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 

3 thoughts on “Deep Rose Tantra

  1. The still, small Voice speaks in the God-nourished silence of the Adytum.

    Soror, are you open to corresponding privately via email? I have a question for you.


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