The Queen, the King and Commonwealth, Part Two – an Epiphany

White Campion 

This post is linked with my previous post with its theme of sacred vessels: “The Queen and King, Part One – a Kabbalist’s Impression”. This second part is more esoteric – in places it ranges freely and poetically. The writing follows various voices in a whimsical synchrony like music. It carries my sacred vessels and my deep source of inspiration.

In Part One’s story I was rolled like a marble to stand near Westminster Hall where people queued to pay their respects to the Queen.  I was just across the road; I spontaneously sang Meher Baba songs to her.  Meher Baba (February 1894-January 1969) is my beloved Teacher of the Light.  Into his Embrace is gathered my devotion to King Charles III and his family and my desire to help support and protect them.

Today I am working on this sketch of the young Meher Baba in a rickshaw

… and here is the King and his son William.

Family portraiture like this picks up an affectionate awareness of his son’s presence through boyhood into maturity;  the evolution of their shared responsibilities; the love in the relationship, the familiar scent and sounds to each other, the ups and downs.   In William’s features is a captivating flavour of his mother and the Spencer lineage.  Last night (most unusually) I dreamed I met and embraced the King … hence this new portrait-study. I feel his mother the Queen (whom he greatly misses) keeps an eye on him.   I see her face in his.  I see both his parents.

Part One (see link at the beginning of this post), featured five youtube videos detailing the King’s extraordinary work in the Middle East when he was Prince of Wales, on a restoration project which unified the “Star, the Cross and Crescent” (Judaism, Christianity, Islam). With Keith Critchlow, the architect Minwer A-Heid and the King of Jordan, Charles helped to resurrect a forgotten sacred craft and its livelihood.

..

In Part Two I want to reflect on what Lord Heseltine said about the Commonwealth – the jewel in the Queen’s crown – and to let the alchemist play …

Queen Elizabeth II’s passing and her funeral brought together a vast global array of companions of the Light.  Our Guardians and preceptors, one and all, were present within every dimension and strata of humanity.  They were tangible in the uplifting and relaxed atmosphere around Westminster and they flanked the cortege; they brought persons from every walk of life together in friendship; a common wealth.

Let us not forget our private moments of meaning in the gathering!
Here I shall write about mine – within the diversity.
A few years ago, I was taken to … I discovered Meher Baba.  Like a panther his Love awaited my life’s ripe moment – then he sprang.

Here he is playing marbles – he was an expert

Among his Mandali (close ones)  his attendant Eruch said, “People ask what did you gain all those years with Baba?  They should have asked us, what did we LOSE?”

Eruch Jessawala and Meher Baba – These drawings of Meher Baba are Copyright Sufism Reoriented

..

..

Jotted down during Queen Elizabeth II’s funeral:

“The Abbey waits to receive this gentle Christian soul.  It doth their crowns bestow and doth their ashes keep.”

“Of course it will be forever different.  It may be as good, it may be in some ways better, but it will be different.”

And all the way from ‘Frisco – “I watched the WHOLE THING – it’s magical –  pure Harry Potter!”

Myrtle among the flowers on the coffin gathered by King Charles from all his mother’s gardens.

Lord Heseltine remarked on the crimes of our Imperial heritage which make us sombre, and its evolution into a Commonwealth of nations which makes us glad;  they are free to remain under the Crown or to find their own way.  Regarding history as a whole, over time the abuses may transmute to a potential for forgiveness, honesty and understanding.

“Where else in the whole wide world could this event take place?” 

There are mutterings – “Who pays for it? Who asked for it?  Who maintains the pageantry? We are starving!  We cannot pay the bills!”

“The Commonwealth, in the King’s heritage and in his long years of international activity, could be a greater force for good in the world than it has been so far.”

“The Queen’s example sets a precedent for spiritual integrity.”

My mind’s inertia is yet LOVED unconditionally. There is a wider garden to grow into.

The Queen crosses over to the higher plane where she is active behind the veil.  Her job continues in her son the King and in all who love her values. 

Her droplet in the waters is not just Britain but the WORLD.  The ripple moves in and out concentrically. 

..

On the same bit of paper some scribbles from an epiphany of voices I heard on youtube –

Do what you like with God the Absolute but beware what you do with saints!  Realise the fragrance of Who we are and share the fragrance of that attainment with others.

He’ll make the clay into a nice ball and put it in the oven.  When you come out you are durable.  He’ll give you a push and then withdraw – then he will see how you respond with his impetus and he will go with the way you express yourself.   If you give your way to the Beloved, he can make it His way for you.

The aspirant’s real task is to pierce through his own layers of self-imposed sufficiency and insensitivity so that s/he may expose a layer of vital awareness to the world about them which would touch them if it could.

Join singers from Ukraine, Russia, the USA, Spain and other nations in this prayer for peace!

..

AN INVOCATION

The other day, I read Rick Chapman’s book “You and I” (White Horse publishing), and it brought me a revelation:

You unconsciously
feel my Avatarhood
within you;
I consciously
feel in you what each
of you feels.

“And yes,” (Rick emailed) “we are and must resign ourselves to being ‘very much in the veil’  in our lives with Meher Baba.
“The one thing that was consistent throughout the lives of His most intimate lovers and disciples was that, however varied their experiences in the world and their experiences spiritually, Baba did not lift the veil on them in their lives with Him, not perceptibly.
“Each and every one was ‘chop wood, carry water’ in his or her grounding in gross Consciousness, regardless of how close one might be to Enlightenment or Liberation.
“That is the way the Avatar works, and it is unique among spiritual masters.
“Although He may vouchsafe some experience or other to this one or that, He keeps everyone ‘under the veil’ so as to keep the ego in check.
“If you want sightseeing, you go elsewhere; if you want the experience of your True Self as God, you go to the Avatar.”

..

Chop wood, draw water.

Just as I am – heavy sanskaric mind and all – at least I am no tourist.   This is the Earth the Being enjoys and holds me to.   I wondered to this day why with my inner tuition and the gift of access, I cannot meditate/drop out or have blissful cosmic experiences.  I did KNOW – FELT – that what I have and love and am, is complete and real – the rose with its thorns and leaves;  an unfurnished room washed by the Light of the sea.  

What I am and you are is utterly satisfying, including my egoic look-at-me fixtures and fittings and the mirror, including my vanity and my fear of being rejected or disapproved of.  I am here in earth living this whole fascinating egoic landscape.  It is not my Beloved’s pleasure to move the blinds a little for me to drop out into samadhi.   It is my Beloved’s pleasure to play with me around the rocks and through all weathers.

He says with twinkling eye, “Ripe fruit in My hand, this is a generative process – I hold its harvest.”

I am a little gem, a gooseberry, a marble, a prasad he lightly tosses with perfect aim.   Like His Mandali, his close ones and Lovers, I am happy to serve without the veil being lifted; I am His garment.  Love is the Transfiguration I behold on the Mountain with Yeshua.

Like a periodic landslip shifting a little further each time, I trust him more.   Before this day there were rights and wrongs I clutched to myself and suffered with.

..

“Am I a Saint? Why you must be the Avatar! Nothing encloses you.” Copyright Sufism Reoriented

The Wind came up and lifts away Aphrodite’s hair.

..

..

REGARDING THE COMMONWEALTH – A DISTILLATION

Visita Interiore Terrae Rectificando Invenies Occultum Lapidem  … Enter the inner Earth, put right/equilibrate what you find here, and bring forth the hidden precious Stone

(From the ‘Emerald Table’, Wisdom of Hermes Trismegistos)

This is echoed in Meher Baba’s words: “To penetrate into the essence of all being and significance, and to release the fragrance of that inner attainment for the guidance and benefit of others, by expressing in the world of forms, Truth, Love and Beauty – this is the sole game which has any intrinsic and absolute worth.  All other happenings, incidents and attainments can, in themselves, have no lasting importance.”

..

More than ever, when wading in sludge, carry the lamp and sweep out the closets of the heart.  Let it SHINE.   LIFT THE LEVEL; be of good cheer.

Some ideas emerge in me organically – relating to Britain’s empire heritage.  With its expansion, we  polluted the conquered lands, destroyed their culture and ancestral lineages and sold the people into slavery.  We extracted from them the wealth and left them hungry.

Over the last century with the precision of Karmic laws and two World wars  Britain’s global territory shrank.

Eruch Jessawala said (earlier in this post), “People ask what (enlightenment)  did we gain, all those years with Baba.  They should have asked us, what did we LOSE?”

What do we need to lose in order to restore equilibrium?

What is or was or will be the “Work on what was spoiled“?
This phrase arose unsought, it is the title of hexagram 18 in the I Ching.

“What has been spoiled through man’s fault can be made good again through man’s work.”  Here is “Dream Arc 18 ” from my work with the Gene Keys animal-kingdom archetypes. The Shadow is the flea, the Gift is the tiger, the Siddhi or Way of Freedom is the hoopoe. That phrase “work on what has been spoiled”  happened to drop into place at this time of writing – the period for the 18th hexagram is 27 September-2 October.  The Zodiac sign is Libra and I happen to be exploring the theme of balance – a classic nudge from the real Artist who works through me

The above link to Dream Arc 18 “happened to” contain an appreciation of my Kabbalah teacher Warren Kenton (Zev ben Shimon Halevi) written on the anniversary of his passing – open it and scroll down.   For more information about his work visit http://www.kabbalahsociety.org

..

Work on what has been spoiled – Isn’t this King Charles’s life long dedication – to return  minerals, trace elements and nutrients to the soil?  Not many are aware that he is an expert hedge layer, farmer and gardener.  His country home at Highgrove nurtures strong organic seed – as befitted a Prince of the realm – whose generations will move beyond his property and invigorate the land.

During his mother’s long reign some of the exploited nations became a “common wealth” – a reclamation in process, dear to her heart.  Ultimately its aim is to restore their individual heritages, conserving a productive web of international friendships.   This was her inner and outer work. It is now the Sovereign’s promise that these nations may retain or discard their constitutional connection without losing the cordial relationship.

The real function of the modern monarchy as I see it, is a “tapestry through time”.  That doesn’t much interest the headline-makers who thrive on gossip and divisions.  In its quiet persistence, its problems and many interwoven interests I see a path of real cooperation and hope.

It is not “plain sailing” because it is in the urgent interest of many countries in the world today to redefine their boundaries.  That movement may account for a number of painful “brexit’s”.  Coming from someplace deeper than the daily politics which act and react as its instrument, the process is more like a global weather pattern – literally a climate change.  There are floods, there are cracks and shrinkage, there is new growth.

For consideration:
“Common wealth” is an interesting expression, suggesting a restoration.  Assets which separated the haves from have-nots are just beginning to be regarded as values in common. Internet technology stirs us into a homogenous uniformity without boundaries.  This may prompt an instinctive struggle for individual forms of expression.   The paradoxical tension is suffered acutely – played out through noble humanitarian efforts, madness, abuse, creative visions, and repressive regimes.  For many of us it racks our bodies physically – if we cannot contain the paradox we are tugged in all directions.

What is the inner meaning of a commonwealth?  Perhaps the wellbeing of the people – to bring them back to their roots and honour the earth where we live. When Empire suppressed indigenous peoples and did not work for the common good, it removed them from their land and root which was their mother. The world is disturbed – travelling away from and seeking home.

What do we distil in life, and how is it different in principle from what we “extract”?

..

THE PROBLEM WITH EXTRACTING

Distillation is a kind of flowering: wait and see.
To extract something suggests that we do not put it back   Contemporary culture is based largely upon extraction, on separating from the whole and mixing the pieces in a way which adulterates and actually weakens the essence.  In the health industry the ingredients separated from plant or chemical compound are artificially reinforced as medicine – a visual market of boxes and pills.   That leaves a lot of waste and want.

In the Elder Medicine the whole plant was known and used; yes, extracts from it were taken and boiled or “reduced”.  What was taken out was respected and given back – as with crop rotation.  Ancestral recognition of the plant’s whole energy field was and is the key.

native american tobacco plant

There is an analogy with the use of medicine plants for recreational or addictive drug use.  When one part of a plant is amplified against the whole it is corrupted and becomes toxic. To me this suggests an imbalance in nature, an unbalanced culture. If we select pieces of indigenous culture out of their matrix to get “high” on or (for the over-sensitive) to numb and blot out the world’s ferocity, isn’t that the voyeur’s way?  Recreational drugs extracted from wisdom plants, are an encumbrance, an imbalance, and delay the return to the Heart of All.

Alternatively the wisdom plant has an emanation with which to sit quiet and hear the universe. We might be near it or see it a thousand miles distant, for it is in the etheric field.  There is no requirement to imbibe, smoke or ingest it; no need for “experiences”, no search for sensation.  To be lovingly present in Nature’s seamless silent dialogue was and is the way of indigenous elders and of the gardener; it is not that of the “spiritual” pedlars or merchants.

Tobacco was a sacramental indigenous plant and non-addictive – the removal of its heart or essence, adding noxious chemicals for stimulus, is abuse … which creates addiction.

Addiction happens where a “hole” in the wholeness is made – the way back home is constantly removed! –  entangling the emotional, psychological and spiritual realms.  This may apply to any substance which is “twisted” or exploited for consumer use. What to do?  We face and must find some way to manage this enormous problem in the nutritional field.

It starts here at home with attitudes.

“If we are abused, then you can’t receive our gift to you. 
If we are abused, you won’t benefit from us. 
And if we are abused, it won’t do you any good. 
Speak to us with your heart, and all will be well.” 

I was touched by this message from David Rainbow, in an online discussion about the destructive use of marijuana – the plant spoke to him.  It said it shouldn’t be smoked, cut with stimulants, or forced into being a drug (which is abuse).  The Medicine is a wisdom for us to quiet our mind and listen to. We are: I am the body of the plant.   It came to me that I might simply visualise and honour the plant in its purity – the true conversation with it.

The message is “stop misusing and misconstruing us”.
And stop misusing and abusing ourselves!

To extract is to exploit.  To extract is to remove, condense or exaggerate a desirable feature for marketing or sensation – like a news item divorced from its context;  like gossip; like opiate extracted from a plant;  like fossil fuels from earth so they pollute;  like annexing a country. Religious bigotry is extracted from revelation.

To extract is to limit, to claim for oneself and even to rob.

It is equally so in the selective view of life, my judgements, desires, fears, and conditionings.  My acquisitive attitudes and choices can contribute to an unhealthy economy.

What a lot the little plant has to tell us!

..

FARMER CHARLES

I offer here my appreciation of a human being, a Kingly pioneer in the search for our indigenous Celtic heritage and wisdom.  Here he is at work hedge-laying –

“Sir, In the face of mockery, abuse and heavy resistance you developed an ’empire’ of organic farming and education … and in due course the people ate out of your hand. The Duchy estates with their high quality free-range produce became today an immensely successful business enterprise.   The profits helped to underwrite your other initiatives in the “common wealth”. The Duchy is now in the hands of your son William.  

“Let us gather together, let us join together, let us form a vessel to catch the dew of Heaven.”

..

AS ABOVE SO BELOW

Distillation (associated with Virgo) is the sixth of 12 Zodiac signatures of alchemy.

To distil is to raise the level of our concern; to reach and allow inspirational resources of love within us which by their nature are more than a match for the world’s ferocity.

It is within each individual’s capacity to “be still and distil;  be of the whole.”  And then to act.

For myself to distil is to hang out all day with an insight or an unfolding creational process – like this one with the Queen and King and Commonwealth –  until the Wine delivers its bouquet.

The old alchemists used to say, “Carry the elixir but don’t let it fall on the ground, don’t confine it to the verbal world of linear ideas and chitchat, else it will raise up cities and delusions against you.”

Lower mind tends to subtract from the whole; forming opinions, re-engraving old fossils, and being possessive – the cult of competition.

To distil is to receive the dew, be still – the essence to shine without seizing it.  Like a rare malt whisky it emanates … and then in our nature, one thing opens into another the gift of abundance: the seed of a common wealth.  Such is the distillation and its potential.  It brings insight of what needs to be done practically.  It is contagious. The light of interior jewels rises in a pearly perfume through earth’s crust.

I am bowled over with the open depth of what I am shown

… and for us to be Lovers, not try to be saints.
Open your heart.

Beloved One
who are in and of my being,
hallowed be your Name.

Thou art that on earth
as it is in heaven.

Give me this day my daily bread
and forgive my errors as I forgive
those of others

And lead me not to trespass
but deliver me from bondage

For Yours is Malkuth the Earth,
Beauty, Root, Truth, Purity
in the Tree of Life
amen.

Click this Link to “THE QUEEN AND KING PART ONE”

Here is a much earlier post https://janeadamsart.wordpress.com/2013/07/17/tales-from-the-watershed-enoch-and-the-well/ – the vision of Sovereignty in a dream I had in 1975.  It companions this post!

**

**

**

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

All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012-2022. May not be used for commercial purposes. May be used and shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address https://janeadamsart.wordpress.com/

Under the Grass and Topsoil

 

“The Prime Emanation … is the Revolution inside our being. It’s a process that’s going on in many of us now, making us more and more uncomfortable, and that’s a good thing. It’s a mystical cleansing of the emotional system and it’s why many people who begin working with the Gene Keys quickly lose a lot of weight and others fill out to just the right amount. We’re coming into balance, because we’re throwing out old genetic patterns. It’s about pruning back our desire nature because the solar plexus centre needs a new kind of environment. It needs a cleaner, more open environment, less cluttered with old frequencies. 

“One day we’ll return to the source. It won’t happen because of anything we do but because our particular story has found its way home. All we can do is follow the Emanation of our Love. We think we’re travelling into the future, but we’re really travelling back to the beginning…”

– Richard Rudd Excerpt from the 64 Ways

..

“Mend what was broken. Rekindle the Children’s Fire … We call this work ‘village building’ or ‘culture repair’.”  I had an email from Mac Macartney responding to my request several weeks ago, how can I find my pre-Roman “Angols”?  In his book The Children’s Fire he made it sound rather straightforward but now he says it is a matter of dowsing and resonance as there are no records.  The Roman conquest destroyed our indigenous Druid infrastructure.  How these tales echo through history!

In Mac’s book and journey, a map he drew of Wales shows evocative names of Celtic tribes and elders: Gangani, Silures, Demetae, Cornovii, Ordovices, Deceangle … which spread across the land.  I shall look at these names reflectively from time to time.

I feel profoundly rooted English, uninclined to move from HERE.  I hold the ground like an oak or elm; an Angle Sea – the Mona.  I loved what Tolkien wrote about the elm groves in his Lost Tales.  Tolkien was one of the Elder Ones, reproducing the mythos.  I have this inbuilt interconnectivity; the neural and nitrous fibres throughout the ground which I return to.  The body of Light Emanates. It is not a mere sponge.

..

So in this moment in the earth I have a staff which illumines and is positive.  Let it lead this direction when and where it wants.  Let it shine.  It is a seer.  It sees through all conditions and fractures to the embracing Wholeness of the emanation.  I’m reminded of my painting of the light – the heart – within the earth, and a hammer, a geologist’s hammer which gently taps the geode.

I grew up in Kent, Scottish Highlands, Yorkshire Moors, south Cornwall, Surrey north downs and Quantock Somerset – all before I reached my teens; for we moved house a half-dozen times.  That is a landscape map provided!  I have walked it so much and flowered, that there is not much need to “know” the names.  The essence and loyalty and continuity are here.   It is like looking at the Geological Wall Map of Great Britain in my father’s room – the extrusions and worms of colour told us where and on what rocks we live – north Yorkshire was pale yellow.  And I became a painter for a time.

The gift awoke by the sea in Cornwall Caerhays age six, and that marks probably my descent from the Western peoples, touching ground.  It encompasses my long-ago walks in mid-Wales (tent by the Severn river), Snowdonia and the Pembrokeshire coast … and recently, along the Hertfordshire Way and Chilterns north of London.  The Hermit’s staff is a dowsing rod and also a blind person’s white stick! – for in this lifetime in those places I did not know consciously what I touch.  But they made me an artist.

I live all my adult life in the city which the Romans developed and called “Londinium”. Here I hear through the urban density, the heart of the country and its winter birdsongs and noble river.  Here staying at home for the last 50 years I find space for the soul to wander and flourish; and my present tribe.

My room is an untidy sanctuary of peace with a few trees outside, a busy railway to the north and a street to the south.  This morning as usual when writing, I feel the root of light sink deep, the silken stillness.  At Manor Farm in Somerset we had a giant elm down by the pond whose roots, I was told, spread right across the field under the grass and topsoil.  And so I know the tree’s root-system mirrors its bole; and I feel the Spirit moving into flesh through the stellar fibres of my body’s capillaries;  I am nothing other than this network of the fields and streams and woods;  I am this un-tapped and immense human conscious potential which – after millenia – we awaken into, again … and again.  My Druid knowledge lives today in the core wisdom of many esoteric languages which thrive.  It has a singular pulse in the veins:  I love.  I love.

The old alchemists said simply – don’t drop the wisdom (dew) on the ground.  Most persons cannot understand it, they break it up into cities and beliefs.  Carry it in the vessel which perennially and quietly mends itself with the Sun.  The wisdom is osmosis and photosynthesis: the Sun, the rain and the Earth.  No matter how apparently concealed, the same magnetic shines in each one of us.  It is in process of opening its dimension through our temporal fantasy of destruction.  As the living creature awakes and yawns it cracks the scales.

How tiny is my surface understanding within the solar system and each of its planetary gems.

The silence when the wisdom river is coming and when the oak is flowing is deep.  The magic we know is so immense that the essence transcends and permeates the particles which are knowledge.

There is no need to “know”.  There is every way to “be” and to recognise the flavour.  Taste it.  The animals, the trees, insects, birds and flowers taste it, un-obstructedly whenever they pause.  Wisdom dissolves manufactured outlines and provinces, and for humans this is hard.  Take a step back from the unfolding history and see the process.  The wisdom is invincible and the DNA awakens into this mutation now: frail dragonfly nymph on watery stem – its thorax burst open with the sun’s warmth into wings.

Illustration from Richard Rudd’s book of poems and prayers – ‘The Spring of Dreams’

To remember this is to collect together with Mother Isis the scattered limbs of Osiris and breathe on them with love.  This is perennial in our condition.

Early infancy: Glensaugh, Scotland

Under this tree I planted a small crystal in 2002. The line across is not the horizon, it is where I joined two photos together.

My grandmother in the grass – Easter Ross, Scotland

Quantock dancers

Seven sisters, High Point, Quantock hills

 

So the Quantock hills at present are my “walking country” where my mother still lives.  There is a long Somerset settlement in my life.  My home was there from age 9 until 20. Later, my father moved to North Devon and discovered in the next parish his Yule ancestors, with whom he had himself buried.  In Somerset and North Devon were extensive explorations, our home and our adventurous family holidays at Hartland.

These places where the heart is placed and soaks up the land are pointers towards my ancient tribal locations and relationships.  The seed is blown from tree by the wind or carried by bees to fertile ground by the laws and movement of Nature.  My father was an organic farm-manager, bee keeper and musician.  When I grew up my first regular job as a portrait artist took me all over England and as far as Gordonstoun in Scotland.  In each place I worked, there was first the need to go for an orienting walk and understand the landscape, roads and contour.  My early work is scattered around the country’s living-rooms like seed – many hundreds of portraits of children.  This was Providential.

This brings me to the inner meaning of our children’s fire.  Although it is threatened, there are in many pockets of the land, oases where the healthy seed is cultivated. In due course the whole seed will overcome the adulterated and even take into itself what is good in the latter.  Why else is there this incredible enriching mix and mulch and ferment in the human gene pool – through the overwhelming agony of frontiers, fear, bordering and displacement – why else the cross-fertilisation and upheaval of racial roots?  An innovative and gentle power of the seer is being born through these generations.  The environmental threat catalyses a revolutionary Symbiotic caring.  The animal and plant kingdoms in Gaia no longer agree to be our mere playground or unconscious prey.  The new Consciousness – already sprouting through the ground – is to unify and to nurture.

My mother’s garden in the early spring

The children’s fire?  It is this transformative glow of the quickening, the seed.  On the Underground in London I watched yesterday a father with his sons – he had an interesting lined child’s face, an elder Saxon with soft tired eyes, an artist perhaps with the sky; and one of his boys sat with him and stroked the back of Dad’s neck and untidy hair.  Love and care.

In the seed is the fire which is Life.  In the Upanishadic wood is the latent fire; in the grass the cow and in the milk the cream.  In the hen, the egg is our solar system.

Parvati waters trees. This image is copyright The Sacred India Tarot deck published by Yogi Impressions in 2011

The healing way is for those of us who have access and liberty, to attend to the quantum particle on behalf of the majority.  The consciousness is what there is.  Each root in the ground illumines and connects with all the others.  The quantum, homeopathic in dilution, is beyond prediction’s enclosures.

The needle’s point of Sufi thread pierces vertically the dense horizontal matrix: the tapestry.  What do I sew?

Light the fire for our children.  Be warm of heart.  Make this picture daily with the thread through the tapestry.  The only disease – the root of all diseases – is any form of our excess.  Balance is inevitable.

..

..

..

..

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

All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012-2020. May not be used for commercial purposes. May be used and shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address https://janeadamsart.wordpress.com/

Philosopher Stone

20 September 2019

I woke to a Promethean poem this morning.  Unfortunately it faded.  I am left with the sense of a large almost-round grey pebble.  The message within its fall to gravity was the fire.  It is the fire. It was bonded with the flow of water. But water is flowing Stone. The water which flows as Stone contains the fire which falls to Earth;  each day a fall of meteorites most of them incandescing to powder in the atmosphere – Air; these primordial processes prevail regardless of small human guilt.

The Stone is in my hand and its weight flies into the infinite core fractal of interior space, and inside each of Jim Ede’s pebbles is God.  This is noticed through the anguished human claptrap.

Two realities reside here: one, that we humans spoil the earth, and the other: how can we so arrogantly presume to?  It is in Gaia’s destiny to clear some of her surface areas for a time and alter the climate composition. As our Solar system moves deeper into the Photon belt, each organism is aware and agitated through changes in the DNA.

This is an unusual and Holistic idea. The substance or impression of Holistic ideas transcends – is greater than their composition.   Their composition – how they print out – is subject to the interpretation: the words.

The substance, the dimensional weight falling through my body however – this is true, and it is what I call transmission, reception of the Promethean fire.

 

Let it do its work.  Through countless receiving channels it is spelled out into this or that interpretation.  Generally speaking there is agreement, that when we fully embrace and accept responsibility with our suffering, there is joy.  There is unexpected, boundless joy, whatever appears to go on, or apparently engulfs it. Where one spark is covered for a time, another shines out.  Watch a glowing fire in the hearth; it whispers along the wood like a slow snake.

Human beings need to suffer from their rattling thought and its environmental disorders, disasters and creation of deserts, in order to begin to step free from this convention mind – to work with and as Nature, Gaia, not against.

“To begin to” is the operative word here.  Fixed holding-positions get left behind.  Awaken into prayer and progress with the day, again and again and again and again;  recreate the Power of Creation. An infinitesimal neutrino penetrates the leaden shield into the star; from star to star … again comes around the Promethean gift of Fire, the spark within each of us planted; the phoenix bird of song and light and joy in the recovery and resurrection:  “I am the Resurrection and the Light.”  “I am the love of the Light.”  “I am the core of Love itself.”  “Let there be Light.”

Coursing the sap in stem, nectar aflame,
each power to one beloved nadi clings.
The force through spine’s sushumna sings
‘All presence’, ‘Heart’s ocean’, ‘Swan of peace’, ‘Supreme’.*

As Her light pervades my body, I am detached;
my form as Self, Self and the world are matched

[ * – In one of my Ramana Gita sonnets, these are names roughly corresponding to atma nadi (Self), para nadi (that which is beyond manifestation) and amrita nadi (nectar of immortality) in the text.  The nadis are the meridian map within the Yogic body.]

phoenix bird of fire

..

The alchemist blows a little on the banked fire, and it glows.   The breath. The body.

In a stone-age cave, the warming flame flows along the log like lava, like water with Light which is air and the Earth’s solar core.  Everything, each and every phenomenon has this potential (See the link to “beyondhumanstories” further down this post) …  within the plastics and perverted materials, nothing is other than the core.  Sooner or later it returns to the core, as technologies arise to biodegrade our unconscious waste, for we become conscious, first individually here and there, and then collectively as a tide through tipping-point.  Alchemists are able to quicken the interior process, and to see above the tide.  Wherever an alchemist is at work, the environment blossoms.  Alchemists are gardeners.  We potter and we ponder and we fish.

..

The slow fire along the log burns out old Karma and all its fascination and even beauty.  It cleanses the slate, to the horror and grief of all who saw and were aware of, for instance, the burning of the Amazon forest. A cruel human may have caused it or encouraged it to spread; but it was to be.  It shocks and burns the soul.  It starves further the respiration’s resources.  The respiration is the whole planetary balance and swirl of currencies and weathers.  Why is this happening?

I think the new human will have, and has already a bond with nature, with creature, fish, plant, tree and rock which we used to plunder and exploit and harm.  The new human is so deeply, painfully connected with what she harmed that she plays into the restorative power of transmutation and the burgeoning of Life.  Humankind is no longer separate from the forest and creatures of the field, no longer separate from the seas, no longer a player of golf.

The new human re-learns the ancient unifying magic;  the art begins where nature ceases to act.  Already this is developing as a fact.   Those who despaired and yet were willing to hope, drop away from the old system. They begin to work with the Sun, creating local solar technologies.  They nurture the family and patterns of relationships.  Relationships are geometries and sacred forms and problems of harmony.  With the ripple effect, they enter and inspire one another.

A drawing from Douglas Harding’s ‘Hierarchy of Heaven and Earth’

I wanted to say … concentric waves or ripples.  Where the Stone falls and breaks surface, there is a centrifugal ripple: concentric rings.   These move subtly through immediate society and communities, creating further impacts and their rings.  Watch a fall of rain on the pond.  I don’t publish 99% of my work because it could be misunderstood.  I am not totally sure of it myself, or of peoples’ capacity to misinterpret and to twist.  The Stone goes on and on falling into my fractal core and there is no time to stop and buff it up into shape to pass through the gate; for always it comes.  I trust that where I work, the Companions of the Light take care of it. Their power to reach the ground and to start a wave passes through where I sit and write it down, and travels to other antennae.  I write the same thing over and over and over for the telegraph wire.  I’m a starling sitting on it.  There is never enough of it.  I write and sing so others unseen are inspired.  There are notes that travel above and below the standard spectrum; the invisible octaves of the ground of being.

Starling & murmuration – Image from allaboutbirds

While I was cleaning the house upstairs yesterday, Genevieve’s conversation with Paula Aamli (https://beyondhumanstories.com/podcast-hope-beyond-hope/?fbclid=IwAR3SX5Z8FWTfCgpMmcSayAIQghOQgphJJaq4Mx8c394Ey4X80_e4Yht4Pz8 uplifted and helped me to turn to face my pain; for Paula discovered – through facing hers – that though the present human engine is destroying its future, there is an unexpected response of joy, gratitude, discovery and noticing the infinite resource of life even in a walled in city garden, and certainly within the soul’s courage.  There is more to this than we know.

It is the infinitesimal fractal potency of the small!  The 9^thGene key is called the Power of the Infinitesimal.  Beauty is the story, the dimension which cuts through every science.

Brancusi’s Prometheus on Bechstein, Kettle’s Yard

I was told long ago, in 1969: Your beautiful thoughts are not enough.  The stuff of beauty is sterner.  The way is to evoke and inspire that beauty in someone else.   Ah, but I see today, the beautiful thoughts are, and create the Way.  The beauty didn’t come into my hand like soap.  It had to be worked for, leaned into and with, discovered, suffered, recreated.

The new chapter is respirational, back and forth, in and out.  When the old breath is done it dulls and expires: the new breath coming in underneath it be-stirs things.  So rises and falls the Tao in our world.

..

When I woke this morning with the Promethean poem I lay for a while listening to the hammering builders who’ve taken off a roof, up the road.  I could just hear the dark yammer of their radio.  Listening to radio news and watching media is a yammering, de-sensitising skin which most of us wear. It reinforces the screen of isn’t it all dreadful and bad, and it deadens the feeling.  Journalists are able to witness and report horrors with this leaden blanket.  I don’t have that protective numbness.  The Guardians force me in this way to stay sensitive.  I don’t read the papers or watch the media. My ear is to the ground; I pick up what I need to know.  The human commentary on atrocity and damage and guilt, is more than I can bear.   Many of us walk with only one side of our bodies and half of our brains and heavy clouds in our heart and loins.  I used to have dreams about only being able to walk with one foot, the other was tightly curled up asleep underneath.

The Tarot key that intuitively blossoms today is the 8^th– Soul strength, the woman guiding the lion to sing and to speak.  “Make your pattern accurate, profound, honest, courageous.”

It is another such beautiful September day, this morning, sharp and fresh.  Water, stone, meteorite – recollect that vast numbers of comets and meteorites and cosmic bodies are  petrified water.  Water of Life.

The Stone warms up to flow as water with the fire inside.

..

..

..

Click on image to view

Ben’s roof

Ben building house

Cosmographic volume, after Kepler

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

All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012-2019. May not be used for commercial purposes. May be used and shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address https://janeadamsart.wordpress.com/

 

 

Tales from the Watershed – Enoch and the Well

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

..

The Wisdom of the Fool by a Well (1988)

..

 Dreams No.140,  14 July 1975

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

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

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

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

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

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

..

..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

..

..

Queen with child, 1956

..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ..

..

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

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

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

..

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

..

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

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

..

goddess with swan – 1956, copy from Leonardo

 ..

Our dialogue has now become intimate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

..

sleep – 1987

..

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

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

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

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

 ..

A fairy godmother, 1957

..

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

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

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

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

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

..

..

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

 ..

Traditional well – Kerala – from The Sun Hermit

..

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

..

Dancing goddess, on the Heath Extension

..

..

**

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

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

aquariel link

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