17 July PART TWO
I discover some thoughts in blogland which convert the esoteric learning curve and fascination, to Humanness, compassion, right living, mindful presence … which is what they truly are. They are atomic particles from a goldmine – the miners in the mountains, as the alchemists say. Language slips away, into the hard graft, the Way of Life and love.
And I find another post, on moderation – enrich your life with simplicity, enjoying technology efficiently, but without excess. The wealth is here and now.
I try to stay near the Hermit, for he is easy to visit across the starry water, and to find, and to cool my mind. Enoch and the Well – see the post before “the Lighthouse Keeper part One” – was a profound contact.
The Hermit’s cottage is earth lined; walls are minimally dressed, a plaster wash maybe, stone-flagged floor, and bits of rug. When I go inside from the sunlight, I can just see an open fireplace for the kettle, and the table which sages and teachers have – the noble grain is scrubbed white. There’s a bench and possibly a chair or two. Enter this room at any moment, without even crossing the water: a brief impression of the lake in my mind. I am here, within the summer drone of outdoors.
The Hermit is my Tarot Arcanum 9, and sometimes he looks like this. He doesn’t reveal too much. Impression of a person of great delicacy, able hands. His presence is a sweet altitude in my breath.
When I drew him in my Arcana in 1991, I was giving up smoking. His is the Tarot of the Will: the deep impenetrable power which picks up life and helps to overcome old addictions, however painful it is to do so.
There is an absence of the sharp smoker in my breath; an absence of other attachments also, as they wore away. They become light cloths or rags – the sun burnt holes in them – they do not matter. Yet I feel a little bereaved of my romantic intensity. Sometimes there is a “flip-flop” – as Ramesh Balsekar would say – to a momentary surface sceptic, who lost that fuel, and feels tired.
The Hermit is the well: the well of depth, delicacy, wonder and becoming. His blue cap is YOD – I need the concentration. I get scattered easily.
I cannot see many disciples rowing across the lake with groceries for him, but I suppose he has them. Each is like myself, and feels uniquely connected. He is yet Self- sufficient – our sense of “all-oneness” alone. Between the physical and subtle worlds, he doesn’t need much to eat. Like Master R, he is fueled by oats, honey and fresh water. I am sure he keeps hens too. He keeps bees and makes strong cider from his fruit trees. He is actually quite busy. Profoundly Virgoan, he manages to grow and grind enough oats and wheat for his bread. There is some for visitors. He is busy! – he is a smallholder. Yet he has the gift of the Magidim, to increase his present supply – the well never empties. He handles in this Way, the physical environment, by touch. I can learn everything from this, bringing it back to accompanying my loved ones.
He is maintained physically through his well fed students. We give him manifestation.
(There is a high Law in Creation (Beriah), which in the lower astral worlds (Yetzirah), gets perverted to vampirism. Vampirism is not just the Dracula tales of old. It rampages through relationships, the media and the commercial world in the collective subconscious, and generates imbalances. Its fuel is ignorance and greed).
But the Law between student/disciple and the Inner-plane being, is the Law of love – a two-way current of regeneration. As Ramesh Balsekar used to say, there is no Guru until the devotee discovers and makes him so. Guru manifests in dialogue. Guru takes shape and eternal fluid form, according to the desire for interior peace. Guru is not a person. Guru is a sanskrit word, meaning “dispeller of darkness.”
The interior contact established, is Antakharana or pipeline for the Maestri. It is the conduit whereby an electron orbit of life, jumps to a higher one. Through Daat – union on the Tree of Life – the quantum leaps. Profound distress is often the prompt. Out of the depth we cry to thee, and we leap.
When we find Guru, the dispeller of the dark, we pray together. That means, there is an interior birdsong, the light of the Holy One … through the sap of each tree in the countless forest. My Hermit’s eyes are amused; sometimes blue and sometimes brown.
“Find what you are gifted in, which no one else does, or is; and develop that.”
Peace Mercutio! and gratitude.
Swan of Brahma
Now I love the Hermit, who is Hermetic mercury. He combines in his fragrant person, the Cube, the staff of Asclepius (one snake), the caduceus (two snakes) and all those quivers of the quick silver. The highest region of alchemical mercury is the golden cube Tattva in the Sahasrara lotus “above my head”. The nectar is collected in the third eye, which bows like a swan through Sushumna, to the heart. My heart is a Sun with wings. The staff materializes down through the lower chakras, and meets like a root, snake-entwined – the lovely Kundalini. It is silent.
Sacred India Tarot Queen of Staves – Radha Ma Svaha
Kundalini awakening opens inexhaustible secrets of the Universe. They burst up through my column in a fountain of “write”. There is no end to the play of the Fountain – the j h v h pulse. As I grow older, I discover the silence is all the secrets of the Universe, and nearer than my breath. Access to them – the key – can be turned to love or to self-inflation: to Life or to live-backwards which is evil. Of themselves the Mysteries are neutral – they get converted to human feeling and to Old Issues, expediently. There is no end to Nature’s cosmic abundance – the empress: wisdom and folly.
The Empress, Arcanum 3
The note in my mind just now is A-sharp – violet: the meditation key. Though my Hermit contact is so personal, I feel I can and should share him. Why? because the inner hermit is Archetypal – a type of home coming..
The lovely Kundalini is a Rod stuck into the ground: she twirls like a distaff, spinning yarn. We are individually suited to perceive objective Teachers or subjective ones. I am of the subjective type. I develop my picture story, as an artist, a maker of windows. However, their symbols and associations within my field, are an ancient Common land. It is free for all who have the heart’s entry. A fluid, shape-shifting firewall is not static.
Being a subjective type, means I co-create: that my creations when mature, reside on the astral plane for other souls to access. It gave me a lot of responsibility, to define over the decades, what it entails, and how to edit, and how to sieve the wheat from chaff. There were and are deep wounds in life. But the Process is a shining farm-labourer, carrying the sheaves for stacking, in scratched hands.
Wheatsheaf in the shape of letter GIMEL, with labourer in the field
Sometimes my entire lifetime is joined together, all the impressions as One. Fancy admiring farm labourers when I was a child … because they showed me the essence of the Great Work which I would engage in – the Will. Our soul knows infinitely beyond what we think we know, or are taught. I have the same knowledge now, extending into the future. What is it?
What do I know about my Self? and the farm labourers carrying wheat? There need be no verbal answer yet, but how does it feel?
Harvest and fertility. My drawing of the wheat-sheaves stacked together, forms a Gimel. But Gimel is the potential harvest of the Priestess. While the Empress is Venus, and pregnant among standing wheat, the Priestess is aligned with Mercury. The Priestess of the Moon is aligned with Mercury because she keeps the shrine swept, and holds the memory. The shrine, a cave in the earth, is Virgoan, and thus Mercurial. Recall and respect the Shrine in my everyday doings.
What is my knowledge of the future? Rather than speculate, which the surface-mercury does haphazardly and with fear, build and sweep the inner shrine each day: creation – a conscious performance.
Where I am coming to now, is the job of the personal shrine. This is the one which makes the contact. Organised shrines administer the contact by committee to belief.
The personal shrine is a holy place. By whatever means, it enters the wide world, beginning HERE. In Halevi’s zodiac wheel, the 6h house (Virgo-ruled) is “Operation”. Virgo as the shrine, and as the cosmic secretary, operates: “le opere” are the works. Transmission – as on military ships – is a morse-code operator.
Cosmic clock – wheel of the Zodiac, by Zev ben Shimon Halevi
My personal shrine suffers a continuing breakdown of shallow pride. When we accept the job of Lighthouse Keeper, we accept this. We live in a tower which shines at sea. By hook or by crook, my dark tower of pride, my cracking seedcase, transforms to a tower of alchemy.
GALLERY – to view, click on any image and wait to upload
A tower of alchemy – (and make of it precisely what I can) – shines across the sea like the Hermit’s lamp, and the vessels out there can see it. The Hermit stands on a mountain guiding souls up the path: the Lighthouse keeper stands in the sea – Hermes walks in the sea, carrying a globe and Staff – the same. I shall get submerged again during the day, but I write this, as always, with the commitment to transmission, here and now.
Two illustrations from Alexander Roob’s Alchemy & Mysticism
A note on HARPIES – when passing between Scylla and Charybdis:
When I look at my harpies – the spiteful scolds – they stop what they are saying. If I look at them, they cannot speak or screech. Give it time. They look horrible and hot and carrion, and they might change colour. Mine are black like crows, and after a while they turn greyish, they start to fade and get weak and meaningless. Harpies do not thrive on being held in the air and looked at. They thrive on swooping – just as I am dozing off – and pushing and stabbing and being heard and believed.
Dawn complaints drift slowly apart, like heavy clouds. The nectar is a little stream on the hillside, as I touch up my recent Tarot reflection – a visual poem in itself, within Death and the Empress to each side. I like the way the Priestess and the Hanged Man peep through the firm positions of the Chariot and the Emperor – I love the colour scheme.
Tarot reflection, July 2013
I am depressed about the human monkey and all its unhealthy persuasion. Deeply so – I have to wrestle with it all the time. My small old fashioned sermons to myself are mocked by the disturbing glitter of DNA-meddlesome-technology.
Yet that genetic engineering stuff, the ‘playing god’, is itself ILLUSORY. I see this now. It is a trap – a religion even – capturing worshippers, consumers and fearful adherents. When my Hermit helps me to awaken, I have perspective; I see a scale of values. I see the utter seductiveness of the monkey game, which has no understanding of the Great Game of cosmic balances. The monkey game believes and fears, that we humans are all alone, spearheading the universe and bent on self destruct. That primitive dark-ages concept prevails. I feel something other, beyond and behind and inside the box. Is this too, a daydream, a denial? Who can say?
The one thing which is sure, is the Good. The essential human values and friendship. The right from wrong. It has an utterly different flavour from anxiety-default-mode – or ambition – which crowds and occupies the race’s big brains.
Parallel worlds touch and mutually thrive.
The hanging man overturns the conventional occupation. “Go on walking contrary to the way of the world. Lift a stone and I am there”. The hanging man upends the nightmare. With my Hermit in the cottage, is the moment smelling of bees; eternity. Choose eternity!
My adventure invites fellow travelers. 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 (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