Friendship Poem

Let my face cave into your SELF.
Every picture of my thought
spills out of being wordless.

Let my fear of you go,
let lion talk.  Let the lion see.
The sun doesn’t bother what goes on
when it rises and sets on earth.

The disk of the world’s hidden side
is a darkness on my light.
The wonder of that silent spreading corona
pulls away the cloth behind my eyes.

I have no support. The saying stops.
Let soles of my feet be eyes
to see and love, pick up the ground.

The darkness on the sun
is angel’s finger on my lips
stopping speech,  making me hear.

I wonder much at my concerns.
As the reel unrolls, I clench in my seat
so forming views ; the Inward, inexpressible
gift of the holy, returns
as soon as I go.
No matter what happens
to me, my walls arise and fall, like
Rome on the ocean wave.

The safety in just looking
has no sense at all.
It takes the risk,
the leaping
of the absolute deer

and skittering over the threshold
pushed,  each moment
opens from each point
of space a bright DAN DE LION —
Be brave !  be bold !  be
absent !
Let it go !

When chimerae collide
in the upkeep clashing,  let
the Lion see
how in relationship,
several masks combine,
clashing and colliding
anxiety and peace.

Raising your heads together,
unquiet mother and fishy friend,
let your patterns pull
and drag you home.

The pull to drown within
opens the flower’s corona upturned:

a voice with
nothing to say.

from “Poems of Eclipse 1999”

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My adventure invites fellow travellers. I am a poet, an artist and a seer. I welcome conversation among the PHILO SOFIA, the lovers of wisdom. See also Aquariel

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/

The Beech Forest

RWM32 Tree conference 86.JPG

Trees in conference, Alet 1986

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When the brook
begins to flow,
a barque of impassioned words
appears.

At first, there is no bark,
there is the naked
pipe of a silver soaring tree
beyond my speech.

The standing flows
and flutes
the tap root of my soul
upturned.

from Poems of Eclipse

1-body-tree-tao

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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/

Wood and Water Poem at Solstice

tree and roots thought

What do I do with
ways Home
when none of them
take me home?

Stay homeless!

Today the tide does not deliver energy and hope.
This surging current is the no mans land.

Deep down, is a well of peace
larger than joy or comfort:
who could place
its unknown value?

My window is filled with the edgeless sea coming in
and this event has wealth beyond my words.

I am open to the world
as is.
How else to comprehend
suffering?

cornwall 2011 264

I wait.  Hast thou forsaken me?  Presence is all there is,
even when it feels just confused.

Upon your brow, furrows appear,
then disappear
as in water, in sound or on sand
arising, melting as you hear

and after a long while, an answer begins to stir
the fullness of your lips:

“Homeless is home.
There is no place like it.
It hears the exhausted sorrow inescapably.
It is the coin which doesn’t flip.
It is heads and tails at once.”

Walking the dark plank that feels true,
I don’t “go for” anything.
It is the cross that Jesus carried.
It is heavy, gut crushing,
floats on a ripple of the stagnant tide.

My saturated wood adrift thuds into things.
Cast up on shore, bleached grey by sun,
it lies on pebbles, soaked and dried
by sun and salt.

Poems of Eclipse, 1999

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Branko Gallicz

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20 December 2014

It is solstice, and things that turn, turn slowly, close to the core.  Be in this way of moving, low in spirits.  Love in the core of life yet wells up through the murk:  and yesterday evening I felt very loving  towards …  I remembered a remarkable little episode, 25 November eleven years ago.  (The Croatian guy who sells Big Issue outside Waitrose, and tells me I’m a ray of sunshine – his voice reminded me of him).  On that day I was in my favourite spot on Hampstead Heath (the same place where I met a Saluki man six months later) and a graceful vagabond came through the conifer branches, stroked them over my face and kissed me without stopping through the hour.  Wasn’t that lovely?

Don’t fret about feeling glum today, and drifting around.  Sometimes the cold branches part and through them comes a kiss.  He came from Croatia.  He loved the winter trees, their gestures and  the quirky conversations they have – they told him droll stories .  He loved to sit and feel them breathe.

Solstice silence is grey and obscured with collective Xmas greed and hyperactive loneliness;  and yet it is a Christmas tree, a conifer with candles lit, and through cold winter branches comes the kiss of life:  warm lips and searching tongue.

Why, I am making a Christmas tree – my own in the soul.  I have a tiny fire-nest, and I blow on it gently, to kindle.

The Upanishadic symbol is:  the fire hidden within the tree … the cream within the milk.

Tree Spirit Yakshi guardian

ADONAI thou art God.  The dawn comes, silvering clouds through winter boughs:  early blackbird chorus and a peal of seagulls.  Every day the dawn comes.  The fire-nest wakes in heart, hands and feet:  the immeasurable fire of Sol, about to rise.  I am, you are, made from Sol;  and Sol is pulsed from the galactic core – our dark Mother.  Each atom is a solar atom.  In the stable’s silence in deep solstice night, the Child is born.  A wild rose blushes the sky.

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(6) Notre Dame

Merry Christmas!

“Even as fire is not seen in wood, and yet by power it comes to light as fire, so Brahman in the universe and in the soul is revealed by the power of OM.

“The soul is the wood below that can burn and be fire, and OM is the whirling friction rod above.  Prayer is the power that makes OM turn round, and then the mystery of God comes to light.

“God is found in the soul when sought with truth and self sacrifice, as fire is found in wood, water in hidden springs, cream in milk, and oil in the oil-fruit.

“There is a Spirit who is hidden in all things, as cream is hidden in milk, and who is the source of self-knowledge and self-sacrifice.  This is Brahman, the Spirit Supreme.”

Svetasvatura Upanishad

solstice dervish card 2 copy

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Gene Keys Golden Path Program

Gene keys website link

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 Poem of Eclipse – the Homeopath

800px-Meadow_saxifrage_flower

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Drag.  Pierce lightly.
Left hand is my power unskilled
at life, the in-tuition.

The opening for a second
is in this broken moment,
unforgettable.

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hand over to higher power

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You said to the imp in a bubbling girl, “You will
be pierced as deep as you now laugh” –
her eyes then filled.

Lightly brushing palm,
did your touch
in mine create havoc?

Here, to the homeopath
we are One.

Pierced water of life burst from the rock;
I start to see:  so now keep quiet –
I place in your right hand my left – a saxifrage.

Starry saxifrage flower growing wild and wet,
cracks rocks.
Helpless fingers curl half closed;
be it so.

You are my brother.
I your little sister.

The cosmos is in fact delicate and gentle
standing still in children
and in gardens and innocence.

From Poems of Eclipse, 1999

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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/

A Poem: “Here”

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linga sarira

linga sarira

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The still, small voice
connects.

If you look HERE
you’ll find.

If you play with your sword
you won’t;  but I’m HERE
our bridge.

You may not hear
what touches you

but HERE, my songs
in your tree, are lovebirds.

From Poems of Eclipse 1999

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spring

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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/

A Poem on Being the World

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Quantock 1

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I am actually planning a SITA Arrows post.  But during a search in my journals for something else, I came across this poem, written in May 2007:

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tao doodle

Pare, oil and cherish the bud seed
that glides along the ground
receiving flowers, fragrant fruit, leaves,
grit and human-ness.

She smiles
he enters
all shall be well
all manner of things.

As the Sun’s light encircles
earth without end:
no day, no night, but both,

dive into the ocean
and find upon the rippled sandy bed
your drinking glass !

Sand and stars and stone
and glass and waves with aeons turning slow
are sand and blood, patterns of the poet
to breathe and blow.

Plant David’s Psalms again in Isra-EL:
trees of fruit in bud, soldiery in caritas.
The soul begetting magic
became forgotten.

The ground is damp and drinks the seed –
tiny roots out stretch
like to like as baby fingers mother Earth –
rain coming dew, breaks open, melting marriage –

the meanings rest
behind my day’s weariness:

the fish is in the egg.

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The Great Work gardened, watered daily,
projects a need to maintain Herself
with jobs and money and
skill with magic boxes.

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The New world order is a nucleus now present on this planet.
Esoteric wisdom is like dandelion seed – fragile in the pollutants of worldpolitik and easily overthrown, trodden under – fanciful, frail, devalued – and for this reason, let it be hardy handsome as the dandelion leaf and root;  let it withstand all toxic blasts; let it keep on and on being found, renewed, reborn and realised.

Use intelligence to cultivate the positive opposite to negative states of mind. It’s easy to run with bad news, tension and anxiety.  It takes real creative effort to be happy.  When in fear, be still, find where the constriction is;  let it open and expand. Make it smile.  Turn it to lifecurrent, release from jail.  The blessing of the tree moves into flower, within cottages and their gardens, in a pad, a dog, a lover, the stars.

9 May 2007

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drinking-glass on sea-bed

drinking-glass on sea-bed

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And … a Tarot Reflection, that same day.  Click to open gallery and see captions.

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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/

Human Landscape – a Portrait

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in hat

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17 July 1999
TEMPO

Dear Poet Philosopher!
you’re an ocean liner on the seas
not a jet plane.

You belong to the Victorian
leisure eccentric class
and you deal in seventeenth century
Dutch gold skies.

You move by hunch, your advances
missing out the modern way.
You are lissome with your romances.
Like a snake they shine, and fall away.

No scrape
has quite the nerve
yourself to drape.

You’re sufficiently moved on the whole, to regulate
your affairs from red into black.
Clearing your daily slate
your warm, flamboyant hand no lack,
nothing piles up

yet in the deep
unruffled, the long drawn out and hidden marge
moves with rabbinic inscrutability –
storms in tilting teacups to submerge.

Your tendency with life
is almost infinitely elastic.
In love with, and un-frightened of your wife,
her naivety sometimes fantastic,

immovably and willingly stubborn,
with a swing of long arms wide, your knack
to welcome it all, is a splash of water borne
from a duck’s straight back.

To wash the dishes and care for the cat
are polite devoted tasks.
You are not touched by any of that,
for deep in your noble squares sublimning, basks
an esoteric quicksilver Knight
whose rhyme into metre quick to appreciate
Castling his King and exchanging port for Poet
‘pon measured modes of black and white
doth square his Circle bright
in such way that patient Lord Yama might,
receiving you into his House, with abashed insight,
himself the Ultimate Question ask –

who Am I?

Dear Poet Philosopher Spouse,
my Alchemystic Solitude
is cradled like an online mouse
in your August Be-At-itude.

Just one turn it takes
of that great ruby Stone
on your little finger
for the knot in your hanky carefully tied,
to forget the ropes and snakes

and know that

all is well,
all is One.
Nothing matters and
who cares?

yeah-say

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We were married for about ten or fifteen years, and remain close friends.   Some readers of my  blog will recognise him, as he is held in deep affection by spiritual seekers and pilgrims.  He has an awesome ability to lay his hand on just the right book for a person’s sadhana, or point to a path which will “ease their doubts”.

 signpost

I drew him dozens of times, and made us both laugh.   Here is a selection from my sketches which celebrate Alan:

GALLERY

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My parents are bottom left, at their instruments, with Lavinia N at the piano, while my sister, brother and I build my father’s new greenhouse just above; neighbours drop in, and Alan surveys the scene

And here is a poem by him – circa 1999:

The Royal Game

On chequered squares of space and time
grey shadows dance their game of mime ;
to slay the self is their cryptic aim –
by tricks of mind to heights they climb. 

“There sits the King, and black’s his name.
Proud ego is his claim to fame.
This cosmic game he’s made to play
helped by his dark, deluding Dame. 

“False bishops at his feet do pray.
Marauding knights have feet of clay,
a swarm of puppet pawns at rest –
all forces poise in gaunt array. 

“The Lord of Light is truly blest, 
a White Goddess his Queen, no less; 
with ancient Sages at each side, 
he waits to enter the celestial jest.

“His warriors noble stallions ride, 
maintaining righteous order, wide. 
In silence, rooks withdraw and meditate, 
enslaved to dream of seek and hide.

“The Self wants Ego checked to mate, 
the rascal fights to thwart his fate 
and kill his foe himself, instead; 
we’ll see a battle tense and great! 

“By laws of nature the rules are led, 
peace conceived by Consciousness ahead.
To wage this war in awesome glory
’til black or white surrenders – dead!

“After ages going grey and hoary,
all lie boxed;  the victory was gory.
When WHO created this sport is ready,
a game begins anew:  another story.”

Alan Jacobs

On one pinhead where the angels dance, dear Alan, my Knight jousts your Bishop.  How can Consciousness be ahead of the game, when “Consciousness is all there is?”

Ah, an answer.  Consciousness or “enlightenment” appears to be “ahead” by the construction of our brain in space and time;  but from birth to death it encircles and is our rite of passage.  The heart and essence of a human life is released in full, when the apple falls.  The joy of a portraitist touches that region;  a hem of the Great Garment.

alan & jacob

I shall follow up this post with the chapter on “Diving into the Heart” from The Holy Task – a booklet we wrote together, in the early days of Ramana Foundation UK.

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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 2012-2013. 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/

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Bumping into the Light

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Buddha wheel at Kettles Yard

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A week ago I had a bad fall from my new bike.  Riding happily down a leafy country lane quite fast, I didn’t see the drift of loose sand and gravel across it until too late;  I crashed from a great height, like Humpty Dumpty and my right leg is still developing the story in fantastic technicolour!   When I got home, I applied arnica, St Johns Wort oil for haemorrhoids (? which I don’t have, thanks God), and ice to the enormous bump and grazes, with good effect.  I cannot resist quoting from this consoling email which arrived soon after, from Uncle Apothecary’s Garden across the pond:

“Ahhh   The drama of life!!   Poor new bike!!  Haha. Yes. Poor you of course!!  I am happy your body wasn’t too badly banged up, and so glad I could help it heal in some way!! Ouch!  Maybe it should be called something instead of hemorrhoid oil? Humpty Dumpty oil? Puts things back the way they were.  Reversing oil?  That St. John’s Wort oil is something isn’t it? PutitbackthewayitwasOil? Even without my help, it seems to make all sorts of repairs on its own. 

“A three wheeler for you ?  … Maybe life just thought you needed to get up close and personal with Nature? Too much putting up of feet in a retired person kind of way. No retirement for us, Jane.   D.” 

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Life

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I was terrified lest my beloved Bike was irreparably damaged by my misadventure …  But it suffered little more than a scratch – basically – and thanks to the marvellous Oil of Life, we are riding around again, just as before.

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What is the provide-ence?  Why indeed is Humpty Dumpty egg-0 shaped?   And what did I actually bump into?

I haven’t room here to describe the carnival of rugged rocks, revelations, pesterings and personalities that rose and fell during the week;  but I did wonder what underlying current of ‘the teaching‘ I might retrieve.  And each morning I studied, and wrote my diary:

15 June – ON SOUND AND COLOUR

Paul Foster Case writes:  “Blue-violet, A-natural, is the tone-frequency of Saturn:  the power in us which puts on the brakes.   Sacral plexus, base of the spine.  Excretion of waste:  transmission of life/regeneration.   Skin, knees, ankles, kidneys, lumbar spine, vasomotor system (blood?), bones.  Kundalini is the storage-battery.  It is charged with the residual energy left over from the various body functions.”

This is rather a wonderful thing to reflect on!   Having a tough time with the material world, and discussing with my Aries friend how the lungs work (he like most of us, didn’t know they are like seaweed floating up and down in water, the alveoli, the delicate little expanding sacs inviting air, many of which feel crushed by the pain of his cracked rib, and recovery is delayed by smoking.  So now he goes SWIMMING.)

Right now, I sense the miracle of this residual energy from the body functions.   What keeps the body functioning is cosmic;  the physical body in balance is cosmic;  the Kundalini when available, is awesome and eternal.

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Serpent of Light - and Ibis - detail from Hermes Trismegistos 2003

Serpent of Light – and Ibis – detail from Hermes Trismegistos 2003

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In my inner eye, I catch sight – as if through a door – of the living, wonderful Snake of Light;  the extraordinary manifestation of what we actually are … and the living mass of trillions of individual cells like stars in water.  In outer space you might travel at 10,000 miles an hour, yet feel you are standing still, because there is no air to resist you.  In the interior body-cosmos, we are 80% water, and this, as made of atoms, is 99% empty space.   Everything I am, flows seamlessly through itself.

And simultaneously I have hard heads, bodies, legs, and a complex of interior organs; and I bump, and I have a great fall, and I get embarrassed, and I have one brittle worry after another to believe fervently in;  and I try to cope with life!   What is Real?  What of all those tossed up egg-shells?

tetrahedral cube 93 copy

In a dome the size of St Peter’s in Rome, if a nucleus were a single grain of salt, the positions of electrons would be a few specks of dust – they whirl through the great chamber of space.  They are not objects but waves enwrapping the salt grain.  Salt crystallizes to the cube, the basic structure of all matter.  The cube’s six points when circumscribed reveal the Seal of Solomon or sphere.  The lines extended from the equilateral tetrahedrons form the web of our world.  Upon this subatomic lattice the electronic paths come into being.

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Portrait of Annika with lion: Tarot Key 8 - soul Strength

Portrait of Annika with lion: Tarot Key 8 – soul Strength

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And now I have the Snake of Light.   The Stellar power manifests through my body’s organs, and if they are all using it and working well enough, what is left over is the Serpent.   It bursts the box.   The Serpent spoke to Eve, and she told Adam and said, Taste the fruit!

Adam & Eve detail

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Imagination beholds the Serpent, as alive as in all the revelations of Alchemy and Yoga.   It is fiery, with gleams of gold and red, and permeated with white light;  and it is a loopy dragon.   It brings no rush to my system, but to see it is peacefully liberating … the deep inner chamber, the realisation that I am the stars.  The realisation itself coils and is the DNA.   The mercury mind abandons any attempt to spell the countless codes.   None of that is necessary when I see Great Hermes in principle.   I see him now as in my painting.   Calm and still, and just perceived;  but luminous.   Clarity of thought.

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Hermes Trismegistos of Alexandria, with Staff of Life and Serpent of Light

Hermes Trismegistos of Alexandria, with Staff of Life and Serpent of Light

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Last week was “one bloody thing after another” as Mr Gurdjieff used to say.  Dealing with non-deliveries and bureacratic fluff, was particularly frustrating.  While battered from crashing my bike – the invisible wall of life – I did a post on Aurobindo’s Savitri, and in the other blog, I did two on Master R.  Light relief !

At the same time, a local  “harassment” issue arose, in which I took an interest:  and a neighbour’s abuse of strong painkillers.  I feel I am shown, not to deny any situation or challenge, but to learn to remain detached enough during it, to receive the bigger picture.  It’s not easy.  Keep practicing!

When I started to write about the Serpent of Light this morning, I remembered the addicted neighbour, and realised our human plight in its extremity:  the abysmal ignorance about our bodies.  Unconsciously, we regard them as punch-bags of perished putty – thus the  cosmetic advertising.  Do I really live in my body?   mostly I daydream along, somewhere outside it.  Unconsciously the body is an enemy, ready to spring cancer and limitation into the movie-go-round.  The neighbour … she is wasted.  She says “I want a high.”

In Kabbalah, Malkuth of the Tree is the Kingdom, the field, the root of Kether:  the embodied Conscious will.  We have the free will simply to remember this, whenever we can:  remember the conscious breath.  In my view, the free will accepts and flows with the Will which is cosmic:  the river in every organ.   When I am awake, my body is the earth … Gaia.

Some souls – like the neighbour – have so deeply self-harmed that they live beyond repair.   Whatever her GP gives her, she abuses and uses up.   Couldn’t he prescribe her an antidote?  But nothing stops the self destruction of the living dead, until they turn and begin to climb out of the pit.   Whatever an outsider may do for the sufferer, is turned to abuse.  It is like a quicksand.

That soul takes responsibility, to become human, to become embodied;  to respect life.   Everything we are is a condensation of what we chose upstream in this or other lifetimes :  and the faculty to make a small but fundamental choice of direction, is an individual one.   It is also in human nature to “hit rock” first.

And I dreamed someone allowed himself to drown without regret in the leaden-grey sea:  was this my Shadow?  Or an opting out – a runaway, a suicide?    The same Life remains, wherever it is left … the same problem to deal with.

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Malkuth garden and forest, with the Moon in Capricorn - from a tree of life painting for Chris Stavri

Virgo Malkuth garden and forest, with the Moon in Capricorn – from a tree of life painting for Christopher Stavri

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Paul Foster Case writes: “The right direction and sublimation of the coiled up serpent power, is the major operation of the work of Yoga.  Its sublimation is the Great Work of western Alchemy.”

I saw, as I began to write of Saturn and the Serpent of Light – the excretion and the transmission of life – the balance and clarity of function and of thought:  the mercury through the body – the Sun-cube through the veins and arteries.  It is called the path of Administration.

PFC writes, “the mental effects of this blue-violet vibration are poise, deliberation and concentration.”

This is the discriminating blade of Saturn in the ZAIN path of the Lovers:   Saturn on the Tree is Binah:  and the path of Binah – Tifareth is the parting and the placing together of things without mixing them wrongly, or blurring them.

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“An over-active Saturn  – the violet-indigo vibration –  results in fear and in retaining waste, which poisons the body.”   Tension hardens the sphincters by torsion.  “Deficiency of Saturn weakens the bony structure and leads to dreaming without doing, and to eccentricity and rashness.”

If we are destined for a path of Knowledge or genuine Kabbalah, its opening stages can be violently painful, physically or emotionally.    The awakening – coming to grips with the Light – is like Jacob wrestling the Angel.   We cannot yet see what it is, but we are magnetically wedded to it all over.   The Presence in the long years before it begins to dawn and take shape, is a fearsome commodity in relationships, work or whatever is given to tackle.   When I was a baby, I woke crying from the recurrent nightmare of a high, sharp mountain range which screamed.   That Himalayan range, as I grew up into it, became the ancient Self.

images

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Now, some poetry:

I see in my past, a preparation of the Great Work in “the Rain Check Dream” in the Watershed.   It was like a cauldron in the cellar of the seas, and is accurately described.  I have quoted it in an earlier post, but here it is again:

“There was a feeling, in these sequences of dreams, of the light of the Sun’s fire.   It grows in a cauldron whose substance I cannot quite see.   Time entered and gave it meaning.   Time with it brought feelings and images of something male, unknown and triumphing, a power or vividness which I recognized,  something outside or new to myself, something I welcomed.   The cockbird crowed.   I touched with it, stone in a secret place.    A mosaic of window panes fell away, and I lived now in light between the fragments of an archipelago which danced upon the sea.   Upon the crests of the waves came wild plumed horses to meet me, blow upon my making.   Yet, too acute an occult concentration may mask fear and emotional poverty.

“I put it down,  I left it,  went to have lunch.

“The thing in my absence maintained its steerage, and when I returned to the cellar of the seas,  I purchased with it my vision.   From the dawn a tribe of sea-lions drew chariots of fire and the sun waxed until it filled the whole sky.   I welcomed. And still it was held, this unknown thing, this flame, in the quiet equilibrium of hands.   Upon the potters wheel rises slow my city of Gathertegen, for my children to generate;   the wrong rotation,  the wrong touch, vanity, it crumbles.

“Again and again, between sheets white as snow whose melt is the ocean, the seed was taken, and it grew.   “Let God guide you.”    It widens and is shaped with hands, it is something fiery which glows.”

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I suffer it before I become it easily.   This is clear.   When the human organism is transitioning from the racial form into the ageless form, it crosses a Quantum field – an electron leaping to a higher orbital frequency.

From “I Dreamed on Good Friday Morning”

“To clamber through to the other side was now deliberate ;
to dream an unreal fairground scene of desolation – 
phantasm of effort:  for may we not connect, at any time 
with or without the surface body?

My inertia could not turn. 
I could not walk, but on the cakewalk I 
let my awareness open, soften, surrender the vibration itself; 
and into a neural chaos drowned, 
seeking comfort, smudging circuitry. 

For a few seconds only, the cooperation eased; 
then wave clusters dense, collided, cancelled, jammed to a screech
braining damage 
metallic resonance of Light on high, 
a black hole curved to singularity, destruct survive – 
cried out.  Woke.”

Poems of Eclipse,  1999

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And this poem which is called “The Beginning of Seeking.”  Ramesh Balsekar spoke of the beginning of seeking, as a dark night of the soul when the ego realises – “Who is this I, i am so concerned about?” – and there is nothing that can be done.   For me the beginning of seeking was in the Karmic minefield of a relationship:

“I call our story “beginning of seeking” 
but actually it was the end 
when I ambushed you with attitudes 
and so called success 
of culture and conditioning – 
and your Tales from No-mans-land began.  

I saw my hands and arms, unstoppably 
sew for you unsuitable shirts 
of their own accord. 

From vulnerable no mans land 
sprang a battlefield, twist of swords 
helpless to prevent 
as a silver birch’s stem to order the leaves that branch – 
or forest to restrain the deer.

I saw mercenaries, armed to the teeth 
lay siege to a house within the storm 
which stays untouched ; 
which does not break, 
but into which all broke, each plate 
and cup of repaired fragility. 

The beginning of seeking happens when 
an open house is closed,
and swords lay siege 

to a grey and starving maiden
locked inside.

From Poems of Eclipse, 8 June 1999

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Tree with hebrew

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16 June 2013

In John Coyote’s poetry, I found these three wonderful lines.

You rested your body against me.
We were lovers once.
Friendship took us to the next level.”

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Secret Dakini Oracle spread, 15 June 2013

Secret Dakini Oracle spread, 15 June 2013

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Spirituality is the way things work in life.   Last week came a  gleam of light – the Serpent of Light in the archway of the inner life:  Hermes.   The other day, I cast the dakini oracle.   The horses look at one another across it, and the Serpent rises through Mula, the dark Goddess, the root chakra or muladhara.  The first card, “Earth Bound” at the top, is actually Tarot Key 21, The World.   The one in the middle, apex of the pyramid, is the Karmic living goddess:  a higher insight level.   The oracle reflects what I was thinking about. Give it time.

Aries and I went for a walk and discussed why life is so unbelievably hard and painful for some people – the knocks, the battering …  the spiritual path.

It is the way the Light looks and feels, when we are still in training, and bumping into it.

Even a bike crashes on the road to Damascus!

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A painting of Binah - In the Beginning - Genesis. The E or Aleph of "Elohim" is at the centre point, inside the letter Beit. God breathes on the waters, and Creation returns through the night, to source. At the time this was painted, Uranus, Saturn and Venus were conjunct.

A painting of Binah – In the Beginning – Genesis. The E or Aleph of “Elohim” is at the centre point, inside the letter Beit like a little spark. God breathes on the waters, and Creation returns through the cosmic night, to source. At the time this was painted, Uranus, Saturn and Venus were conjunct.

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My adventure invites fellow travellers.  I am a poet, an artist and a seer.  I welcome conversation among the PHILO SOFIA, the lovers of wisdom.

This blog is  a vehicle to promote also my published work – The Sacred India Tarot (with Rohit Arya, Yogi Impressions Books) and The Dreamer in the Dream – a collection of short stories (0 Books). Watch this space.

aquariel link

All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012. May not be used for commercial purposes. May be used and shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address https://janeadamsart.wordpress.com/

A Poem: Wedding Rings

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corwall 2011 066

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Still at work on my next post !  which contains a few Botticelli-type sketches;  and preparing also  a new revision of my book Poems of Eclipse for ebook publishing.

Here is one of the poems  – it is called: “Wedding Rings“:

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2 vesica

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NOTHING TOUCHES deeper.

Flung open, the frisson
of subtle body with lovers’ rub
blends essence,
reminding me of unknown
factor and fate.
To accomodate ‘another’
builds openly the natural state.

The root of eros, seen afresh,
surfs the wave –
the danger and thrill of mating.
In crystal ball, the babe is born.
Ripples, spheres in lake
melt in meeting
rain through rings of rain ;

the lover expands
through all my space

I am the rain.

I penetrate in play,
heedless of life’s damages,
fish that into little fishes swim,
compelling the sea of waves
throughout this room
unfathomed.

Thus, wedding rings
can bring delight
or else despair: a mutual rape
where rain and fish no longer play.

Dry land is a covered well,
a dance floor null and void.

May 1999 – from Poems of Eclipse

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vesica 3

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GALLERY –
Doodlings of time-space diagrams and relationships in an old notebook (1989).
With the Lens – the inner eye –  we may view ourselves, each other and our odd combinations of confinement, co-dependency and release.

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1 BLOG And God....

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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 – When reflecting on the Lovers …

All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012. May not be used for commercial purposes. May be used and shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address https://janeadamsart.wordpress.com/

Myths of Lord Siva – Tripurantaka

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ramana & devotees - Version 2

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AJ

This poem was a collaboration with Alan Jacobs.  It arose from his series “Myths of Lord Siva”, circa 1992, and it sits well with the Sacred India Tarot Siva/Parvati material.   I have pottered around with it from time to time, ever since Alan first introduced me to the wealth of the Sivaic language and archetypes in Southern India, and to the esoteric landscape behind Ramana Maharshi’s Self-enquiry.

Taraka Asura was of course the arch demon whose demise was destined only at the hand of Siva’s son, Skanda .

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Siva Tripurantaka

Demon Taraka’s three Asuric sons
became Ascetics to earn a Boon.
Moved by their tapas, Brahma
granted what they craved – Eternal Life!

“But,” he warned
“you cannot escape your Death.
If you would be happy, choose again.”

“Give us,” they said “three cities for a mere thousand years.
Then we’ll unite for a single Arrow
to finish us off !”
Replied rash Brahma:  “Yes.”

On a welsh hill

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Satan Maya conjured from virtual space
three titanic Cities
– brazen Gold, Silver nacre and Black iron –
for Taraka’s little Devils to ‘whelm the World.

They broke apart the Sacred, they violated all known Bounds.
The gods begged Brahma to destroy those awful Towns
whose magic centres fly about at will, and
once in a millenium, for one split second, align !

Said Brahma Creator:
“Who, Me?  Who else
but Siva Destroyer
strings that Bow ?”

As aeons into Chaos plunged,
Siva with his bride Uma, Daughter of the Himalaya
dallied, and held his fiery Seed.

At love’s creaming peak, He
the mighty One, aligned his Cosmic
third eye.

Fashioning from the grieving Gods his chariot and bow,
stringing three demon Citadels on eternal NOW,
he loosed his arrow … PFATTT !
What chance Tripura against the One?

Sacred India Tarot - Siva Tripurantaraka

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As with Lightning in reverse,
heaven’s Thread was pulled
across the sky
to snap and crack the Show !

Unwilling yet to burn
Time and Space to ash, the Lord
held back his fire, and let the White Bull,
his sperm among the Stars, roam free.

The fecund planet peoples
overjoyed, resumed
their long lost Natural State –
the Worlds returned to grace.

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ramana sketch

The sage who lives on Siva’s hill
says: “mind turns Inward with dispassion. 
Realisation is slow. Who am I?
The One Self penetrates and permeates Triplicity.”

Brahmins pickled in priestly Lore,
say the Cities gold, silver and black, are Bodies
causal, subtle, gross.
In Desire’s shrouds,
they tightly bind and knot mens’ Souls.

Brahmins know for sure that Siva
Lord of the Dance,
consumes their learned Thread
right “Now”
within the “Here … ?”.

AJ JA 1992: 2009

Sacred India Tarot Siva - detail

Sacred India Tarot Siva – detail

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My adventure invites fellow travellers.  I am a poet, an artist and a seer.  I welcome conversation among the PHILO SOFIA, the lovers of wisdom.

This blog is  a vehicle to promote also my published work – The Sacred India Tarot (with Rohit Arya, Yogi Impressions Books) and The Dreamer in the Dream – a collection of short stories (0 Books). Watch this space.

AQUARIEL link

All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012. May not be used for commercial purposes. May be used and shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address https://janeadamsart.wordpress.com/