Bumping into the Light

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Buddha wheel at Kettles Yard

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

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

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

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Life

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

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

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

15 June – ON SOUND AND COLOUR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tetrahedral cube 93 copy

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

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

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

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

Adam & Eve detail

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

images

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Now, some poetry:

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

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

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

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

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

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

From “I Dreamed on Good Friday Morning”

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

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

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

Poems of Eclipse,  1999

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

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

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

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

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

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

to a grey and starving maiden
locked inside.

From Poems of Eclipse, 8 June 1999

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Tree with hebrew

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16 June 2013

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

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

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Secret Dakini Oracle spread, 15 June 2013

Secret Dakini Oracle spread, 15 June 2013

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

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

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

Even a bike crashes on the road to Damascus!

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

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

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

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

aquariel link

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

The Wandering Fool and Ramesh

With drawings from my sketchbooks in 1988, some “Poems of Eclipse” 1999, (inspired by Ramesh Balsekar’s philosophy) and a new sketch of Ramesh.

Read also my landmark post On Gaia as our Self in my other blog, Aquariel !

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Arcanum 0 The Fool

Arcanum 0 The Fool

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A Picture …

Standing over
a rock under standing – river bed
unaltered wherever I go,
the art of life discovers
a masterpiece – the obvious!

Along the rain washed road, a wanderer
wears battered hat, carrying
bundly bag and flower.  Why
did God’s will place him there?

He turned.  He thought he knew
but could not see the thunder cloud
above him, deftly brushed.

Trapped in the wrong dimension,
unwittingly he got wet!

Backed on canvas, his quest
is strung on fibre, warp and weft.
His human history, he cannot see.
On flat earth theory, he’s crucified;
the Master’s Eye looks back!

Who created him:  Botticelli, Van Eyck,
Michelangelo?  He was
and is composed no where apart
from Life around him, which is Art.

2 The Wandering Fool with Flower & Egg

Let the vagrant lift his Cross
of time through space,
the canvas warp and weft,
to follow Eye.

Let him through a hemisphere
turn his gaze
from flat earth
to Creation’s inward sky.

Let him see as the Master sees
himself.

0 Fool Arcana version 2

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The spirit in the Garden of Eden
took root in animal skins.
World’s habitat being strong,
my vigilance is overcast.

The disappointing fragment magnified
is an ever present threat
to thunder and enclose my soul –
yet the coast is clear.

The breath that stops the world
can nothing else contain,
for it is everything.

The holy Grail
draws to itself the Grail against
all other gravities.

3 Two young Fools conversing

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In Ramesh’s aphorism, my life
is a painted land,
a mile or five miles wide.
A house or two I see from where I stand.
What next unfolds?  I walk in time and space.

That thread links a hill which hasn’t happened yet
with a vivid face which has.
The future hill with remembered face
in the Master’s Eye, are space.

Stepping away,
wider vistas with the fragment coalesce
and realisation comes:  the masterpiece
was painted long ago.

6 Astronomer Fool with spinning top and cockerel

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Creator

My vivid face and brooding hill
have thirty roving years between.

My wanderer, awarded a cosmos of his own,
searches source
around the fade-out of his visual field.
He rests at night in a picture frame of mist.

How may he know God’s will unless
he’s in love with nothing else?
content to be rained upon, re-brushed
with madder rose, ochre, a touch of sapphire,
and even cleaned away?

Meet Mrs Madder Rose - 1987

Meet Mrs Madder Rose – 1987

In love with nowt but what Creator does –
he’s granted a strong belief he may find out!
Else who among his Angelic lovers of Art
could his capering convince?

Ramesh in his wisdom has remarked: “When understanding happens, a created object sees that nothing he or she believed they did, or felt, is separate from the Creator Subjectivity. It has no being apart;  nor ever had.  The entire texture of autonomy, guilt and pride, is illusory, fabricating divine ignorance.”

Ramesh Balsekar ja 14 feb 2013

Ramesh Balsekar ja 14 feb 2013

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Master

God’s Name
belongs to the canvas figure, alone.
Prayer is open-ness.

Shell

GOD is a sound:  here a spiral shell
on the beach, and elsewhere tightly closed.
The Mystery of Master’s work within a gem
erases and enhances Grace.

The co-creation has no concept
but to be.  The Master knows not
how his own beard grows.

Wandering Fool with paper boats

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Binah – the Understanding

The drum’s
cellular surface quivers
like an ear.

Osmosis passes from root in earth to flowering leaf, as sun from star.
Osmosis regulates cell densities through magnetic vacuum
beyond the brain.

The gnosis has no fight with life,
and always unseats itself.
Behind every alteration it
seems to bring about, gnosis
remains unaltering.

The philosophical aphorism accepts and discards
concepts freely, as tools
that grow on us, are sharp,
grow blunt, and are put away.

arcana 6 and 0_0001

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

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

Aquariel Link

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

The Seven Year Cycles on the Tree of Life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jacobs Ladder – Four Worlds in nature

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

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

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

The Tifareth eight-fold path

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

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

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

T.S.Eliot

apple pentacle

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

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

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

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

A Rosy Cross to Bear 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**

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A Madonna from my early childhood …

… after Botticelli, 1956

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A Note on Alchemy and Kundalini shakti

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

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

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

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

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

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

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An Afterthought

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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**

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

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

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

Meditation is Great Fullness

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Here is a link to a crazy shack near Mount Rushmore where the field of gravity went inexplicably crook!   (By the way, Pahari’s blog is a FEAST of beautiful pictures, travels and reflections.)

http://paharidotme.wordpress.com/2012/08/13/cosmos-mystery-area-rapid-city/

Meditation is here – the moment loaded with gravity;  the inrush still – Lord Siva dances with his toe on the bow …  while Shakti prepares to bathe.

What is meditation?  Thanksgiving.  It may shine in, burst through the cloudy bubble of my whats-going-on.

Meditation?  Stop and stand, like a road worker easing his back.  The warmth of sunshine.  I am not a formal meditator (cushion, lotus legs) because the moment it happens, creation wells up, knowing it is actually Silence, the dew.

The moving focus is empowered.  The urge to share, leaks out of the mountain side.

These paragraphs – written in 1991, revised last year – appear at once on my water-table:

On the Tree of Life – Yesod and Daat.

“Yesod at the Tree of Life’s Foundation, is a Sefira of establishment, the attachment of fertilized egg to uterine wall.  Daat within the Tree is the nuclear current which catalyzes and dissolves the meaning of “me”:  unknown cognition.   Daat is the shadow I cannot wear!

“Daat in the physical body is a mysterious encounter.   In the central nervous system, through capillaries which exchange molecules of mutual nourishment, mental consciousness takes root, picking up signals from the human collective which saturate the field.  From this point of support, an image – “I am” – appears on screen, as sentience stirs and stretches.  From the neural fabric of interwoven worlds, the everyday mood music arises.  It draws up for itself vitality, from the ground of bone, viscera and breath.  Memory’s depth of field ignites and is claimed.

“When photo sensitive paper is placed in a bath of developer after exposure, the negative or shadow of light appears through a white mist.  The dark lines or narrative of a world-picture form.  They are the impact.  Light underwent an inversion – on the retina, as on the camera film.  Light darkened the exposed film, to become available to our description.  Physical light – sunlight, the event on retina and optic nerve – is the inversion of a metaphysical radiance:  its shadow or negative.  An image is fixed at the speed of photons of light.  In the valley of the dark, the physically blind, a latent vision gestates, which is not of the ordinary senses but perhaps in between them.  (See also Alchemy & Self enquiry, 2 July)

“Let there be an introversion.  Collapse the senses inward, into the well of the dark, the untold.  Let the eye be directed not outward onto the world, but into the interior perception.  Wait for the sensitized plane to manifest.  It is a shy but seamless process.  Landscapes may come, if mental imaging is active, and sky-like radiance may spill into them.  If the mental imaging is  quiescent but alert,  infinite space … through all objects and densities … to all sides effulgent, strangely shines, like unoccupied sky.  Or none of these, but a blank, the dynamo of thoughts.

“What does the radiant landscape have in common with the sky-like aliveness?  the busy internal street?  the view of my room, the window, the trees, the passing trains, the town?   Who or what is the seer? 

“Let the wide petalled lotus in her green stem open, holding attention to the point.  

“Vision records interior and exterior thought forms freely, the same mind stuff passes through with the breath.  Vision resonates the abundant forms which precipitate into the field.  Vision is the quickening of their beauty and of their pain.  Vision records what emerges, settles, changes and vanishes. 

“Daylight in the mind, fixing the image, installs a belief.  The image fixed as in exposure to the darkroom light, no longer grows.  It is captured, and like a plucked flower it blooms, dies and is clung to.  That from which it arose and arises, alone un-changes, in the heart of the Tree.   Wood rises from and around the water of Life in the well.  ‘To be silent’ is good, for it does not prematurely precipitate information.”

When a Universe
big bang
beginning and all
begins like torn white paper 
dispersed from I, 
to shred grey matter 
floating outward, 

a golden dancer
breathes in and out
the cleft seed. 

Siva, child of Siva 
at play! 
around the core thou art 
the instant of unbounded 
being
of which no thing
is composed.

 Bhagavan Ramana.   Bhagavan means Lord of Light, and is a term of love.  “Guru” means dispeller of darkness – letting in the light.   Ramana was not a conventional Guru.  I am not a follower in the traditional way, but I am a devotee to his being.  His map and mountain are deep in my life and delight.   Ramana shared his Self – he had no choice – and let it become contagious, like the sun.

Now here is some more from the earlier writing in 1991:  The Lightning Tree

 

“Lightning strikes, fusing Above with Below down the Sefiroth of the Tree electro magnetically, but only if the root is in Earth.  Our roots were ancient people of the trees.  The Essenic people were trees which walked in the desert and made it bear fruit.   The branches of the Tree, its Sefiroth and paths, are raised to the heavenly Father.  The roots of the Tree, mirroring the branches and seven angels, penetrate the earthly Mother.

 

“My  hands at a right angle, bring the instrument close to my eye.  It shields from excess light and directs the focus.  It is like looking out from a cave.  I rest in the cave of my heart, looking out on the world.  The landscape inner and exterior, is seamless as the flowing thought stuff.   Restlessness comes under the contemplative dominion.  My mind, that bundle of habits, on entering the ashram, is trained to focus.  Vital and alive is the current which fuels my intellect:  the tool of life.

“There is my literal bundle of firewood – the Karmas and Samskaras of many a lifetime:  and there is the cosmic Intelligence which, like a song of love without words, consumes the wood in the flame.

Young ramana & mother

“She is his mother.  She squats on the ground by the cave of her long-nailed shaggy-haired emaciated young son in the hot sun.  With every persuasion the eloquence of her voice and pliable brown hands, bangles-a-jingle can employ, she weeps, implores and begs him to come back to his family like a good son and have a square meal.  They will build a little temple over him, if that is what he wants.

“Her young son replied to her with a silence which, pouring from those dark eyes, at last one day drew her into the cave of the heart with him … whom she had never left.

“The whole cosmos is received back into Siva, into the ALEPh – its child.” 

**

“In the ashram is a well, around which many insects buzz back and forth;  people gather.  Over the lip of a well sunk deep in cool, clear wisdom – a dark eye – is drawn a creative activity:  tools of the artist, the lover, the Magus.  The insects flit and sip the moist nectar rising from the dark deep into air and light.  Worries.  Sadnesses.  Old sores.  Muddy pools with bedraggled lotuses in them.  Conversation, how hot it is, laughter and sorrow and fury, the shouts of children, the musings of old men, the prayers of grandmothers, the jingle of conjugal bangles, a damp forehead to wipe with a corner of sodden sari, the smell of cooking and of cows, the longing for cool water in buckets, the fever of the day.  Much noise.  Many celebrations.  It is all thrown into high relief by the gentle potent Presence:  the power of attraction the sage has upon insect thoughts.  The Karmas of many lifetimes present beautiful coloured costumes , like butterflies for alchemy.  So it will quieten and deepen with time, and in surrender to the Hill of Fire:  Arunachala.  The butterfly flies to the flame.

"Silence is the even flow of electric current.  
Speech obscures the current for lighting and other purposes."  
                                              (Ramana Maharshi)

“The Will to be Silent is a “tao” of the Great Action in alchemy.  A time of great Yang dawns from a saturation of Yin.  The inner darkness, filled to the brim with its own nature, is the Light of itself, and spills.  How could I ever delay or quicken it?  

“What are all these things?   They describe the sage before we meet.  They are the feeling that the sage will come into my life, is in my being.  A sound of drums and flutes, banners and dancing elephants, is borne softly towards me on the breeze from an approaching carnival.  In everything I explore of Yin and Yang and beauty and trees of life, is the play of light over his features, moving from expression to expression like a river.   It is only like drawing.  Why not draw … what I love?  Labour apprentice, with your bits of wood and stone!  So close comes the sage, a little closer than before, my eyes start to overflow.   As a spring, the sage arises from within my mountain.”

Ganesa

**

Returning to today’s long breath:

Meditation is when peace and fullness comes, in any form.  Meditation is Great Fullness.  As meditation is empty it is full.

As I touch a key, and a fellow blogger’s writing or impression arrives into a moment where I am at:  so the roving finger filaments out there find and touch my keys, one that is right for their day.

The process as I learn, is beautifully sensitive, capillary interlacing like branches in the sky, and birds singing in them.

It copies the real software of the Universal Mind-Self, the human lattice-work.  It helps me let go of what order I’d like people to read me in.   Realisations are soft, deep waves of prana, rhythm of life.  The mother giving birth feels the same – the instinct wide and deep.

Polish the Stone:  polish the mundane:  gratitude.

**

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Oh – by the way …

Sonnet on the Beach at Leigh-on-Sea

To detect my indwelling Sovereign everywhere 
in mud, bird and ungainly human continent, 
praise the Sun in whom all hidden share - 
one field, my self's soul questing element.

Compassion opens to each inward light. 
Should I judge the mystery, his currency 
through darkroom eyes that strive for sight? 
Sea-birds nesting on sea bed touch clemency. 

Abandon prejudice!  Heart questing into other 
is bright hermit's lantern; behold
your coloured cloak, my brother-
sister Self Divine; shadows of our hidden gold. 

The Sovereign eagle winging shore-less ocean, 
scribes the Great Circle - our unseen completion.

1993, from “Tailor of a Field”  …  still working on it!

**

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

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

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

Sketches of Father Maximilian Kolbe

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I am preparing a new post – my diary while painting Father Kolbe in 1983.  I pruned it right down, but it is still a big document.  So here first are a few newly discovered online photos of him;  and then my old working sketches of him which I rounded up.

The diary of the creative process is interesting, because it demonstrates Father Kolbe’s impact on a circle of life.   It will be published here soon.

I found this photo just now on a site called The Ever Blessed.  It heads an article titled Saint Maximilian Kolbe, and loving Mary too much.  The access now to online images and archives is a marvel …  from the research toil and trek of 30 years ago!

An early sketch … not quite there.

 This  photo is one which I would like to have used for my painting.  It is from “Brothers of Life”. It shows – like the top photo – his profile, forehead and bone structure.  He was a spiritual soldier, a gifted inventor, and a media pioneer.  He founded a global printing press on pennies from heaven, built a town called Niepekalanov – city of God – and travelled as a missionary for several years in Japan.  Working with Buddhist and Shinto sages, he grew the beard.  The Franciscans are clean shaven, but are allowed to grow a beard on missions abroad.

I don’t have the order the sketches were done in, but I think this was an early one too.  Getting warmer!   Working with him was a conversation.

Another one …  feeling my way towards.  I had at the most half a dozen old snap shots in two library books.  The contact develops day by day, with the imagination’s antennae.

**

Here is Bruce Heitz painting St Max Kolbe – copyright 2003 by KolbeNet.   I like this portrait!   Beautiful.  It speaks … and the artist looks up, and outward;  the brush, the touch, the coming to life.  They were having a chat, and someone came in.

This sketch “connects” to the painting I was nearly ready to do.   When I worked as a portraitist, there came a point during sittings – live or from photographs/research – which I called “the connection”.   Something altered in the space between us.  Something came down, entered and cohered.   From that moment I knew the painting – whatever the difficulties – had taken over and would do itself.  It came to meet.  The subconscious gets the message, and delivers.  It is a spark of love, and then the labour.

Drawn up into a 
dark cave whose glory drop by drop 
the rain through aeons carved, 
as stalagmite to stalactite 
   my soul evolves
from floor to point of meeting. 
Let us draw time, 
draw together this space. 

My flame drinks wick;  in watered rock 
   my mirrored twin appears ...

I may have quoted this in my earlier post Drawings of Timothy West at the Red Hedgehog, but it serves here as well.

As he loved her so much, here is a copy of a Botticelli Mother of Christ, done when I was about seven years old.   As children we enter the temple of the blessed, and are not constrained.

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After Maximilian Kolbe’s return to Poland, he worked ever harder at his press and newspaper circulation, though suffering from TB.  The Nazis arrested him because he refused to collaborate, and sent him to Auschwitz.   At a random roll-call to the starvation bunker, he stepped forward and offered himself in place of a younger man who had a family.  The guard agreed.   In the starvation bunker, Kolbe helped hundreds of persons to die in a state of grace.  He uplifted them, and kept them singing.  Everybody could hear it. Weeks later, he was the only one remaining alive, and he was put to death.  The man he saved, survived the camp and told the tale.

  You can see Kolbe’s portrait behind them.

**

This, and the drawings that follow, were jotted down in a small notepad, on a visit to The Universe headquarters in Farringdon.  They found the photos for me.  Kolbe was quite well documented, as it was the year after his canonization.

On bike.  Father Kolbe is recognised as one of the community of Saints, not only for the way he died, but for the way he inspired and uplifted others all his life, and continues to do so;  and for his spiritual depth.   Intellectually, he was a “renaissance man”, a polymath.  As an inventor, he was practical and “hands-on”.   So strong is his spirit, that his physical frame was a passing show.  Thus he continues to work within us, and to counsel.

 Another old photo …

… and a drawing …

**

… and the painting.  I shall get this professionally photographed, so that the detail around the Miraculous Medal and his rosary is clear.   Another photo of it is in my earlier post (15 June) Portrait Gallery One: Father Kolbe, Princess Alice & Others.

When I painted the rosary beads, it felt like a little galaxy:

“I would like to paint the reverse side of the Miraculous Medal – the “M” and the two hearts – very delicately above his right shoulder, as Kolbe is a Knight to Our Lady.  In an odd way, the rosary is his “sword”, especially the angles of the crucifix and the medal, which give “body” to his disappearing left arm.  He helped me place them, and the beads, which can float around them like a galaxy of angels.  I was astonished how well it turned out. 

“My original concept of him had more of a smile – the smiling face of God – but there is here the merest hint of a smile, as martyrdom and realism is in his face, and this is how he emerged.  I shall be able to soften the lines from nose to mouth, just a little, in the coming weeks.  His hand has become a gardener’s hand, rather like Father Alan’s.  From a distance it is strong, but close up the draughtsmanship is weak, especially the little finger.  The form of this hand relies on the effect of light on it.  It is supposed to be a completely unassuming hand, such as St Francis might have had.  I left in a fortuitous shadow of stigmata.  I emphasized the pleats and folds of his habit beneath the girdle, and did a little bit to the creases at his left elbow … and was enjoying Beethoven very much.”

from journal, November 1983

Painting Maximilian Kolbe was my initiation to a way which began to break ground a few years later.  My writings at that time, note a threshold, a watershed from which a river flows.

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And …

“Prayer is not better when it gives consolation, but rather when it exacts greater fidelity to return to what you’re doing.”

“God gives us this white ladder and wills that we use it, to scale the heights to come into his presence.  This is only poetic imagery:  the reality is incomparably more beautiful.”

“To arouse that love for the Immaculata, therefore, by enkindling it in one’s own heart, to communicate this fire to those who live close to us, to set on fire with this love all souls and each one in particular—those who live now and those who will live in the future, to make this flame burst forth ever more intensely and without restrictions in ourselves and all over the earth: such is our purpose. Everything else is just a means.”

St Maximilian Kolbe 1894-1941

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

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

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

For “Z”

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Going off the grid and into the interior … here’s my picture story, Z, as I am inspired by yours.  Paintings and sketches done in 1999/00:

Forest Medicine ’99

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Vortex ’99

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polarity:  anaconda and fish ’99

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‘Are you still there?’

– a situation in the dark (’99)

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A demand  …

as happens with a loved & difficult one, or from the interior or beyond

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Torch light in coal seam ’99.

They want to light up what is dark between them

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Mirror arctic wolf ’00

A book called Women who Run with the Wolves  by Clarissa Pinkola Estes … and there is another book too, The Cosmic Serpent by Jeremy Narby

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Welly boots ’99.

To the heart of the matter:  protective gear – but not stomp over it like the blue-meanies in the Yellow Submarine!

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she and coal ’99

How jagged it feels. Carboniferous treasure – fire glows – the Self – karma-shadows burning out

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young love & mum ’99.  

Oh that river and its stones again, & bundle!

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“Let it crack you open …” ’99

Like a geologist, gentle tap

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Heart strings  ’99

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the Fool and the Lamb at  night, with angels  ’88

A tabernacle, pegged in a dimension he is “lost in” – loses his mystic head –  and she at home in, like a goddess.  The pulses to each side are angels.

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Tree Spirit, paw print ’88

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Squirreltree

The wise hunter waits, and the shy creatures of the forest appear, and come to him

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Scallywags, ’00

Go well.  Be well.  Go well

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

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

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

Odds and Logs

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**

Image

This drawing again is appropriate …

**

Tidying papers and stuff yesterday, a constellation – postcards and pictures – formed a visual “story”.   By gravitation, a community of characters draw together for the tale … a winter’s tale.   What is it to be?

I plan to space out my posts a little .  I’d like to ease the pressure on readers’ emails, and to have more time to explore other blogs – they are treasure – but the new adventure, to receive as to give, flows in – from every direction, the river.  Responses meet my reservoir, and new picture stories happen.  Floating my paper boats into swift veins of the waters, one at a time, I follow others likewise, in the Worshipful Company of Bloggers!   As in R L Stevenson’s poem “Dark Brown is the River … Where go the Boats?” … they all come home, right here, today.   Wherever thou art, I am.

Give it all time.   Where is it going?   It knows.   “Tha’ knows …”

… my tiny fleck on this great river.

Fresh from re-exploring my Coastal Paths, I found these two old postcards, the lighthouse from my mother, the mudmaid from a friend …

 Image

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Image

 “Boat and Lighthouse”, by Martin Wiscombe, painted on driftwood

and “The Mudmaid” by Sue and Pete Hill – on the woodland walk at Heligan

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Image

 This man is called Bryan.  He loves to follow old trains.  He is a Friend of the Human Rights Aid Foundation.

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Image

And this is the late Valerie Brooks, whose posthumous portrait I drew for the Human Rights Aid Foundation – a devoted supporter of lost children during her lifetime.  H.R.A. is a charity dedicated to assisting displaced persons, children and communities all over the world.   If the children are our forgotten thoughts, be tender to each one.  Let them come through, to breathe …  to melt and fly.

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Image

Heart to heart talk – on a footpath in Arizona.   Sherlock Holmes used to reply, “I see what you see, but I notice what I see.”   There are as many cells in the brain as there are stars in all the galaxies, and more.   Until quite recently, maps of the brain included a very large vacancy – “Here be Dragons”, indeed.    The white-coats now believe that every atom of the intercranial space is consciousness and alive.   There is no vacuum.   That is progress.

As today’s story unfolds, an engineer arrived at this point to fix my printer, and we discussed Ramadan, Muslim burial ceremony, and the brain.  He said all souls at death, as at the gate of birth, meet Allah alike, and dressed in white.   A space is made in the coffin for the departed to sit up to receive the Judgment.  Then, my email PINGED! – and this arrived:

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Brain cell, Universe.

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River stone flow snake – this picture also, I show again.

I have three or four big posts in the pipeline, in particular the one about The Field of the Dead;  it concludes with Ramana Maharshi’s birthchart, who was born during full moon eclipse.  My backlog schedule is almost complete.  New themes arise as well, in response to feedback and situations.  The reservoir filled up my valley over many years.  Straight is the small gate for the waters to come through.

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Image

On  my windowsill in the morning – the Sun in the Stone.  The wise winged philosopher was a birthday gift in about 2003. The flecked granite behind him, is from a beach on St Agnes, Scilly.  Those giant round pebbles there, like dinosaurs’ eggs, begin to glow when the sun is setting.

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 Image

Botticelli’s Aphrodite copy (1992).  She comes in from the Sea

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Dakshinamurti, the sage of silence.  His statue sits in a niche, near Ramanasramam, south of Arunachala.  Ramana Maharshi referred to the Self as “the smallest of atoms, the biggest of big things.  The hail stone falls in the ocean.  It falls as a small drop.  At once it melts and becomes the ocean itself.  The source of the Self is a pin point.  When it is searched for, it disappears and only fullness remains.  Hence, the Self is called the ‘atom’.  We are like the icebergs floating in the ocean of ananda … Mouna (silence) is of four kinds:  silence of speech, silence of the eye, silence of the ear, and silence of the mind.  Only the last is pure silence.  The commentary of silence is the best … only silence is the eternal speech, the One word, the heart to heart talk.  Silence is the flow of electric current.  Speech is like obstructing the current for lighting and other purposes.  However much a jnani (wise one) might talk, he is still the silent One.  However much he might work, he is still the quiet One.  His voice is incorporeal.  His walk is not on the earth.  It is like measuring the sky with the sky.”

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Image

Pilgrims in the Ganga, on hampstead heath.   Ah!  how brave we are …

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Image

… and Aphrodite with Ares

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I light a candle for Heather.  Heather, with our love,

and at first, our tears, go well.

Go well, and free.

Be well.

**

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

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

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

Belgian Beeches

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Yod Heh, Stem & Yantra;  didgeridoo & poplar

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Greetings to our Belgian friends.

In 1999 I visited Mira de Coux in Brussels.  The poem sequence that follows is about the beeches in the forest south of the city.   Something in the soil and minerals there, makes them grow very tall.

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Ceres and John

This poem is about THE CROSSING to Ostend: 

Religion cannot 
understand how God dies. 
It occupies itself alive
locking up the Mystery in a scroll 
of dogma, virgin birth and all. 

Ceres with St John
the second coming, feels 
the new born Child moving through her 
hush!  her finger to her lips. 

What brings 
to a verse I write, the bright 
yellowing fruit of limes last night 
crisply foliaged - my dream?

and crossing the channel to Ostend - 
waves swell, wrinkling 
fleets of galleon clouds like ships 
from horizon unto horizon unbound 

and vessels on the sea's breath 
vanish, white beaten gold 
midst gunmetal shadows, wind driven, 

and engines of the Sea Cat pulsate, 
splashed with salt, 
darkness of approaching rain, 
fleets of sails along the sky ... 

Later those same luscious limes 
recall my dream 
of stars in the Tree - 
for within the altar of Van Eyck 
in Ghent, there gleams 
their magnet to my soul. 

"Let us draw together ..."

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Van Eyck Altarpiece detail:  hermits and limes in the trees

      The Beech Forest

When the brook 
begins to flow, 
a barque of impassioned words 
appears.

First there is no bark, 
there is the naked 
pipe of a silver soaring tree 
unspoken, silence. 

The standing flows 
the tap root of my soul 
upturned.

JHVH:  4our Trees

        The Emerald Table at Chateau La Hulpe

"I speak no fiction, but only 
what s certain and most true." 

They took me to a Rosicrucean garden 
in October sunlight. 
I climbed a high Masonic stair 
of stone steps aslant to a sapphire 
gap of sky.  

The way dipped, then rose 
through treetops 
to a temple at the highest point 
crowned with a Zodiac star ... 

The stoppage of my thought with sky 
is the Grail. 

"What is below is like the above; 
and as above so below 
for the One Miraculous."

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Cosmographic Volume

Like a bird whose feathers 
fall to sky, the Word 
arises still born. 

Like a parboiled partridge 
in pear tree, 
my plumes from quills release 
and it is simple to pluck me bare.  

"The father is the Sun, the mother the Moon. 
The inner child is carried 
in the belly of the wind 
and the Earth is its nurse."

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Hierogamos Sun Moon conjunctio

Along the emerald meadow in La Hulpe, 
slender beech stems 
by sun's silver slant, extend 
nubile nobility of elven land 
to every side of sight, 

and pure strings chime psalms, 
the starry soil of fragrant wood - 

through organ pipes the diptych
of a medieval masterpiece - knights, 
angels, allegories quiver. 

Time
never happened.

"It is the seed of all perfection 
throughout the universe. 
The power of it is realised 
when it is reduced to Earth."

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Wood 

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There is a power in this Low Country soil. 
The trees are aristocrats. 
Denude of blemish or branch, their stems 
ascend, slender fleshy grey 
to the woodland sky like clouds. 
Aeolian strings await archangels' breath.

"Discriminate Earth from Fire
subtle from gross, acting with prudence, 
humility and discernment." 

"Ascend in your heart 
with Earth's wisdom to Heaven; 
then again descend to Earth, and unite 
the powers of Above and Below."

Let all ignorance 
and obscurity fly from you!"

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Master R in London, circa 1745, 1760

By the hollowed root of forest giants, 
deep springs arise.
Though too close to Brussels for bears, 
they bear the mystic fairy tale 
- an illumined art gothique 
whose scented pillars sing underfoot 
old anthems, pungent leafy loam incensed.

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     Ebony Goddess

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"You shall find a greater strength 
than strength itself; 
for it masters any subtlety of thought 
and can penetrate every surface or solid." 

"Thus is formed the lily in the field. 
Hence the glory comes, here standing." 

"And so I am named 
Hermes Thrice Great, 
three parts of this whole wisdom 
here in 
the Sun's action, my Great Work."

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August 2012

Our footsteps converge along the breaking tide up the sand.

Moving through the Maya-Aquarius relay-exchange of time – time is the baton? – honour the evolutionary revolution.   The old jersey worn so close to the chest is full of moth holes.   Something moves through here – a golden light.  The message of the river is to branch and receive and feed other rivers.  Rivers don’t divide into forks do they?   Rivers receive Tributaries.   Each tributary follows its underwritten destiny through the Ganga, to perfect.   The configuration of the mountain landscape holds geological history, time and places, at a glance.   All is well.

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Window:  The big iron key is from a bunch we bought in Tiru market, in 1993

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The Tree of Life as a formal garden  – an old drawing,1990

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

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

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

Drawings of Timothy West at The Red Hedgehog

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Last year, Timothy West performed Stravinsky’s “A Soldiers Tale” at The Red Hedgehog on Archway Road in Highgate, with the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment.   The Red Hedgehog is an intimate concert venue, marvellously suited for creative combinations of music and theatre, and audience interaction. (It is named after Brahms’ favourite coffee house in Vienna.)   During the rehearsal I took photographs, which resulted in this series of drawings.   I loved watching the play of expression over Timothy’s face as he read;  his conscious centre of gravity when he moved with the musicians.  He, an open book, enhances other performers around him – the mark of a great actor or artist.   He listens to the drama.   He is their space to happen in.   This gives his speaking voice, from centre stage, a mellow authority.

The writings accompanying the drawings are from my Journal during those few days in June 2011.

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Journal 16 June 2011

Ten hour working day yesterday, seven Timothy West drawings with musicians.  I felt very happy to have the day all to myself, nowhere to go, no one to see, and cooked veg in the evening.  At one point the subconscious delivered a perfect inner image, and produced at last a violinist –  my drawing hand felt it on the paper and traced, with that exciting soft edge – accuracy of the hand positions and facial angle;  I have it again.  So much I watched it, in childhood.  An artist’s “keep-practising”- dawn breaks when the embedded picture breaks through into the day-conscious layers, and is available.  Thus so, for music, athletics, or any activity which requires to cook the picture.   Repetition dowses and discovers it.

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The musical performer or actor releases the photon to the audience.  The pianist Peter Donohoe said several times that when he practices each day, it is work;  when he performs, he learns.  The piece moves and changes.  It makes a quantum leap with audience, and he doesn’t know what will happen.  That is the electro magnetism.

I don’t know if I am tense or relaxed when drawing.  I am relaxed when writing, because I listen.

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Advice to a writer:  Now a metre can become so sugar-sweet that it can be itself a defence against the diversity of an orchestra;  it becomes a cyst.  When my mind can prattle so easy and make all kinds of puns from my map, beware.  Because that leads eventually to self pity and drama, doesn’t it – which is a drone the truth cannot get through.

Language should be like a rough, rough rock – and must, to throw rocks – so long as what comes out is seen.  Language should not be to slick or Watteau’d.  If it’s grief, then break its heart.  If it’s sex, then pulse it.  If it’s a sea journey, then let the long (wine-dark) waves run into it.

So, to write might be like music.  Before you play, you get a feel of the ‘dance’ first.  (I don’t, usually.)  And so, when the thoughts come, their initial pattern of words and sounds is not that important.  Get a feel of the dance or flavour of the fish which is pushing it up, which is rippling the deltas of awareness.  Let that thing there, whatever it is, show you what its real words and sounds are.   Stand away from surface propositions, the easy molecular concepts;  throw them away.  They have their use, but not all of the time.

The photon – the light is seeded, and it grows;  and the Universal lens is intimacy.

An insertion from Journal, 1988

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Not by earthly measure large, this chamber –
by a candle illumined: a single drop, a sea.
In limestone cave the work through ages dark
as organs of our inner body gleams.

Hollowing this Gothic sphere, I am
the ages’ hourglass –
an instant, yes, awakens sight:
the hallowing fire.

Credo,
Credo in deum!
The trance is my entry.

Through shellac’d shells,
planes of history superimposed,
I’m captured into the loss
of my known cities
by sight, the lens.
Spell bound to solvent arc, I
curve infinity
to the Master’s Eye.

Credo in deum, tat tvam asi
flower to sun through earth’s membrane
in a ballet of webbed stone,
I am
aeons in an instance realised:   I am
the draughtsman’s line.

From The Masters’ Eye, 2009

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JOURNAL 12 June 2011

Concerning the art, I am loving and enjoying Timothy’s facial expressions and actor’s precision technique with movement and body language.  I think of him studying just that swing and turn with a verbal expression and the lines.   This drawing shows the gesture.  Other drawings are his face and the young man inside.  Others are of the musicians – Stravinsky’s A Soldier’s Tale.

I feel what it is like to be this aging man, with his lower jaw and his stoop and his cardigan:  the Shakespearian passion inside, together with life’s sharp edges and tender touches.   He has a seasoned charm of manner – a readiness to fit in with things – a good man.

I would like my drawings to be more miraculously grotesque, but it takes practice.

There is an inner contact with the wide flung Company!

Time is the ripening of life, the countless episodes of the texture first outlined.  Time is execution and endurance.  The Company, like the distant horizon seen from a train, seem to move slowly with me or be still;  like the Red Queen pulling Alice – it takes forever to pass the oak.  The oak is what is planted, and my life thread skits and glitters, acquiring gravitas.   All that passion, effort and angoisse.

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A POEM I SAW ON THE UNDERGROUND (on my way to Zum Roten Igel to draw Timothy West)

by Adam Zagajewski

I returned to you years later,
grey and lovely city,
unchanging city
buried in the waters of the past. 

I’m no longer the student
of philosophy, poetry and curiosity,
I’m not the young poet who wrote
too many lines

and wandered in the maze
of narrow streets and illusions.
The sovereign of clocks and shadows
has touched my brow with his hand, 

but still I’m guided by
a star by brightness
and only brightness
can undo or save me.

Polish Poets on the Underground

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“If you leave the centre empty, it makes you free.”

Francis Lucille

A Tendency of Concentric Rings: Violin

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F.R.

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A TENDENCY OF CONCENTRIC RINGS:  VIOLIN

                           I

Spun delicately before dawn,   
God's patient web on the window pane   
for catching flies   

draws rings of the seasons' turning wheel   
across the stem of a tall and flowering tree   
through gold star-born sap   
to wooded coagulant, the furrowed bark to touch; 

so also, the Sun's magma   
caught within the ore within earth   
cools to the planet's floating   
continental crust;   

so also, sailing outward,   
the ripple of a leaf at fall   
onto sombre water dropping,   
draws concentric spheres    
into itself, like sound, to melt.   

Under the gossip of alders   
by an arched stone bridge, those   
melting crescents of brief sky   
glide as boats of mine afloat.

Their ripples borne    
are brief chambers   
of a mandala catching time. 

The grain of the wood   
is a river caught in flow.
                           II

The song of the maple wood   
was planed and painted with petal on petal   
coats of varnish, each to each year eroding   
until by the brook, it heard and played itself. 

It came from an Italian valley   
across centuries, to a Devon dingle. Why?   
Who know why the instrument   
finds that place to sing?     

A violin that sleeps   
without hair or strings upon it   
vibrates the beloved silent sound   
and from its velvet case awakes.

There is a curved hollow, whose strings   
have that tendency of concentric rings   
by wide and questing finger tip touched, to sing.

If you live in a Devon dingle   
the secret life of alder and chestnut tree   
- (whose rough dark leaves with starlings   
mimic chatter and crowd the stream)   
- is rooted in the silent minim   
like a dew arising.      

Your roots, awakening   
pass above and below the lane   
which rumbles from time to time a truck   
across the water's song.

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                           III

There are roses on my window sill at fall   
this morning.   
Rose, around the petal crisp, is rusting   
and petals drop, soft touch on wood.   

Wood grain in wood plank flooring   
polished, and mirroring deep light   
is the petal of my sight and being, and I   
can go no further than this   
unbordered edge of things   
which cannot repeat.

The story of my mind is based on repetition.   
The art of seeing has no memory, nor anything   
that ever was not seeing.   

The grain of the wood   
is a river caught in flow ...

From Poems of Eclipse 1999

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an elder brother

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

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

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