Here is a poem of turning point – circa 1600 AD – where Johannes Kepler’s intuition of gravity gave birth to Newtonian sciences: the scientific method was a child of the Renaissance. Some Kabbalists say this was the dawn of the Aquarian Age – through the Piscean Age’s declining ecclesiastic extravagance.
If each precessional Age passes its first quarter through the Karmic shadow of the receding one, our present time is truly a threshold. An Aquarian response-ability (global and individual) must awaken from penumbra, urgently. Symbolically at this point, a pope grows old and infirm, and resigns. It is an opportunity for real growth – poorer in material resources, richer in spiritual verities.
Kepler, who lived, worked, travelled and corresponded through the discordant violence of the Thirty Years War, was Pythagorean by nature.
There was far more to Isaac Newton than people knew. He was an alchemist and seer. Most of his knowledge of the universal motions was discarded, in favour of a mechanistic clockwork science … which quantum physics later demolished.
Seeing only the surfaces is what keeps us asleep. Those who – like Kepler and Newton – contemplate the space between trees and houses, between planetary orbits, musical notes and tones, between falling apple and the ground: those who see from in between … their vision helps us to wake up, and keep awake.
Light years have super-charged to breaking point
the chrysalid for butterfly,
and cracked the fledgeling’s shell.
Within the vault of art,
light years capture boundless stars
At first, they flew as birds,
inscribed within Divinity.
Later on, they died – chunks of orbiting rock
whose wings had flown away !
Measurement begins, but ends.
When the coffin smashed, the pelican of alchemy fled
to the strong child within her breast.
On a watershed
straddling sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, stood
an astygmatic mystic named Johannes
to whose inner ear the heavens opened Harmonies.
Born in Germany’s black forest
under skies calamitous with dissonant drifts of Mars
in F-sharp Libra to attune,
this man played cupid to Pythagoras
with New Sciences.
Through his eczematic eyes
and ecstatic frenzied math, the spheres
entering one another, cross fertilise.
Newton entered the frame
to wind the clock.
In Gothic art, the Masters’ eye
approximates our intimacy.
My nature incomplete,
receives and loves the universe.
Her urge to inscribe the hidden Whole Circle,
comes to the waters, kisses the lips
and forms ellipse.
Divine mechanics are not mechanical – as Isaac knew.
The clock wound up, unwinds;
and all things uncoiling spiral, move.
Like albumen across the egg
our planets around the Sun’s gold yolk
– as He around a greater Wheel is thrown –
have formed ellipses, swept through equal arcs
with equal periods of the solar broom:
space as time. Time as space ...
With driven pulse,
Johannes like the Little Prince
and riding his mother’s witch stick
stood in the Sun’s fiery heart
to find this out.
This, Isaac knew,
standing on the shoulders of Johannes
to get the view.
In musical theory,
strings on a keyboard tuned to logical linear mode
un-neighbour one another.
In musicians’ art, our piano keys, triple strung,
are tuned by ear to the octave fore and aft,
and orbiting middle C.
In all philosophy, the triad’s centre string
evokes the Resonance above, below.
This also, Isaac knew.
Isaac’s clever followers
washed away his strong child at play
when they let the water out and blocked the well:
(the bottom of their bowling bucket broke.)
The living Mystery in bodies whom Divinity inscribes,
embraces vast journeys of stars.
Within the unseen mover of things,
elliptic ovoid rings encircle the Sun
and time’s amber waves flow
across a Tree of Life:
“take, eat, this is my body.”
The Solar Egg curves above, below,
throughout our plane – a nest of spheres
whose harmony unseen, is heard.
Heaven’s children are not truly seen, but heard –
when they laughed,
when scientific quantum tripped
and stumbled over
around the rose garden.
From The Masters’ Eye, 2004/5/9
And another poem – a true story of Kepler’s nemesis:
The Astronomer TYCHO de BRAHE
the fat Emperor of Egg O’Baldy twirls
handlebar moustache, rubs shining salve
on gold and silver nose
sliced by duelling impetuous youths,
and rules the salad with a rod of iron.
The glutton tyrant
held in his balls the vital measurements of Mars.
At the end he couldn’t even
piss them; so he died.
From The Masters’ Eye, 2004/5/9
Aquariel – an angel of the waters and of the air through the woods of life.
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