already imagined and lusted after good and evil, God said, ‘it is not good for man to be alone, we will make him a helpmeet for him.’  For God saw that Adam could not then generate magically, having entered with his lust into vanity.  Moses has written, ‘God caused a deep sleep to fall upon him, and he slept’; seeing man would not continue in the obedience of the divine harmony in the properties, submitting himself to stand still as an instrument of the spirit of God God suffered him to fall from the divine harmony into a harmony of his own, viz into the awakened properties of evil and good. The spirit of his soul went into these. And there in this sleep he died from the angelical world, and fell under the power of the outward Fiat, and thus bade farewell to the eternal image which was of God’s begetting. Here his angelical form and power fell into a swoon and lay on the ground.”

William Blake - satan watching the caresses of adam and eve

William Blake – satan watching the caresses of adam and eve

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I am reminded of the Lurianic breaking of vessels as the outward Fiat Lux expanded through them. As in the Siva mythology, there is a fall from Timeless – the Un-create – into time, the name and form of creation: the movement of the infinite through the finite: through death the falling fruit, to release the seed. God does not “roll dice”, but opens the widest possibility containing all the aeons: this is the Fruit. God is not a noun, nor even a verb: God IS the galactic Doppler shift in its boundless entirety: the Buddha breath of Tathagata.

In each of us at conception, a galactic core explodes and is born. But we sleep through it, and dream!

Aphrodite Ares Rose

Aphrodite Ares Rose

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“By the Fiat, God made the woman out of him, out of the matrix of Venus, that property wherein Adam had the begetress in himself; and so out of one body he made two, and divided the properties of the tinctures – the watery and fiery constellations in the element; yet not wholly in substance but in the spirit: the properties of the watery and fiery soul.”

The One – the monad – cannot exist alone, it interacts through the passage of Two to be a Triad. What is a triad? – a circuit of electricity. What really is a triad? the entire progenitive history and issue from the primordial pairing, like rivers from a mountain spring – the fountain returns to itself: Hokhmah Binah Tifareth

tree of life spiral

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Here is a story. The cosmic serpent rustled along the ground in the orchard of Paradise. Eve the woman offered Adam fruit – a cleft seed.   Within her moved the ageless knowledge of her sister Lilith, the ocean at night before the breath of JHVH. This passed through Eve into the man, and he rose and went to work in the field.

Eve 2011

Face of Eve, 2011

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I saw through a glass darkly, that Eve grew from Adam’s rib (apparently) near his heart; but her knowledge was older than he is. She embodied his primordial anima. In her knowledge, she and he are one being, undivided: when she passes the knowledge to him, it separates them. There is a conjugal distancing, a mutual appraising: there are beginnings and endings: the tsim tsum rustles – the big bang.

The position of a particle-wave in the Heisenberg principle, is not its movement. It cannot capture the movement. The gap between position and movement baffles theologians and scientists. The big bang is a primary spark of Netzach, when God created a tsim tsum for God to behold God, hence male and female: a dynamic intercourse.

In Boehme’s writing the primordial Adam fell deeply asleep in Eden: he became passive-receptive for God to work upon, fashion and manifest the Left Pillar of the Tree of Life. He became feminine to God – Yin to the Yang;  and thus the emergence of Eve.

Eve's odyssey, 1989

Eve’s odyssey, 1989

We are – relative to galactic reality – deeply asleep. Eve opened her eyes from the sleep of Adam and beheld God creating her form.   Like Enoch, the woman spoke with God, and she was not: yet she was not absorbed into God, but was returned to Adam as a desirable projection of his inner self. And he saw in her, the matrix, the earth, or source: the serpent power. And she saw in him the limbus, the fiery ignition.

Fire is spark and earth is substance becoming. The watery baptism unites them.

Traditionally, Isis is Lilith, the original bride of Adam, whom Eve supplanted. Isis/Lilith is the Great Sea, the matrix of all being before speech, fiat and birth. In Her, the discarnate man was cradled. He had no other being than Her breath and brooding breast: the Sea was dark: the deep over which the lips of Genesis moved to separate the light from the dark. Fiat Lux!

Even the lips are “two”. For something to happen, a “two” becomes “three” – the happening or Word.

Eve grew out of Adam’s rib to manifest and behold as Woman separately: the dream of Adam. Traditionally, Lilith as Eve’s shadow grew bitter, displaced and jealous. Throughout history the Lilith archetype is that region within the male soul which he demonizes and blames – and so do we as women, blame ourselves.

In the womb, there was no separation: Lilith and Adam were One, as were Osiris and Isis. The primitive primate Adam does not forgive Great Mother for turfing him out of the womb to seek a bride.   He knows she is a witch …

A DREAM
A long time ago, I dreamed I was made to go and fight a horse of
hay floating on the ocean.  Here is an extract:
'...With this physical memory, and not caring to look back, 
I reached him again, near the beach. He was still in the sea.  
He had been doing two drawings on pieces of brown cardboard 
now discoloured by the water.

'"Look," he said. The first drawing was a portrait of himself. His
head was tender and childlike, the nose slender and unformed.
He was peaceful and pretty.  This picture of him was held - like
a babe in arms - by the second picture he drew.  Something 
ineffably old, like a carcass or skeleton, lay on a bed, 
disintegrating into a thousand pieces like shattering earthen-
ware.  She laughed her leering head off at herself, and the
drawing of him which she held.  This vessel held him and 
crumbled like a wall. It was horrific.

'The way he'd drawn himself moved me with a strange, complete
pleasure as we stood together in the sea, examining damp bits
of cardboard.  I said to him, "This is how you were when you 
were a little boy, isn't it?"

'What children in the hollow mockery of the witch who labours
around them, wait to be born?  There is no falsehood in the
dear plain face of the child.'

..

Note Boehme said “a woman, according to his likeness”. This suggests more than a mere human pairing: the woman according to his likeness is within him as Lilith, Great Isis, Binah Ge, the Sea.

God does not create what is not there. God shows the form to Adam, and She arises from near his heart, becoming flesh, becoming lovely. The desire to know in substance the Great Circle of good and evil already pulsed in Adam’s heart, when God lifted the night from day.

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Hades carries off Persephone - or Lilith from Eve - into the Underworld.  1957

Hades carries off Persephone – or Lilith from Eve – into the Underworld. 1957

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In the Great Circle is an intuition that Adam’s divine genital desire evolves through Eve and countless human cycles, into the heart centre.

Boehme said Adam lost his angelical power as he fell from the tree through Yetzirah into Assiyah, Earth. The angels and archangels are cosmic conduits: they have only the four upper chakras on the flowering stem, Sun, Venus, Moon and Mercury. Their obedience to galactic Law is seamless: they have no choice. The animals on Earth have the four lower chakras on the root stem – Saturn, Mars, Jupiter and Sun.

Adam’s flute bridged all seven chakras through Sun/heart centre as an instrument: the appearance of free will – the fruit on the ground which perishes and releases seed.

... where the Angel treads: 1988

… where the Angel treads: 1988

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The consciousness which dreamed in eternal Isis awoke in Adam within the earthly orchards of Eve. It was of a different order. It was no longer angelic – it must plough the ground. It was human, the ultimate healing of the primordial sacred wound which yawns among the stars. Our angelic and animal natures rise and fall through the heart: the rising and the falling are waves of the breathing Sea.

Uniting the animal and angelic natures we slowly discover and reveal as we become human, the primordial embrace of love. It falls open. It is as far from the constraint of conventional romantic fantasy, as the ocean from a puddle.   Isis – Binah, Rhea, Ge.

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Fool and Lamb on a Hill, 1988

Fool and Lamb on a Hill, 1988

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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 2012-2014. 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/

Mysteries of Isis – The Squid and the Lighthouse

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Child mother Isis, 2003

Child mother Isis, 2003

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Part Three of my meditations with Isis of the ancient world.

The Squid & Lighthouse!  Rather a fine name for a pub?   Lighthouses, helping the ships at sea, and sweeping their beam through field, tide and rocky cliffs at night, fascinate small children. These two early drawings of Isis at the seaside in Cornwall show also the sun’s path of light :

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I am trawling Dion Fortune’s Sea Priestess and Moon Magic, developing fresh insights as they arise, and some of my own source writings.

Today I ask – how to confront the Shadow?  Bathing at present in Her name – allowing all my paths to lead back to Isis – I am aware that Her worship in the ancient world branched into some dark cults.  There are whispers of human sacrifice and corruption, priestly megalomania, sexual power-games and the cold, oceanic indifference of Herself to the human drama.  In many ways she came to represent the shadow-feminine archetype which men fear and therefore persecute – La Belle Dame Sans Merci.  Interwoven with Lilith, the shadow bride of Adam, Isis in our collective underworld is dark and thirsts for flesh.

Here is a link to the subconscious and psychological impact of the Lilith Archetype.

Travelling to the Moon’s dark side, I shall hitch a ride today, on some earlier visualisations, or path-workings.  They arise spontaneously in my journal.  In my experience, the way to get to grips with Shadow, is to invoke a higher frequency, or conscious vibration.  This is the lamp which, penetrating the shell like a neutrino, reveals the shadow’s original face, which is light.

Yod and magic portals - bring Isis to earth - 2002

Yod and magic portals – bring Isis to earth – 2002

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A friend came yesterday to tell me about Paul Levy’s book “Dispelling Wetiko the curse of evil” – and I just made a typo:  as evil is live spelled backwards, for “curse” I wrote “cures”.  Similarly the anagram for “sacred” is “scared”…

Kochtopus

The Squid Economy – “Kochtopus“. Is this what I am … ?

Ursa Major

Ursa Major, 1988 … Or am I this?

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Children are abused in the satanic mill: extreme religionists indoctrinate and turn young inexperienced souls and orphans of war into bombs and toxic weapons.  Our racial affliction is plain to see in the global “Squid economy” – in media degradation and the gaming culture, in the catastrophic greed of rain-forest destruction, in pollution, human rights violation and abuse of all kinds. Many of us feel overwhelmed, and wear despairing makeovers, yet in a sense – innocence? – the herd remains vitally, sweetly human in the dirty water.

There are more unselfish activists than at any other period in history. They work as antibodies in the zones of war and viral disease.  More souls are embodied – young and old, traumatised and serene –  during our present era than ever before.  The  Great War in the twentieth century mowed a huge crop, who are now reborn and damaged.  In other periods of history, there was a different ratio of those incarnate to those in astral latency. It is as if the polar hourglass nowadays allows the whole of history to descend and materialise;  for our world is changing.  Some things which are as they always were, are no longer hidden.  The realities are forced into our everyday consciousness.

In my view, metaphysical evil has no separate cause. From the root of all Being, there grew an illusory forgetting:  and the forgetfulness develops a kingdom whose subjects repeat, “Be thou my good”;  whose influence grips and fascinates our unconscious.   However, few can speak with authority on this topic unless they survived the concentration camps.

I feel the upsurge of visible evil is temporary in our evolutionary humanquake. With Pluto in Capricorn (2008 -2024), It all comes out, it emerges onto the surface by the force – the magma – of the Light dug under it. Call a spade a spade!

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welly-boots, 1988

Get your welly-boots on – go for it! 1988

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Each of us is trying to cope with some degree of outrage, through the variety of our Karmic lenses. It may afflict us physically, psychologically, spiritually, environmentally and through the world-channel. Keep the lighthouse beam steady, and keep the crystal candle-power rotating through the storm-tossed night.

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priest and oak

priest and oak

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I knew an old Dominican priest, Father Alan Cheales.  He was a lighthouse-keeper.  He used to say, the hands of the clock stand at near midnight, but no amount of darkness can extinguish a candle when lit.  Locally I watched over the years, a friend’s resurrection from suicidal alcoholic. The Squid didn’t get him, because the steady sweeping of the lighthouse beam through his coastline illumined the  power and faith of his inner continent.

I completed some years ago, my magnum-opus, The Masters’ Eye, which invokes an open place of meeting. Using the book (at long last !!) as an oracle, it opened at page 109, “The House of God”– a transept or interior temple, intersecting vertical and horizontal beams.

Star of David, Cross of Yeshua, Crescent of Islam

Star of David, Cross of Yeshua, Crescent of Islam

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It is also the Qabalistic Cross – masculine and feminine. (I will post those pages later, in the Isis series). The focus is on interior temple building, along the ground-plan of sacred geometry. There is a visualisation –  a Gothic arch or hyacinth head rises through the draft sketch or design of vesica pisces: the Tree of Life, a living Yantra lingum. It tumbles me into the font of the blessed. It rings like a bell note.  It does not advise on life chimera, but it informs and transforms them vitally from within. I trust the sacrament is carried into life along my veins, as along the arms of a tree by osmosis. This was always my aim, and continues so.

Sani  detail

“The grace and proportion of the building, altering the consciousness that enters it, is an echo only of the Light which was its inspiration. It is the ripple or projection upon the sensory field, of all time, all space, and simultaneously it is neither. Nowadays a hologram is created by projecting laser beams to cross each other at right angles. An image is created in space when the mutual interference-pattern of their rays precisely fits.”

The Master’s Eye, 2009

Yantra Tree

Enter the Body of Light. The principle is simple – I open a book, it is flat, but the designs on the pages are cut so they stand up when the book opens, and I enter Notre Dame of Isis at Chartres.   I feel at once when I enter the dimension of the inner Temple, and am awakened into the height, depth and breadth.   No ready solution comes for my surface dilemmas, but none are needed; they are in God’s hands.

maps of Virgo constellation, stellar and on earth

maps of Virgo constellation, stellar and on earth

I am deep in the underground circular Cavern of Isis, the heartbeat of love.  I studied some inner pathworkings with the Pharos school twelve years ago;  they are found in a flash – a long rock passage from behind the altar’s veil led to this sub-terranean chamber; a green snake mosaic spirals three times around the floor’s circumference. Be seated here with other celebrants, to pray with peace, to stand against abuse, to illumine the obscurity.

Table round, companions of light, 2002

Table round, companions of light, 2002

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The chamber is octagonal. The rock walls are plain but pregnant. The presence of naked Black Isis is massive and elemental in the rock. In her lap, I bathe with my astral lover in Yesod. The male-female filament is spun, whose Light ascends as gossamer to the Lamp. It is the “pith practice”.   Keep invoking this dimension with the tidal fountain breath.   As the physical pattern becomes more deeply  in-formed: the soul’s hologram alters.

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I have Tarot Key 12 in my inner eye as well – the Well, through which my surrender to truth exquisitely occurs.  The Hanging Man is believed by many, to portend a great evil.  In fact it pictures a “reversal” or return – a completion in the alchemical Great Work.  Essentially we are born head first into earth, and tread the skies.

Dion Fortune’s “Moon Magic” awakens my muse.  The petals in my brittle life are prosaic, but from far behind them in the continental hinterland, come the prompts and procedure of the Rose – the integrative awakenings, the ripple, the pulse of Isis.

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I saw in the paper, the army in the ME is named as isil – not isis.   What do these letters stand for?  Here is a link which discusses the abbreviations and their semantics – ignoring of course, the human collective dimension in the western world, which is Isis. When hatred is injected into “Isis” from whatever viewpoint, we should realise that the feminine as a whole is targeted – as those medieval organisations and inquisitions set out to do – and we should watch whereof we speak. What is?

Read the word-sounds – how “Isil” and “evil” terminate Isis and Eve.

I believe that more effective nowadays than group ritual, is to illumine the seed-tendencies within myself, to cease colluding with them unconsciously.

However, in 2001 or 2002, a group of senior light-workers went into “a region where the eye of evil weeps blood” on the astral plane.  They stabbed its heart to turn it round and restore Kether. Within three weeks of this overdue intervention, German scientists invented a cyberspace technique which can target any website in the world that hosts neo-Nazi symbols.  This was not conclusive – it must be repeated, at whichever level we recognise our slave mentality and take responsibility for it. With the will to freedom, a way is found, whether with others or in solitude.  In my view, we are never alone:  we witness the death throes of the venom’s lashing tail.  It is a paradoxical privilege to endure it for our generations, as millenia of collective Karmic atrocities work their way through the Shadow into the light, and are dismantled.

To dispel the dark, we find and illumine our way – we learn to detach from our own drama into compassion for the bigger picture.  To turn it around:  “Let obscurity fly from thee …”

dim and sainted window, alchemical stained glass in Chartres

dim and sainted window, alchemical stained glass in Chartres

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Some of the thoughts in this post awoke through reading Paul Levy’s recent article “The Kabbalah’s Remarkable Idea(www.awakeninthedream.com), I recommend it for an exceptionally clear exposition on the paradox of good with the evil impulse.  He is the author of “Dispelling Wetiko – Breaking the Curse of Evil” and “The Madness of George W Bush – a Reflection of our Collective Psychosis“.

According to Paul Levy, the practice of “Tikkun” in Kabbalah “transforms the impulse within ourselves in the individual recognition that the world is and always has been a pure spiritual reality.  The inner and outer worlds, like a dream, are seen to be reflections of each other.”  He makes the essential point that the evil impulse is a charade, with an outstanding capacity to obscure what is Real. Deep inside the broken shells – the Qelipoth – is the spark of God to redeem. The evil impulse tests and develops our sinew of Light through “grace under pressure”.  There is always some issue to value and wrestle with, in our lives.

Our world as a whole, struggles in a Qelipoth shell which paradoxically empowers the great bodhisattvas. It tests the psychological muscle of Sun and Moon – our ancient and eternal Osiris and Isis.   According to the 16th century Lurianic vision, the nature of evil arises from a shattering of the vessels by the tsim-tsum radiation – what we call the big bang.  The big bang is not a historical event:  it is timeless, through all time – it is NOW.  Our broken subjectivities suffer an ontological “separateness” and a longing to return.  From this derive our competitive compulsions of alienation – disordered movements of the centrifugal force through centripetal formation.

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cornwall 2011 427

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Embracing all this, God timelessly beholds God, creating a spatial interval for time and space to be. God beholding God in every hologram of the mineral, plant, animal and human soul, inspires an “apart” which yearns for union: the asymmetry of our biosphere and of seeds of love, in the primordial wound.   In the Lurianic vision, we co-create with God, beholding God by trying to heal what we are:  the opening seed.  This too shall pass:  this too is God.

Luria lived in Poland and died at forty:  his descendants, the rabbis of joy, practice tikkun – they co-create with God.  They dance and pray and carry the flame.

Chabad at prayer

Chabad at prayer

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The disordered expression of centrifugal force through centripetal formation, as seen in the fragmenting islands and ambitions of our world today, has at its living core the unbroken tidal breath of Hokhmah, Binah on the Tree – our Father and Mother whose Child is born to converge the living Triad of the Spirit: Tifareth.  Hokhmah is Wisdom. Binah is Understanding. Tifareth is Beauty; the heart conscience brings the primordial parents together. With this ring I thee wed. With my body I bless thee. With our child the fruit is given.

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Arcanum 20 judgement

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My way in the obscuration, is to scribe through Daat, whatever transfigures the feelings and thoughts of the night which arise each morning – my lighthouse beam.

Alchemy Eagle Daat detail

In Daat, the Sefira of “unknown cognition”, an open book rests on an eagle’s wings. I can’t see or read a single word in it, for they are of Light, JHVH.   Beriah the World of Creation does not explain. Beriah is the revelation. The servant writes. A monastic scribe patiently illumines a script of the lightning flash as it flickers over sea cliffs in the night: Scripto-Tetragrammaton.  Awakening my interior contact with these strata, is my preparation and my prayer.

Orpheus - November 1987

Orpheus – November 1987

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salamanders

salamanders

In the centre of the Floor of Isis is a source of light – very strong light, like a magnesium flare. What are the salamanders? They are the deva spirits of the fire.  Their elemental counterparts are gnomes, undines and sylphs-of-prana.  Their appearance in the flicker-flame is serpentine and lizard-like. Receive the warmth and brilliance of this light. With the Companions seated in the octagonal cave – or is it hexagonal? – our individual third-eye beams are directed into the centre lamp of Isis. Our concerted focus “delivers  from evil”.  To see the phenomenon, is to dismantle it. Turn it around, and live! – as Dante did when he put Lucifer into reverse, and flew out through purgatorio into the white rose of paradise.

Our unconscious and disordered impulses cluster to each side of the Tree, to suck the polarity excess or imbalance. They crave the Tree’s conscious heart, of which they are deprived: the Qelipoth have no centre. They are adept persuaders with our spiritual belief systems, market forces and political tyrannies. They are subtle gourmets for the threshold of awakening – they savour the souls who are honeyed there, or who are “star pupils” and strive for leadership. Their weapon of enticement is glamour.  They hunger for something which no longer concerns an evolved spirituality.

100426-goldman-sachs-vampire-squid

Protection from the Squid economy evolves through a lack of personal ambition, lack of desire for glamour. Then the Squid – for all its intellectual power and persuasion – can find nothing to get hold of, nothing to inhabit it. It is better to see the cobra in the room than to trip over it in fantasy. Use the plain nuts and bolts of psychology! “You must throw yourself in.” No guru can spoon it to you.

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“Then the old man of the Earth stooped over the floor of the cave, raised a huge stone from it and left it leaning.  It disclosed a great hole. 

“‘That is the way,’ he said.
“‘But there are no stairs!’
“‘You must throw yourself in.  There is no other way.'”

George  Macdonald, The Golden Key

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There is the story of supping with Satan. All the spoons were too long to self-feed the delicious feast, and everyone starved. At last they learned to turn the spoons to feed one another – for Lucifer taught them the lesson of life.

Lucifer – Satan – was and is the Bearer of Light. We are dark outside, but comely within.

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Aphrodite - 1992

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**

Unfortunately I lost the website for the photos take in Chartres, above.

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 2012-2014. 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/

Mysteries of Mother Isis – Birth of Venus

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Shepherdess

Shepherdess

The second in a series of explorations – ad lib – towards the Isis archetype.
I often wake up wondering – what should I say or tell you: what should I ask or risk, what is my responsibility? HONESTY – which is proper?

Actually, I don’t know. My belief is not the “right” one and I cannot be honest enough to cover all contingency.  Let go, listen and keep silent. How to turn the event which Divine Providence holds? When the truth is ripe and ready to be said, speech drops into the right order – ignoring my hope and rehearsal. Let it go.

Alchemy - Heleen's story of the little crow and the eagle

Alchemy – Heleen’s story of the tired crow and the eagle’s strength and the holy city: “How do I know what I see is true?”  “Start from the premise AS IF everything you see is true, instead of your usual assumption that it is not.”    With un-effort, grace, the fountain upward river flows down the mountain – crow flies, crow sees.

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My daily journal is a prelude or preamble to life as lived. When I’m out there talking to life, I cannot copy my prelude with my tongue and throat. Writing is a diving board into the heart. Talking is the swim. My everyday relationships swim, and try not to hit the rocks which the diver sees clearly from above. That is why I get anxious – the surface tension.

This is important to realise, because it is a PATTERN. The patter of my little feet is a pattern, a self maintenance.

Bunny hide and seek with the magidim

Bunny hide and seek with the higher Self

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Communion is relationship. Writing is a communion of active and receptive poles in my inner dialogue, a warm electro-magnetic circuit: a secret inner lover. Being in the world, I face persons’ rugged rocks and unknown territory, with my unknown territory, and often shrink. When I meet Dr Livingstone “stepping out of the jungle gloom” (Moody Blues, 1970s), such moments are glorious. But mostly it is interestingly difficult to part my waves of bamboo and chattering monkeys. Progress is slow.

I grasped a lifelong patter clearly this morning – where is it? I was reflecting how important all my creative work is to me. I am sure it must be preserved and transmitted “to help others” – the landscape of my er – enlightenment.

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But – it occurs to me – what gives my light priority over your lighthouse?

The lighthouse is shorthand. Not only a man’s little lighthouse; it is each soul’s private inner world of which they are the lookout and keeper of the lamp: our allocated portion of the Infinite. Regardless of life’s puddles of hard set mud, each individual is a universe, a watery surface tension bonded and in communion with every single other in the deep.  Regardless of the general gangster mentality we suffer in the street, we are the Temple. We are the human Template.

Thou art:  I am.

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J.Krishnamurti at Brockwood, 1974

J.Krishnamurti at Brockwood, 1974

Such thoughts, incessantly regurgitated and delivered through my journal, are I believe, a  transmission. Each time this realisation comes, it is fresh. As I learned with Krishnamurti, the inner human has no set mould. It overcomes conflict, every moment. It shatters the tower with the moving wave, the unbroken circle of the tide in and out. Each time K spoke, he sat on his hands and searched his way through the conflict, for the first time. We are not set like jelly. We are living, asymmetric transmitters of the discovery – “out of the jungle gloom”.

Why do I have these urges – to transmit? I feel like a cormorant storing fish in my throat to feed my young. It was always an urgency, since I was very small. OK, it is the artist’s creative urgency, or it is the magid in the higher, deeper world behind my spine.  I am trying to break free of my walls, or soften them.

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Emily

Emily

This new pastel drawing of Emily is rather china-doll: my reaction is to think what her cher ami would say (who requires photographic likenesses), and to be judgmental; but my liberation is to view an appearance along the way, a supple way shedding skins like a river-snake. Drawings are expressions coming through, and this one slightly romanticised, makes her younger, her hair is not right, but her eyes are strong.

When I began it here at home, I danced as in the old days, the energy of creation with my leonine Liszt on the gramophone. I went to see Emily yesterday, and tried to remember to give her room. We discussed Jonathan Dimbleby’s biography of Prince Charles, and the current human lemming tendency with the deep. Stop butting in. Why do I think I am right, why do I think I must say something? Why not hear and learn, why not give her space and freedom to search and be herself?

We also discussed how unpleasant it is to have her carers put on her makeup and mess her hair, their blind fingers … I mentioned my grandmother’s tiny touches and fragrances of rouge in little jars, and how she removed more than she put on, leaving the essence.  Emily is pleased about her new red frock and laughed when I called her a scarlet woman, but she hasn’t tried it on yet. She mentioned she got into trouble at the weekend, for complaining about her Sunday lunch. I said I got rather a mouthful  as well.

THE PATTERN – I saw this clearly through all my life, and I stand at a threshold to be delivered from it – I stand in the doorway. What is it?

The key to the door of dreams - use it (1987)

The key to the door of dreams – use it (1987)

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Stepping back, I saw my, her, their, your … limited – blinkered – view we have of each others’ commodious priority and stress. I saw how we enclose and judge and distort it –  like the church did in history, and the militant extremists do now. I start to give up my notions and that is a relief.  I wrote the other day in my journal about Botticelli getting influenced by Savonarola in his later work. I saw this superficially. Now I see what it must feel like – the truth – to have these tight, flowing demons surface through my art and speech, inspiring fear, commanding obedience. He is being true to his inner anxiety, and Savonarola is the cloak.

I wonder if I was Botticelli. I can be whomever I like.

sketch sandro botticelli

sketch sandro botticelli

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Everything I say about transmission through Daat and the benefit of my enlightenment and labour to humanity, is conditioned by my personalised obsession to live, to survive, to be justified (Yesod). It is an idea I espouse, to embody my meanings, and to justify the time I spend  in my temple of Isis, writing and working things out.

This is not intellectual.   When I write and the continents start to join, very deep feelings of unconditional love are stirred. Love has its own law: the law of cosmic love, the soul law. It is a FEELING. I love to describe it, but the feeling is more real than any verbal poetry. Verbal poetry caresses the feeling, and slides away off it, like seawater off a whale, or pilot fish around a shark: the foam marbles the wave. The FEELING has no social code, for it is of the deep, regenerative ocean. The feeling is Aphrodite-Isis – Botticelli’s birth of Venus coming in to land – the land rushes to cover her nakedness with a flowery cloak.   Good heavens!

And why not draw/copy those wonderful figures who flank Her? She came in with the tide, on a shell, on the froth of the sea – the froth of Uranus’ dismembering, releasing sperm. She is the linga of Uranus.

birth of venus

I am moved by this archetype whenever I tune into painting or drawing in a special way with music. I feel her nakedness like a whale, and am discharged like lightning.

It is the Kabbalistic lightning flash to earth.

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tidal, cornwall 2011

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This is not where I planned to go this morning. I tapped the membrane, and this is truth. In the Greek mythology, Chronos – Saturn as Time – cut off the creative organ of his father Uranus, and it fell into the sea and all the blood turned into white foam; and tritons bore the naked form of Aphrodite and her copper tresses to the beach on an oyster shell.   Male sexual arousal is transposed into the feeling in the tip which receives and is feminine. My birth chart has Venus opposite Uranus – in Seal of Solomon’s resonance.

birth chart

Where I planned to go, is why these images are important to me and fill me with life’s certainty and wonder: my obsession with them. They are tremendously clear to me, but my language with them is not easy for others to engage with. Be thankful I have the liberty to exercise this language at home; and to offer it back to the gods.

hermes aphrodite

..

 

I think I wanted to say, that all my life I am convinced (whenever the archetype surfaces) that it is RIGHT: yet it doesn’t fit into social or moral code. I keep it cloaked – but is it right, relative to others’ sense of rightness? I can grope towards spilling beyond boundaries in a self-realised, ontological way – inner freedom – but navigating it with others who are also right, is the Karmic setup.  We all are right.  We all have this feeling.

I want to “help others” but the attention to my inner housework is stronger. The artist’s necessity is stronger.  The whale moves on !

Gaia covers Aphrodite with earth and flowers.  Wild, wonderful and startling is the pagan flow of the birth of Venus!  How difficult it is to "copy" the genius of Botticelli's anatomical and gestural distortions.  My Isis begins to stir and to awake.

Gaia covers Aphrodite with earth and flowers. Wild, wonderful and startling is the pagan flow of the birth of Venus! How difficult it is to “copy” the genius of Botticelli’s anatomical and gestural distortions. My Isis begins to stir and to awake.

..

The patter of my little feet is a pattern, a spin, a self maintenance. I pasted this sentence again from earlier, for it was about to deliver. Where was it leading me? Accusations of selfishness …  relationships are vulnerable, and make others vulnerable.   Is this the way in which – through private relationships within the clan – sexuality became a hidden, sacred space? The sacrament is kept, to guard against invasion and injury.  Writing music with it, we sought “the Isis tone”.

This theme runs through Dion Fortune’s “Moon Magic“:  priests and priestesses serving Isis, encountered the living Mystery in the cave beyond the village, where the lamp is kept. They found they wronged themselves and Isis if they did not honour and explore the feeling.  It didn’t fit with anything the clan does, so they kept the secret. There were terrible penalties for relationships beyond the pale. Yet these relationships nourished the life force of the clan.  They became a shrine, engendering respect and sensitivity. This is an opinion; but it is more than an opinion. It acts through visualising.  An evolutionary “tantra” touched the hologramic wave-pattern of human existence. If we were bearers, we would try to handle it with respect and delicacy, so it doesn’t just splash around in itself.  Nature rises as a passing need in a little lighthouse, and delivers to a woman a white letter, and passes on; and as the woman reads it, she smiles inside.

This opens another image – my open book in Daat in the Tower of alchemy; and how its pages shine without a single word.

Alchemy - the eagle book in Daat

Alchemy – the eagle book in Daat

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My writing awakes the Fountain’s pithy clarity and creed from within, and it comes all the way up the centre stem of the Tree like sap and fountains to the fertile orchards around. It is again the Uranian linga.

How gentle this Kundalini is!  Kundalini is the life force. This is in my belief system and my code.  Look always at what is meaningful, alive and loving. Yogic methods are shed, they were useful but become irrelevant (as Parker Stafford said) when the Feeling is alive and vibrant. It needs no fireworks – it rises and falls like a barometer. The Alchemical Child has no words to say or read, but was and is written down through a complex maternal capillary of images and fire-screens.

At this point, mind stops in the summit of the mountain: wonder. “Above us there was nothing!”  And I feel the white pith channel all the way down into the ground, the lotus stem and muddy roots. I am still. Butterflies surround me, but I am in the core of the world: mans’ seed in woman’s cave.  Be still and know I am.

 Arcanum 21 world

Even this is a belief: for beliefs when strongly held, feel good and secure. Advaita teachings recommend to discard each vessel up the mountain of Enquiry into consciousness. The paradox is, that as each vessel rolls away, another and more vibrant one forms from the deep … to spill and spell the Same Thing … the infinite adaptability of the One Thing.

Arcanum 6 Lovers

Then the way is not to cling to any of them, but espouse the lovers’ space through which they rise: the sport of the Self.   Ascend Annapurna.

Annapurna, 1950

Annapurna, 1950

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I think the light through the clouds I am getting is that we all act strangely with each other, and tend to make snap judgements when we observe this. We say, that is wrong or right or peculiar, because we have tunnel vision – we see a fragment or an edge through the keyhole, and interpret it in ourselves or others – so as to affirm our own ground.

Whereas, persons are usually in a long term private dilemma, something valuable to which they apply heart and soul. This is the terrain I do not know about, and peer through my tinted spectacle frames – as we all do.

spectacles

The way here, is to contemplate the situation without opinion, as if it were an extraordinary portrait in a gallery – engaging with her story –  and fling wide the door.

Reality isn’t a raincloud over her, but sun rays and a tree;  she is running somewhere between her boyfriend and a buddha in the morning.  Keep it open.

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Tunnel vision - open wider!

Tunnel vision – open wider!

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..

..

**

Dion Fortune’s Meditations with Isis

 

looking for doris

Looking for Doris – cover for the novel by Barbara Brown

Who is Isis?  Are we blind and deaf to the primordial feminine archetype which powered the ancient world?

Through ignorance of history and our roots, her Name is pasted onto an extremist sect and its atrocities against the hated female soul, against Gaia Earth. Similarly, the Vedic solar swastika and other divine symbols were pasted into politics and nationalism – an adulteration of higher resonance.

Do we live in a turning point of extremes?  What can we do ?

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Yazidi refugees

Yazidi refugees

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I am not sure yet how to handle the Isis resonance with the popular label on the Islamist State army, who target womanhood and ancient history. I want to remind you who pick up and read my scroll, of the Goddess, and also of the deep Islamic meanings:  adaptation and surrender.   I want to help invoke Her within our home fires, our powers of integrity, compassion and reason.

I wonder about Her reaction to the militant blasphemy – she is tidal in the collective unconscious – it could suddenly turn. In the world’s warp and weft of Karma and Dharma, the suffering might change, but not in a way which is limited to our understanding and expectation.  We need to stretch our canvas wider.  Keep the heart centre open, for light to enter.

Priestess and Strength, 2 & 8 - Version 4

My direct experience of life complements the occult disciplines of the 1930s, (which are described in detail in Dion Fortune’s Moon Magic). As Gareth Knight has said, the dispensation evolves: for contemporary emergencies, doors which were closed, are now open for business in the Aquarian age’s pangs of birth.

There is Black Isis who is primordial, and White Isis who rules the hearth and the way of birth. I work and live with White Isis, and am aware with her Shadow. The following extracts from Dion Fortune’s Sea Priestess form a preliminary in Her invocation: we begin with the home sacrament – the truth in our relationships. The Isis archetype is tidal – the tiny lunar ripple moves across continents. Nothing can change the world without beginning Here.

It is proper, to re-invoke Isis, in our cellular memory:  to imagine and positively picture her, to return her to life and power … in the way we see our Mother, Great Isis, Star of the Sea, guardian of gestation, childbirth and the Mysteries.

Right on cue, this postcard just arrived from my sister who is travelling in Italy:

botticelli postcard

This is Isis,  looking like my grandmother, firm as a rock.  Botticelli who painted her many times joyously, fell under the banner of Savonarola, a religious extremist; his later paintings became tense, agitated and disordered – neurosis of the denied feminine.  Christianity was an international terrorist during the medieval flowering into Renaissance.  It held the wealth of nations; and alchemy went underground.

To honour Isis, I will illustrate some lengthy extracts from Dion Fortune’s novel, The Sea Priestess.  These are just a taster of the book’s beauty and depth, which is well worth several good reads!   It and her other novels are published by the Society of Inner Light – curators of the School which Dion Fortune founded, between the world wars.  The Sea Priestess was written in 1935, and one of its aims is to resurrect the vital marriage between man and woman, which convention and the church had atrophied.

She wrote:  “‘The Mystical Qabalah’ gives the theory, but the novels give the practice.  Those who read the novels without having studied the Qabalah will get hints and a stimulus to their subconscious.  Those who study the Qabalah without reading the novels will get an interesting intellectual jigsaw puzzle to play with, but those who study the ‘Mystical Qabalah’ with the help of the novels, get the keys of the Temple put into their hands.  As Our Lord said, ‘Know you not that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit?'”

Dion Fortune said of herself, “It has often been said of me that I am no lady, and I have myself had to tell the Secretary of a well-known club which craved my membership, that I am no gentleman, so we will leave the mystery of sex wrapped in decent obscurity, like that of the parrot.”

Dion Fortune in 1927

Dion Fortune in 1927

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Meditations from “The Sea Priestess” by Dion Fortune

Wilfred, an estate agent, becomes acquainted with – and fascinated by – an enigmatic woman who calls herself Vivien le Fay Morgan.  He finds an old fort on the headland, which she decides to live and work in as her temple;  he has the place repaired, paints sea-scapes on the interior walls, and his soul begins spontaneously to open.  I have numbered these extracts:  it is good to read them slowly, to savour each one, but it may also be rewarding to scroll and alight among words and images.

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(1)

I let my mind range beyond time to the beginning.  I saw the vast sea of infinite space, indigo-dark in the Night of the Gods; and it seemed to me that in that darkness and silence must be the seed of all things.  And as in the seed is infolded the future flower with its seed, and again, the flower in the seed, so must all creation be infolded to infinite space, and I along with it.

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pathway, cornwall 2011

pathway, cornwall 2011

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(2)

I woke up at dawn, and saw a glorious pathway of pale gold leading along the wave-tops. There was something unearthly about the complete emptiness that one looked out on to through that window in the pale light of dawn.  

I could see no land from my bed, but only the glittering waves with the shadows still in their hollows, for the light was low.  And in that hour, freshly wakened from sleep, I saw things differently from the way I had ever seen them before.  I saw them not as short chains of cause and effect, whose connections one could not see beyond a few moves, which is what life usually looks like, but as large tracts of influence into which one could enter or which one could avoid, and it was the bias of one’s own nature which determined entry or absence.

waves, cornwall 2011

waves, cornwall 2011

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(3)

They hailed the sea as the oldest of created things, older even than the hills, and the mother of all living.  But they bade the sea remember that the moon is the giver of magnetic life, and that it was from the moonlight on the sea that living forms arose.  For the sea is formless, but the magnetic moon is the giver of form to the life of the waters.

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Moon over Conway Col, Karakorum, photo by Fosco Maraini

Moon over Conway Col, Karakorum, photo by Fosco Maraini

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(4)

Morgan le Fay as remote as the moon, was a lot more to my liking than she would have been mending my socks; for then I kept my dream of moon-magic and sea-palaces, and had for my love a princess of the powers of the air, and all this would have turned to dust like Dead Sea fruit had she degenerated into flesh and blood.

Morgan, by letting me care for her without fear or favour, and by letting her womans’ magnetism flow out towards me unchecked, gave me, though I never laid a finger on her, what is lacking in many marriages.

Mother Isis of the Moon, 2015

Mother Isis of the Moon, 2015

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(5)

Morgan le Fay had taught me that things cook quite differently over different kinds of fire, and that a gas-oven can never take the place of bright wood-embers that diffuse a soft lambent heat instead of the dry harshness of gas. Then, she said, there were different kinds of woods, and for some dishes nothing but coals of juniper would serve, and told me the old rune:

IMG_2712

Double eagle salamander

 

Take two twigs of the juniper tree.
Cross them, cross them, cross them.
Look in the coals of the fire of Azrael –

A woman who knows the arts of the moon-magic can compound a very curious elixir for a man’s drinking. There is a virtue in her hands that passes into the food. I would fire a cantankerous cook if I had to live on dog biscuits for the rest of my days, for everything she touches she poisons for a sensitive person.

Next day I awoke at dawn and went out on to the point. I saw the fog roll back as the sun came up. A light fitful wind came in from the open sea and pushed it back in great wreaths, and the sun shone down out of a cloudless sky of palest autumn blue and caught the little waves that followed in the wake of the wind. All the sea was a-sparkle with pale gold, and the fog, snowy white, lay along the coast in a bank that hid the land. It was as if all the world had sunk in the sea and only the high sea-down remained.

I promised myself that Morgan le Fay should soon have her fire of sweet woods. I knew where I could lay my hands on cedar logs, for one had blown down near us in a summer storm; sandalwood was to buy at a price, and juniper grew on the hills behind the town. Yes, we would light a Fire of Azrael before we were very much older, and I would look into its coals and see the past.

All that day I worked on the second panel. I painted the rift in the mist and the pale sun coming through, and the sickly silver sea that heaved so slowly. And down the sea-lane thus opening came the shade of the Flying Dutchman; a ship of antique shape, her sails hanging aslant; her ropes trailing in the water; and on her high forecastle a great barnacled bell that had been sunk long centuries in deepest ooze. Slow swirls of water followed her forefoot, and through them showed the faces of drowned mariners who clutched at her stem as they went by. And some of them had no faces, for like the poor mooncalf, they had gone down into deep water and been made one with the sea snakes.

Morgan le Fay did not altogether like these things. She said – had she got to live with this picture, for it was terrible? And I said, “You have chosen to live with the sea, Morgan le Fay, and the sea is terrible. Perhaps some day I who love you will be like these things without faces.”

And she looked at me strangely, and I said, “But meanwhile I have today.”

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priest of the moon - sphinx, 2003

priest of the moon – sphinx, 2003

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(6)

She told me how, through her acquaintance with the Priest of the Moon who had come to her in the crystal, she had learnt a strange lore, lost since the world grew wise, or thought it did. This was the inner, intuitive wisdom of the ancients and of primitive people to this day.

She said how the soul was of ancient lineage, coming to earth again and again, learning the lessons of earth and finally winning to freedom; and there were some souls that having no more need of the lessons of earth, came not to learn but to teach, and she believed she was one of these. They were not, she said, of ordinary birth, but magically incarnated, biding their time till conditions were right, and then slipping in. It was the mingling of Breton and Welsh that had made the conditions wherein the strange soul that was hers, could come …

priestess of Black Isis, 2002

priestess of Black Isis, 2002

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(7)

“In my dedication to the moon and the sea,” said Morgan le Fay, “I had chosen the part that was passive, and I had to await the coming of the fecundator, and I still await it.”

“Might it be,” said I, “that I should play that part to you, Morgan le Fay, for I love you?”

“It might be,” said she. “We can but try. And it does not matter whether you love me or not if you can bring through that power.”

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wave swell cornwall 2011

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(8)

And I knew that water had two moods – the flowing and the still, and not until it is still can life arise in it. And learning as I had, that the beginning of things is reflected through all their nature, I reckoned there must be in us this flowing of our energies and their gathering into a deep pool, and that these things might be under the moon-rhythms.

And I recognised that it was a man’s nature to be predominantly dynamic like the First Outpouring; and it was predominantly a woman’s nature to gather into a deep pool wherein life can form. But I knew also that there must be an alternating rhythm in these things, and that maybe it is this rhythm we have forgotten.

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Ceres and John, 1987

Ceres and John, 1987

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(9)

I am never really virile unless I am in a tantrum. Morgan on the other hand, was an extraordinarily vital woman. Then I saw why there must be priestesses as well as priests; for there is a dynamism in a woman that fecundates the emotional nature of a man as surely as he fecundates her physical body; this was a thing forgotten by modern civilisation which stereotypes and conventionalises all things and forgets the Moon, our Lady of flux and reflux.

She was trying to discover the manner in which this lost force worked. Most men wouldn’t let her do it, for it is the male convention to keep the initiative at all costs. But behind our conventions there is primordial Nature, and I saw why vamps have such a success, and the kind unselfish woman gets left on the shelf; for men do not love the women who give and give, but the ones who make demands on them and so call out their strength … Love is one of those things in which to travel hopefully is better than to arrive.

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priestess of black isis 3, 2002

priestess of black isis 3, 2002

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(10)

There was a curious, subtle difference about the fort that I cannot define, and the smell of cedar and sandal had soaked into it till the whole place was redolent. The fort felt like a harp that had been tuned ready for use; and every now and again, like an Aeolian harp, faint sighing sounds came from it spontaneously.

There was something curious about the sea too, that is not easy to describe; it seemed as if it had come much nearer to us and could at will flow in and fill all the rooms. And yet it was not a drowning and alien element, for a kinship had been established between us and the sea, and we would be able to breathe in its waters as if we were amphibian. I cannot put into words the curious sense I received of being made free of the sea; as if no wave would ever sweep me off the point, but I could walk down into the depths as I would walk out into a fog – conscious of a denser medium but not of an alien element.

I knew that my dedication had been accepted … whether the land was to be saved from the sea, or whether the sea was to regenerate the land.

Arcanum Two - high priestess

Arcanum Two – high priestess

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(11)

And then I found myself on that high tabular peak of Atlantis where the sacred college had stood, though whether it was sunk in the great Atlantic Deep or high in air, I do not know. My guide had gone, and before me were two figures veiled in misty light. I could see neither face nor form, but only the shadowy sweep of the robes and great folded wings behind them. What they said to me, or I said to them, I shall never know, for nothing remained in memory save that I knelt on the knee before them upon the rock of the plateau and iridescent, opalescent light played all around me; and there was in my soul a reverence so profound and awe so great, that ever afterwards life has been to me a sacrament.

Swan hebrew letter BEIT

Swan hebrew letter BEIT

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(12)

We walked along the ancient way as if we were making pilgrimage. There is a curious power in silence when you think alike without word spoken and each knows the other’s thoughts. As long as nothing is said, the thing you are thinking remains in another dimension and is magical, but as soon as you speak it, you lose it. It is the old story of the jewels bought in the goblin market, which you must only look at by moonlight or you find them to be a handful of dead leaves. There is more than one kind of reality, and they don’t mix.

It amazed me to remember that then I had been so shy with her that I hardly knew how to address her, and now I was so intimate that I could bicker with her like I did with my sister when she rubbed my fur the wrong way. There is no greater test of intimacy than to be able to have a row with a person without quarrelling with them.

entry, cornwall 2011

entry, cornwall 2011

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(13)

The tide was going out, and the rocks of the point were slowly coming up out of the water as the languid wash of the ground-swell heaved the weed. The rising moon had not yet cleared the down, and the fort lay in shadow though the water was silvered; one could see the wide faint furrows of the slowly moving swell coming in from the Atlantic, and it was very like the traces of the plough that remain when arable land goes back to pasture. The sea was not like sea that night, and the land was not like land, but they seemed to be one thing, even as they were before the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.

I called to Morgan but got no answer, and seeing the big room lit up, I went in there to look for her. She sat silently, calm and aloof, and she might have been asleep save that she was bolt upright. She was clad in a close silvery robe, and her cloak was of indigo gauze, and she looked like the moon in the night sky amid light cloud. On her head was the horned head-dress of the moon, which is also the lunar crescent of Isis. At the far end of the room was another raised dais, and I took my seat on it. Immediately behind me was the shadowy outline of the Priest of the Moon in his painted sea palace. In the centre of the floor was the altar of the double cube, draped in silver, and upon it a crystal bowl filled with water, and Morgan and I sat and faced each other across it, the length of the room away.

She struck a bell beside her, and its soft note filled the room with humming overtones that died slowly away. She raised her hand:

“Be ye far from us, O ye profane, for we are about to invoke the descent of the power of Isis. Enter her temple with clean hands and a pure heart, less you defile the source of life. The temple of Isis is built of black marble and hung with silver, and she herself sits veiled in the innermost. She is all goddesses that men’s hearts have worshipped, for they are not many things but one thing under many forms. Those who adore the Isis of Nature adore her as Hathor with the horns upon her brow; but those who adore the celestial Isis know her as Levanah the Moon. She is also the Great Deep whence life arose. She is all ancient and forgotten things wherein our roots are cast. Upon earth she is ever-fecund; in heaven she is ever-virgin. She is the mistress of the tides that flow and ebb and flow and never cease. In these things are the keys of her mystery, known only to the initiated.

“O thou most holy and adorable Isis, who in the heavens art the supernal Mother and upon earth our Lady of Nature, and in the airy kingdoms between heaven and earth the ever-changing Moon ruling the tides of flux and reflux upon the earth and in the hearts of men; thee we adore in the symbol of the Moon in her splendour, ever changing; and in the symbol of the deep sea that reflects her; and in the symbol of the opening of the gates of life.

“We see thee crowned in silver in the heavens, and clad in green upon the earth, and in thy robe of many colours at the gates, O heavenly silver that answers to the celestial gold! O green that rises from the grey! O rainbow glory of living! …”

rainbow and lightning-daily mail

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(14)

(The Atlantean Priest of the Moon spoke): “Learn now the secret of the web that is woven between the light and the darkness, whose warp is life evolving in time and space, and whose weft is spun of the lives of men. Behold, we rise with the dawn of time from the grey and misty sea, and with the dusk we sink in the western ocean, and the lives of a man are strung like pearls on the thread of his spirit; and never in all his journey goes he alone, for that which is solitary is barren.”

The voice ceased, and there was silence; and in the silence I could hear the sound of the sea murmuring among the rocks and knew that the windows stood open to the night.

Then the voice spoke again: “Learn now the mystery of the ebbing and flowing tides. That which is dynamic in the outer is latent in the inner, for that which is above is as that which is below, but after another manner.

“Isis of Nature awaits the coming of her Lord the Sun. She calls him. She draws him from the place of the dead, the Kingdom of Amenti where all things are forgotten. And he comes to her in his boat called Millions of Years, and the earth grows green with the springing grain. For the desire of Osiris answers unto the call of Isis.

“And so it will ever be in the hearts of men, for thus the gods have formed them. Whoso denies this is abhorred of the gods. But in the heavens our Lady Isis is the Moon, and the moon-powers are hers. She is also the priestess of the silver star, that rises from the twilight sea. Hers are the magnetic moon-tides ruling the hearts of men. In the inner she is all-potent. She is queen of the kingdoms of sleep. All the invisible workings are hers and she rules all things ere they come to birth. Even as through Osiris her mate, the earth grows green, so the mind of man conceives through her power.

“Let us show forth in a rite the dynamic nature of the goddess that the minds of men may be as fertile as their fields,” –

and from behind me came a bell-note where I knew there was no bell.

“Be ye far from us, O ye profane, for the unveiling of the goddess is at hand. Look not upon her with impure eyes lest ye see your own damnation. The ignorant and impure man gazes upon the face of Nature, and it is to him darkness of darkness. But the initiated and illuminated man gazes thereon and sees the features of God. Be ye far from us, O ye profane, while we adore God made manifest in Nature.”

The voice fell silent again, and the sea outside answered with a slow soft wash on the rocks that was like the beating of muffled cymbals.

“I am the soundless, boundless, bitter sea;
All things in the end shall come to me.

Mine is the kingdom of Persephone.
The inner earth, where lead the pathways three.

Who drinks the waters of that hidden well
shall see the things whereof he dare not tell,
shall tread the shadowy path that leads to me,
Diana of the Ways and Hecate,
Selene of the Moon, Persephone.”

..

..

(15)

“Why do you fear the Dark Queen, O men? She is the Renewer. From sleep we arise refreshed; from death we arise reborn; by the embraces of Persephone are men made powerful. For there is a turning-within of the soul whereby men come to Persephone; they sink back into the womb of time; they become as the unborn; they enter into the kingdom where she rules as Queen; they are made negative and await the coming of life.

“And the Queen of Hades comes unto them as a bridegroom, and they are made fertile for life and go forth rejoicing, for the touch of the Queen of the kingdoms of sleep made them potent.”

cliff, cornwall 2011

cliff, cornwall 2011

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(16)

I felt sleep rising over me like a tide as the sea rose over the rocks outside, taking back again that which belonged to it, lent for an hour to the air. I was returning to the nothingness whence I had come, and life was ending as it had begun, in sleep. I remembered the words of one of the wise – ‘Or ever the silver cord is loosed or the golden bowl is broken –‘ I felt the golden bowl of my soul lifted up and poured out upon the cubical moon-altar; but it must have been that the silver thread was not loosed, for I still lived, though I came as near to death as a man might and yet return.

Cup and sword

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(17)

“But there is likewise in the souls of men a flowing and an ebbing of the tides of life, which no one knows save the wise; and over these tides the Great Goddess presides under her aspect of the Moon. She comes from the sea as the evening star, and the magnetic waters of earth rise in flood. She sinks as Persephone in the western ocean and the waters flow back into the inner earth and become still in that great lake of darkness, wherein are the moon and stars reflected. Therefore is Luna called the giver of visions.”

In the utter darkness, light moves like a tide; even death has a manner of life of its own.

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osiris isis

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(18)

I found myself in the strange high-prowed boat called Millions of Years wherein Osiris voyages, and I was Osiris. Beside me were the gods that travelled with me, that were also my other selves: Horus, Toom and the Kephra beetle …

And so we travelled over the dark waters of the lake of the underworld to come to the Queen of the Dead, my magical bride. And as we drew towards her the light increased till it was the light of the room at the fort, and at the far end I saw Morgan sitting. And as I looked, I saw her begin to change from silver into gold, and a glowing aura of all the colours of the rainbow sprang out around her. Her sleeping eyes opened into an amazing animation of life, and she glowed with life like a glorious dawn. Then the tide that had flowed from me to her turned and flowed back from her to me, and I felt my life returning to me, but different, for it had been made one with the life of the Goddess. Then she sang, and I knew that this was Isis, unveiled and dynamic:

“I am the star that rises from the sea
the twilight sea …

The tides of all men’s souls belong to me.
The tides that ebb and flow and ebb again;
the silent, inward tides that govern men
are my secrets, these belong to me.

Out of my hands he takes his destiny.
Touch of my hands confers polarity.
These are the moon-tides, these belong to me –
Hera in heaven, on earth Persephone;
Levanah of the tides, and Hecate.
Diana of the Moon, Star of the Sea,
Isis Unveiled and Ea, Binah, Ge!”

And all the while she sang, her weaving hands stroked my soul and drew it out.

Then slowly, with no stir save the flutter of her draperies, Morgan moved towards the window. I did not follow her. I was incapable of movement …   The balustrading had gone in the storm, and there was nothing between her and the sea; the moonlight fell full on her and made her robe glitter, but against the brighter glitter of the sea she was almost invisible. She went on down the point to the very end, where the flat table of rock (where we had built the fire of Azrael from juniper, sandal and cedar) lay just below the surface, for it only appeared at the neap.

But I was powerless to move, being as one bound.

I could only just see her now, for her silver robe was almost invisible against the treacherous glitter of the water. Then a cloud crossed the moon, and when it had gone I saw a light mist was coming in from the sea in long drifts, and I could no longer distinguish her through its uncertain haze.

dragon meets Isis, 1987

dragon meets Isis, 1987

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Wilfred Maxwell suffered a grief and broken-ness; he kept going through a year of grey bereavement, loss and humdrum life, and of the enigmatically dead.

sketch of Dion Fortune 2008

sketch of Dion Fortune 2008

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(19)

A LETTER: “To the one to whom these star sapphires are given: The soul of a man came into my hands; it is now passing into yours. In order to achieve a certain thing, I sacrificed this man. If I have done my work rightly, the burden of humanity is perhaps a little lighter; the road will not be quite so difficult for those who come after. But that does not help this man.

“If you can make yourself a priestess of the great spiritual principle which is behind womanhood, you will be able to help him. Meditate upon the Moon. She will awaken your womanhood and lend you power. May the Great Goddess bless you and help you.”

“Do you understand it?” said Molly.

“Partly,” said I.

Brean Down

Brean Down

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(20)

Molly had been communing with the Moon, as Morgan had instructed … I heard the bells in the water, and knew that this was no earthly tide we were hearing … the blend of moonlight and firelight was very strange and dazzled the eyes. The moonlight fell on the fire and made it look like an opal amid its grey ash; the curling smoke and its shadows took on the appearance of squirming creatures rising out of the coals, and I remembered the medieval tales of salamanders.

The odour of the incense woods kept on coming to us in wafts, and it seemed to me as if the fire must be smoking a good deal; meanwhile the sound of the sea filled the room till it hummed like a shell. Something uncanny was at foot, and Molly knew it just as well as I did.

Then suddenly we saw that where the moonlight fell upon the smoke, a form was taking shape; the smoke no longer rose in slow eddying whorls, but hung in folds like drapery. I watched it rise in front of the chimney breast as if the fire were smoking; and then out of the formless soft grey we saw a head and shoulders emerge, and the Atlantean Priest of the Moon stood before us as I had so often seen him with the mind’s eye, with his shaven head and ascetic hawk’s face. The eyes were dark and sparkling and very much alive. The moonlight and smoke were amorphous, but the eyes were not.

Then he began to speak as he had spoken in the rite out at the fort.

Whether Molly and I heard with the inner ear and saw with the inner eye, or whether it was the eyes and ears of flesh that apprehended the Priest of the Moon, I do not know; it was more like a waking dream than anything else, and yet it was as clear-cut as a diamond. I saw it was to Molly that he was speaking, and that I was a mere spectator; and I remembered that in most ancient times, when Great Isis was worshipped, it was the women who were dynamic, and it was not until corruption came upon the pagan world that the priests took all the power.

I heard the voice of the Atlantean Priest of the Moon going on and on, talking to his young priestess, and it seemed to me that I was sinking back into the same state I had been in when I travelled in the Boat of the Dead over the underworld waters, and I wondered whether on my return, I should see Molly glow all golden as I had seen Morgan do.

“And even as the Queen of Hades is the daughter of the Great Mother, so from the Great Sea rises golden Aphrodite, giver of love. And she also is Isis after another manner.

“Equilibrium is fixed in inertia until outer space oversets the balance and the All-father pours forth to satisfy the hunger of space. Strange and deep are these truths; verily they are keys to the lives of men and women, unknown to those that worship not the Great goddess.

“Golden Aphrodite comes not as the virgin, the victim, but as the Awakener, the desirous One. As outer space she calls, and the All-father commences the courtship. She awakens Him to desire, and the worlds are created. Lo, she is the Awakener. How powerful is she, golden Aphrodite, the awakener of manhood!

botticelli birth of venus

“But all these things are one thing. All the goddesses are one goddess and we call her Isis, the All-woman, in whose nature all natural things are found; virgin and desirous by turn; giver of life and bringer-in of death. She is the cause of creation, for she awakens the desire of the All-father and for her sake, He creates. Likewise the wise call all women Isis.

“In the face of every woman let man look for the features of the Great Goddess, watching her phases through the flow and return of the tides to which his soul answers; listening for her call. O daughters of Isis, adore the Goddess, and in her name give the call that awakens and rejoices. So shall you be blessed of the Goddess and live with fullness of life.

“Now this is the rite of the worship of Isis. Let the priestess show forth the Goddess to the worshipper. Let her assume the crown of the underworld. Let her arise all glorious and golden from the sea of the primordial and call to him that loves her to come forth and come unto her. Let her do these things in the name of the Goddess, and she shall be even as the Goddess unto him, for the Goddess will speak through her. All-powerful shall she be in the Inner as crowned Persephone, and all-glorious in the Outer as golden Aphrodite. So shall she be a priestess in the eyes of the worshipper of the Goddess, who by his faith and dedication shall find the Goddess in her. For the rite of Isis is life; and that which is done as a rite shall show forth in life. By the rite is the Goddess drawn down to her worshippers; her power enters into them, and they become the substance of the sacrament.”

Then the moonlight faded and a shift of the shore wind silenced the sea and we were alone in the darkness, Molly and I, for the Priest of the Moon had gone; and in the darkness we sat together silently for a long while.   From that silent communing we came back knowing many things. And I took Molly in my arms in a way I had never done before, and something suddenly flowed between us like warm light; it encircled us in a single aura so that our lives mingled and interchanged and stimulated each other and then flowed back to us, and I was reminded of the flow and interchange of force that had taken place in the rite I had worked with Morgan.

We just stood there silently in front of the fire, now sunk to a dull red glow; neither could see the other; we were almost unaware of each other; then suddenly I felt the thing that Molly was letting flow out to me so unreservedly in her giving, and knew it was the same thing that Morgan had invoked deliberately by her strange knowledge, and that it was using ignorant, innocent Molly because the conditions of her soul were right for it, she being a woman and in love.

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sketch of Dion Fortune, 2008 (2)

sketch of Dion Fortune, 2008 (2)

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Writing these extracts brought them to vivid life for me, because to follow and absorb Dion Fortune’s thought and images in this way, is like playing the piano, fingers on keys; in tempo cantando.

I left out several important episodes, including Wilfred’s asthma and its origin – his presumption in an ancient past life, to give himself to the Goddess, to die into Her as her lover, to submit to slow drowning by the tide coming into the elder cave – for no man could look on Her naked, and live. In the re-enactment, Wilfred said again, “I will take the path that leads to the well-head beside the white cypress.”   Between Her out-held palms, his very life was being drawn in: (“I am the soundless, boundless, bitter sea …”) – but his offering, fulfilled in deep time, evolved. He died slowly into being born.

In the ancestral reverence, conception, orgasm and birth are One. There are nuances through which the tremor stills, like the sea when the wind has dropped: and then we may be and see – through the glass no longer dark, but clear. We see as we are the beyond: the sacramental sound of the bell.

This is in my deep. It does not happen literally. Yet there are opportunities every day to “culture” respect, the care and reverence. This priority replaces social tension. This priority is below the radar, being relatively free from turbulence of desire and drama, and potentially pure.

Let Mother Isis visit and kindle Her fire on the sea, as and when it touches Her vibrant breath on the waves.

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baby matilda

baby matilda

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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 2012-2014. 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/

Nilakantha and the Golden Constellation

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Sacred India Tarot - Ramana as Skanda son of Siva

Sacred India Tarot – Ramana as Skanda son of Siva

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.

murmuration by jchip84

Starling murmuration by jchip84

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.

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Robert and seek

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.

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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.”

Kahlil Gibran

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Siva - Rudra the Wild Hunter

Siva – Rudra the Wild Hunter

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.

kailas and manasarovar

kailas and manasarovar

 

“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.’

ramana sketch

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“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

Siva - Rudra Immerses

Siva – Rudra Immerses

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**

Gene Keys Golden Path Program

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 2012-2014. 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/

A Tale from the Watershed: Birds Nest Epoche

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From "A Way of Life" by Jim Ede

From “A Way of Life” by Jim Ede

Watershed Dreams No.88 – May 1975

A pair of swallows or starlings were in the room mating and looking instinctively for material with which to build a nest.  They seemed to clutch at straws.  I helped them by providing a little pile of grass which I put on the table.  In this way I neglected the people who were with me also in the room, but I was very concerned for the birds, that they should be able to perform their spring functions which they longed so much to do.  Even so, my ‘help’ went only a very little way.  The odds for their breeding and survival were against them, so I was their deceiver. 

They built a nest with whatever they could find, quite desperately. 

I showed this nest to the people I was with in the room.  “Look how round it is getting,” I said. “Look at the inter-weaving of all its strands, as if they were building out of doors in the branch of a tree.  How powerful the instinct is, even when it doesn’t have the right material.”

tree egg '94 j&d11

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This short dream-story is of the series of Watershed Tales in this blog.  You can find others under Categories or Search.  It is about an old Karmically interwoven relationship which failed.

Yet it seems I was not the birds’ deceiver.  Many years later – that same nest is alive and well.  It transformed to a new relationship with life, alive with hope.   Like many young dreams, this one was full of opposite futures and double-entendre.

leprecaun, struggle & egg

My future advises my past.   I felt this, long ago.   She continues to – miraculous and immense.   Time is no time. Life is unlabelled.   Dipping into a study book on Phenomenological Research methods, I found Clark Moustakas’ “Epoche”.

This is interesting, and on cue.   It seems to be what I always aimed towards. “The world … has been cleared of ordinary thought and is present before us as a phenomenon to be gazed upon, to be known naively and freshly through a ‘purified’ consciousness.”

Each morning here, for instance, I trawl my ordinary thoughts of the day before, until the inner Eye lights up and reveals their transmutation: shining fishes.

Hermes with fishing net hauls up old memories and pelican flasks

Hermes with fishing net hauls up old memories and pelican flasks (1989)

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The way of the Alchemist is so. I feel around me softly, the Tetrahedral triads and lines from Nesting Tetrahedrons and The Djinn, as blessing.   However, who am I?

The ultimate Epoche is Self enquiry.   Discussing Epoche, Moustakas (author) goes into (recognisably) Buddhist and Vedanta method without naming so.   He is an academic but (discreetly) on a genuine spiritual path.   Good to tumble on this merger.

Do I cling to Kabbalist Lineage and its identity?   Why?

Empathy triangles

Empathy triangles

 

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I have existential value and truth with Lineage. It is Saturn tempering Mars. It is an ancient skeleton holding a vital heartbeat.   It names and connects the wings of life, and shows me  to ride my bike safely and to live beyond constraint.   It is a Nest woven of all the Traditional twigs in love-knots, placed by the beak of the alighting bird, each a lifetime. But inside it are the unknown cosmic eggs.   The Nest allows the Egg to form and warm.

The paradox is – knowledge of the Traditions with my Un-named Epoche.   The Traditions and This.   The Mother and the quantum chick.   The egg shape solar system: above, below.

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The birds tried to build a nest in an unsuitable place: their doomed love and urgency.  The nesting image is strong today, with the Quark eggs in it – a revolution of all traditions and their hens.   The Light of the World, tender and subtle, throws off dark garments.

pigeons early spring 2

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Jung at about the time he met Idzubar

The Red book
“Man stands between emptiness and fullness. If his strength combines with fullness, it becomes fully formative. There is always something good about such formation. If his strength combines with emptiness, it has a dissolving and destructive effect, since emptiness can never be formed, but only strives to satisfy itself at the cost of fullness. Combined thus, human force turns emptiness into evil.

“If your force shapes fullness, it does so because of its association with fullness. But to ensure that your formation continues to exist, it must remain tied to your strength. Through constant shaping you gradually lose your force, since ultimately all force is associated with the shapeliness that has been given form. Ultimately where you mistakenly imagine that you are rich, you have actually become poor, and you stand amidst your forms like a beggar.

“That is when the blinded man is seized by an increasing desire to give shape to things, since he believes that manifold increased formation will satisfy his desire.   Because he has spent his force, he becomes desirous: he begins to compel others into his service, and takes their force to pursue his own designs.”

C.G.Jung

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There!   Isn’t that what happens with spiritual charisma and inflation?   Materialism … the culture of consumers?

But what is strength? Strength is before formation.

Paths of awakening, and the pillars

Paths of awakening, and the pillars

Jung’s statement above is Kabbalist: Solomon’s pillar of force before formation, in the Tao of Tifareth – soul triad – strength.   This is a kind of labelling, but no more so than musical notes which strike resonances or the song of birds.   It doesn’t pin down the Bird.

Ahhh the phoenix.   So vast an archetype!

phoenix copy from master r

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The culture of consumers threatens the eco system and cliff-hangs the human race.   Even so, I have this deep feeling that it is ephemeral, it is tinsel vulgar, our consciousness suffers to saturation, the juggernaut imbalance.   In years, decades to come, the acute emergency leaves the general landscape but little changed; Gaia prevails.   There are perhaps rougher weather conditions and leaner economies.   Do I remain in the human trough, or do I see over its rim, into the field?

Jacobs ladder - four dovetailed worlds

Jacobs ladder – four dovetailed worlds

The human tapestry is itself, inescapable.   I share a wide angle Kabbalist view, across centuries.   Only the bottom end of Jacobs ladder is generally visible where it rests on Assiyah – the product of the 4 Worlds: the temporary friction and weight of those stepping onto it; their civil wars and disputes and abuse and poverty and grabbings and luxury basements.

But, I once dreamed – (in early Tarot days, about the Emperor) – I saw snow-waters pouring down the sheer mountain face, the great peal of the waters, and humans climbing up it, up and up, fading into the mist … always.

The dimensions veil each other.

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Alpenspitz - a great raw rock mountain in Bavaria

Alpenspitz – a great raw rock mountain in Bavaria

So now. How to live and think and be, as Epoche?

I sat and looked in the dark well water. Phone rang at once – my mother. She is almost 90 – a Leo-Aries. I saw her garden, the flowers at Kilve in Somerset, her sore legs, Edinburgh and everywhere she is, and has been – long natter.

Live inclusively. Open unconditioned to what comes naturally.  Like this …  on Jordan Lake with the bald Eagle – Spirit – circling with its cries (watch the video clip!), and Teala’s little son replying.   Borrow strength!

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granite egg flower

granite egg flower

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Grand Easter Cross, Part 4 – Problems

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Angel with rabbit, 1988

Angel with rabbit, 1988

There is a small green book by the astrologer Roy Gillett called Economy, Ecology and Kindness.  It reviews the major astrological events during the present two decades of Pluto in Capricorn, and its thesis is of turning-point:  it is crucial for “kindness” to begin to pervade governmental and financial institutions progressively, as in our kindred, our relationships and with Nature, at all levels.   Well worth a read.   And kindness begins at home.

I am having quite a hard time just now – unkind to myself –  and serendipitous insights from fellow bloggers give me a real pick-me-up in the morning!   Charlie wrote:  “At what point did kindness fall down, leaving the mind in charge of the rest of an entire life? … At the very bottom of the well there is you and your heart … a sacred temple for one … it matters how you vibrate and hold space.”

And this one, following Katie’s post on our mind as autopilot (see the comments also) – the challenge to discriminate this and to develop conscious creative thought:   “Mind gets on an unhelpful track and runs with it … (It is so helpful to share and realise this) … Every day is another chance to try it out.”

ANY UNHELPFUL TRACK, yes!   I am trying, as all my life, to disconnect from those unhelpful tracks, and reach the kindness in the bottom of the well.   It is hard. There is no success. It doesn’t get better or easier.   Each time the same bleak misery, then identify, name it, and disengage – and glimpse space and truth through the fog – the same struggle. Poor Easter bunny!

Seeking enlightenment

Seeking enlightenment

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Actually I spent the whole of Easter Sunday – after finishing and posting “Magdalene” – in bed (my burrow) reading Joanna Trollope and having short sleeps (by evening I was unhappy again).

Anyway, this is the poor old human condition, and we are in a mess, because we valiantly espouse our UNHELPFUL TRACKS and fervently believe in them.   The problem is my belief in myself being bad. The scolding mother has an embedded authority, and asserts this belief as top news item, come on, don’t tell lies, own up.

On the other hand, the weekend’s Tarot oracles show the lovers, the fool, and strength, they show me pujas and rose gardens, it beams to me the solace and articulate wisdom of fellow bloggers, THIS is real, this is the real condition, not my mental-assertive concrete bits.  Caught between the two, and with pain and grief in my stomach, I yet see my mind’s “unhelpful track” for what it is, ephemeral.  This helps me “lose” its command station, its power over my mood, its way of shutting me down.

But by yesterday evening, I was without community again.   That is what it does.

I am in community again now, thanks to writing, and I note my weakness; the idea I should do or be something bold and strong for Easter Grand Cross Bunny, and Pluto on my Jupiter – I feel actually overwhelmed and disabled by it all.   As a volunteer, I standunder the human condition –  where it lives, where we live in and out of community.   This is a useful definition.

The well - November 2013

The well – November 2013

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I live alone, and am vulnerable to battle and monitor these states.   That is to say: to endure them, and keep remembering – just enough – to awake from within them; to be kind?   to feel what is true. Kindness and … (visually) broken concrete slabs and landfill – the hard, dead, crumbling rubbish that gets thrown into the well – this and kindness –  kindness is the deep dark water which breathes.   Focus on kindness as “real love”.   Focus the open and never ending story.   Make this thought-form “Accurate, profound, courageous, positive” as Paul Foster Case wrote of Tarot Key 8 Soul Strength.

Change the pattern, and you change the result.

And if I go under and have to keep starting over, this is not failure.   It is work in progress.   It always even if for a brief time each day, awakes.   This is ongoing.

Good meditators and advaitins spurn the mind.   Some people have an ability to set themselves apart from the unhelpful tracks.   I haven’t.   And perhaps it is my nature and my job to suffer them (usually from ‘something I did wrong to someone else’), because dissolving their delusion each time, develops the muscle of what is true.   Like now, I see through the delusion into the kingdom of kindness – the unhelpful track is IRRELEVANT!

There is no fantasy in kindness:  just do and be it.

There is a big insight into why therapy can be for long intervals stuck and unproductive.   It is because the client is churning around and along the unhelpful track … the Great Story Fantasy of Done and Done-to.

The infertile Done and Done-to story fades.   It bears no relation to the light of today, to the river, and to kindness.   The Done and Done-to ethic is contagious through the lower mind in a novel, or something someone says … a collective opinion rules the unhappy roost for a time, until I slowly ignore it and climb out from the slurry.

cockerel

cockerel

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What is interesting, is how compelling it is.   It fastens on every operating wheel and lever of my mind and mood.   Of course, it is depression.   Depression is when I am cut off from community, from family … in the unhelpful track of me.   Depressives suffer from seemingly massive insights and motor feebleness.   Depression is the magnified self-script and scolding mother – a child too small and exhausted to tidy the house or cheer up or do anything interesting.   See?

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Neptune in Pisces;  Tarot Keys 12 and 18.  This will be the Ascendent here in London when the Grand Cross is in full focus (23 April 4.15 gmt).   On the Tree of Life, this represents Malkuth, the sphere of action, embodiment, materiality, type of birth.

Neptune in Pisces; Tarot Keys 12 and 18. This will be the Ascendent here in London when the Grand Cross is in full focus (23 April 4.15 gmt). On the Tree of Life, the Ascendent represents Malkuth, the physical sphere of action, embodiment, materiality, type of birth.   Neptune represents the Godhead, cosmic source.   They combine as the divine thread or KAV, through the Tree of Life:  as above, so below.

Neptune in Pisces! –  sounds mystical, but is actually the Hanging Man’s (reversals and turning-points) Self-surrender within the Moon-child’s journey of embodiment. There is the Self, head down in the well, being born and breaking invisible rocks:  a paragon of high and noble spirituality.

And there are my small-dog personal selves, sent to the bottom of the class to begin their journey again, through the Piscean Path’s snakes and ladders.

But the Self in the well – is where it bottoms out.   All is well.

The Piscean path of the Moon in Key 18 evolves from earliest life forms clambering from the sea – or the desert – to humanity and consciousness.  The sign Pisces rules the feet. The record is kept in that tiny part of our brain, the medulla oblongata, just where the spinal cord reaches the head.   It holds our lizard memory.  The distant mountain is Key 9, the Hermit’s illumination.   And what do the digits of 18 add up to?

Arcana 6 Lovers - detail

In the Lovers Key Six, there is the mystery of that same pointed peak between them: they do not touch.

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Tarot Arcana 4 & 5:  the Emperor (Aries) and the Hierophant (Taurus)

Taurus begins, today and tomorrow.   This thought opens my fire and earth landscape between Aries and Taurus, where I have the North node … the liberating Beauty, its fullness with life and humanity.   Be brave.   Be bold.   Be kind.   The Moon today works through Capricorn.

With these images, the Inner Lover is back, quite physically, through the wood and the well.   The discarnate One is closer than my breath:   I receive. I become still, with the subtle Kingdom in my pulse.   Touch and be touched with the root of the well which is kindness;   move onward with this, keep walking, the Hermit is not on a far distant mountain, his staff is in my hand, and so is his lamp with the Seal of Solomon.

Arcanum 9 hermit

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When the foot prints along the sand seem to be one person lonely … it is when he or she, my inner teacher and strength, is carrying me.   Life picks you up.   Don’t fight with life.   The sea breathes in and out.

footprints - Version 2

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So on with the Red Book.

Jung writes:  “The small grains of sand have rolled in fabulous primordial oceans, over them swam primordial monsters with forms never beheld before. Where were you man, in those days? On this warm sand lay your childish primordial animal ancestors, like children snuggling up to their mother.   O mother stone, I love you.   I lie snuggled up against your warm body, your late child. Blessed be you, ancient mother. Yours is my heart and all glory and power. Amen.

“What am I saying …?   — Here the stones form states. … Is it the sun or is it these living stones, or is it the desert that makes my head buzz?”

In the desert there is nothing but prayer, the posture of prayer.

jung's painting in the Red Book of the tree of life (centre), the desert, the serpents and scarab

jung’s painting in the Red Book of the tree of life (centre), the desert, the serpents and scarab

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He returns to the Anchorite, to the Hermit. He tells him, “Why, all the things that you must experience in the desert, you wonderful man!   Even the stones are bound to speak to you …   although the thirsty desert surrounds us, an invisible stream of living water flows here.” Jung

He tells the Hermit that he is a stranger to the teaching – more foreign than one from Britain’s furthest shore – and has much to learn. The Anchorite tells him he “found inexpressible words to greet the break of day: let the heathen prayer to Helios suffice; be astonished at nothing, and in no sense condemn or regret it.   Let us go to work.”

The Anchorite (who is Ammonius Sacca) goes on to tell how he himself was freed from the awful predicament of spinning words – the days when he was a famous university lecturer in Alexandria.

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scarab

scarab

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The Scarab is a classical rebirth symbol. In my own light: the desire is to honour a Mystery effectively, to worship it well in its moving parts.   When I fail in any part of this, I suffer until the imprint fades. I suffer as an artist, getting the painting wrong.

The Greater Mystery of Life does not oblige me to be happy or sad. Those are adjuncts and adjectival only. The Greater Mystery does not mind how long my route turns around it, for it is timeless.   My Grand Easter Cross produces the scarab, and symbols of birth and death and second-birth, and planting flowers in the garden, and the word “COMMITMENT”.

In my desert I discover a greater commitment perhaps, and realise my faith is to my interior, and it doesn’t matter if it cannot or should not be told.   In the same instant of in-turning to source, is the outward flowing NOW, the connective fibre with the human family, as given.   The situation is so simple.

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Daffodils in Douglas Harding

Daffodils in Douglas Harding

Thus, for me, the Grand Cross resets my commitment, the same way as a home-hub modem is reset, by turning it off, then on again; or a piano is re-tuned.   The resetting recurs again and again in life, but is likely to be profound during a major astrological event.   And in the resetting is the soul’s dark night, a little death: paralysis for a while.   A fixed patter dies.  

Dies Irae – from the deep we cry to thee.

Arcanum 6, the lovers - an early version

Arcanum 6, the lovers – an early version

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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.

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All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012-2014. 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/