Deep Rose Tantra

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Imagine a red rose on a timber cross on the ground in the woods.  The interior wood is gold, the sap channels.

Indeed, so are we the sap channels of the Heart of the universe;  antakharana;  chords.  Or harp strings for the wind to sing, like it does through tall trees.

The deep red rose slowly comes more clear, with repetition and practice.  Cradle it in hand, smell the petals, feel them touch my nose.  So a rose is a nose: the touch of scent, the strange essence that is released from the truly feminine.

In terms of simple vanity, this is a token I intend to cultivate.  My grandmother had it.  It “bends the antennae towards it” wondering what this far off tantalizing thing is … a mere trace from a pot of rouge.  Every woman who aspires to Priestess knows to cultivate her female mystery, an aloof invitation, a listening oracle, a dignity and softness.   (Dion Fortune/Moon Magic)

So start.  Here’s the ladder.  First rung.  Age and experience helps – the knocked off corners of egoity, the rounded egg.


Contemplating the rose cross is not just looking at it.  It is discovering all the ways to BE IT, including the subtle fulfilment of my sexuality, whether partnered or not … the essence, the consciousness.  It opens the rose in the garden of  my house of life.   When as an older woman the sexuality becomes distilled, she requires rather less of the bump and grind.  My drawing of Zofira has this.   The Mona Lisa and Botticelli’s Aphrodite have it.  Recollect the pre-orgasmic bliss which is before the feeling awakes:  ah, so.



A woman’s private rose faces downward, faces the ground.  Now life and a walk in the fields, the earth and the woods, or by the sea, could ‘contour’ these flavours.

It isn’t easy … to cultivate my fragrant Priestess while labouring on with my caveperson artistic and communicative projects – they take priority and use up all my intentions.   But have a go.

Vedic Saturn/Sani

The rose is love.  When my downward facing rose is open and aware in this subtle way, this is love, the life of love. And in it play the shapes I have drawn so much, the ovals, the ripples, the crisscross waves around Saturn Sani, and… the figure of eight pelvic-floor muscle.  And a sense of immersion in the seamless Reality of these things.  It is objective, intimate, and quite other than the separatist way we humans interpret ourselves.

It is yet another expression of the hourglass, the Cross.


Female bliss does not necessarily seek strong sensations.  She precedes them.  It is where the opening begins.  It is the Priestess before and after the Empress.

It is the star spangled gown of Isis.  It is in the moon and the tides.  Tuning into the secret scent, ensures that it occurs elsewhere too.  We merely link.


Tifareth Rose star


When the womanhood is awake, the subconscious memory-banks are in order, and supply whatever data the situation needs.  Failures of memory are perhaps when we lose touch with our root gender – male, female, or homoerotic combining both –  and are messed up in the thickets of mind’s hardening arteries.



When the womanhood is awake, she is straight and plain.  My centre of gravity is vibrant:  ballast.  When a person fits in his or her body, it shows.  Each self occupied form of Nature has beauty and rest.

To be a human being – embodied – is to have to work on the form;  to be our own sculptor.  Art begins where nature ceases to act.  The sculptor has a glory in the life of the rock.  Human-ness inherits the Karmic millennia of struggle and confusion and error;  we are given a little life each time to penetrate the fog, clean away the murk and re-view our selves.  The human condition is stress.  The human condition is the work in the material plane to evolve, provided with all its opponents, terrorists and obstacles.   Terrestrial life – our life in and as Earth – is a School of the Soul.

And now be still, the Rose.   Nothing but the breath.  Let the mind relax, the third eye gather, the Rose develop more strength in detail, the circling petals, the glow of pink and red, the bindhu dew at centre, the golden cardinal rays, the cube of space unenclosed.

This focus is what I wish to use, co-opting with Yggdrasil and the workers of the Light.  The strength immediately happens when I go to third eye.  It is by third eye to third eye that we link, through the Will to Good.


I also use the Magician at the Yesod violet-crystal portal, the Foundation of the Tree.  The Magician Key 1 halts the progress with “Who am I?”   No intruder can ask this and mean it.  Anyway, I sense a tetrahedral cathedra. 


Solomon’s Cube

The business is to let a hidden treasure be Known, and to refrain from interpreting.  History is rewritten each moment, each breath:  the capacity to participate in the rewriting is a homeopathically tiny quantum in most of us;  the way the mind still is;  the practice of the present.

This is why to interpret events fascinates, it pulls and stimulates the intellectual power, but it seems to go a bit astray.  It forgets the real Cube, the heart’s treasure within the movie of the mind.

The Cube’s essence is Self-enquiry:  to dissolve a tendency back into the root awareness.  In the awareness, in-formation grows like the rose. So awareness is the Cross, the Cube outspread.  The Greater Mystery is the Rose.  The Rose is our desire nature:  the Cosmos is desire, gravity, the harmony, the All moving together, the intent, on a galactic and atomic scale.



Human beings are as clever as monkeys, we pick up truth, and then lose it in our mares’ nest activity.  We humans lose truth as soon as we interpret or “organise” it.


The truth combines Sri Chakra bindhu point, with the Rose.

“I am a hidden treasure, and I desire to be known.”




Aquariel – an angel of the waters and of the air through the woods of life.

COPYRIGHT – 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 

We trust you, Sir

avocado 1973

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8 November  – my post-election thoughts, the other side of the pond 

Well I hope we do.  Presidency is the world’s dirty job.

Paul rang in the afternoon when I was immersed in my Reckless Fruit,  and told me the Obama tide came in safely.  As it sank in, I literally jumped for joy.  Light workers shouldn’t be partisan to politics or emotional about them.  But it is a relief.  The turnout and the issue that carried it was cosmopolitan and ethical;  mega-wealthy white Americans – as well as rural white farmers – are becoming a minority. The Republican ideal needs to rethink, because it slips behind the tide and the times.   It is too polarized.   It is not enough to skid from far right to conciliatory centre with the platitudes, promises, babies and banners.  It is not enough to make the money and aggressive advertising talk, at a time of destiny.

There is a seismic shift in the historical tipping point this year, and in what goes forward.  The conservative belief system is still a big block – almost 50% – on anything getting done;  but something broke through.  It has the precedent to continue, and to gain advantage.   The collegiate swing votes carried the wave much further than predicted.


Gaia under earth

Weeks ago, I had a hunch the result would be tidal, and that certain posters would peel away and blow in the wind.  Jonathon, an astrologer-accountant – looking at the charts of both men relative to the American chart of 1776 – said he felt Obama is more aligned with the popular spirit than the other one is, even though he’s not a particular fan, himself.  It is interesting how this turned out.

Romney is a Piscean – a fast fish.  Obama is a cool cat – Leo.  Both have a strong Aquarius – Obama’s at the ascendant (axis of action) and Romney’s at the Midheaven (axis of will) – and are linked through this and other aspects to the destiny of America.  Effectively, Barack Obama’s chart suggests, “I’ve done this job before” and Mitt Romney’s says, “God wants me to do this job.  I shall get you a job!  I’m in business, I’ll get you all a job!”

This year in the hourglass had in place already, a man with capacity for the moment – whether or not he is able to fulfill the brief, from the Founding Fathers.



The American Constition was drafted by the Masonic fraternity.  It has no room for division or intra-party resentment. Republican and Democrat both argue well, but should work together.  The climate and fiscal emergency could assist just that.

Drawing of Masonic board copied from
“The Way of the Craftsman” by Kirk MacNulty 1988


“Colgate” Romney is a boardroom barracuda billionaire – (as in Susan Howatch’s The High Flier!)  He made his piles not in industry but in the murky monetary field.  I think he is a “nice family man”, but easily pushed and pulled.  I never heard him actually say anything.  It was all “I shall” and air and promises, like his cyber-funding.  He didn’t seem to understand much about politics or the international scene, and he looked frightened. But he made his losing speech gracefully, and his prayers.  He is bitterly surprised, as it was his (and his father’s) third try and now it is finished; and his backers are  “disgusted” and shocked.  The Dream is shocked and very angry; it snarls as it wakes up.  The two men – the fish and the lion – don’t like each other, but bare their perfect teeth and say it was a good, dirty old fight, they will work together now for America.

It is pure theatre –  to see the tall Obama family walk out again onto America’s platform, onto the world.  If the other had worked out, the pitting again of well-meaning  religious fervour against other religious fervours, couldn’t bear thinking of.  Blinkered religion mixed with statesmanship is a lethal cocktail.  It possesses decent men and turns them into sleepwalkers.

2012 is a more significant election than the 2008 one which put Obama in.  That was euphoria:  this one is – battered by government, the economy and by Sandy – we trust you sir, finish the job, get the stuff through.  

The photo in the wake of Sandy, spoke deeper than emotive reaction.  it showed a man’s fate, who is well worn down in the peoples’ trouble.

Grief, Sandy, Obama 2012

It went deeper than personalities and public figures.  The undertow is literally – the audacity of hope.   It touches and encourages me, you, and countless others, to come out of the woodwork and pull together for the world.  The Grand Cross last summer of Pluto, Moon, Mars, Uranus, is drawn through the collective psyche: crossroad patterns of tension, diplomacy and release … a step at a time.


Hades, awakening and old China.  I drew this in 1988 for a gifted friend  who suffered from tendonitis, and the fracturing fallout of a 20-year Freudian analysis.  She used to paint her sleeping subconscious groping from the deep … and still does.


They talk of the New Year fiscal cliff – like coming to the edge of a continental shelf, where the land drops away into the ocean.  This is crossroads. The US national character is Cancerian, and watery.  The national debt crescendos, for as long as it “doesn’t go away”;  for as long as the mega-rich clutch their tax cuts, and other abuses on the supply scale.   The storm-prone Atlantic seaboard is now a  sea-monster – The Depression – as China gains ascendancy.

repubs and demos ... star spangled stripes

repubs and demos … star spangled stripes

Fireman’s lift multi racial

Thousands, perhaps millions of American families are victims of the global recession, the result of generations of greed.  What is being done for them?  As the election carnival passes on, how many are still sitting on the streets of New York in the biting weather, without power?  What obstructs the salvage?

Commentators – the media level – agree that Obama as a president hasn’t achieved anything much, and he could have slipped out of history, un-great and un-remembered.

The deeper Watchers observe that Obama holds the ship steady, with enormous odds falling around him – literally, in the storm.  Presidency is a dirty job.  Having read his autobiography, Dreams From My Father, I think he is a man of destiny, put there for the job and knowing it since he was a nipper.  It is providential, that his opponents’ calibre tended to favour him;  for again and again they queered their own pitch. The real man of destiny is un-glamorous, a hero who falls again and again: a worker who keeps going. The authority of hope keeps calm and carries on.  He is  president-elect of the Tipping Point.


Still life with Tiru key

It is intriguing to observe this Kabbalistically – and to reflect rather soberly on the revolution and rioting that might have broken out across America, if “Mittens Colgate” with his rather unbalanced agenda had won.

Personally I smiled – on my way up to Waitrose – with every Equatorial person I saw. Their brother’s success and stature, greater than before, is not a novelty now.  It is sustained, not as a reaction to the Bush era, but on its own merits.

“Colgate” achieved a lot of popular support and huge financial backing –
this seems strange to me, but remember the power of the Dream’s antagonism to  cosmopolitan growth, fluidity and … ecology as conscience.

Perhaps the Watchers’ message through this election is: The Dream is Over. “Americans” are no safer from the elements than anyone else, and their economy is forced by the fiscal cliff to spread the wealth more evenly, to keep the debt steady.  The bubble burst.  Another storm battered the east coast front, they call her Athena.  The big Republican New Jersey governor goes to work, with mop and bucket.  That is the place – the elemental turbulence – where repubs and demos may conceivably cooperate.   Yes they can!

Governor Christie and Obama

Well, I am waiting for the Fraternity to shine through my herd of sheep with Their view;  but it hasn’t quite happened yet.

I was right – my previous post – about the ash tree die-back here.  The disease is “out of control”, but forestry “experts” say it is not wise to cut them all down.  Some of them will resist the fungus, according to soil and local conditions, to carry the healthy seed.  My next posts will start to work with symbols and the devas of the ash: the nordic Yggdrasil, or world tree:  awareness that our immune-shield as planet Earth is compromised (we are not separate);  ways to understand and transform the autopoeisis for the future – ways to begin.

Destiny, a track of Destiny, is generally believed to be a high-profile success story.  This is NOT the case.  Destiny is in doing the job – the way of service.  A man of destiny serves history, and is intuitively aware of it.  Like the prophets, he has no need to tell lies.

There is a fine line of discernment, between accepting and doing the job, embattled as it is, and the butt of global criticism – and believing God chose “me” to do it.   Me me me!

But history will probably look back and see a man in the White House, who upheld  respect, and was not afraid to declare his failures and limitations, and who carried through what he set out to do.


Jaques Loussier play bach trio, 1968

Let black soul blue thread 
beat black and blue 
soul cellar bruise 
corn field song seller. 

Jesus tell God’s spell 
to my people; big time 
pedlars sold the soul.

They sold him into white house 
to carry their dirty pails 
and in the White House now 
the black man rules.

O barrack-Alabama, yes we can … 

The black man in white house 
is everyone’s reality TV hero, man, 
the world today a pair o’pans 
of refried corn and history 
to tipping point. 

Honour this man; from our mothers 
he can get respect. Get real. 
My people torn out, each root 
around the fire, let me try 
to mend your daisy chain 
and hear you brother, give you space and see 
the pain, to feel 
the bruise and sing the blues …

From The Reckess Fruit Book 2, chapter 9


Spliff 1973

One thing impressed me, in “Dreams From My Father“.  Early in his political career, the young Barack developed an ability and keen interest to hear the other persons’ whole story – not just his own.  In the Gurdhieff work, this is called “external considering”, and is crucial to maturity.  The same was applied in an integrative way, to the wounds and lesions in his African ancestry – the tragedy in Africa being the destruction in many places, of the elder oral memory, or spiritual base, by colonial conquest.

This suggests, the same capacity to listen to, and hear himself.

Mr Obama’s interest in “the other’s story” is a key to his grass-roots support.  His mind-type considers a situation multi-dimensionally – from different angles, cohesively.  I feel this is unusual in a high-profile worldly office.   It is more often found in those behind the scenes, or in the military high command.  I believe it takes time, for such a gift to make an impression on the singular ways of inertia.

Additionally, his respect for the founding fathers of America;  their spiritual core values.   At the inauguration in 2009, he took the mantle on his shoulders like a well-cut coat, and gained visible stature and grey hairs:  the gravitas.

Whether he succeeds or fails in presidency, the job is in his hands.


Hands in touch across the seas




Aquariel – an angel of the waters and of the air through the woods of life.

COPYRIGHT – 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 

The Fountain, the Eye and the Woods

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“Aquariel” is a companion to my other blog, Janeadamsart.  Sometimes I feel the need to write a little differently, perhaps more privately, or more opinionated.  Perhaps Aquariel will serve as a kind of commentary, at a slower tempo.  We shall see.

“Janeadamsart” is a journal, bridging east and western wisdom.  Aquariel is the same journal, walking with the Rose and the elements.



4 November 2012:

Happy 100th birthday, Elisabeth.   Scorpionic thoughts!  Life below ground, and in the well, where the still waters run deep, the seed beginning its journey through the winter YIN. Above, is a painting of Domenico in 1969, also a Scorpio – his birthday on the 6th.

How heavy it rains, pushing all the leaves down onto the ground in a wild golden russet litter.  I went for a walk yesterday afternoon – around Radlett in Hertfordshire, completing the circle in the dark.  It is only a short train journey from where I live.  Discovered I was strangely serene and at peace with the predictions and speculations about Britain’s trees, an imported European fungus which kills ash and other woods.  The reason – they say –  is that Britons have such a passion for planting trees and new woodlands everywhere, they import seed from abroad, and it is not quarantined.  It is the usual story, of mass mixtures of terrain and travel, weakening the native stock;  and so we have an immune-system breach at many levels.

No wonder in the 1930s there was a craze for eugenics, and the Nazi ethnic cleansing panic.  It was in the shadow of things to come:  the apprehension.  The Nazis thought they were a threatened Master Race and began felling outright all the “diseased wood”.   That is an analogy to stop to think about.  I as each of us individually, have this cell-capacity to get it wrong.


But on my walk, I didn’t feel the Devas of the trees are “upset”. Instead, they seem to tell me this:

It is more in the light of change, decay and growth passing through Nature, which remains constant.  Humans are locked in tiny projectile dreams of dismay.  In Nature the essence rises and falls and renews as the breath.  Is a tree angry when the wind blows her down or a beetle eats her bark?  Who knows!  The trees are a collective, they are not of the testy persuasion of individuals. 

We lost the elms.  We are always “losing” something which reached its span, and the loss merges into the new upsurging growth.   Many may come to stand dying, yet grey and delicate in the forest.  Not every tree is afflicted.  Some are strong, and resist the bugs.



Reportage limits an issue to the local roadster view.  For instance, the high speed to Birmingham railway, highly undesirable as it is, will NOT actually ravage the entire Chiltern hills area. But politics and local protest must multiply the slogan, to make the point.  When I am out in wood and field and sky, chequered with farms and dormitories, there is but little sign of human pollutant.  It is an environment temporarily fragile, but actually indifferent to, and far transcending any of our ideas or railway lines. (I suffer from those, as a “nature lover”.) Note also:  the mindset which needs Nature in whatever emotional spectrum, as ENTERTAINMENT – a backcloth for us humans to enjoy, and act out our stuff.

And note another mindset which seems to occupy me now … which in some strange way co-creates with, and comprehends the natural process and its stems and stamens, and … sees right through the affliction.



In the common Euro-culture paradox, what we see and speculate about the trees has its political analogy.  Environment, politics, health, sexually transmitted disease, the depletions caused by zig zag travel and airports, imported foodstuffs, mental internet viruses, terrorist cells and legislation … all are this.  They are the fragile cohesion of what I take for granted – I take for granted for instance, the skill of the linked keyboard I use.  I would feel unhoused without it.

All this is yet a symptom of the Age of Aquarius getting into its stride;  thousands of years ago they predicted that in the Age of Aquarius, human consciousness would take to the air and buzz around distractedly.

It is a thought, that Nature is less willing to be a sentimental playmate with the humans and their drama, and withdraws some of Her beauty and eco-systems at this time.  Her immunity is in recession.  Although more of us now renew and respect Her mysteries, we have to take the consequence of centuries of exploitation.

I accept this in the greater cyclic pattern.  It is profoundly seasonal with the tides.  It also reveals us to ourselves, consequentially.  We are still Yetziratic beings;  we live more comfortably in the mind, and in our mental trauma; we have not learned fully enough to live in our bodies, and respect the ground, our Mother.  We do not yet, really walk.


courtship with knowledge

courtship with knowledge


Consciousness seems insistent on one thing:  to be experienced completely.  Our worldview and its narrow frames are prompted from a psychology which is incomplete.  The growth cycle of human conscience, though speeded up a bit with global warming and “the Photon belt”,  is very very slow.  Con-science is the union of two words:  With and Knowledge.

Perhaps because of writing and picturing a lot about trees in my other blog, and the aftermath of the American storm, the trees and fields were exceptionally alive and beautiful yesterday. My spirit praised and danced with them, and the soggy soft earth of the paths awoke my feet.


I discovered – re-membered – that the Cross for the Rose is a “latin cross” opened out, which folds up into a golden Cube of Space with the Rose inside.  Carry it in and as my heart.  It is a great help, to picture together the Seal of Solomon, tetrahedrons, pentacle as a concerted thought form.


I have been walking along trying to “draw” the red rose pentacle petals, one set of five on another, trying to see and touch the way the petals softly bend and curl.  Around this is the magic golden box, the Cube of Space. When you open it out, the Rose of Life springs open from the centre.

Isn’t this amazing? the Rose symbolizes Saturn and the Hanging Man – whose Tarot Keys 21 and 12 are in the point where all the axes cross.  Saturn and the Hanging Man both signify the ripening process through frames of time.  If I keep a small gold box, with a rose inside, it soon goes dead and hard,  but if I keep renewing it as a living Thought Form – the sacred geometry of the gold cross and crimson Rose  – in concert with the healing of the human condition and its trees – why!  it is the Regeneration, the scent.

So, that may be partly why the trees  looked so tall and majestic and soaring, and in wonderful converse with each other.

And I love the heavy rain now which keeps me indoors, and strange it is to have the human roof, the shelter of my “Gothic arch”.  I feel particularly thankful for this and for the infrastructure, as so many of our pals across the pond lost theirs, lost their roof, their power-grid-connection, their belongings and their security.

It is likely that each country or culture suffers or will suffer its form of natural cataclysm, whether dramatic or in slow motion.  So grow with it.  Got to accept that everything IS changing – Changing for real, as our human obsession, and its fallout, manifests for us to face.  Replacing for a time the wild, it leaves for a long time, concrete and toxic scars and roads to get grown over.  These we have to see.  They are that aspect of ourselves – the broken slabs, the skin diseases.

The irresistible force grows through our lives and through our curved planetary biosphere, like our hair.   The seer Douglas Harding used to ponder First-Personally the mystery:  “but  God can’t see His own beard growing! – nor know how it does?”

Nature is the unceasing Fountain. We are yet unseparate from the whole process of cosmic adjustment: an acceleration and warm-up in the energy field.  The human agency is but one of many.  It is under inertia-momentum and can only see itself, in the tightening mesh of housing and transporting and industrializing itself – (all of which produce the carbon problem on our conscience):  the environmental blot.

And yet this is a little thing in the Greater Picture.   I cannot help but find this view.  It is the viewpoint of the Companions of the Light.  My personal indoctrination is from among the hedges of the maze – a lifetime’s thumb-print whorl.  I can’t see over them:  I grieve.

He and she see further, from above and from below – a much wider horizon – and they teach my eyes.

… and at night the gold fell away 
for there is no person there ; 
what there is, is carbon free 
pure current, like the air.

Where I am, at the point of Jacobs Ladder with the ground, is PHILOSOPHICAL.  Philosophy has a tendency to open like the Rose … far beyond, above and below the flat oblong screen.   Philosophy gathers vastly her orbital views …  like the sound, keep on sounding, singing, of the rain.

Nature is the unceasing Fountain.

Here is a fascinating resonance.  In the Tarot wisdom, Key 15 the Devil card –  through which we learn most, and whose zodiac is the Goat, Capricorn – is symbolized as the Fountain, the Eye, and concept of Renewal.

The Devil presents a flat, dense effigy of religious dictatorship;  an advertisement of hedonistic bondage and despair.  But when we – like the Builders of L’Art Gothique, in the middle ages – face up to the effigy in our inner life, it dissolves into the Light behind the shadow we believed in.   “Keep practicing.”

The horrible figure is in fact, the irrepressible Fountain of Nature.  It hardens into our inaccurate ideas and tyrannies. The mask, the masque, is in truth the Lovers’ open space and freedom.  15 dissolves to 6.  But we must find this out for ourselves … continually …  before we demand it of others.


If you look down onto a Fountain (or an Icelandic geyser from above) it has the shape of an eye.  The AYIN Hebrew letter assigned to the Devil/Key 15, means “the eye” – physical sight.  It also means “a fountain”.

Nature is the unceasing Fountain from the seasonal rotation’s core, putting forth new life as ever through the eventful human crust. During war time in human affairs, there is a baby boom. Nature likewise, becomes more active, she fountains her green-stuff as it is cropped;  and the forests grow a little faster. The trees have wider rings.  On my walk I notice everywhere, new plantations of trees, the staked fur of very young woodlands.  Maybe they contain the European spores which harm our native species, but nevertheless the tendency is irrepressibly copied; interwoven.

It is interwoven with the different forms;  the fountain is in parts of the world, an eruption of volcanic fire, lava flow.   Life is delicate, like gravity.  The Fountain can be catastrophic to our habitations.  But life is the inexhaustible capacity for renewal:  to reattach herself to the toes of the Giant.  Little houses, fields, lichen, the psyche… include relationships and the power to become conscious of what we are doing; and the event to heal.


Still the rain falls, whispering and swishy in the street, as the sky and buildings across the road gleam through tattered golden branches, along dark veins, the moss of life.



The Finger of God 

Years ago, my oracle bottomed out
into Ramana’s Self enquiry.

Yet I love
the instrument of Kabbalah
having faithfully climbed the Tree,
each Hebrew quaver cherished
in musical discipline;
and in the overlapping dimensions
of Jacob’s Ladder, marvelled.

Source, not sorcery, saw these things.
and inward by the Hermit led,
follows that pointer to the core of being, whose art
the rainbow crock is cooking.

In the Work of Unification,
I the artist in a field, celebrate en sof
“without end” –
the no thing with its mirage.

My Work of Unification
is pegged out on the clothes line
with the daily wash.

I distil my bright bow
as rain from the sun’s ray melts.

God takes prints of time as a whole –
a unique whorl
of valleys with their ridges looped is
God’s inky finger on my many landscape years
to toil; and yet
already deftly placed!

As I am led daily into this matter
I seek a stout tail ahead
for my trunk to hold.

These things first are teachings,
then they are life.
They take the entire time
for an elephant’s child to grow.

from Poems of Eclipse 1999




Aquariel – an angel of the waters and of the air through the woods of life.