I dreamed of an enormous field of rich green grass, quite hummocky, in which just two or three big dark cows or bulls grazed abundantly. I also dreamed of a healing or esoteric adventure with some companions – we went out along the street to another house. I wore my white cotton robe. I forgot to put my shoes on, so my feet were bare on the February pavement, washed with recent snow. A younger woman held my left hand. When I woke, I thought – I am this older mature woman place space, to occupy and be her! I have no other choice in all the world.
Move into the soft and problematic space and be her conscious choice: the electron state moves into orbital wave-particle – the standwave. In fact we but rarely LIVE INSIDE OUR SELVES! We live and work and struggle around the gap. We smear the mobile displacement with cosmetics, clothes, dubious glamours and doubts.
My body of light is here and now the waterfall: the local bloodstream is connected through the subtle body, with every “other” flow of Life. Standunder the Waterfall.
On a browse in blogland, I dropped onto this image of a white waterfall. For anyone in my concern, surround them with the descending White Water light. It is beautifully simple. For my unwanted thoughts and worries, bathe them likewise. Deluge them with light and the lemon tree.
And what is animism? The awakened human root in nature … plants, soils, weathers, smells and stars … the moon bathes the land’s poetry, dark trees, nine cold sea waves to swim under; the fiery potions of soil, the song of the blood. These are earthy pulsating impressions of the Spirit – Venus hula-hoop. My aura begins to heal – shadows to pass. When aura is well she is vibrant, of a springy turfy rainbow mixture. Then the river in my local body flows, rich in loam, sorceries and silence, irrigating roots of all the Trees.
At other times of the day, she feels old, flat, tired and smudgey.
I watched on TV a Grand Design about a couple restoring a remote ruined castle in Yorkshire – a fragile shell: grass and small trees crumbled its remaining turrets. They had to contend with the Saturnine slow plod of English-heritage permissions, archaeology and extra cost. They were at the edge of financial ruin. The inside of the castle collapsed to rubble during the work. But the masonry and new stonework – dovetailed delicately into the old, during two years of Yorkshire weather and mud – was wonderful to see. The ruin transformed to a home of enduring Beauty. They had to make it into a classy b&b to pay for itself and the long labour of love. They are in hock for the rest of their lives. It has a wonderful open view of green undulating grass, trees and cattle – not a house or hedge to be seen.
Think of someone and – silently, see the Tree. No more is necessary. Lilies are also sorrow. The Tree of Life is the waterfall of light up and down … any problem small or large. White waterfall, green tree.
In conversation with the devas, white witches give the same time and concentration to their altars and the Moon’s journey and the festivals, that I do to my writing. My writing is a daily “shrine”, a little of which I share. For the umpteenth time – resolve to keep my house cleaner and tidier and more cherished, get some regular domestic habits …
On Separation, but Pushing Upward
Why do I feel sad and bitter and weak? Why so dragged down? I should be relieved and energised, having decided! – having discussed, agreed, and to keep in touch – it is time to let go of each other, and move on.
Logic cannot fathom the tones, and the links and pathways a partnership forms, however unconventional or difficult; the years and days of expectation, bonds of joy, anger, confusion, toil and love, grown organic in the psychic body like the green-stuff in the crumbling castle turrets – all stored by repetition in the subconscious.
At this level, bereavement drags my steps. Oh! All the protect-him hassle! That is a tough old rope which binds, but it dawns on me, that seeing the cookie crumble, he shrugs shoulders and does not grieve, nor miss me. He is an adventurer, and the time for a new adventure dawns.
It was a task of the soul. The love I gave to his trouble, over the years, reaches its mark, about now. Does he recognise this, or thank me? No. But he does thank God – and that is the whole point. He thanks God for his inner strength. The soul we “practice with” keeps God in sight. Of course I am personally FURIOUS that he says I am and always was, selfish. This helps me “wash that man out of my hair”.
A few nights ago, I dreamed I saw many foxes in a London field … more and more appeared, behind each others’ sylvan comings and goings in the grass and the sly street. The Fox and the Owl are my old familiars.
There is also an ebbing of … the familiar creative pulsating tide which fills my mornings and in the afternoon is an empty beach. A male YANG half – a binary I was used to being part of – fades away from my side. The process is matter of fact; the fragility tenuous and tenacious. I find it helpful to contemplate that a projected YANG is gone, leaving a space beside my YIN. Now! Wherever I am on my way to, the details come in one by one, to take care of. Recognising my writing is my prayer and craft – no need to load my shrine, but perhaps watch again the planets and Moon around the zodiac … new practice. What is this part of me now available for?
I Ching I think!
The oracle refines and reiterates the Water over Water I got last weekend. This morning, 46, Pushing Upward – earth over the wind – dissolves to 29, the Water over Water again. The abyss, the ravine, the river’s destiny.
Wood (the wind trigram) pushes upward through Earth – a vertical effort with the Will. Modesty, adaptability – the time is propitious. Heap up small things one by one, to achieve the high and great, without haste and without rest.
Old Yang in 3rd changes to Yin: I push upward into an empty city! It proceeds with ease – profit by the propitious moment.
Old Yin in 5th, all used-up, changes to Yang-creative-tangible – keep sober, step by step as if hesitant. The Earth trigram floods to the strong current of water/dangerous. The wind of the wood blows steadily up through the winter ground, the open YIN earth. The movement is into the power of a great river flowing (hexagram 29).
The wind is the Tree of Life, whose roots are nourished by the Great Water. You don’t have to cross the great water, for you already are. The old sages of the Tao appeared hesitant, YIN and shy. They ford the streams cautiously. The cosmos flows through them unobstructedly. This is the Power – when the personal power seems at her lowest ebb.
To honour my YIN fragility feeling in full, permits spontaneous YANG. Pushing upward is the YIN way of invincible growth, as in February’s spring …
Tao T’ai Ching 15
“The ancient adepts of the Tao were subtle and flexible, profound and comprehensive.
Their minds were too deep to be fathomed.
Because they are unfathomable,
one can only describe them vaguely by their appearance.
“Hesitant like one wading a stream in winter;
timid like one afraid of his neighbours on all sides;
cautious and courteous like a guest;
yielding like ice on the point of melting,
simple like an uncarved block;
hollow like a cave;
confused like a muddy pool …
“And yet who else could quietly and gradually evolve from the muddy to the clear?
Who else could slowly but steadily move from the inert to the living?
“He who keeps the Tao does not want to be full.
But precisely because he is never full,
he can always remain like a hidden sprout,
and does not rush to early ripening.
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 2012-2013. 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://janeaquariel.wordpress.com/