Here is Part Two of my reflection along Master R’s Trinosofia Chapter Ten. This stage of the Alchemy moves between “Incineration” and “Fermentation” and is ruled by Sagittarius and Capricorn The initiate passed through negrido – the “Putrefaction” stage – and arose from the darkness into light. He waded a lake in which the shadow paled to turquoise; he reached a palace of light with a butterfly over the door. Effectively he emerged from chrysalis. What does he find?
The text and commentary are in “Trinosofia Texts” above, in the title bar; scroll down to the beginning of Chapter Ten. My previous post began to explore a concept of solar energy – the conscious life force as a living battery or crystal. Now read on:
The lighting up of the Solar battery, diminishes the small-i of its own accord. I give attention to the current rather than to the so called problem and its literature. All problems lead to the Current, which is why teachers and sages ask for questions, to get them going. It is why Krishnamurti travelled around the world to give talks, rather than stay quietly in one place. Great souls include the currants in their cake!
I dreamt I was with an interesting tall man in a wood. I think we walked down towards a brook. He was a sheep farmer. He had two dogs to work the sheep in the wood. They were not collies, but they were quite fine looking animals, coloured sorrel and blond, with shaggy fur all over their heads. I wonder if they were poles of the battery. They were intelligent at their job. It was part of a story.
The sheep are thoughts, woolly: the shepherd and dogs are guardians of the mind, they are upstream of the sheep. Magid. Attention, as Jiddu Krishnamurti would say, is to the river of life, in which the small troubled i is floated away.
A beautiful walk up into the Quantock hills last night as it grew dark, with the wind’s orchestra in the trees and gentle sure feet, yielded hips to soft steep ground. Practice intentionally my Solar battery’s independence of manufactured power line. It is our food. Its sleeping potential is our fuel supply – the abundantly subtle clean energy … inside and out. To keep invoking, remembering and intending it is the Great Work. Quintessentially it is timely for me to move with Master R; the sweet Solitude with the Companions of the Light. Winter: try to be more out of doors in the wet leaves.
There is a strange mixture: the profound peace of the Solar battery’s current and of gravity … with the processing of alchemy which makes the water flow thickly. There is too much in the woven silk of life to frame it with anyone’s teaching product.
As the focus deepens, so I have access to ask more: how best to serve the strange solitary yet deeply connected role, “outside the village”? Give the Magid more room in my being and breath, this harbour of the Sea. Follow the Wind’s Gentle Direction when scribing in or out of community and visiting my mother on the Quantock hills. She looked better yesterday. A chest cold with antibiotics – especially at 95 – takes a while to regain strength from; she took rather a turn after a nip of hot whisky, and I stroked her head as she recovered. She discovered her body’s firm resistance to dying. She lives in her house, with good neighbour support.
I found this letter from her to her father, written in 1960:
“No I don’t think it’s really true that there is a special need for the sea. I do know just what you mean and when with the sea, a certain need is often deeply fed and satisfied. But what there is for us in the sea is there also in the trees and sky and clouds and grass, if it is there in our hearts to respond. If we have to seek it out by road, rail or air specifically at chosen spots, it hasn’t really any significance, it’s just another kind of telly. I do think we all need sometimes to be alone and quiet and in communication with things which are not manmade – but if we feel that the sea has this focus which the sky has not, then I think we need to sit down quietly and empty ourselves of chatter so that we can be more receptive … Mind you, I have a fearful feeling for the sea myself, and often a powerful yearning – but I think this yearning is very physical – so much so that it goes right back to the beginning of life in the earliest oceans. Inasmuch as there is no separation of the physical and spiritual, I suppose you might call this a spiritual need – but I don’t really think it’s a need at all. I think all we need is here, where we are.
“Today I was crippled – but even if this was to go on for the rest of my life, I don’t want NOT TO BE any more, just because I can’t run on the hills and swim in the sea. These are just ways of being myself by becoming for a moment the moors or the sea. But if I am in direct communication with everything about me, then there is no ‘ME’ as an entity apart from all else, and so I no longer need to lose myself in the sea or the telly or social welfare or anything.
“I think it is up to each of us to make our lives quiet and simple so that we can understand these things. I am very, very privileged, because I have been allowed to grow in comparative freedom. But I am no more privileged than any other human being ought to be. We have stunted ourselves so terribly – so obliterated our natural abilities and perceptions, that most of us after we are two years old, can see nothing as it really is, but only in a warped and twisted light.
“… …Loving is true living, and we all fall short of that.”
The core integrity keeps a good trapezoid fluidity around the centre of gravity. Practice establishes it at the heart of life. My Tai Chi friend Mrs B talks to and soothes her irregular heart in this way. For her, like for me, the Treasure opens up and it is wonderful – and vulnerable – to be Old.
How to tune to the ongoing Grace? Flow into it, intentionally letting go. The intention is nothing but clarity. My body’s own knowledge and balance follows through, without the mind. The movement enters the Body of Light. It is good to recall the Body of Light in any manifestation. The conscious intention is enough for it to occasionally spring into That. The beautiful moments of Flow, at first rare, slowly coalesce to a frequency.
Here is an insight of the Wave, and why it is called a Frequency. The different pulses of Frequency high or low, slow or fast, determine the Fibre band. The Fibre connects mountains and river valleys like the grain along the wood. When thinking of the Light body, slip into the wood, the water and the Stone; perhaps I see Nanda Devi or hear Liszt’s Rose theme. It hums authentically. It bypasses the formal instruction’s “Dummy of Light”. The golem in a white robe – a diving suit for recognition by other higher-astral swimmers – is not my cup of tea. My clarity with the Light body isn’t conventional but Aquarian and direct.
Moments of Contact come. Much of the time, there is fumbling and fatigue. Each day the morning opens this potential espousal with the fountain, there is heat, Master R is near. His tentacle towards me enjoys mountain climbing! – to ascend the allegory of the Ground.
Ascension is Contact, Embodiment, Embrace.
I walked over to Belsize yesterday. In wet autumn leaves I strolled round the small woodland conservation area behind Downside Crescent and applied gentle Gevurah to my emotions which arise. I am bereaved don’t-you-know, of “my old friend’s” presence in the district. My Gevurah is to notice but not indulge or brood. Those woods in the old days were a hidden tangled web, they are not green but wild dark autumnal brown and grey, and in my Watershed they were an eastern sea-board washing up to the hinterland of Haverstock Hill.
What rich untidy rooms to revisit! The story is in my blood stream but not trapped. That steep wood now is “managed” with constructed paths for walkers and illustrated notices of the foxes, birds and wildlife it harbours. Around it stand tower-blocks, the Isokon flats and the Royal Free hospital. I spoke to a joyful couple who saw a woodpecker. At the top is the ivy clad tower – the chimney, the well which ventilates the Northern Line tunnel deep below. His spirit in my wandering has this landscape now. Do the memories hold me back? No – for I don’t cling to them, but recognise the impression passing through, and monitor changes. His limited outline in life turns into my Unlimited Life. That is OK business. Grey woods.
I walked up the Heath after Belsize but I don’t care for it much – too many people and trampled mud. Yesterday I typed the Trinosofia chapter Ten and commentary into Aquariel’s Trinosofia Texts page. There is kindling for further deep teachings from the Maestro.
But I am still in the Belsize wood, for out of the damp dark ground comes my old dream about the man in prison and the fishes and the scars on his thumbs and his question about astrology. He was fettered. As I write, the force of it fades. Small eruptions of captured life in death: the Underground chimney out of which the wound spoke. There are themes as in a symphony or Sonata form. At first the poem is silent. During the night, it ferments and joins up stars and wings.
In Chapter Ten the initiate dances out from the tomb, striking the inscribed stone lid with his lance or Rod. I feel the release of the beauty and purity of life through the dead.
This was a difficult drawing to realise and then adjust to the scanner’s tonal “interpretation”. I wanted gleams of rainbow mother-of-pearl in the “steam” … The steam is alchemical condensation: the distillation of an intensity of life. It heats up into droplets on the athanor, through which sparkles the Sun.
It is enough now to touch base with each profound Key of life when it surfaces its poem – like today, the essence of the Bear (34th I Ching Hexagram/Gene Key) – the shadow which is Force transforms through the Gift of Strength to Majesty when I go climbing; and revisiting the Belsize wood.
I am sure my old friend is free though grumpy at times with what he doesn’t understand. In my heart he is free and that is huge. As in the smoke on the moon’s face I, the bent and shawled old lady, tend the garden. Lilies and roses arose. The heart of any soul when it is huge and untrammelled moves through all other hearts in the deep. Here I love him. Here in Hades playing my lyre, I need not turn to see if the beloved is following. I am she unashamed who bears the children, and he has his domain. The love is gratitude: to scribe each morning the collected poem of yesterday. Yes to the day!
Aquariel – an angel of the waters and of the air through the woods of life.
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