The Winged Peach

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A winged book - an open one - is like just discovering someone.  I don't know their face yet.

A winged book – an open one – is like just discovering someone. I don’t know their face yet.

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The caterpillar butterfly transition – see Rohit’s blog in previous post – is for most of us a magical archetype.  It has a ripple effect.  Sure enough, the following morning I opened Wilhelm/Jung’s translation of The Secret of the Golden Flower – an elder Taoist alchemy – and there rose up from it … something with wings!

In The Secret of the Golden Flower, it says:

 “Compared to the Great Meaning, Heaven and Earth are like a bubble and a shadow.  Only the primordial spirit and the true essence, overcome time and space.  The power of the seed like Heaven and Earth, is subject to mortality, but the primordial spirit is beyond the polar differences.  Here is the space whence Heaven and Earth derive their being.”

Self enquiry is beyond and antecedes the polar differences.  How often do I practice?   Rarely.  But it is here for the point.

800px-Viola_odorata_whole

And “When men are set free from the womb, the primordial spirit dwells in the square inch between the eyes;  but the Conscious spirit dwells below, in the heart.  This lower fleshly heart has the shape of a large peach.  It is covered by the wings of the lungs, supported by the liver, and served by the bowels.

“This heart is dependent on the outside world.  If a man does not eat for one day even, it feels extremely uncomfortable.  If it hears something terrifying it throbs;  if it hears something enraging it stops; if it is faced with death it becomes sad;  if it sees something beautiful it is dazzled.

“But the Heavenly Heart in the head, when would it have been in the least moved?  Do you ask, Can the Heavenly Heart not be moved?  Then I answer, How could the true thought in the square inch (between the eyes) be moved?  If it really moves, it is not well.  For when ordinary men die, then it moves, but this is not good.  It is best indeed if the Light has already fortified itself in a spirit body, and its life-force gradually penetrated the instincts and movements.”

Yellow_peach

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Now as the vast bulk of human beings are NOT set free from the womb of Gaia, we are in strife to overcome Her and get out.   We have no peace with our mother because we are confined to toils of fate, field and enclosure.  And so we make war and poison her soils and seas, restricting ourselves to toxic building sites.  My royal we – note – passes the buck unconsciously !

Yet, the “fortification in the Spirit body” brings forth the square inch in the square mile.   The square inch contains EVERYTHING of a square mile and that of which the square mile is a tiny square root or root cube.   Containing Everything, it has no ‘other’ to move to.   It is openly awakened into.

An illustration from Roob's Alchemy & Mysticism, of how the cubes crystallise our land

An illustration from Roob’s Alchemy & Mysticism, of how the cubes crystallise our land, like salt

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The Hebrew word for “Discover” (as applied to First Matter in alchemy) is a verb GALAH.   This is related to “to lay bare, to denude, to strip of concealment, to reveal the secret” and “to open a book”.  The first letter, GIMEL relates to the Priestess who holds an open book or scroll.

Tarot keys spelling (from right to left) the hebrew GLH - Galah - to uncover or denude

Tarot keys spelling (from right to left) the hebrew GLH – Galah – to uncover or denude

The second letter, L (Lamed) is the card of Karmic Justice or equilibrium.  The third letter H (Heh) symbolizes clear sight.   More of this, in my next post.  At the moment my thought is drawn to the Welsh hills.

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The further upstream I go, by VOLONTA, the more open and bare the landscape, as in mid Wales.   Seek the opening, the well, each morning.   How?  Through a little being dazzled by the Beauty.  No emotion or state of consciousness belongs to me.   It is as I become on arrival.   When I am dazzled I am consumed:  and the flame enters the fire.

What am I inside and what am I outside of?   Conditioned building sites are the trap and fate of many souls.  But being both within and outside the Cube of space is a liberated way.

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GALLERY – Welsh pre-Cambrian mountains, Glaslyn near Llanidloes 1995

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The Peach with Wings in the Golden Flower is delightful.  Lungs are great pulsing shimmering wings, propelling me along, beating sometimes fast and sometimes slow.   The Peach with Wings is the Solar head of the Caduceus.   The Wings are like the fins of a great fish-ray in the waters, with their millions of vessels and little sacs, all concordant like a murmuration of starlings.   A peach is the Fruit of Life … sometimes an apple, which serpents like to present to curvy ladies.   Watching the breath should be done lovingly, in wonder, the picture language and sense of taste.   The jewel-case opens with a sensuous flow of images.   A winged peach does what Yoga teaches.

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GALLERY – prana images

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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/

Watching Myself and Krishnamurti – Part Four

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This post is really a coat-hanger for five new sketches of K, done in rather a rush.  They are not very good likenesses. Drawing is friendship.  I wanted to be in touch with him as a child, and when very old.  The merit is in the journey rather than the result! – or as someone used to say – “it is better to travel in hope, than to arrive too safely.”

It is a pity when I spend time poring over forums on internet about the wordpress glitch … like a dull desk job – instead of sprinkling my garden with illumining thoughts of Krishnamurti or Alchemy.

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Tarot Arcanum 19 - Children of the Sun

Tarot Arcanum 19 – Children of the Sun

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The everyday mind is not concerned with beauty and illumination and peace, my mind is concerned entirely with her own stress and need to resolve.  This is the root of separateness and therefore un-sanity.  By “mind”, I should say my personal Yesod-Moon and her path with Hod-Mercury.  It is potentially those Children of the Sun, but delivers dreary chatter – unbelievably dense and tedious for the Magid.   The dreary pull is through fear, insecurity, anger and all the me-centered primitive emotions.  They are the office with no language.

It is not fair to demonise my mind, because it is a perfectly functioning tool.   So personal ego is lured into boring technical paragraphs.   This is the state of us mostly! It is easy to fall into the default, with any tug of desire and fear on the string.

It is irrelevant and wrong, to judge my person-ego/small mind.  Krishnamurti’s observation of what is going on, dispassionately and with keen interest, is the Buddha’s teaching, but to many it came spanking fresh and un-named.  It had no scriptural trappings or requirements.   We watch and see, right inside life and whatever we are doing.

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Tao mandala, within without

Tao mandala, within without

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At the moment, K’s teaching, and the mysterious paradox of his person behind it, is the wonderful treasure of my life.   I am reading Mary Lutyens’ book – the England/Europe side of the Krishna/Rajagopal tragic quarrel.   For all the high calibre of the souls involved, and their lifelong friendships in the work, it never got bridged.   But a later generation is privileged to read about and reflect both sides of the pond.

I had a cup of tea with Mary L in the 1990s – a good chat.  She liked me because I seemed to understand about K, and she gave me a copy of the book she wrote “To be Young” – about her childhood and her love for K’s brother Nitya.

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“27 March 1994 – Dear Jane,
“Very many thanks for sending me your beautifully produced magazine with its very interesting contents.  So much expert work has gone into it, and I am sure it will be a great success.

“And thank you for the kind things you say about ‘To Be Young’.  I must confess that I feel too near the end of my life to feel drawn to any religious teaching.  I seem to be half way over to ‘the other side’, wherever it may be, and all philosophies merge into one.

“With all my best wishes – Mary.”

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K age fifteen - the dreamy teenage medium

K age fifteen – the dreamy teenage “vehicle for World Teacher”, being groomed –  a blank canvas.

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K’s teaching is Self-enquiry, expressed only just differently enough in language from Ramana’s, for linear thinkers inside boxes to argue about them.

Now then – after playing a little Mozart … Regard today’s wordpress-talktalk interface glitch OBSERVATIONALLY.   It will untangle in due course, and perhaps it already has.   Look at it, as I look at Krishnamurti and the Rajagopals … with love.   In all creative enterprises and interfaces, there are periods of faulty connection.  These lagunas get massively magnified in our self importance and our pain.

Perhaps K and R both tried to watch and see and be patient, but the pain was too great for them not to react against each other.  R was a perfectionist Virgo – it was not in his nature to abandon K’s writings and legacy he had attended to with passionate devotion for so many years.

If I watch and see and am patient with the glitch in my mind, my relating with the problem won’t waste energy and emotion into it.   It will follow it quietly, working with it when I can.   Don’t personalise the difficulty!   That turns it into paranoia – a hard fence.   Nearly EVERY TIME, things work out into their natural way, and I wasted a lot of fear and fantasy in trying to push the sides of the train.

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K at ninety

K at ninety

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Watching Krishnamurti, my path-along …

The Cube of Space.  Attention to the cube, embodies a multi dimensioned space, in thought.   It opens the breathing-room.  Thought is just as much thought when it is silent – as colour, shape and sound.   The cube in the centre of my BOTA Colour Wheel has the perfect relation of supra, self and sub consciousness – (yellow, red, blue), turned over to the right, or westward.   The wheel itself has the Zodiac sign/house colours in perfect order.  The planets travel leftward.  The wheel rotates to the right.   This is indicated by the colour shapes.   It is a beautiful and clever design.

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Builders of the Adytum - Colour Wheel

Builders of the Adytum – Colour Wheel

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Attention to the cube of space widens my room inside, and produces its living depth-points.   With this factor, I can be sane in any situation.

Sanity is serenity.   The opposite of serenity is always false somewhere – a flat billboard inciting unrest and revolt.  Walk towards the rising Inner Sun which each problem masks.

The serenity has a note – it might be A (Saturn, indigo).   Try the pitch-pipe – it’s not, it is B, which is magenta red-violet, Pisces, Key 18.   I think I had a “violet” feeling.   But Key 18 The Moon is a portal;  it illustrates embodiment and the long path through our dreams, to Reality.

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Tarot Arcanum 18 - The Moon (landscape)

Tarot Arcanum 18 – The Moon (landscape)

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In this Key landscape, the Moon-profile overhead is flat, like a cartoon, and as we do our walking through the Yods and into the hills beyond the gate, the Face fills out with the depth and mystery of life – the Cube – and I discover my beloved preceptor in my Self.

Walk towards the Sun.  It is Sun and Moon in alchemy.

The laws of growth turn both ways, in the Wheel of Life, and in Eliphas Levi’s Pentacles. Planet rotates:   stars and planets “move” in the opposite direction, across the Zodiac ecliptic band to meet the rising Sun wherever it is.   Little babies are born.

Mr K. is such a funny looking old person with his enormous eyes and white hair brushed the wrong way, and his deep wrinkles and soft smile.  To children, he is a treat.  He never fails to ham up an elfin Astonishment when they prank him. When he was very old, he became a little blurred and sweet, but his voice was as fierce and passionate as ever.   He shrunk to child-size, very thin.   It is extraordinary to think of the three little Krishna-Rosalinds who might have been.   Where did that soul lodge, I wonder?  S/he couldn’t get through their door – once s/he was miscarried into a field somewhere near Los Angeles – but was persistent … and will have found a contingent parental arch for the destiny, and is living and dying somewhere.

We are all connected:  none of us operate in isolation;  it isn’t “me”.  When I write my blog and put up my art, I share a huge platform and its activity around gremlins.  It is mine host, with troubles of his own.   I see clearly the particles en masse, in the wave and in the weather, and the shared mind:  the psychology.   Another view of this, is the Surveillance culture which in its crude infancy, acknowledges we are all interlinked, and cannot ignore it.  Eventually – very eventually – the higher Humanity begins to hatch its own contagion among the droppings and the mess and the mixture of good and evil.   Here I keep going.  So do you.

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E.Levi pentacle

E.Levi pentacle

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The human condition cannot be solved, but it is heard.   Revolution is where all the fuss about it stops.   The mind-train with its incessant wheel-go-round importance stops, baffled and disabled.   Then there is the silence, the silence of the lambs and doves, where life falls into place beyond any plan.   Re-source rises like a well.  Beyond solution, beyond Masters, beyond the human Plan, beyond fix or advice:   here it companions itSelf.

Here dawns an insight each day: miraculous cosmic alignments in the oracle do not generate a ‘happy’ and problem free life.   Life is what it is.  The alignment means that whatever is going on, is expressed without restriction or artificiality.

I have a close friend who feels ill.  We share this problem as life, as the landscape provided.   The more I realise this, the less tension I have with it.

It is infantile to expect enlightenment to cancel problems.   They increase.  The Great Work increases the exposure and response-ability.   The Great Work of alchemy settles not in ashrams but in hardship zones, such as the present period in human history.

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Coil

Coil

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In “Lives in the Shadow with Krishnamurti”, Radha Rajagopal Sloss wrote:

“We all felt his quiet observation of us, and in part returned it.  He had often said that to help someone with a problem, all you had to do was understand it without judgment, to see it clearly, and in time this understanding would be transmitted to the other person.

“His non-verbal self was at its best in such circumstances.  To have had the opportunity to experience that directly, was worth a hundred of his lectures.”

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K with Rosalind in Ohai, 1935

K with Rosalind in Ohai, 1935

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In Commentaries on Living, he says:  “You can be converted from one belief to another, from one dogma to another, but you cannot be converted to the understanding of reality. Belief is not reality.  … …  If you have an experience unexpectedly, spontaneously, and build further experience upon the first, then experience is merely a continuation of memory which responds to contact with the present. Memory is always dead, coming to life only in contact with the living Present.”

Since my teens, I am deeply frustrated by somehow intuiting this, yet unable to change the way the engine turns.   It makes me a dogmatic idiot;  it makes me fall on my nose.  But I love that amazing image of dead memory combusting with the living Present.  It is like a dream I once had about living white sunflowers, who thrived on eating the dead ones:  a blue light ray played around the miracle.

Mary Lutyen’s book ends near the end of his life, with a sublime chapter, much of it in his words.

“K said, ‘We are trying with our minds to touch that.  Try to find out what that is when your mind is completely quiet … You might be able to find out, because you are writing about it.  If you and Maria (Zimbalist) sat down and said, ‘let us enquire’, I’m pretty sure you could find out.  Or do it alone. 

‘I see something:  what I said is true – I can never find out.  Water can never find out what water is … Can you feel it in the room?  It is getting stronger and stronger.  My head is starting.  If you asked the question and said, ‘I don’t know’, you might find it.  If I was writing it, I would state all this.  I would begin with the boy completely vacant.’

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K at five years old

K at five years old

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“He would never get outside;  he would never know what he was, he would never see how transfigured his face became in special inspiration or revelation. Could I find out for him?  He had told us it was possible, told us to try to find out, whereas in 1972 he had said that no one could ever understand – that it was something ‘much too vast to be put into words.’

(He said) ‘There is a tremendous reservoir, which if the human mind can touch it, reveals something which no intellectual mythology – invention, supposition, dogma – can ever reveal. 

‘I am not making a mystery of it – that would be a stupid, childish trick.  Creating a mystery out of nothing would be a most blackguardedly thing to do, because that would be exploiting people and ruthless – that’s a dirty trick.  

‘Either one creates a mystery when there isn’t one, or there is a mystery which you have to approach with extraordinary delicacy and hesitancy and you know, tentativeness.  And the conscious mind can’t do this.  It is there, but you cannot come to it, you cannot invite it, it’s not progressive achievement.  There IS something, but the brain can’t understand it.’

‘I suffer, and the mind is doing everything it can to run away from it.  When it does not run away, then it observes.  Then the observer, if it observes very closely, is the observed, and that very pain is transformed into passion, which is compassion.  The words are not the reality.  So don’t escape from suffering, which does not mean you become morbid.  Live with it.  You live with pleasure, don’t you?  Why don’t you live with suffering completely?  Can you live with it in the sense of not escaping from it?  What takes place?   Watch.  The mind is very clear, sharp.  It is faced with the fact.  From that arises a mind that can never be hurt.  Full stop.  That is the secret.’

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last talks at Saanen

last talks at Saanen

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For other posts on K, see Krishnamurti & the Coastal Path, under Categories in the sidebar.

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.

Aquariel link

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

Watching Myself and Krishnamurti – Part Three

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Sacred India Tarot - Babaji landscape

Sacred India Tarot – Babaji landscape

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As many readers are aware by now, we in the UK have difficulty in accessing and posting in WordPress, for the last fortnight.  I only managed my last 3 posts with flexible patience and workaround – it keeps getting stuck in the website/internet-provider (any) interface. The connection gets dropped.  Engineers are working on the line, so to speak.   So if you have difficulty opening a wp blog, that is why. I wonder if this post will get through.  It slipped unexpectedly into my new Krishnamurti series, this morning in my journal:  the nature of the oracle, while butterflying around in K’s energy field.

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My dear Companion of the light!  All I write to you about these days, is housework.

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News:  I de-congested the tool cupboard yesterday, and sewed a long Velcro strip into the Cube which joins the Upper and South faces.   That was very hard work.  All it needs now are small fasteners for W/N and N/E edges.   I took “Little Jeep” (two wheels) for his free service at the bike shop.   It was hot and sticky, and rained in the night.   WordPress was very stuck yesterday.  I altered K’s ear (brought it a little closer) in the Dissolving the Star drawing, but couldn’t upload it.

You who are my Companion of the Light.   Where are we today?  What is the awareness?

Perhaps to sit quiet, but pictures roll out the ball to awake with.  Where does the ball come to rest?  This morning, let’s do a SITA oracle, as there is an enthusiasm in facebook for it – a new Indian friend.  Out comes the shrine-box with Babaji and the Himalayas – the water bringer from the skies.

Sacred India Tarot

Sacred India Tarot

Beloved Companion, what is our moment now?

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Just as I began cutting the deck with my left hand, I recalled that Manasi (in India) posted on f-book the Wedding of Siva and Parvati card, with Brahma in the shrine officiating;  and she said all the cards are doors opening into her inner temple – or something like that.

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Three cards –  who appears at centre?  Brahma the Emperor, card 4 – the same as in Siva and Parvati’s wedding, the 9 of lotuses.

In the BOTA deck, the Emperor portal leads us – via the Cube of Space’s northeast corner edge – into the interior diagonals which pass through centre, and open the inner enquiry of Life.   My handiwork on the Cube last night, brings this up for me.   It is a way in.   He echoes Babaji’s stance, but one leg descends to touch the ground-water, near the swans … like Buddha’s hand during the Enlightenment.

Sacred India Tarot 4 - Brahma

Sacred India Tarot 4 – Brahma

Brahma is seated on Vishnu’s naval-chakra dream:  Vishnu is the lotus root.

Brahma’s face looks like Krishnamurti’s, who was ‘in the Vishnu lineage’.   Brahma is a fountain – the fountain splashes into the dark blue sky behind his shoulders.   That is the feeling when my morning snake gently rises;  and where K burned when his different dimensions rubbed sparks together.

I read a post about Quetzalcoatl yesterday, and commented.   It is fascinating and inspirational.

The medium in front of Babaji is earth-ground, because he is of the skies.   The medium in front of the Emperor is a cool lake, because he is fiery. The ground in front of Babaji is cross sectioned through the soil, and is a rising wave.

The green-yellow landscape around and behind him, is fluid like the sea and sands, with wave crests.  It is very beautiful to be in the Indus civilization – the mystery of Saraswathi.   She – the SITA Priestess – is Brahma’s wife.   Swans float creamily around them both when the mind is lucid and quiet – the waters.  The ground.   The elements.

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Saraswathi with swans

Saraswathi with swans

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A lotus grows before Babaji:  on that same lotus, Brahma sits:  the lotus grows on a stalk from Vishnu’s navel:  Vishnu’s bed is the cosmic Serpent.  And just in front of the dreaming Vishnu-serpent-sleep, the ground where it meets the water, ripples and turns green – as the Babaji landscape.

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Sacred India Tarot 2, Saraswathi the High Priestess

Sacred India Tarot 2, Saraswathi the High Priestess

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The Emperor – Brahma Creator – bestows educated abundance.   His consort Saraswathi is a Vedic woman, before caste and social systems oppressed her.  She is at ease, coming through her golden sand-water environment like a supple snake with the ground it undulates along. It was in the days before the river dried up.

The backs of the SITA deck have this old-gold sadhu colour, with the Sri Chakra on them. Now turn over the card to the left – it is The World Shakti.  Her womb is the Sri Chakra, and she dances/is penetrated by a Sivalinga with a rising red snake from triple coil.   She fountains like the Emperor, and in her four palms are yoni-seeds.  Around her is a circle of six lotuses, the sixth one – she is with child –  being the Sri Chakra Yantra bindu:  the core of the Universe.

Sacred India Tarot - Babaji, Shakti, Brahma

Sacred India Tarot – Babaji, Shakti, Brahma

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The Elder Indian Mysteries are very beautiful.  We praise them, alive and singing, within the materialistic effluent of nowadays.   That jingly crust will pass;  the youth will reclaim its heritage and wonder. And now turn over the card to the right. How strange!   It is Rati Queen of Lotuses.   Originally, World Shakti was painted as the Queen of Lotuses:  Rohit moved her to Major Arcana 21, and asked me to paint a new card for the Queen – here she is.

Sacred India Tarot Shakti, Emperor, Rati

Sacred India Tarot Shakti, Emperor, Rati

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This is breathtaking.   The ‘apparent random’ of a triple cut, done three times across a deck of 82, unveils their artistic relationship – a unity.

Brahma the Creator, with Kundalini-Shakti to each side – the continuity – how does it feel?  Transcending my usual housekeeping and worldly worries, particles join together by that miraculous agency which ‘knows their story’. This demonstrates Reality – the contact which silences the talk.

Even at Brahma’s feet/foot touching the pool, the mirrored swans glide to meet each other as a heart shape forms. World Shakti gestates the Kundalini.  Queen Rati holds the snake easily, like a gown she is slipping off;  she might at any moment transform the snake to a hard bright arrow for her casually held bow.  She is pure shape shifter.

It is wonderful to behold the Mystery.   For me it is just another picture of K’s childlike amazement at the way things are, and his longing to ‘educate’ and ease peoples’ minds.

Behind the Mystery broods Babaji in his Himalayan earth-river.   Babaji is the “deity” of the deck – conduit of the whole pantheon, for the Sacred India Tarot.   In the background, ancient rivers descend through Himalayan foothill strata:  he is their recollected Consciousness.

The recollected Consciousness is a shape shifting clarity … now.   It has no thing, and everything.  It is transparent.   All the books wrote of it, and it has no book, the pages dissolve to a fountain afresh.   Krishnamurti and Ramana talked of it, and taught Self enquiry.   We must do our own, for the doors to open.

The SITA deck tells stories in a magnificent way, as in Rohit’s book with the deck.  A peep into the pile under each of the three cards delivers further vivid symbolism and narrative.   While awakening itself is unfurnished – the Here and Now, the wave of the sea in my face –  my subconscious child loves pictures.  They are portals to the interior Temple.   With that awe and beauty, my nature falls silent.   The Cube falls open into the Great Rose – and who ever heard a Rose say anything?

O Rose Cross, thou art a Kiss – the kiss of Life. When I cradled and watched my newborn daughter’s face, there was silence and space and love.  This is the connection.  The eternal bond with and as the Self, makes parents of us all.

prince george alexander louis

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The heart of Krishnamurti’s teaching is a warm silence, companioning a friend.   Again and again he repeated – do you stop to look at the flower, or hear the bird, without naming it?

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Following J.Krishnamurti

Following J.Krishnamurti

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Here is the FACEBOOK link to the Sacred India Tarot page ….  https://www.facebook.com/SacredIndiaTarot?fref=ts

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/

The Lighthouse Keeper – Part Two

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tintagel merlin

 

17 July                         PART TWO

I discover some thoughts in blogland which convert the esoteric learning curve and fascination, to Humanness, compassion, right living, mindful presence … which is what they truly are. They are atomic particles from a goldmine – the miners in the mountains, as the alchemists say.   Language slips away, into the hard graft, the Way of Life and love.

And I find another post, on moderation – enrich your life with simplicity, enjoying technology efficiently, but without excess.  The wealth is here and now.

I try to stay near the Hermit, for he is easy to visit across the starry water, and to find, and to cool my mind.  Enoch and the Well – see the post before “the Lighthouse Keeper part One” – was a profound contact.

The Hermit’s cottage is earth lined;  walls are minimally dressed, a plaster wash maybe, stone-flagged floor, and bits of rug.  When I go inside from the sunlight, I can just see an open fireplace for the kettle, and the table which sages and teachers have – the noble grain is scrubbed white.   There’s a bench and possibly a chair or two.   Enter this room at any moment, without even crossing the water:  a brief impression of the lake in my mind.   I am here, within the summer drone of outdoors.

9 hermit - Version 3..

The Hermit is my Tarot Arcanum 9, and sometimes he looks like this.   He doesn’t  reveal too much.  Impression of a person of great delicacy, able hands.   His presence is a sweet altitude in my breath.

When I drew him in my Arcana in 1991, I was giving up smoking.  His is the Tarot of the Will: the deep impenetrable power which picks up life and helps to overcome old addictions, however painful it is to do so.

There is an absence of the sharp smoker in my breath;  an absence of other attachments also, as they wore away.   They become light cloths or rags – the sun burnt holes in them –  they do not matter.  Yet I feel a little bereaved of my romantic intensity. Sometimes there is a “flip-flop” – as Ramesh Balsekar would say – to a momentary surface sceptic, who lost that fuel, and feels tired.

The Hermit is the well:  the well of depth, delicacy, wonder and becoming.   His blue cap is YOD – I need the concentration.   I get scattered easily.

bota key 9 hermit

I cannot see many disciples rowing across the lake with groceries for him, but I suppose he has them.   Each is like myself, and feels uniquely connected.   He is yet Self- sufficient – our sense of “all-oneness” alone.   Between the physical and subtle worlds, he doesn’t need much to eat.  Like Master R, he is fueled by oats, honey and fresh water.   I am sure he keeps hens too.   He keeps bees and makes strong cider from his fruit trees.   He is actually quite busy.  Profoundly Virgoan, he manages to grow and grind enough oats and wheat for his bread.  There is some for visitors.  He is busy! – he is a smallholder.   Yet he has the gift of the Magidim, to increase his present supply – the well never empties.   He handles in this Way, the physical environment, by touch.   I can learn everything from this, bringing it back to accompanying my loved ones.

He is maintained physically through his well fed students.   We give him manifestation.

(There is a high Law in Creation (Beriah), which in the lower astral worlds (Yetzirah), gets perverted to vampirism.   Vampirism is not just the Dracula tales of old. It rampages through relationships, the media and the commercial world in the collective subconscious, and generates imbalances.  Its fuel is ignorance and greed).

But the Law between student/disciple and the Inner-plane being, is the Law of love – a two-way current of regeneration.   As Ramesh Balsekar used to say, there is no Guru until the devotee discovers and makes him so.   Guru manifests in dialogue.  Guru takes shape and eternal fluid form, according to the desire for interior peace.   Guru is not a person.  Guru is a sanskrit word, meaning “dispeller of darkness.”

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Magid

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The interior contact established, is Antakharana or pipeline for the Maestri.   It is the conduit whereby an electron orbit of life, jumps to a higher one.  Through Daat – union on the Tree of Life – the quantum leaps.  Profound distress is often the prompt.   Out of the depth we cry to thee, and we leap.

When we find Guru, the dispeller of the dark, we pray together.  That means, there is an interior birdsong, the light of the Holy One … through the sap of each tree in the countless forest.   My Hermit’s eyes are amused; sometimes blue and sometimes brown.

“Find what you are gifted in, which no one else does, or is;  and develop that.”
Peace Mercutio!   and gratitude.

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Swan of Brahma

Swan of Brahma

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Now I love the Hermit, who is Hermetic mercury.   He combines in his fragrant person, the Cube, the staff of Asclepius (one snake), the caduceus (two snakes) and all those quivers of the quick silver.   The highest region of alchemical mercury is the golden cube Tattva in the Sahasrara lotus “above my head”.   The nectar is collected in the third eye, which bows like a swan through Sushumna, to the heart.   My heart is a Sun with wings.   The staff materializes down through the lower chakras, and meets like a root, snake-entwined – the lovely Kundalini.   It is silent.

Sacred India Tarot Queen of Staves - Radha Ma Svaha

Sacred India Tarot Queen of Staves – Radha Ma Svaha

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Kundalini awakening opens inexhaustible secrets of the Universe.  They burst up through my column in a fountain of “write”.   There is no end to the play of the Fountain – the j h v h pulse.    As I grow older, I discover the silence is all the secrets of the Universe, and nearer than my breath.   Access to them – the key – can be turned to love or to self-inflation:  to Life or to live-backwards which is evil.   Of themselves the Mysteries are neutral – they get converted to human feeling and to Old Issues, expediently.   There is no end to Nature’s cosmic abundance – the empress:  wisdom and folly.

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The Empress, Arcanum 3

The Empress, Arcanum 3

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The note in my mind just now is A-sharp – violet:  the meditation key.  Though my Hermit contact is so personal, I feel I can and should share him.   Why?  because the inner hermit is Archetypal – a type of home coming..

The lovely Kundalini is a Rod stuck into the ground:  she twirls like a distaff, spinning yarn. We are individually suited to perceive objective Teachers or subjective ones.   I am of the subjective type.  I develop my picture story, as an artist, a maker of windows.  However, their symbols and associations within my field, are an ancient Common land.  It is free for all who have the heart’s entry.  A fluid, shape-shifting firewall is not static.

Being a subjective type, means I co-create:  that my creations when mature, reside on the astral plane for other souls to access.  It gave me a lot of responsibility, to define over the decades, what it entails, and how to edit, and how to sieve the wheat from chaff.   There were and are deep wounds in life.   But the Process is a shining farm-labourer, carrying the sheaves for stacking, in scratched hands.

Wheatsheaf in the shape of letter GIMEL, with labourer in the field

Wheatsheaf in the shape of letter GIMEL, with labourer in the field

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Sometimes my entire lifetime is joined together, all the impressions as  One.   Fancy admiring farm labourers when I was a child … because they showed me the essence of the Great Work which I would engage in – the Will.   Our soul knows infinitely beyond what we think we know, or are taught.   I have the same knowledge now, extending into the future.   What is it?

bota key 3 Empress - Version 2

What do I know about my Self?  and the farm labourers carrying wheat?   There need be no verbal answer yet, but how does it feel?

Harvest and fertility.  My drawing of the wheat-sheaves stacked together, forms a Gimel.   But Gimel is the potential harvest of the Priestess.   While the Empress is Venus, and pregnant among standing wheat, the Priestess is aligned with Mercury.   The Priestess of the Moon is aligned with Mercury because she keeps the shrine swept, and holds the memory.   The shrine, a cave in the earth, is Virgoan, and thus Mercurial.  Recall and respect the Shrine in my everyday doings.

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What is my knowledge of the future?   Rather than speculate, which the surface-mercury does haphazardly and with fear, build and sweep the inner shrine each day:  creation – a conscious performance.

Where I am coming to now, is the job of the personal shrine.   This is the one which makes the contact.   Organised shrines administer the contact by committee to belief.

The personal shrine is a holy place.  By whatever means, it enters the wide world, beginning HERE.   In Halevi’s zodiac wheel, the 6h house (Virgo-ruled) is “Operation”.  Virgo as the shrine, and as the cosmic secretary, operates:  “le opere” are the works.   Transmission – as on military ships – is a morse-code operator.

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Cosmic clock - wheel of the Zodiac, by Zev ben Shimon Halevi

Cosmic clock – wheel of the Zodiac, by Zev ben Shimon Halevi

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My personal shrine suffers a continuing breakdown of shallow pride.   When we accept the job of Lighthouse Keeper, we accept this.   We live in a tower which shines at sea.  By hook or by crook, my dark tower of pride, my cracking seedcase, transforms to a tower of alchemy.

GALLERY – to view, click on any image and wait to upload

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A tower of alchemy – (and make of it precisely what I can) – shines across the sea like the Hermit’s lamp, and the vessels out there can see it.  The Hermit stands on a mountain guiding souls up the path:  the Lighthouse keeper stands in the sea – Hermes walks in the sea, carrying a globe and Staff –  the same.   I shall get submerged again during the day, but I write this, as always, with the commitment to transmission, here and now.

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Two illustrations from Alexander Roob’s Alchemy & Mysticism

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A note on HARPIES – when passing between Scylla and Charybdis:

When I look at my harpies – the spiteful scolds –  they stop what they are saying.  If I look at them, they cannot speak or screech.   Give it time.  They look horrible and hot and carrion, and they might change colour.   Mine are black like crows, and after a while they turn greyish, they start to fade and get weak and meaningless.   Harpies do not thrive on being held in the air and looked at.  They thrive on swooping – just as I am dozing off – and pushing and stabbing and being heard and believed.

valorous strength Emblem 2

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Dawn complaints drift slowly apart, like heavy clouds.  The nectar is a little stream on the hillside, as I touch up my recent Tarot reflection – a visual poem in itself, within Death and the Empress to each side.  I like the way the Priestess and the Hanged Man peep through the firm positions of the Chariot and the Emperor – I love the colour scheme.

Tarot reflection, July 2013

Tarot reflection, July 2013

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I am depressed about the human monkey and all its unhealthy persuasion.   Deeply so – I have to wrestle with it all the time.  My small old fashioned sermons to myself are mocked by the disturbing glitter of DNA-meddlesome-technology.

Yet that genetic engineering stuff, the ‘playing god’, is itself ILLUSORY.  I see this now.   It is a trap – a religion even – capturing worshippers, consumers and fearful adherents.   When my Hermit helps me to awaken, I have perspective;   I see a scale of values.   I see the utter seductiveness of the monkey game, which has no understanding of the Great Game of cosmic balances.   The monkey game believes and fears, that we humans are all alone, spearheading the universe and bent on self destruct.   That primitive dark-ages concept prevails.   I feel something other, beyond and behind and inside the box.   Is this too, a daydream, a denial?    Who can say?

The one thing which is sure, is the Good.  The essential human values and friendship.  The right from wrong.   It has an utterly different flavour from anxiety-default-mode – or ambition – which crowds and occupies the race’s big brains.

Parallel worlds touch and mutually thrive.

The hanging man overturns the conventional occupation.  “Go on walking contrary to the way of the world.   Lift a stone and I am there”.   The hanging man upends the nightmare. With my Hermit in the cottage, is the moment smelling of bees;  eternity. Choose eternity!

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bees j&d6

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**

My adventure invites fellow travelers.  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 (c) janeadamsart 2012-2013.  May not be used for commercial purposes.  May be used and shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address https://janeadamsart.wordpress.com

The Lighthouse Keeper – Part One

This is a two-part post – a couple of mornings in my journal.  I’d like to share with you, my inner journey to a Hermit in his cottage … one of the soul-Teacher’s archetypal faces.  He feels like a personal ‘lighthouse keeper’, but actually he resides in our common ground.   I like what he said to me, about bubbles and the river.

Here’s part one:

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Glade, 1986

Glade, 1986 – I painted this out of doors. Some of the slanting branches, verticals, and contours in the ground suggested a cube standing on its point.  I called it “a tumbling cube”, long before discovering “the Cube of Space” – it was a way of entering, and seeing things.  To the right, is a lens or an eye, looking in.  I left it so, because it felt authentic at the time.  Sometimes there is a dazzling gleam like that, through the branches.

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Preamble

In a guided meditation, You, my teacher … are whoever I wish you to be.  Yours is the changeful face, when I lie on the grass today, watching the clouds as they break, disperse and unite :   Master R?  Ramana? Dr L? Yeshua? Sarah?  Zofia …?

My drawings and and fantasy are wishful thinking, BUT – the contact made with an ‘answering activity’, is unmistakable.   Your faces appear from the universal Self behind and beyond the mask.   I am human and I love to love, to connect, to be inspired and change my mood.  And I feel depressed, but my boat stabilizes as I sit down and start to write – I begin to feel connected again.   The inner, deeper, higher plane comes to the daily habit like a fish.   The love is touched.  It is the height, the breadth, the depth …

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Solomon's Cube

Solomon’s Cube

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There is a room of the soul, this thing and place that we are, with its symbols, diagrams and treasures, where we gather, where one of us lights the candle.  It is ANCIENT and familiar.  The perspective far outreaches the human monkey, and it just goes back and back.

The Magidim are guides and teachers of the Light.  You are my convenient belief system;  yet when I turn to you and ask, a certain perspective shifts;  so you are Real, and not just what I believe.   Through the interaction here in earth, you are more than the names and shapes in the clouds.

I long to apply the wisdom and understanding to daily life:  my field.   So my interest in astrology fades a little.   I have on my plate two challenging situations for “the Compass”.  I found from experience that when I peer at the astrology transits, it doesn’t really help my loved ones, though it gives me some perspective.   So don’t waste energy.   I am just looking.

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compass-musicians by masonicfind.com

compass-musicians by masonicfind.com

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You are my underlying compass, you point to the north.  This symbol gives me peace, through regions of despair or nonsensical hardship.   There is more erosion …   sorrows about the human race.  My hope, energy and optimism diminish, and so I have to go deeper.   I am SAD.  It doesn’t matter.  This too shall pass.

You rest in the fluid, trembling a little, like the Hanging Man, and point to magnetic north – the mysterious occult Earth of Uriel – the Fountain in the letter AYIN, meaning ‘the eye’.   I feel a subtle Fountain of Life inside.  You are the Compass, Compassion – the Crossroads.

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Grand Trine chart, 17 July 2013, 6.33pm London

Grand Trine chart, 17 July 2013, 6.33pm London

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Last week, on Wednesday 17th, a Grand Water Trine of Jupiter, Saturn and Neptune came into resonance.   Saturn is flanked by the Moon and Dragons head in Scorpio.  Saturn is the elder, and the Moon is the young child.  A Saturn-Moon contact is often found in the charts of sages and seers.

Jupiter in Cancer, his sign of exaltation, is flanked by Mars, Mercury and the Sun.   With Sagittarius rising, there may be through 11th, 7th and 2nd houses, an easing of our relationships in the group soul, a ‘making room’.   Neptune rides in his own ocean sign, Pisces.  Jupiter in Cancer and Neptune in Pisces both suggest, “Think big.”  The Grand Trine echoes last summer’s Grand Cross tension on the same date … in a profoundly auspicious way:  a subtle Event, or butterfly-wing.   Problems surface on the road, to be cleared, for the Way to blossom;  then we wake one morning, and life is simpler.    On the 17th last summer, I walked above the Chess river, swollen by the rains, and my pocket phone rang at that moment:  a quarrel ended.

So open arms to the beautiful Grand Trine in Water signs, during this dry summer.  The ‘frequency’ ripples through Earth’s subtle body;  through the tiny limbed antennae that we are.

The Triangle and Tetrahedron are nourishing forms for the soul. Fresh water rises to cleanse my dark pond.   To see these forms, to feel them to the life, I need to be at rest and alert.  I become so, when I write …  it floats.   The Yogas converge, gently.

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The Journey

Name and face are immaterial;  yet they are luminaries.  About ten years ago, I was taught an interior journey to the Inner Teacher:  as follows.

I ride a long way through the forest till I get to a small lake.  In the lake there is an island.   A boat awaits me.  I scull across to the island, and the cool living water seems full of little fireflies like the stars.

I beach the boat, and walk up a path between fruit trees to the Hermit’s home – a cottage with very low eves and a blanket/curtain hung over the front door.   The curtain is raised, and the Hermit appears … and this is yet another face in the clouds, a Celtic Merlinesque one, the merry blue eyes.   He was nudging me last night.   So here I am!   It is as good a way as any, to come to the Inner Teacher.   He is called Menes, the inner hermit soul in Avalon.   But … in the sound of Avalokiteshwara which is like a river … he is my Boddhisattva.   Here I rest, to take in the fragrance.

The eternal being stands at his door, an old bearded man in a grey stuff robe, and welcomes me.   Bodhisattva.  I’d like to be a bodhisattva, in the Buddha of compassion, those who come back to Earth to shepherd particular situations.  It is what I do.   But he stands at his door;  it is hot and sunny outside …  it is cool and velvety within.   To me, he shines and I bathe.  I stand and bathe.

Beauty is Elder wisdom.  Silence, among the bees and birdsong.   He keeps bees.  There are hives.   My heart is full of need, so I lay my head on his feet.   Surrender the problem to the Holy One who IS the way, infinitely beyond my small parcel.   Did I bring anything – an offering?   I brought my heart with birds in it trapped, who want to fly.   So we have an understanding:  to open the cave of my heart for the birds to fly.   It acts before words.

Soul talk is timeless … an instant.    He lifts the curtain further, and we go inside.   He offers me bread and honey, and water from the lake.   The lake has many deep earth colours, and sometimes reflects the sunset or the dawn.   The lake is the Mysteries, because when it is illumined by the sky, I cannot see below, cannot see into its depth.   Everything is encircled by Mystery.  Trust this – and don’t struggle to work things out.

The encircling Mystery as a fact of Life tends to subvert courses of study.   They had their place and time. They trained the mind.

So – I ask him:  How do I – or what is training my mind now?   To keep the focus, the lens?  To polish the smear of life’s perils and disturbance and grief from the window?   Am I losing the plot?   I feel I shed my securities, they drop away.   My studies kept me happy, and still do, but to a lesser extent.  My studies help concentration, but I am no longer acquiring knowledge.

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Ring on table, Rosicrucean Emblem 9

Ring on table, Rosicrucean Emblem 9

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 He says:

“Do you want to stay in a bubble, or do you want to flow as the river?   No course of learning is permanent.  They are means to an end.   The end breaks open the graduation cell, and you feel the world rush in.   It bruises the nerve ends.   I say to you – keep swimming with Providence.   The landscape by which you find me, is roped and ridged with hills and valleys like water stirred by the wind, or ripples in the sand, or waves in the sea, the grain in the wood.   The hills and valleys have woods, villages and fields.   Convert the solid to fluidity:  be at home in every element – the tumbling cube.    Keep learning to listen, and ascertain your friend’s need, a situation’s need, without fussing and without suffering:  be flexible.  Be still.  We assure you – you are never without our regard.  You are never without the guide.   You have not strayed.   Where can you stray to? 

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redqueen

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“The oak tree – with the red queen pulling Alice along – is too vast to be run past, however fast you run.   The oak tree is your entire life and understanding.

“Consider this – study and working on yourself, has little time to stand and gaze at the oak tree in all its glory.   Be this the lesson of the present year:  stand, raise your head and look –  a deer in the forest.    We packed you full of learning.   Now receive.

 “Discard glamour, and embrace the Good.”

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circumpunct

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I feel restored.   I have the silver key – the stillness inside.

At this point, my silver key and the Hermit’s silver key are in touch, and converse;  speech is unnecessary.   There is mutual reflection – the Self.   I am aware of his staff, the serpents, the caduceus, the quicksilver.   In his cool dark room with scrubbed table and fireplace, these are potent as the Ankh, the staff of life.   They nourish my soul.  They are not clung to.  They give.  And they are FOR giving.

FOR give, you said?

“For giving.”

What you give …  Will you please help me with my blundered talk in life?   This needs more practice than anything.   I get anxious and I say too much, trying to complete and make my point.   Also, trying to make amends.  Telling myself each time, to say much less, to keep it simple, the engine still gets flooded.   What to do?

“It is like the oak tree.  The oak tree is life.  Keep going.   Climb up it sometimes.”

It is time to leave now.   I will be back.     A heart-tune:  a shared musical note … what is it?  It is – and I guessed right – A-natural.   Indigo-violet.   The Intelligence of Administration:  the GVPh or physical body in the trunk of the Tree:  the World dancer:   The Akasha Tattva is an indigo oval, with a darker one inside.

The Hermit in his greyish green earth mantle, is surrounded by the Akashic darkness.  His foot treads a shining snow.   He is secretly on the heights, even on a summer island lake, busy with his bee keeping.   He has a honey smell.   It is the nectar in the herb garden.    Keep the little lamp alight.   It has all I need, for the lamp is the Cube, the Seal of Solomon, a solar hexagon,  directions of the Compass.   The World Dancer is the Compass, high, deep, far and wide.

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hermit - Version 4

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Touch third eye.  And return to the boat, and row back across the lake to the greenwood and my horse.  And come down the Tree!

My tokens:  triangle, tetrahedron, circumpunct – (the lake around the hermit’s house) –  The deep root of the oak tree, planted so long ago, that it is all my life.   The compass.  The way to the north shows where the other ways are.   x x

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Sun steed

Sun steed

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To be Continued /…

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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 from the Watershed – Enoch and the Well

This vivid dream, in 1976, revealed an interior contact, as it deftly stripped away the veils.   It is the source of my symbolism with the well, the wood and the root;  insights which I find also in the I Ching.  “He” gave me later in the narrative, a teaching on the cosmic Law of Sacrifice, which I woke up with, and never forgot.

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The Wisdom of the Fool by a Well (1988)

The Wisdom of the Fool by a Well (1988)

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 Dreams No.140,  14 July 1975

I’m speaking with someone called Enoch.   At a round table we sit, initially with some other counsellors.  At other times a car drives around the area under discussion, these wild orchards.

The name Enoch carries an emphasis from Biblical hinterland.   It is perhaps a collective name for elements of humanity, which conquered death.   But this man is called Enoch Powell – the politician who has strong views on immigration.

politics-conservative-party-conference e.powell

When people or birds – and cats! –  seek entry into a patch of land which is already occupied by others, they are immigrants.   To emigrate is to depart these shores, but as an immigrant you are an invasion to me, until we agree.   Indeed, England’s island history is tempered by issues of invasion and conquest.  Then this discussion around a table, with a view to a patch of land, is about space – the interior space, the balance of fluidic densities between neighbouring cells.   “What do we accommodate?”  “Are we idealists?  Shouldn’t we be more honest with our limitation?”

For a moment now, I see on the curling mossy boughs of the old orchard trees, heavy fruit rosy and golden, the way it pulps down into deep dewy grass as the summer cools.

The political stance on immigration lies at the heart of Enoch’s private nature.   It is where he is vulnerable.   It makes me feel important to be seen with this eminent and public figure.   Enoch is a powerful man with sharp pale eyes and pencil line moustache.  His physiognomy is gaunt and open, his wide jaw reminds me of a vigilant mastiff or lion.   His manner of speech,  impassioned, informed and forceful, is difficult to ignore.

Is he wearing cosmetics?  –  yes he is!   I kept looking, to make sure.   He has black eye-liner traced under his eyes like a sign of his feminine nature.   Yes, for he protests about history and about national rape.    The black eyeliner, a feminine contrivance for emphasis, is a chink of doubt in his intellectual armour.   I think I see his Achilles heel,  his secret fear of losing substance or integrity.   We are being driven around the outskirts of Buckingham Palace grounds, and the topic under sustained discussion is:  “What shall we do with this green-space?”

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bluebell time at broomlands

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“I don’t agree with you there one bit.”   That’s the lively Liberal dark haired lady from ‘Islington Cares’.   “People should go where they like.   We all can go wherever we like, and feel the need.   Young people from the inner-city should play in these wonderful grounds, our national heritage.   It’s criminal to hide them away from the under-privileged.   Would you deprive our youth for the sake of privilege?   Who needs the space to grow –  the Royals or the people?”

“Madam,”  replied Enoch  “we were discussing private property.  Would you like your house to be broken into and occupied by squatters?”

“That’s not the point!   Buck House isn’t private, it belongs to the nation.   What hypocrisy forces the tax payer to support a public institution – our sovereign Family as you put it – and have no access to the – the sanctuary this family enjoys,  on the grounds of –  privacy?”

“We cannot afford to indulge in politics,” said Enoch.  “I’m not concerned with liberal philosophy but with human values – the real values, if you hear what I say.   With reality, madam! –  our  bastion of integrity.   The monarchy represents to ourselves this value, and therefore the need for its own terrain.   Apart from that, think of the pressure of public life upon these people.   Think of the personal sacrifice they make of their private lives to the postage stamp,  to the symbol of moral stability in this country,  look at it, I beg you!   Doesn’t it cry out to you for the human right – to a place of refreshment?

“You are not in the real world, madam.   Do you advocate rape – of our national heritage, the remaining legacy of poets and sailors?   Will you allow burglars and opportunists to despoil and pollute this place?   Have you no heart?”

“My dear Enoch, you must move with the times, we are not discussing nasty criminals but young people – the birth rate.   Have you no heart for the nation’s young,  its children,  and the problems of the inner cities?   This is the young orchard.   And it has no room to grow!”

“Madam, our cities are overcrowded through our poor judgment of the ratio of population density to available land area.   That is why I spoke out against opening our doors to the incoming tide of our Imperial guilt.   Did we treat our immigrants well?   Have we accomodated them humanely?   Look within and ask yourself.   Did they come off the Windrush to a warm welcome, or to a bigoted colour bar?   Did we keep Hitler out,  to let ourselves be conquered by hypocrites’ oath to a swollen Commonwealth?   The sins of our fathers indeed come back to find us.  But I beg you again,  let us protect the soul of our country from further rotting.   The wilderness which lies within the heart …”

“Oh,” said the romantic dark-haired lady  “yes, in olden days everybody had some wilderness to wander, and even some mystical feudal superstition to keep them busy, but today it’s the young, those young people from all the big cities whom you would deprive of the right to leave the streets and take solace in Nature.   Who else has the right to see the laden fruit in those orchards, to walk along the shady paths?   But Enoch, your party and policy is no longer in power.   Times have changed.   An act will be passed …”

Enoch’s face is dark with grief.   “If you do that,”  he says  “there will be nowhere for anyone to go to.   There’ll be no place of such nature left.”

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Queen with child, 1956

Queen with child, 1956

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The grounds of the palace, are enclosed by high and weathered walls.   Within this boundary extends a sylvan oasis of landscaped gardens, and un-mown meadows. Through the woodlands, birds call –  a place of rest and mystery in the heart of the city.   The rougher and more untamed regions are the area under discussion;  here are gathered, in a shaggy garland of luxuriant wild orchards opening one into another, many old trees that slant hither and thither in haphazard rows.   They bear apples, pears, cherries and plums, self-pruning.   Around their knotty trunks grows a profusion of deep sorrel, buttercup, pink campion, royal blue scabious and thorny briar rose;  and foxes trace a magical maze.   Here the butterfly flourishes.   It is a fragrant and secret garden.   It hums with near and distant song and silence.

This is the soul which Enoch feels belongs to us all,  and should therefore be kept inviolate,  and which the liberal dark haired lady feels,  for the same reason,  should be open to the public.

At first I thought she was right.  Enoch’s immigration policy was never popular.   People should come and go,  nibble the fruit in these orchards,  sit and dream or have sex in the natural arbours,  sniff the thorny roses and spot Royals.   Anyone should be able to go there,  to go where they like.

Enoch’s personal distress became real to me.   The domain where time stands still is the real world within each one of us, which is not easy to access.   Here we grow and breathe among the tangled web of our fruit,  our convoluted petalled fragrance of the wild rose;  and only those should enter who are invited.    For it flowers and opens, from a dark and winding stem of thorns.   The pathway among radiant trees and flowers is a briary labyrinth in which the foolish or unwary,  or mere litter-spilling sight seers, get lost,  stolen or strayed.

Should we crowd that end of the enclosure?   It is the private part.   The liberal plan parades a crude ideology.

Enoch noticed that I’m turning from the eloquent dark haired woman to him to listen.   My ambivalent point of view seems to interest him, but there is nothing I can yet say.   She crowds me out.   She talks all the time, there is much, much that I feel and would like to say, the pressure from my heart like unripe fruit on the bough,  I feel for him,  I want to tell him this but not to gush or take sides,  and I don’t know how.  So I am silent.

As I understand it, Enoch would suffer in himself so acute an unhappiness if the Act were passed in the palace grounds, particularly the sacred area of orchard growth, that as in Blake’s “Elegy”: –  “O Rose, thou art sick;  the invisible worm that flies in the night in the howling storm,  has found out thy bed of crimson joy:   and his dark secret love does thy life destroy!” – he too would sicken and die.

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roots at broomlands

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It is to do with guardng the fertile and sacred wood.   Wood and water work together into the fourth dimension as an osmotic cycle.   The welling growth from under the ground to the warm rays of the sun, along a series of neighbouring fluidic densities, is a series also of changing texture in time – through the tender pliability of young stems to the great oak,  and what the old tree returns to earth from the sky.   This is the “now” in a river’s movement of many centuries.

In matriarchal land husbandry, the kings must die, and their seed as generations rise and fall;  but the wood is the terrain of life,  the concentric rings of time,  the uplift and downfall of the waters.   In the wood is drawn the Akashic record for all seasons. This is one of the closely guarded mysteries.  A druid, to her nature true, may approach the power and knowledge which lies hidden in the tree, wisely, and with love.

Then Enoch is a guardian.   Only those may walk in nature’s temple who earned or inherited, by their effort, the right. The wood and the water are a well – the deep sunk root to the high, flowering branch.   Wood and water well an oasis in the mental life.   Our rulers are an elected sense of purpose, but also a private source of refreshment.   How hungry we are for the gutter press, their domestic difficulties.   And when so much is cut down, so much is given out,  how essential is retreat,  for them:  and for ourselves.

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mary queen of scots exiled from france, on a ship - 1957

mary queen of scots exiled from france, on a ship – 1957

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Enoch may be Powell, the unpopular and forceful politician who cares more for principles than for votes,  but who and what else is he?    He asserts an individuated view.   He is  a rugged individual.   He is any individual in any time or climate of everyman who, when over-run with the mere ideas of others,  dies.   The politician is a mask of convenience for a messenger.

The Person behind the mask is universal. “I am.”  How much of this commodity is sacrificed to the mask?  for the sake of being “available”?

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goddess with swan - 1956, copy from Leonardo

goddess with swan – 1956, copy from Leonardo

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Our dialogue has now become intimate.

“I have myself studied sacrifice,” he told me.   “I made, over long periods of time, very many years, a special depth study of all shapes and forms of sacrifice.   When my interest was anthropological, I was drawn to consider first the primitive form,  the votive offering of animal vigour from within the tribe to heaven,  to protect the tribe.   The more valuable the victim from the physical world, the more it focused the source of protection and strength.   Adonai takes the first of the fruit and gives back Himself.  This is psychology.

“You can see then a rate of exchange,  a currency.   It is the equilibrating of fluidic density from one plant cell or dimension of our universe, to another.   See what comes back in faith.   You can see the human victims on Mayan pyramids, the sheep and goats of the Hebrews, the bulls of the ancient Greeks,  and the bodies of early Christian martyrs.   Now, how would you yourself define sacrifice?”

“I think,” I said rather stiffly after a while, straining to hold his attention to my empathy and not wake up in my bed –  “that it is the gift.   I think the sacrifice transfers my attachment to earthly opinion.  It goes to a higher and more subtle sense of gravity.”

“Then,” he said  “you are the chosen container of your sacrifice.   To sacrifice is to give faith to the laws of renewal within you.   It is the offering to the Universal, what I, or you, have earned, and the willingness to change station in consciousness.  Each living heart contains a mystery, which should be guarded – the ability or willingness to do just that.   This element alone is taken alive to heaven.

“In the law of reincarnation, the Tree grows up to heaven and descends as fruit, as seed.  Each leaf put forth from the stem, the woody capillary, is unique.  The seasons are the fountain’s rise and fall:  the tidal breath of Adonai.

“In some forms of sacrifice, a pleasing fragrance is burned from the entrails of animal power and pride, to favour the ruling forces of Nature and persuade their alignment to a human cause.   In the Iliad the gods themselves sat down to feast with the heroes.   But in other forms of sacrifice a Man falls from heaven to earth like an apple to enrich the ground plan.   This, like golden leaf-fall, or treasure from the tree of life,  is the Messiah.   He ‘falls’ into the autumn of each year or cycle of human history, to teach it.

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sleep - 1987

sleep – 1987

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“And,” he went on,  “sacrifice is the slow and welling growth of new wood from the old.   Sacrifice metamorphs the butterfly from chrysalis, the snake of wisdom from many essential skins of ignorance.    Sacrifice is metanoia – the turning – of self’s wisdom from the personality’s temporary possession.

“This is difficult for you to understand and for me to tell.   It is not ordained by a limited mind like ours.  We touch on matters, which the transcendent plane inverts.   To sacrifice, or give away what we have,  is to receive it,  is to be the receiver.   To die is to be born.   To live in light, I cast away concentric rings of the darkness which defines me.

“I have studied these things so deeply, over so great an epoch of time, have given so much of my attention to this independent science,  one body after another,  that if I chose, they could make me a Doctor and put me out to grass.   That would be a solution to the political problem, wouldn’t it?   But in fact, so much have I suffered for the royal art, so much outgrown, sometimes prematurely given away, or died to, that I came to cherish a little too fiercely the remnant I have left.   This is the hardest part of all.   I should have hung onto the old witch-doctor, to salve these old scars on my stem of life;  my devotions and denials.

“Do you understand?   That place where the fruit trees are – is one that I WON’T give up.   It is my childhood.   It is sacred to me.”

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A fairy godmother, 1957

A fairy godmother, 1957

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Enoch Powell is still wearing cosmetic eye-liner with a curious consistency.   Perhaps this is so as to underline his point of view.

“It is very good,”  he says in his former voice “and very necessary to study an independent science.   But do not let the philanthropic philosophy philander you.”

His skin is brown and tanned by the sun in the gap between his trousers and jersey, his hair is black,  he emits to me a masculine vibrancy and seems to be turning into someone else.

Enoch is the collective name of an ancient gesture:   “he who walked with the Lord and he was not:  for the Lord took him.”   His thoughts on sacrifice are like looking into a well.   Everything is upside down.   I look down into the well and see, around my reflected shadow limned in light in the quiver of still water, the sky above.   What is above is in the depths of the earth.

The Hanged Man in the twelfth Tarot Arcanum hangs by the left foot smiling, from a wooden crosspiece over the well.   Why?

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12 hanged man - Version 3

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Who is in the well?   We look up into each other. You returned to earth head first,  to give it fruit,  to be born to die. I can see my earth-brown shadow, deep in the well of life, but not the features, against the light.

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With hindsight, I find the political awareness in this story interesting, pre-dating the decades of Margaret Thatcher’s market-forces policy, the Wales marriage, Prince Charles’s global network with the ecological and humanitarian emergency, the social turmoil, consumerist inflation and collapse.

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Dancing goddess, on the Heath Extension

Dancing goddess, on the Heath Extension

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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/

 

Along the Lane

When I go for walks or bike rides, I absorb landscape patterns, contours and fields, whose small events inform my life as vividlly as any book.

map 2_0001

My bike accident was a spiritual teacher.  It happened HERE, where the lower map ends and the next one begins. At this exact spot, Oakridge Lane becomes a dirt track, if you look just to the left of the figure 15.  See my earlier post on the subject.  I felt a need to continue my journey that had “fallen off the map” – which is what this post is about.

map 1

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First – a preamble.  What is the strength of the soul?

25 June 2013

Strength is supple and able to bend in most directions.   Isn’t that interesting?   Strength is regarded as hard muscles, force, rigidity bearing great weights and pressure – but it ISN’T!   It is fluid, soft.   This fluidity enables my “physical strength” to carry things.   If there is fluidity, the muscles naturally coordinate and run the task among themselves.  That is the principle.   It is the way the stones for Stonehenge and the Pyramids were carried – as on a river.

Struggling along at home with the Cube (i.e. last week) – after stitching in two 24-inch zippers, am now starting to sew the squares of coloured cotton together.   There isn’t a lot of strength for this.   The same principle applies to mental, psychological, emotional strength.

In 1974, 124 greencroft gardens

There was a Kabbalah meditation last night, at Susan’s place.  We visited our Room of the Soul in the House of the Psyche.  Afterwards, we stepped out into her mysterious long garden with its small round lawn, stepping stone path and tall shaggy trees, to sip the wine.  Once upon a time, I lived in the house next door, on the first floor.  I looked up at the big bay window … from which I used to watch Susan’s garden as it then was:  no trees, the ground picked bare by Imre’s hens and his kids.  That first-floor window was my Room of the Soul in the 1970s.  I lived there for six years. It is where  all the dreams – the raw material for my Watershed Tales – were written down.

Life there was very dark, intense and very full of light;  it was a beautiful big room with a grey carpet and a view over the gardens;  I danced, and my daughter was born.   It is amazing to see that place now, and connect.   There is no time.   An unknown soul now has that space.  Yet I am there.

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I had a chat with our teacher about my Capricornian accident two weeks back – banging my knee of course.  I have decided to ride back to the scene, and walk the Bike through it and onward, like one of our Meditations.    The idea of What was it stopping?  What is it telling you?   Watch carefully.   A fall like that is like breaking a veil.

This morning I asked the Tarot for a picture.   The card which came up, is 4, The Emperor – Aries – a Red one, and its faculty is Seeing – the hebrew letter HEH.   I didn’t see the sand and gravel on the road till too late – obviously – but now I must, and go carefully.    The one to the right is The Devil – the “intelligence of limitation and Mirth”; the physical Eye, hebrew letter AYIN.   The one to the left is the Priestess – THE VEIL ! – my deep blue subconscious river that was so rudely crashed into.

Tarot oracle 25.6.2013

Tarot oracle 25.6.2013

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The ride back to the scene, was in beautiful sunshine, up the Watling road which has a tree-lined cycle path and soars away from London.   Later, I skirted a big birdlife sanctuary and reservoir, on the way to the villages.  Above Elstree airfield, a few small private planes droned in sleepy circles. I arrived at last – a bit nervous – to The Spot where I bumped into the light.  It is just to the northeast of Blackbirds Farm.  As it has rained, the dust is now packed solid and trucks have driven over it – big ruts and scattered small gravel.

I stayed there for a while. There is a hay-meadow to the right, fringed with woodland, and to the left, a track leads to the sewage farm.  The spot is just past where the map ends and the next map begins.  The countryside from here, turns deeply rural.  I pushed Bike up the continuing lane.  The tempo slowed to the 1950s;   wild flowers, sunshine, cool birdsong in the  oaks.  S m i l e .  Being so soft is strength – not hardness.  The earthy lane wanders down into a hollow, then up again, then joins up to another old tunnel I know, between the Hill Farm and the Roman A-road north of Radlett.   Buttercups and frisky horses, a little hidden stream and the smell of cow-pats …  I emerged from the tunnel of very old dignified oaks.   Time had stopped.

I fell off my bike last month, because I was going too fast.   The tempi collided.

I did a good circuit – Drop Lane, along the Verulam-Colney River – quiet brown flowing serpent – around to School Lane through the witchy Bricket Wood, then down a leafy footpath under the motorway and into Watford.   Found my way through urban spaghetti and factories, back onto the Watling main-road, just north of the point where I had turned off.   And back to Stanmore;  and then a train, to join R for lunch in Kilburn.

The clarity of the quiet flowing serpent was forgotten.  The past is painful.  Then who should potter along and catch a bus at the other side of the road, but a certain funny old man in his hat … a keen eye for things, but rather deaf.

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What is the essence of a situation – any?   To be still and let it be itself.   Any enforcement with or against it, becomes RESENTMENT.

It is where my esoteric and ancient occult insights and all my learnings, let me down completely – as would any conditioning or vehicle for life.   It is where I fall off my map, and am battered and damaged, this is a place whereof I cannot speak, because it involves others, and is confidential.   There is integrity and love, the honesty in common, but not in a way which I can easily share, or express myself in.

The essence is – there is nothing to be, do, or say.  So try to companion the fact with peace.  I did notice yesterday, that I become less agitated.  The guilt and fix-it struggle is weaker, much weaker.   It is in the past, now.   I could not see through windscreen wipers.  When it flows itself, the words and frameworks all vanish.   But at the time, I forget, or do not manage to remember this fully, and the nonsense goes on.

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Happy woman driving in 1964

Happy woman driving in 1964

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Poor humans!   Only very slowly does it ease.   ACCEPTANCE.  There is a slower tempo.  I wish to adjust mine accordingly so I can perceive and befriend it – like stopping the speed bike and walking and seeing nature.

For instance:  R said she begins to find that Thoughts are a bad hand, and the inner Sceptic is no help, and isn’t telling the truth.  Begin to chill out more.   We are – we have the fact on our plate, like a cold chicken.   The cataclysms which depression generates,  engrave our life.  Like the sun, they plough the field and one day stand as wheat, golden ripe.

I perceive my parental essences, their creativity;   and by contrast, R’s parental essences, their burden.  It is difficult to live creatively, without a view of ‘the bigger picture’ or map, where everything connects.   And yet what help is my “knowledge”, to her?   Just different rooms for delusion!!   The esoteric viewpoint, and its practice, make me more arrogant and anxious.   Yes.

jacobs ladder with Yetzirah queen scale

Sorrow, and no drama.   No words for this;  just ride or walk it along the lane.  So this is Kabbalah.  This is the soul triad on the Tree, with its intense light and shade, and the rough stony path, and the softness with the trees and flowers;  knowledge that strength and power is soft – the silence of the cool river as it slides along its earthy bed.   Nature’s tender force shapes twisted roots, tree-bark and summer-droop branches through un-numbered seasons.   So it is in life, and is the only way to navigate.   My body is soft and ageless when the bones and joints move with sensibility and the breath, enjoy the rotation in the hip when pedalling, and so on.   Recalling this for at least a while, each day.   Life and friendships tend to follow and enhance the body’s way of doing and being …  after a time.

Respect and value another soul’s inclination to solitude and hard graft in this life time – the difficulty of reaching out:   negotiating false persuasions that nobody cares or wants to know.   In all ways, we contact our Self, and discover what is real.

So what did I see, on my ride across the squares?  My inner eye has instantly the truck and the RED post office van (rather old fashioned) which popped out of a dirt-road left turning, and waved to me merrily – I just arrived, and look funny there, with my bike – the place is quite busy, I hear the sounds of work and tractors, unlike the evening quiet when the accident happened.

It’s about 11.30 or midday I suppose.   To the left are local waste-management services:   to the right, an open field of warm grass in the breeze.   Onward, a path up a small hill and then along an old, shady, unmetalled lane:   the soft and timeless power of gnarled roots – the tall oak trees.   I walk along the edge between worlds.   The ride into the next landscape “square” was joyful, picturesque and countrified:  so was the Ver Colne serpent water, and meeting the end-threads of my many walks in that region: and riding around the back of the beautiful Munden estate, through faery forests

It all says, “Look where you are going.  Here is the Emperor in his red van:  the cool Priestess with her buds unveiled;  and the Devil who gets cross with Niggles.”

Don’t be tempted or urged to confront stuff directly.   It doesn’t work, it just collides and turns to lies.   Be extremely watchful of the temptation when it arises, with those whom I care about.  Avoid Karma … and embrace relationship.

I cannot be other than I am.   I desire to see OBJECTIVELY without windscreen wipers.   Inner sight emerges from and after the process.  The processing is just a fishing line dangled in the deep – the bait.   Life is a bait on the hook.   The SEEING is from the other dimension, the bigger picture;  and it heals.   A bigger picture for instance, is a cluster of fields and a crossroads in it, and when I home in with magnifying glass, there’s this tiny figure who falls and gets hurt, and then picks herself up and continues along the way.   I am inside her speck, and also outside, as my visual frame is the wide blue all embracing yet boundless horizon – no spectacles.  I am the eagle and the worm:  the seagull and the fish.   Life on the ground is a rough, stony business;  most often magical as the light comes through the trees and the wind stirs the grass.

I saw some deep violet daisies.  They shone.  Keep that sense of touch open – all the senses.   Hearing, smell, sight …

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This photo was taken in 1968 - my first bike.  He was called Black Colin.  I rode him all over the Quantock and Brendon Hills and lived my map.  My mother and I were reminiscing about him last week, as he was her bike during the war, and she rode him from Edinburgh to Inverness.  He was an old Raleigh, and very strong.

This photo was taken in about 1968 – my first bike. He was called Black Colin. I rode him all over the Quantock and Brendon Hills – an early soul map.   My mother and I were reminiscing about him last week, as he was her bike during the war, and she rode him from Edinburgh to Inverness. He was an old Raleigh, and very strong.

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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/

Jack in the Box

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Wood Bird Yantra

Wood Bird Yantra

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In reply to dear Genie’s comment yesterday – I am Inside and outside the box!  Mouni Sadhu devised a contemplation exercise:  study the interior of an empty matchbox till it can be visualised precisely and perfectly :  then study the exterior likewise, every detail.  Then try to fit the two visualisations together, seamlessly.   This practice enables us to think and perceive four-dimensionally.

That is why I love the Cube of Space as a philosophical tool;  and why I struggle to build one in the way I do.   Inside and out.

I discovered while blogging yesterday, that I had sewn the Cube’s east and west squares THE WRONG WAY ROUND!!   I let the photo stand, to demonstrate my perils, mistakes and oversights, and re-cobbled the material in the evening.   It took hours to re-sew the two squares.   I DISLIKE SEWING and all its fuss and fiddle and my sore fingers and poor eyesight.

Anyway, here is the amended construction:

Here in principle is the Rosicrucean idea – a Rose Cross to meet in every heart of Life.  I love rediscovering this, although my arts & crafts attempt is somewhat scruffy.

Unknown rosebud

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I think my best posts are about my problems.  I cannot for obvious reasons draw these out in detail.   But we all share the difficulty of encountering Life, and my way isn’t more “erudite” than a musician’s with her instrument.   I use the Tree of Life and Tarot Keys as coloured lenses.  My problems are Tarot Keys of their own, permitting the essence or “template”  to appear.  It is satisfying to dwell on a circumstance – like painting a picture and gradually filling things in – until suddenly a little lever releases, and it springs into life:  a fully fledged Arcanum.

An Arcanum is an illumined collection of Mysteries.   An Arcanum is a teaching-point:  a paradox:  a living bird just air-borne.

They fly in the alchemical flask.   They are the everyday things

An illustration from Alexander Roob's Alchemy & Mysticism

An illustration from Alexander Roob’s Alchemy & Mysticism

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I decided to follow up “But … there is Hope in the Well”  with  “Along the Lane”;  as I rode my bike onward into the map last week, after bumping into the light.   But materialising my Cube of space, comes in between!

To cut another long story short – I accompanied Jack to Burnt Oak mental hospital yesterday, for him to pick up some pills.  He flushes them down the loo, as they are poisonous: they cause diabetes and worse, and carry the Elf & Safety warning.  But psychiatry’s hoops and loops are navigated as prescribed.   The E U is slicing disability benefits again, while the House of Lords – so one hears – spends £100,000 on redecorating the lavatory.  I feel the fear and distress of disabled persons all over the land.  Briefly … Jack has to play the game objectively, and supply Caesar’s pence – an object exercise to respond not as an ego, but as a statistic:  it is the form.   Inside the form is a crippling anxiety.  Inside the building is a nightmare of contagious fear.   The patients pace up and down the cage, waiting to be administered their poisons and bangs on the head, and sent off home again. Drugs, fear, clinical dysfunction, human degradation and the cheery cleaners – I felt sick.

When in panic, when boxed in, do something practical to earth it.   We went back to his house and began to fill up the renewal form for disability parking – overdue, and by now gone toxic. The local authority’s labyrinthian call centre was clapped to poor Jack’s left ear – we ended up laughing.   The tension changed and settled.   Slowly I remember, again:  Befriend the situation – any in life – adapt, soften with it.  Be sly.   Smile.   Deep inside, the way through is known:  just do it, step by step.

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matchinthebox

matchinthebox

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I went home and spent the evening re-doing the Cube’s east and west.  I am like Johannes Kepler with his ‘dear and diligent readers‘ – each error in his planetary calculus is enthusiastically shared, as integral to eventual triumphs.

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JA JK Synastry

My natal Seal of Solomon – lode-star –  is In the astrology synastry with him.  And look at the mutual lunar-nodes Grand Cross!  And the Uranus-Neptune, Jupiter-Uranus conjunctions …  and his Midheaven on my Ascendent.  In my present life, I studied astrology intensively under his tuition and inspiration:  his music of the spheres, is mine also.

Yet I can’t have been Kepler in a previous life, if I was romping around with Simon Forman in London at the same period (said to be).  I may have known Kepler selectively on the inner and subtle planes.  He was a Capricorn, and so was S.F.  We human beings are mind-stuff.  The solidified texture we move within, and have our being and our stress, is a temporary facet of the world.  We do move freely in and out of each others’ soul, according to affinity, once we attain the gift to realise it conscientiously.

Did we but know !  It is timeless.  It is unfettered by storybook sequential incarnations in space and time.  I may visit Kepler or Master R any moment, if I draw together the vessel to catch the dew, and concentrate.  AFFINITY happens.   The Great Work, and all spiritual endeavour, consists in learning to travel Consciously in the planes and levels.   That means, to quieten and harness my headstrong I-thought process.  And so, freed from the unconscious barrage of the Netzach Hod Yesod merrygoround … a gentle amusement self-defines.  Reality emerges from the mist into shining bas-relief:  clarity.  In Malkuth which is Earth and Tifareth which is Consciousness, Kether the Divine thread stands tall like a Sequoia pine:  the sky within.   Perhaps group ritual work and worship boils down to this.

Young love & Mum

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The Buddha is said to remember all his myriad lives, because the personalized dream doesn’t stand in front, obscure or apparently separate any of them.   And so the Avatamsaka Sutra has countless towers of individual Infinity:  the trees in the forest, each unique, and each containing the boundless forest.   This is life!   This is the countless incarnations!    When I am lost in my mouse-scurry, I see none of it.

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conference of neuroses '87

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A friend who blows wonderful coloured glass, writes long posts almost every day – well, at least 3 times a week, like I did last year.   We of the Illumined – who are stained-glass windows – cannot stop writing, ever.   We let in the light;  It writes us.    I write every day a trans-formation, and blog a few little things from it, which I hope might be useful.  I begin in the morning stiff and foggy, and I feel the muscle warm up, open and loosen, as the interior sun comes out.   It is the same as going for an early run, or a ride.

The musical tone in my mind this morning – I checked on the pitch-pipe –  is INDIGO – A-natural:  Saturn.   Saturn’s tattva or sense of touch, is AKASHA – keeper of the cosmic records:  cosmic memory.

Now, here is the Avatamsaka Sutra.  It is in one of my bog’s earliest posts – no harm in repeating it.   It is an Invocation for Life:

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“THE TOWER is as wide and spacious as the sky itself.

“The ground is paved with (innumerable) precious stones of all kinds, and there are within the Tower (innumerable) palaces, porches, windows, staircases, railings and passages, all of which are made of the seven kinds of precious gems …

“And within this Tower, spacious and exquisitely ornamented, there are also hundreds of thousands … (innumerable) of Towers, each one of which is as exquisitely ornamented as the Tower itself, and as spacious as the sky.

“And all these Towers, beyond calculation in number, stand not at all in one another’s way;  each preserves its individual existence in perfect harmony with all the rest;  there is nothing here which bars one Tower from being fused with all the others, individually and collectively;  there is a state of perfect intermingling, and yet of perfect orderliness.

 “Sudhana, the young pilgrim, sees himself in all the Towers, as well as in each single Tower, where all is contained in One and each contains all.”

 Paraphrase by Suzuki
from the Buddha’s AVAMTAMSAKA SUTRA

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Jim Ede with Gaudier's Bird swallowing a Fish

Jim Ede with Gaudier’s Bird swallowing a Fish

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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/

But … The Well gives Hope

sketch of Master R

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My journal entries often begin unpromisingly, in a down in the dumps way … then a weather-change rises from the deep, as I write my path along the shadow.  Those testy bits of life and English fog are ALCHEMICAL as the box opens. A blank and dreary mood transforms to a philosophers’ Stone, a river.   A pig’s ear turns to silk.

In my next post, I shall tell you – another diary entry or “transformer” – how I rode into the map last week beyond my bike-bump (there are no accidents), and what I discovered there:  how strength as the river flows and the roots grow, is softness.  Then we shall return to the SITA suit of Lotuses – the Knight, Queen and King.

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TODAY, Dear Magid, I am in a misery of life.   I am worried about my loved ones and their difficulties.  Scratchy panics break surface.  Indoors all summers day yesterday, struggling to make a box – a Cube of Space, which I had promised to someone – been battling with this delayed construction.   I was determined to make progress with it, though I nearly gave up.   But at last I have a cube, with coloured cloth glued & stitched over hardboard, and I think I can make it stand up firmly by sewing in little ties at the inside corners.   The Cube is a philosophical instrument or tool of stability.   Maybe it will gladden my life at present.   I can visualise it.   The six faces are each 12” square, it is a Latin cross, one side is white, the other side is in the Cube Tarot colours.   It cost me an arm and a leg in glues and materials and general exhaustion and dispiritedness and the telly.

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Hey – I made a mistake ! (see below.)  Will re-do the east and west sides later.

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BOTA cube symbol

BOTA cube symbol, showing the alchemical mercury, sulphur and salt

And oh!   I missed playing in my blog – my alchemical crucible, and the feeling that I keep a contact going there – I was away from home for a few days, and then I was too busy.   I feel flat miserable about everything at present.   One of my famous DULL PATCHES.   My sad personal scenarios have a field day:  the heavy itch of sorrow and grief generally:   also the state of humanworld.   The prevailing dysfunction.

Capricorn glyph inside a Yod

Capricorn glyph inside a Yod

Dear Magid, I noticed a quality of my mind, my mental setup.   It charges into the problem like a cart-horse, at first sublimely confident, it forces the matter to  “solve”, it blunders and  tries to fix and limps and sags and gets it the wrong way round and gets worn out.    It is the same in conversation when my buttons are pushed.   The Goat goes into overdrive, and I get carried away.

It is one of the unattractive traits of Capricorn.   I go into emotional overdrive very easily, when with my parents or with anyone I am close to.   I promise myself not to, but it happens.   I babble about love and things, or I start advising or trying to fix.  The Galloping Goat leaves me depressed and muddy.   Magid, what do you think?

AND:  the need to be truthful.   Honesty is not easy.   Some persons whom I respect, tell comfortable lies about their past, which they believe in by now.   I would also, if my past wasn’t all diary’d in detail.   There is some personal lie telling in any account:   the white wash and fear of emotional exposure:  the local – loco ! – editor.

But my inner need is the unvarnished truth.   This is very difficult to reach, between persons.

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My mother wrote letters during the war, which are a vivid and unconventional record of the times.  She thinks her letters are all white-washed, and to some extent they are;  and yet they bare her soul.   I keep and read hundreds of letters which my parents wrote to the Edes – all preserved.  With their youth and passion, they recorded the glories of English wild flowers, birdsong and the backbreaking labour of postwar farming.  My busy father’s more occasional letters develop his philosophy of human-ness, and his painful struggle to make it work in himself.   They have an illumined beauty and tenderness: that which he was erratic with in family life.  He was shell-shattered from the war.  Tears!  Oh – it gets so mangled! If one is a writer – of books, blogs or letters – the ESSENCE of the daily battle emerges like the wild flower from the tangled path … as I sense it does at our death:  the clarity of our entire life is telescoped into high-relief, and the Beauty shines.   Thus the authenticity of my mother’s letters, and my father’s, and what I do now.   I try to show all the shadow with the light – like they did, and still do, at ninety.

But the light makes the shadow disappear!   The more light you let in …  ah, this is the paradox.   As I grew up, I had a passion for the Shadow.   I lived along the edge.

The Stark Bar, Carlisle - 1964

The Stark Bar, Carlisle – 1964

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My childhood was not always happy.  How could it have been?  I am the same now.  But it was rich in essence, landscape and opportunity.  The fertile stress between my mother and father in their years together, developed my artistic gift.   I contemplate and just catch the full flavour now, as it percolates:  something of their private conundrum to each other – a shared task, and their surviving companionship.  Hard times are as golden as the easier ones, as I grew up among persons who work the ground and love nature. There is a philosophical stone … the old sundial in our rose-garden at Broomlands.   My father chased me and my sister round it in a fury with a stick, when we were being very bad.

In relationships, we cannot hope to be brazenly honest with each other – look at the disasters my clumsy attempts got me into – but I try to be truthful with myself.   I can try to do this daily.   Occult language, and even astrology, seems less relevant as time goes on.   It is another mask to peel away, as it begins to convert to living openly.   But it is mighty helpful for colour enhancing, for seeing the bigger picture, and for the cosmic codes and keys which unveil the inner Great Work.

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cube with chair & tarot tree

I can’t believe this.  I’ve sewn the east and west sides of the Cube of Space the wrong way round!   Red is Mars, and faces north.   Green is Venus, and faces east.  I put the violet square, which should face west.   Now the long labour to unglue, unstitch, and change them around.   Blast and dammit.   Isn’t that just typical !

The top face (yellow) is Mercury:  the bottom face (blue) is the Moon.  The south face is the Sun, and it is orange.   Indigo is Saturn in the Cube’s centre point, within.

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The truth of the moment – whatever the miseries – is the sea in my face:   attending to the present flavour without comment:   the salt of the earth – the feeling.   It is a sorrow that I have to watch stupid telly during the day when trying to do or make something, just to push away the dreary stuff in my mind;   but you know – the present society and its inane distractions and cushion technology IS THE HARDSHIP ZONE.   We cannot repair the innards of our own cars and telephones – we are buffered away from that skillful contact with the way things work.

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Cars new and old

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Whatever period I lived in, had its stress and hardship zone.   The consumerist microchip   is a terrible place for the soul to be – and yet it manages, the soul integrates with the electronic junk, and converts it to an adequate medium, a ship to sail.    In other historical periods and in large parts of the world today, we have religious intolerance, female mutilation, grinding physical hardship, starvation, military conscription –  all in their ways, are just as bad.   In this period we have toxic-addictive entertainment, and the destructive uglification of the biosphere – a mass de-sensitization.   This is no different in essence, from the violent social mores of yesteryear.   They prevail in this form.   There was a time when NOBODY’s house and cattle was safe from civil wars and robber barons.  Nowadays, no one’s house is safe from invasive moron-technology – devices and fiendish frustration with carcinogenic call-centres.

But what about my truth?   What is it?   Thou who art behind my shoulder, what is my truth today, where should I go, what do you see?   This question cheers me a little, it reminds me that no matter what the day, and what to do, (Wigmore Hall with Southgate, then Clark’s astrology quiz) I have no idea what will happen or what will be, it is unknown and full of potential.   Life is up to me to taste:  taste it carefully now, and keep tasting.   Savour the flavour rather than the her-story.

Magid what do you see?   What are we up to?

dakini oracle reflection - 30 June

dakini oracle reflection – 30 June

A SECRET DAKINI ORACLE:  12 – Kali slaying the ego   To the left is 0 Joker, and to the right is 17 Island of Jewels.

I don’t like dakini 12.  There’s the black goddess all alone and fierce in the sky, chopping off heads.   I feel like a pruned bush – a slaughtered corner, after garden clearance.    Indeed the serene Hanging Man depends between two lopped trees in some tarots.   In the Builders of the Adytum, he hangs inside a TAV.   12 is when things turn over or reverse.  It flips the world-view;  it suggests the other swing of a pendulum.   Not a comfortable situation to begin with.   The challenge is to hang in it peacefully, finding pendulum’s rest ;   tread the sky:  be born here and now.  Birth is uncomfortable.   There’s black Kali up there, cutting the cord!

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Being predisposed to inner work, is hard and distressing in life and in the nightmare widgets, weevils and idiocies which buzz around the well.   There is no avoiding these distressed and dreary moments.   Keep quiet, this too shall pass.   Judge not.   In distress, there are vicious little elementals which we only see in very bad dreams;  but we suffer their pressure and persuasions.   I am deeply sad that persons I am close to, do not have THE CONSOLATION.

Symbols of speech

The consolation is the Wisdom, which in due course comes to the fray, even when I cannot see it against the light.   The Wisdom is like the fourth incoming horse in Dakini Oracle 47, whose reflection only is glimpsed in the wet sand beach.

dakini oracle Horse Play

The hanging man is about this type of reflection.   The Island of Jewels is really the Star Woman who is naked, who pours and looks into the pool and watches truth.

Serpent coil

Perhaps 17 is the most nourishing of all the Tarot Keys.   It always invites peace, hope and depth.   I mentioned the well, didn’t I?   Well, she is the well, the pipeline from the stars, the root in earth, the Violet.   Look – the Cube of Space’s west side is violet, the east side is green – the leaves of the flower.   Healing remedy applied!   A certain remarkable gardener goes around making wines, candy and alchemical balms from the flowers  he harvests with tools made of bone, when the astrodynamic astrology is about to crest.   That is a towering skill I admire and cannot hope to emulate.

photo credit, wikepedia

photo credit, wikepedia

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But I apply the dressings of beautiful tinctures as they come to my soul.  And I contemplate the picture-sentences under the dakini cards:  the stems to the flowers.

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Perseus, Venus, Stars (1956)

Perseus, Venus, Stars (1956) – Constellations

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I am in touch now, with my well.   The spinal core, up and down:  the cuore or choir.   My morning’s work is always the same – to restore the choir, the inward touch which is Real, finding Reality – the Medicine – unconditionally.  The philosophers’ Stone is here for the polishing:  polish the mundane – the Beauty breathes inside.   It doesn’t push away the heavy cloud yet, but the Woman of the Well gives Hope.

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sketch star

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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 – posts on Master R

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/

Bumping into the Light

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Buddha wheel at Kettles Yard

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

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

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

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Life

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

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

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

15 June – ON SOUND AND COLOUR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tetrahedral cube 93 copy

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

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

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

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

Adam & Eve detail

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

images

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Now, some poetry:

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

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

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

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

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

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

From “I Dreamed on Good Friday Morning”

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

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

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

Poems of Eclipse,  1999

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

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

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

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

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

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

to a grey and starving maiden
locked inside.

From Poems of Eclipse, 8 June 1999

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Tree with hebrew

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16 June 2013

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

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

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Secret Dakini Oracle spread, 15 June 2013

Secret Dakini Oracle spread, 15 June 2013

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

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

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

Even a bike crashes on the road to Damascus!

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

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

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**

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

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

aquariel link

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