Mysteries of Isis – The Squid and the Lighthouse


Child mother Isis, 2003

Child mother Isis, 2003


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

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


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

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

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

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

Yod and magic portals - bring Isis to earth - 2002

Yod and magic portals – bring Isis to earth – 2002


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


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

Ursa Major

Ursa Major, 1988 … Or am I this?


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

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

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

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


welly-boots, 1988

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


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


priest and oak

priest and oak


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

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

Star of David, Cross of Yeshua, Crescent of Islam

Star of David, Cross of Yeshua, Crescent of Islam


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

Sani  detail

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

The Master’s Eye, 2009

Yantra Tree

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

maps of Virgo constellation, stellar and on earth

maps of Virgo constellation, stellar and on earth

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

Table round, companions of light, 2002

Table round, companions of light, 2002


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


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

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


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

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

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

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

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

dim and sainted window, alchemical stained glass in Chartres

dim and sainted window, alchemical stained glass in Chartres


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

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

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


cornwall 2011 427


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

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

Chabad at prayer

Chabad at prayer


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


Arcanum 20 judgement


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

Alchemy Eagle Daat detail

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

Orpheus - November 1987

Orpheus – November 1987




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

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


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


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

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

George  Macdonald, The Golden Key


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

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


Aphrodite - 1992





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

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

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

aquariel link

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Inner Journey, finding Botticelli


Mercury, after Botticelli, 2009

Mercury, after Botticelli, 2009


This journal entry has been “pending” as a post, for half a year!  It is as relevant now to my discoveries, as then.  It inspired me later, to blog some of my Watershed Tales – including The Lens.


Link to Aquariel: When Reflecting on the Lovers

21 October 2012 – now we are in Scorpios …  I recollected this morning, that my daily Invocation combines Dion Fortune’s “master contact” gesture, with Halevi’s Tree:  “Let us gather together, draw together.


Hand Mudras or Gestures on the Tor  - the Shepherd, those who sailed west to east, and theBuilders,

Three Hand Mudras or Gestures on Glastonbury Tor/Avalon – the Shepherd, Those who Sailed West to East, and theBuilders.


Saluting the Tree, I stretched, and when you stretch you hold up all your weight with ease.  And stretching is the capacity of the inner and the occult life, because stretching grows.  I am moved too.  Everything in nature stretches – plant growth and penile arousal.  To stretch upholds itself, and widens, and the key to “stretch” is desire.

Feeling physically heavy is perhaps due to the lightening of the body weight during moments of inspiration and lift-off.  One of Dion Fortune’s teachers lost two-thirds of his body weight while meditating – she could pick him up with ease.

The resumption of materiality is felt more, after an illumined inner journey or creative process.  That must be why some trance mediums – particularly those in the dark circle – get burly and coarse.  They pile on weight to offset the astral networking.


Tree of Life in Queen Scale colours.  These are the Beriatic colours for the Sefiroth - their vibration in the World of Creation

Tree of Life in Queen Scale colours (Sketch). These are the Beriatic colours for the Sefiroth – their vibration in the World of Creation:  Kether white, Hokhmah grey/silver, Binah black or indigo, Hesed blue, Gevurah red, Tifareth yellow/gold, Netzach green, Yesod violet, and Malkuth  combines citrine, olive, russet, slate.


Dion Fortune “in-vented” the Fountain Breath.  It was designed to assist the early twentieth century problem of purity – how to pass up through the sexual-energy reservoir without flooding the engine, and do good work with it.  Her generation’s natural sex drive was expressed in society, in stifled, cramped and addictive ways.  Due in part, to the work of this great teacher and others on the astral plane between the Wars, there is a small amount of liberation in our sexual mores.  We are able to be more honest with each other in our relationships:  gender timelines are not rigid:  parents share the active care of their young.  Of course, media attitudes and the Karmic heritage of centuries of subconscious abuse have not kept pace with this.

We have to look within our situation and take a great interest in it, to see what is true, and to manifest our Life force in an evolutionary way.


Fountain tree of Life

Fountain tree of Life –  Queen Scale colours, but the Sefiroth are turned around.  Normally we view the Tree facing the same direction with Adam Qadmon’s back to us, with the same left and right sides as ours.  Here the aspirant and the Tree are turned to face each other objectively.   They embrace.  As if in a mirror, the Tree’s Yang right pillar – Hokhmah Hesed Netzach –  is reflected in the aspirant’s Yin left side – Binah Gevurah Hod.   Some Kabbalists and occultists do practical work in this manner.


About ten years ago, I learned a fountain breath method, up through the “Tower of Alchemy”, the tree and the body of light.  So the tower is in my inner eye, right now,  by ventilation – it “vents” the Kundalini shakti, in a way which blesses the surrounding landscape with Her Light.  The tower is phallic, pumping up the dragon seed.

The Tree of Life/Tower of Alchemy as a flowering Staff, showing the Malkuth cavern with almond flower, Yesod with almond nut, Tifareth as the Rose Cross and Daat as pineal sight - the pine cone at the other end of the Yesod staff.

The Tree of Life/Tower of Alchemy as a flowering Staff (2002), showing the Malkuth cavern with almond flower, Yesod with almond nut, Tifareth as the Rose Cross and Daat as pineal sight – the pine cone at the other end of a Yesod “almond” staff.  Yesod is the personal consciousness;  Daat the transpersonal link, or Union.   Through the interlocked Four World-trees on Jacobs Ladder, Yesod and Daat overlap.   See other posts on Jacobs Ladder and Kabbalah.  NB – This painting and the inner journey with it, was inspired by David Goddard’s book THE TOWER OF ALCHEMY.


In the root cavern underground – Malkuth – is an almond flower.   Beneath the almond flower carved in rock, is a rough ashlar cube:  the altar of our life.  Through it pulses a fiery fountain, dark and light –  a circuit of perpetual cycles:  J H V H.   In the curved rock walls, are doors – entrances:   the Tarot Keys for the Judgement, the World and the Moon converge here.   There is also a portal to the planetary Kundalini where we are not supposed to go.  It seems to descend a stair, as in my dream of The Witch. (House of Hundreds of Rooms).  I went a little way down that stair, and heard the builders’ tools deep down within the basement or outside the House of all Souls.


These three Tarot Keys represent the three paths of the Tree which converge to Malkuth, the Earth.

The paths from Malkuth - SHIN, TAV, QOF

The paths from Malkuth – SHIN, TAV, QOF.  In Malkuth are shown the four elements.


At the door by which I entered – down the spine, ida pingala spiral stair – is an earthen jar in which is distilled and grows the Wine of Life.   The Wine of Merit is life.  It is also a signature of vitality.  So attention to it may help mine.

With regard to journeying – my third eye focuses, like a little button put here.   Third eye and the fountain breath are what is needed to travel accurately, and go places.

So I’m walking along the centre opening passage, it is of rock, a round curved tunnel, but illumined.  My plan from Malkuth is to visit Yesod, where the tunnel opens to a circular  “room”.   On the Beriatic Queen Scale, Yesod is coloured violet, a wonderful crystal living flower.   But first I am in the central tap root rising to Yesod;  it is the World dancer’s path coloured indigo :  TAV the Sign, GVPh the body as our living temple – and Gravity:  a rich indigo upwelling darkness.

Key 21, ruling this path, is called “the Administrative Intelligence“.   It contains and regulates the subliminal knowledge of our cellular and Karmic organization, and of the  Tree of Life as a whole.   Kether is planted deep in the ground!



Note a triad pattern –  three figures in the cards to each side of The World.  They form the letters L.V.X. – Light.


Perhaps when I overheat and the dark is red like brick, it may help to inwardly transform it to blue-violet indigo, to cool down and soften.   At once I feel the breeze, like the sea.

Do I meet anyone along here?   Some peoples’ meditations teem with inner plane beings and elementals, which I don’t “see”.   Perhaps I feel their companionship in the space.   I imagine the hoards of workers in the Ministry of Magic entrance hall under the streets, as in the Harry Potter books.

There is a press of workers and of city dwellers in the Passage of Administration, to and fro.   I don’t see them, because that is not the trick or birth/Ascendant type of my mind.   But I perceive that this path is a vast station of departures and arrivals – rather like Lime Street where I sat with the Yellow Man.   He was a classic appearance of the inner Teacher or guardian angel.  In that brief encounter in my dream, he nourished and informed my entire life … thank you !   “Ireland was his home.”   His impact would lead to leprechauns and Dancers of Pan in my language … see how I am led around to the World Dancer again – for she is truly a dancer of Pan.   The trail again is warmed, even heated, as kundalini rises through my ebbed physical strength.  Turn Her from redbrown to deep velvet indigo cool.  Contain her in the Night of cold waters, silver Isis reflecting stars.

The heat passed, as I realise I have a trained and focused mind in fact;  for I do not wander off into irrelevant spooks and glamours.   The abstract living essences are what I love and dwell among.  Always they return me to the visual Rhyme:  the  play of the Archetypes.  Watch and feel; relax;  be greeted.   Greetings, my Holy ones.   They dance slowly round the Muse like Botticelli’s angels.   Primavera.   I stop here this morning, with Her.

Botticelli's Primavera - Detail

Botticelli’s Primavera – Detail


botticelli self portrait, detail

She, so much gazed upon by millions of art lovers down the centuries since he painted her, is fully fledged, a living Goddess:  the Archetypal Mother of All.   Botticelli.

Who am I? his apprentice or himself?   Now I see the ironic expression of his self portrait in one of his works.   It does not matter.


I take his hand and we walk into Yesod, the Foundation of the Tree.


spring violet - photo credit

spring violet – photo credit


The violet crystal flowers, all around.   We are inside a little spring violet, and in it there is a stone font with a fountain almond mist:  a shining in the air.   Now Yesod is where I meet my mental-plane Lover, and here I am with Botticelli.  Here we are by the dark maternal enigma of giant Isis.  So do what is natural.   Get into the font, and twine my arms and legs around him Yab Yum and start to breathe together the Y H V H around.   We fuse the painterly craft, the renaissance genius, the beauty and purity of the Line.   Be still and know I am God.   Botticelli got scooped by Savonarola, but I won’t.   Ever.

Sandro Botticelli, I am free from persecution, so now I am your Primavera and your Aphrodite.   You are ebony lingum in my curvy clouds.   A small fiery triangle glows with orange light and flame.   We are an Indigo oval stone with scarlet triangle :  Akasha tejas, the inner Key to Gold:  refinement of the Saturn and Mars centres, and their blend.   Isn’t it remarkable how we changed roles,  the gender free exchange, when conducted in Beriah.

Akasha Tejas tattva

Akasha Tejas tattva


The essence of the akasha tejas nuptial is the pure white brilliance.

Be still, be still and know I am God.   Kether is the deep of things.   Kether is everywhere and all pervading, even the enormous floating masses of forgetting.   I don’t “see” my lover:  I find the sparkling point, the inward lead.

It is a subconscious induction or programming.  The inward spark is fresh as a field of hay.   It finds and pleasures every crevice.   Delta of Venus!    Now I am this bud. The green-red drawing is part of a series I drew in 1988, just before I began to study Kabbalah – the story of a Fool and the Lamb he liberated.  The Tree spirit in the cell has “black” tributaries like roots or branches and little space pads between them, like foetal fingers.  Encircling it concentrically under the epidermis are the notes – F,D,C,A,F – of the Fool’s Chord which he played on his flute.   In it is a diamond, the drop of dew on the Rose.

Tree spirit

Tree spirit

It is the bliss before bothering about sexual arousal.   Before sexual arousal – for I  picture the ebony linga teasing and fondling the dew – there is a moment 99.9% ignored, of peace and plenty, stillness and the unknown.   Perhaps this is what Ida Craddock was teaching.   The ruach is unhurried, deep, gentle and cool.

I suffer from insomina, even when my mind is quiet.  To go to sleep at night means:  to the right department.   Sleep in the body is given when I am free to lay her aside and travel to the right place in the subtle Kingdom of the world.

Somewhere along the line, this facility got tangled up.   It works fine when I am writing in the morning, but not when I need to sleep at night.   Sleep isn’t only for rest.  Sleep for someone like me, is a medium within which to do good work.   Not “good works”! – good interior work.  In ancient Egypt, the deep sleep of initiates releases their Ba or Ka or Light-body.

Impression that when I am properly asleep and not hooked up to anything, my “Egyptian” consciousness awakes and can travel to wherever some assistance is needed – perhaps to cross the river.   I have rather a clear picture now of the Egyptian, and how she works with Thoth and Horus.  It is a feeling, rather than a picture.  The Egyptian or Atlantean consciousness resides in Beriah.   She pervades everything and all the centuries on Earth creatively, a perfume.

Black hair, brown skin, white something.   I am sure she is the sunburnt black haired Older Sister princess who comes to sit among the flowers and skipping children in my Cornish garden, age six.  Her long head and buck teeth.   My new teeth of course, were growing.

Queens with jewels in a garden - 1956

Queens with jewels in a garden – 1956

Children and elder sister in Cornish alps, 1956

Children and elder sister in Cornish alps, 1956


An unconditional happiness plays near the Cornish Pyramids of white china clay in the 1950s.

In those Egypt days, our gardens were written in formal hieroglyphs, for the student to en-picture and cultivate and make his or her own.  Jonquils, jewels, wildflowers:  the letters for speech and learning to read.

I have a taste of that wonderful elder society now, its salt sand perfume, and its cool clear vision, long before it got muddied by the priests of power.

In subsequent lifetimes, I became one of these muddy priests also:  for everything we en-picture with the trained psyche, we some day embody.  It is Nature’s requirement to be fully expressed.

Practicing a Mantra - 1987

Practicing a Mantra – 1987


The trained psyche comes into flower and operation only at a certain level of the focus.   That is her field of protection.  She is sealed from the clutter and persuasions that float around and bombard the everyday life.   I have an agreement with her:  the faculty only works when consciously in the World of Beriah with her.

I seem to have slept enough last night, to liberate this depth.

Copy - Botticelli Madonna & two brats - circa 2007

Copy – Botticelli Madonna & two brats – circa 2007



Here is a sketch of Elisabeth Tomalin – I just thought of her….  and of her grandson Tom Hetherwick.  I found and cut out that photo of him in the paper.  I was struck by an essence of his Granny – her lineage – I see her eyes through his, and smile.   She was by nature a guardian and Guide of Souls.  She was the only person in the world who knew and kept the secret of the Olympic Cauldron – Tom’s Torch of Time.  He shared it with her, while she waited in her bed to die, last spring.  She was 99.   It was an intense frustration to her when she couldn’t dream, and remained locked in life’s tiny, distressed and despised body.  I am sure she is now at large, bigtime.   While tidying up my emails I found the eulogies they read at her funeral.  All of them agree with love, what a hard trial their Grandmother was.

Meanwhile the diamond grew bright, like rose quartz.  It is linked to the Rose in the dark, in the inner rose cross sanctuary.

Savitri 1990

Savitri 1990

Links join parallel universi through wormholes, just as they do online, and even within one blog .  The link is the mode of the interior Consciousness.  This is what is meant by Hebrew letter VAV, the nail or hook.  It pins time to timeless, thought to transfiguration, his to herstory, things and different periods together.  Spheres roam, enter each other and form vesicas in which life is born and broods and dreams.


I picture the inter-dependent souls and fishes, in my walk in the dark.

So !

Resume our place in the font of Isis, Botticelli and I, and greet farewell.  Go well, till we meet again. Be loved.



I wonder, his wonderful line, did he draw it just like that, or did it refine through painter's trial and error and rubbing out, like mine?   In not one of these sketches did I dare to place the Primavera's right eye where he did.  It makes all the difference and depth to her expression.

I wonder, his wonderful line, did he draw it just like that, or did it refine through painter’s trial and error and rubbing out, like mine? In not one of these sketches did I dare to place the Primavera’s right eye where he did. It makes all the difference and depth to her expression.


Keeping the whole pattern clear for next time, withdraw back to Malkuth, the almond flower in the cave’s ceiling and … how did I enter that?  Ah – it was the talk of Dion Fortune and the Fountain breath, and how it irrigates the surrounding countryside.

The dragon rises and falls peacefully, after all my practice back in 2002.  The dragon has a core of fiery whiteness, little puffs of the Brilliance.   The universe is composed of Brilliance;  why else do the stars shine?

I can visit where I like in the Tower, in a trice.   Strange how seldom I come here!

This morning/during the night, I started to form a talisman:  Calm, Confidence, Competence.  Say those words as often as I can.   A picture came with them – a big dew drop, with a tiny one the other way round, inside.  It is like the Soul Tetrahedrons.   But now I understand what it really means – it is the akasha in the tejas, scarletindigo, the Aries in Capricorn.   A little oval Stone of the Wise, in various expressions of density, is realised.

So keep a hold of it at base.  When cradling a lover’s fine warm shape, remember this.   For all things, to store my energy and help me to sleep at night, say Confidence, Calm, Competence and see the dew inside the dew.   It is a Mantrayantra.  She’ll get the message soon.

Ourobouros flower - Roob Alchemy&Mysticism


My heart centre is a clover.  She sparkles vividly white, scarlet and black.   These are the gunas.  They are also Rosebud’s Queen mother, who pricked her finger in the winter snow near the ebony wood, and wished for a beautiful child.



I lost my curiosity in other peoples’ versions, because my own, steaming along in the subconscious, provides ALL.  When I open the trapdoor/manhole cover, and look …  there it is, flowing  from  springs of ageless Wisdom … thanks to the  training ground and challenges of this present life time:  thanks to the teachers and terrain of other life times back o’beyond, and to those to come.   ADONAI.








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

Dancing with Pan (1)

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Goat god and shepherd

From Dion Fortune’s ‘The Goat Foot God’:  “… Then it seemed to her that the Shepherd of Goats rose up gigantic in the darkness, towering above her small boat, his slanting agate eyes gleaming and kindly.  He was the keeper of all wild and hunted souls for which no place could be found in a man-made world, and she and Hugh were running in under the shadow of his crook.  They were coming down onto the fundamental realities of life which cannot be shaken, to which all things must come in the end.  She began to feel safe and secure.  Keeping her eyes fixed on the fundamental reality, let it be what it might, she felt certain that she would steer the right course.  This was the real invocation of Pan – the surrender to bed-rock natural fact, the return to Nature, the sinking back into the cosmic life, after all the struggle to rise above it into an unnatural humanity.  Animal is our beginning, and animal our end, and all our sophistications are carried on the back of the beast and we do ill to forget our humble brother.  Uncared for, collar-galled and filthy, he takes his revenge in the spread of disease.  St Francis spoke contemptuously of Brother Ass, but man is a centaur who is related to Pegasus on one side of the family.  The wise Cheiron who taught Asculapius healing, was carried swiftly on his four strong hooves.  Perhaps there is a lesson in that for us. 

“Mona awoke from her dream of goats and centaurs and breaking seas, to find the sun had gone in and the wind of spring was cold.  All the same, she knew she had received the Blessing of Pan on her enterprise, because she had given her undeviating loyalty to things natural – because she had said ‘What is truth?’ and set to work to pursue it.”

— Published by Society of Inner Light 1989

Pan Capricornus ’87

A couple of years before that book came out, I was dancing with my Pan – the primordial Capricorn archetype, did I but know.  My invocation was to draw;  the awareness along the line came to life.  I believe I drew on very early lifetimes as a cave artist. Light and shadow along the rock tingles, as the hunt’s magical power ripples to life.

This series in my blog called “Dancing with Pan” is sprinkled with my Greek myth drawings at age  seven.  It is the same awakening.   Nuances of emotion, desire, pain and healing play along the primordial pulse;  following it, gave me a hands-on feel of the cosmic principle behind esoteric teachings, which I read about, later.

Nymph, 1956.

A detail within a bigger page.  She draws the veil back…


Mermaids 1956

Capricorn is a goat with a fish’s tail:  land’s geology and the depth of the sea.  These symbols came intuitively.


Melusina 1989

… reminding me of this one:  Melusina is the alchemists’ water nymph – and I remember also how ambiguously frightening the Master can appear – like Pan.  These two drawings  slipped into today’s planned sequence, as extras.  I was reading Jung on Zosimus at the time I did them.

Mercurius:  the bottle-imp 1989


Little girl 1956

She conjures, she plays, she dances with the furies and the joyous spirits.

The piano keys are grapes 1987

There is a fury in the baccanalian rite of Pan, as it begins to circuit and swirl.  Libra is the rising or setting sun.  At the time I was training my whole body to play a very difficult piece on the piano:  a yoga of touch and controlled abandon.  These two drawings are also in my 4 September post Para Olympus – Inspiring a Generation?   The general idea is:  to form a vessel for the pipes of Pan, we need to mean it:  to stretch to our whole capacity and beyond.  The whole of nature stretches, to grow and die and be born anew.  Lust stretches:  the seed stretches, to part the earth.   And so it is with ritual of any kind.  To be effective, the words are meant and filled with life now, to the fingertips and toes.

Faun, struggle and egg 1987


Ding dong bell 1987

The nursery rhyme – pussy’s in the well, who pushed her in?  Little Tommy Flynne.   Who pulled her out? – little Tommy Stout!

But rather than rely on the menfolk as fabulous creatures, and fall on our noses, why not …

Earth serpent goddess 1987

… feel and find our wise way along the Earth, and as the Earth embrace?  Spine, breast and stellar space are the hills and valleys in the night.


Horse throws hero 1957

An ancient greek hero – he is getting what he deserves, with those spurs and whip.


Theseus Slays  1957

Theseus slays one of the villains of the Ishthmus, having earned his father’s sword and sandals from under the Stone.  The Minotaur and Ariadne appear to be on playful terms.

Thus far, a few mythic preambles.  Who and what is my Pan?

I have sequences of Pan drawings around a “Fall Event” in 1987.  In brief:  I fell through into a kind of joy below strata of grief.  It was a love affair of course.  I don’t want to go into the detail, but to share the essence of what I learned:  the energy, the paradox and the song of life which is Pan.

At the same time, I was doing a Buddhist practice and discovering Hermes Trismegistos and the ancient world.  I am by nature an animist and pantheist, and sang and chanted in my drawings before I learned to do so on “the piano keys” (symbolic – the black and white of life.)

Like music, a sacred ritual, to be effective, must be empowered with the full voice and feeling “NOW”;  this comes about, through living with the stops out – embodying inner catastrophe and upset, as well as to be surprised by joy.  I never had much choice.  There was and is no way, but through.

In The Goat Foot God, Dion Fortune explains:

“You’ve got to handle it along its own lines, T.J.  That’s the mistake people make – expecting miracles.  Thinking if they say the word of power, things will happen.  But they won’t unless you’ve worked up the power of the word first of all.  Old Ignatius was right, if it was him who said it – Live the life and you’ll develop the faith.  I want to invoke Pan, so I’ve got to live Panishly – hence these gooseberry shanks that I saw you gazing at so reproachfully from the depths of your Inverness.”

The old bookseller said, “If you call at Billings Street in a dappled faun-skin, you’ll draw a crowd, and probably catch a cold into the bargain!” 

“You choose to misunderstand me, T.J.  I’m not going in for any play acting … it’s the spirit of the thing, not the outward trappings, that counts.”


Capricornus 1987

My invocation is at first through field and flower.  Later on it becomes more visceral:  the writing is all inside out.

From my  Passengers to Penelope (1987):   “There are places around my father’s house in Devon, where I sit in the grass on a closed umbrella (it’s wet) and hear the wind.  The wind’s slow tune rises and falls through a wet dell of nettles, thistles, bull-rushes and waving white parsey like waves of the sea.  In the singing forest grow clusters of my old friends whose names I no longer know, with wild dandelions, yellow daisies and vetch.  A crimson fox glove stands sentinel to the marshy place.  They do not invite, for I am there.  I am not in them, but nor am I outside them.  In the mysterious world of rabbits and owls I play and disappear, if I know how, into lean-to tunnels of long grass.  To play is to paint.  Were I to paint those colourful worlds, their kings and queens, it is not flowers with names I want to draw, but my mysteries and their delight.  It is enough to know: they have no names.  The wild child, the one who grew up on a hillside, is at home.  The wind whispered into his ears since he was born.  I call him Malo.  When thinking slows down from erstwhile hectic and unwritten cities, it follows the tune, the tune the wild child knows, and so do the shy beasts who go about their business. 

“Whatever happens up top, on lips, forehead and the wrinklings of ideas, my Underbeing begins to know itself as a slow river, picking up things it doesn’t yet know.  The river changed its course.  It flows quiet in a wide channel.  Everything I see is of interest.  I cannot distinguish the wind’s different voices – only the ebbing and swelling musical line, and everything which moves and dances to the song of Pan … at the corners of my I or eye.  For the wind opens spaces within me.  The soft grass is shimmery pale green like velvet and wet with rain. 

“I am beginning to listen to the wind, because I gave the ear to my mind for many weeks.  The wind can pick this up and take it right away with its own Sound, for long moments.  Thought loses its belongings once it has said them, and been heard.   It turns into the currency of being:  the world of grasses and wild flowers.”

The Land under the Leprechaun – With Pan at dawn 1987

From Passengers to Penelope 1987:   “Of more interest than erotic daydreams is the landscape emerging beneath them.  As sleep came I was in a heathery sunny place – a clearing or a valley somewhere:  or a small plateau.  Plato? … is handed to me on a platter.  The grass is tufty and blond at the tips, with rabbit trails.  Baby oak, hazel and hawthorn grow to either side, small scrub on common ground.   Silverbirch shines in mossy enclaves, wild faces peep from the grass; the quiet voices of violet, cowslip and cuckoo-pint.  A stream flows through the sylvan place where “glaucous beings” (what are they?) couple and dance;  where fauns and leprechauns play pagan pipes of Pan behind high stems.

“For this vale is on top of the world somewhere, or the underworld.  It might directly underlie the world I think I know.  There is a fleeting joy – to lie in blond silky grasses among the fairytale buzzings, to wander twilit rabbit paths, to meet perhaps those fabled glaucous beings.  These have upturned heads, their droopy flesh is grey and pink, mottled tortoise-shell.  They have wide fish mouths and bright clever eyes.  They look like Mr Jeremy Fisher’s amphibious friends.  I only saw the tips of these people emerge from the deep grass.  I don’t know if I saw them at all.  I know they are there, and they a-wooing would go;  they dance and make love in triplings, three or four of them.  They are pretty like Pan, and alien to me in their intelligence and in their laws.  For Pan is a terrible and ancient god.  He changes everything with just one breath on his pipes…

Dancing with Pan 1   

“These floating lands are frivolous, because my inner eye unravelling, sees only what it can. What could this land become?  What is it really?  To see is one thing, to know is another.  I was here for a moment – therefore I am.

“It smiles back to me my ignorance.  Perhaps it is the leprechaun’s smile which lights his sad anxious face with youth and dances from ear to ear.  This land’s contour grouped itself under his face, as I floated away from this (in love and desire) into that (love’s scenic plateau of association, hoping we might meet in this land).  I’m not going to dwell on the ins and outs of love, desire and plumbing, because these are always basically the same, whoever “he” is, and whatever the discovery of holding and being held, and to touch the back of his head.  There is no point in writing about things which are not happening.  They are phantom’s blind alley.

“But the land under it … ah, there is something saucy here.  It is seemingly unrelated, and yet allied;  because here I was.

Dancing with Pan 2

“Is it a corner of the map, or is it new?  It seemed new.  The present fragrance is new.  Into those tracts of newness I go, leaving fantasy behind.  The journey reveals rocky contours under the facial plane.  How odd those features are here, under sleep, under a writing table, under chats, coffee, and errands in the rain – here underfoot – my mind’s tentative journey.

“I left something behind, or am leaving it behind forever – or it left me – and its trace elements flit among the newness, making me a nervous, vulnerable cave dweller of my own-ness.  It is difficult to settle in a new place.  We’re not going to the sea today, because it is raining.  It is actually all the same to me, whether I go to the sea or not.

“The land under the leprechaun is really the land I travel as my mind tiring of toying with the man and my desire, lets go, disconnects and floats free.  It makes its decision.  This is where the fish swim when they have nibbled enough from the surface.

Dancing with Pan 3 – 1987

“Are there poppies in the gold grasses, scarlet flecks of summer?  Is it evening or dawn?  What underlies this place?  Who is here at present?  A delicacy widens the blaze of a path:  the presence.”

Dancing with Pan 4:  Resignation


Early November 1987 – there was a man, an Irishman:  I was let down, and I fell.  I fell right through the feeling into the light.   It was like a quarry blast.  This was Pan.  Here is the general gist of “Fall Event” from my diaries:

“He’s not coming.  O mind, the mind has mountains, cliffs of fall, he should have let me know, I am angry shattered and grieved and can’t just say yes yes … oh you shit, is there never going to be anyone real for me?  Joy is not eggs in one basket, it is to have multiple sources, so I could gnash my teeth but am not internally damaged or betrayed I think, though splitting apart, for joy in life as well as pain, & will take it by the throat because this mandream is an awful thing to have gone on happening all these years, sod you mustn’t be a rainbow, I’ll damn well manage without.  Things are real when they happen, & false when they don’t, the true life-joy is to ride this thing and see it, fierce, that is self assertion, one of the crowd after all, though how I would dearly love to come down off my hilltop and muck in and love someone for real and know what it’s really about.

“Managed not to cry when I went upstairs to see Tara, but to joke more or less.  Tara thinks I do not assert myself sufficiently in these matters, and that perhaps I have to seize a few frogs as well as princes.”

Yet …

“The land under the sweet monster is better than the one which buzzes around him.  Deep down, I am not hurt.  Thank God for that.  I have got somewhere.  Ride it, ride it.  It’s just another wave.  Feel it for real, and keep on top where you can look at what is around, this lovely world undetermined by the position of humans, ‘fight for it love, be in it like a lion, you will learn you will learn, for I showed you the Astral Light and you won’t forget it.’

 “So thank Karma and sweet monster-men for catalyzing this land for me.  My soul is in a better place.  Values! … are the glory – not the all-too-brief happy landings.  Land right HERE.  Not there.  Land is where my soul is, not where “he” is.  I am alive!   Now I could cry, from a sense of wonder.  Wrestle the angel, I love its muscle, I am new.

“This is not an evil, these are values.  I see black and white; my fingers fill with life and move faster on the keys.”   


Dancing with Pan 5


“Slept with light on and dreamed about trees, woods and streets of them outside my windows.  They were being trimmed, their branches cut off, many of them cut down, there were still many trees and much foliage, but I could now see fields of landscape I couldn’t see before.  I walked through a wood at the back of my house – like the sealed and opened store-room in my dreams;  trimmed it was, but still bushy and green with glades. At the end of it was a railway line, and a steam train came chuff chuff from the right and disappeared into a tunnel to the left.

“Do not activate the pain button or pull apart any more.  I can lie and travel in its layers without reacting;  change habits – for life-joy too there is.  Cut trees occult symbol, let the new wood grow.  I wish there was someone to catch me when I fall, wide-open I can’t help being, but this state catches me just about (oh, lonely) so … choose not hell but education, keep the antennae out.  Have no choice in that, because no protection – antennae may pick up good currents.  If there’s a shell, it holds but pain, depression and turmoil I suppose.  Anyway I haven’t got one, I am incapable of not rushing to meet hoped love with my arms wide open, and finding it’s gone off in a different direction and will not be there to hold and answer and cherish me too.”


Dreaming with Pan 1987


“So pain-hurt in my stomach there is, and broken heart; but don’t need to lean on it or choose that inflamed course, but meet joy head-on, and whatever it brings.  Let the impact of disillusion itself heal and change, not sock in the guts.  For I am not empty, I go on, through where and what, God knows.  I practice the keys with a kind of fanaticism, something is dislodged in my underbeing and coming up, not his or anyone’s, but mine.”


Centaur, Athene and Child 1987


“Dreamed later that my daughter and I were looking down into vast chasms or quarries filled with light and creatures and lands, perhaps we were at the zoo, there were monkeys.  Enormous depths and clarity.  She was at home above them.  I was on a bike, and wobbly.  We seemed to be on branches of rock like over the sea;  these were fine but vertiginous spaces to look down into.  My body has these huge sudden spaces within it filled with life and things unknown.

“The lands I travel are not what can be shared, though they do produce on the surface a slightly more sensitive and less harried interaction with people, but oh God I am still to all intents and purposes on Odyssey in the breakdown chamber, as there is no one who can give me any hold or alternative.  So part of me which tried to declare itself, begins to acknowledge a “seperateness”, which yet leads to realistic unity in relationships;  and what can be shared and what can not.

“I practice the Buddhist meditation and the piano with eager speed … they teach my brain to let go of reservations and function more fluently with the inner connection, the “Malo” from under.  The Underbeing after all, will not desert me.” 

No, worst there is none.  Pitched past pitch of grief.
O the mind, mind has mountains, cliffs of fall 
frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed.  Hold them cheap 
may who ne'er hung there.  Nor does long our small 
durance deal with that steep or deep.  Here! creep 
wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind:  all 
Life death does end, and each day dies with sleep."


“The beheaded trees – final one pollarded today – are a pain-monster which I already made friends with and transformed, as if I rather rejoice now in their nude skyward knuckles, this new sculpture in the street – can it be that leaves were armour?   These tree trunks lift my soul to see.

“Vertigo I am sick:  thus I see the new painting to do for Blue Feather:  I see the whole thing.  This tumble will hold me now, not the other.  Catastrophe shows light, not dark;  so there’ll be a dark band of cliff and autumn fall and light the eye below.  Thou makest thine own bed, thus shalt thou live and fall, O Cause and Effect. 

“The end of day is not death and oblivion, but new life.  So my soul has light.  Naked come I.  So I shall re-write Hopkins for Blue Feather – (my bipolar friend who commissioned the painting, another Buddhist) – despair never….  so, sod you, I’ll just go down further into the light.”

“Got it fixed in the moment of my fall.  Into it went Hermes Trismegistos with his hands out stretched and ready, and the abyss is a vast Eye with its mountainous landscape of the sun.  Was wondering yesterday if I might discover a bit about my past Karma, other lives which led to this.  Drawings are crucibles for the openings below strata.  My Hermes incorporates the Hermetic system, Trismegistos, his followers and imitators, the Alexandrian and the ancient Egyptian and the Greek god, messenger between Hades and Olympus, divine arbitrator and enlightener.  He is the sum of them all, of pagan wisdom and pre-Christendom.




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

This blog is  a vehicle to promote my published work – The Sacred India Tarot (with Rohit Arya, Yogi Impressions Books) and The Dreamer in the Dream – a collection of short stories (0 Books) – along with many other creations in house.  

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


A Walk in the Dark Night

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My recent post The Miasms, Karma and Homeopathic Healing touches on “walk-ins” or demonic possession.  I had a strange experience of this, about thirteen years ago.  This post contains that story, as I told it to John de Ruiter.  Around it I found other writings and pictures.   Existentially, we come to grips with our shadow, as we walk.

Sea 1

8 November 1998 –  The Dark Night of the Soul

The truth is impersonal.  It isn’t “me”.  It is intercepted by colourful individual hue-and-cry localities.  They do what they want or are designed to do – the shape of a flower, fish or hedgehog – but it never stops being truth.  If in the morning it flows strongly, I think “Ah, I can see the truth!”   But that’s because it will open any mind that’s willing.  It is not something to be proud of.  Sages – those who are established in truth – go about their business and most people wouldn’t recognise them.  Why?  The truth doesn’t belong or stick to anyone.  It is all there is.  The obstacle is in considering it as an object I must reach.  The obstacle is the seeker after truth, for she puts it ahead of her, like a mirage.

sea 2

Tripura Rahasya says (p.12) – “The beneficent work of the self-inhering divine Grace is finished when the inward turning of one’s mind increases day by day.”

notebook page

…   is the realisation there is nothing I can do, and thus the extinguishing of hope.  Life burns a lamp of hope revealing rock walls, and believes it is the agent of illumination.  But when there is no lamp indicating progress, the darkness is its own source.  When the light is gone and there is only the infinite, soft and impenetrable darkness, this for some is death, the loss of heaven-god, and so it is called the soul’s dark night.  But you know, and I know, since we are One, that this is the cave of the Uncreate.  The darkness of the void is but another perception of the light.  Wait.  For the Word has not happened yet.  There is no Word here.

sea 3

Yesod What is the dark night of the soul?

Tifareth It happens before the ability to see from beyond the pairs of opposites dawns.  Some souls, when in the power of darkness, experience futility.  Gifted adolescents turn playmate to the demons, which are half formed currents of Creation in the astral body.  They feel trapped in vast, fecund fields, for the vital energy is vampirized.   That is why they stay in bed. They are exhausted.  The fields of the night glitter with POETRY – “the gorgeous black sticky stuff“.   Every soul, every branch of the Tree, must experience Hades – whether past, or yet to come – in the relative cupboard of Time.  It is the loam of below the Earth.  The wraiths of Nature  prey on and suck substance from one another, as within the physical ground: the play of spores, nitrates, seeds and rotting fibres.  It is the mud without which no lotus grows.  All must find the magic land.  Some, having passed through it, forget it.  But you and I recall it, to draw the references.  We recognise the stems, which are still rich with it.   Your drawings in 1964  are the Asphodel, the Hadean flower.  But you are not trapped.  You were when it was seductive, sensuously compulsive as the Soul’s Dark Night.

Jukebox and Beehive, Carlisle 1964


Tifareth — The dark night of St John of the Cross – Mine eyes have seen a great Light, but now they don’t –  laboured in sorrow to bring forth, and to reconstruct the ladder.

The dark releases you.  Nothing else can.  When you go inward first, it is dark, not the custom light of the world.  You cannot see the unknown.  This is truth.

The substance of all this is that the Dark Night occurs when God disconnects you from seeing Him as a safe, Heavenly Mountain to climb up and reach, and pushes you back to drown in your swamp.  The Dark Night occurs during the i-lamp’s destruction, the miner’s lamp to …   you feel?

Yesod It is when the lamp no longer lights my cave walls with shadows, and so there is just the unbottomed. But what is the dark night of the soul REALLY?

Tifareth The dark is the passage of waiting.  It is the night through which you cannot sleep.  It is the longing for sleep, and the sterile agitation of the mind, and the slumberless corners of the body.  It is whatever episode in the life span endures grief, pain, bewilderment, inner destruction, the letting go of baggage, detachment learned the hard way.  There is no other way.  Without the dark night, who would bother to look away from the grazing-ground?  It isn’t cause and effect.  It is just that in the painful or sludge-y darkness, there burns a naked longing for the wise.

Yesod Integral to the dark night perhaps, is to know “I have no control.”

Tifareth – Whatsoever.

Yesod This in broad daylight looks very fine, but when trapped, it is the essence of suffering.

Tifareth – And the essence of surrender.  Surrender is’t just a pretty face.

Sea and rock, the feet

The dark night is the curling coal of the fathomless wave, the curve or swelling, and the willingness not to panic or wail with loneliness, but to “chill out” with it, rest on its breath, as in its feet.  There is a longing to be un-costumed, and to give up all resistance.  It is the Miner of the dark hard Night.  I learn from the companions.  When resistance is less, “I” diminish, therefore what suffered, becomes the easy movement of the breath.  The cells know this, for they sink.  This quiet state has the union and pivot of the world;  and in here the existential hell gets shot through with stabs of silence, open-ness, NOW, irrelevance, like shafts of Vedic Ushas, the Dawn.


And then the swan of silence floats.  There is still “I”.   Only God may remove what God put there.  Think about that!  Only God can remove “I”.  I can’t.  Only God can remove God’s eye one seeingness is. But can he? …  There is no escape, nor is there death.  Tentatively, cast adrift, leave prIde and other eyes behind (they are mental attachments, seeing, applauding, approving … ) unclothe and see what happens … alone …

A verse I wrote when my daughter was young and wild and off the grid in San Francisco

You see my Lord  
never mind that I'm her mother,  
but I am (?) put in the place where it is my feeling  
to have her come safe to harbour over the heaving waters - 
soul come safe to harbour, come what may, 
be loved, her own (unknown)  
and so the spells attuning in the fields of Asphodel 
with the healing silence, 
in the dry nude mountain are in-placed. 

What a cinematic world this is. 
All is well, so I am told deep down.  
All, all manner of things is well 
and strong, and blossoming.


And … even during the really difficult years, now past, she could laugh at Mum being such an old bat, and we could reach each other in this way:

… her threat to abandon her A Levels and become a Beautician in deepest Essex


Here is Ramesh Balsekar with Gabriel Hafron.  They had honest conversations about suffering and  suicide.  Gabriel walked his dark night and – as far as I know – eats lotuses.  I love Ramesh’s pragmatic and passionate fondness for talking.

Gabriel and Ramesh

I recall the barely concealed jealous tension around the relaxed alert old man: the sniggers and impatience we could barely contain while Gabriel worked out his stuff.  The sheer mind-stuff in one’s teens and youth hurts.  It is a torment.  It tangles the web and hammers the knot.  Philosophers suffer atrociously from mercurial parasites and mental arguments – Gabriel was a philosopher with sharp streetwise chutzpah – a “nice” Jewish lad.  The public sage receives seekers who are ignorant of psychology and their own emotions and the basics and are desperate for a path.   For meeting after meeting, Gabriel begged Ramesh for relief;  and Ramesh explained to him with all the time in the world, and with intense compassion, no, he cannot help him.  He must walk himself.

I continue to feel fond of that little old man and his bright ways and blackbird gestures.  He was a retired Bank of India manager.  As I have been in his room, and dedicated my time there, I savour the background Mumbai street noises;  wailing barrow boys and baroque car horns; the wheezing crows and twittering sparrows;  and I think of him alone and snoozing in his chair after lunch with his dignified wife.  I see him walking to and fro on his roof in inquisitive harmony.  Living on the top floor – you can see the sea from there – he took his daily constitutional in the apartment.  I cherish the gentle grace of his greeting, white shirt, silken skin and impish smile.

Ramesh said to a German visitor, that when the ego wants to be enlightened, the ego wants to be God, and of course it cannot be, and thus the depression and “losing it”.

What a dodgy business to install the understanding in an unripe hyacinth!   Many a spring it takes, to flower and shrink back into the bulb underground;  for subconscious programming to accept an accelerated revelation.

Hyacinth – A Sivaic Poem

When the blue, proud Hyacinth dies, he falls 
slowly inward; flower fading crinkles 
first, and then his tips of tall green spears  
turning gold, begin to burn.

The bulb of his Self Light 
that hides, until a Spring to come 
in dark soil, is drinking him, 
all of him up, O Lord of Caves! 

Let his sapphire die back to earth   
and then, consumed
in your fire, spring forth! 
O Lord of the River, and of Caves.



November 1999 – Talking of a Walk-in

Here is John de Ruiter, whose early appearances in London were homeopathic and alchemical.   He seemed to be in love with wandering very slowly around in peoples’ black holes.  He puts his YOD – the attention – on the littlest bit, and just lets it, and waits.    He may have  touched the deep before speech,  releasing me from having to listen to any more sages.

John de Ruiter and his game

The people who spoke to John were little microphones.  Sometimes they were little mirrors.  The one on the right goes pop with enlightenment. The lightbulb on the left is  endarkenment.

In one of his meetings, I had a conversation with John, about a “walk-in” I’d experienced recently.

I said:  “John, I’d like to talk to you about being nobody who has nothing, and about tension.   Tension seems to build up whenever it limits or defines itself –  limitation is put around it – in any way.

“But something happened last month.  It was a dream.  There were footsteps coming.  There was no person in them, just the essence and the sound and the place of them on the gravelly ground.  They came from behind, walked right through me and pulled me towards a farm, a place of violent anger, revenge and fear, and I was terrified.  It was an electric current, a magnet.  I tried to stand still while it was going through me, but it had enormous strength.  At that point all of a moment, I thought of you.  I tried from side to side, to open, soften, let it pass through me like a wave through water – but it was too strong.  Then a Christian prayer came very powerfully, the Prayer of the Heart.  I woke from the magnetic field, shouting out loud, with that prayer.

“But there was still my enormous tension of resisting, wasn’t there.  It’s a razor edge thing of being, and yet being also the resistance.  Subsequently, I felt this current had moved away and left me.  But I had had to make myself HARD with all my might, to resist it.

John replied eventually: “It’ll be back. 

“As soon as you resisted it, for that energy, its response was, “That’s good enough.”  That’s what it wanted.  So next time it builds on what took place, and then the next time it builds on that, inside of you.

“The only way is to let yourself completely dissolve in the midst of that. There is then no threat which is taken to heart.  Nothing to protect. Then it’s not only you who is dissolving, but that energy that’s moving through you.  And that energy dissolves too.”

I said: “There is an energy used, “to not resist” – to “try not to resist.”

John: “This is the belief that you ought not to resist.  Such a belief you don’t need. Tender absence can live.  Your belief is something you’re doing.

“You would even be better off to resist and to be OK with resisting, than to try to “not resist” because you believe that you shouldn’t.  The second one makes more of a mess than the first.”

co dependent borderlines

Long pause

co-dependent fishes.  

[NB – Some other paintings in this series are in “For Z”, posted 25 August  –  see the Archive of all Posts].


Jane: “I don’t know what sort of mess it made … because it left a feeling of openness …”

John: “To resist and be OK with it?  That’s the first one.  Even to put effort and trying into ‘not to resist’, because you believe you should put effort into not resisting – there can be an open-ness in that. The open-ness is wonderful. The effort creates the mess.

“Two things can be happening at the same time, and then there is a mixture of tightness and open-ness. The mixture is OK.  Stay with the part you’re in love with.  You don’t have to work with the other part.”  (24 November 1999)

This retrieval rings extraordinarily true for me.  It leads me to the way – in principle – Christ may have dealt with the dibbuks.

First:  while copying it out, I saw and felt John de Ruiter’s predisposition to bathe in these situations and their darkness, and be their elixir – the awareness.   He loved unconditionally the darkness, to be its slow unfolding light, from the deep depression which had rebirthed himself.   He held the tantra touch, the YOD.   He was indifferent to the huge meetings, the organization, the groupies, it all went on around him. He went to bed with some of it, and people were scandalized.  He was a forest man from the north;  a lumberjack.

(She closed her eyes and asked John to, also)

Secondly, the entity in my dream was “Mr V” whom I had met again, after many years.  Our rendez vous was the terrace outside Kenwood House on Hampstead Heath.  His approaching footsteps made the crunchy sound in the gravel; and we had a rather intense afternoon scrambling in and out of the woods and over fences.  Then they walked straight into my dream at night.  They tugged me towards an emotion – a farm nearby which was red with rage and gore .   I know now that if I had gone with them, my soul could have held a permissive bitterness, and I might be stuck and sick, seeking revenge.

I first knew Mr V when I was 20, and can only say about him now, that he was a gifted soul, but he was going into a downward spiral.  My long co-dependency with his dark side accelerated my awakening.  It re-opened my ancient doors he now shunned.  He was a catalyst in every way.  I saw the raw Karmic force, the way it whirls like a tornado.

I did this small painting (below), soon after my dream.  I amalgamated it with a 1970s dream from The Watershed, about a wounded, orphaned foal (also below).  I didn’t draw Mr V’s crunching footsteps through my space  – but I sketched the blood-red farm impression, the psychic “rage, revenge and fear” which I tried to resist by standing still and letting it go through me.

Foal farm holocaust

This is the story from “The Watershed” – The Foal.

Dreams No.124  June 1975

THE FOAL is crying,  we wish to discover how the larger animal died,  so we are leading the helpless foal through the broken out-houses, that it may sense and tell us.  The foal screamed and held back, native terror of its dead kin.   But we were too strong for it.   I carried it in my arms.   It lay numb and resigned with terror.   There was a splash of red on the floor,  blood going sticky.   I pleaded the foal’s case with the others,  I said Let’s spare the foal, it’s not right to force him into this fear.   We’ve seen the blood, we can find the rest for ourselves.   Please, we mustn’t do this to the little animal, the baby,  we will scar him for life.   So I took the baby back into the yard to wash and clean him again,  he was covered in thick mud again,  thick wet mud like a baby found in a bombsite,  and I was cleaning it off with water.   He was a human baby.   I was to clean him at a sort of trough.

The yard was derelict and full of rubbish,  thrown-out relics of demolished houses,  plaster and refuse.

The creature who had died, who had taken its own life, left imprints of itself,  its face,  in silver foil which was lying around.   It had been playing before it died,  it was non-terrestrial,  it came from some other place in the universe.  It left big graceful sculptures on the ground in thick wire and scrap iron tubing.   They would not live long because they were an alien implantation and they could not survive here,  they could not be seen.

They were ungainly structures standing on two or three legs with a kind of conscious expression above, like a child’s drawing.   They were very simply made and ephemeral because …  heaven knows what would happen to them,  they might get thrown away in ignorance with the rest of the rubbish.


My job here is to touch on essences, not the pressure of autobiography in the tyre.  The Karmic narrative condensed within that dream, took many years yet to walk through itself, and realise the  “water under the bridge”.  I can look back on it now, and recognise the essences.  They release me deeply, acknowledging past-life hints and flavours:  apprenticeship to a medical magus in Elizabethan London, whose boundless curiosity raised and angered the dead.  In those days, cadavers were useful not only to Renaissance painters.  The esoteric Renaissance was rooted in compost – the fertile nitrates of medieval plague.  The penalty is the pain I took on, in this lifetime, together with an abortion at age 17 in my Victorian life.   These issues working through consciousness, are in the domain of “the Divine Regulator”.

My dark night revisits the pit, the walk-in or mood, to share with you my way through.   The daughters of Solomon are dark but comely.  Beauty walks with the beast.   I am astonished how, in the walk-in story, when I called on Christ with the Jesus prayer, I was released.  After twenty centuries of abuse, Jesus’s Name still has power to overturn the tables.  In any healing circumstance, His is the homeopathic power –  his Father’s, with Mother Earth.

In that episode and others, I suffered first the NEGATIVE force/fate, for it highlights the power of That which overcomes it.  They are one and the same wave crest.

The principle applies to everything we suffer, individually and collectively.  The Overcomer isn’t as dramatic and colourful as the negative fate, which is hard like gristle.  The Overcomer only pervades it, unnoticed like gravity, and brings me through to let it go.  The negative fate has its entire worldview, prediction and science.  All that is cast away – a heap of old clothes by the road.  (Even now, a symbolic Samaritan paradox:  the parables are multi-dimensioned.)   The sun came out.  Sometimes when the Sun comes out it is blinding brilliant like the road to Damascus.  But usually it just makes me take off that coat.

In my previous post, Listening with the Oracle, the Egyptian priestess in “Self Preservation” gazes at the whirling winds, the tornado before the sun comes out.  My efforts are considerable, but imaginary.   Who Ray!

Life is a landscape, a veil on the rock: the rock is the Face, the underlying geology.  It changes like clouds, because we are human and have lived a long time.  It rings the changes and comes around like the stars.

sun path

What is my Guru?  Guru means dispeller of darkness.  Let all obscurity fly from thee.  The Guru may be a person, but is really an interior climate.  When I think Guru and look inward, I find the seed of love in all its forms.  Love has the face of my beloved, and of others; but they are all incidental. They are boats on the wave.  With love comes patience.  The Guru is essentially, relationship – the give and take which is patience.


 The Guru of Everything in Life

A footnote:  Gareth Knight describes in his superb biography of Dion Fortune, her first great astral battle with the college headmistress, who bashed her for four long hours with:  “You are incompetent and you know it.  You have no self confidence, and you’ve got to admit it.”

This mantra is the exact inverse of the strong occult leader she was to be.  The disabling hypnosis flagged up the opposite, like a colour complementary in the dark.  The girl broke down for months, but would rise to the initiatory test.   Competence and self confidence are the achilles heel and hallmark of creative artists, great mediums, and leaders alike.




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

This blog is  a vehicle to promote my published work – The Sacred India Tarot (with Rohit Arya, Yogi Impressions Books) and The Dreamer in the Dream – a collection of short stories (0 Books) – along with many other creations in house.  

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

Listening with the Oracle

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

Woman by the Sea 1987 –  drawn with my eyes closed

What is Oracle?

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

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

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

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

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

You-night:  from Owl-Fox shaman series 1986

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

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

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

Ebony shakti, siva, elephants

Journal 12 October 2012 – After Acu-pins

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

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

Wood lamp

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

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

 Light crossing the brook at Buckland Filleigh

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

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

What may I call you?  Rosa? Maria Rosa?

Jupiter and Rosa

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

sun wood yantra


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

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

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

and past …

…  and future

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Woman entering the sea ’87

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

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

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

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

wood lamp pings

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

brook by Henlys Corner:  snake water stone

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

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

Young tree of life upon the old

 Midwinter dancing with Pan ’87/88

I am that I am.

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

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

3 nadis dancing with Pan 1989



She dancing with Pan ’89




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

This blog is  a vehicle to promote my published work – The Sacred India Tarot (with Rohit Arya, Yogi Impressions Books) and The Dreamer in the Dream – a collection of short stories (0 Books) – along with many other creations in house.  

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

Dion Fortune and Paul Foster Case

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A word of explanation may be helpful for readers of today’s previous post “Dove”, which mentions Brean Down.  I am a fan of Dion Fortune’s novels, (which she wrote to complement her books on Qabalah) – particularly The Sea Priestess and Moon Magic.

Tarot priestess of the Moon, with pomegranates, 2003

The Sea Priestess‘s setting is the landscape around Brean Down in north Somerset, near the Mendip hills.  Dion Fortune grew up in that region.  I also know it quite well.  In the novel, a temple to Isis is built and consecrated at the end of Brean.  The landscape is telescoped through interior astral vision, with Glastonbury Tor brought much closer to the sea – as indeed it was at one time.   From either of these eminences today, the subtle curve connecting them, can be discerned.

Dion Fortune founded the Society of the Inner Light at Glastonbury in the 1920s and 30s, parallel to Paul Foster Case’s Builders of the Adytum in the States.  Both, in their own ways, set out to regenerate and evolve the rituals and teachings of the Golden Dawn, for the new dispensation.   They made them more practical, with an informed psychology as the under-carriage.  Paul Foster Case was a gifted musician and writer on Rosicrucan and masonic themes.  He received the ground-plan for the Builders through his direct contact with a great Master of the Inner School.

Dion Fortune was a trance medium.  She and her colleagues “brought through” the maggidim (inner plane teachers) of the Society of the Inner Light.   Gareth Knight became an active member of the Society in 1953 after her death, and particularly since 1998.  His biography of her and the School gives a vivid account of this process, and of the way the esoteric community has moved with the times. Much more is accessible to us, than at the beginning of the 20th century, when the work was heavily veiled.   This is due to the global emergency:  an acceleration of the inner process.  Many souls incarnate nowadays, who are already fully trained.  The trend is to simplify, and ground the practice.

Here is my sketch of Glastonbury Tor with the mudras (hand gestures or signs) which the Inner School revealed to Dion Fortune, while she was in trance:

I use these gestures in a fluid motion, when invoking the Tree of Life.  The Tor has a spiral path to its summit, and a small stone tower. The tower is drawn as a vesica, forming a chalice, with an astral “stone circle” around it.   In the tower is a window, whose broken silhouette suggested to me a winged being.

In this sequence of drawings – done during a period when I was learning to perceive and portray the inner plane maggidim – is the following pair:  the first in 1988.  The second is the same, updated, about the Fool, the King of Swords and the Priestess.  I worked with these archetypes for a long time before I really got going on the Tarot.  The Fool is the adventurous seeker.   The King’s psychological reactions …

… defend his terrain, and the well, in which the Priestess rises to the bait.   The globe in which the Fool travels, is in perpendicular dimension to the well, for the Fool has no concern with time:  the King is the guardian of the in-between.  The house is the soul, and the libra-sign over the Cup is equilibrium.   The shorthand was based on a very early Tarot reading, which showed me my path for years to come.   In 2003, I re-drew the scene:

… the King keeps his crown, but has turned into a Rosy Cross;  the grain is sprouting.

Now here is the Great Sphinx …

… as I imagined he may have looked, before the face was shot away.

For sketches of Dion Fortune, see my 15 September post On Power and the Dragon’s Tale.

Finally, here is :

Paul Foster Case, builder of the inner Sanctuary.




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

This blog is  a vehicle to promote my published work – The Sacred India Tarot (with Rohit Arya, Yogi Impressions Books) and The Dreamer in the Dream – a collection of short stories (0 Books) – along with many other creations in house.  

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


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Happiness is the open capacity, rain or shine, tiredness or uplift: to let it happen.

Priestess, 1988

Heavy rain and cold autumn equinox – the coolness of the air liberates me;  the grey sky yesterday moved with beauty.   Dion Fortune writes (in The Sea Priestess) of the touch of mind on mind.  This is so much deeper than seeing appearances.   The touch of mind on mind comes to the boundless space between – as the maggidim alighted upon her School, Society of the Inner Light; and got written down by trial and error.

Lucita, a medieval Moorish sage 2005.

Come Isis.   Come, my guides, Lebecq and Zofira.

Let us draw together that space where the sky blows around wild Brean – invoked as it was before it got built up and farmed over;  in the dip of strata beds, the tail thread is so strong and pulsing, that Glastonbury Tor is near enough to touch.   In the astral dimension, the map conforms to VISION and the currents;  and the work is One Form.  The Great Seas roll in, even though it is the Bristol channel.

The touch of mind on mind:  be still.   Words and images ripple from it, but are secondary.  The touch is silence.  This was Ramana’s balm.  It is the Cave of the world;  O Lord of caves and of the meeting rivers…  tailor of the field.

The sufi sews in and out of life, a thread whose core is fleecy white.   Loud white wings beat behind the plough.

By notarikon, the word Kabbalah compresses in its syllables, these traditions:  the elder Egyptian Ka, the Father and the Submission to grace.   The Cultural versions converge to silence: a pyramid tip.




The Empress in Tarot is called the Luminous Intelligence.   The Empress gives birth to what the Priestess broods.  Their paths cross in the Great Spirit Kite.  The Priestess probes:  the Empress bridges.  Together they gestate, vertically and horizontally, the White Brilliance from Kether.

The Tarot Keys on the paths of the Tree’s upper Face

  The Empress (horizontal path, Hokhmah – Binah) and the Priestess (vertical path Kether – Tifareth) are colour coded respectively green and blue.


My scroll post is vertical, a long, long anchor of the Sri Chakra anchor in the deep.  That Yantra contains all the laws of Nature, and is thus the base.

tree yantra

A little local intelligence by long habit draws near to the One – upadesa – and ties the boat-cord to a ring in the harbour wall;  the pin goes into the socket.   The One – I say this again and again – bridges and connects everything, as the very air we breathe, which comes from beyond the stars.  The One lightly tosses my form, as in this sketch of the breeze before storm in 1987  The One, connecting all places, sees and is and swirls.

The mother tells a frightened child:  “those poplars aren’t crying,  it is the wind singing in their thousands of little leaves.”


Copper is NChSh in Hebrew.  It shares the same gematria value – 358 – as the Serpent and the Redeemer.  Venus Aphrodite here, has a heart shaped shield, the soft, conductive metal.  It is golden bronze, and turns green with chemical age.

Tarot Key 3 – The Empress (B.O.T.A.deck)

Temptation – the ageless wisdom says – transmutes to protection, as the white dove of peace  is formed and grows.

When I painted the Sacred India Tarot‘s “Lovers” card, I armoured Kaccha’s genitals with a dove.  Reflect on that;  the linga doesn’t stab but is alive, abundant with love and seed.   A tantric lover “nests’ his shaft in the yoni, sense of touch.  Reflect on ZAIN.   This is the Hebrew letter assigned to Key 6 The Lovers;  it carries two meanings:  “sword” and “penis”.   Its psychological function is to penetrate, to part the waves, to discriminate error and judgement.

With archetypal spontaneity, here, the dove’s depth and flight bridges west and eastern wisdoms:  the pregnant Empress in BOTA … to the Sacred India Tarot Archive(SITA).

The Sacred India Tarot:  Kaccha and the demon Princess Devyani

Adam and  Eve …

…  after my very distant ancestor Lucas Cranach (a copy from Durer’s portrait of him.)


The Copper Serpent

Botticelli's Aphrodite   
on the waves   
has red copper tresses.   
Through the copper coil   
her living snake    
warms the soul, the Sun   
reddened by the iron of Ares.   

Earth, so warmed   
is the Son she loves   
giving birth.   

The Copper Serpent 
is a game of snakes and    
jacobs' ladders. 
Saints gave to it their Sol, 
and to the nonresistant   
metal of Venus,  
their body by fire or wood
as martyrs.


Copper in the ancient world, as today, transmits the current through minimal resistance.  It is a “soft metal”.  A metallic alloy of gold and copper was used for mirrors.  The venus symbol – circle over cross – is a looking-glass!

The mirror is essential to creative imagination.

The hebrew for Dove happens to be YONAH!   ( Sanskrit yoni is the female organ.)

The hebrew root from YIN yayin, wine suggests: to be warm, effervescent like the foam of the sea which fermented into Aphrodite.

Sperm, yeast, yoni, come, ferment, goddess.

YNVH (yonah) dove translates to sexual warmth, a dove to dove magendovid.  The magendovid, correctly translated, is not the star, but the shield of David – warrior and poet of the psalms.


There is a waterfall behind the Empress (see illustration above, of Tarot Key 3) – the masculine vertical to her female pool:  sivalinga in yoni:  Chaiah the life force.

The wheat is the development and multiplying of the seed.

Kama’s wheel

She …

Like snakes in the wind   
some of Aphrodite's tresses   
are bound, and some are loose. 

Medusa is her shadow 
precipitation onto stony waste - 
when clung to as possession.   

Tempter and advisor  
warm the soul   
like the Sun on stone's

Nature, warmed by the Son   
thinks she is   
the Sun, and loves   
and gives birth.

From The Masters’ Eye, 1992-2009



When I copied the Durer drawing of Cranach, I turned it round to draw upside down.   I did the same with this sketch of “Zofira”, using a photo of Anandamayi Ma, whom she is said to resemble.  The resulting freedom of the line – as seen and followed objectively, rather than  the “short-cuts” of visual habits – achieves an anatomical observation and accuracy. Similarly, drawing with my left hand is slower and more difficult, but much more conscious:  the attention now.




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

This blog is  a vehicle to promote my published work – The Sacred India Tarot (with Rohit Arya, Yogi Impressions Books) and The Dreamer in the Dream – a collection of short stories (0 Books) – along with many other creations in house.  

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

On Power and Sofia

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This is Zofira.  She lived in west London during the 19th century – a tantric kabbalist and pianist.  I am told she looked a little like Anandamayi Ma;  so here is my impression of her.

Happiness on the path is when I follow a teacher’s direction.  Then I feel useful and well used. The teacher as provided, may be embodied, or an inner guide.   This is fundamental to every level of human psychology.  Life refines the relationship, the glamour and the power to discriminate … like a sculptor polishing the mountain ridge with rain.


rock swirl, cornwall


I went to Dingwalls to celebrate a friend’s 70th birthday bash.  He is a rocker, an old r&b man.  He brought in his minstrels and his gear, and sang his love songs to the Key of F.  After half an hour, the decibels were doubled.  His hundred or so guests flocked to the free bar, and turned their backs to shout at the tops of their voices.   There was nowt but noise in amplified competition back to back.  There he is rocking his heart out, ear splitting, and who hears a word?   Like Haydn’s symphonies for the court gossip, he is just the background.

It looks so sad:  a mislaid respect and friendship.   Who respects creative people nowadays?  Celebrity … fame of whatever kind, is a disappearance of attention.


A little further thought, on Osho Mr Rohan Chandra (yesterday’s post):  his “hollow bamboo” being not yet an open and unobstructed channel for the flow of ruach.

Yet the hollow bamboo is a flute – the music they made:  the pipes of Pan to blow across.  His disciples surrendered to an enamoured sexual-spirituality, hard labour, disillusion and fallen tower, and somehow remained wide open to it all.  Many of them took the fallout on the chin, broke down, grew and remain splendid.  Their initiation was through the matter, a fleet of transparent dancing orange flames’ conversion into boiler suits.  Those supple flames were pounded down like yeast by a force of destiny transcending their teacher.

I knew one:  a compulsive labourer with donkey engines and old boats on the Clyde, which he planned to convert single handedly into Encounter-therapy dream barges – what a character.

Do nothing too much, and nothing too little, being perfectly poised.”

Prana governs the universal gravity;  and the Tree of Life holds in its branches the Presences, the wind through a thousand strings, the song.   What a lot (it seems to me) souls who have a guru standing in front, miss!   Yet they would say the same to me:  for bhakti is Reality, either way. In the west, bhakti is not well understood.  Gurus are put there to address and eventually dispel the figurehead habit.  They sacrifice their no thingness to the worship and the show.  They give it away.

When one puts away the party cloth of in-love, there remains an indescribable fibre, true to the situation and the soul. 

Resignation after falling, 1987

The power of Recollection is gravitation’s glory of golden particles, each weightless.  Gravity is a flock of starlings over Rome, wheeling, bouncing, turning, sketching DNA in spirallings of snake, ribbon and dolphin.   Gravitation is of particles of no-thing drawing together – the little flittering birds.  The indistinguishable small is the gravity of huge orbits, galaxies, gilgalem:  the tiniest oscillation holds together all the oscillants.

Re-reading Dion Fortune’s novel The Sea Priestess:  the high priestess has the recollection of the Whole:  SOFIA.

This is a whirling primal energy enscrolled – the way the flower within the seed contains all future flowers and their seeds – by Mother Isis, the Moon.

Closing my eyes, I see the horizontal simple bands of earth, slumber and sky:  the ancient plant, animal and conscious life in mineral shell.


Tattvas & ancient world 1969

Nothing alters the wisdom, the moon which fingers of any one hand point to – wherever they may point to, next.

The Moon in deepest sense, governs our tides, our cycles of breath and embodiment. Her pattern with the Sun is Isis with Osiris.

Goddess or fairy queen, 1957

Here is something interesting:  in The Sacred India Tarot, card 17 The Moon is Chandra, scallywag of Indian mythology.  He is two faced.  He is brilliant, and he is deceitful.  In Kabbalah, the `moon is yoked to Yesod, the Tree of Life’s Foundation:  the personal ego and seat of all projections, where we work on ourselves.

In alchemy, the Moon is yoni to the Solar linga:  the integrating power of our breath, the prana of the marine tides.

Krishnamurti said somewhere, “there is no conflict in the going out and coming in of the tide.  It is one movement. The essence of conflict is peace.”


marbling wave

In the high transparent seas of Dion Fortune’s vision, she makes Brean Down (in the Severn estuary) point out into the Atlantic, so as to receive the cleansing storms.  To call on Mother Isis;  in her galactic gown, she rises over the horizon as in Apuleius’ vision in The Golden Ass.  We will rock you, rock you!

Sink into the deep blue ocean note:  la mer, el mare.

The All which is recollected, is silence:  thus the Sage.

Tree of Life/Alchemy/Queen scale colours

The High Priestess in the Tree’s pith or core is the blue stem rising from the centre Sun and through the dark of Daat the Unknown Cognition – that dark sphere in the Tree’s upper face. Within all the Sefiroth, Daat is their transformational point:  no thing.

The Priestess and two versions of The Fool:  JA  hermetic tarot 1991

The fullness has no addition. It is the F 0+0 L-ness.


Zero: Priestess of black Isis:  ja 2003




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

This blog is  a vehicle to promote my published work – The Sacred India Tarot (with Rohit Arya, Yogi Impressions Books) and The Dreamer in the Dream – a collection of short stories (0 Books) – along with many other creations in house.  

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