Here is a link to a crazy shack near Mount Rushmore where the field of gravity went inexplicably crook! (By the way, Pahari’s blog is a FEAST of beautiful pictures, travels and reflections.)
Meditation is here – the moment loaded with gravity; the inrush still – Lord Siva dances with his toe on the bow … while Shakti prepares to bathe.
What is meditation? Thanksgiving. It may shine in, burst through the cloudy bubble of my whats-going-on.
Meditation? Stop and stand, like a road worker easing his back. The warmth of sunshine. I am not a formal meditator (cushion, lotus legs) because the moment it happens, creation wells up, knowing it is actually Silence, the dew.
The moving focus is empowered. The urge to share, leaks out of the mountain side.
These paragraphs – written in 1991, revised last year – appear at once on my water-table:
On the Tree of Life – Yesod and Daat.
“Yesod at the Tree of Life’s Foundation, is a Sefira of establishment, the attachment of fertilized egg to uterine wall. Daat within the Tree is the nuclear current which catalyzes and dissolves the meaning of “me”: unknown cognition. Daat is the shadow I cannot wear!
“Daat in the physical body is a mysterious encounter. In the central nervous system, through capillaries which exchange molecules of mutual nourishment, mental consciousness takes root, picking up signals from the human collective which saturate the field. From this point of support, an image – “I am” – appears on screen, as sentience stirs and stretches. From the neural fabric of interwoven worlds, the everyday mood music arises. It draws up for itself vitality, from the ground of bone, viscera and breath. Memory’s depth of field ignites and is claimed.
“When photo sensitive paper is placed in a bath of developer after exposure, the negative or shadow of light appears through a white mist. The dark lines or narrative of a world-picture form. They are the impact. Light underwent an inversion – on the retina, as on the camera film. Light darkened the exposed film, to become available to our description. Physical light – sunlight, the event on retina and optic nerve – is the inversion of a metaphysical radiance: its shadow or negative. An image is fixed at the speed of photons of light. In the valley of the dark, the physically blind, a latent vision gestates, which is not of the ordinary senses but perhaps in between them. (See also Alchemy & Self enquiry, 2 July)
“Let there be an introversion. Collapse the senses inward, into the well of the dark, the untold. Let the eye be directed not outward onto the world, but into the interior perception. Wait for the sensitized plane to manifest. It is a shy but seamless process. Landscapes may come, if mental imaging is active, and sky-like radiance may spill into them. If the mental imaging is quiescent but alert, infinite space … through all objects and densities … to all sides effulgent, strangely shines, like unoccupied sky. Or none of these, but a blank, the dynamo of thoughts.
“What does the radiant landscape have in common with the sky-like aliveness? the busy internal street? the view of my room, the window, the trees, the passing trains, the town? Who or what is the seer?
“Let the wide petalled lotus in her green stem open, holding attention to the point.
“Vision records interior and exterior thought forms freely, the same mind stuff passes through with the breath. Vision resonates the abundant forms which precipitate into the field. Vision is the quickening of their beauty and of their pain. Vision records what emerges, settles, changes and vanishes.
“Daylight in the mind, fixing the image, installs a belief. The image fixed as in exposure to the darkroom light, no longer grows. It is captured, and like a plucked flower it blooms, dies and is clung to. That from which it arose and arises, alone un-changes, in the heart of the Tree. Wood rises from and around the water of Life in the well. ‘To be silent’ is good, for it does not prematurely precipitate information.”
When a Universe big bang beginning and all begins like torn white paper dispersed from I, to shred grey matter floating outward, a golden dancer breathes in and out the cleft seed. Siva, child of Siva at play! around the core thou art the instant of unbounded being of which no thing is composed.
Bhagavan Ramana. Bhagavan means Lord of Light, and is a term of love. “Guru” means dispeller of darkness – letting in the light. Ramana was not a conventional Guru. I am not a follower in the traditional way, but I am a devotee to his being. His map and mountain are deep in my life and delight. Ramana shared his Self – he had no choice – and let it become contagious, like the sun.
Now here is some more from the earlier writing in 1991: The Lightning Tree
“Lightning strikes, fusing Above with Below down the Sefiroth of the Tree electro magnetically, but only if the root is in Earth. Our roots were ancient people of the trees. The Essenic people were trees which walked in the desert and made it bear fruit. The branches of the Tree, its Sefiroth and paths, are raised to the heavenly Father. The roots of the Tree, mirroring the branches and seven angels, penetrate the earthly Mother.
“My hands at a right angle, bring the instrument close to my eye. It shields from excess light and directs the focus. It is like looking out from a cave. I rest in the cave of my heart, looking out on the world. The landscape inner and exterior, is seamless as the flowing thought stuff. Restlessness comes under the contemplative dominion. My mind, that bundle of habits, on entering the ashram, is trained to focus. Vital and alive is the current which fuels my intellect: the tool of life.
“There is my literal bundle of firewood – the Karmas and Samskaras of many a lifetime: and there is the cosmic Intelligence which, like a song of love without words, consumes the wood in the flame.
Young ramana & mother
“She is his mother. She squats on the ground by the cave of her long-nailed shaggy-haired emaciated young son in the hot sun. With every persuasion the eloquence of her voice and pliable brown hands, bangles-a-jingle can employ, she weeps, implores and begs him to come back to his family like a good son and have a square meal. They will build a little temple over him, if that is what he wants.
“Her young son replied to her with a silence which, pouring from those dark eyes, at last one day drew her into the cave of the heart with him … whom she had never left.
“The whole cosmos is received back into Siva, into the ALEPh – its child.”
“In the ashram is a well, around which many insects buzz back and forth; people gather. Over the lip of a well sunk deep in cool, clear wisdom – a dark eye – is drawn a creative activity: tools of the artist, the lover, the Magus. The insects flit and sip the moist nectar rising from the dark deep into air and light. Worries. Sadnesses. Old sores. Muddy pools with bedraggled lotuses in them. Conversation, how hot it is, laughter and sorrow and fury, the shouts of children, the musings of old men, the prayers of grandmothers, the jingle of conjugal bangles, a damp forehead to wipe with a corner of sodden sari, the smell of cooking and of cows, the longing for cool water in buckets, the fever of the day. Much noise. Many celebrations. It is all thrown into high relief by the gentle potent Presence: the power of attraction the sage has upon insect thoughts. The Karmas of many lifetimes present beautiful coloured costumes , like butterflies for alchemy. So it will quieten and deepen with time, and in surrender to the Hill of Fire: Arunachala. The butterfly flies to the flame.
"Silence is the even flow of electric current. Speech obscures the current for lighting and other purposes." (Ramana Maharshi)
“The Will to be Silent is a “tao” of the Great Action in alchemy. A time of great Yang dawns from a saturation of Yin. The inner darkness, filled to the brim with its own nature, is the Light of itself, and spills. How could I ever delay or quicken it?
“What are all these things? They describe the sage before we meet. They are the feeling that the sage will come into my life, is in my being. A sound of drums and flutes, banners and dancing elephants, is borne softly towards me on the breeze from an approaching carnival. In everything I explore of Yin and Yang and beauty and trees of life, is the play of light over his features, moving from expression to expression like a river. It is only like drawing. Why not draw … what I love? Labour apprentice, with your bits of wood and stone! So close comes the sage, a little closer than before, my eyes start to overflow. As a spring, the sage arises from within my mountain.”
Returning to today’s long breath:
Meditation is when peace and fullness comes, in any form. Meditation is Great Fullness. As meditation is empty it is full.
As I touch a key, and a fellow blogger’s writing or impression arrives into a moment where I am at: so the roving finger filaments out there find and touch my keys, one that is right for their day.
The process as I learn, is beautifully sensitive, capillary interlacing like branches in the sky, and birds singing in them.
It copies the real software of the Universal Mind-Self, the human lattice-work. It helps me let go of what order I’d like people to read me in. Realisations are soft, deep waves of prana, rhythm of life. The mother giving birth feels the same – the instinct wide and deep.
Polish the Stone: polish the mundane: gratitude.
Oh – by the way …
Sonnet on the Beach at Leigh-on-Sea
To detect my indwelling Sovereign everywhere in mud, bird and ungainly human continent, praise the Sun in whom all hidden share - one field, my self's soul questing element. Compassion opens to each inward light. Should I judge the mystery, his currency through darkroom eyes that strive for sight? Sea-birds nesting on sea bed touch clemency. Abandon prejudice! Heart questing into other is bright hermit's lantern; behold your coloured cloak, my brother- sister Self Divine; shadows of our hidden gold. The Sovereign eagle winging shore-less ocean, scribes the Great Circle - our unseen completion.
1993, from “Tailor of a Field” … still working on it!
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.