The Chakras Part 2 – the Mountains

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3 Granthis on Everest!  Photo by F S Smythe, 1930s

3 Granthis on Everest! Photo by F S Smythe, 1930s

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This post suggests walking the Tree of Life through the Himalayan range! – to re-state the themes of the journey.

Chakras on the Tree of Life

Chakras on the Tree of Life

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The Granthi Knots

Definition by Ernest Wood:  “There are three granthis:  in the basal/muladhara, the heart(anahata) and the eye-brow/ajna Chakras.   It is explained that Kundalini has to break through these knots in the course of her journey up the spine.  The first is called the knot of Brahma, the second that of Vishnu, the third that of Siva.  Human consciousness goes through (these) three states before reaching perfect union with its own true Self, or abolition of bondage.”  

The trimurti Brahma Vishnu Siva are “Creator, Sustainer, Destroyer”.   The One Immanent Reality (equivalent to Y – H V H in our tradition [jhvh, jahveh]) is Brahman, the Self, transcending all three.  Once again in the greater Mysteries, we find the divine Thread – a Tetrahedral sacred geometry:  3 with the emerging One within – a 4th.

soul tetrahedrons

soul tetrahedrons

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Here is a page from “Manishya – On Being Human” by myself and Actaeon, in 2004:

THE KNIGHT (male) journeys through the mandala of the Rose (female).  The Knight and the Rose  symbolise our learning process from childhood.  The child’s task throughout life, is to reconcile and honour his or her interior parents – incarnation’s archway whose horizons expand.  They, the right and left pillars of the Tree of Solomon, stand south and north.  I journey through their portal, travelling from the west to the rising sun.  This is a quadriform Key to life:

“All experience is an arch where thro’
gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades
for ever and for ever, as I move … “

Alfred Lord Tennyson

In our shadow are belief systems – rigidities of indoctrination. Devouring their own tail, they reinforce a closed circuit of births or reactive patterns of behaviour.  Hod repeats the Netzachian pulse, fuelled by Yesod the personal ego: a triad of feeling – the habit pattern.

Arcana - ourobouros

In alchemy, we try to walk contra the way of the world.  Rather than run with life’s pressure, we turn to face it.  The arrow put into reverse, flies “upside down” into the heart of Dante’s Rose of paradise.  Our attachments to “life-and-death” matters begin to drop away.  They fall out of the pockets of that powerful tarot symbol, the Hanging Man – the path of MEM.  This Hebrew letter means the Waters of Life.  Diving into the unconscious, he smiles as he performs a cosmic headstand, treads the starry firmament, and is born again –  as dew from heaven.

The Hanging Man is a pendulum at rest.

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Arcanum 12 - Hanging Man

Arcanum 12 – Hanging Man

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The personal becoming transpersonal, moves deeper into the Tree.  We reach our own interior crossroads, where the granthi of our genetic, karmic and spiritual tendencies were knotted.

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Tree of Life with three Granthi Knots

Tree of Life with three Granthi Knots

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In Indian Yogic culture which parallels the Tree of Life, the granthis correspond to the solar plexus, the throat, and third-eye centres.  Kundalini – the Shakti – has to break through these knots in the course of her journey up the spine, and free their energy potential.

Brahma granthi (Sacred india Tarot)

Brahma granthi (Sacred india Tarot) – Vishnu lies asleep on the serpent, and dreams him on his lotus, umbilically.

In the mythos, the first is sometimes called the knot of Brahma (creator), the second is that of Vishnu (sustainer), the third is Rudra/Siva (destroyer).  We may detect, become aware and release the bonds of life.  We inherit the Conscious seed – our second birth.

Siva/Rudra granthi (sacred india Tarot)

Siva/Rudra Granthi (sacred india Tarot) – serpent power liberated

Vishnu Granthi (Sacred India Tarot)

Vishnu Granthi (Sacred India Tarot) – serpent power contained.

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Human consciousness reaches union with its own true Self, through these three levels.  The first concerns personality, ancestral and genetic codes.  The second addresses issues still deeply engraved in the Soul Law from previous lives, which await resolution.  At the third (beyond the mind), time and space dissolve, and grace prevails.  The points of tension or conflict, seek resolution.

near Tibet - photo by Ashvin Mehta, Encounters with Eternity 1985

near Tibet – photo by Ashvin Mehta, Encounters with Eternity 1985

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In the Tree’s Lower Face, the cutting of the first granthi  of Yesod to Tifareth, across the Hod-Netzach “Red Sea”, frees the heart from ancestral ties or relationships which bind.

Clip from Jacobs Ladder, showing the Tree of the psyche (planets) interlocking the Tree of the body (Cha

Clip from Jacobs Ladder, showing the Tree of the psyche (planets) interlocking the Tree of the body (Chakras).  The psychological Tree of Formation is planted in the body Tree’s Tifareth, at “ground level”.  The first granthi (ancestral) is below the ground level.  The second granthi is above it, at Tifareth, Gevurah, Netzach, where the Trees of Formation and Substance interlock.   The soul matures.  At the third granthi – in the Great Triad of Tifareth, Binah, Hokhmah –  the Creational archetypes interlock with the Tree of Formation.

I need to refresh and clarify the detail for myself.  This diagram also has the general idea:

Jacobs Ladder - interlocking worlds

Jacobs Ladder – interlocking worlds:  11 circles  (see previous post)

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After we have lived and worked along the paths forming the Soul cup, we start to comprehend the nature of our second granthi, –  the intersection of Tifareth centre pillar with the horizontal Path of Strength –  Gevurah and Hesed.  Unravelling this knot, where profound Karmic issues adhere, releases a potential to receive the Cup of divine grace:  Tifareth, Binah, Hokhmah … Kether.  Conditioned tensions in the Tree’s Lower Face melt away, as our centre of gravity shifts to the heart.

So we cross the Abyss “beneath the Angels’ Wings”.  As we travel the mountain passes, the great Wings of Archangel Mikael open from between the shoulder blades.  “As children we shall re-enter the mystery of our Heavenly Mother and Father” .

Photo taken from FS Smythe's highest point on Everest, 1933

Photo taken from FS Smythe’s highest point on Everest, 1933

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The Soul Law

THE INCARNATIONS of the soul are a journey to expand consciousness, truth and love – through conflict towards harmony.  This is what unconditional love ultimately embraces and contains.

At the second granthi, we understand and break the deep, ingrained Soul patterns of victim, persecutor, rescuer.  Obscuring consciousness (Tifareth), truth (Gevurah) and love (Hesed), these lay embedded for lifetimes to resolve.

Terrace farm in Ranihet by sranjan, trekearth.com

Terrace farm in Ranihet by sranjan, trekearth.com

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flow of stone, Encounters with Eternity 1985

flow of stone, Encounters with Eternity 1985

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Gevurah and Hesed in the Soul triad, are feminine and masculine pillars of our individual soul Law.  The soul Law is reflected in the parental Hod and Netzach to which it gravitates for an incarnatory purpose, seeking resolution.  And so, embodying a bundle of soul memory, the personal “I” – Yesod – takes shape.  The soul Law breathes into our ear a Word – the essence of our quest for this lifetime.  As we are born again and pick up this live vibration, we treasure in ourselves, our parents’ genetic framework, their gift to us however arduous, and our way of discovery through it.

If you rest against a tall beech or oak in the woods, you can listen to the Word:  the golden core within.  Time’s ancestral concentric rings in the wood are a plane which crosses the Tree’s height, root and breadth.   These are layers of the onion.   Reaching the core of my soul Law  “that I am“,  she moves and flowers through all my seemingly separate births, linking and drawing them together by soul osmosis … upward and across the pattern.

Osmosis is the law of growth.  Moisture and nitrates in the ground are drawn up through the roots as sap, towards the Sun.  The sap rises through the cell membranes.  As nature abhors a vaccuum, each cell as it empties, draws nourishment up into itself.  This is Ascension.  In the branches and leaves it photosynthesises with light, and releases life-giving oxygen.  Alchemy calls this ‘the green dragon’;  a sensitive onlooker from outside Earth, may witness the flow of renewed life over the continents, as a quiver of springtime’s emerald ray.  A soul’s release into Spirit from Tifareth, begins to nourish humanity.

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Towards Daat …

Bearing rather than scatter the seed
whose fire liberates us,
we are the glowing lamp the Hermit holds.
We are the honey of the melting snows.

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14 moonrise

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The Journey to Badrinath

GALLERY – I have not been to Badrinath.  These photos were taken by Actaeon, many years ago.  The pilgrim chant through the watershed is Lakshmi Narayana, Badri Narayana – the seed (Badri) which Lakshmi gave to Vishnu. 

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This is how I imagine the journey:

The Blue Ones – consider the throat chakra in the rainbow scheme – they speak.  The speaker.  The transmission.   Imagining it at this moment, as a flow of jewels in the air – the ageless teaching, the wisdom, ever fresh and beautiful – the river flowing from the source, the voice …  I find myself at a meeting point of Siva and Vishnu, hence the over-abundance of river valleys in this region.   Around Badrinath they abound.   Vishnu is Lord here, and he is blue.   Siva did something rather like RAHU.  When the gods were churning nectar with Mount Meru as the stick, they churned up all the poisons too.   Siva drank up all the poisons and held them in his yogic Throat where they turned pure peacock-blue – Vishnu’s colour:  stability, Sustainer.

In such a tale, the gods are not differentiated, they are Brahman the One, in his flow of aspects.

Rahu when he was an ordinary asura, crept in on the gods when they were feasting on their own immortality, and took a sip.   One of the Vishnu(?) gods saw him, and cut off the head and mouth which had tasted.  The elixir would rove for ever more, unsated, energising humans to bite off more than we can chew.

Siva when the gods got into trouble with their self indulgence, also came and sipped and drank, but as a Deliverer.   As a Yogi, he held it in his throat without swallowing, and transmuted the toxicity.  He turned it into brilliant blue sky.   Siva is alchemical.

Nilakantha by moonlight, photo by F S Smythe 1935 - blue in Siva's throat

Nilakantha by moonlight, photo by F S Smythe 1935 – blue in Siva’s throat

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So here are Siva and Rahu, both with the Taste of Elixir.    Here are Siva and Vishnu in the high Ganga tributaries;  and here is Creator Brahma dreaming it all.  I can only imagine their places of worship and pilgrimage among those arduous communicating valleys and snowy passes.  I imagine being among their mountains and hearing their song, the melted glaciers rushing through the little towns.   I sense their altars, and the pilgrims who have trudged this far, and are content.   I hear the chanting and the ancestral release.  I can smell the dhoop and yak dung, and put down my heavy load:  the air of high altitude, biting fresh, and in the hidden distance, Kailas.   You know, you cross the highest watershed, and still ahead of you, remote in Tibetan brownlands, awaits the culminating peak:  and the lake of lakes, in which to bathe.

Nilgiri Parbat, photo by Frank Smythe

Nilgiri Parbat, photo by Frank Smythe

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I might not be able to travel to Badrinath physically in this lifetime, but it is in my soul.

I hear the ancestral song.  You know, our ancestors and past loved-ones, are buried in our personal graveyards, the ones we carry around on our backs.   We are walking graveyards!   Siva dances in graveyards.  And when we arrive up here, we let go of our walking dead, clean and noble.   We cut the “granthi knot”.  We release our personal micro-cosmos to the Self:  the godcosm.

And then we return to the plains, having honoured them, and life goes on.

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Chalice and Blade

Chalice and Blade

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This is from a collection of photographs of a journey to Kailas.  Glimpses of Siva and Parvati abound:  their marital home was on Kailas.

Mountain gallery
Photos copyright Rommel and Sadhana Varma 1985

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I found this photo of Kailas in Tom's blog The Sun Hermit, of poetry and observations

GLIMPSE OF KAILAS – I found this wonderful photo in Tom’s blog The Sun Hermit, of poetry and observations.  Under it is his poem The Mountain without Valleys – a beautiful tale.

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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/

Tales of the Watershed: A House of Hundreds of Rooms

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wave break

The Watershed stories were written down long ago, around events which are more or less done and dusted.  But as they were dreamed, they have a tendency to reverberate, and they come to me as teachers, past, present and even future.   This tale underlies my emotional landscape of the last week or two – somewhat bumpy, but beginning to settle; to acknowledge, and let go.  It is another tale of incarnation or birth, the parental mystery from womb through tomb.   Mastery of any art is again, a spell-thing.

sphere

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“The Witch” – Dreams,  No.270   October 1976

I SAW a great roll of sea race into the bay and up the beach.   My father dived into this witchy wave as it turned to race back out to sea, and I saw him rapidly carried by the current very far out from the rocky beach.   He swam and shouted in the distance, his head could hardly be seen.   “He’s too far out!”  my mother shouted  “The current’s got him, he can’t swim back to us against it.  Oh!  He can’t get back.   We’ve lost him …”

But I began to get ready.   For yes, I am going after him,  to follow him out into the wondrous wild grandeur of that surging grey sea.   It pulls every fibre of my body, I must be there in that music,  else my life ends in envy.   There is no more after that in my memory.   There is only the tug of the boundless white element, the wave.

But there is also a huge house in which I lived for a time.

In this house were hundreds of rooms.   Many of them were bedrooms, as in a hotel,  but they also were clustered to form large apartments loosely interconnected by corridors, kitchens and utilities.   The living spaces communicated with each other like a grapevine.   The bedrooms were large, the beds in them wide and neatly made:  sometimes there were two or more beds to a room.   They were extraordinarily inviting.

Cupid & Psyche 1973

Cupid & Psyche 1973

They tugged my body.   I wanted to sleep in them all.   I couldn’t make up my mind.   I felt also intensely sad and deprived, because none of the rooms, beds or clusters belonged to me.   Others lived in and occupied them.   The rooms were redolent of the warmth, the pain, the sensual expectancy of those lives, sweet poignancy, my heart filled with an anguished longing and envy.   I wanted to be with a man on those beds, to have sex, to have affairs.   Dark, close, divinely rotting is the fruit, so thick the air, and intense the waiting.   How to possess any of those rooms?   They were allotted to people there, haphazardly by the management;   to my sister and to my brother;   both of them were in this place.   They knew their place in the music of adult providence.

In the kitchen a stout jovial woman cooked meals and looked after people.  Is she the owner,  or the mother of them all?

Cooking - 1987

Cooking – 1987

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Within the walls were a musty honeycomb of dark staircases and passages.   I went quite often to the kitchen to talk to or watch Queen Bee the jovial woman, to blur for a few minutes the sharp edge of my anxious loneliness.   Her kitchen had, I think, no windows.   She was always busy there, and she was not a tidy cook.   The electric light was strong, and her stoves, airing cupboards and hand-me-down furniture were massive.   Dishes piled up briskly by the sink and vegetables upon the table and newspapers on the chairs.   She kept her recipes on scraps of paper within the leaves of the great philosophers, and lost them from year to year.   She strode on large legs, voluminously aproned, and tied her dark hair in a knot.   The walls of her kitchen were painted an old fashioned yellow, and the wainscoting was chocolate brown.

The Tale of Samuel Whiskers by Beatrix Potter

The Tale of Samuel Whiskers by Beatrix Potter

In the walls were yielding places.  By the broom-cupboard, a small area yielded to deep channels of shadow in the “fruit” beyond the wall;   yielded to an ancient breath of corruption.

This very small aperture in the kitchen wall frightened me.   It was stifling and rather hot.  I might get stuck.  A thick flap or curtain covers it almost to the bottom.   It is uncomfortable to submit my body to the slanted twisting plane of this confined space.   There might be claustrophobia, cannot breathe.   But I crawled through it into a passage that led upwards for some way, like the chimneys in Tom Kitten,  and then down a steep flight of stairs, narrow and murky, to the door of a closed room which was a witch’s  hole.

dragon eats tail

A cloth hung over this door.   I removed the hanging cloth and pushed up the screen to open it.   An appalling square of darkness rushed out at me, paralyzing my memory.   I took the body of the witch in my arms – it was hanging on the door mummified, long preserved and undisturbed, wearing a petrified cap encrusted with jewels – switched on the electric light into the room and walked across it.   I think I laid the witch down on a box bed at the other side and in the corner.   The room was empty, fusty and full of dust.   It was redolent of petrified spells and latent powers.

scorpio force spiral

spell-thing

scorpio glyph

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Having opened the door,  I have returned many times to that room.

Many times I crawled through that disagreeably small aperture into the passage and the murky flight of stairs.   The woman in the kitchen did not prevent me from doing so.   But in her genial way she was anxious.   She warned me to be careful, making almost a joke of it.   I was a little afraid she might become severe and forbid my access.

During my visits to the room, its atmosphere became tangibly charged with ions (condensed from aeons)  of purpose.   Awakened feelings and influence throbbed up from the bare worm-eaten floorboards,  making me wish to do strange things with my body, to burst out of it, to abuse, to copulate with the air,  to leap around, to fly upside down.   These things however I did not do.   For I must not dissipate the serpent force.   I am playing in this place with an ancient danger.   I am very frightened, but I do not think my fear will overcome me.

 floor-boards

What did I set out to do?   I cannot quite see.   To the limits that I’m allowed, I am an observer of the ancient danger.   I am its explorer.   I renew the life-force of the witch and the spell that she herself placed under seals in time gone past.

Water flows from rock, from life and thought, from fossilized bone.   The seals were cryptic diagrams and stars to trace with my body in the dust of the floor.   And I am their release.   They in that room had no speech, no form.   They were perhaps evil.   Their current was an increase of power from fancy to substance, getting hotter.

I am the serpent that awakens in the shivering land.   I am uncoiling from sleep, and the room is a solid flying creature like a rainbow, earth broke open.   Night is devouring light.   Every tree under the moon is a vipers nest of lights whip-lashing earth.   They penetrate my body like severed conduits of current.   They spark, they writhe.   I can’t get back, I’ve lost them, I the spectrum of all precious stones, I a prism for pure light into the rainbow, into coloured fog, night to devour the light,  go back, go back, pour the oscillating pulse back into the trembling equipoise of stillness, yes, stop it moving, stop the circling thought.   Pour its iridescence back into the floor-boards, mischief is the excess of things.

Baphomet sigils

Again and again I would leave the room and creep through the little opening back into the kitchen where the jovial woman reigns among her kitchen stove, sink, steamer-pots, pans, peas and parsnips which she baked in sesame oil.   She – her sympathy with me is cooling.   I am beginning to lose her alliance, she turns her back on me, she looks perturbed, she’s bending over the oven, its heat is all around.   “Wait, can’t you,” she snaps   “It isn’t ready.   In this house are hundreds of lives to feed …”

And then I must return again to do whatever it was that I was doing.   “What are you stirring up?”   she asked suddenly.

Shepherdess, 1988

Shepherdess, 1988

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A time came for final retreat from the room where my body lay.   It was full now of elementars, and of vaccuums of a viscous grey entity whose force was stronger than I,  and frightened me very much.   Last time I went in, a shrill twittering and shrieking greeted me.   I saw a live horned bat hovering outside one of the windows.   There are windows to this room, windows to some further degree of night that cannot be uttered.   This bat was hungry. It was attracted by the light.  It would come in and sweep its dubious soul through every dark dream in the house at the other side of the aperture.   But into light the bat flies blind.   The light makes it stupid, it cannot see.   So I left the Light on in that room.   I closed the door and pulled the green cloth screen down over it and escaped back to the kitchen and to the company of the genial Queen Bee.

Lovers & their History

Lovers & their History

“There’s a bat there now,”  I told her, trying not to shake too much.   “I left the light on in the room.   For a creature of darkness, light is a Black Hole.   It extinguishes the night vision.   It makes the creature’s sight collapse in on itself, it is gravity sort of, in reverse, so it’s alright isn’t it? to stop the bat at the window?   Otherwise it’d just go on and on, find all the dark that is in the world …”

But the jovial woman was very alarmed.   “On no account must you go back there!” said she.   “Yes, it is well that you left light there.   That bat is eternity.   Eternity is looking in.   Eternity is wanting to belong in,  to own just one little room of time.   Eternity is you and your curiosity, you foolish child.”

“But,”  I said  “I made a barrier of light,  the illumined room of the witch.   It bars the bat from flitting through the room and the door and –  and into where people are living in all the bedrooms –  oh –  what if I left a crack,  an opening?    I’ve got to – go back,  haven’t I?”

The woman said,  “Yes,  you’d better.   To be sure within yourself.”

Crevassemoth Ally - Sketch

Crevassemoth Ally – Sketch

I went back.   One more time,  to make sure all is safe and secure.   I had forgotten one thing in my haste,  which is to cover the door and the green screen with the cloth.

So I crawl again through the stuffy aperture in the skirting-board, up through the passage of night and down the murky stairs.   The staircase now is full of horror.   Hesitating at the top, I steeled myself.   Now I am plunging into an abyss, entangled in a grotesque cobweb from the bannisters, ropes that grope to strangle me.   At the bottom I pull the cloth covering right down over the door, over the green screen that covers the door, tucking the edges of the cloth closely in all round to leave no gaps.   The screen yields to my touch as if it hangs free and is alive.   I pull it down closer to the ground, hoping there is no way through for the bat.   The Light will stay on always, as a lure to the whole force of the bat.   It will curve its particles of will inward, how can it go anywhere else?

Then I escaped up the stairs.   I looked back.   The cloth hung still, quiet and pale over the door, with a great rose coloured cross designed upon it, which reached to its height and breadth.  And when I looked back again, there hung upon the rose-coloured cross the witch, who has apparently been put back in place.   But this time no cap hides her head.   It is a human head, sorrowful with drooping eyelids and long brown hair combed as if for some ceremony.

rose cross seeds of light

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In this house are hundreds of rooms.

They are the honeycomb of my sad soul,  soul of the world,  for “being” is transcendent,  measureless through all the rooms.   “Being” is you and I and the fields that we know and the seas that we don’t.   In infinite depth or series of transparency, I look out through every  window of history.   There is no floor.   The gleam of light that is realised in consciousness within, through  and beyond this house of hundreds of rooms deeper than the Universe, is a key to the world.

103 World compass

The passage back to the key-hole – aperture to the kitchen of the jovial woman who reigns in and feeds a house of hundreds of rooms – intersected another passage on the way.   I discovered this passage opening out to the left.   It is a big and open flight of stairs descending towards the basement, to the nether regions of the house.   I can hear people, the voices of men down there.   Perhaps they are working,  or repairing something.   I seem to hear the percussive ring of tools.

I have been down that great staircase a little way, but not to the bottom.

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ramana & annamalai brick laying

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Here is a song of the Earth and Sea.  I painted it many years later, while listening to Cesar Franck’s joyous Symphonic Variations.  “Crevassemoth” is a meeting of the elements in my soul, where waves break into Earth, atoms interact and shadow spills Light.   It is an alchemical transmutation.  The sun glints my golden path in the waters’ embrace.

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Crevassemoth Alchemy 1987

Crevassemoth Alchemy 1987

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More dream stories in this series, are in the Watershed Tales Category on the sidebar.

WordPress make it great fun to insert a mosaic gallery and wonder what order they will show up in.  This post was intended to be “pictorially restrained” with a small gallery at the end – even so, a surprising number of ideas popped up from my files;  I discarded about half of them, so this is what is left.

GALLERY

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/

Sun Manifesto

“Dreams are illustrations from the book your soul is writing about you.” Marsha Norman

This quote appeared on the wp link column, just as I was posting.

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Discovery 1963 - a painting done at school

Discovery 1963 – a painting done at school

Last week, a spontaneous meditation arose in my journal, after posting “A Bed for a Language“.  Then at the weekend, my father rang up about the Voice he heard at night, which told him: “I am You are a particle-ar expression of the universe. There is no separation”.   (See previous post, The Wrestlers).

This is germane to a new wheel – sphere – of time.   I’d like to know who else is feeling this, and seeing through a frameless window:  2013.   For sure, many bloggers are.

old Kabbalah engraving - look through into Beriah

old Kabbalah engraving – look through into Beriah

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(23 January) – Here is last week’s brief, profound  impression:  it came in the early morning before I got up.  It is simple.  Elect to KNOW, that all about and in and around me are atomic particles of prana – the BEING to breathe into – my traumas too, are life giving atoms – seeds of Consciousness.   Rather than weep and wail with their nightmare (=tension), let trauma particles convert into prana particles, which in essence they are.  The tidal breath.   Walk the shining sands within my heart.

This potentially changes everything.  It is the Great Meditation of the Sun;  the grains of sand in Mother Ganga.

It is a crucial transmutation to this day and age.

Why?  Because the imprint of despair, fear and pain DISABLES whole societies.   Whereas the conversion of it to prana-awareness EMPOWERS me and you in all directions, as society.  It is subtle, inward and secret.  We have to keep practicing.

The solar photon moves in every direction of infinity, connecting with itself.  Life on earth is a golden lattice through the waters.  Gold in the rock is congealed sunlight.   The sun on a wet street is a path of gold.  Yet we value more, our trinkets!   What monkeys we are.  Keep practicing.  Keep opening the shutters.

Self empowering is the decision to charge each particle positively, unhampered by regret, rage or revenge.   A radically different Universe/environment opens.   The collective human consciousness is pinned down at the moment by a mass negative persuasion, afflicting us at every level of lower Yetzirah (World of Formation, the psyche).   To some observers, this appears as the Greys, aliens, insomnia and paranoid government conspiracies.

Self empowering is the local decision anywhere, to turn this fantasy – the miasm – RIGHT ROUND, here and now.   Despair, negativity and horror are socially acceptable and condoned – a deep herd instinct, blinkers –  a corral into which to shove the sheep.  Yes, what appears to be a sinister focus clumps together and is self made.  And yes, here and now is the alternative,  to embody, and to make it CONTAGIOUS in any way we can.  But it needs exercise.  Take off the blindfold.  Blow the brave gold dandelion clock.   It explodes into seeds of light:  speech.

The seeds are dainty, fragile, almost invisible.  But they are SUNS.  But they are Suns, and nothing (when they are aware and embodied) can adulterate them.  Nothing can destabilize Reality.

So … to locate the dandelion seeds in and around heart and solar plexus being, sponsoring these rather than the old metalled road of Name and Blame – is the high and inward art.

solar lioness orbits 1988

solar lioness orbits 1988

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I am practical about God.   I am a subatomic particle in God’s body, and I wake up.  Even just sometimes for a moment, is a start.  I am a starling in the flock murmuration, and I wake up.   Gravity is the action of co-creativity.   Nothing moves in isolation, except thoughts which are apparently born, strive and die.   Blind thoughts.

What do I identify with?   The dark thought which stresses so invitingly?  Or the seed of Light?

My thoughts and wounds and resistance are local turbulences which like sunspots appear dark against the Light.   They are the Light – intensely so.   My thoughts when I awaken, disrobe – like the man and his coat with the blustering wind which tried to blow it off him, and the sun whose warmth made him take it off.   And I am not alone.

The dark thought is One and the Same –  seed of Light.

To truly recollect the stepped-up Presence of the Companions of the Light … stop to feel  the atoms – pin-points of space and being.   Let my brackish brick panics  crumble into the golden powder of the Light:  self empowerment – hold the lamp and light my way.

Key arcanum 9:  Hermit Yod - Hermetic Tarot 1991

Key arcanum 9: Hermit Yod – Hermetic Tarot 1991

This is the purpose of catastrophes in life – for the Awakening power which converts them.  The Awakening power is a COMMAND STATION.   I command.  It is my sweet revenge on the delusion in all ages which harassed and trampled the feminine earth and our children.

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"God - as the ignorant misconceive him" - arcanum 15, hermetic tarot 1991

“God – as the ignorant misconceive him” – arcanum 15, hermetic tarot 1991

Paul Foster Case wrote: “Materialistic science seldom perceives that what it calls ‘laws of nature’ are no more than incomplete reports of what has been observed by persons in nowise liberated from the delusions engendered by superficial interpretation of appearances.  All that any research worker in any field of science can study, is what enters his mind through his impression of sensation.  If he change his outlook, he will enter another world, and will be able to wield powers which go beyond the limits of the mere statistical averages … For modern science, a ‘law of nature’ is actually no more than a statement of what probably may be expected in a given set of circumstances …” 

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“… The inverted pentagram on the Devil’s brow is the ignorant belief that will power is of personal origin, so that each human being has a will of his own which he is free to exert, contrary to the laws of God and nature.”

Builders of the Adytum (www.bota.org)

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Link to The Reckless Fruit (2)

So … we flip that pentacle round.  We poke some fun at the pompous old billy.  We tweak his beard.  We laugh at ourselves.

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Anne Davies, Paul Foster Case & Students in the 1940s

Anne Davies, Paul Foster Case & Students in the 1940s

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The Will of the Wheel of the Sun, is the power of all the Worlds, of which I am you are a particle.

My father heard this also, independently, a few days later.  And you?

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(24 January) – The same particle brushes the Himalayas with a feather each aeon of the Tahagatha –  or appears as Hermes to my untidy kitchen table.  Reality has infinite space, inward as out.

A still small voice from time to time brings me thoughts of a deep transformative simple kind which I long to grasp and make permanent !  It is to do with non-possessive, non-possessed.   They slip away like fish.  The intention feels weak because I cannot pin it down, yet it is vast like GRAVITY (or starlings).  The still small voice leads the way from thickets into the light.   Trust it.   It will keep coming, and it is only my monkey mind which is weak.

Professor Branestawme inside the clock orbits

Professor Branestawme inside the clock orbits, 1988

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Lead, lead, lead into and as the Light.

Yes, the notion of prana particle is – translates in life to – self empowerment, authority to be myself, and to select where and how and with whom I want to be – as Hermes Trismegistos said, re deep sea fish and mountain high – (see the quotation below).   It coopts to the  (divine) operation of the Will.

Hermes & Pythoness

Hermes & Pythoness 1987

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Hermes sings:

“Become higher than all height, lower than all depths, comprehend in yourself the qualities of all the creatures, of the Fire, the Water, the Dry, and Moist, and conceive likewise that you can at once be everywhere, in the Sea, in the Earth. 

“You shall at once understand yourself, not yet begotten in the womb, young, old, to be dead, the things after death, and all these together, as also times, places, deeds, qualities, quantities – or else you cannot yet comprehend God. 

“But if you shut up your soul in the body, and abuse it, and say ‘I understand nothing, I can co nothing, I am afraid of the Sea, I cannot climb up to Heaven, I know not who I am, I cannot tell what I shall be’ –  What have you to do with God?  For you can understand none of those fair and good things AND be a lover of the evil limitation.  For it is the greatest evil, not to know God.

“But to be able to know, and to will, and to hope, is the straight way, and Divine way, proper to the Good;  and it will everywhere meet you, and everywhere be seen by you, plain and easy, when you don’t expect or look for it;  it will meet you waking, sleeping, sailing, travelling, by night, by day, when you speak, and when you keep silence.  For there is nothing which is not the Image of God.”

Hermes Trismegistos,  
Divine Pymander 10th Book:  The Mind to Hermes, Dr Everard translation

Hermes and the age of Pisces

Hermes and the age of Pisces

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It amounts to – not being tangled in the hedge of neurotic fears, but to place my aim (I am) on the particle … like a little skateboard.   Keep practicing.   Little particles, like motes in sunbeam, move around and through my middle.  My vessels.  Decision.   The Window.

abba aima ama:   ahieh asher ahieh

(Father, dark-Mother, light-Mother:  I am That I am, as spoken from the burning bush.  Moses had a speech impediment:  he could not pronounce consonants.  So the Name given him to pronounce, being consonant-free, has no impediment, no separation.

Of the same kind are TAT TWAM ASI – that thou Art /sanskrit, and the Tamil NAM YAR? who am I? /Ramana Maharshi.)

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Before Reality (satori) chop wood, draw water – after satori chop wood, draw water:  a Kabbalist friend has a very good version of this story, when he gets back from work this evening, I shall call him, and add it here.   For me, the strange discomfort of being human.  Headache, incipient unwell cold, insomnia & weary …  Time stops and life goes on.   Much to balance out.  Does the old brook complain about flowing over grit and sharp earthy stones?

Hermes Trismegistos Alexandria lineage - ja 2003

Hermes Trismegistos Alexandria lineage – ja 2003.  Note the Thoth bird ibis, standing on the dragon

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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.

NB – new post arriving in Aquariel shortly

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/

The Wrestlers

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Quantock dancers

Quantock dancers

Relationships, persons and childhood memories are teachers and things of beauty – a  treasure that goes higher and deeper than any mainstream art collection.  They remind me to handle life, each detail, tenderly.

This letter from my father today, enclosing photo cutting:  he was 90 earlier this month –  another mountain goat …

“Herewith the Wrestlers.  I had forgotten how much I loved this on the wall;  I suppose I lived with it a very long time both at Manor Farm and at Pitt, and it was well hung both places.  This is rather a good photograph showing the relief very clearly, and those three wonderfully related lines of the shoulders and head of the upper man.

wrestlers

“Thinking of speaking of Buddhism with you last night, of course discovering it while we were in Cornwall and Limpsfield was my first intimation of another reality beyond or within the mud and tears, and so was very exciting.  I grew up of course as an R.C., becoming disillusioned as a teenager, into a totally uninterested agnostic through the War.

“It was talking with Louis Adene in Mevagissy, and hearing about Gurdjieff and Ouspensky that awakened me to another possibility, and I automatically joined the Buddhists in London, and then the thunder-clap of Krishnamurti.  That became the real sign-post, and so these last years I wade about listening to all sorts of voices, but always as much as I can, just paying attention – allowing attention to be – on what is happening now. 

“Yesterday was a fine cold winter’s day.  Today it is cold raining, and all the gutters rattling.  I have just been reading about the vast energies positive and negative of the Universe which cancel each other out, so that in fact nothing is happening !

“With love”

my father at Pitt

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When I was 6 we lived in Cornwall near Caerhays, where I fell deeply in love with flowers and jewels.  My father was managing a farm which belonged to a teutonic tyrant called Mr Strauss.  We had to move after two years, because Mr Strauss wanted to cut down all the trees.  My father climbed to the top of a beautiful oak and sat there defiantly.  Nowadays there are more trees in southern Cornwall than ever before.

Herbert Read (whom my parents knew when we were living on the North Yorkshire moors) introduced him to a circle of Cornish artists, poets and free thinkers – Lionel Miskin (his oldest friend), Louis Adene (who lived in a wood near Gorran Haven), the Fussels and Derek Savage.   At the same time, he discussed Buddhism with my maternal grandmother in their letters.  My mother thought it was rather droll – but at least it made him happier.  As a young man, he was shell shocked from the War, very passionate, and of uncertain temper.   Probably he suffered from traumatic stress, which no one recognised in those days.  He stoically brought up his family, farmed – he was a pioneer in the return to organic farming – played the violin, and wrestled his spiritual path.   We moved house six times before I was ten, and in each house a “monastery” was set aside with a rolled up blanket for him to sit quietly.

When my father was 70 he caught a dangerous illness from swimming in a French river.  As he convalesced, each breath came to him as a jewel, a mystery beyond knowledge.   Since that time of nearly dying, he is much more serene.  The pressure of trying to be “enlightened” now, once and for all, fell away.  He didn’t call it “enlightenment”, and I don’t  like that word, either.  He called it “to be a human”, and still does.

My mother’s father, Jim Ede, gave us a cast of Gaudier’s The Wrestlers.  It weighed a ton and used to hang above my parents’ bed like a guardian angel.  I grew up with it, and it influenced my drawing.  Last year it was sold, and is now on its travels.  The photo above was taken at an exhibition “1913: the Shape of Time” at the Henry Moore Institute in Leeds, where it is on show until 17 February.

Here are The Wrestlers in my father’s old house:

wrestlers 1

His letter trips a wave and starts a wing!  Before Cornwall, we lived on a large sheep farm in Bransdale on the Yorkshire moors.

Breck Farm, Bransdale

Breck Farm, Bransdale

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14  breck photos 5

Mrs Coseira (with me and my sister) was a Polish woman who came in to help my mother. She was very pious, and she couldn’t bear to look at the Wrestlers, and always averted her eyes when she went in my parents’ room.   The donkey was called Daniel.  He had a job at Scarborough by the sea, and he was having a holiday with us, from all his hard work during the summer.  I remember the warm smell of the sack my mother tied round his middle for us to ride, and the deep crunch of the snow;  and my sister’s “hattacoatatrousers”.

In Bransdale I began to draw.  My mother made big drawing books out of cheap lining paper, unrolling, folding, cutting and stitching them with coloured darning wool.  As fast as she made them, I filled them, drawing for up to eight hours a day.  She said we would need a second removals van to carry them all, but she kept the three best books, and I have them still.  Here are a few favourites:

Gallery of Bransdale drawings, 1954

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"The Friends", circa 1957

“The Friends”, circa 1957

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… and a Cornish garden.  We moved from Yorkshire (which was very remote) to Cornwall because I had to go to school;  and there in Redruth my brother was born.  In those days, the china-clay-pit pyramids glistened along the spine of Cornwall like an alpine range, constantly changing with the light.

Cornish garden, 1955

Cornish garden, 1955

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my father with Bartok. 1950

my father with Bartok. 1948

Tangier 1951

Tangier 1951

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Finally, my two favourite alchemical engravings from Alexander Roob’s Alchemy & Mysticism.   Hermes is coming through the Great Sea, carrying carefully the world and the serpents;  he is the quicksilver, and the little cubes hidden in every part of nature are the golden prittvi, ineffable treasure in each atom of the earth of life.

The divine mercurial water, by Baro Urbigerus, Hamburg 1705

The divine mercurial water, by Baro Urbigerus, Hamburg 1705

The source material for the lapis can be found everywhere: in the earth, on the mountains, in the air and in the nourishing water. M.Maier, Atlalanta fugiens, Oppenheim 1618

The source material for the lapis can be found everywhere: in the earth, on the mountains, in the air and in the nourishing water. M.Maier, Atlalanta fugiens, Oppenheim 1618

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And …

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The Key:  Hermes heals

The Key: Hermes heals the born child  1987

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Hermes healing the interior black dragon 1987

Hermes healing the interior black dragon 1987

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dancers, 1987

dancers, 1987

Who are the Wrestlers?

Jacob’s angel meets us on the ladder, the Tree of Life.

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It is the following day:  I have to add a bit more, because my father tends to drop timely messages in my box..  When I rang him just now to thank him for sending the Wrestlers photo, he said, “Listen to this.  Last night I was told – I had to get out of bed and find my glasses and go to my desk and write it down – I was told by a Voice, very clearly – I am … You are … a particle-ar expressing of the Universal energy.  There is no separation.”

Then he reminded me, he joined a London buddhist Sangha back in 1957 or so, when we were living in Surrey.  He went to the Sangha leader, tense with questions about enlightenment and how to live.  The Sangha leader had a little room with nothing in it at all. He sat in his robe, looked up and said, “The Past is Over.  The Future has not come yet.  The Present is Now.  DO NOT WASTE IT”.

It aligns with the way the light leads through to Light, this year.   It is unmistakable – but we have to work at noticing it.

Here’s a photo of him with my mother, taken in the Lake District about 15 years ago:

mary & peter

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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.

 

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/

The Opportunity

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solstice dervish card 2 copy

It is a still point of turning worlds.  Some wobble yet remains.  Why?

I realise today, the close of the Mayan calender is my opportunity to STEP FORWARD, dropping off a tattered old cloak.  And surely this is how many of us feel!  Hence the astral dramas, the fairytales, projections and gorgeous scary websites of Planet Ascension load of bull, over the years.   Ascension is a private fact.  When the cloak comes off, the skin feels torn.

In my mind’s eye are these three cartoons of Alan Jacobs, done back in the early 1990s – particularly the third one –  he is an excellent model !  (Click to view as gallery.)

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The opportunity is REAL, ongoing, right now, for me to change a Karmic deadlock – a profoundly private matter.   I feel weak, skinless, a pale pool of tears under the blankets, but I wrote a letter this week. It is concise, and I wait the right moment to show it to my daughter, then deliver it:   Closure, for a very harrowing wound.   A short delay, gives me the opportunity to calm down, to be less “punitive”, to give the one who injured us, his own opportunity to amend.  Should he not take it, we at least took ours, and things will organically improve.   It is for giving.

So that is the scene at the moment, and I cannot go into more detail.  But I do know that we, and you, are not alone in facing a crucial issue at present – not unlike the US fiscal cliff – and how to let it go through.   It is no good acting on the impulse of my surface mind, with all its stiff hedges and corners.   I wait for it to be “moderated”.  This morning, the Priestess comes up through the pool, and I realise I can now share the process, with its universal inner language of images and metaphor, HERE.   The grief weeps, for I know I am not alone, and you are not alone, in dealing with Progress.

Priestess, King of Swords, and the alchemist

Priestess, King of Swords/Rose Cross, and Alchemist

Here are the images, then.  Pictures say more than words, which only introduce persons at a party.  The transpersonal healing touch is Reality passing through Reality.

It is caterpillar to butterfly, egg to chick, acorn to oak, and bud to flower.  It is soft, invisible and cosmic.  It is a graviton in the field-colossus of gravity – a starling in the flock.

murmuration-of-gretna-green-starlings-post-by-jchip84

and now, WATCH THIS VIDEO link – http://antiworldnews.wordpress.com/2012/04/09/stunning-bird-murmuration/ – 2 videos

The right moment to touch the key – whatever is needful in old-time, during the wintering around a turning point – will come.  A lot of autumn leaves float and circle in the breeze before they settle:  tea leaves in the cup.

My dead friends on the left pillar, encourage the “closure” of the wound.  Who is little “I”, playing out the drama?   Anyway, I find in my deceased friends, the strength of the released.  The right moment awaits the necessary data – the flock – to inform it fully and perform.   I am now in the region of the soul, not of the personality.  The process forgives, then judges, then liberates.  I respect in his soul, without prejudice, the probability that he may refuse the offer … with a tiny chance he might take it.

The Fool by a Well

The Fool by a Well

There is first an alchemical assimilation.  Slowly, my REAL LIFE rises through the pool.  The Priestess of the oracle responds to my problem as it sinks.  I detect a yielding compresence – Companions of the Light – and touch home base.   The available data settles, as the waters calm into a clear picture, reflecting sky and moon.  At first there is eclipse.

Priestess, 1988

Priestess, 1988

The change in my inner life – to silverdance it through – the point, the region of peace … I feel it now.  It is the point of the turning worlds, and I shall get the letter delivered and closure done, in the orbit for it which arises.

Here again, is the redoubtable Alan in 1994:  what a clothes-horse !   Bless him.

jason dumps a vasana '94 j&d11

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photo

… and a rare sibling get-together last week – my bro, my sis and me

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PS – Elene’s article on ‘parallel in no time‘ arrived this morning in my email, it is bang on the button.

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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.

All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012-2013. May not be used for commercial purposes. May be shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address https://janeadamsart.wordpress.com/

For Solstice

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Walk tall, breathe deep, open heart and arms.

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The Master Key

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The key of pilgrimage may open the door of the mundane into the transcendently spectacular, without ever leaving home.

The life condition had forgotten or taken for granted, the door of perception.  Realisation within all the surfaces of the world is revealed, tender and subtle.  With this key, the Vedic sages mapped the stars and sciences, through observing the dance of light, the sound of nature, her atoms, within their own contemplative and “seeing” spines, and walking through all seasons.  They loved.

So let the waterfall run down the spine that bonds us:  the music of the waters.

body tao tree

body tao tree

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The centre of the Sun core is infinite.  Planets – planes – are formed in the radiating field which cools, becomes visible, consolidates around him.  These like the Rose petals, are Shakti’s dance around Purusha “the Unborn”.  They precipitate, as thought does.

The core of a straight conifer stem with its branches twirling, is … the unmoving core of the dancer.  And he the Dervish in order not to dizzy, “spots” his inner poise of prayer as the world whirls and rotates around him.   Dance is born from within the unmoving fire stem as a barely perceptible oscillation;  whose arc, like a pendulum, births a pulse, a circuit or triad – Time.

Winter solstice:  Dervish

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And so from Sound, a wavelength, an OMKARA within or beyond the audial spectrum, a Universe, coheres centrifugally.  A concentric ripple floats out from the core.  It becomes thought.  It becomes mind.

To be the perception within the perceived, let it run down spine like water, as current, to the ground.  The wave in water conducts the current which is “fire”.

OM SHANTI.   Wishing you joy, peace and a Yule log to warm the cockles of your heart, this special Solstice 2012.

Go well!

sailboat logbook

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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.

Other blogs:  (click on image)

Reckless Fruit (2)

Reckless Fruit (2)

Reckless Fruit (1)

Reckless Fruit (1)

Aquariel

Aquariel

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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/

Today is a Special Day

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1 snowdrops

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12.12.12 today … completes a series in the cosmic clock.  10 October 2010;  11 November 2011;  12 December 2012  –  but there is no 13th month!   Today is very special.

2 Kabbalah 1989 Binah

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This painting is called “Binah”, which means “the understanding”.  At the bottom is written BEREISHITH – the Beginning.  The Divine Child Genesis gazes into the dark profile of the aeons’ reflection, rising to complete the great Circle of the Light.

It is a fourth-dimensional image.

Many are our projections onto the 2012 solstice – the completion of the Mayan calender, the opening sphere of Aquarius.  The actual miracle of this moment passes almost unnoticed.  It is beyond our language, and independent of our drama.   Picture language draws near.  This recent Tarot oracle reveals the quality of a Now, and its past (left) and future (right.)   21 is Now, 12 inverts it, and 6 is half of the full 12 in The Lovers.   Through a silent night, holy night, the portal to each other opens.

5 Arcanum 6 Lovers

4 Arcanum 21 world

3 Arcanum 12 hanged man

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The Hanging Man (who walks contrary to the world) and The World are the two most profound Arcana of Completion in the alchemical process.   These two Keys portray the ascending and descending triangles of the Sri Chakra Yantra … and of the Shield of David, or Seal of Solomon.  Key 6, the Lovers, applies the understanding in Tifareth.   What a Fruit!

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6 lotus flower

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The mind stops and enters yabyum, the lovers.  A Rainbow Buddha is in the Tree of Life.  Time’s wheel strikes the moment.

Oracle of solstice. Ora, oasis approaches this year’s solstice.  This is profoundly real, striking the ora, hour, a moment through the clock’s face of Real Aquarius.   Alignment flows the ease of being.   The force is imperceptibly vast, like gravity.    What is gravity? – connectivity.

7 balsa boat

I carved this balsa boat for my grandmother’s birthday when I was 12 or 13, and packed it in a glass box with cotton wool.  The vessel goes on sailing through the clouds.  When she opened the gift, she said, “Annapurna in cumulus!”

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The child of the turning page (below), was drawn in 1954.

It is but the page which turns.  Read on;  breathe onward;  peace, the solstice blessing, as our unmoving axis turns the worlds.

8 child 1954

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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.

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/

Hades, the Hierophant, and Hallowe’en

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This post, based on seasonal insights with Hades, covers a lot of ground.  About ten days ago it came to mind: last year’s images of Hades and of Hallowe’en from my book about Tarot Arcanum Five, including Ida Craddock’s teaching on sexuality.  Today I added more pictures, and the section on the Hierophant.  It is in three parts, linking Hadean symbolism with the inner Teacher, sexual alchemy, the witchy feminine, and more past-life reflection.   A certain “blue tint” is spreading … a lapis lazuli aroma into the air.

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Tarot Arcanum Five: the Hierophant (JA 1991)

4 October 2011 – (1) HADES, Soul maker, Artist

Some time ago, I chose a book from Elisabeth Tomalin’s library:  James Hillman’s The Dream and the Underworld.   It is reminding me of the real meaning of death, which is “completeness”.

Hades, archetype of the Underworld, underlies each psychic and mundane event of life, where the face beneath the mask touches it;  all roads return here. There is the invitation again, to go deep;  without which, everything tends to turn brittle.  Be tuned towards the depth.  Our dreams at night, no matter how apparently prosaic, are alien to life’s oracle.  They arise from the ontology of Hades, outside our enclosures of time.  “Hades’ realm is contiguous with life, touching it at all points, just below it, its shadow brother giving to life its depth and its psyche.” 

This has a strange and consoling thrill.  It reminds me of my childhood odyssey, in touch with the Greeks … and this drawing of Hades – his Grecian beauty – abducting Persephone.   His other name Pluto, is not a Romanisation.  It is from Attica, like Plato, and it means WEALTH.

Hades, 1957

There are other words:  TELOS, like the Telesma.  “When we let it go to Hades, when it dies out of life, (‘what has this to do with my death?’) then essence stands out.”   Hades is the Soul Maker.   From fields of asphodel, the more I turn my flower to Hades, the more it opens to discover. “The call to Hades …   the one absolutely certain event of the human condition, Hades is the unseen one and yet absolutely present.”

I’m aware of this, through one of Francis Lucille’s talks in Shropshire long ago, and also through reading Ann Widdecombe’s delectable novel, about people’s tragic resistance to death and dying, which chains them to tight rooms.   The resistance is instinctive and biological, but it is more than that isn’t it – it is conditioned?  Didn’t wisdom begin with embracing death?   Doesn’t our consciousness stretch across the loom and through the narrow threads of grief and suffering?  Death has no end, death moves, transforms;  it begins here.  I am, you are, eternally alive as essence;  for the cosmos is the thought, the bright glow of an oriental carpet …  and everything I see and smell on a sun-filled Quantock walk along the sky-hills and into the combe-creases, is stuff of thought …  and most things in the human world are fantasy.

Some old men came along in their boots and looked at the view, a fragrant chequer of fields in the Brendon valley. The secret steam train to Minehead crosses it, with intermittent puffs and a long childhood whistle.  But the old men were very sad.  Like the Three Grey Sisters in the story of Perseus, who are blind, they passed the eye around:   “It’ll all be wiped off the map and destroyed, just you see.  Europeans and gypsies, building rubbish everywhere.  The government.  Nobody cares.

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They heard this on TV, at home:  so they come, they look, to see what they are told;  plaintive testosterone passes the ball.  And now, on the bus going home, another pair of comrades in the seat behind me, jog up and down the pitch with the gloomy glory of the teams, and whom they lost to.  The skin is thin, stretched on the bones of Reality, it dis-eases and they fall.  It is a pendulum;   a pit for an existential while.

In the creases of the Quantock hills, brown brooks trickle down to Holford Combe, dappled with the sharp gold sun through curly oaks on shining stones. Elder brother, are You with me where my Hades opens and my shades dissolve?   Is that so?  The place of meeting is where life begins.  In the Lovership of Eros and Thanatos, the seed of death is the babe.  Each instant, each freckle of the sky is in the potency so.  The star pierces our screen through the black hole of eternity.

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My screen saver came on and I watched it for a while – pictures from my Green Book of Alchemy form conduits of connection one to another, they flow randomly over a series;  the interior Master elicits a subconscious connectivity in the images and their oracular promptings.

Too seldom am I given over to this.   Meetings with my mother sometimes prompt it, not surprisingly, because she encouraged me to draw and to walk long distances, and talked to me about the stars when I was tiny.  She told me, “it has no end, but did it ever begin?”   I am helping her with a small flat laptop, brand new, to store and look at her photographs.  She calls him Thomas.  He will be her picture-box;  but learning him is a frustrating confinement – like words and spelling when we were very young.

Mary on the Quantock hills

It was a clear night, and she set up her telescope, and I saw Jupiter and three of his moons.  No, four!   like Galileo.  Two were very close together.   The furthest are a very long way out from the golden disk;  his gravity.

There is a subconscious flow of pictures.  They are points of Hades through the skin of life stretched over it to tan and dry.   Wherever there is a point, an echo or connection, the soul quivers.   So also are the oaks and fields going past the motorway.   I am in the elder Attica, which discovery blossomed upon me again when I was seven, as soon as I could read fluently enough, and write.  For at the same time, my mother explained to me the constellations.   Ancient Greece is then my early education since time (relatively) immemorial;  a stepping stone from Neolithic lifetimes.  Watch the wood on water, then make something which floats;  and travel upon it.  It is a privilege and an unending adventure, to be human.  When we grew up from childhood and learned to spell, we lost the timeless;   but an artist recaptures and is the timeless.

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A person who is dying, who wishes to die, must lose all interest in drinking from the cup;  must inward dive to the essence.  This time comes sooner or later, willy nilly.  It is not to do with the surface will.  Its time cannot be fought, brought forward, nor delayed.  It is the deepest place of meeting, and the most neglected, the most unprepared, in the blind general rule.  All spiritual work encounters death first, to befriend.   It isn’t true to say “There is no death” (as some new-agers and advaitins do);  for death is everywhere!  But it depends how we see it, and if there is a freedom of movement, or if there is tension.  The emotional tension traps muscles, blood and psychology – a window box fantasy.   Emotional tension creates pain.   Mostly we get locked in painful situations of every kind, because the sensation is familiar and in general agreement:  to complain.

Quantock galactic waters

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October 2011 – (2) HIEROPHANT:  Interior Perception

Firstly:  the four leading to five.  My vision of Brahma is Siva’s aspect, with four out-facing faces and one in his lotus crown, looking up.

Siva ace of Lotuses, Sacred India Tarot copyright Yogi Impressions books 2011

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This means there’s one at the throat hidden, looking down into the interior earth too.   My head Sivaically, is a Cube of Space, a window for the world to happen in:  a window without a frame.

Brahma as  Emperor, Sacred India Tarot copyright Yogi Impressions books 2011

The Power of the Master – the mental plane – gets things to happen.   It is beyond my decisions and resistances, but they are its working tapestry. It is a privilege to feel the LAW OF ATTRACTION in its actual gravitational operation, the green veins of Venus.   The green Colorado river flows through the red Grand Canyon:   Empress through the Emperor, who sits and stands still, erect, all seeing.

Travelling today through my pictures, I close my eyes to immerse.   On the Tarot Cube of Space, the Emperor’s currency as Arcanum Four, flows downthe north east corner edge, as interior sight opens and adjusts.

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I seek my inner guide or affirmation, who rises to meet me, as by reflection.   The Emperor (who sets in order) descends to “Hades”, the interior waveband.   The Hierophant’s currency as Arcanum Five, flows up the Cube’s south east corner edge, from the subconscious lower face – The Priestess.   The movement is like the Lovers in the Sri Chakra Yantra:  the male, questing intuition, dives, descends and becomes feminine.   The female moving into expression, rises through a masculine channel – the High Priest or Hierophant.

The male and female triangles – the siva and shakti – arise and fall through each other.   In western metaphysics, this is the Seal of Solomon, or Star of David.

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The picture sequence is intuitive, bringing me … this contact, face to face  – by answering activity or response.

Sacred India Tarot Hierophant – Laws of Manu

It is authentic – an unexpected gift from the subconscious.   The Tantric scholar-poet, Ganapati Muni, was Ramana Maharshi’s spiritual brother.  The Muni’s lineage meets me by the waters of Siva’s mountain, Arunachala.   I write:   he is writing.    Like artists, we sketch each other.   You can see by his open face inside the mountain, that he is an artist, a seer, a prophet.   We come to meet, where waters meet;  wherein “the sound is seamless”.    Namaste!

I was originally commissioned to draw the sage Manu, the ancient codifier of Indian laws and spirituality.   He still is.  The Muni’s features flowed as one with Manu;  they have no difference.  The discarnate Masters are radiant through one another;  their faces seem individual to us, but their essence is universal.  They pierce the moving cloth of clouds, as rays from the one Sun.

Manu in the olden days, was a scribe;  a Guardian of the Mysteries.   The Muni, in the twentieth century, was a Sanskrit poet and alchemist;  he unlocked the mantras of the Rig Veda.  He breathed them into his disciples’ hairy ears and they went on ringing.   He wrote epic love poems to the Mother of the worlds. The Hierophant is an intermediary, heaven to earth.   The Muni wears a cloak of peacock hues, resonant also with Siva’s son Skanda, and with the fire god Agni.    The peacock’s cry is an Ashramic sound;  the vessels hold the sacred fire.   The feathers are eyes.  There is a story, that when the Vedic gods and goddesses rashly, using Mount Meru as a stick, stirred up the poison of the world, Siva swallowed it.   It stayed and was transmuted in his throat, turning it brilliant peacock blue.

The Vedic scribe transmits revelation:  the Law.  He keeps the Creator Brahma (see Arcanum 4) under control through strict Sanskrit meter.   The tiger skin is marked rather like a wheel or vortex.   He is like a lily bowed, or a snowdrop.   The five black goats behind him are Sanskrit letters:  the river of wisdom.   Down that peaceful valley flows a brook, and the thin little goats come to drink.    Their horns and hooves connect Pan with Earth:   Pan is “Everything”.   This Hierophant is a poet.  He loves the Goddess, and guards her mysterious Trees.   He is a kundalini adept;  a seed of the Sun.

The river stones at his feet are jewels – indigo, russet, olive and citrine – the colours of earth, the colours in Kabbalah of Malkuth on the Tree.  The uncut precious stones have ruby tinctures.   The ruby is the Stone of the Wise.  The blue periwinkle with five petals, is the Priestess.   The scrolls are Her akashic records, into which he writes and rhymes anew.    Lord … thou art God. The Hierophant is a maker of weddings and weldings, man and woman:  nature, sea and cloud.  Through him they join:  from him the teachings flow like children.

Siva as Rudra dives, to fertilize the deep of the aeons

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31 October 2011 – (3) HALLOWE’EN

Now what!   The clock change is hibernatory.  In the night, sharp jags jolt my mind with pictures that invade and fracture my solace.   They are samskaras, touches from past lives;  or they are a rats-tail someone else is thinking, they fly in through the window.  They sting and flush. The nation shifts into winter mode.  The early birds twitter and trains run along their rails.

Sketch of Ida 

I read on into Ida Craddock. She was a Victorian revolutionary, and the book Sexual Outlaw, Erotic Mystic, edited by Vere Chappell, collects together her story and her writings.

Many witches consorting with the devil had in fact heavenly bridegrooms, but, befogged in superstition, projected onto them their bitter old age and persecutions.   The heavenly bridegrooms  patiently attended the deeply buried young soul – the maiden in the tower –  whatever devilish mud was thrown at them.   Astral contacts are notoriously difficult to assess, through the medium’s obscurity and the shadows – pointed hat, broomstick:  she grasps at straws.   The witch situation in womanity has deep scars which were slashed and burned for centuries.   (Perhaps Mr P’s women are sitting with their elder sisters and lighting candles.)

In Ida’s thesis, there are no evil astral entities, even among the incubi and succubi.  Perversions are in the distorted human imagination and its priests.   There are no evil astral entities, because they do their job, like the angels, along the laws of nature.  This is largely a matter of what one asks to “be thou my good.”  The subconscious is amenable to suggestion, and will develop any field the way she is planted.

In Ida’s thesis, for the bridegroom touch of God to manifest in all its glory, a strict social and sexual rectitude is sine qua non.   There are three grades:  “alpha”, “Diana” and the third, which is the intercourse being three way with God.  The first two, comprising procreation-only and ojas retention – i.e. self control – clear the way for the third.  Her point is that penile and vaginal fluids touch and invigorate each other in the Spirit, and flow around body and soul when consciously child making or love making:  and that orgasm sustained peacefully in Binah (sicTree of Life) backs up into the physique and is ecstatic:  the mode of life.  She will flower like the queen in the hive, and receive the whales.  Adapt this subtle private knowledge to the circumstance;  put the seed in the garden, grow the rose. It is the oil of the alchemist for all the working parts!

soul fertilizing 1987

Victorian husbands raped subservient petticoats and despoiled their sensitivity.  They bred generations of blundering libertines and hard pussy;  this has not changed much today, but certain attitudes about it are questioned.  Go on questioning!  When the fire is lit there is a sweet severity and constancy, the passing through the path which has no end.

I think Ida’s conditioning as a Victorian miss is powerful here.   On the one hand she writes about sex with such bold courage and erudition, that they locked her in the loony bin.   On the other hand, her explicit occult principle requires demure conduct.  Conscious orgasm – the self control which is heaven – drives the elixir through breath and pranic blood stream, in child making and love making. The demure conduct in her day was the ruling feminine–subconscious principle in society.   It was shockingly abused, but it prevailed.  It bustled the Empire’s power.  The demureness was, when sexually opened, ecstatic.  When misunderstood, it became hysteric in both men and women.

Today’s women are not demure.   It is in our genes, but the opposite of demureness moves today’s dispensation, and has perhaps desensitized us.    I talk of the depth social currents.   When my cher ami saw the book cover Sexual Outlaw, Erotic Mystic, out popped the male platitude about burning bras and feminism.   I said Ida was not a feminist, but her unlacing of the corset is behind the feminist movement and the getting of the vote and the breaking out of jail.

Ida is an occult flower, of the kind that breaks the hard ground.  Her petals are lotus soft.  Churchmen were sickened by her impudence.  They crushed with all their might and main.   When she was still a young woman she eluded them, she lit the gas oven – and slipped back home through the astral gate.  She left her essays and her scent in circulation.

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Goodness!  Today is Hallowe’en, and I am talking of witches:  what we were, and why we are deep down still swirling our black cloaks and howling to the moon.    Why our daughters and ourselves went through the labyrinth;  why some of us are so bereft, why our lovers would not meet us;  why we crossed the valley unfucked, unlit.   Why we are asphodel, seeking the Sun.   Why we must embrace Time and our own witch’s room, to cross the abyss and meet the groom.

Cauldron & black cat

My old r&b friend recorded his new song of Little Bo Peep.   It is about a woman chained to the kitchen sink – (chained to gas ovens in Ida’s day;  their only way out, to put their head in and through) – and so he liberates her, he sends her into her sky, like a butterfly.

This morning’s thought raises Sarah and her guardian, Aunt Zofira – my last life, Cancer 1848 – Capricorn 1895.  An antipodean seer “read it” for me.  The dates and the ongoing theme are verified with a “mathematic” precision, in my present Capricorn-Cancer birth map. For the moment, rest with these two women, the young one and the elder;  give them my silence.

Zofira was a witch.   She had been an Elizabethan witch and she practiced “sexual magick.”  I – Sarah – returned to England from the Caribbean in disgrace.  I became her ward in Chiswick, and then her apprentice.    She taught me drawing and music;  she was an accomplished pianist.   The story goes that a young lad called Didier arrived half dead from Paris where all his family had been slaughtered.  Zofira thrust us together into the cooking pot, knowing I was not destined to live long, and that my and Didier’s passion would burn up many Karmas, plus generating a few.   In some of my dreams there is an old fire of glowing embers, behind a house;  in others, I am shaping a phallic flame-like entity from an underground cauldron.

The tale was tantalizingly left there, back in 2010, when the antipodean seer abruptly and without explanation ended our correspondence.

Be still as Sarah;   let her flower.  It may happen with Mother Demeter in the spring, that my memory awakes and  joins fully with hers, joyfully.

These vivid lifetimes are brief seasons, blown like rainbow bubbles from clay pipe, when I was a woman seer in very ancient Egypt, living between the stars and grains of sand.  I was then the essence and saw all that was and is to come;  at moments I have this whole feeling again, and I call it the Delta, as I befriend human history.   I reconnect that glowing night among the dunes, which are waves whispered by the African wind.   I am the hallows.

This pre-Egyptian perception helped to heal at Hallowe’en, some years ago, a past-life theme in the Peruvian forest border.  My “travel agent” Paul took me around the globe on an inner tour, and I alighted on the emotional force of this South American impression:  a Mayan or Aztec High Priest, who cut out living hearts for the blood of the Tree of Life.   I was pulled into it.  I was this religious monster cutting the trees – like they do now for cocaine and rubber –  and I was also one of his victims, a young girl captured from my forest family;  a child was torn from my womb.    He is my dark force.

My Sarah-life is in the laboratory of Dr Lebecq, a well travelled pseudonym of the Light.  He knew and corresponded with Leibniz mathematicus, so he looks rather like him.  The discussion about all this, just begins.  The equations in my inner life, are images.

The tantra principle is embedded in my life style.   On the physical plane, I crossed the abyss and in due time found the cher ami, who is emotionally very like myself.  (Was he young Didier? … ) But the writing is my love life, with God joining in.  The code is spelled out just sufficiently.   I am not a disciplined meditator.   It is the agreeable muddle which real life is:   it works.   It works because of resting with God – by which I mean, the cosmic laws and their delight.

My Elder Bro – by your wit, LB, and by your leave with frilly sleeve – Greensleeves –  I had a question for you about romance, so as to hear your dry voice;   but life as usual inundated my question (writ in sand) with the answer.   It is the tide.  J Krishnamurti once said there is no conflict with the tide going in and out over the wet sands:   the opposites.   There is no conflict in the flowing nature of the tide:  the living breath.

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moontide

 

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And now to draw the Hadean threads together:

Early last week, before the Buddha’s blue flower surfaced into my blog (previous post), my father rang up, from his care home cottage, on a Devon hilltop.  In January he will be 90. “When I opened the door into my garden just now, there was a sparkle in the air.  It is so clear and blue, I’m on holiday by the sea.  I don’t have to go anywhere else but here!”

A day or two later, Mr P rang up:  he dreamed he dived into the sea to a turquoise room.  As soon as I started to blog the Buddha piece, the colour of blue periwinkle – the Pure Land – floated in and rested me.  It seems to travel in the air just now;  I feel less tired.   I wonder how universal it is?   The play of the currencies and tones changes week to week. Who else caught sight of and bathes in this colour … or something like it?

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It re-invoked the light, recalling the following story – to draw the Hadean threads together:

The Sunflowers –  A dream from the Watershed, in June 1976 

I went into a house in this valley, belonging to an old woman.  Here in her house I have taken off all my clothes, and am lying on a bed.  She and I talk together, she is a maternal sort of person.  In the room we look at two huge white sunflowers on long stems.  Their enormous white blooms, dipping and swaying, devour the heads of dead sunflowers, brown and dry around them, petal by petal – with their own petals.

I am fascinated, spellbound by this miracle, the purposefulness with which the two white flowers eat the dead ones. The beldame seems to live in a place where tourists drop in, perhaps to drink a cup of tea and inspect the marvel of her sunflowers.  She doesn’t run a café or anything like that, but she doesn’t refuse travellers and wayfarers.  She lives in the crease or fold, of this valley.

The sunflowers almost fill the whole room.  I admire them so much that she asks me “would you like to take them home with you?”  They are like an animal in the house.  Perhaps they are a burden to her.

“No,” I said “thank you, but I don’t want to take them from you.  I couldn’t keep them properly fed, it is too great a responsibility for me, it’s very difficult to find suitable food in London for them.  They are so beautiful!  Don’t they need lots of light?  And you know, my place in London faces north.  I don’t think it would be good for them.”

“Ah yes, they do take to the light,” she remarked.  A flickering blue light is flowing into the room all the time, quite intense;  it plays around the great white sunflowers, and they seem to thrive.  But I think I am rather afraid of them … shirking ownership, I’d rather be a spectator.

Something was happening in that other-worldly blue light that does not lend itself to talk or to explanation.  That colour itself has a radiance through which all can be seen, and which is yet impenetrable.  I see the living which bends to take sustenance from the dead.  And there are always the dying.  I can tell only of a magic sunflower, white not yellow, which behaves like an animal, is beautiful, and scares me.

Back in my parents’ car the radio is playing Faure’s Requiem.  Never can I forget such beauty, a multiple acoustic flower, the purity of the boy singing, the hooded waters of the chorus.  The dead in the ground support with a strange tenderness the living generations.  Or is it the other way round?  for they bend, they give each unto the other …  The stereo, being in some way connected to the car’s engine, is making some very strange noises.

My parents think I imagined the sunflowers, or made it all up, because I so longed to see sunflowers like these:  like when I told them I saw swallowtail butterflies down the meadowsweet lane in Cornwall.

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Hades and Persephone and Nymphs 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 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) – along with many other creations in house.   I write, illustrate, design and print my books.   Watch this space.

Listening with the Oracle

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Some of my journal from a week ago has been sitting in the pipeline.  Upon these images and impressions were “floated” my recent posts on Karma, Kundalini Shakti and the Tree.

Woman by the Sea 1987 –  drawn with my eyes closed

What is Oracle?

The oracle is a quirky thing.  It is a way – an ear to the ground for footsteps or the pulse of things.  The same root becomes orator and orifice.  “Ora” means “now”, in Italian, and also Or is gold, and the ore of metals:  the aura of the dawn:  the oral tradition.

An amphitheatre is shaped like an ear in the ground.  The oracle speaks at Delphi – where a peculiar configuration of the rock and waterflow condenses human receptivity.  The oracle is also a coracle – a little Celtic boat shaped like a nutshell.

Firstly we learn to perceive the omens – affirmations and resonances which pattern human affairs.

It takes a long practice to become reliably “oracular”.   It is clouded by anticipation, hope, fear and superstitious tension.  To some extent we need to undo our education.   It is clarified by human whole response, moving with nature.  The Australian aborigines’ “Dream Time” perspective and way of life is a seamless oracle with the landscape.

For the oracle we use formally, Tarot cards, I Ching, astrology, scrying and countless other devices.   We use whatever forms for us, an adequate lens.  Leaves on the ground would serve, if we give them that meditative focus.  The key to the oracle is a moment’s concentration:  peace.  To that concentration, the universe mysteriously responds, with picture language, the language of the subconscious;  and things are revealed which only ourselves can privately know.   It is the psychic law of gravity.

You-night:  from Owl-Fox shaman series 1986

The little fox comes through the long grass, near magic mushrooms;  and a distant owl is in the tree.  This is an oracular painting, because I let it lead me.  I had a dream that the owl, my familiar, came and stood on my shoulder.   Our profile is along the borderlands.

I use the oracle as and when moved:  usually for a reflection on what is going on.   As the waters become still for a moment, I look.   It is like the trees by a pond, as ripples which broke up the surface, fade.   Actually the oracle never ends.   If I ask it specific questions, it may give me answers to others.  I use the Tarot and the I Ching, as and when moved.    My daily writing is my invocation and my divining rod.  It leads me where I didn’t know I should go.  It digs the earth, finds the well, and raises the spirit level.

Mischief can easily enter the oracle.  Alliance with a tried and trusted teaching, such as the Tree of Life helps to guard the truth.  Above all, we develop our ability to discriminate the Maggid (inner plane teacher) from the Flatterer or Tyrant.  The hallmark is:  the “inner plane” does not opinionate or give orders.  It shows cosmic and ethical principles, and in the light of these, our own decision ripens.

Ebony shakti, siva, elephants

Journal 12 October 2012 – After Acu-pins

It is truly very marvellous to know human beings:  the individual treasury to savour.

I’ve been dipping in Nothing Ever Happened – and do you know?   Wonderful as that view is, and Poonja’s great stature and humanity, and him with Mira … it is to me, quite flimsy.  Now you’ve got it, now you haven’t, listen to the teacher and keep quiet, there is no thing, be happy …  it is very Indian, but cancelling out the Vedas and all their intuition of Nature.   It is OK for a time of rest.   Poonja had power of presence and siddhis and laughter.   People wanted relief from their Stuff.

Wood lamp

The teachers’ personality and presence is fascinating at all levels.

But my devotion doesn’t go there!  All that enlightenment is a carnival.  It is not reliable, without a sound working grasp of the way the mind and the imagination work.   Voluntary de-nutrition is not the way either.   All the paths come to the same Thing, unthinged as the sea, whatever the texture and weave.   How deep does it go? Self realization in the cave of the heart, assists the whole humanity in a way transcending any teaching or banners.  At one time I tried to give up diary keeping, so as to toe the advaita line.   No way!   Ramesh Balsekar put me right.  He said enjoy and honour what you are.

 Light crossing the brook at Buckland Filleigh

I am guided by the Shakti, an elder feminine discarnate, and at this moment, the current is running in tune to her sharpness, my projection onto her.   The woman births what the man built up over the years.   The flavour of attunement has soft needles, for I went and had acupuncture yesterday.  It prickles and yet it is a white flowing cloud, a magnetic fluid.   It is the reality of my Sun mandala.

The sharpness is the way the Maggidim perceive.  It is within and under their eyelids, like the core of the rose.  The rose is a profoundly female organ, flag of desire, invitation.   The pattern under her is both disbanding and integrative – (see dakini oracle pictures, below).  She is a spider, yet she does not devour, she takes the dark staff and heals;  that is her DNA.

What may I call you?  Rosa? Maria Rosa?

Jupiter and Rosa

My history of Rosa is that she – I – was a moon of Jupiter Zeus, and he sent great charges of gravitational shift through my orbit, like lightning bolts.  Thus were my initiations, and the acupuncture reminds me of them.  I had a series of Watershed dreams during the 1970s;  the initiations discharged their shock during them.   I did a crash course of catching up.

sun wood yantra

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 I use the Secret Dakini Oracle (by Nik Douglas and Penny Slinger) for reflection.  These 64 cards are a collage of Tantric and Tibetan deities – wrathful and joyous – with modern western archetypes.  

When I ask it a question, it gives me picture-poems like Lyra’s alethiometer in His Dark Materials.  Usually I lay out just the top cards of three piles, the present moment, centre, with its past and its future.  This time, I also laid them out as “JHVH” – with the three cards which underlie each one.

Present moment:  “Rose Garden“, with “Cutting Loose“, “Ganesh (in spider web, Lord of obstacles)” and “Mercury/Caduceus“.

and past …

…  and future



The past is “Recall“.  With it are “Last Laugh“, “Fuschia/As Above so Below” and “The Wish fulfilling Gem“, which corresponds to the Lovers.  (You can see these better if you click on them.)

The future is “Self preservation“.  With it are “Centering the Present“, “Solar Return” and “Joker” (Fool).

In “Recall“, big sea shells in the sky hear the sea and sands.  “The Rose garden” has pure perfume shells like kisses.   The Egyptian was an ancient priestess in the winds of time.  I feel with her, the stars, anterior to swirling sands … and how they become dutiful bubbles  and subconscious blots – the dreams and forgettings, the lifetimes of being human through millennia to come.

The cards under her are symbols of the Sun Mandala, dark and light.  “Sri Chakra” is the ultimate Yantra.  In the Secret Dakini Oracle, it is called “Centering – the Present“.  “Solar Return  is a new moon sun-eclipse:  poems of eclipse and confrontation;  enquiry into roots;  dark night of the soul:  astrology.   The “Joker/Fool wears a solar swastika mandala, rosebud in paper hat, little world – doesn’t god play dice?

Are they dancers?  or pillars?  Wood like stone and elephants

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The oracle – the underbeing:  the tempo slows down and comes in with the tide

“We say you have your threads together now, and so you spin them out, concentrically.  Speaking to you in this element while you are here, and hear, we instruct.  Mandala, chakra, web, the fuscia and the gem;  cut loose, lay down the axe and smile.”

Woman entering the sea ’87

“Recognise that this strata has nothing to do with life-form thoughts and troubles.  It transcends and antecedes them.  It has its own tempo.” 

“Each oracle lets go baggage – 49, 64 and 0.   Let out the reservoir.  The reservoir was a meridian behind a closed door.  The door is open.  The reservoir flows out in a controlled way.  We are its handlers where she goes.”  

“There is no more to dictate from this level;  it is all stored.  Lean back into here, rest and be silent.   Trust me.   I rain and I shine.   I AM my way of writing you.”   

“As the reservoir flows out, the acupuncture pings:  your dolmens and dancing dragons.”

wood lamp pings

“There is a conversation between practitioner and client, which doesn’t need speech.  He can see and she can feel the dolmens.   So it is with us.”

brook by Henlys Corner:  snake water stone

“Your silence is my speech.  I am the goddess of your being;  the daughter of the Himalaya and of the stars.  I am Parvati and Isis and Annapurna.  I make you a dancer, a temple dancer slender, curvy and supple.   I recommend you dance, to clear your weight off the front.  I am your commonsense.  I am the knowledge of your body and her renewal.  I am X X criss cross.   I am the crossing over of the rivers of Time.   I am ALL WAYS the centre of the Flower.  I flow the centre of the flower.   Follow.  Following.”

“Transmission is absolutely continuous to and in itself; register the blips and pin points.”

Young tree of life upon the old

 Midwinter dancing with Pan ’87/88

I am that I am.

I put on Dead can Dance, and danced with and as the She.  So now the nadis sing in the back of my head.  The Ancient World is a worship like the storm in a tree.

Recall those nadis, amrita, sushumna, and shankini.   They are dancers.

3 nadis dancing with Pan 1989

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She dancing with Pan ’89

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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 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) – along with many other creations in house.  

I write, illustrate, design and print my books.   Watch this space.

The Seven Year Cycles on the Tree of Life

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Extracts from “Manishya – on Being Human”  by Jane Adams and Paul Taylor, published in 2010 privately.  This includes some thoughts on Kundalini Shakti.

Yoga in the Eastern traditions, and Kabbalah in our Western traditions, help us to realise our human potential to unite our physical and spiritual being.  Yoga means in Sanskrit “to join, to bridge” or Union.  Kabbalah in Aramaic is “to receive“.  Through Kabbalah – the Tree of Life – we learn about the creation of our soul and its descent through the Four Worlds towards our parents making love.  This gives us an understanding of why we incarnate to those parents;  and the unfolding of the father’s seed in the womb of the mother, on the line of the spine.  The way this happens colours all our life and responses.  So we discover the nature of the mind and our creative destiny;  the pattern of our ancestral genetic conditioning.  We intuit the primal force behind our sexuality, the human relationship to the elementals and life on earth.

Having made this descent through the pathways of the Tree, we discover the return  journey to our Source, through the body, personality and soul. We learn through the seven-year-cycles.

In our first seven years (under Aries – birth and initiation) – we are energetically attached to mother.  In the second, (7 – 14)  identifying more with father and the external world, we go out to learn and to imitate.  We begin to establish our ego base (Taurus), relating to our own peer group.

The third cycle (age 14 – 21) awakens puberty and discovery of our sexual urges.  We twin, as in Gemini – I love you, do you love me?  Through adolescent initiation, the mood swings dark and light –  the labyrinth, as we encounter our extremes.   And we upset the applecart and leave home.

During the fourth and Cancerian cycle (age 21 – 28) through rebellion and personality growth, we seek a home of our own.  We try to navigate the split between our conditioned self (Yesod) and our true Self (Tifareth):  the “I” and the “Am”.

At the end of this cycle, with the Saturn return at 28 years, our unconscious patterns come to a head.  There is some constructive movement and evaluation towards being who we really are.  This tends to be a decisive time;  and many of us settle into a marriage, a profession, or some formative crisis.

The fifth seven year cycle (28 – 35, Leo) develops our qualifications, adult authority and responsibility – the learning curve of authority with, not over others.  This matures us from the co-dependent lion-cub towards interdependent adult relationships.

The sixth cycle (age 35 – 42, Virgo) is about our life’s operation.  What am I really meant to be doing here?  Am I to be pushed around by fate, or to discover my destiny?  This period covers our Uranus Opposition.  Uranus takes 84 years to orbit the Sun, and as we near 40, he is half way round.  Our creative and physical powers blossom.  At their peak, we seize or lose our vocation.  For some of us, these very powerful feelings generate another 7 year itch.   The boat rocks – we learn to navigate our own Atlantic.

Age 42 -49 (Libra), we seek a greater sense of balance and awareness of Karma – life’s cause and effect.  By age 49 – the midlife crisis – we are vulnerable again.  Women start to develop more testosterone, the male hormone, and men more oestrogen, the female hormone.  Each cycle brings up what we still need to know about life.  Like it or not, we all go through this sexually challenging process:  being human.

49 – 56 (Scorpio) is as powerful as puberty.  A parent may die and we start to become aware of mortality:  sex, death and transformation.  Some unavoidable and crucial issue, may tip us into the deep end, as this period covers the Cheiron Return in our life cycle – Cheiron the wounded healer.   Many hard working persons face redundancy.   Growth is inward.

56 – 63 (Sagittarius) At 56, our second Saturn Return begins to take shape.  Wisdom and understanding expand into awareness of our physical limitations.  We have a human priority to conserve our energy – to simplify and unburden.  In this ninth cycle governed by Sagittarius, we need to perceive our life holistically.  We gather the threads together,  examine our physical security and prepare for old age.  The doors open for some souls to travel forth, as the family have grown up or left home.  If we are awake, we put into practice our philosophy of life.

63 – 70 (Capricorn) is like a new birth.  We re-evaluate and sum up our life’s experiences.  With some of our edges eroded by the Sculptor, we become better managers.   Perhaps we are grandparents and rediscovering youth.

70 – 77 (Aquarius)  – As physical vitality begins to decline,  a need for human fellowship expands: to further our wisdom and understanding.

77 – 84 (Pisces) – where will I put my head down to die?   How do I complete my journey of return?

Continuing through these cycles, illness may make our learning curve more problematic, if we resist it;  or we may roll with it and gain brownie points.  In some cultures, 84 years old when the twelfth cycle culminates, is seen as a “complete life”.  Additional years are “icing on the ‘ache”.

Jacobs Ladder – Four Worlds in nature

Kabbalah teaches that we are a reflection of the Universe; a form and structure for our lives which resonates through background, culture, creed or gender.  We have a choice:  to remain outside our humanity, as a conditioned shell alienated by past religious persecutions and repressions;  or to embrace our innate potential as we develop our odyssey in consciousness, truth and love.

The living Kabbalah is not theory, and only pointers are to be found in books.  It walks forth in practice and by word of mouth:  keep practicing.

So we continue to: “Part the waves … Kiss the lips … Turn the wheel … Place fingers on the numbers of the clock … Enter the cave … Find the jewel … Climb the mountain … Through the rainbow.  Be happy, do service and die consciously.”  

The Tifareth eight-fold path

The bridging of Yoga and Kabbalah traditions is a work of unification.  It integrates a structured spiritual journey.  To enquire into essence, follow the conscious breath.  We are children of the Holy One, and the caste is Manishya – being human.

May the Star of David, the Cross of Christ and the Crescent of Islam combine and merge in peace, the One Great Circle:  the point, the primordial Sound.

"And the children in the apple tree   
not known, because not looked for   
but heard, half heard, in the stillness   
between two waves of the sea. 
Quick now: here, now, always -   
a condition of complete simplicity    
(costing not less than everything) 
and all shall be well and   
all manner of things shall be well   
when the tongues of flame are in-folded   
into the crowned knot of fire   
and the Rose and the Fire are one."

T.S.Eliot

apple pentacle

A wild rose has five petals – nature’s five point Star.  An apple has 10 pips, five in each half.  The rose … apple … desire Eve … symbolise the quintessence of human desire in the Tree.  Our feet, hands and head are the five points of a Vitruvian Star:  Yeshua – JAH LIBERATES:  the five fold sensory field – sound, touch, sight, smell, taste.  The cosmic Law liberates when it is embodied.  The lightning flash must reach earth.

The rose is cultivated by humankind to grow multiples of five on five, furled, opening and perfumed – the flower of Venus.  This diagram from Keith Critchlow’s new book The Hidden Geometry of Flowers shows “the continuous linear diagram of the relationship between earth and the planet Venus.  How could one not see a flower in this time diagram?”

On the geo-physical plane, the planet Venus appears to our measurement, unbearably hot and dense. Her high frequency is one which our biosphere spectrum cannot tolerate.  However, on the plane of archetypes, Venus is something quite other; the magnetic correspondence of our emotional life.

Consider eros, rose, the rosy cross of everything which happens in life:  the crux.  Like is treating like!  The rose is the heart of human desire and personal love.  Locate the rose where we feel the thorns!  Within every energy level, touch the rose, smell and know it well.  From this we grow our Tree.

A Rosy Cross to Bear 

Meeting life is a rose. 
Do not, in pleasure or pain, close the door.  
Enter the petal'd vortex of 
each motive, every tear 
through rosy scent to liberate. 

The canvas stretched upon my frame 
with each event recalls 
my rose to meet: 
so walk into this world of mine 
right through the mind. 

If I some doors close, and others open, 
I drift, I err in the bas-relief 
that separates day and night - the habit  
of pain, of time and of 
avoidance.   

If I entering each event, 
smell its rose, 
the voyage into vibrant void is space. 
My widening concentric ripple floats.  

Every sound, each atom of the house   
is garlanded.  
My fury is the key to enter a rose:  
visitor invited in. 

Petals bloom and die: my eye  
in the field opens, 
and deep in flower ere  
the flower began, I 
the bride in lotus space undress.  

Thou shalt separate  
from the sensual, the radiant,   
gently and with wisdom.  

Thou shalt let its essence soar  
into heaven's heart   
then re-enter the earthy art.   

Then thou shalt have the power 
above as below   
in root potency of things.

A poem from my book The Masters’ Eye 1992-2010

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A Madonna from my early childhood …

… after Botticelli, 1956

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A Note on Alchemy and Kundalini shakti

Alchemy is western Yoga:  the crucible is the breath.  Yoga is “Union”.

Alchemy applies steady warmth and air, like a pan on a low heat, or a hen’s breast brooding her eggs.  When the ocean tide – the breath –  is clear and quiet, we see and dive for gold:  khumbaka.

Water sinks into the earth; a flame combusts with air and rises.  The prana Fire triangle rising through the apana Water triangle receives – like a lens – the Lotus (Kether, crown) into Tifareth, the heart.

The OM figure in this drawing has a small eye, under the uraeus serpent head.  The eye is in the shape of a D for Daat.  Daat in the Tree of Life is the Sefira of “unknown cognition”.  This factor is our Union with all life.   The little arrows indicate a conscious breath to link third-eye and heart (Tifareth), in Paul Taylor’s practice.

See also “Parvati Waters Trees“, below – her posture.

The Kundalini Shakti coiled in the earth rises up through the personal reservoir, picking up vital energy, but she doesn’t draw water from it.  If we used only the reservoir which is collected in our Yesod sphere, it would put out the secret fire and be depleted.  The serpent glides up through the Water of Life, to awaken as fire through the alchemists’ bellows, the breath.   In the solar plexus furnace, she separates from the water and penetrates the heart, alchemical fire with air.  The Great Work in essence sustains the Divine thread.

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An Afterthought

Last week I woke from a dream, that I was trying to resolve a subtle equation of Venus and Mars.  It surfaced visually with this picture in the Sacred India Tarot Minor Arcana, of Parvati saluting Siva’s Messenger  …

Together with a poem “to the Veena”, it all made sense, and rapidly faded. Mars bowing to Venus, needed her to do the same, to balance the scales.  It was quite witty.

It fits well enough into today’s post.  Siva’s countenance in the background encircles eternally the action.  Siva is auspiciously formless:  only the forms are worshipped.

Kundalini Shakti awakes to  Purusha the Moveless One, and rises.  To these rare moments of recognition, outflow the offerings of our life.   Some enter a vocation:  others  hear their destiny in a private way.   Throughout nature, the roles of mars and venus are relative.   Whatever the gift bestowed, the receiver is  “feminine” to the giver, Yin to the prevailing Yang, like water to reflect the Sun.  This applies in principle, to the lightning-flash up and down the Tree of Life.  “Above” is feminine to the ascending power of the “Below”, and vice versa.  The opposites in full expression, are interdependent.

As our endochrynes grow older, we  comprehend a little more, our opposites.    The Daughter of the Mountain watering trees as she waits for Siva, is in her “posture of prayer.”   Ignatius Loyola said “Put yourself in the posture of prayer, and you will soon feel like praying.”   The same applies to imaging what we desire our life to be.

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Parvati waters Trees:  from The Sacred India Tarot, suit of Lotuses.  This and the 2 of Lotuses above, are copyright 2011 Sacred India Tarot by Rohit Arya & Jane Adams, Yogi Impressions Books, Mumbai 

How can I resist at this point  – my little daughter in the garden?

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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 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) – along with many other creations in house.  

I write, illustrate, design and print my books.   Watch this space.