boats of mine – JA 1988
17.3.2010 NEOLITH
“Am I glad I was born?” (likewise, the possibilities ahead.)
The Ocean of the Fish, or propagation, comes at a right angle to where I am. The fluidic substance is infinite and not wet. The scythe represents the Moon’s cycles. White rose is purified desire. We work against the mass mind, when we arm the electron-magnetic sexual circuit with this. Death is being born anew, the channels and deltas of life, the roots and flowers.
“Forms pass, but THAT which experiences, goes on for ever.”
The Spirit of Change is the sunrise at my back; the man and woman in the earth. The sprouting.
Beauty is not static, nor engraved. Beauty is TRANSFORMATIVE.
W’s book has a book within it, his poems and drawings of death. Memento Mori are carved in stone, like the appearance of our lives, and his verses gradually uncarve, question and break up the stone, as the rose is growing up through it. At a right angle to the solid dream or statue, is the oceanic pargod – every-where-ness – the hard forms are undermined, and soften. Paradox.
It is an interesting commentary or self-expression of Geminian ideas and forms, and Capricorn eternity.
Yesterday, reflecting on my Neolithic lives, I felt the way stone-working has always informed me: snake, river, stone. My self-picture squats by the flowing water, contemplates the snake, the fluid stone. On this image, my wisdom is based. I was a shaman, or seer, in the tribe. In the twentieth century, I am born to a family which is uneasy about the national tribe, but is strongly tribal nevertheless.
In those ancient lives, I quested the right-angle – the perpendicular dimension to a tribal survival frame – like the ice-fountain from Saturn’s smallest Moon. I was a dreamer. I looked at things, more than I used them. Some considered me lazy, for I sat on rocks and gazed in the river. I didn’t bother too much, to catch fish. I watched the ever changing crescents of the current: the fluid circles of sun and moon, the action of water on sand. I dropped my cup in the water to see how much it could hold. I watched trees floating, rode astride them and fell in. I invented a keel to stabilize, first with my legs, and then with woody wedges driven into the log. The keel takes the pressure of the waters like the sail takes the pressure of the air. Stability – upRightness – is achieved.
With this awakening principle, I grasp the interlocking Faces of formation and creation – this study comes at a much later time. When I was a healer, I applied the same relationship to the body’s organic capillaries, where the unknown cognition interlaces or pins together the formative (mental) and physical worlds. Maybe Paracelsus worked like this?
Through an unknown cognition, the core lifetime of awakening emerges – its general outline. Snake water stone open my doors of perception to silence, immeasurable space, the song of stars, the precision of eclipse. Again and again, down the centuries, I experimented as a child. In this life, I did it again. I built a raft and a jute-sack sail, tied on a red spotted handkerchief, and paddled her on the pond, with my legs hanging in the water. The sail unbalanced, I capsized and fell in. One does not know what one is doing. The soul’s curve to remind, is deeper than the emotional screen.
But who am I?
A collection of history book stuff and conditioned speculation, to identify with?
Embodiment is a matter of choice, however. I am drawn to what kindles my loving fire: and the special ideas in the heart of stone that the water rolls and flows, do just that; so they are “I”. They are sky.
I wanted to conform, but was never very good at it. Just when I was getting good, my hermetic experiment burst up through earth, and distanced all the other wise suggestions. I respect them for the helping hand they give, and the way the Lineages invariably open my doors.
Who am I? The grid, the human belief system, the complex texture of conformity, is just as ephemeral as any of my poetic ideas and impressions.
You can (weasely) tell – the stoat is totally different from a weasel. The case is wide open. The unknown cognition does not know: I am known, and it doesn’t matter how. I shy away from rigid fences, but build them anyway, to conform, and to protect my open secret.
Wisdom encompasses, and only very slowly learns to respect every contrasting chamber. Wisdom becomes a simple sky again. The sky contains the galaxies, the light years, the atoms, the black holes turning inside out into stars, the shift beyond the bounds of sight and hearing. The inner atom is this same sky, the pregnant void.
In this love, the roots of trees are silvery, the minerals are of rainbow, and they grow as veins. In this love, humans are difficult and take up all my mental and feeling energy; but they liberate the Law.
Two or three omens yesterday, moments with neighbours when I was in the right place, right time. Sort-of! I noticed the mood, which was light, easy and cheery.
If it be Thy Will, please show me what I need to know, at this point in my life.
The “affectionate” image which comes, is of setting sail my paper boats on the Waters.
I did this drawing in ’88, of the Fool floating his paper boats, like stars and threads of DNA. This just means plod on with tidying up my Messages for delivery out there.
After a re-read of the last few days: an angle on self-criticism, and the Rightness of a principle. The ego under fire, is a useful steward or servant. The principle, the lineage, a cosmic law, is the Master of the vineyard. Who is being expressed?
Jane Adams 17 March 2010
cosmic serpent egg
JA 1987
My adventure invites fellow travellers. I am a poet, an artist and a seer. I welcome conversation among the PHILO SOFIA, the lovers of wisdom.
This blog is a vehicle to promote my published work – The Sacred India Tarot (with Rohit Arya, Yogi Impressions Books) and The Dreamer in the Dream – a collection of short stories (0 Books) I write, illustrate, design and print my books. Watch this space.
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