Under the Grass and Topsoil


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

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

Richard Rudd Excerpt from the 64 Ways


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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quantock dancers

Seven sisters, High Point, Quantock hills


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

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

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

My mother’s garden in the early spring

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

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

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

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

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

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





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

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

A New Year – Wings within Spine

Circle, courtesy of The Sun Hermit (Tom Corsus)

With Christmas we are thresholding Capricorn – the thresher of the Dweller – for the midwinter Solstice came late this year, on the 23rd.  This morning in north Somerset the sky is as eggshell crisp and blue over the hills; the sun rose in fiery gold splendour and the parcels were opened.  And the light will begin again to grow.

Painting by Jung in “The Red Book” – Jung’s fabulous Odyssey in the Sun-boat

Mac Macartney’s bookThe Children’s Fire” deeply touches me in his un-mapping of Wales. Along the numinous borderland of Druidic Albion, through wet leaves, frosty nights and carefully concealed firelight, refuse was chucked at Mac from cars, but also he met the ageless kindness from strangers. Mac’s odyssey towards pre-Roman Anglesey turns my nose and antlers towards the re-wilding movement.  In the tiny pockets where this starts, a seminal abundance collects.  The outlets are not many nor yet large, but the pressure underneath them is great, for human has cut back, tamed, tarred and scarred, regimented the ground and stamped out the witch.  The magical force concentrates around the vents like the tiny proportion of liberators in the mass human entity.

As Earth rotates so the core magma passing centrifugally through geological planes converts to nature’s irrepressible force and beauty;  Gaia, the greening.

This year I will walk with the re-wilding enterprise and the global energy parliament  and my patch of ground in the Gene Keys field.

Look at these sacred geometries in the dance of planetary time and space (read more; this https://ecohustler.com/technology/winter-solstice-fibonacci-and-earths-alignment-with-the-galactic-core/ is fascinating about the present alignment of Earth’s polar axis to galactic centre at solstice) – the real world we live in; the living texture of astrology.  Behold the cosmic patterning which silences the interpreter!

My inner eye opens again to perceive the spheres, the Suns; their shape and energy. Pockets of florescence, like nutritious energy-balls or bath bombs, explode and fizz “in the air”. Dandelion clocks scatter angels with one blow.    When nature’s tide reclaims the urban-industrial blotch, she could do so beyond expectation like the breach of a dam – the vigour and abundance will astound.  Who knows when or how this happens? It seems unlikely in regions burnt by global warming – and the forecast even there is unpredictable.  Where a branch is pruned, many sprout.  It will probably happen as the human population drops – at any time during this century.  Our DNA is coded collectively;  in harmony with natural forces and formation, the population may start to physically decrease.  The DNA is omnipresent, lacing the human form with the molecular evolution, atom to galaxy.

Consider also the vital DNA in the gut, its garden, and the old alchemists’ wisdom of the black dragon, the white Chyle and the red and white roses.  By roses, I mean the instrument of life in the blood.  All the teachings now say, put your hand on your belly, breathe into your bum.  Consciousness of the Solar plexus and intestinal wealth cancels the old ignorance which chucked it into the road.  It means valuing this organ of the body and the substances passing through it which are acted upon by enzymes to release nutrients and the Sun.  In Heaven there is no dirt.  It is not random that pure sexuality flows tandem with the gut.  The Tarot Hermit – Hebrew letter Yod – rules with his lamp the whole region, darker than a cave; the galactic night of his mountain peak.

Builders of the Adytum Tarot Key 9 – the Hermit (Virgo)

My Solar-return Moon this year is the Hermetic sign Virgo, in 2nd house. Just now the sun comes into the room, and on my “altar” is a tiny spark of light – the facet of a gem between Yab-yum lovers.   It echoes and earths the candle flame above it, about a foot away.  I feel sleepy and still this morning.  In the night I was awake a lot – perhaps a download; the pressure of Nature’s fountain through “outlets”.

The natural outlets – dolmens, temples, stone rings and streams – flow beneath the urban grid on sacred Albion and bide time.  Lifetimes can pass in the dreaming. The perennial magic in this land was long crucified but will sprout –  according to the cosmic relation beyond the window of history we teach ourselves.  I will contemplate Britain’s underground occult river.  Planted in the generative mind, the holy places will manifest. The human need begins here and there to work with nature not as a mere resource but with profound cooperative care and love.

Kabbalah Tree of Life as a Garden – 1989

In a wildish orchard near Chesham, a large animal sat quietly like a cat and watched my presence with long large ears, wide apart on slender neck, probably a deer.   Long minutes we watched each other, without movement and at a distance.  Near the farmhouse behind hedge and gates, the creature sat in the long grass, alert as the dew;  my solstice messenger.

With the wisdom that comes through here, I can focus on the re-wilding initiatives under the defiantly ailing human crust.  The ailing human crust, solid as it seems with its cities, infrastructure and disease, is a collective dream we subscribe to.  There is a choice.  Subscribe to the magazine or media-misery with its shiny photo-squares or cultivate through nature’s Imagination the spherical “bombs” of consciousness;  the subterranean limestone rivers, the enormous abundance of leaf, flora, bacteria and fauna behind the human bungalow.  Imagine the dolmens, the stones and druids.  Many druids reborn nowadays are in the work.  Come here to refresh myself and drink when I get tugged astray with grief – come Home.  I live in the physical dream but I move with the metaphysical (supra-physical) Malkuth – subtle, secret and unlimited.

Here is Origin – the mountain peak down which flow as rivers the messengers throughout human time.  When the vision is open, I see – in collective resonance – the human form symbiotic with the Garden and with the beasts whom in another dreamtime it dominated and decimated; whom now it seeks to name and nurture, for they are our body.  The DNA serpent is our awakening to this fact. Genesis is timeless.

Come now to embrace the indigenous Dreamtime which encircles the human game which “got spoiled”.  The Dreamer runs back and forth in time’s great landscape.

What spoiled our terrain?  The primary-school level of quarrelling.  Our future is not in that.  Our real future is that nothing can stop the human genome from growing up to take responsibility.  We grow out of our age – about eight years old at present.  Nothing can stop humankind from maturing, any more than the seasonal pulse be stopped – to live and grow with trees and earth and the animal kingdom, the fragile husbandry of climate change and the art of living; for it hurts us too much as a species not to.  If all I read on my window is war, starvation, nightmare media and consumer pollutant chaos … know that I see but darkly through the glass;  changing my focus from surface glaze to the inner eye, I may see the starry constellations in the raven’s wing. I may glimpse through the murk a mountain – each snowflake a unique hexagonal crystal; the living fact of the water I drink.

You may feel and be the awakening of wings within your spine.


I feel as I rise into this, that the urban pollutant around our Earth is a dying genre;  it seems to intensify politically, but it is dead matter, a crust to peel away.  The crust, unconscious of origin and of the new order,  completes its own time.  Through it – in places imperceptibly, in other places outspoken or persecuted – emerge like green-shoots through the ground a new Homo Sanctus; the children already are born.  Imperfect we are, and painfully struggling, but persistent.

I don’t see this happening all at once – though in historic time it appears sudden and cataclysmic – there is a process of friction during which the worn-out strongholds increasingly collapse and the apparently weak prevails.  The “weak force” of gravity in physics exists (like homeopathy) virtually beyond the power of sophisticated instruments to detect.  Yet I guess as single gravitons unite with others, they condense into orbital waves which curve spacetime around stars, supernova events and planetary systems.  The force of attraction between ourselves as human beings, the mating instinct, has this infinitesimal origin.  And I feel that the magnetic mating instinct itself evolves towards Eden.

Such is cosmic consciousness – a quantum leap.  A single starling cell flying into the dancing cloud of thousands, millions in the Murmuration, enters the higher Intelligence: the geometry of I AM.

Or consider the bees.

The raised frequency level is not to be confused with the herd instinct in the market force or the lower “fear” vibration which conventionally governs the world.

Population explosion?  Visualise an immense tidal flow of racial varieties, Karmas and the surface tension of our suffering to cross-fertilise the gene pool – the nature of the tide leaves its deposit on the beach and flows back into the sea; then again it comes.  Gaia does not tolerate indefinite excess – just enough to force us as Her cells to change and realign. There are seasons and there are times; there is growth and there is contraction – Hesed and Gevurah on the Tree.  The universe breathes rhythmically, in greater cycles.

I am aware again now of our collective waste’s potential to transmute rather than to dump; of nascent technologies which rediscover and re-state the old alchemical wisdom with transmuting matter.  The human core potential to waken is limitless.  We are each a Solar-battery, still dormant.  The potential to biodegrade our ocean waste with the help of the Sun is limitless;  the intention is coded in old alchemic texts like algebra in modern physics.  It is encoded in our body, in the conscious threads of DNA we share with stars.

DNA helix – illustration from The Gene Keys by Richard Rudd


From “The Glory of the World” …
Observe, how the seeds of all things that grow,
like grains of wheat or barley, spring from the ground
by the operation of the Stone                                                                                                      
and influence of Sun and Moon ;

how they grow up into the air,
are gradually matured,  and bring forth fruit
again to sow in its own soil.

The field is prepared for the grain, being ploughed up well
and manured with dung well rotted ;
for the earth consumes and assimilates manure
as the body assimilates food
and separates subtle from the gross.

Therewith it calls forth the life of the seed
to nourish with milk
as a mother her infant nourishes,
to increase in size, and upward grow.

The earth separates the good from bad,
imparting, as nutriment to all growing things,
the destruction of ONE thing
generating another.

Hermetic Museum of Alchemy, 17th Century


Madonna holds in strong hands her wild sacred child, Buckfast Abbey, Devon: their pride in each other!

Any slight shift in worldview, in the personal consciousness, helps activate the ancient new science which is already manifesting.  The contagion travels from one to one; it pops open with the quantum hop.  Communities cannot wake up without ourselves as individuals – you and me – who can, who will, and who do.

I feel at such moment with the pain of our brittle dream around us, we yet approach the threshold of reality.  Look within.  Be still and let it breathe.

An alternative “Genesis”…?  for Christmas, solstice  – may Treasure come to you in the coming year.

When placed in its natural soil
and rained with dew from heaven
and roused to life
by warmth of the Sun and Moon,
it produces fruit, the way of its own kind.

These two sowings are our Art.
The Sun and Moon are grain
put into our soil, a soul and spirit,
and such as are the father and mother
are children they will generate.

Hermetic Museum of Alchemy, 17th century




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

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