Sacred India Tarot Archive – Creation of Pradyumna, King of Lotuses

..

Sacred India Tarot - Vishnu, detail

Sacred India Tarot – Vishnu, detail

..

Concluding the Suit of Lotuses in the Sacred India Tarot Archive, by Jane Adams and Rohit Arya.   The Suit of Arrows (Swords) will follow in this series.

..

Rohit’s Notes – Pradyumna, Son of Krishna and Rukmini

“Pradyumna was Kama reborn, after Siva withdrew his curse.  He was born to the greatest devotee of Siva, who was Krishna, as a gift after his favourite wife Rukmini, considered to be Lakshmi, had been childless for many years.  This ties in the water element very well, as Lakshmi is the wife of Vishnu, i.e. Krishna who is also Narayana ‘he who sleeps on the waters’ – and one of her names is Padma ‘the Lotus’.  Their son therefore is ideally placed to be the King.

Sacred India Tarot - Kama consumed - detail

Sacred India Tarot – Kama consumed – detail

“Pradyumna is Kama – (the deity of desire and lust) – healed, the aggression and arrogance being tempered in the next generation.  The sins of the father are literally redeemed by the son.  He should be depicted as a Krishna clone, but dressed in lotus garlands instead of the peacock feather crown.  The same blue skin and captivating smile.  A river of sorts should flow near him, as he was kidnapped at birth and cast into a river from which he was rescued by the faithful Rati.  The Water element always predominated his story.”

..

Jane’s Notes

The same thought runs through the Suit of Lotuses as a whole:  the transmutation of sexual desire into a realisation, that the root feeling which creates the world, the galaxies, the stars, the Laws, human beings and all creatures, is sacred.  Every manifestation is Siva Shakti.  It is not put on an altar to worship, because we are the potential walking altars:  reverence for Life.

..

..

Rohit’s Notes continued – from his Book with the Deck

“Pradyumna is the son of Krishna and the father of Aniruddha.  He is also Kama reborn, with all the swagger and insolence rubbed out of him.  Being incinerated by Siva seems to have that kind of effect.  He is an almost perfect, positive role model – there is hardly much that is negative about him.  That is admirable, but it makes for boring appraisals of character.  

“The King of Lotuses has to go very much to the dark, before the shadow side takes hold.  The name ‘Pradyumna’ means ‘conquers all foes’, so it gives some indication of his stature and prowess.  He suffered the fate of all great men with even greater parents – an admiring obscurity.  It does not seem to have disturbed him at all.  Kama would have been shooting arrows in all quarters in frustration at being denied the limelight. 

“Kidnapped at birth by the fearful Sambara and thrown into the ocean to die, he was rescued and brought up in the circumstances already narrated in the Queen of Lotuses.  This rough beginning was residual negative karma from his action against Siva, but once that worked out, his life was smooth sailing. 

Sacred India Tarot Krishna restores dharma - detail

Sacred India Tarot Krishna restores dharma – detail

“This characteristic of turbulent origins settling down into the placid longterm, is typical of the nature of the King of Lotuses.  When Krishna was off on his frequent adventures, it was Pradyumna who by sheer reputation alone, protected the kingdom.  He was also a skilful administrator, and unlike Kama, there are no salacious stories about him.  When the power of desire is harnessed to worthy and nourishing ends, somebody like Pradyumna exemplifies that noble state. 

“… Friendly and helpful, but slightly remote.  Spiritual authority, teacher, guru, mentor, guide.  Likes to work with children.  The wisdom of emotional maturity – a true psychological adult is a wonderful thing to see… They read people well. Ability to take risks because of that talent,  Of all Tarot personalities, the most in touch with the feminine side.  

“(Shadow side) – Ends up creating dissonance instead of harmony when irritated or provoked … Without being outright dishonest, is still a misleading sort of personality … Seeks power by manipulation, never overtly.  Refuses to ask for help or even admit it is required.  Insight of the card: Is your life really as good and on track as you think it is?  Are you becoming complacent, even smug?”

..

..

Jane’s Notes continued

I come to this card with a clean slate.  No current agendas or past material arise, to stick to it;  except whatever flows over from my Krishnamurti posts.   The sage, eternally young, has the high mountains at his back:  the roots and seeds of trees are his body:  a little river flows past his feet – the soul’s irrigation channel.   The pebbles along the bank are earth-jewels.  He holds two small blue lotuses – Krishna! –  in the Indian way, at his naval and heart chakras.  Otherwise he is the Lotus personified, rather like the Ace.

..

Sacred India Tarot Siva Ace of Lotuses - detail

Sacred India Tarot Siva Ace of Lotuses – detail

..

Perhaps we all can try this:  sit here on the spot, as the lotus flower whose root is held in the earth, and watch the river flowing by.   Every meditational method advises to watch the river … watch the content of the mind, and let it pass.   Watch the breath, and discover the CALM.  Perhaps hold the breath for a while, and then let it go (this is kumbaka):  or inhale and exhale through each nostril alternately, closing the other with a finger against it.  Every little bit helps, to slow things down and gain perspective and … the peace.

Ramana recommended to watch the normal breath without fuss, like a rider on the horse.  He also taught “diving into the heart” – inhale, hold for a few seconds, dive into the ocean for the pearl ;  then let go, exhale.  It is non-verbal, and helps to clear out shadows in the subconscious;  it drives them up into the open.   Or dive inward after the emptied outbreath.   The shining sands are revealed for a moment before the water swells and the next wave comes.   Thought and breath share the same root.

Hridayam

He whose thoughts, embodying being,
sally forth, points to the heart.
To describe, may merely image mental part,
so realise your mind’s source is ‘I’. Then seeing
that, from which thought springs – Thou Art!

“If my heart is single, stem and shoot, 
whence my Yoga, in the root?”
“The heart of all, the whole receives. Start
near the pump:  hridayam as hrit,
in-draws, exhales the Universe, by Ayam lit.

“Your Self is One, you understood!
Let your heart’s ease – to right of centre is best –
sushumna’s stream to sahasrara flood,
and bow your flower in heart to rest.”

..

(A play of sanskrit words:  hridayam means Heart.  Ayam is “this I”, and Hrit is “who?” – the base of Self enquiry.  Sushumna is the nadi or nerve current which passes through the spinal column from the root chakra to the Sahasrara (crown) chakra – ‘thousand petalled lotus”.  To make a picture of these things, is good.)

..

Sacred India Tarot - Pradayumna King of Lotuses

Sacred India Tarot – Pradayumna King of Lotuses

..

The Grail

Awareness flows from heart to body whole,
as impressions of the world arise.
Beholding these apart from sky, the soul
enmeshed in samsara’s snare, becomes unwise.
In Cup of Cups, by petals of pure light,
a circling moth’s consumed and swiftly dies.
In Light, by power of mind and sight
are limned and lost, the differing eyes.

Samadhi state, one pointed, firm, beholds in all,
sahaja – in nirvikalpa is their absence.
The wide world on body sense does fall
like rainbow prism;  and in heart is Presence.

The universe entire and myriad formed, is mind
whose origin is heart, here now to find.

..

Samsara is the repetition of births and deaths – the process of worldly life.  Samadhi is peace and joy all-knowing, in meditation.   Sahaja samadhi is unconditional, and participates in the world without altering the bliss.  Nirvikalpa samadhi is like a trance – the worldly life is absent during it, and the samadhi is limited.  These two poems are from Sonnets on the Ramana Gita, composed by Alan Jacobs and Jane Adams for their better understanding of these teachings.   The Ramana Gita was a series of sanskrit verses – the young Ramana’s early discussions, collected and written down by Ganapati Muni, the sage with “poetry in his throat”.

..

A princess being crowned 1956 - after botticelli

A princess being crowned 1956 – after botticelli

..

It is not much use following sages and gurus unless I am prepared and inspired enough to apply their teaching to the First Person I inescapably am.   “If you see the Buddha on the road – kill him!”  Why?  Because he might be a glamorous projection or ideal, distracting attention from the First Matter – the Buddha nature I am given, to work on honestly.   This said, there is tremendous inspiration and grace in the company of a Realised one, not to mention Love – the core of human evolution and gravity.   The Elder Ones all agree on the paradox – to hold an I-thought (aham-vritti) and follow upstream where it dissolves … goes together with letting go our local ‘me’, when we serve and are fully present for others or for the One.   The first is raja-yoga;  the second blends karma-yoga and bhakti-yoga.   It goes on being very difficult!

At this point, I see how the Indian Self teaching draws together with the First Matter in alchemy, and with J.Krishnamurti’s gift for hearing a problem without comment, until it becomes conscious, dissolving and resolving itself.   Attentiveness is what it requires;  and patience.   “Keep practicing.”

..

Lakshmi and Vishnu, from whom came Rukmini and Krishna, the mother and father of Pradyumna.

..

..

..

**

For other Sacred India Tarot posts, look under Recent Posts, Sacred India Tarot in the Categories, or Archive of All Posts in the title bar. Rohit Arya Rohit Arya is an Author, Yogi and Polymath. He has written the first book on Vaastu to be published in the West, {translated into five languages} the first book on tarot to be published in India, co-authored a book on fire sacrifice, and is the creator of The Sacred India Tarot {82 card deck and book}. He has also written A Gathering of Gods. He is  a corporate trainer, a mythologist and vibrant speaker as well as an arts critic and cultural commentator. Rohit is also a Lineage Master in the Eight Spiritual Breaths system of Yoga.  Earlier posts about the deck, including the first 15 Major Arcana archives are in http://aryayogi.wordpress.com   The deck is copyrighted (c) 2011 to the publishers, Yogi Impressions Books pvt, and available on Amazon and internationally.

..

Jane

My adventure invites fellow travellers.  I am a poet, an artist and a seer.  I welcome conversation among the PHILO SOFIA, the lovers of wisdom. This blog is  a vehicle to promote also my published work – The Sacred India Tarot (with Rohit Arya, Yogi Impressions Books) and The Dreamer in the Dream – a collection of short stories (0 Books). Watch this space. aquariel link All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012. May not be used for commercial purposes. May be used and shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address https://janeadamsart.wordpress.com/

Watching Myself and Krishnamurti – Part Four

..

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

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

..

Tarot Arcanum 19 - Children of the Sun

Tarot Arcanum 19 – Children of the Sun

..

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

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

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

..

Tao mandala, within without

Tao mandala, within without

..

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

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

..

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

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

“With all my best wishes – Mary.”

..

K age fifteen - the dreamy teenage medium

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

..

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

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

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

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

..

K at ninety

K at ninety

..

Watching Krishnamurti, my path-along …

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

..

Builders of the Adytum - Colour Wheel

Builders of the Adytum – Colour Wheel

..

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

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

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

..

Tarot Arcanum 18 - The Moon (landscape)

Tarot Arcanum 18 – The Moon (landscape)

..

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

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

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

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

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

..

E.Levi pentacle

E.Levi pentacle

..

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

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

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

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

 ..

Coil

Coil

..

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

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

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

..

K with Rosalind in Ohai, 1935

K with Rosalind in Ohai, 1935

..

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

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

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

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

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

..

K at five years old

K at five years old

..

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

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

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

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

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

..

last talks at Saanen

last talks at Saanen

..

..

..

**

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

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

Aquariel link

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

Watching Myself and Krishnamurti – Part Three

..

Sacred India Tarot - Babaji landscape

Sacred India Tarot – Babaji landscape

..

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

..

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

..

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

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

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

Sacred India Tarot

Sacred India Tarot

Beloved Companion, what is our moment now?

..

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

..

..

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

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

Sacred India Tarot 4 - Brahma

Sacred India Tarot 4 – Brahma

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

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

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

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

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

..

Saraswathi with swans

Saraswathi with swans

..

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

..

Sacred India Tarot 2, Saraswathi the High Priestess

Sacred India Tarot 2, Saraswathi the High Priestess

..

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

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

Sacred India Tarot - Babaji, Shakti, Brahma

Sacred India Tarot – Babaji, Shakti, Brahma

..

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

Sacred India Tarot Shakti, Emperor, Rati

Sacred India Tarot Shakti, Emperor, Rati

..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

prince george alexander louis

..

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

..

Following J.Krishnamurti

Following J.Krishnamurti

..

..

..

**

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

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

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

aquariel link

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

Watching Myself and Krishnamurti – Part Two

These 3 sketches are of K not long before he passed away

This sketch  – see also the end of this post – is of K not long before he passed away

..

Continuing this month’s reflections with K – a fertile ground.

 1 Krishnamurti profile

From Journal – 9 July 2013

I try not to deny things, and often labour the point, as I write.   I have no cotton wool for my precious preserve and self image.   In life I struggle along, at basic psychology level, trying to turn to face the music, face the current – the soul’s welcoming.  

Now picture the current;  the onrush of water in a canal after the heavy lock gate loosens – that surge comes towards me, I look at it directly, stand still, unrestricted;  and my breath slows down and opens to the abstract core of the event – its nuance and feeling.

..

Pithy tree of Life

Pithy tree of Life

..

 My manner is not firm enough.  My manner is conciliatory and seeks to understand, until certain buttons are pushed – then fury.   Behind the incipient fury, I cannot be firm.  There is fear and vocal paralysis.  There is scar tissue – pre-judging – and the damage that does.  The human spooks in my nature – spanners in the spokes – are powerful, and only change with painful slowness.  They go back further than my conscious reach.   They are subconscious.

WHAT IS THE COLOUR OF THIS SITUATION? THIS FEELING?  The trigger?  Good question!   Practice what I preach.   Feels dark, somewhere between indigo and brown.

Keeping still with my trigger, is trans-formative: awareness without chat-camouflage.   The Light – pale primrose white – enters my dark cave with the Thirty Verses, Quintessence of Instruction.  (See earlier post, The Mythology behind the Thirty Verses.)  Read them carefully.

.. 

The Ferret and the Himalayas

I finished reading Lives in the Shadow.  I guess any luminary or work with the Light carries a quota of Shadow in life.  Ramana had his devotees and the cauliflower on his arm.   Accept the shadow.  I know what mine is.

Krishnamurti’s shadow was his fear of telling the truth – a furtive boyhood thing, as he was punished at school.   It grew into paranoia, and the meticulous Rajagopal became a spook.   The paranoia grows like a tumour on failure to be truthful to a close friend.   Paranoia believes in lies, especially in one’s own.   Messengers of light carry big shadows in the bag.

Here is a story, as I see it at present:  In the Californian Ohai valley, Rosalind, Rajagopal and Krishna, with young Radha, were a brave and lovely ship a-sail. It took its chances.   The ship’s course was inevitable, given the souls they were, their sensitivities and their place and period.  The shadow in the combination escalated due to Krishna’s human frailty and messianic mission“I”, which won’t declare itself.  He consigned his personal i to the unconscious, he said it has no existence or memory.   So it grew in there, unregarded and developing its data base, until the decades of enmity happened – and the vast legal costs – the waste.  Different astral bodies inhabited Mr K, like the continents he roosted in.

In 1910 when K was a thin boy in Adhyar, the Theosophist Charles Leadbeater caught sight of him on the beach, perceived a pure ‘egolessness’ in his aura, and groomed the boy to be a Vehicle for the Messiah, Maitreya.   In 1928 – his Saturn return – K rejected this role and declared “Truth is a pathless land.  I want no followers.  Be the disciple of your understanding.”

..

GALLERY – I have been a little hesitant in including this 1987 sequence.  It seems rather disrespectful, but it tells the truth.  I was hopping mad with K in those days, and with the way I felt his Speaker had hijacked my parent and made me mute.

..

In 1986, when K died, his fear and fantasy around the Rajagopals was unresolved. During  the same period and after – due to paternal preachings against the “I” in my childhood – I felt K was my enemy.  K remained my “enemy” until I learned about him through reading Mary Lutyens’ books, which Bruce Macrae Smith gave me.   What an extraordinary tale!  With a joyous appreciation of him, and of my father’s path and its perils, I forgave.  I discovered myself.  

Lives in the Shadow published five years later, was a further exposure.   It was rich, to love K’s truth and be simultaneously heartbroken with his lies.   He lost his way with his loved ones, but he went on Talking.   The vehicle went on Talking round the world – nothing stops that – and being well tuned.   He died feeling isolated.  He said in a rather crackpot way that a great force or Master lived in him during his life time, and would not return to humanity for hundreds of years;  because no one had understood or was able to practice his teaching in life.   He suggested it had all been a wasted effort.  This was an arrogant pathos in the old man.  He forgot the many he loved and who loved him, behind the Shadow, and who practice his teaching.   He is human.

To this day I both love and am irritated by him.   It is a mixed and vivid emotion with the pampered Speaker whose influence bombarded my teenage years – (“I ?  What can you mean?”).   It is full of landscape, light and acceptance.  At the 1974 Brockwood gathering (a series of 3 posts), I observed that I and other souls fall passionately and painfully in love with each other around K – the disturbance in his energy-field.  I knew the laceration of the nerves.   When I – much later – read about his process in the spine and head, everything fitted into place. 

The vehicle for World Teacher does not dissolve when he cuts the ribbon of the Order of the Star.  It becomes “en-ghosted” and powerful – kundalini discharges through his stem like a marginalised fairy godmother.   There were two or more agendas in full flower, from the deep Karmic past.   K’s template was Conflict.   He spoke always of Conflict and of Fear:  and of the tide whose seamless movement in and out, has in it “the essence of conflict, which is peace“.  I think he felt that speaking of conflict and fear “together” with his listeners, might dissolve the tendency in himself.   I used to believe – similarly –  that the transmission through my journal/writing, keeps me out of trouble.

Well, spirituality is not a safe straitjacket!   The contact highlights life – sharper and sometimes more distressful than ever.  You take it as it comes, or you pile on yet more light, to hide it.   I know how easily I hide behind lies and evasions.

..

Worshing a deity and making him cross

Worshiping a deity and making him cross

..

K’s life and failures are an extraordinary and illumining lesson for me.   He is among my most precious Stones in philosophy – the love of wisdom.   Radha’s book – he was her other daddy – gives his full flavour, tooth and nail – like a Californian orange in the sunshine:  and how like him in many ways my daddy was, when I was growing up.   I chuckle at the familiar mannerisms.  Peter began to follow K’s teaching in about 1961, when K first spoke in London.

K loved children.  He was a child himself.

As K grew old, and more shielded by devoted friends and adherents, the fruit turns a little sour – there is a sour vacancy in his eyes, his presence and his vanity.   So I am making marmalade!

My parents have a shadow which is very difficult for them both to reach through, and talk of.   They are close friends, but the tension is there.   I have many things which are desperately hard to say.  They wriggle away under a rock when I try to find them.

So K’s life with the Shadow illustrates something we all have, especially when we are trying to grow up and become more human, more open, more truthful.   The personal-i is a wounded ferret.  She thrives on gaps in consciousness:  she slips out of sight – she thrives on my spiritual spells to deny her existence.   She is always here, popping up for a good wail, or – her favourite hobby – sewing Shadow coats for unsuspecting folk who try hard.

So this moment itself I wait by her hole – the ferret’s hole – to catch her by the nose and tail.   Not punitively:  but to see her coming into the light.   She is “I” – the toothy predator, like a furry snake.   How she shines, silvery on the ground at dawn.   At the ferret’s hole, I try to remain attentive – to catch her when she manufactures Shadow and does her Talk-stuff and practices fear.   I.   I.

..

Finding a furry snake

Finding a furry snake … between a waterfall and piano keys.

..

Self enquiry awakes response-ability at Home.   The quest ultimately dissolves personal i into a wide-angle-lens cosmic I:  the un-altered being.   Ramana’s teaching of Self enquiry reveals my vasanas.   It is their nature to come up:  and Self enquiry observes them, like the Buddha does, dispassionately.   None of the great Teaching Rivers diverge from the Source.

In K’s Shadow, he grew to resent so much his early teachers and protectors, that he couldn’t see this.

..

7 K2 photo by fosco maraini

K2, photo by fosco maraini

Now, as I get my Himalayan glimpse – the Source of the Rivers – my ferret gets the chance to scurry out of sight again.   The trick is to hold them both in the view – ferret and Himalayas.   The i and the I … “two dudes agree not to fight over the steering wheel” – thank you, Jeff!

Meditation watches the ferret – at any time of the day or night.   Watch the road.

..

..

And watch the spiritual camouflage!  Be cosmic-carrot mindful:  the interior stars in the stem, as gravitational centre ground.   The carrot is not in the sky, but in the Earth: and orange like California oranges and the Sun.

..

Consulting the ‘secret dakini orace’ uncovers my thought – a present moment – in picture form.  This one shows an armouring, a goal and a letting go.   The cosmic carrot has the chakras on it:  kundalini’s wheels.   Taking up Arms is the god Krishna, about to rescue the dharma.

dakini oracle "cosmic carrot"

dakini oracle “cosmic carrot”

..

And “Cutting Through” is a way also of going through, with relative ease.  Or being passed through …

Canal Lock Gate

It is hard to see through
our wounds tending to meet each other.

Love waits
for waters each side to level,
the deep gate to open
for the passing through
deliciously.

from “Homer Rows” 2004

Have faith in and value the effort which living takes, along the canal – don’t worry about all the creative projects I am not doing.   Remember – I have a limited idea of cosmic time, depth and management.  I am the small dent in the rim of the jug, through which it pours.

I achieved two more drawings of Ramana yesterday (i.e. 8 July) – with great difficulty – and the post about the Thirty Verses delighted a few readers.  Alan of course was thrilled. The thirty verses themselves are SO BEAUTIFUL.   I feel more “certain” or sure of my home ground, when working with the Ramana elder window and its teaching.   This is not surprising, as the only position of authority I ever held, was Hon.Sec.Treasurer of Ramana Foundation in the 1990s, and editor of Self Enquiry.   With this role, I was ignorant and bossy.

The difficulty with spiritual teaching, is carburettor management.   Little i gets a rest when big I flows:  but afterwards, the engine is flooded.   This leads to depression or inflation.

Centre Sefiroth in tree of life.  Tifareth is the conscious Self or observer.  The path connecting Yesod (personal self) to Hod (mind) is coloured orange, and has on it the tarot key The Sun.

Centre Sefiroth in tree of life, with tarot keys on the paths. Tifareth(Beauty) is the conscious Self or observer. The path connecting Yesod (personal self, Foundation) to Hod (mind, splendour) is coloured orange, and has on it the tarot key The Sun.

Tifareth in the heart of the Tree – the Sun growing oranges – receives and feels EVERYTHING.

Facing Fear … a big fish is swimming up, which I have refused to deal with.   It is the attitude of we humans to our various Nemeses. Consider this, as if I wanted to attack Iraq, faced my fear, and then took wise counsel not to.   Consider this, like all the meddling in the middle east – what we brits and eus and uses raised against us, and among itself internecinely, because we could not see the picture, we just saw the oil and the wealth rising and started to engineer barricades and frontiers among the old desert tribes.

Doesn’t this happen in any relationship ?

Watch the attitude.   And make peace here to begin with, by being conscious.  Various wild cards drift among my inner cities.  Recognise them.   Then there is dignity.

BOTA key 20

There is an interior condition of co-existence which does not snag and snarl.  Remember in my body which is alchemy, the sunlight, the Hermit’s black dragon, the chyle, the red and white soldiers, the arterial roads and the cities.   It is all the play and tension of life, the truly broad band, the ferment perpetually, through my body’s standwave, as the same ferment in all places. (Perpetual Intelligence = Key 20, red cross).  Look at my box-side placards of Fear.  I fantasize my End, my closed-upness.   What a fake thought, a fantasy, that is!   Stand up tall, and leave the coffin.

..

20 judgement - Version 2

Krishnamurti all his life, faced and discussed Fear.   He acted from fear when he and Rajagopal fell out – it was deeply rooted, and deeply painful for them both.  But his way of observing Fear, is my Lighthouse.  Fear blinkers me in friendships, but I try to remember K’s view, and to face the music.   The observer is the observed.

There was a wonderful beauty in K’s early life and mature manhood, and it isn’t altered by the more crooked landscape it became.  When I saw him in ’74, he was already bent a little to one side, as if by the denial of his shadow in California, and the strange way that he was cruel to it.  The shadow built up substance each side of the pond, as KWINC and Krishnamurti Foundation consolidated their separate boxes of enlightened non-organization, argument and admin.

We humans face our species-poison, every which way.   And yet the weather today is clear and beautiful.

The insight when it opens, is the river, the river, the river, the teeming magnificence of the Light and Shadow and all the baggage:  and ways to navigate, in the stern-spine:  the tiller of the contemplation, the rock and the sway, the flood and flotsam, the Darkness shot with stars.

..

boat yoga spine crab

boat yoga spine crab

..

Then my body relaxes, and there comes a natural Yogic slow breath, like the sea.

Ramana Maharshi never said to force things.   Of course we as human life carry almost more poison than we can bear.   Yet still we are life, and we remain consciously alive, if we just manage not to set up riot shields against things we fear, and create enemies.  Krishnamurti taught me that I am what I consider to be “the world”.   It begins here, not out there.  Facing the fear is Liberation – the cup turning over:  raising the glass.   This has a knock-on effect through my interior cities – the organs of life.

The fears are legion – including armies of harpies, judgements, lacerations and so on.   In the middle ages, penitents had no alternative but to lash their own backs.   Have I not seen time and time again, that what I fervently know is right, I most often fail in?  And don’t we see teachers with their private difficulties?  Isn’t it the fate of idealists, and of priests and politicians?

Evolution is slow.  It isn’t easy to trust it.  The one all encompassing lifetime on the job, is a particle in a string of raw pearls.

My vital energy is often in a depleted state, either that or “normal”.   It doesn’t go manic, these days.   Sometimes it stresses out, adrenally, or when trying to troubleshoot.   The energy bank is not a graph which determines my health.  I see now, that when I have no energy, it means my body and psyche need to rest, and have no choice.   A real soldier isn’t rushing around with shield and spear.   A real soldier stands at ease, and guards.   A soldier observes the field, like a lion after his nap.

To sum up:  refrain from making enemies.  The great beauty of K’s liberation when he was young, would be and is a life long intense struggle:  the upkeep with his body.  That is the way it interacts with earth-beings.   So he had to speak and speak and travel and create schools to educate young children – the urgency in his eyes and fluttering hands.   He needed to work it out, again and again and again, through the inertia.

..

K with pupils at Rishi Valley school

K with pupils at Rishi Valley school

..

Well this is all interesting and unexpected, and reassures me because it rose without my volition but of its own accord with my willingness to face a certain machine and not run away again.  When it rises of its own accord, it is the Magid, with a higher, deeper view of the country.

..

13 dakini 44, 34, 54

..

Dakini oracle 34 THE LINEAGE TREE, with Unicorn to the right and Heart Drop to the left,  doesn’t show any wild cards rushing around.    Heart Drop illustrates the ancient, flowing, white-sand hinterland to the stupa and the ruby.   The Lineage Tree is the buddha’s rainbow body – the Self.  The Unicorn in the tree is sanctuary.

Often when we consult the Magidim or the Oracle, we don’t see the Truth, but what we wish to see and hear.   … like the Theosophists with K.  On the other hand, the still, small voice in the well which is peace, tends to reveal a True condition below any surface melodrama.

Reading about Krishnamurti –  the Mary Lutyens books now – is illumining.  It was as much my spiritual path as my father’s.   It formed my thought.   It presented the Vedas and Ramana and Buddha in a language of here-and-now intense enquiry … outside the puja parlour.   K’s meditation was to walk in the country or by the sea;  to explore the deep sculpture of his sacrament – the thought – sacred beyond any definition.  He was set up by the Theosophists for thousands, millions, to flock to hear and read him:  and so he cast off the knitting and became the needles.

..

14 K on the sands

..

The dakinis of Buddha in tree, unicorn in tree and heart-ruby in front of a Tibetan stupa, are the Battery of the soul, lit up.

This post is inspired by K, and also by things which other bloggers write, along similar lines.  The lighting up of the battery (see comments on The Lighthouse Keeper part One), diminishes the small-i of its own accord.   Give attention to the current rather than to the so called problem and its literature.  All problems lead to the Current, which is why teachers and sages ask for questions, to get them going.  It is why K travelled around the world to give talks, rather than stay quietly in one place.  Great souls include the currants in their cake!

..

K at a last talk in Saanen

K at a last talk in Saanen

..

Attention, as K might say, is to the river of life, among whose waters the small troubled “i” floats. 

Many years ago, my father caught sight of K with a little old lady in a sari.   She was distressed.  He – himself a little old man – took her to a window seat, sat her down with him, with his arm around her, and ignored everyone else.  He encircled and heard her with his merry brown eyes, his gentle laughter and his total, eager attention.   This says it all.

..

16 krishnamurti at gstaad

..

For other posts on K, see under Categories in the sidebar – ‘Krishnamurti and Coastal Path’.

..

..

..

**

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 Chakras Part 3: A Star in the Field

Concluding – for the moment – my mini-series on the Chakras.

..

The Star in the Field

“The body … is called the field;  
Him who knows it, the sages call “knower of the field”. 
Know me also as the Knower of the field in all the fields.”

Bhagavad Gita, transl. Ramana Maharshi

This morning I had a brief dream-flash of Vishnu.  It said perhaps “Vishnu and the Tree of Knowledge” … meaning also, Vishnu and the wise Serpent.  I saw Brahma Creator being dreamed out of Vishnu’s naval CHAKRA.

Sacred India Tarot - Vishnu dreams Brahma

Sacred India Tarot – Vishnu dreams Brahma … Copyright 2011 Yogi Impressions Books

..

The dreaming Vishnu lies on a serpent – his full length contact with the planetary Kundalini.  The serpent has five “waves” and five cobra heads, which like five fingers form a canopy over the god’s head.

Now, Vishnu is the presiding deity around Badrinath – (see The Chakras part 2: the Mountains) –  where they honour and release the ancestors.  Vishnu is also the eternal prototype of Krishna and of Buddha and of Maitreya – for Whom J.Krishnamurti was trained to be the vehicle.  Reflect on the burning sensation which JK – since his youth – endured in his head and spinal nerves, and called “the process“!   It is a classic example of the cosmic and the planetary kundalini in the physical body, as they “rub”.

..

In his own words:

“In the car on the way to Ojai, again it began, the pressure and the feeling of immense vastness.  One was not experiencing this vastness;  it was simply there;  there was no centre from which, or in which, the experience was taking place.  Everything, the cars, the people, the bill-boards, were startlingly clear, and colour was painfully intense.  For over an hour it went on, and the head was very bad, the pain right through the head.

“The brain can and must develop;  its development will always be from a cause, from a reaction, from violence to non-violence, and so on.  The brain has developed from the primitive state, and however refined, intelligent, technical, it will be within the confines of space-time. 

“Anonymity is humility;  it does not lie in the change of name, cloth, or with the identification with that which may be anonymous – an idea, a heroic act, country and so on.  Anonymity is an act of the brain, the conscious anonymity;  there’s an anonymity which comes with the awareness of the complete.  The complete is never within the field of the brain or idea.

Krishnamurti at Rishi Valley 

“… Woke up at about two and there was a peculiar pressure and the pain was more acute, more in the centre of the head.  It lasted over an hour, and one woke up several times with the intensity of the pressure.  Each time there was great expanding ecstasy ; this joy continued….  – Again, sitting in the dentist’s chair waiting, suddenly the pressure began.  The brain became very quiet;  quivering, fully alive;  every sense was alert; the eyes were seeing the bee in the window, the spider, the birds and the violet mountains in the distance.  They were seeing, but the brain was not recording them.  One could feel the quivering brain, something tremendously alive, vibrant, and so not merely recording.  The pressure and the pain were great and the body must have gone off into a doze. 

“The strength and the beauty of a tender leaf is its vulnerability to destruction.  Like a blade of grass that comes up through the pavement, it has the power that can withstand causal death. 

Krishnamurti at Gstaad

Krishnamurti at Gstaad

“Woke up in the middle of the night, and found the body perfectly still, stretched out on its back motionless … The pressure and the pain were there.  The brain and the mind were intensely still.  There was no division between them.  There was a strange quiet intensity, like two great dynamos working at great speed;  there was a peculiar tension in which there was no strain.  There was a sense of vastness about the whole thing, and a power without direction and cause, and so no brutality and ruthlessness.  And it continued during the morning.

“The ambitious do not know beauty.  The feeling of essence is beauty … Woke up in the middle of the night, shouting and groaning …

Orbits - a sense, in 1988, of planes of consciousness touching each other, perhaps extra-terrestrially

Orbits – a sense, in 1988, of planes of consciousness touching each other, perhaps from outside our dimension.  Convex could be a concavity, and vice versa.   The ELOHIM came very close to earth, and still are.  Their Presence throws everything into high-relief.

..

“… That which is sacred has no attributes.  A stone in a temple, an image in a church, is not sacred.  Man calls them sacred, something holy to be worshipped out of complicated urges, fears and longings.  This “sacredness” is still within the field of thought;  it is built up by thought, and in thought there’s nothing new or holy.

“…But there’s a sacredness, untouched by any symbol or word.  It is not communicable.  It is a fact … It is not possible to be one with a swiftly flowing river.  You can never be one with that which has no form, no measure, no quality.  It is:  that is all.  How deeply mature and tender everything has become, and strangely all life is in it;  like a new leaf, utterly defenceless.”

“This sacredness has no worshipper, the observer who meditates on it.  It’s not in the market to be bought or sold.  Like beauty it cannot be seen through its opposite, for it has no opposite. 

“That presence is here, filling the room, spilling over the hills, beyond the waters, covering the earth … Yesterday afternoon it was pretty bad, almost unbearable.  It went on for several hours … Early this morning, there was a benediction that seemed to cover the earth and fill the room.  With it comes an all consuming quietness, a stillness that seems to have within it, all movement. 

Orbits (2) - sketch in 1988, of a wooden sculpture I made at art college in 1968

Orbits (2) – sketch in 1988, of a wooden sculpture I made at art college in 1968.  Lower left corner I can just see two figures – an old philosopher (with right hand outstretched) and his bowed companion.

..

“The process was particularly intense yesterday afternoon.  In the car waiting, one was almost oblivious of what was going on around one.  The intensity increased and it was almost unbearable, so that one was forced to lie down.  Fortunately there was someone in the room.  The room became full with that benediction … It was the centre of all creation;  it was a purifying seriousness that cleansed the brain of every thought and feeling;  its seriousness was as lightning which destroys and burns up;  the profundity of it was not measurable, it was there immovable, impenetrable, a solidity that was as light as the heavens.  It was in the eyes, in the breath.  It was in the eyes, and the eyes could see.

“… Through the back of the head, rushing forward as an arrow with that peculiar sound as it flies through the air, was a force, a movement that came from nowhere, and was going nowhere.  And there was a sense of vast stability and a ‘dignity’ that could not be approached.  And an austerity that no thought could formulate, but with it a purity of infinite gentleness.  All these are merely words and so they can never represent the real;  the symbol is never the real and the symbol is without value.   All the morning the process was on, and a cup that had no height and no depth seemed to be full to the overflowing.

“… like a knife thrust into a soft earth, there was that benediction with its power and strength.  It came as does lightning, and was gone as quickly …  a stream rushing out of the rocks, out of the earth … an aspen tree and its leaves are trembling in the breeze, and without that dance life is not.

Krishnamurti’s Notebook,1961 (Gollancz 1977)

K on the sands

..

I have quoted this at much greater length than intended, because as I skim the pages, I pick up the Presence of Vishnu, and of Siva.   These are names for the nose on my face – the vast empty, the zip of fire and water in the thunder cloud, the … Chakra.

Here is Vishnu, Sustainer of the Dharma or Laws of Creation.  Note the Kundalini up his back, and cobra hood!   Vishnu is … obviously …  the Lord of the Chakras.

Sacred India Tarot Vishnu Magus

Sacred India Tarot Vishnu Magus – copyright 2011 Yogi Impressions Books

..

K is a surprise entrance here – I have not posted about him for six months or more.   He arrived through the Vishnu archetype, because he was trained since boyhood to be Buddha Maitreya’s vehicle, in that lineage.  The current of the Un-named god in his spine and head, expresses the Chakra.

Sacred India Tarot 8 of Arrows

Sacred India Tarot 8 of Arrows – copyright 2011 Yogi Impressions Books

Here, in the Mahabharat, King Bhishma surrenders to Krishna, who carries/spins an enormous blue cosmic Chakra:  the Vishnu lineage or galaxy.  (In the finished card I drew a palm tree and three stars in Bhishma’s blank shield.)   This is, as Rohit Arya says, an “end of Karma” card – an 8 of the suit.

J.Krishnamurti was groomed by the theosophists as a vehicle for Maitreya who was of that lineage – Buddha, Krishna, the blue ones.   He cut it away, but it stayed inside his nervous system and nadis.  He spoke often as the medium, and did not remember afterwards what “the Speaker” had said.  The intensity with which he lived, enquired and spoke, did not leave ‘a recording’ in his conscious memory, because it was ongoing, moment to moment.

This has a Rahu resonance – J.K. yet conveyed the flavour of the gods, as profound psychological verities in his teaching.  Rejecting Vedanta – cutting away the conditioned images – cutting the fence – he offered the utmost Transparency which is Brahman.  Not many could follow him there, without the pilgrim’s prop and staff he cast away.  It is ironic that his name translates to “Image of Krishna” – the murti, or sacred object.   For him, the sacred has no object.  Any object stands in the way of the sacred.   K invited us passionately, to live unobstructedly.  But the eternal Snows are in his words, and their teeming archetypes.

Orbits (3) - dandelion

Orbits (3) – dandelion chakra

..

..

Masters of their Interior Stars – by Paul Foster Case

Paul Foster Case 2008

“(An adept’s) different organism gives him another kind of vision.  His unfoldment has made him able to deal successfully with situations and events which baffle the understanding of ordinary men and women.  He is skillful where most persons are inept.  Yet there is plenty for him to do, and plenty to learn.

“He knows how to set about solving his problems, and has behind him a record of successes which gives him confidence.  He approaches his problems with joy.  His work is not labour, but in the truest and best sense of the word, recreation.

“He belongs to that small minority described as BAALI HA-ShMIM, masters of the heavens.  They must not be confused with ordinary exoteric astrologers.  For besides knowing and interpreting the influences of external celestial forces, they have become masters of their interior Stars.  This mastery is one consequence of the meditation symbolized in Tarot by Key 17.”

17 star - Version 3

(NB –  Key 17 The Star, contains the arcana of Chakra study.)

“The nature of the experience of such persons … is truly UNSPEAKABLE.  Yet in this, it doesn’t differ from your own experience.  One of the most valuable results of silent meditation is that it makes us realise that we live our whole existence at a level of activity which cannot be put into words.  All that we say about our experience consists of arbitrary verbal symbols, representing our mental abstractions from an inexpressible field of living experience – that is, all we say which makes sense.  

“We are unhappily, able to speak and write strings of perfectly meaningless verbal symbols.  We hypnotise ourselves and others with these noises, and entangle ourselves in nets of misunderstanding.  Quarrels between persons and nations are more often due to this misuse of language, than to any real clash of human interests … “

Paul Foster Case

My problem precisely.  I am writing about Chakras, but I am not a Yogi.  I try to tackle relationships but get bogged down in things we said to each other.

..

Master R playing the violin, 2003

Master R playing the violin, 2003

..

However, here I enjoyed a moment of direct, non verbal experience:  (29 March 1991) – and it stays for ever true.  One of my paths to peace is through contemplating the beauty and balance of simple numbers.  It focuses and opens the point within:

“They must become not intellectual but living concepts.  The livingness unfolds the mystery of FIVE, the number of Life.  Here is an exercise of space:  The All-Space, cosmic without end or beginning, which is awareness, expands beyond the body-form because … why?   I dive into the creation of interior space, like a pioneer.

“Couldn’t every thought arising during a concentration, which tries to sleep me and pull its important woolly habit over my eyes, be pressed into service?   The movement may be used, undressed, as a key to penetrate that inner and infinite Circle whose centre everywhere is not circumscribed.

“Strangely, into the sphere go straight lines of attention to …  I wake;  are those obscuring motorways a joy to be and to hold?

“No!  Then to question them, unwordedly, is the creation of an un-thought inward, which yet is boundlessly alive outward, through objects, feelings, galaxies, everything.

“Tsim tsum …  the pregnant void.

4 compass directions plus up, down, all radiate simultaneously outward with the inward enquiry which is their Sun.   A Star.

Imagine not a mere six directions, but the numberless points of the sphere, inward as outward:   the vibrant soft stillness of Who? is everywhere.   Hu  …  a Hebrew name of God.

Gallery of images from “Arcanum Five” (2011)

 ..

Test it always – see how it feels, and hear the in-formation which is real to me, how does it look?  Look inward, feel its space and dimension, direct sight to the centre of knowing which has no end.   To the Answering Service!

..

The Tube - Douglas Harding's paper bag experiment.  How many faces are there, from your end?

The Tube – Douglas Harding’s paper bag experiment. “Look carefully. On present evidence only, how many faces are there, from your end of the bag?  One or two?”

..

11 vesicae hook, mandorla

It develops from this mantra …  which I held inwardly, a week or so ago;  it hummed.

This is how it looks and feels.  It is called a mandorla.   It was a multiple mandorla – three or five “circle” curves or planes met :  the focus of encounter, an encounter of planes, an interior gyroscope in my solar plexus spine:  a setting.

It feels like a HOOK.  It is a hook – one which joins, or one which catches fish.  It pierces the soft interior of my spinal stem, steadfastly.   It is a hook, a fountain and a snake;  it is everlasting.

When annoyed with anyone or anything (which is frequent), try practising my inner pioneer of space.   Use the same energy-particles of the annoyance, to collapse the thought-form into radiance.

Huh!   Tall order!   It’s funny how my mind LIKES to be annoyed, agitated and blind, in dreams and so forth – like that poor cat in Barclays Bank I once dreamt about, whose owner dragged her about and didn’t let her sit, so she wouldn’t get into mischief.   I said to the cat’s owner – I think – that I thought the cat might behave much better if she was kind to it and gave it some peace and quiet.

12 Zain letter

ZAIN is the Seventh letter of Alephbeis:  its Tarot is 6, The Lovers.  In Number Seven, all directional points meet at their Sabbath, or resting place.  The warrior puts his spear in the ground.  The true warrior exerts gentle control over … the thought process.   S/he is the needle through whose eye must pass the camel – i.e. the whole of the subconscious!

13 Gimel letter

Not as difficult as it sounds: the third letter of the Alephbeis (in Tarot, it represents Arcanum Two, the Priestess) is GIMEL, which means Camel.  In Hebrew the GOMEL CHESED means an act of kindness:  the camel will carry a traveller very far in the thirsty desert.

“4” centres the Seven – the four of matter.  To each side of this 4, are three digits, the supernal Triad. “3” centres the Five.   To each side there are two, the Binary poles.

 14 chariot

..

The Chariot’s letter is the 8th, CHETh, meaning an enclosure, fence or field.  Its path is Binah Gevurah on the Tree.

..

cube, tetrahedrons, temple of 7

cube, tetrahedrons, temple

..

The meaning of FIVE

Is that today – an almost tangible and quite definite sensation – a door, the needles’ eye into Jerusalem, stands open somewhere within my backbone, to an odyssey of infinite depth.  I never died.  I never will.  It finds its own, each time I am born.  It always will.

I suppose this is what leads to joy.

It ‘s quite strange.  The ground along the street to Waitrose, is a cushion to walk.  I have a cold in my head, which doesn’t matter.  I have a boundless universe inside.

… never mind the beautiful patterns of numbers around it …
and all I can say or know is:  it is THERE,
the yield, the ever-ever, within,

there is no death
and no confinement, just

the path that is rich, mid spine
like love, I suppose

travelling to greet the world, the portals of heaven
stand open within
the matter.

Oh, I suppose it’s probably a Chakra!

But who cares?   This is life.
It doesn’t introspect.
Life is.

1991

..

grasses at twilight, north mimms

grasses at twilight, north mimms

..

The Song of the River is Timeless

for it has no end

the song of the rain is timeless
for it has no end

the song of the wind is timeless
for it has no end

no beginning

the song of the buds coming through bare winter boughs
and bursting imperceptibly into leaf
is timeless
for it has no end

the song of a train or truck
passing by is timeless
for its end and beginning
are not known

the song of a bird
is timeless
for it sings

..

..

Dandelions in Cornwall 1955 - and follow this link to a wonderful golden brew!

Dandelions in Cornwall 1955 – and follow this link to a wonderful golden brew! – “9 tips – for making a kick ass wildflower wine”

..

..

..

**

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 Wrestlers

..

Quantock dancers

Quantock dancers

Relationships, persons and childhood memories are teachers and things of beauty – a  treasure that goes higher and deeper than any mainstream art collection.  They remind me to handle life, each detail, tenderly.

This letter from my father today, enclosing photo cutting:  he was 90 earlier this month –  another mountain goat …

“Herewith the Wrestlers.  I had forgotten how much I loved this on the wall;  I suppose I lived with it a very long time both at Manor Farm and at Pitt, and it was well hung both places.  This is rather a good photograph showing the relief very clearly, and those three wonderfully related lines of the shoulders and head of the upper man.

wrestlers

“Thinking of speaking of Buddhism with you last night, of course discovering it while we were in Cornwall and Limpsfield was my first intimation of another reality beyond or within the mud and tears, and so was very exciting.  I grew up of course as an R.C., becoming disillusioned as a teenager, into a totally uninterested agnostic through the War.

“It was talking with Louis Adene in Mevagissy, and hearing about Gurdjieff and Ouspensky that awakened me to another possibility, and I automatically joined the Buddhists in London, and then the thunder-clap of Krishnamurti.  That became the real sign-post, and so these last years I wade about listening to all sorts of voices, but always as much as I can, just paying attention – allowing attention to be – on what is happening now. 

“Yesterday was a fine cold winter’s day.  Today it is cold raining, and all the gutters rattling.  I have just been reading about the vast energies positive and negative of the Universe which cancel each other out, so that in fact nothing is happening !

“With love”

my father at Pitt

..

When I was 6 we lived in Cornwall near Caerhays, where I fell deeply in love with flowers and jewels.  My father was managing a farm which belonged to a teutonic tyrant called Mr Strauss.  We had to move after two years, because Mr Strauss wanted to cut down all the trees.  My father climbed to the top of a beautiful oak and sat there defiantly.  Nowadays there are more trees in southern Cornwall than ever before.

Herbert Read (whom my parents knew when we were living on the North Yorkshire moors) introduced him to a circle of Cornish artists, poets and free thinkers – Lionel Miskin (his oldest friend), Louis Adene (who lived in a wood near Gorran Haven), the Fussels and Derek Savage.   At the same time, he discussed Buddhism with my maternal grandmother in their letters.  My mother thought it was rather droll – but at least it made him happier.  As a young man, he was shell shocked from the War, very passionate, and of uncertain temper.   Probably he suffered from traumatic stress, which no one recognised in those days.  He stoically brought up his family, farmed – he was a pioneer in the return to organic farming – played the violin, and wrestled his spiritual path.   We moved house six times before I was ten, and in each house a “monastery” was set aside with a rolled up blanket for him to sit quietly.

When my father was 70 he caught a dangerous illness from swimming in a French river.  As he convalesced, each breath came to him as a jewel, a mystery beyond knowledge.   Since that time of nearly dying, he is much more serene.  The pressure of trying to be “enlightened” now, once and for all, fell away.  He didn’t call it “enlightenment”, and I don’t  like that word, either.  He called it “to be a human”, and still does.

My mother’s father, Jim Ede, gave us a cast of Gaudier’s The Wrestlers.  It weighed a ton and used to hang above my parents’ bed like a guardian angel.  I grew up with it, and it influenced my drawing.  Last year it was sold, and is now on its travels.  The photo above was taken at an exhibition “1913: the Shape of Time” at the Henry Moore Institute in Leeds, where it is on show until 17 February.

Here are The Wrestlers in my father’s old house:

wrestlers 1

His letter trips a wave and starts a wing!  Before Cornwall, we lived on a large sheep farm in Bransdale on the Yorkshire moors.

Breck Farm, Bransdale

Breck Farm, Bransdale

..

14  breck photos 5

Mrs Coseira (with me and my sister) was a Polish woman who came in to help my mother. She was very pious, and she couldn’t bear to look at the Wrestlers, and always averted her eyes when she went in my parents’ room.   The donkey was called Daniel.  He had a job at Scarborough by the sea, and he was having a holiday with us, from all his hard work during the summer.  I remember the warm smell of the sack my mother tied round his middle for us to ride, and the deep crunch of the snow;  and my sister’s “hattacoatatrousers”.

In Bransdale I began to draw.  My mother made big drawing books out of cheap lining paper, unrolling, folding, cutting and stitching them with coloured darning wool.  As fast as she made them, I filled them, drawing for up to eight hours a day.  She said we would need a second removals van to carry them all, but she kept the three best books, and I have them still.  Here are a few favourites:

Gallery of Bransdale drawings, 1954

..

"The Friends", circa 1957

“The Friends”, circa 1957

..

… and a Cornish garden.  We moved from Yorkshire (which was very remote) to Cornwall because I had to go to school;  and there in Redruth my brother was born.  In those days, the china-clay-pit pyramids glistened along the spine of Cornwall like an alpine range, constantly changing with the light.

Cornish garden, 1955

Cornish garden, 1955

..

my father with Bartok. 1950

my father with Bartok. 1948

Tangier 1951

Tangier 1951

..

Finally, my two favourite alchemical engravings from Alexander Roob’s Alchemy & Mysticism.   Hermes is coming through the Great Sea, carrying carefully the world and the serpents;  he is the quicksilver, and the little cubes hidden in every part of nature are the golden prittvi, ineffable treasure in each atom of the earth of life.

The divine mercurial water, by Baro Urbigerus, Hamburg 1705

The divine mercurial water, by Baro Urbigerus, Hamburg 1705

The source material for the lapis can be found everywhere: in the earth, on the mountains, in the air and in the nourishing water. M.Maier, Atlalanta fugiens, Oppenheim 1618

The source material for the lapis can be found everywhere: in the earth, on the mountains, in the air and in the nourishing water. M.Maier, Atlalanta fugiens, Oppenheim 1618

..

And …

..

The Key:  Hermes heals

The Key: Hermes heals the born child  1987

..

Hermes healing the interior black dragon 1987

Hermes healing the interior black dragon 1987

..

dancers, 1987

dancers, 1987

Who are the Wrestlers?

Jacob’s angel meets us on the ladder, the Tree of Life.

..

..

..

It is the following day:  I have to add a bit more, because my father tends to drop timely messages in my box..  When I rang him just now to thank him for sending the Wrestlers photo, he said, “Listen to this.  Last night I was told – I had to get out of bed and find my glasses and go to my desk and write it down – I was told by a Voice, very clearly – I am … You are … a particle-ar expressing of the Universal energy.  There is no separation.”

Then he reminded me, he joined a London buddhist Sangha back in 1957 or so, when we were living in Surrey.  He went to the Sangha leader, tense with questions about enlightenment and how to live.  The Sangha leader had a little room with nothing in it at all. He sat in his robe, looked up and said, “The Past is Over.  The Future has not come yet.  The Present is Now.  DO NOT WASTE IT”.

It aligns with the way the light leads through to Light, this year.   It is unmistakable – but we have to work at noticing it.

Here’s a photo of him with my mother, taken in the Lake District about 15 years ago:

mary & peter

..

..

..

**

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.

 

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

Watching Krishnamurti (4) & Ramana : photos of coastal path and Arunachala

Protected by Copyscape Web Plagiarism Scanner

..

K arrives for a  last talk at Saanen, carrying the questions

 ..

Pwllderi caves

This post is the concluding part of my Coastal Path memoir in 1991 –  Krishnamurti and Ramana’s teachings, where land meets the sea.  (See my mid-August posts:  With Ramana and Krishnamurti on the Coastal PathOn the Coastal Path – Travellers’ Treasure;  and Parc y Meirw – the Field of the Dead.)

Pwllderi beach

For this post’s illustrations, I raided my daughter’s photo album!  She was 17.  She took her tent to Pwllderi and Strumble in 1994, and later on, she went to  Ramana Ashram on her own.  These are pre-digital snaps on her instamatic in mucky rucksack; yet her views say what I feel and see, and didn’t write.

Older photos are like paintings:  we use our imagination a bit more.

The conversation with Ramana and Krishnamurti by the sea and afterwards, was a catalyst.  From it unfolded later on, my involvement with Ramana Foundation UK, and editing the journal Self Enquiry.   Who could have known!    Different time frames converge here – 1991 on the coast at Pyllderi, ’93 /’94, journeys to India, and then today:  hindsight and some new drawings.

Pwllderi stones and low tide

**

 26 August 1991

The soviet iron curtain fell.   A global tremor!

Ideology’s dead fruit fall at last from the great tree of Mother Russia.  Whatever next?  The soviet empire reached the classic three-score years and ten.  That child of the October Revolution, an ultra-material religion, held those continents of the world in irons, for the span of man – one lifetime.   It was made of human, of collective mind.  It came forth and was acquiesced to;  it created liberation here and suffering there, moved its economic ballast around, and fed on the fear of death.  Like the birth and death of all people, it will prolong the memory of those it grasped, and be irrelevant to those it did not.

An idea rises and falls with extraordinary power.  In the end, it is dust – It seems never to have been.  There flows forth from under its grip, a river;  and they call this river “the people”.   It reached a tide, a crest of maturity into which it must deliver itself …  into the world as a whole.

 

Pwllderi sea-weathers:  looking towards St  Davids head

Politics, moments of history, local convulsions, even those which inflict unspeakable pain upon whole populations, are tides of the sea … the pendulum.

J.Krishnamurti said “Get out of this field!”

The field of the world is the tide carrying back and forth our baggage – time, greed and political polarities.  Stirring up the excitement, makes the bath water in my tub surge up and down!   The feeling is turgid and complex.  It dims my ability to see.

But it is another thing, like seeing a phrase of music, or the way the wind lifts a branch, to watch in myself the field of the world, without comment or belief.

To suspend belief in any part of it, is to remain an open place.

From Pwyllderi dinosaur headland

If I wrap “the field” of any phenomenon or belief around me, it is like going into a house and shutting the door.  But if I in that moment look and listen, a deeper arena opens.  Then I have sight of the house, and other houses on the wind, like the ripples in a golden field of wheat.

Journalism has no place here, nor has any opinion.

But there might be love.  Love – the response to life – opens red poppies in the field, and sky-blue harebells.  Can I observe it impartially?  Can a scientist see beyond measuring his own condition?  How to see objectively, the world? – for it is me!   Upon the dual fulcrum of “I” and “It” strives division and diversion for a pastime.

The pastime is false to the deeper question.

The field is space for evolution … the journey ever into “I” dissolves the “…I”.

 

pwllderi heather: Strumble “lions’ paws”

As I am, in this way, humanity, what do “I” contribute?  A particle, a drop of water, contains the universe.  I have no sight or function that I know of.  I cannot see what I am.  There is no answer to the question that I am asking.  Deep into the silvery ocean depth, the essence of joy and sorrow, I dive towards the golden note of “let it … being”.  It unfolds space within space for ever.

The question mark is the curve of a dotted I turned upside down.   There is no departure, no isolation from what I call “the world”.   It is the same for hermit or politician.  There is a mysterious transcendence at the heart of it all.  To “get out of the field” is to dive deep into it, dissolving the outlines of my bondage.   I see the global landscape only from the point where I was born.  The energy bound into making a fuss, is conditional to my own security and to patch a fabric.  The balance of power, the stabilizing of hostilities among countries, the environmental crisis, the pain of famine, suicide and tyrants that people suffer on so great a scale – so rapidly communicated – the spillage of fuel and the parturition of conscience … all engender hopes and fears, which boil down honestly to my very local interest.   I want an answer to suit ME.

Such “answers” are formulations of belief.  They solidify collectively, and nourish the merry go round.  Or … bored with itself and dying, the answer drops away like dead skin cells.

The other side of the coin, I surrender to a strange reality:  the creation of an un-thought inward –  Who? – generates, but never entraps the adventure of living.  I drop away not into dead cells, but into being.

Again I seek ground!  Belief!  What is truth?  Who are you?

Vishnu-Siva, dance of Creation.  Krishnamurti sees Creation as divine destruction.

Pwllderi – volcanic rock near Strumble

Mrs B came to visit.  She saw on a wild life programme, a baby zebra who lost his parents and tribe. He stands by the water in his stripy coat with his big, dark baby eyes, about to die.  Then he lies down on his side quietly by the water, and he dies.  He is given to the land.  The vultures come, gathering in the sky, to swoop and feed and clean. My friend rejoiced suddenly in the co-existent beauty of creation/destruction, Vishnu-Siva …  we’d been talking of Krishnamurti, the way thought self-destructs to awaken.  I see in the baby zebra’s dark eyes, the vultures, the translation of innocence.   That is it.  Every new instant is innocent.

The vulture is the baby zebra.

Pwllderi looking south, strata change

 **

Krishnamurti sees, is, walks among the divine beauty of destruction, without intermediary or describing.  Vedanta calls it the cosmic dance.  K knows this without symbol or spiritual shelter.  It seems his hands are untied.

K at Saanen in 1985

But is the symbol a mere “Ah! Shelter at last!”?  Do those who intuit and understand the symbols really regard them as permanent?

The symbol is a musical key.  It is alive.  It is there not to ritualize, but to open perception into the Self.   My embodiment walking around, is a symbol.

K regards symbols and hieroglyphs – occult or divine – as crutches.  I think he doesn’t know, they are not truly used that way.  The wise use them – the way language comes to hand – as tools towards the timeless flower:  the Inner Revolution.   Eventually they are no longer needed to open the heart.  As they inspire and enkindle love – and love is gratitude for Life – K encountered that same benediction when he walked among mountains, trees and wild animals at dawn.  He wrote in his notebook.  It bathed his inner “process” in radiance.  He preferred to call it by no name;  for so many divine names had spawned him.  But he said it is sacred beyond thought or form.  Where he walked, he loved.

In K’s own private mystery, it is not by naming that he truly sees the world/himself.

K in 1953 with Rosalind Rajagopal’s granddaughter Tinka

This makes him seem to close the door just when the seeker sees it begin to open.   The door opens inward to his or her “meaning”.  K seems to speak from the other side of a river which the seeker is suddenly required to have crossed and “destroyed” already.

Yet, this courage of K to go it alone, to lodge his person in no sacred hill, but expose it to the worldly frets, frustrations and ignorance – the fluctuating mood and encounter of secular life – is an extraordinary spiritual sacrifice.

It is said that K had no ego.  Maybe so.  The interest the mind has in maintaining its province, did not in him exist.  He described it as “empty”, vacant, without memory, without the sense of things past.  As there was no past tense in his consciousness, there were no “answers”.   Yet he was passionate to reform education.

So what is an answer?   A kind of verb.  A doingness, a beingness, being still or in movement.   Many are the ideas which obscure the inexhaustible inner fact.

K is himself, being visible, a symbol.

 

pwllderi goats

Ramana is a symbol.

Invocation from his Forty Verses:

(1) Can there be a feeling "I" without that which exists always?  
    Free from thought it exists, the Inner being, the Heart.
    How then to know what is beyond the mind?    
    To know it is to abide firmly in the Heart.

(2) They lose at once their "I" who, from fear of death 
    seek refuge in the Lord, conqueror of death.   
    Then by nature they are immortal.    
    What is to them, the thought of death?

.. 

 

pwllderi rough sea

Looking outward, I see the surrounding furniture, and seek identity.   Let this collapse inward to centre, inward to this kind of “Am”.  From the core, a pulse – the attention –  emanates subtly outward.  First there was a fence around existence, and existence was that fence.  Then the attention is removed from the fence, to “here” within.   There is no fence.  There is a root – the ‘I-thought, creating the appearance of the world.

If you hold that feeling by the stem as it dissolves, you are led to the Source behind the beginning and beyond the appearance of time.

In Ramana’s experience, the Heart or seat of Self reflects the physical heart:  to the right of sternum can be found the spiritual pulse or sphurana.   To search and feel and focus into this tentative centre, is a kind of tickle, peculiarly restful.  It may be leaned back into.  It feels like a depth or centre of gravity into which I take a brief tumble.  The “In-tense” here is a query with no castle wall.

pwllderi rough sea 2

There is no wall around Ramana either.  There’s a contour suggesting a hill that all may enter and ascend.  There are in the hill, those caves of brilliance, his eyes, to delight in.  That is what “I am” in sky and earth, in shy fox and flowering heather.

Arunachala ’93

And there is a living veneration, which does not generate attachment or cultus.  Why?  because he said when dying:  “I” am with you always.   Where can “I” go?   His figure opens the way like a landscape by the sea.  The light plays around it … as over pre-historic rocks.

Ramana ashram ’94, by the Mother temple

These are beginning sort of things.

Till now I’ve found it difficult to “be still” regularly.  There are so many things to concentrate on.  There is  work in watering my garden in every direction, to keep refreshed.  There are so many places – like the one between the eyebrows? –words, tones and colours to resonate.  I need to nourish the vast symbolic wealth with my creativity.  All of them are doors opening, and all are potentially exhausting.  Anxiety stalks an over-prolific garden.

But concentration is not upon the fence, not upon things.

 

near Arunachala, to the west:  portal

Concentration is the flow, the breath of itself.

The best way then, is simple.  Ask only into the essence of being;  with no room nor need nor expectation.  The rest will follow or flow from that.  The Great Rose, or whatever else.

Doorstep mandala at dawn, Tiruvannamalai ’93

Dare I hope?  What solidarity of the ‘open’ way into the Self, how encouraging to have met, or be about to meet “the others”, some others who are doing it too!

Last week – I don’t remember my dreams very much, for the work with them is done – I dreamed I was in central India traveling.  There was something very real about that, and the people I met.

 

Pondicherry ‘94

There isn’t anything truly real about things in life, which continue to agonize, upset or pull me into spirals of imbalance.  From within their coils even, I see how illusory, how “maya” is the waning momentum of manufactured complaint, how absurd it all is.  This is indeed strange, for to lose my centre feels at present worse and more painful than ever, like an irrevocable back-sliding.   Yet, the trouble, acute at the time, is quickly forgotten, like the labour when giving birth and feeling stuck.   It is all in the mind, the carrier of the evanescent.   The mind is that valuable passenger to Alchemy.  Thus I live in the world, not on retreat.

“You can keep your head cool in solitude while your hands are busy in the workplace,” Ramana said.  From the Centre which is transparent flows (through mental prism) the rainbow Universe of colour and form.

 

Cows near Arunachala

I want nothing.

What a vast variety of curves, of hues of “I”, fragmented or whole, knowing or unknowing, refracted or reflected, sore or joyful:   individuals.

Pond near Arunachala

 **

Tonight I went to visit Princess Helen.  She wore a white gown.  The walls of her palace are white, and the furniture is thoughtful.  She kindles her oasis in the paintings she buys, in the extension she is building out into her garden, the Transcendental Meditation she does, the fine young Italian who services her, the deep impressions and sudden visions she relishes or is infuriated with … the uncompromising creation and destruction of her inner world week by week, and the spaces – palaces – she builds and furnishes for her clients to live in.  Just now she is developing a residence in Park Lane.

I found her pouting sultrily over a tall glass of dry Chablis.  She had been down to Soho and bought a dozen huge glass jars.  She filled them with Indian spices of unusual autumnal colour, like leaves in fall, for the Park Lane palace …  no not to eat! (a kilo jar of chilli powder?) but to feed the eye – look how beautiful they are, ochre and siena, and to lift up the lid and sniff?  Her clients are rather overwhelmed by these personal touches.  They do not understand the paintings Princess Helen chooses for their palaces, but they feel cared for.  We began to sniff the spices ourselves.  We took rather a long snort at the red chilli and both began to sneeze.

 

Ochre spice, sienna and white, near Arunachala

We had supper in a boat on her “river”, drank more Chablis and talked of this and that.

She began to wonder about the wide arena within which human pollution struggles with itself.  What movement in cosmos does this happen relative to, what kind of consciousness is being formed?  Do microcosmic terrestrial developments reflect such things?  She got quite carried away, and her eyes began to glow with the miraculous scent of Providence.  She got out some tasteful utensils from M&S – “there IS conscience in the business world!   Look how this is designed – and even this packaging for washing powder, it’s so neat and pretty, you could put it on a shelf – AND it’s recyclable, yes, it’s all changing so much, isn’t it?  And do you know,” she told me, “they said the other day, about the ozone hole you know?  they’re finding evidence that dust from volcanic eruptions is being “utilized” to heal and close it!   Think of that!   Isn’t it EXQUISITE?  – marrying volcanic lava from the earth-core to ion replacement in its aerial outer wrapping.   How exquisite, how IMMENSE it all is – the poetry of the checks and balances, we have no idea.  Don’t you think it’s beautiful? – alive it is, great organic creature maintaining itself, our human stuff and suffering on earth, just a scratch.”

 

ramana ashram monk

Be that as it may.  When the Buddha and his colleagues walked the earth, was there a hole in its skin, letting through rays of strange nature?  – the ageless wisdom warms up beds of strata deep, deep within, and people on top are scared.   What things seem to be, is never what they entirely are.

How immense it is.

As the body heals and renews itself every day, beautifully … the organic rhythms throughout a body like the Solar System  – or even a galaxy – are too vast for the scratchy inhabitants of the skin of one of its planets to comprehend.

Ramana ashram arunachala ‘94

But … a Buddha can see it.  A Buddha can see the interplay of cosmic livingness … including consciousness on other planets, whose forms our sensory spectrum cannot detect.  A Ramana can see it.  How?   Because they themselves are that.

And therefore so am I and you.

 

Paddy fields

Without doing more than hold up a daisy, or a smile of silence, the being testifies to Grace in which all “I” am healed and whole;  to a Grace beyond the bounds and toil of my knowledge of time.

..

**

..

Another try, this time in charcoal`;  I want my drawings to loosen up, and to have authentic expressive distortions.  Ramana really is a mountain, or a late-Beethoven quartet:  the human grandeur and beauty beckons anew, as I approach.    Next, I shall try turning the photo round, and drawing him upside down.  That usually gives a truthful draughtsmanship.

**

And now, a few more Ashram impressions from 1994:

 

Friends: Bharati and Anna Kim

A torn tree of the soul:  Arunachala inner path

Pradakshina:  He wears His shawl

 and home.

By the way, she loved India and Siva – and “the guy who pours the ghee” (Sri Sundaram) – but is not a devotee.

**

..

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.

With Ramana and Krishnamurti (3) on the Coastal Path

Image

Protected by Copyscape Web Plagiarism Scanner

Returning to an earlier time – August 1991, and my first Pwllderi holiday:  meditations on Ramana and Krishnamurti, their dialogue in my inner life, within the coastal landscape.  This post concludes with my meeting with AJ and what was to become the Ramana Foundation.

I was born with Sun in Capricorn and full-Moon in Cancer into a family of travelers along that spiritual coastal path.   The coastal path is Sadhana.  Capricorn is land and Cancer is the tide where ocean meets the land;  the songs of old age and infancy in humanity.

**

Image

Pebbles

20 August 1991

Last week I took my old canvas tent, two old sleeping bags and my bike to the Pembrokeshire coast, to explore a beckoning terrain.  The sun shone, the breeze blew, and one day a great gust of sea-mist rolled in and tumbled everywhere among the rocks.  I pitched base at Pwllderi Youth Hostel on the high cliff of a bay whose arms embrace the setting sun.

There is a way of life to explore, when tired and climbing a steep path, or pushing my heavy bike up the long hill above Fishguard.  What is it?

“Lean back into the present moment, into the Now.”

An exhausting dissipation of energy otherwise, strives ahead.  This instruction made me smile.  I carried quite a lot of luggage – my house – on the bike.  So I could lean back on that quite literally, while riding.  To lean back metaphysically, slows down, even halts time.  When I strive and struggle, I ache, I become blind, I want it to be over – I am immured in the toils of competitive pain.  But when I rest into the NOW, what is there?

The relationship of foot to earth, yielding.  The perfume of stones, peat and flowers.  An alertness to maintain – the value of life;  indulgent smile at my body’s efforts, aches and pains, giving due praise for small successes, encouraging her to the next enticing horizon … a dialogue develops.

You need not try so hard.  A way is found, over and into the steepness of that path, which flows and rests into itself.   Thus, my legs taking the brunt of sudden and continuous strenuous exercise ached, complained and wobbled, but I was hardly ever out of breath.

I met a guy right at the end of the great Dinosaur headland.  He had ventured down onto rocks I considered to be my own domain, and he complimented me on my “daring”.  This appreciative audience inspired me to bound up the cliff like a goat – all systems, all rhythms suddenly connect.  The greatest stimulant is display.

To lean back into the present moment.  Into Now?

**

Image

Vesica

Similarly, whenever necessary to bring the bodymind to heel (continually!) from various futile, complaint-filled and absent wanderings of her own – COME BACK, MIND!  Come into “Here”.   Lean into, sink into Here.   It is like being poured into a vessel.   Falling from her normal absent musings, feature articles and defiant or sad political lobbyings into silent perception of the landscape around – a flower begins to open.  Yes:  a silvery light of being from within, dewy and infinite.

A drop of water, a bud to open, a lens – the vesica in the overlap of two circles expands or contracts with the degree of focus.   It is hidden but real.  This path leads through heather and grey stones over a high volcanic tump that rises out of the sea.   Strumble Lighthouse will soon appear from behind another.  The air is bright with the sound of stone-chat birds that dart black and white, from fence post to furze.  The heather here is intense magenta violet;  never have I seen it so bright – shocking pink, sprinkled with the gold-dust perfume of gorse in flower in a dark-green prickly carpet.   What a garden!

Let it “collapse” inward …

Self-enquiry:  who is this dewy, infinite seeing space?  What travels over the rocky place of colour and the wide, blue sky?  A column of light?  Or an I? – what wordless query, collapsing inward to the silver space flowing outward, dwells in the marrow, you bony goat?

Image

Vesica pisces

My body is a shell, the thin and ruinous walls of the citadel around this elusive essence of …

only one conduit, among a myriad other forms, for Spirit like a source of spring of water in the hillside … loving as a goat does, this rocky path of life, which absorbs an immensity of sky, sea and sunlight.   In the immensity, there sleep – for the sea is mirror calm today – a titanic display of rounded cliffs in pillow-lava, like the paws of a lion.  The tide plays slackly around those furled, slumbering claws.   The air is breathlessly still, mirror-still.  The Spirit which my fragmentary citadel carries more or less gamely, through varying degrees of obscurity and up and down, is a little puzzled.  She hopes for some stormy weather to lift the crests to play with.  She wonders also at the mighty quiescence, the glory of heather with gorse in flower, and smiles in fraternal greeting with other sun-burned toilers on the coastal path.  We travel under our burdens the way a snail transports its shell … in as straight a line as possible.

And here, lying across the path upon a quick descent to investigate an enormous crag of violet sandstone that rose from the sea further south, suddenly – a snake, coiled in a petrified quiver of attention.   It heard the questing thunder of my feet.  What kind of snake?  I stepped to one side and stood.   A viper?  Is that a V on its head?   It is quite large – the colour of bracken, golden and brown.  We wait in silence.   Suddenly the coil of the snake is ended.  It flows into the heather in a most admirable and gleaming ripple of straightness.   Like an arrow.

It is very difficult for me to let it all collapse inward … to a reality which soars, which flows an unworded totality of attention like the eagle;  like the snake;  thought as one uncostumed movement, a ripple into that land.  For I am taken with the beauty of the Scorpionic symbol – the concentrated water of life, its hidden “sting”.   The water in the well is still.   Eagle and snake converged spontaneously!

When I come to where land meets sea, and climb along the penumbra, I meet myself, and it is turbulent.  When the inner weather is really heavy and I can’t find my moorings, I get out Ramana Maharshi’s Forty Verses from my bum-bag, like sips of water along the trail.

Image

Sacred geometry

**

Before I came here, to my holiday on the coastal path, I was very busy writing a long story about my encounter with Krishnamurti in 1974.   This led me to read, fascinated, Mary Lutyens’ biography of him.  There was so much about him, and thence about my father and my upbringing, that I didn’t know or understand.  I can now see and make peace with it all.

“Truth,” he said, “is a pathless land.”

This statement rings like a trumpet, through the cliffs and sea.

He was dissolving the ropes that tied him to the Theosophist Movement and expectation, which protected his body and the secret, sacred chamber of himself as a messenger, during his formative years.   The groomed Messiah turns into truth.  The ropes holding the boat from the open sea, were being dissolved by that very Sea in which they lay immersed.   They were old rope, old bondage.  The struggle of K’s “speaker” for freedom, was formative for that timbre.

What is K doing?  He is opening the egg from within, each instant.

It goes much deeper than cracking the shell of Mama Besant.  It applies to the evolving consciousness of the age.  Between the world wars, he was doing it.   It is flame and sword, but there is a lot of talking.   It is also protected by an angel or force of direction that has no name.  From the Theosophist Movement, heavy with description and dripping seaweed, it becomes the movement of itself.   The boat travels loose and free in the world.  The eagle sees through every film or mask laid over the unending question.

Movement is in and of the River.  It has no beginning nor end.  It is not for capture.  Truth is a pathless land.  It has no Master(s).

Image

 

There is a photo of the young K dissolving the Order of the Star.  He looks as if he is cutting a rope to launch a ship.  It is also umbilical – the pain, the cleansing, the opening.   His “process” afflicted him periodically, through life.   It was a fire in the spine to prepare the ways.  It looks like the clearing of fog from capillaries and nervous ganglia for the increment of a potent “blood” – the cosmic dimension.  K was classically, a “channel”.   He didn’t stop being one;  he had some conflict with it.  It was his nature, his training, and the way he spoke.  His “process” is the dying agony of every moment to be born.   And thus into beauty.

It is interesting that K, when due to have an operation, gave a pint of two of his own blood first, in case he should need a transfusion! I am intensely moved by K’s real story, and his being.   He springs to life from the ambiguous authoritarian iconoclast in my childhood.

I see too, that with K there is so much talking;  and with Ramana there is so much silence.   If I put them on the Tree of Life, K is the warrior and Ramana the merciful of Self-enquiry.

It was essential for K to let go every hand that guided him, and never name the Source that channeled him – knowing simply that it is “sacred … beyond line or shape.   But Ramana remained close to the well of Advaita (non-duality) as to the old and sacred hill Arunachala, within whose caves he is born and flows like a stream.   He had no quarrel with the traditions or with his culture.

**

Image

Krishnamurti at Saanen

K traveled over land and sea – a lover of mountains, rivers, flowers and wild creatures all over the world.  In the valleys, he founded schools.  He is a very young child, with the sword of sunrise.   He sits when old, on the floor with children at one of his schools, listening to the school play.  He is very little, empty and touchingly attentive.  His white hair spirals obediently around his crown.

Ramana’s features spread wide, a kindly, craggy land of innocence as the sun sets over a mountain into the cup of the sea. The unfathomable imp of the Self, the I, looks out limpid through the windows, the caves of brown earth in the hills of these two beings – the hard sharp one, and the gentle one.

I wonder what their conversation might have been.

**

Image

Ramana Maharshi

“Truth,” K said “is a pathless land.”   In the pathless, unconditioned terrain, the snake I saw above the violet rock, travels unerringly straight over all of it, like the curve of water.

K’s seems like a young soul like a lofty summit, born into an empty cup without Earth’s long memory.   Ramana’s is an ancient, rounded hill.   He was born under the sign of the Goat:  Krishnamurti under that of the Bull.   This brings a lot of “sky” into Earth, during a dark age.  The Goat climbs and grazes.  The Bull endures the flies and grazes.   The Goat is passing through the ultimate door.  The Bull tastes beauty and is deeply sensuous, deeply keyed to sacrifice.   They represent all the generations of the Twentieth century and beyond.

**

Image

Flying over rocks

The morning after I got home from my holiday, a dream came to me, quite early, after sleeping.

“Consider,” it said “a landscape of good rock, mother-naked glorious, to scramble and clamber among.”

Yes, I can see it, I am there.  It is like the cascade of “organ pipes” that falls diagonally over the southern flank of the Dinosaur, but a lot more of it.

“Those innumerable rocky citadels are formed, as your own body is, from the coagulate of a ripple or tendency of thought along the etheric plane.  Every one of those citadels and rock fortresses is a thought, a device that hardened of itself, to conceal and forget the infinite distillate of the dew it arises from.   Remember the snake?   the way its coil, dense and watchful, slips suddenly away into an arrow, like water?

“Love laughs at locksmiths.  It is free.

“Now.  Listen carefully.  The major weapon of the Devil – in the Tarot his intellectual prick, pride, genital mercury … mind, you see! – is Doubt.”

“….?”  I say.

“Thus, the Devil besieges his customer with Certainty!”

Yes, I’ve got that.  (Blearily writing it down in the dark, before the words slip away for ever.  I hate having to prop my body into wakefulness during the night.)  The apparent Certainty of the people, the houses, the ideas around me.

So what then, is Truth?   What is truth, if not a kind of certainty?

This huge landscape of sensitive rock is making me nervous.

The True is … somehow “the Sword of truth is a gleaming, choiceless point of its Self along not just one place but everywhere(like light, like sun sparkling the sea) in every rock.  You have no choice.”

That is the pathless land.  The Reality is everywhere, like the light on the sea.  The shimmering web dances up into the vivid radiance of its own Tree.   I know in that instant, that there is no need to follow any one path of this light, for it is an all-pervading sparkle from crystal to crystal.  It plays from depth unto depth.  It is the lattice of Solomon.

Whence is my crusading belief?  This line of rock is good, in front, but so are those ones here, and to each side and beyond – as good, as diverse and as firm.   The tenor of Reality is good.   No choice or prejudice can form.  “Truth is a pathless, choiceless land.” To see this, safeguards me for ever, from limiting it to the “Certainty” (and fatigue) of any theological system.

**

Image

Coil

When my dream spoke of the Devil, I was scared.

Fear. Entrapment, illusion … seductions, horrors, histories and tales of woe.   Then I saw what to do.  The abundance of the vein of vision is its own protection against the seeds of fear … and against all prejudice.   Infinity within as without all manifestation, is the heart of the matter.  To know this inner fact, plainly and impartially, like the face of the rocks, means I can never again be brainwashed.   I shall not be persuaded into the shape of false coverings.  All that is finished.   See things as they are:  it does not matter where I am.   “I” is you, and everybody else, and we but die for short spells within the I… I.  The clarity is received.

The truth is simple and wide.  It needs no psychic adornment; there is no measure to its height, depth and breadth, when an outer garment formed of beliefs and patterns of words begins to cave in.

It collapses inward.  Into its Self,

**

Image

Serpent egg 87

There are coves just south of the Dinosaur headland, where the ground falls suddenly away in a cataclysm of folded, broken cliff into a pool of violet pebbles and whispering sea, very far below.  At the rim of one of the coves, a small deserted quarry into the rock becomes furred with lichens and new grass.  Here above the sea, someone laid out in a spiral like a snail’s shell, a graded sequence of small rocks, flint and sandstone.  They begin as a drystone wall, and fade smaller and smaller towards the centre – a few feet across.   Its creator turned into the Quarry … Self enquiry.  I recognized it, knowing already, that to descend into the depth, the violet pebbles and whispering sea is to dive into the Heart.

There is a pathway down.  It is invisible till your feet are on it.  It steeply yet safely descends a sheer precipice of couch-grass along the slanting strata of a grey Vulcan slab.   Near the bottom, a landslide extinguishes it;  but by then you are close enough to the pebble beach, to jump.   And then you look up!

Behold, a vast cirque of the geologic record entangles dark igneous extrusions with glittering sandstone bookshelves alive and golden, in cataclysmic dialogue.  Shattered cascades, dark grey and russet, of parents, children, angels and towns, are sculpted in midfall.  The sacred quarry for titan architects reaches hundreds of feet to the blue sky.   Near the top of the cliffs is another bulging efflorescence of that strange, soft purple rock.  When I biked to St David’s Cathedral a day or two later, I discovered it is built of this purple sandstone, whose changing tints move me deeply.  Nothing in sacred architecture antecedes the carving of the sea, and of the fire within the earth.

**

Image

King Canute 87

While writing this, something wishes to clarify within me, the pathless land.  What is its meaning, in the everyday clambering of life?

Face, and enter all that arises, without psychological comment.  Receive the affronts of grief, mental error, external sounds like that buzz-saw trimming and wounding the trees, openly.   Be here: let it be;  do not flinch.

The attempt to run away, categorize or “fix” pain, causes pain to arise.  It is a cyst of nervous alienation.   I am ashamed of my painfulness, my pain-body, but an adventure opens, if I allow it to exist without fear … or description.

K’s teaching is an IMPARTIAL LAND.  “Get out of the field!”  Let every moment step out of the polarized “field” of chosen labels.  Every step the field encloses, is blind.  Every step out of it is Seeing.

“Get out of the field!”  An individual carries like flame – impartially – the world Consciousness.  He or she, stepping out of the field, influences and is the Whole.   He or she, beginning that departure, is no longer an enclosed, imaginary province, but an opening flow into mankind:  a droplet to the sea.  It is not renunciation, death or hermitage.   It is – paradoxically – the unconditional entry:  the core, the living Self of the field.

Then the field is like a boundary or membrane which isolates each member of it until he or she sees and IS the field!

The practice of opening the gate into tendencies of pain, is to enquire of them steadily – “who is – who am I?”  “The realized one,” says Ramana Maharshi “sends out waves of spiritual influence, which draw many people towards him.  Yet he may sit in a cave and maintain complete silence.”   Water diviners let their sensitive rods lead them to the Source.

Who made that spiral of broken stones in the little quarry over the sea?   Thank you!  It  transmits to me like a beacon.  It seems now to glow in a blue dusk on the cliff top.

Image

Harbour 87

**

I actually found this cove a couple of days earlier.  From the base of a promontory near the Dinosaur, I’d clambered gingerly into it along a rotten rock traverse above the tide.  The view overhead unfolded a dramatic collision of geologies, first one appearing and then the other.  They were talking, like the late Quartets of Beethoven.  One of the voices is rock solid – Must it be?  The other is crumbling – “It must be!”  They question and fuse sometimes in counterpoint.  I passed through the remnant of a perfect “Norman” arch.  A giant curve of uplifted flints supported Nature’s masonry.  It seemed, broken off, to continue into the sky, like the open egg shells of Glastonbury Abbey.

Creeping along strange up-ended strata like the bunched leaves of wet books set perpendicular to the sea, I knew I am “home”.  The Hartland coast of North Devon has those same spectacular cliffs of buckled sandstone, and great round boulders along which to run and jump;  the sweat of sun-heat burning, the smell salt and tart of the sea’s music, the flora in tidal pools – I eat it all;  a chamber, a FIELD of the sacred art.

In the ruined labyrinth of the Bishop’s House by St Davids Cathedral next day, I found little spiral stairways up through stone towers.  They are built in an ascending spiral of flints, like the setting of feathers;  like the teachings – the Hard Sharp one and the Soft one – in the natural ampitheatre.

The spiral is a mandala, produced into three dimensions through space and therefore time.

The spiral stairways are wings of a bird set in stone.

I met in the Bishop’s Palace, a sculptor working on the circular movement of the wings of a bird in flight.  He had carved one in soft stone, and was now having a go in harder stone. He would like to leave the form of the bird just semi-released from the block of stone into which he carved.  “That is so suggestive, like resurrection of spirit from material,” I said … or the feeling of climbing a steep hill.

Several artists worked in the Bishop’s Palace.  A woman carved a tree into a seated dryad.  I was invited to sit in her with my arms upon hers gently, for she was a chair, a goddess, and through her flowed dramatically, the grain and great splits in the wood.  She was a spirit of arresting awareness.   She sat, golden and brown with sap in a chamber of stone, open to the sky.  I thought she was glorious.  The sculptress began to carve into and around her back some dryadic leaves, flowers and fruit.  The grounds of the Bishop’s Palace were dun-coloured gravel and green grass.  In medieval times it was very busy with artists and learning, kitchens, spits and dungeons.  After wandering through it, and up and down its towers, I came again to the violet face of the Cathedral, the proportion around its great West door.   I was moved inexplicably to tears, by such beauty.

This Celtic Cathedral – the smallest in Britain – is moored carefully like a great grey boat to a hollow in the land.  The land around here is a green and golden undulant, like the sea.  It is harvest time.  The square tower is shy to show itself above the fields.  I saw somewhere a postcard of it, peeping above a meadow of scarlet poppies.

**

Seeking a way out of the cove where Vulcan lava and sandstone combine and dance – for I didn’t want to risk again the ruined traverse – I was blocked by a gigantic purple pillar that stood upright in the sea.  I hoped to embark a daring and attractive route up another contour alongside it, but it was too dangerous;  there is joy no longer, and my cautious creature loses tone and balance.  At last I tackled the grassy precipice direct, flowing three-point feet to hands over its tough tufts.  Nearly halfway I came upon the miraculous hidden diagonal route, and walked up the rest.   Perhaps it was once a wreckers path?

**

Image

**

Life on the cliff path, dipping into shadowed pools of sunlight in the coves, clambering out and over and down into the next, is a life of enquiry and often forgetting, on the wave.  The prana floats, and casts my writers’ moorings.  The deep water is rather overpowering, and frightens me.  I am vaguely seasick.  What should I really be facing?

Alas!  Easy it is to declare – “This is MY cove, my secret place, it belongs to my homeland, my childhood” and capture it into the web of sentiment and woe.  I’m a visitor only to its body and teachings.  There is no place for a patriotic conqueror, planting a flag and planning a speech about the splendid baptismal swim I had there.  You see, I didn’t swim there.   I wish that I did, so as to “have” it more fully!   Fool!

If I possess it, I begin to forget what it is, and to become heavy, lonely and sad.  It is easy to lose the key.  The magic happens when it is new, when it surprises and fills my eye, my hands and feet.

But I brought home some stones from that chamber.  In them I see the Cathedral.  They are dark violet, grey and veiny white.  One little flecked paler purplish one is smooth and looks translucent, like a bird’s egg.  When I picked it up, it was alive and warm with the heat of the sun.

**

Image

Ramana light and shade

**

23 August 1991             MEET RAMANA FOUNDATION UK

The smile in Ramana’s eyes is the land and the sea.  I have a picture of him now, which I framed and put in my living room.  When I got back from my holiday, I went to make contact with Ramana’s “people”.   I’ve been getting to know his ways intermittently, by myself, for just a year.  The Self in his eyes guides me, often lost, often found.   In Hampstead village, a slim man with big hands was working on the roof of his house.   He came down the ladder, went to put on a shirt, and asked if I would like a glass of orangeade. He made it rather strong, and we sat in a long cottage room, cool and dark like a cave.

He told me it is like coming home.  One climbs a step and here at last one is.  He is gentle, rather droll and very British.  There are meetings for meditation, discussion and friendship once a month, in London.  The Ashram at Arunachala in southern India, is lively and discreet with Self enquiry, and doesn’t try to convert people.  He gave me a spare picture of Ramana, and a copy of their journal The Mountain Path – this summer’s issue.  I am delighted, amused and touched, to find this issue is devoted to discussing the teachings of Krishnamurti and Ramana.  So many seekers, it seems, come to the one through the other.   It is full of pictures that make me laugh, of these two white-heads, the one so very naked, the other so neatly dressed.  Each asks the same question in his own inimitable gesture.

If one goes to Arunachala in winter – he said – it is like summer here, mosquitoes are not a problem.  One can stay as long as one likes.  The food is very good indeed, as Ramana was the chef.  One of Ramana’s very few instructions is that Vegetarian is better, for quieting the mind.  The other is the seat of the “Heart” for meditation, surrender and Self enquiry, on the right side of the chest, two fingers from the centre sternum.

I have been trying this.  It is helpful.  It centres and opens.  The focusing of the Self here (as good as anywhere) pulls the ego or thought into it, to be eventually consumed – like the stick that stirs the fire.

I felt once, for a few minutes, a spillage into a sense of tallness and straight living … an intimation of peace, that way of resting.  “It is worth following Ramana’s very few rules to the letter, because he is not Tom, Dick or Harry.  This is a safe way.  It allows for personal rates of progress, because the Inner Ruler directs it.“

This was very interesting, coming so soon after my dream about all that rock, so sound and good, upon whose threshold I stood.

What a careful little goat I am, really.

**

The conversation included some ways of Kabbalah, Hermes Trismegistos, Buddha, an ancient link of Brahman with Ain Sof, and other familiar landscapes.  They all arise from and lead to the cosmic Rome.  My hero Mouni Sadhu is indeed by now dead, having been one of the original great devotees – “did you read ‘In Days of Great Peace’?”  The older generation has passed on, the new one rises – Ramana’s children.  How interesting it is, to meet ourselves.

The shyness.  Slender hesitancy, and no judgement.  He says he struggles with The Wandering Perverted Mind.  And then, over about an hour of meeting, the common language and commitment found, and taking hold:  the delight of this.  I meet the Egregor –  the children of the Master – evolving a life of its own. A big quiet cave of a living room, like an untidy rose, cool in the summer, full of books;  a Star of Solomon in aura colours upon a desk signals Yes to me;  and Ramana’s portrait unobtrusively, here or there.

Chewing gum is offered.  “Oh yes, I gave up smoking too, last year.  Wasn’t it dreadful!”  “I used Nicorette.”  “I did it cold turkey, Allen Carr’s book The Easy Way to Stop Smoking.  It was terrible.  But I got through.”  More fruit juice to drink.

**

What might hold us all together?  Love for and with that friendly Ramana, within those eyes,  a mountain.  Love yes, a private, common ground.   The pulse of love ever rises from within the well of the world.  The Self is boundless.  How often do I remember to look for and see the hidden well, whether I move or am still?  A sage whose life is that transcendent well, is quintessential after he is dead.  Love generated from all directions to him there, to that “I” creates his smile like the blink of sky over sea.  I can see pilgrims gathering.  The sage was a shape around the Self.  The Self is ever alive, I to I, as clear, quiet water.

**

Krishnamurti: “Be the disciple of your own understanding…   Good is that of which you are not afraid, evil is that which you fear.  So if you destroy fear, you are spiritually fulfilled.”

Many feel that K closes the door as you come to it, making it very difficult …

Wiped clean of “knowledge”, does he address the “ignorant”?

**

Image

Krishnamurti at Rishi Valley School

**

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.

More of the Star and the Seals

Protected by Copyscape Web Plagiarism Scanner

10 August 2012

Rohit asked me this week to put up the Star on the blog, to progress the Tower energies swirling around;  so yesterday I did, and added to it some of the Seal chapter which follows it in my journal.

The Star is perhaps the most benevolent energy in the Tarot.  She is there when the walls of the Tower have blown away with the dust.   She is there, rebuilding and going deep.   She is there, nude and pouring the water of Life from her everlasting Source of nature onto earth and into the pool.   Onto earth a delta of the senses flows:  a tree’s rings of time ripple across the pool.   Lightly her foot rests on the waters.  The waters are the collective subconscious.  She is a yogic asana, and we can be this way, do it for ourselves, and feel what softens, spreads and opens.

The woman of the Star is truth and contemplation.   She heals the Foundation, and ever renews the root and shoot.   When we stand and are quiet, we find ourselves.

Here she is again, with AJJA’s verses below:

The Star

The Hebrew letter PEH belongs with the Tower.  It means “mouth” and “speech”.  The tower speaks:  the voice of God speaks from a burning bush:  I AM.   However, the power of this hieroglyph elides with the fluency of the Star.  Each Tarot Key makes a seamless Tao with its neighbours.

When we stand and are quiet, we find what we are.   We find what THAT is, which troubles us.  It is I.  Is it I?   Simply, I have no form, and yet I am.

The Tower of the Tarot, with its 22 courses of bricks, is a chimney.   The Tower or chimney, let down into the earth like a root, is a well.   How it transforms.

As above, so below.  The Seal of Solomon’s triads, masculine and feminine, likewise ascend and descend through each other in the temple of peace.

She looks down into the well uprising.  The walls are gone, and the earth delivers.   At the heart and source of every troublous thought, is this deliverance.   As Krishnamurti would say:  the sacred.

As Douglas Harding would say:  just look carefully, and go on looking.

We have to make a deal with our conditioned mental tension, to just lay off for a moment, and let

the attention be.

 Image

Many years ago, a bi-polar friend commissioned from me a painting of Gerald Manly Hopkins’ poem: Mind thou hast mountains, cliffs of fall.   It was meant to depict the darkness and the terror of the bi-polar abyss.  I was in the middle of my Hermetic discovery.  I drew:  and at once the strata of the mountainous rock fell through into an inner land, sun bathed, of the All Seeing.  Hermes Trismegistos the guide, receives the falling soul, like a midwife.

Here’s the sequence:

Image

Awaken 87

 **

Image

 sketch: Cliffs of Fall 87

**

 Image

Dance 87

The oil painting which followed it, gave me another surprise.  A chance configuration of the paint, as I brushed in the sky, revealed a seal’s head soaring into the Upper Worlds.   I loved this seal.  Its song is the heart and thread of the Tree of Life through all the worlds;  this was before I studied Kabbalah.  It is a soul connection of the deep.  Unfortunately the painting got stolen from my friend when he was ill, and this blurred photograph is my only record of it.

Image

The Seal, Cliffs of Fall

So later on, I reconstructed it for myself, for it has a profound message of hope.  The soul falling through the strata of the subconscious in terror and delight, is the seeker.  The cave of the heart opens.  The little goat on the alp (below) is Capricorn, going about our business.  Hermes to the left presides over the journey, and over the landscape of the Underbeing:  the treasure house of souls.   The composition is a Tree of Life, with Hermes at Hod, and the energy of the quest in Fall at Netzach.   Here is a drawing:

Image

and the small painting to replace the lost one:

Image

Cliffs of Fall Version 2

The horizontal and vertical planes cross each other, as in every instrumentation of life:  the horizon with the sky.  In astrology, the Capricorn Cancer solstice polarity is a coastal path where land and sea meet:  the Song of Humanity;  the elders and the children:  death and birth.   Pluto, the orbit of transformation, is now (until 2024)  in Capricorn, where he was 240 years ago – the time of Beethoven and Napoleonic wars.   Whatever else goes on, profound human values are rediscovered.   So deeply does Pluto touch our inmost chords of song, that the astronomers have decided he is not a planet.

Pluto is about the size of our Moon.  Pluto is more – Pluto transcends his binary rotation with his moon Charon.   Pluto is the hundreds of fragments and asteroids of the Kuiper  Belt – whose gravitational drift forms a vast clock, or dial, around the sun …   240 years:  around five billion square miles of space;  one NOW.  The Kuiper Belt IS Pluto, collectively.  In astrology, the planets are expressed as qualities through their orbital pulses:  a few months for Mercury, 2 terrestrial years for Mars, 12 for Jupiter, and so on.   The solar system is a Rose of petals of time, cyclic yet never repeating history … a little like Tom’s torch of time.

Image

Great Rose

**

Here are more impressions now, of the seals and the south westerly coast of Wales.   “The Star” is meditation.  The Seals play in the deep.

**

Image

rock family

From Journal, 4 October 2002:  Rope, Coast and Ship

Hearth-fire: To have one little fire in the wilderness by myself, is only the triad of awakening;  to join my smoke with the Elder ones is to warm with a greater fire, into which the Triad of the Spirit dips.  And in this greater fiery circle in the wilderness, with wise ones seated around it, prayer and small intentions for humanity are taken and they work, they join, they go beyond me.  It’s funny how there is this passion and yet the great difficulty to be present at the greater fire:  the tedium and the wrestling.  Most of the time during the day, my thoughts are not prayerful at all, but nasty, fearful depressions about so and so’s weapons, and the blaring bulldogs here.  Such imaginations only contribute to the newsprint of fear.

But … the Companions give me rope.  They give me space to explore my coastal path, the creative process and the I-mystery through Ramana.  They let me do it thoroughly, and then come back to them with my way of unification.  Does not this body of work belong to them?  Will they not look after it, and see that it goes with the right tide?

The rope is something earned in another lifetime.  There seems to have been so much labour in that other lifetime, to obtain this leisure and protection for the Spirit, that an anxiety – (am I making the most of the opportunity?) – continues to stress me. 

I begin to hear the gentle advisors, who say “rest”.  Do just what is given. Where my home is, is a tempering place, for all its crack crime and bulldogs, and survives history like the water the wave travels through.  The mite belongs to the Greater.  My work and creation is a fibre woven into Their Rope.

It is a seamanlike rope, like the one near Pwllderi, which hangs from a stanchion down the rock and into the bay a mile south of the Dinosaur headland.   I went down it again, not to swim this time, but to enter a deep dark cave under the cliff, and take photographs.  The rope is in my mind’s eye, thick rope with curly strands and fibres – holding it in my hand as I go down to the wet wild stones, and again when I come up. 

In the same part of that coast, and nearer the Dinosaur, is the ‘secret cove’.  It had seals and their babies in it, this time, so I didn’t go right down.  I only climbed down into it, because my mother dropped her bag with the car keys in it, down the cliff.  The slope is sheer, with tough couch grass, and the bag had come lightly to rest in thornbushes a hundred feet down or so.   I took it, and then traversed across to the secret diagonal path I discovered last time, to sit a little nearer the seals and watch them.  

Eleven years ago, I first entered it, climbing along the shaly sea’s edge.  It is where the igneous rock of Strumble meets beds of sandstone strata: a petrified eruption.

The cove has titanic devic cliffs around it, and waters within of indigo, green and russet.  It is an immaculate vortice, or oasis.  I am profoundly nourished by this mystic place.  It has rock formations of giant couples, children and owls.

Image

rock titans

Last week I ascended the diagonal path to the clifftop and looked for the spiral stones where I saw the snake last time, but they had gone, and it is overgrown with gorse. 

In my inner sight, it dips suddenly and beautifully down into the pure sea – the well.  The coastal contour flows around it.  It has every level In it:  a turning point in Truth – a landmark.

This time, the Companions gave me the seals to get close to.  Last time I climbed upon some “organ pipes” which gave me a vision of rocklike infinity:  a certainty of the Good.

How should I name this cove, so vivid in my interior, more so than the Tower, and as alchemical?  It glows with the long shadows of sunset.  In its depth are the violet stones from which they built St David’s Cathedral.  I cannot name it.  Keys from the vehicle were dropped into it and rescued.  On the rocky beach below, seals lay vulnerably and suckled their young, and in the soft dark waves their bulls stood guard.  I see above it the graded spiral of rocky stones, and the fluid snake.

Image

I dip into my interior treasure, along the coastal path trod by sages and Kabbalah.  It is part and parcel of that Great Path.  It is my self-refreshment and discovery of the great Trust fund of Truth.  It is a jewel threaded on the rope.  It never forgets the rope which is the path.  We were given feet and hands to tread sensually such paths.  Krishnamurti said “Truth is a Pathless Land” – which means every path in it is truth.  That was my revelation, glittering that day and in the night, on the organ pipes of igneous rock over the Dinosaur’s flank;  and I have it again.  The sea is in my face. 

The coast is a place of power.   What do they give me now, to see? 

Image

Return to ships’ crew –  my central Mast between the fore and aft of the pillars, and my Scamp in the crows nest – Daat:  the way he bothers me and my crew when we are all tired, with his horizons which we cannot see, and with his sooth saying ideas which we translate into uneasy psychological shadows, and his general chatter, and his inaccessibleness when it comes to trying to share his wisdoms through personal vulnerability. 

Come down!  Let’s see you!  Leave your nest and shimmy down the mast with its sheets, ropes and stanchions, swing down the ladders, drop onto the roof amidships, and onto the deck of gleaming timbers.  They seem golden, but are actually weathered grey and scrubbed by sea and salt.  Lend a hand!  Take a brush and some pitch, let’s see how you work with us.

Image

rock flow

The glory of the image …. crows nest, night-dark ravens and the black choughs with red beaks and legs, the glory of their command of the airs, ravens’ wing.  The raven phase of alchemy, and also the silvery and druidic grey of my Kingdom of Daat:  the music sings wherever I look.  But that is Daat download chattering – Pluto in the Tree;  and seals sing like owls.  Come down, scallywag sailor with your see-it-all, and lend your hand to the wood. 

Emotion is the deep living current of the green-violet sea.  Feelings are the surface break of waves which are then subsumed.  There is something very quiet and still and restful in the open breast of emotion, Kabbalistically.  It is unendingly here in this moment, intensely Daat, focused and free of drama. 

Image

My meetings with seals were analogous to the meetings and overlappings of the Four Worlds, and of inner and outer planes.  We poke our heads through membranes of the waters and look upon each other.  We receive each other, unheaded.

The sense is of a circle turned.  This last eleven years is a place of meeting.  Last time I couldn’t see the seals, this time I could.  It needs time and some hindsight, and the flow of the river away, to see what I am now seeing.

October 2002

Image

**

Image

Old Men of the Sea

**

**

**

 

 

 

 

 

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.

Tom’s Torch of Time – an Olympic Relay alchemy

Image

Children of the World 2007 – a drawing done for the Human Rights Aid Foundation

**

Protected by Copyscape Web Plagiarism Scanner

Here is the Olympic Flame during the Games.  204 children, one child accompanying each nation’s team, carried a bronze petal towards the  creation of the complete torch flame.   The petals when lit, lay as a great mandala over the ground.  As national diversities emerged into unity –  like stamens of a flower – the mandala rose to form the Olympic torch.

Here is the flame from within it, looking up.

My earlier post, Reflections on the Grand Cross (22nd June) touched on the Cardinal Crossroads (17 July) of Pluto in Capricorn, Moon in Cancer, Mars in Libra, Uranus in Aries:  tensions and responses through the antipodeal frame of solstice and equinox.  Many astrologers and seers speak of a profound tipping point;  the relay-release of the old Mayan Great Circle, or frame of time, into the “new” Aquarian Great Circle.  They see violent interactions, and all kind of things.

Our projection onto 2012, when boiled down to essentials, may amount to the handing over of the Torch of Time, through time and space: through the dream.

Image

Four seasons electron figure-eight

Intense pressure is suffered in a myriad different ways, collectively and individually, as human conscience passes the midpoint of a cosmic “8” – the figure of infinity;  itself a crossing-point of the unbroken Circle.   The dawn of “something new” has no adequate prediction.   The dawn of “something new” is through the neck of the hourglass.  It reflects the old, yet differently.   A young gangster kid may be inspired to break through into athletic training and fellowship – a local quantum leap.  These things happen.

Few of us have the “dancer’s training” to bend and yield and flow with it.   Yet truth is found when we look within ourselves, rather than outward onto the shifting persuasion.  This inner truth is sometimes surprising.  It is like having a view from above, rather than from inside the street’s canyon – to see all the streets, all the connections, the city and its fields.

And … for instance … a TV camera inside a helicopter records a hand-over of the Olympic torch down there in a London street …  or a village …  or a coastal path or remote, rainy field.  The place is lined with flags and inaudible cheering;  a small white clad figure approaches another in the rain;  there is a pause while the flame is stabilized, then off goes the new white clad figure, her arms uplift with joy, her hair down her back;  she seems to float, she is heavy and yet she flies.  She runs like an early Picasso Grecian dancer;  and the ancient happiness punches up into the sky.

I was moved, by something deep and archetypal.  Till then I was “an Olympic sceptic” – I saw chiefly, an extravagance far beyond the British purse, its one heritage being the “greening” of an industrial desert – a reclamation of toxic soils.

Image

Torch bearer (1955)

**

Every carrier of the flame was stirred, carried into an unexpected dimension, and so were the watchers, along its 8,000 miles.  (Or was it 80,000 …?)

Astrologers view the Grand Cross and London’s exact alignment with it, with traditional pessimism.   Yet I also perceived the coming of all the nations together in an estwhile centre of the Common Wealth:  Greenwich meridian 0.  There is a civil vulnerability;  Isn’t there also the potential for a progressive release;  a different gesture?   Alignment with whatever the stress, converts it to an asset, and flows.   It is an art of life.  The forces which move us are so much deeper than we know.

Image

Leda & Swan (1957)

The euphoria of the Olympic award in July 2005, was swiftly followed by the bombings.  The wake gathered in Trafalgar Square to say “we shall not be defeated, and nor shall we hate.”  In all our minds is that vigilance with the shadow which accompanies the light.   Yet in the passing of anniversaries, the replay of patterns, history “reverberates” beyond our fears.   In the bigger picture of the cycles, there is so little that we actually see.  What we think we see is feudally enclosed by our conditioning.

All we can be sure of, is that we cross again these points, but with a turn of the spiral, rather than a closed circuit.  Thus is Nature and the growth of trees.   The spiral is tight with our history and apprehension;  yet still it is the Great Spring – a planetary kundalini Yantra.   Watch the world, and turn inward;  see “the point of intersection, time with timeless:  an occupation for the saint.”

 Image

Draw a Yantra

**

A Kabbalistic meditation this week:  the PRESENT.  The present.   A Present, like a gift – here in this room with its pictures and things, in this block of flats, the noise of cars and trains going by each side, in this neighbourhood … within the event of the Olympic Games in London.  Mostly, this Present is the busy, tiny, teeming moment’s turmoil.   Sometimes this Present is an entire aeon, or aeon of aeons … the Buddha’s breath … NOW.   Into NOW, the tiny things melt for a moment.

What different clocks!   And we can go anywhere.  We can go to before the big bang, behind where all this began …  nothing.   No thing.   Silence.   Space.   Conscious.   The focus of an emanation which is Light – a point – expands.   Let there be Light, and all that becomes.  The tsim tsum is this beginning of the whirlings, gilgalem, the polarized pulse of atomic gravities, so tiny, which turns – the great wheel of the Milky Way – in one of its spiraling arms voyages our little Solar System.   The Vedic gods I realize, with their many arms, are GALAXIES!

 Image

Cosmic egg and wood grain

Then a trip through history, geologic and human, evolving through NOW, always now, to the re-absorbed aeons of ions into the point:  no thing.   Kalpa, the Great Breath.  And open your eyes into this room.   Thou art God.   TAT TWAM ASI.  AHIH ASHER AHIH.   And make the tea!

Time is multi-directional, and also inward.   Time is a petalling flower – each petal is a local clock, and they grow and fall away, and new ones come;   each petal is an electron circuit, a planetary orbit around the stamens of the Sun.

This brings me to Tom’s Torch … and its hundreds of bronze petals.

Thomas Heatherwick, the architect of the Olympic cauldron, is the grandson of Elisabeth Tomalin, who died aged 99, this year.  Elisabeth carried in her tiny, intense, twig-like frame, a century’s history:

http://www.thecnj.com/review/2009/102909/feature102909_01.html

Herself a Jewish refugee from world war 1, Dresden and the Holocaust, she met Jung in Switzerland and made her home in England when she was young.  She worked as a fabric designer for Marks & Spencer, then trained as an art therapist, and returned to Germany in the 1960s, where she pioneered her work among students whose parents had been Nazis, to heal their soul.  She released their creativity through dream interpretation, using water and sand.  In one of her visions, she inherited the link in an unbroken tradition of doctors, whose root was in Israel – this was a comfort to her.   Her story is extraordinary, as the above link shows.   Here is one of her last embroideries which she gave me.  Her hands could not control a brush, but could still sew.   Embroidery, for Elisabeth, was a tapestry of the soul, the colours of lifetimes, in and out:  the flowering landscape of the inner thread.

Image

Figure of Eight, by Elisabeth Tomalin

**

Elisabeth’s burning quest for connectivity, and the wholeness of the soul, made her a difficult companion, to herself and to all her friends.  In her daughter Stefany, her grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, that powerful river of the lineage survives and flows.  Her grandson’s imagination is prolific, since childhood.   He is the architect of the Seed Cathedral in the Shanghai Expo, and of holistic buildings patterned on the flow of wood and water, in Britain and all over the world.   He and she were close.

Tom Heatherwicks Seed Cathedral

The Great Work of Alchemy is stealthy, and many of its hands do not know what they do.  Time’s great petals are brought to form a mandala, each is dipped to combine an Olympic flame.   Young persons and athletes without celebrity, brought Tom’s bronze petal-buds each to each.  It is beautiful to remember how the flame traveled around the land, from the Giants Causeway to Trafalgar … villages, lanes and towns, by horse, by boat, by wheelchair, by abseil and by bike.  It atavistically moved people, one didn’t know why, culminating in the great, converging relay.  It is ancient, as the beacons on hills, the messengers along ley lines who carry fire in nests:  the elder earth energy.   It woke something.   Until I saw it, I had no idea what all the fuss was about.

Tom’s Torch – the Miracle

The mandala of the petals of the flame lay on the ground and glowed.  Then every stamen was raised up, like a carousel on stalks, till the One Torch merged, flowed and burned for the world:   Tom’s torch of Time.

The horizontal yantra rose into the vertical stem.

Image

Torch bearer (1954)

**

A Summer Grand Crossroads brings many, many nations together in a world city, to compete, befriend and celebrate;  to pass through each other, and begin to transcend the little cult of the individual – through stretching individual capacity beyond the barriers.  There are problems, furies and triumphs.  We are villagers.

The weatherman on TV last night, announced with relish:  “The weather is improving.  This weekend, for the closing Ceremony, we may look forward to a Bright Gold Medal in the sky!”

Crossroads are places of meeting.  In their centre may be planted a tree, a seat, a garden, a gossip, a conflict, or even a sacred space.

What is my Crossroads?   What is your Crossroads?

How does the river flow and feel?

Even if we in the British economy, suffer “an Olympic Hangover”, this too, shall pass, and is part of our character. Likewise, we chuckle at Danny Boyle’s opening Ceremony, a radical departure from the tradition of the host country to boast about itself.

It is important to recall the  surprise of the revealed Symbol, signifying yet something other, always.

 Image

Sunflower

**

Image

Relay – Centaur, Athene and Child (1987)

**

Image

Solomon’s Seal:  Flower of Life

**

The fire of our Sun creates the light of the world.  The seed creates the form within the Mother Consciousness.  Here, the children return the Flame to its source.

In the seed and the flame is the essence of our humanity. They light the Tree of Life.

.

Image

Snowdrop:  In touch, across the Seas (1988)

**

**

 

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.