Discoveries in Tarot and the Garden 2011 – Part Two

I am dipping back into an old diary – see previous post.

22 May 2011 – Pentacle:  Dark Pennies and Victory Falls

AVE.  Some strong spiritual leaders of humanity “clothe their higher bodies with physical matter, by stepping down the vibratory rate of their personal vehicles. The greater number are men and women who came into earth-life in the usual way” through the birth canal.

(Quotation from Paul Foster Case)

Every one of us has the unfolding, dormant or active potential of master of humanity: magister.   Ramana and other sages relate to this, in each soul they see. The “grade” is omnipresent, for it is our true Self, and it is mostly unnoticed.

It is a remarkable thing to creep into the embodied arena through that tiny little door and fall into the storms, milk and wiped slate of babyhood.   Our deepest privacy is what we no longer remember, because our memory’s data base rests on learning to read. Before literacy, there is usually an awakening contact with the tribe of past lives, their fruition in this one – the magic of childhood.

The magi move with ease, when their bodies have grown up through the dramas of puberty and infancy.  Hold this impression:   the magister in me through a string of births: the oak inside the acorn: the presence of the magister in every time and place, is a lode star:   I keep returning to talk about it.

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My writing in the mornings consists of: spiritual contact, study and psychology – the daily application –  for instance, tales of the garden at Alum Way reflect for me in their textures and patterns of leaves, the contact of the deep. They do, because there is love going on there – enough to much amuse the magister: enough to ground the settlement: enough to reflect the law.   Human love is a servant to the transpersonal.   Instinctively, it makes me work hard and develops my dedication.

Yesterday I sowed the first grass seeds along the edge of the garden where the rubbish dump used to be – I knelt and stroked them into the earth. The man came along at that moment and teased.   In the evening we watch Grand Designs, following persons who build their dream mansions, and all the problems of construction, relationship and planning – a roof which turns out to be too high, etc.   And look at me!   My Grand Design in reverse, removed a mountain, and I end up not high on the roof but hands and knees on the ground, like this – smile.

Ramana used to say, when you dig a well, or realise your Self, all you do is remove what isn’t there.   All that stuff blocking it is space. For much of my life I fantasised Capricornly about building or creating some big thing bare handedly – it turns out to be this space, and it gives me confidence at various levels. Only with our hands touching earth do we realise the heavenly motions.

Yesterday I also painted both gates green – a brighter park-bench Venus green which the man bought and finds more cheerful: his instinctive signal to the Zombies (neighbours) – my green is bigger than yours – and re-organised the back “subconscious” wild garden, moved the tip-rubbish to the other side of its entrance, sorted out the woodpile/long lovely privet poles for fencing, and raked up the man’s grass trimmings.   The Zombies were busy trimming the elderflower tree by the street – they have plans for their little front garden; with their fear of the man, they use their back garden less.   I do not have the social skill to speak to them at present, but I enjoyed the feeling of them working near me: the Meerkat – who has turned blonde – sweeping up leaf-litter by the bins.   The man’s way with the Zombies is now quite sensible – keep distance: aloof courtesy.

Now yesterday – my insights from the garden clearance begin to dew – I jotted that it doesn’t matter to be wrong or mistaken. The magi too are constantly adjusting focus: like one who draws. The fixed fear of making mistakes is egotistic.

I saw when dozing the other day, an image of the Victoria Falls – there are pictures of them in Prof Cox’s universe book, a magical place of rainbows falling (of course) on himself – the fast moving flood tosses turbulent white.   On the brink, bushy islands or trees part the vast spill. I saw this too from a distance, like teeth and gaps, or silhouettes, and imagined myself caught on one of those tree-clumps between the thundering waters: identifying.   I flit like a butterfly by an abyss – cliffs of fall.   The subconscious distils to me the image.   The dark places where the trees cling to rock, along the wide white bite of the falls, shocked and awoke me.   Jung says “unconscious” material floats to the surface and shocks the dreamer.

Similarly: the patches of the finite – vibrant bodylife, and its moods and dreaming cityscapes – are pasted on the infinite. They – the silhouettes – are on a plane merged with the grey Infinite, yet distinct, like threads of oil on water. For some reason the silhouette being not tilted but resting in the plane, pleases me.

I swim in your silhouette, your shadow on the grass – a little pool.   Circles – pennies – of the soul that can lie a little overlapping one another as vesica pisces without invasion, are a  tender discovery. I don’t think it is possible in a relationship’s early stages to venture this, because too many karmic defences and compulsions are being processed.   In the early stages there is infatuation and quite a lot of psychic rape.

Lay the coins – the shadow discs of the soul – together, move their edges over one another, then back.   The fish where circles overlap, is a fluid oval, and from it the Angel or the Child rises.   Relationship – as spiritual practice – is a field where the shadow discs quiver together like leaves in the breeze.   It is whimsical or it is conscious. The clean parting is as important as the merging.   That is why the Lovers’ hebrew emblem is ZAIN the sword whose tip parts the ways. It applies to partnership and to the binary relationship within my self.

(“And” is VAV, the Hierophant. This is because the hebrew letter VAV means a hook or nail – something that joins things together or bridges souls – and even signifies the grammatical conjunction “and”.)

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The shadow discs lie in the field, deep blue with night. One may look into the other, and empathise, withdraw, empathise. To speak is not necessary.   They throb.

Yesterday was not really optimum for planting grass, with the Moon in last quarter.   However my incentive to carry through, was strong  – the Moon in Capricorn, and Mercury, Venus and Mars in Taurus.   21 May, my daughter’s birthday, is also for me, a moment of the Magi;   they reveal their face.   The gardens – all earth, with some timber piles, a few new shrubs and garlanded with trees – are a beauteous space in readiness, an invitation.   This week is also the man and my 5^th anniversary.   There is a curious and welcome spiritual relaxation – take it or leave it – with things.   Removal of anxiety is truth.

But see:   keep clearing:   pause in the inward turned writing, which is on a daily base repetitive, and be silent;   hear and see.   The world was rumoured to come to an end, yesterday.

The gardens are a lens, responding also to my meetings with Jung and Master R at a plain round table in a secret garden by a hedge.   At Alum Way, I am busy in the garden:   here at home I see and rest in it.

Thus the coins overlap and part.  They are pentacles.  The pentacle is a yantra of the bare soft earth, that I tread level in a circle with my feet, for planting.  Pentacles are stars, five-petal flowers, and seals of Solomon;   pentacles are magic rings.  My ideas of circles of grass in squares of ground should not be applied too literally.   The magic gestures are in my writing:   the material and the plans are his.  I watered everything yestereve copiously with Marion’s hose:   but it rained a little anyway, in the night, and now the wind sings in a bright sky with leaves.

The rainbow waters of Victory descend through my flute.   This is Fall – the endless falling of the Light.   Light loves gravity.   Light is also gravity – curved as space around the spheres.   Gravity is endless and everywhere – the falling.   In some parts among the stars, it condenses locally and vorticises to black holes – the birth of stars. Black holes are old collapsed stars.   Their singular rebirth shines through the other side of the spangled cloth.   Stars are infinite, even though they die.   I am infinite, even though I die.   I see above the clouds:   my face is every where.   Is gravity the speed of light?

The lesson of the brown pennies lying in the field, is when I see into your dark with you; I rest with your reality; it is a mystery how we touch.

In the day, the sparkle in your face breaks mine in a smile: your eyes as bright and dark as a child; your bravery in the battle field: your cock and your crisp wit like toast:   your deep voice and will power in your chest and throat: your brown impulsive hands: your flaws: your broken teeth and smokers cough: your unfettered expression of your vulnerability: your emotional zest.

It is wise to keep distinct, my depth perceptions and the surface pools.   They marry and entwine in time – it is the hourglass of the stars.   Where I live as a membrane or sounding board, it is unwise to define too much. The circles on the water expand, contract, change shape to rods and amoebic globes, disappear and reform;   the five mobile islands where Hokhmah dips his hand.

VALE

Ah! a thought while blowing out the candle:   my present drift away from esoteric groups and ritual is because I am being assisted by the nature Devas whom I honour in the garden.   I’m glad to be reminded of the Devas.   This clarifies much, and puts the adventure in context.   The Devas spell out things of life very clearly, and dispel hobnobbing.

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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 2012-2015. 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/

Discoveries in Tarot and the Garden 2011 – part One

Glancing back … In 2011, I studied Tarot, Alchemy, reclamation and relationship.  Physically, I sanded down, varnished and restored the floors of a small concert venue in Highgate, and at the same time removed (by hand) a ten year rubbish dump from a string of neglected gardens in Alum Way near Golders Green – the task took almost 9 months.  In my journal I reached ground zero and celebrated my daughter’s birthday:

21 May 2011 – ON BIRTH, HEALING AND THE GARDEN

Summer gives me a greatly extended day: getting up with full daylight, is at 5.45, earlier than ever. I finish writing between 8 and 9.30 usually; then all being well, I am active until eight or nine in the evening – how do I manage in winter?   The body clock contracts accordingly, so everything adjusts.   In winter I watch more TV and (obviously) sleep more, because I hit the hay about the same time.

Each morning before I write, I open the Tree of Life.  I say Warren Kenton’s Invocation (“let us gather together, draw together, let us form a vessel to catch the dew of heaven.  Let us rise up and go to that holy place of meeting, and gather there with the Companions of the Light;  and let the veil of Heaven be drawn back.  Hear this:  Malkuth, Yesod, Hod  …”).

With the Invocation, I do  Dion Fortune’s hand mudras – The Good Shepherd, Those who Sailed West to East, The Builders – and repeat Actaeon’s vision to – “part the waves, kiss the lips, turn the wheel, fingers touch numbers of the clock, enter the cave, find the jewel, and climb the mountain, through the rainbow.”

I let it dance as a physical instrument, to earth it, feet on rosewood floor.   At the end of writing, I blow out the candle and “come down the Tree.” I used to neglect this, but was taught that closure is proper.   In ritual I am lazy – it is pared down to the essentials – but dedicated.   This sounds right. It is a hand-clap to summon and thank the guardian angel.  It diminishes my weevils and opens the sky.   Ritual is a statement of embodied intention: ascent.

The drawing above, is of Dion Fortune’s mudra – three gestures with the hands were transmitted to her in trance. I drew them embedded in the slanting wave-contours of Glastonbury Tor. The peak is a mental-plane arena – ring of stones, winged angel and chalice, in a subtle vesica-pisces geometry. The vertical circles intersect the horizontal one – like my painting of the Grail Table with the Tree.

The Tor angel is a cut out silhouette window of light within the tower.   Recall  the silhouettes we see each other as;  my day’s changing modes are silhouettes. A rare opportunity permits my intimacy with another silhouette; to deepen objectively and be aware.   The invitation to enter another’s room, and vice versa, rubbing shoulders, should not spell out each others’ codes, but empathise. Our vesica pisces: the circles, as on the Tor peak, enter each other just a little.   Creative imagination is the Empress dressed in green.   Out she comes! lush, like an apple.

Venus is lush like an apple.  Yellow, green and red, with black and blue are colours of alchemical antimony, a kind of transformational corrosive, or quickening.   She is pregnant, about to parturate, seated on a stone bench – cool stone to her distended fanny.   Swollen seed splits.   Golden stars of the zodiac dance nonchalantly around her head; her gaze eye to eye, is direct:   relationship.

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At 9.15am, thirty four years ago, I saw my daughter rotate out from my thighs, slippery, greyish dark pink, flecked with blood, vibrantly athletic and alive, her father’s face, her well formed female sex, her strong trumpet cry – the lady’s a survivor!   In this light, the Angel descended through me a moment later, with an overwhelming maternal bonding instinct:   love.

How perfectly it all fits together ! When a royal child lies in her cradle in the fairy tales, the godmothers who gather round, are zodiacal powers of love and of compromise – the gifts for life.   They are titanic feelings.   Every mother who has looked at her new child and been struck by lightning, knows them. Nature!

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Nature is the goddess – and when I next see Ris (she says she wants a quiet birthday on her own, but might change her mind later and let me take her out for a nosh), ask her a bit more about the Goddess or feminine energy she’s reading about, and the totem stick.   She told me the other day, about seven daughters of Eve, and mitochondrial DNA.

7 daughters of Eve, by Ulla Plougmand Turner

Ancient women of Gaia at first trusted the masculine deity as he rose – made trade with him – and then, as he abused them, they became atheists.

When a deep perception is on the way, it is like the child coming through the canal, and my thought in-draws silently, and waits.   Labour in its fullness, is the natural coming and going of the breath.   My labour hurt a lot, but after I was allowed to push with it, the massive commitment with nature replaced the pain.  The essence of labour is not violent, though the sensations in transition are extremely so – the waves knock against each other.   The essence of labour, as during the pregnancy, guides the little voyager through the portals;  she rides her vessel through oceanic storms of emotion – which there were.   Whatever the mother’s argument, tension, grief or release, that little presence deep inside, is kept safe in harbour as she grows.

The ancient women of Gaia trusted the man in the field, planting grain, and he betrayed, abused and confined them.

This fable works its way organically through the soul, like a baby through the birth canal, until it is delivered to the air.   When the fable is embodied, she is conscious, and may choose to forgive.   For as long as there is no “for give”, it must be born again.   Eventually the forgiveness – the wholeness – is accomplished, and then there is movement.

Whatever the lifetimes in my daughter’s private inner soul, unknown to me – an outline emerges; the depth of her Karmic compassion as a certain trouble took form. Her soul was emboldened to reconcile it. Her father lost his creative path in life, and abused us with his rage and disappointment. She does not wish him ill.   She may have interacted with him in previous lives, as I did, or he may have been called upon by destiny to play the bully.   He knew not what he did.  At a certain depth, and taking time, the action of individual souls upon each other is archetypal and transformative.

For me, Karmic issues seek a conscious breath and transmutation.   If an ancient woman is abused or blamed, if men exploited her, lifetimes may fill with revenge, directed outwardly or inwardly, sometimes inflicting and sometimes receiving, sometimes as the man and sometimes as the woman.  Long shadows are thrown across history, for ourselves to embody with life, growth and awareness.  In time a maternal environment is found, which is alchemical, and accelerates things:   we meet our full nature … and let it go.

The fertile green plants all down her stair and filling her balcony, are symbolic.   On my way to Warren’s meeting on Thursday evening, I saw her sitting in her doorway among them – she has an open view up to Hampstead from her roof-terrace village – and so I sent a text, and she waved back.

Karmic issues are subtle, powerful wave-trains. It is too simplistic to make them tit for tat, because they criss-cross also (as in the Nasca lines of birth chart aspect patterns);  Karma is an echo chamber. When I walk in the sea with Mercury, my soul is raised enough to glimpse the divine dimension which seems to us (who live within its walls, waves and thumb-print whorls) such a labyrinth. I see the simple noble outlines, and at the same time, their complexity; a vast world. It is a great honour to behold thus: to walk in the sea with Mercury.

Illustration from Alchemy & Mysticism by A Roob

Speaking of which, Mercury through Gemini rules The Lovers, Tarot key 6.

My daughter’s Tarot template is:

Individuality:  Sun on Gemini cusp – The Lovers, key 6
Personality: Ascendant (and Moon) in Cancer –  The Chariot, key 7
Problem: add 6 to 7 = Death, key 13, “Scorpio force” (the movement)
Solution:  subtract 6 from 7 = key 1, the  Magician, Mercury (the focus)
by what Means?:  subtract 1 from 13 = 12, the Hanged Man: the Waters
Integration – sum of the previous five = 12, the Hanged Man: or 3, the Empress.

Ris tarot template, Sun Gemini (Lovers) Ascendant Cancer (Chariot)

jane tarot template, Sun Capricorn, Ascendant Virgo –  only four keys, because problem & solution are both 6.  The sum of the four keys reduces also to 3, the Empress.

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I knew Key 12 was strong in her template: which means “reversal”, the capacity to invert a wrong and to change things round.   The womans’ staff she told me about some weeks ago, is the caduceus or ankh. She has electricity and healing in her hands, still awakening, being born in the Year of the Snake.

The Tarot Keys are godmothers, the bringers of the forces.

In 1969 when I first knew him, a mantra arose, concerning her father Mr V:   Give way to the Force.   For-give.   I intuited in those early months, a transgression which would be my life’s work and instruction, to forgive. I saw the tender child in him, not fully formed;  and the soldiers around him.  I projected furies with and through him, as well as an obsessive romance and fear.   I enacted the woman bruised and scorned.   In those days – he was 34 then – he was attractive, intense and tentative, feeling his way. I was fascinated by his warmth, and by the cold steel in his nature.  He was vulnerable to my drama, as his ego was not secure, and his path was at a forking of the ways.  I was just 20.  I wanted a child with him.

The little fish who swam towards our first encounter and knocked at the door for life, was born seven years later in Gemini.   She persisted and prevailed.

To forgive, does not erase from the slate – no one can do that except the bearer, with God.  It goes to a hidden place and it opens wide.   To forgive means to give away my enmity; to move apart; to respect that soul’s providence and freedom as a whole.   To be able to forgive and move on, is a personal boon; I am not jailed, I am out on parole.   To forgive is the holistic LAW OF THE UNIVERSE;   and the Law is movement: and movement through the fields and seasons of life is Key 13, the “scorpio force”.

My friend Lyn is writing an autobiography of the scorpio force through herself. She told me she has trouble with the amount of “I” in it.   I told her Actaeon left the I out of his first draft, and it was contrived and read badly.   Perhaps the answer is, to ask from time to time what this “I” is – Self-enquiry.   Then it becomes objective, and the dimension of cosmic mystery restores the Life.   So why not study … the human who is closer to me than my heartbeat?   All else is speculative.

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Meanwhile, at Alum Way, there is the man, my friend David.  We’ve been together for five years;  we are reclaiming the string of overgrown gardens next to the woods and the brook.  My building of rough timber fences is now approved of by the man; with the addition of some long apple branches, the fabric starts to flow, and is strong.   Yesterday I almost finished the digging.  In the corner of the garden where the recent rubbish is stacked, the earth was packed with broken pots and old barbecue coals and litter, and has died to dust, it is filled with tough thatches of dead corpuscular root fibre.   Nothing will want to grow there except – possibly – nasturtiums which are said to like infertile ground.   It might be a good place to put the man’s fishpond.   The man wants the rubbish pile remnants to be moved into the woodpile garden, away from his sight, until it can be dealt with.   But  the woodpile garden is my little subconscious sanctuary – as well as being the first place last year, that I entered and cleared.   Why not put it further back, in the nettle garden which no one is bothering with at the moment, and cut it up into bags for the municipal dump?

looking into the tip

Before …

… and After

For me these gardening details are psychology.   After digging along the border, I raked, levelled and trod a room-size area where the high rubbish tip used to be; to lay the first turf.   It is incredibly exciting and creative.  Around the green “mandala”, we can seed grass and wildflower, to watch it grow.   I found the man in good voice with these plans in general.   The place which is trod and prepared for grass, is a magical dancing floor at dusk; darker than the lumpier ground around it.

The “I” in narrative is fine, so long as the dimension is alive through it, of a story working through a local i, like a sonata through a cello.

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I’ve been reading in Self Enquiry April 2003, Jim Pym’s article on spiritual healing.   It is very interesting.   It is for him the attentive practice of “I do not know, nor do I try to fix it”, which clears the space for God.

The man had a bad day yesterday, with his back. He can live with a lot of physical pain, but not the fear and tension that rises to his head from it as it accumulates.  His GP referred him to a pain management clinic, where they can try out drug changes. I heard (when I had toothache) that to alternate pain killers is more effective than to use just one, which habituates.  He draws the line at morphine.   Clive up the road wears morphine patches and he says he’s not going there.    Alum Way is tenanted by brave souls in pain, crying a little in their beds at night.   The Welsh lady downstairs has almost wasted away, but is as wiry as a root, thanks to the bottle.   The man pulled strings through his social worker (a large black lady called Lolita whom he manipulates with great skill), and the council came along at once, and mended the steps and re-concreted the front path – he is delighted with his will with A Way.   He made prints in the wet cement with stencils of a rose and a boat, and a magendovid.   I told him the magendovid looks more like a paw print.   He said he will make his dog walk in it.  Through the ages, the cave dweller marks his dab.

Spiritual and sexual healing does not remove his pain – yet – but it does open up his resources and inner soul strength. It is a long-haul circuit. As a “soul gardener”, he manifests a physical garden and an Eve.   His Aries will is powerful.  My lovership with him, and in the garden, is for the whole.   Does this rare opportunity stand equal with writing great screeds and getting published and influencing people?

VALE

Quantock hill waters

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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 2012-2015. 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/

Poems of Intimacy

Dattatreya, the guru of all nature

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1. Canal Lock Gate

It is hard to see through
our wounds tending to meet each other.

Love waits
for waters each side to level,
the deep gate to open
for the passing through deliciously.

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2. Labyrinth Walk

Being received into your labyrinth,
our nature, eros rose
wells outward lotus rings of light.

White dew thickens as we enter the garden:
sap stem vibrates OMMMM
MANE PADME HUMMMM

we are
inmostly
bees to honey.

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3. Tree of Life

I am a lover
stumbling over threshold
crumbling tortoise shell
to dust, feet tremble!

Receiving my self,
plant her, let her grow
gold and silver fruit
along my branches to the sun.

On paths of space
standing still, embrace
awakening Suns of Light.

Receive your Tree
being received.

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4. (1976) House of God – the first Tablets of Sinai

In the ceiling of a house of god
apertures through stone to sky.
hold my eye to light
sans sound or speech.

Over the stone floor, an animal pads.
The beast’s shining trail of smudgy light
bears witness:
mystic co-relation scribed:  lovers’ knot.

With the sacred script
the animal aura communes;

“Gaze upon those apertures through roof to light,
to talk to God.
They are God’s hieroglyphs
cut through stone.

“The language
of the Light of God
outside your speech
descends to meet you.”

Is not our temple a shell
for seeing through?

Does body’s wall a prison make?

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 5. Leaves …

In medieval tapestry
a saint is preaching
to plump lions with worried dark eyes
to blink the sleep from themselves.

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Spear tip
probes sun’s golden heart
through silver body
summer singing.

If I have ears to hear,
hear Thee
as stars brought close to eyes,
oak tree.

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6.  The Falconer

Hooded falcon
released from the glove
is a sign of one in the great Work
who lives in the world.

We are tamed by our body bonds,
relation ships and knitting patterns.
This has to be.
But when the hood comes off

we fly and seize the prey

and bring it back to the garden
of the glove.

The glove of the Falconer
veils love.

Poems from ‘Homer Rows’
June 2005

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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 2012-2014. 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/

Second Birth

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Children are wide awake at four, five, six years old to intellectual and spiritual and sexual atmosphere, and ask deep questions. After we go to school many of us lose that awakeness.

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Sacred India Tarot 8 of Arrows

In India, Bhagavad Gita is the Song of God – a sacred space in the field of war – a blend of the sacrament and the battle, which is human; the Songs of God. The god Krishna comes right down into the battlefield, and gives the Teaching to Arjuna.

Something like this must have happened to Ali, the founder of Sufism.

When God told Ibrahim to slay his son, Ibrahim gave up his earthly (and obscuring) attachment to his son, who was then reborn to him consciously. Giving Isaac to God, he received his son.

Comment: This is the Second Birth in all the mystical traditions and in relationships as they evolve. The same “Mystery” is in Yeshua’s willing death, entombment and resurrection.   The seed dies into the ground to grow a tree. Water comes to the boil and gives up being water as it transmutes to a gas: to air.   When we humans awaken, when we pass that boil point, we are suddenly in connection with the whole of humanity;  we never were not.   The human consciousness is at present in this ferment just below the boil, with molecules popping into and out of air. In the subatomic world, particles collide and mutually annihilate, releasing a new particle or photon – the energy quanta of that death-rebirth: the conversation flows.

quantum subparticle interaction back and forth in spacetime 1988

In the Heisenberg principle, position and motion of a particle cannot be simultaneously observed: the one cancels the other.   This is because a particle isn’t a point, but a wave. The human understanding dies – gives up its sense of doership – when it receives God:  it passes the boil-point.  Sufi poems are all written at and around the boil-point – or just past it.

I dreamed of flying, it felt like a preview of the ascent just past it: the awakening into a different register – a higher and simpler frequency.   The quantum leap is orbital – the electron waves around an atom are levels – space for space to move both inward and outward, and find expression.

scientist studies a particle 1988

The true meaning of hierarchy is – orbital levels of consciousness:  higher or denser frequencies.  We do not attain to them personally:  they are reoccupied by the soul’s ascending or descending frequency which matches them, and this goes on all day in the mindstuff as in societies;  the process as in the subatomic world, is fluid.

On this principle is conceived the Messiah of each historical phase (be it a day or a lifetime), who holds the axis of the age. The Messiah holds the situational balance, from within.   Few recognise him or her, because “it takes a buddha to see a buddha.”  The Messiah might be working in a garage.

Freedom. Freedom follows this choice, which is made for us. Freedom turns towards it and follows it voluntarily, and opens the phoenix wings.   An old Greek word: Metanoia means to turn. It means to turn and face the music. It is the decision in any difficult and painful moment, to remember and turn to God.

Shepherdess 1988

There is a Kabbalistic tradition that just before we are born, an angel stops our eyes, ears and mouth: the angel removes our memory of who and what we are. We rediscover our full dimension in the toil of embodiment through babyhood, childhood, adulthood, space and time, relationships and the work and stress and fatigue and beauty of earth-plane. Mostly we do not yet wake from this dream, and more or less stay “dead” – lost in the drama. The second birth occurs when the biological birth reaches its full potential; it is then RIPE and ready to fall from the branch. At this point the biological birth “dies” into the living birth of the Spirit.

When we are born again, when we wake with the Spirit, our cosmic memory awakes:  we discover we always KNEW. This is not the linear, analytical mind, but Greater Mind, which is Being.

Hermes to his son Tat, 1987

On the theme of maturity which is RIPENESS: I once read an old definition of “virgin” meaning “she who is ripe”. Jesus’s mother was in a ripe condition, for the Son of Man to be born to her – a birth of divine consciousness, which is earthed.   So much tragic nonsense and superstition and distorted belief has been written and dogmatized and preached about the simple and unfathomable Mystery.

In the ancient world, it was common for great Teachers to be born to “virgin” mothers – those who were physically and psychologically ripe to mother such a child;  conceived in the normal way.   The core Mystery transcends the religious one.   During the pregnancy, the mother-to-be received “annunciations” and signs that her child was unusual, and sometimes so did the father.

Miracle is a natural state of sacrament:  the points which are waves join up together.

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violet crystal and snowdrop 1988

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The theme of embodiment is universal. The Spirit descends into the density of our earth body; and it is our task to let the Spirit descend completely, and to ignite and to raise our soul into itSelf, through our limbs and our understanding and our dance around the fire. It ascends into the descending: the marriage of earth with heaven: inter-penetration.

Some mystics make the mistake of disembodying and giving up life. But the Light must be carried deep into the well, deep into the root, the pain of life, for the tree of life to blossom and bear fruit – collectively and individually.

In olden days, no man was allowed to study Kabbalah until he was at least 40, had raised a family and worked and demonstrated he can manage his life. He had to be mature – a whole human. He had to be ripe.

When humanity is in a really desperate condition, invisible wise ones incarnate, are born, and get to work – like yeast in the bread. They are everywhere nowadays. The genuine ones are quiet, because they are tuned into the collective conscious ocean of which we all are pools.

So there is this tremendous spiritual ferment; the suffering, slaughter and corruption on the surface; and profound peace wherever the spirit Reality is touched and spoken.

Some of them woke in prison, in solitary confinement – like Aurobindo and Mandela.

I keep seeing the Triad.   A and C converge at B – the third point – where they ignite a spark: the separate A and C disappear; their child “B” is born as energy, dialogue, insight: the transcending Power which knows the way.   Surrender to God: then tension is gone.

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Adam and Eve needed the knowledge of life, of embodiment and of resistance.   In the garden of Eden, they were an idea in the bliss of God. Driven out of Eden, they descended – and still are descending – into Earth and Form, to realise and embody their full potential, which is Beauty. We say: for God to behold God in relationship. The Sufis say we emerge from and return into God.

In our history over the millenia, Adam and Eve are enacted again and again individually, always anew: their crisis embodies our evolution.

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As they descend, to work with their hands and feet, and suffer the human capacity for self deception and distortion in its entirety through thousands of generations, the seed in the ground which is the Spirit rises again and grows like bread: the Ascension. Whenever a human realises this in full and becomes a Buddha, that whole span of millennia – and many before and after it – extends One Moment: a single and all-encompassing sounding and seeing of the infinite variety.

Ripeness is maturity, full fruit and flower.

The Ascension is invisible except when we are quiet and reflect. Then we hear it. We hear its slow deep “schumann” pulse below our quicker human-tense one.   And we try to align our energy field and intentions and embodiment, to this long, slow wavelength; we try not to forget it. It is the truth.

Most human beings live in profound forgetfulness, dissociated from their origin, and tearing around in traffic jams.

My daughter processes in a long wavelength, a rebirth.   Entering a new phase in her evolution, she is a person who makes things happen for others.  The gift in her is waking up.

I talk sometimes  about meanings. The languages of Yin (receptive, intuitive) and Yang (active, logical) begin to join and find their coalescence.

English language is filled with inner “cabals” and playful resonances – such as the meaning of coalescence with convalescence, audially.  The subtle wit of Sanskrit and Hebrew roots is mirrored like trees around a pond: I smile.

Without meanings, we are dead. The meanings connect us mutely to our spiritual prehistory, and as we rediscover them, we are reborn into the whole: the meanings vibrate beyond – yet still within my small city of ideas.

The meanings are our survival: our heart: our loving connectivity:  Gaia in the solar system among the stars.

Conventions (as in parenting) decay and atrophy.   As the conventional meanings die, the deeper one is born. Always …  the deeper meaning parents the child.

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My adventure invites fellow travellers. I am a poet, an artist and a seer. I welcome conversation among the PHILO SOFIA, the lovers of wisdom.

This blog is a vehicle to promote also my published work – The Sacred India Tarot (with Rohit Arya, Yogi Impressions Books) and The Dreamer in the Dream – a collection of short stories (0 Books). Watch this space.

aquariel link

All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012-2014. 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 http://janeadamsart.wordpress.com/

Listening

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Words are the trivia of modern dead language as commerce, without number or resonance. The Word in poetry or in sacrament is hieroglyphic and alive.

The Word!

It is in and of the spine of my soul.  In a Red Book footnote, I misread “the Anointed is supposed to return, but no longer in the flesh but in the spine.”  Actually spirit, but I saw at first spine, because of the small print.

This is food for thought: be not of the flesh but in the spine!   Here is the listening organ.

Then listen! For in the nerve threads, the coloured underground cables of my spine, flows Akasha, information.   Isn’t that what Akasha the etheric element is?   Akasha stores the divine memory of all that is and was and is to be.   This is the domain of the High Priestess.

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Tarot Key 2 – Builders of the Adytum deck – her planet is the Moon

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I associate her also with  “Earth-Receptive” in the I Ching – as in the Gene Keys (see link below.)  Gene key 2 is my Yesod – my “sphere of attraction”.

It is good to reflect at length and organically here; where the powers of attraction and what is drawn into this field are determined.

The High Priestess sits quiet and still, but is a blossoming fountain of the Tree of Poemegranates, red-orange in the cool veil between pillars of Solomon. From her  lap flows a leaping white river.   Her womb is concealed by the Torah scroll she holds over it. The scroll unrolls a little, like a sea wave crest.   In it is written all that was, is, and is to be: JHVH in the cross of Light she wears.

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Tarot is an anagram of TORAH, the wisdom and the Law.  In Tarot, each of the 22 Keys carries the Hebrew letter/number which is one ahead of it.  This is because Tarot begins with Key 0, The Fool, whose letter is ALEPH, letter 1 in the alphabet.

Through the picture-writing, each flower contains the seed of the flower:  the script to be.

The Priestess is Key 2, but her letter is GIMEL (3) whose symbol is the camel. The camel carries water across the Empty Quarter between the wells, and transports messages among humankind.

The mystery of Two contains this natural 3, the Letter of fertility.  It births a playful child, the One.

Return to the One. Be here and now. Unity.

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Letter GIMEL – wheatsheaf with man

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The Priestess and the I Ching Two illumine each other in my Tree-of-life foundation.   Her planet is the Moon, she receives and reflects the Sun.   The Yin right through the hexagram is a well, receiving the One.

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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 2012-2014. 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/

The Djinn and the Eternally Vulgar

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Point, line, solid … in sacred geometry

This sketch shows God’s hand (four-dimensional) dipped through our flat-earth pool.  The flat earth human observes, astonished, five apparently unrelated islands appear … move around … and disappear – and bases his/her scientific/statistical/political data on that.

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I have been writing in my other blog, about Tetrahedrons and the way their sacred geometry IS our natural life form.

Firstly here is a cube:

heart of cube, sides, points, pyramids

Those same 6 pyramids inverted into the cube of life, converge to their shared apex, the cube’s centre point.

The cube’s 6 sides circumscribe the six points of the Tetrahedral Star of Solomon.   Never is there an end to contemplating the six-sided solar photon, the source of life and of our being.

cube and tetrahedrons (1990)

Through the lattice of Solomon – the interwoven tetrahedrons – is expressed every nuance of the king and bride:  the Song of Solomon.

An Indian version – Chandra Moon in Jyotish

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“Listen!  my lover!  here he comes,
leaping across the mountains, bounding over the hills. 
My lover is a gazelle or young stag:
Lo! He stands behind my wall, 
gazing through my window, 
peering through the lattice …”

(song of Solomon)

 

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Jung at about the time he met Idzubar. His eyes are fierce with wonder

The Red Book
In his Red Book, Jung gave birth like a mother to the firebird, and lay shattered, a broken shell, as the firebird “cruelly, unthinkingly, spread its wings and flew up into infinite space … the emptiness of the depths opened beneath me.”

red book – Jung’s painting of Idzubar the God of the ancient world.  Jung disabled him with a poisoned word – he told him about modern sciences … and was stricken with remorse.

red book – Jung’s painting of the opening of the egg in which he had confined and carried Idzubar

“He who wanted to go down with the sun found me through his downgoing. I became his nocturnal mother who incubated the egg of the beginning. And he rose up renewed, reborn to greater splendour. While he rises however, I go down …

“I lay there like a child bearer cruelly mauled and bleeding her life into the child, uniting life and death in a dying glance, the day’s mother, the night’s prey. My God had drunk my highest power into him …

“What remains of human nature when the God has become mature and has seized all power? Everything incompetent, powerless, eternally vulgar, adverse and unfavourable – reluctant, diminishing, exterminating, everything absurd … the God suffers when man does not accept his darkness. Consequently, man must have a suffering God so long as they suffer from evil … …

“If the God draws near, your essence starts to seethe, and the black mud of the depths stirs up.

“Man stands between emptiness and fullness.”

C.G.Jung, The Red Book

His Individuation included the condition of the Dark Womb.

Sacred India Tarot – Birth of the Buddha – after the Buddha child was born, she died.

I felt, reading this passage, that the God jumped out of the tiny scientific boxes, more than a century ago, leaving the greater human element that believes in the boxes, destitute for the eternally vulgar.

The polarity of our time, is the eternally vulgar with the Immanent Reality. The great Phoenix flew up into the cosmos and is everywhere, but the tiny boxed ones cannot see it. So they go on with their inventive technology and their measurements. My smaller mind goes on filing complaints.   But nowadays, having grasped that I do, I complain less.

For instance, it feels just fresh to have bathed and washed my hair – as good as preening firebird’s feathers. This morning, reading Jung,  the God, the divine fire bird is EVERYWHERE, awaiting the tiny quantum leap from the dark blind dream.

Soul tetrahedrons: the four points of the interior, inverted one, touch the four faces of the external one.  The Tetrahedron is a four-sided triangle – the most stable form in sacred geometry. Connectivity, four points, four faces, through centre and polarities: the point is both centre and corner:  the 4 in the 3.

Perhaps the Quantum physics discovery in the 1920s & 30s (during Nazi nadir) was and is the actual Divine Order. It rose like a djinn from the bottle.   Most of the shut-I minds think it is a separate science, however enigmatic; they do not live the paradox or make the connection with their inner self in the Quantum … they are still in bud.

Einstein was working on Relativity at the same time as Jung’s Red Book: both of them Swiss. Around them seethed the European tide of carnage and slaughter.

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The Djinn – Mercurius and the bottle imp – 1988

For me in the 1980s, Frijof Capra’s Tao of Physics gave me the key!   At once I saw the subatomic interactions in life, and in my soul and connectivity, back and forth in time, the Divine Aquarian.   But Fred’s friend Professor Ernst (a physicist) blinked and scoffed: “it is amusing.”   He was a bitter man, afreud of jung … he couldn’t connect, he was an expert and he made me feel a fool.   I painted his daughter’s portrait in daffodil yellow.

The age of Aquarius, the Great Water Bearer, is still opening. The Divine Aquariel is in all our being, throughout our skies and instruments, and in the soles of my tired feet.  All it takes, is to stop blinking for a moment … let in the power of NOW.   But the human condition is attached to the drama of pain, pollution and platform soles out there – a parallel Reality.

What to do, here and now? Keep the home fire alight, relieve pain wherever it is present. Physician, to thy Self be true; and truth travels along the wave.   Some of us have a gift to relieve pain in others, and some of us are in training for it.   I need to learn to listen, rather than to advise or fix.  Where there is deep relaxation, the current flows naturally.   It is transpersonal.  We humans isolate sex from life.  When there is no conditioning, all is life, where I come from and am.  I am seed, orgasm, birth, embryo.

“My lifetimes are not open ended.
In my molecular chemistry and in my genes,
the compounds curve or close
into chains or rings.

“The law comes back
to planets around the sun –
time’s fullness passes through
their orbiting plane, as space.

“The Law comes back to Nature
where the dragon’s head eats tail
to guard the egg
our scientists of little brain would pick to pieces.”

The Masters’ Eye, 2004

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Melusina, sea horse and Poseidon 1988

Mercurius Hermes Trismegistos

 

Greetings of glad tidings – 1988

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To view GALLERY, click on any image

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Red book – Jung’s painting of the Sun boat of the soul – detail in “Opening of the Egg”

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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 2012-2014. 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/

Mandala, Abraxas and Angel

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Jung as Hermit (tarot key 9)

As I begin to study and work with The Red Book, further thoughts and dreams spill into Aquariel from my primary blog.

27 December – Part One:  Mandala 

For nearly four months in 1917, Jung was on military service, commanding English prisoners of war.  He wrote, “With us, everything is unchanged and quiet.  Everything else is swallowed by the war.  The psychosis is still increasing, going on and on.”

But he felt in chaos.  He drew in his army notebook, 27 mandalas in pencil.  Some of these are reproduced in Appendix A of the Red Book.  They were a photograph of each day.  At the time, Jung thought fantasies stemming from the unconscious were not art.  But a woman wrote to him and said they were.  Next day he drew a mandala with a piece missing.  Then he realised:

“Only now did I gradually come to what the mandala really is. ‘ Formation, transformation, the eternal mind’s eternal recreation.’ (from Faust) … “Then hold your heart, since the danger is great, and go straight to that tripod, touch it with the Key.”

A living idea of the Self came to him:  “like the monad which I am, and which is my world.  The mandala represents this monad and corresponds to the microcosmic nature of the soul … Only when I began to paint the mandalas did I see that all the paths I took, all the steps I made, all led back to the one point, that is, to the centre.”

Jung’s mandala sketches, red book

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So the first two books of Liber Novus were transcribed 1913-14.  The third book – Scrutinies – contained further fantasies April 1913-June 1916, including the Seven Sermons to the Dead and commentaries.

So there are:  “The Way of What Is to Come”, “The Images of the Erring”, and the “Scrutinies”.  Jung’s guide Philemon supplied commentaries to the Sermones – those conceptions which the dead lacked.

The whole thing brought through the collective unconscious while the world was at war.  “Scrutinies” contains Jung’s vision of the reborn God/Abraxas – written after the notebook Mandalas in 1917.  As he realised Philemon was not himself, he began to differentiate the I’s which spoke and wrote;  he was aware of the dangers of inflation.  “The work on the unconscious has to happen first and foremost for us ourselves.  Our patients profit from it indirectly.  The danger consists in the prophet’s delusion which often is the result of dealing with the unconscious.  It is the devil who says Disdain all reason and science …”

From my notebooks:

It is time for me to start to draw new mandalas.   The mandala is a Key to the inner and cosmic Self.

Impression of Philemon, detail

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I think Jung’s painstaking transcription, calligraphy and painting, put the brake on any inflationary tendency.  It is where Virgo comes in handy!   He had Sun Leo setting in 7^th, with Aquarius rising, and Moon in Taurus:  an implied mandala cross of fixed signs.

From a letter:  “It is very important that we experience the contents of the unconscious before we form any opinions about it. …  I have already been working on (the knowledge content of gnosis and neo-Platonism) myself for a long time, and am very glad that you have discovered all on your own this area of work which is ready to be tackled.  Up till now I lacked workers.  …  Extricate your own material uninfluenced from the unconscious, as carefully as possible.”

The letter is to J B Lang:  but note also, these ancient words:

– “Separate the earth from the fire, the subtle from the gross, acting with prudence, humility and good judgement.  Ascend in your heart with deep wisdom
from Earth to Heaven, then again descend to Earth and unite together
the powers of Above and Below.  Let all ignorance and obscurity fly from you.”

The Emerald Table of Hermes

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Jung added, that his material is voluminous and worked through;  what he lacks is comparative modern material. Nietsche’s Zarathustra and Meyrinck whom he read at the time, were driven by the ego-archetypes of their own period – which obscured the deeper issue.

I begin to feel that … for instance, Abraxas was reborn during Jung’s Great Work, during the Great War.  If so, we live in an inevitable Abraxian era, which a blind god rules indeed:   the Schopenhaurian Will.  It is synchronous with the early Aquarian age, characterized by the collapse of sacred and social infrastructures, and the elementary emphasis on individuals, rather than individuation:  a celebrity cult, where the Great Hero failed.

This to ponder!   Abraxian is the mite of human agency in climate change – a collective blind;  a raw force until it is spent, which rules uppermost in civilization now – it comes and goes.  Abraxas is the light and dark god;  for the One is yet anterior to and encircling all that.   Abraxas is the Unconscious whose parts are made conscious through pain.  It has to be.   Abraxas rules the market forces and the media.

But Abraxas is much more than that, for it is the play of the light with the dark, which has beauty.  We do not adore Abraxas.  We have an informed conscience of Abraxas:  the Abraxian.    Well, this is a new feeling about it all.   And maybe Abraam felt this way, when he set out from Ur with his sheep …  towards the in-forming breath of H in the desert which re-named him, the unending Life and seed of J H V H.

Obviously, to live and work in Switzerland’s neutral snows, in the middle of the swirling carnage soup of Europe, brought forth Abraxas into the light, for Jung.   The fallout continues its course.   Evolved humanity is greater than Abraxas, it is no servant to that power;  yet the lighthouses of evolved humanity are few and far between.   Abraxas is not evil.  Abraxas is the worshipped chaos of the will.   Abraxas is the wind in the tree:  the isobars of the storm, the surge of the living sea.

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28 December – Part Two:  Inclosed Garden

Worship in the Indian way, of deities, weathers and archetypes, is to ACKNOWLEDGE them.  So – yesterday’s last paragraph makes me sit up ! – we don’t WORSHIP Abraxas, we acknowledge his reality …  that force of the Will in nature, which is incomplete.   We give respect and consciousness to what we know and see, phenomenologically.  Then we have clarity.  Then we begin to live with integrity, and without waste.

I had at least 3 interesting dreams this morning (again late starting) – but only recall a bit of one of them:  a medieval Queen defied her King-husband’s right to rape her.  She had a secret room in the house, which no one knew of;  she kept the key.  I think she had had her head shaved in disgrace, but when I saw her, her hair was blonde and just page-boy long – about my length – and she wore medieval dress and jewellery, and she was going upstairs in my house, followed by the King and the Priest.  It was the Church’s job in those days, to give the King his brute rights over the Queen, and to supervise their mating.   The secret room in which she would defy them, was in the corner of my upstairs room – the cupboard where I keep some of my archive.

So the procession going upstairs was:  the woman who refuses to be violated any more;  her lord and master who violates her, and the celibate priest who thinks sex is bad, and woman must be punished.  Their legacy lurks in us women, whenever we cannot say No, and when we believe that Mr Prick is boss, Holy Church says so!

So hello, you three.   What are you doing here?   How clearly your figures going up my stairs, spell the word.   But I can find no priest figures in my archive when I was eight:  just the perennial war of queens and kings.

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mandala of hildegard of bingen

Where was I reading the other day, that monasteries and nunneries were where real Love was practiced and beloved?  I mean, they had a refined and joyous love, and women had great power as abbesses and sisters in their garden.   They had holy brothers.  They celebrated a spiritual sexual eros, for they had meditation and work and sanctuary for a while.

Contra this was the Christian-fundamentalist power-base, which became the Inquisition, and filled the people with primitive fears.  So you had the high art-gothique, and you had the Christian taleban – the ban on faerytale:  by auto da fe – the burnings.

The blood on the Church’s hands is the same as today’s taleban –  slaughter of the innocents, and the perversion of God to a fearsome spectre.   The battle is dragged between a fossilized past and a progressive future.  On the threshold of history, the grain is threshed.

Rosicrucean emblem 8 – angel sieves wheat from chaff

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Blood self-cleanses yet.   The mainstream Church is no longer fundamentalist, and it houses hosts of good souls and good works, and it struggles with its human limitations, it seeks to understand.  The spilled blood yet reincarnates through religious armouries which cannot move with the times.  Those processes (in the soul) wear the beards!

Royal medieval dress for Queens was – well, perhaps my early drawings remind me – it was a bit like armour in its design – the borders and embroidery are like bonds which confine her, outline her, crisscross her, and inside these are the soft silken drapes of her dress.   Everyone of substance was armoured, framed and castled, for the astro-geosphere was filled with demons and devas, physical and metaphysical – as ours is, by computer-games and “what’s news?” !

In that time of civil war, brutality and plague, many sanctuaries thrived and kept the Word illumined in their eternal spaces which were inclosed gardens.   “An inclosed Garden is my Sister.”   Where was this – I wrote of it years ago!   And those gardens were in due course ravaged and laid waste, and their libraries lost;   but enough always survived, to carry the seed, with its vast spiritual and literary wealth and memory and power of transmutation.

hildegard of bingen – http://www.discerninghearts.com/?page_id=8505

The thought addresses my books of Prospero which I anxiously guard against the current myth of termination.    As I have had this feeling about them all my adult life, and helplessly watched them expand and expand along the shelves – until the laptop came along, to store the story inside – it is inherited from the time of the Inclosed Gardens.

Hear this:   there is no stopping the Seed.   There is no stopping what I honour and give space with.   There is no stopping the beauty of the tree (I was typing “true”).  Here and now, no matter how many trees are cut down, the Beauty of the tree of life – its living, glowing sap and branches through our body – prevails.

Jesus in the distance, by the lake of Galilee – 1973

Jesus is translated as saying frequently “only believe.”   Belief is an abused word.  The original Aramaic will have meant something more dynamic – like putting all my devotion into Reality, the Transfiguration I have been and seen;  and not forgetting it, or taking someone else’s word for it.

For we are all co-creators in the evolving mud which is Life.   And in and of the Abraxas Will are oases, vibrant, pulsing, where the daffodils and snowdrops grow.   Everything co-exists – the hands are held and grasped, the darkness with the light, the Agony with the Garden.

Sunflower & Ahriman, 1988

… and the eyes in his head see the World spinning round

 

It is the balance.

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Snowdrops, fox & owl, 2003

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/

The Eternal Sparkle

The material for this post was written alongside “Sacred India Tarot Archive – Two of Swords” last week.

“ Rough patches”… ?  in the shining road …

How I jog myself and others along over the tiny surface blisters – visible rough patches where a huge iceberg is concealed ! … in my mother’s voice.  Humanity’s tormented burden.   I feel out of touch also with my blog and with the companions there.   But I was pleased with what I wrote last week – of Swords in Beriah as the Law, and their action in the lower worlds, as Karma.

Repeating this here:  Doris Lessing a Universe:  what vast universi people are!   Their immense and unique frames of discourse and of life matter and of countries, politics, love-lives and vision – rub elbows – the daily stuff of washing up and caring for her elderly son who died three weeks ago.   Death as always, brings an intimate contact in the subtle body:  an appraisal:  a silent knowledge.   That soul now moves into the atoms everywhere.   Prana.  Prana is the conscious breath of life.

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I am comprehending many things.  Already I am getting solace.   The dimensions spread out gently and make some order in my gravel bits.   Life comes.  The wind stirs the sad boat.   Peace.   I embrace someone or something I do not know.

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In the Great Work of Alchemy, we speak of the Gluten of the Eagle.  This is the transformation of raw sexuality into the vision of that bird.  In Scorpio – as the autumnal seeds fall into the ground – we borrow strength from the Eagle.  The “gluten” is Ojas!

(Venkatesananda’s definition of Ojas:  “Vigour, spiritual energy, vitality:  the spiritual force developed through the creative power of celibacy and Yoga Sadhana”)  To me, this suggests the regulating of root (descend) and solar (ascend) energy;  how they pass through each other, feminine and masculine.

akasha tejas tattva – sun (heart)

A similar idea is in this Akasha-Tejas symbol – the indigo oval is Saturn (Askasha), the scarlet triangle is Mars – the root and sexual chakras whose fertile equilibrium develops a key to the Sun, or interior gold.

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The power of Ojas is stored in the brain, and it is charisma.  It makes action and speech powerful.   It can be turned to the good or to the bad.

Vivekananda wrote:  “It is only a question of transformation.  The same force which is working outside, as electricity or magnetism, will become changed into inner force:  the same forces that are working as muscular energy will be changed into Ojas.  The Yogis say that part of the human energy which is expressed as sex energy … when checked and controlled, easily becomes changed into Ojas … the Yogi pays particular attention to this lowest centre.  He tries to take up all his sexual energy and convert it into Ojas.”

Sexual energy is a conversion tool or agent.   It gives clarity, brightness and energy to the mind.   What is mind?   a shut-eye shawl of association, images and limitation:  yet mind as a field, is a potential precision tool, or energy converter.   The gluten of the Eagle – Scorpio – is a conversion from the creeping sting to the flying sovereign bird:  the Serpent through the risen coil of Kundalini.

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Behind all alchemical practice and philosophy is the trans-gender POWER OF THE GENDER:  the quintessential treasure of Life we carry in every atom – our human-ness –  and which is ignorantly abused and despised – cast out into the street as smut.

I glimpse alchemical Gold behind and within the facade of persons.   It isn’t limited to any particular person – the separating shield in this light, is a working fancy.   It is of the unique yet universal currency wherein we have our being, our texture and concern.   It is in all our cells:  the gut, the blood, the secretions, the flesh.   It is our sexual and parental origin:  The original Face …  outlines the silhouette with gold.

Yogis who haven’t quite got there yet, have said – or were misinterpreted to say – that the whole body with its coiled up organs and sacs and sweat and shit, is filth.

The realised one sees it quite differently.

On sexual continence:  this occurs naturally when REALITY is valued.    Sexual activity might resume,  with a partner(s) for whom the sexual energy is transformation and a sacrament:  a service.

When pondering such, the thought collects itself quiet and still, and the flow of Ojas through the third eye is quite powerful and sweet.   Touch base!

“All the forces that are working in the body, in their highest form, are Ojas.”

Continence increases the energy of influence.   The Intelligence of the House of Influence is Tarot Key 7, the Chariot.   This Key contains the vehicle of speech.  The Charioteer – on the Tree of Life’s feminine pillar – stands like a crocus-shoot in the living Stone  – the earth of the Wise.  Within her armour, you can see that she is … in fact, the Empress.

An earlier male version, based on a friend called TK – back in 2000, I was studying a system which assigned letter ZAIN, Gemini, to the Chariot

Here are two Chariots and an Empress.  The one on the right is an early one, with a different system for alignment with the Zodiac and Hebrew letters.

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“If you discover it, be silent and keep it sacred.”

Yes.  I don’t speak of it.   “Ordinary human language cannot convey this knowledge from the one having it, to the mind of a person who is unprepared to receive it.”

Aggrandizing the Ojas principle, leads to insanity.  In the Great Work of Alchemy, It is repeatedly flushed out, purified and stabilized.   Once obtained, the container – the person – becomes a transmitter:  a lighthouse keeper – a lamp receiving the oil and beaming it forth – a myriad of lamps like stars:  the stellar engine.   Light moves in waves.   Light is electro-magnetic wave releasing a particular particle called photon.  The cosmic consciousness through the galaxies and the conscious dark matter between them, is the joy and bird song of Ojas:  one and the same as our body.

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We are able to communicate our knowledge to one another.  We signal it from age to age.  (Here, in the acute Kali Yuga darkness, it awakes and signals.)  But we never tell the Great Secret because it never can be told. 

An early B.O.T.A. student referred to it as “THE ETERNAL SPARKLE”.  Yes I have seen and been the eternal sparkle for an unforgettable instant, with no shadow of doubt!   The lower mind has it not.   But I write in my blog of the Eternal Sparkle, in coded ways for those who know, and those who do not, will not get the point, or bother to read.   The actual discovery must be made ALONE.   We went into the desert under the stars.

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• Another student said, “I rejoice to tell you that I have it now.   I have seen it in wonderful flashes many times, but now I have grasped it with my mind, and have faith that I can hold it.”

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Jacob Boehme wrote:  “While I was wrestling and battling, being aided by God, a wonderful light arose within my soul.”

The Yeshua child was in the Star for which the wise are hungry.

The stress is preparatory.  “Look for the flower to bloom in the silence that follows the storm:  not till then.”  (Light on the Path)  “It shall grow, it will shoot up, it will make branches and leaves and form buds while the storm lasts ...”

When Shankara and other sages wrote of the body as a bag of filth they were mistranslated.  They meant that they have – when illumined – a strange  objective perception, rather psychedelic, of the personality (with bags and blood and organs) as a strip cartoon afloat on Reality – the primordial Self.   The strip cartoon blunders along shut-eye in her dream, and sometimes lets in the Dew.

This is the view I have –  while still believing in and concerned with the persons fervently.   The molecular model, the product of the elements and solar establishment with gravity, is what it is – a colouring-book.   And the Buddha nature has for every level of Reality … compassion.

When IT cannot be described by any metaphor, the mind falls silent;  and the furniture melts.

What there is, is carbon free.   A LABEL on a person or an event may sometimes simplify a matter – but beware lest it confine.

“Thou art infinite:  no words can tell.”

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 The conversion is a Conversation.   An alchemist’s daily business is to extract essence.

The tide, near Hartland

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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 (c) janeadamsart 2012-2013.  May not be used for commercial purposed.  May be used and shared for non-commercial means with permission and credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address https://janeaquariel.wordpress.com

What is Love?

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A vulnerable angel – 1968

What is love?

We are supplied with a super-abundance of beautiful wise words written or said by other people, and we tend to put them on the wall or make altars out of them. Master R told Anne Davies, “Love and you shall know”.   We need to discover our words from the heart, as they speak themselves.

He said further, “A loved creature, like the Frater’s dog, or like the little bird, has compared to yours, a short incarnation span.  You don’t really shorten that span by loving an animal, but you do plant in that creature something far beyond the usual enfoldment.  Death comes to all bodies, and the death of wild creatures is seldom as quick and merciful as that of these two.

“Yet death is but a door.  Nothing dies but bodies.  The essential being lives on, and whatever has received unselfish, loving care, has been given a tremendous impulse forward, so the power of that love makes possible a very rapid advance in the scale of unfoldment. Not because you loved them did they die, but because you did love them are they farther along the path than they would be, but for that love.

“Never fear to love.  Never stint the outflow of that divine power.  What grief and pain seem to be associated with love come always from attachment.  Love seeks not its own, because love never feels itself to be separated from its own.” 

Anne asked, “What if love is not returned?”

“No, Soror.  Love seeks no return, because love knows there is always a return.  Outer manifestation of response is not necessary for love.  Loving is giving, and love feeds itself in giving.  It is we with our short sight, who fail to know what love knows always, that nothing can separate anyone or anything from love.  The whole world came into being by love, is maintained by love, and continues by love.  

“But apart from philosophy, your little bird sings more happily than here, and your dog is closer to you this minute than ever he was while in the body. This we assure you most definitely, and if we are false in this, then is all the rest of our teaching worse than nonsense, for the whole mystery of the universe is the secret of love,
and the triumph of love over death is the supreme victory.”

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I was deeply touched with this passage when I first read it, about ten years ago.  It affirmed that whatever I might think or doubt about channeled Masters, here is the Wisdom itself – pure gold.

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Turning inward, discovers the inner Teacher, and this is the relationship without which there is no love.   It takes practice.

Love is here and now in expression:  the connection to gravity – but one needs to be  co-creative with it, even when just sitting still.   There needs to be some Mars mixed with the Venus, to see and be the violet ray.

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Always flowing with the unbroken connection with the One?   This is misleading.  Of course it happens when I write, because the words come up from that deposit in the subconscious, which is laid down since early childhood in this lifetime, and in invisible lifetimes preceding.  It is the threads in the tapestry.   Very rarely does a human being manifest it all the time.  They do exist but they are few.   The rest of the day – when it seemed so simple just to stay here – is consumed in the usual nags and frets of the dreamer.

Each time, that place is woken, with a fresh insight.   Yet it is an unbroken thread.  Come to it afresh, each time with the ongoing problem and pain in daily life – ask.   The dialogue, corresponding with my own subconscious, awakens love.   Love is a universal quantum, like gravity:  a sense of passionate well being and peace, like a well or a mountain spring.   It isn’t attached to a person, but is easily made to – at the drop of a hat.  Then we start projecting! – that is the convention, in great literature and at the movies.   All the great  romantic love affairs in history have unhappy endings, because they drove themselves into that end-game.  The human collective soul grows to expect this, and to draw nourishment and entertainment from it.

However, Love loves individual human beings in a myriad ways.

John the Organist – in Liverpool, 1968

Love cannot be confined.   It is a limitless reservoir from which we drink:  no cup can contain it – (that is the illusion we mostly live by).   But the cup is emptied and is dipped again.   This is according to our own bio-rhythms which sleep and wake in a linear sequence, like waves.

Fact is – there are samskaras and types of Karma embedded in the embodied soul. They all need active expression, to become conscious, transformed and therefore released, and none of it happens overnight. What we get is a kind of fabric – the stuff we have to weave in life, like earning a living;  the state of the human-world; or being a parent or partner.  The worries and tensions are interwoven with the bright thread which is love-eternal – the star-born.   The secret is in detecting the thread, and bathing in it, for a moment at a time;  finding what activity sustains or allows it NOW.   My way is writing or studying.  Your way might be Yoga or studying, or ritual, or parenting.

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Constant attention to the Divine is not a practical proposition in life – unless one is a monk It initially inspires, but puts pressure on the student, and further distances him/her from WHAT IS.   When we are inspired, it is at that focused moment ALL THERE IS;  and it lives for ever.  There is no clue in that moment (Key 11), of the small and huge frustrations and fatigues of daily life which cloud it over as the day goes on.  The adepts had just as much trouble as you and me, whenever they were not actually transmitting.

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It is hard for me to notice the cosmic Love, when I am right in it, in the strange shapes it presents, here and now, which are not as expected.

It is hard to trust life just as it is;  but to trust it, is the key.

Sky angels over St Malo – 1986

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Paul Foster Case had quite a troubled personal life – I gather, from biographical snippets online – and must have drawn enormous solace from the huge task he was given to do – to write all the books and hundreds of Lessons, to build the School of the Adytum.   The Great Work must have kept him happy and on even keel.   He was the vessel;  and captaining the vessel was the Magid or Master R.   When it all began, Paul got so attenuated with the rush of kundalini-shakti, that he was ordered by the Master to ground himself by drinking wine and eating red meat for a year – so I have been told.

Paul was a master organist – in his heart and soul, as well as in his musical gift.   Music takes practice – feet and hands, keyboard and pedals.   So does Love.   Babies learn to walk first, to run to their parents and be welcomed with joy.  Every single one.

1978 her first steps, 13 months

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The writing, speech and prayer, touches the Hermit’s peak, Key 9, which is eternal:  but the bulk of our life is embodied in Key 18 which is the time it takes.

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I saw many people go to neo-advaita Satsang and try to grab what they found there, and take it home.  But they couldn’t.  Why?  Because they were trying to get it from someone else, sitting there and shining and making their heart buzz.  It fades, like an after-image of the sun.  Anyone who wants to, and is good at it, can sit and give Satsang and channel the accumulated focus of all those hopeful and receptive faces.  It is a splendid feeling.  Wisdom flows back.

A ROGUES GALLERY of Satsang teachers in London, 1 April 1999
I collaged these portraits together for April Fools Day –  pages of an old journal.

Oh, Angel – 1988

John de Ruiter and Francis Lucille

Ramesh, Wayne, Mira & Ranjit Maharaj

Arunachala sivalinga, Bernardo Satyananda & Isaac Shapiro

Catherine Ingram and … ?

Arunachala children

Douglas Harding’s 90th birthday – the late Alan Rowlands is to the right

But to attend to your organic inner language of the same, takes time, passion and commitment.  It takes really valuing and savouring the earliest feelings in childhood, good and bad.   Here, you are a pioneer.   No one ever expressed them, but you.  But when you say and discover them, you may go out, and a book will fall into your hand from a shelf somewhere, and show you that these unique feelings and flavours were and are all over the Ancient World and its ageless wisdom, as archetypes.  ( That is how Kabbalah discovered me.)   The Ancient World is here and now, like looking down into clear water.

Attend honestly to what feels Real for you – beyond speech, and before literacy.  Touch it inside.

Then you will find, when you study the Tree of Life, or any spiritual path, that you have been there, heart and soul, and recognise it and the Lessons in principle, with your life and leaf, with the blood vessels and capillaries through your body.  This is love – the holy greeting.   The smallest response is That.   It is the still small voice.  It is NEVER the big billboard.

small angel, 1956

The distractions of 21^st century human life – as in any century – are immense.   Nobody expects you to be awake all day.   No one is.  It is fluid like the sea, and like a sky of storms and sunlight.   If you are on the peak for long periods, it tends to stagnate and to form for itself a pedestal;  then come all the problems of Key 15, which close up the open sky of Key 6 and put it into the boxes in Key 20, whence arise again the Delivered ones;  your interior holy Family.   Resurrection is salvage.

Holy Guardian Angel beckons with the trumpet note which is known uniquely and privately to your inner self.  Find and hear it!   (Keys 20 and 5.)

Visualisation – and keep it simple – instructs the flow of the blood and cells, as in the Lessons on the Hermit and Virgo.  From that kindled vitality arise the pictures of the soul, with your breath:  prana..

The great problem in spiritual work is Dryness.  That is when we cannot quite form a living connection – relationship with what we are studying or praying.  It is like going to an exhibition and just looking at pictures by someone else.  Yet we know it is the soul’s own ground, and our true nature, else what are we doing with prayer?   Intuitively, instinctively, it is known … “only connect.”.   The sense of being separate, is the problem.   And it comes from making many ardent possessions of thought, and capturing them for security:  identifying with them at Hod.   The entire business is transacted between Tifareth and Hod, Key 15:  solve et coagula.  Solve et coagula – again and again.   Renewal.  Mirth at my extravagant delusions.

We tend to be misers with our gold.  One who keeps his gold in a box, cannot enjoy it.   We all do this more or less, because life and the economy is scary and we are insecure.   We were taught to, by our parents, and we teach it to our children.  So the insecurity manifests, globally.

Alchemy.   I have psychological scars from youth, in relationships.  This ground was given me to work with for the rest of my life, like a patch of garden.   It is often heavy, and I get depressed.  Transforming pain, and the reactivity from it, to something creative which forgives it – because the creative something is part and parcel of that trauma’s quintessence – is my job, the job which Upstairs gave me to fulfil.   I am certain I perceived and accepted the whole thing before I was born.  Then it had to do its time – the meeting, the falling in love, the psychological abuse, which triggered dormant dragons in deep past Karma which needed to be exorcised and delivered to the Light.   It was and is long, slow and thorough.   I find it really difficult to be straightforward and honest with someone, when the words don’t come.

So I value the terrible times, because of what underlay them, like gold in the dark mine, and erupted through them;  because of what they really are.   Gold!   Philosophers’ gold, ultimately.   There is no real discovery in the spiritual life, without the earth bound stress of realisation … digging out the gold by whatever way is given.   Jesus said Use your Talent.  You know what it is.

The flowers in spring push up gently through the resistant membrane of the ground.

http://footage.shutterstock.com/clip-2436923-stock-footage-crocus-in-spring-sweden.html?src=rel/2436881:7  ..

The gold in the rocks and minerals of earth, is congealed Sunlight.   The same flows in our veins, as red and white corpuscles.   It breathes us in and out.  We breathe.  JHVH.

When a certain depth is touched, there is no one who can heal it but myself;  so I was unable to work with therapists. (Each time I tried, it was a fiasco!)    I turned to my creative gifts instead, which were put here, for this reason;  to investigate their source, language, and transmute the darkness into light.  It still goes on.   To begin with, it was extravagant and on a chattering high.   Over the decades, it sobered up and became more rounded.

I am  close to two persons who survived hell.   Living with their courage, and with their tiny organic changes which spread eventually far and wide, is Alchemy.  Today I grieve.  There is much pain in my life at the moment.  But I think it teaches me about myself, where I come from.

THE KEY TO IT ALL IS CONCENTRATION … on the living Thread, like doing a carving or writing a poem.   Focus.  Focus is love.

Many seekers are babies being weaned off formula.

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I listened to Oscar Wilde talking through a medium – this was on Elene’s blog.  He began with petulant impatience on how dim most people are, and ended with a drift of spiritual platitudes which sent me to sleep – I was very tired.   But it is entertaining, humane and interesting.   He was reluctant at first, to divulge his name.  He said it had got him in a lot of trouble.  It is very difficult for a soul on the inner planes, to get through our linear fog screen.

The one on the right is a much better drawing.  I am always surprised by what happens when I turn the photo upside down and draw from that.  The volume and modelling are better.  It is something to do with seeing just what’s there, without short cuts, or habits;  attention.

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Link to “What is Thought?” in my other blog

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/

Mysteries of Master R – Part 7: Apprentice to Mystery & Science

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16 October 2013

So called “Mysteries” are clear, scientific secrets.  What is a science?  The linguistic root is knowledge – self knowledge by experiment.  What is a secret?  Something which desires to be known – and known in the heart.  What is the laboratory?  A life-work in my soul and body, tried and tested and ongoing.

I do not relate much to projections upon Count Saint-Germain – Master R – as a glamorous, mysterious figure.  The Mystery there is set upon an altar, and does not alter things for real.  From him is purported to come much new age channeling.  I read a little of it, some of it seems excellent, some of it is platitude, and as I have not studied those writings comprehensively, I am not in a position to comment.   I got involved in a St Germain society about ten years ago, for a while.  Some of it was good, but the medium became corrupt and demanded a large house and income.  The lesson I drew from this, is never to rely on someone else’s version for verification.  See into my own life as given.  It is all there – hands to the plough:  seabirds hover and swoop.

The Hermetic Table of Alchemy states:  Visita Interiore Terrae Rectificando Invenies Occultum Lapidem – “Journey into your own centre (earth) to put things right, and discover the hidden Precious Stone.”  

The seven initials – one for each chakra –  spell “vitriol” – an alchemical paradox.  Vitriol is sulphuric acid, and it also means “a harsh criticism”.  Alchemical vitriol is that same power to turn inward, “without hatred or envy“, and – from brewing the wisdom of the ages – to see outward and adjust our world according !  The art is performed with sulphur, salt and mercury … Hokhmah, Binah, Kether.

Vitriol transforms to Elixir.  (see http://www.crcsite.org/printTabulatext.htm – Interpretation and Explanation of the /tabula smaragdina hermetis, in The Rosicrucean Archive).   Alchemy is homeopathic, transmuting toxins and eliminating the rust.  Upon sound psychological observation the Chariot of the Spirit is drawn.  Psychology is the wheelbase of all occult and esoteric study.  Self knowledge is the essence.

“Rocky” – The second in a series of paintings (1986) where the trail opened inward, rather than upon outward portraits of life. In the centre are pilgrim and cloven footed gate keeper. To the right is a train with all my current acquaintances and friends as passengers. On the rocky cliff is a mythic Greek bull, myself naked, and a mother trying to protect her baby from the sea. The man clinging along the cliff to save himself, is a conductor – the personal ego. The ship out to sea is the vessel. It was a mixture of dream images in the pot.

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My relationship with Master R – who counsels civilizations rather than single students – is based on my working interest in Alchemy – a chosen, pragmatic focus.  At such moments I become attuned to some of “his” way of seeing things, and my patterns of life then verify it with subtle rhymes that I recognise with my life pattern.  It is a working relationship of the soul, rather like duet playing.  It takes practice.  Willingly keep practicing!

This Master is not an individual.  He is a way of seeing things trans-personally.  It is a way which subtly alters the environment from within.  I have a whole article yet to write, about how I discovered a way to contact him and the other great teachers in his plane, by drawing, waiting tentatively – a kind of surrender to the unknown – and then having to do it myself.

A hallmark is that I am not told what to do.  When in great difficulty, I try something, leave it open, and then the smallest nudge indicates: right or left.  Open or close.

Piano duet 1999 – I am the left pair of hands, and all ear for my friend who is a much more competent pianist. It is autumnal and tumbling. He had an attractive curiosity about life.

This morning’s plan is to copy his first full painting in the Trinosofia, like I did the 12th.  It prefaces Section Two in the Trinosofia, because Section One is introductory, and written from a prison – the human dungeon.  Section One warns the reader against abuse, indiscretion and the Inquisition.   Section Two is an inner liberation.  It takes us into the interior, deep under Mount Vesuvius.

However, as soon as I sat down – after a long search for my sketching paper – words started to come.  “He” wanted to say something about scientific attitudes.  I have the gist of lifetimes in my bone and blood.  I ploughed my talent into the secrets of the universe, and discovered it is one and the same.  I only write down “his way of inspiring me”, by having toiled and verified the same for myself.  I get annoyed with trendy young Professors on TV who declare “astrology is a load of rubbish” without the courtesy or discipline to study the basics for themselves.   Theirs is NOT scientific thinking, it is belief, and belief takes ignorant short cuts.

The problem with scientism is when it fails to incorporate the observer who is “real science” by genuine trial and error.   The problem is the practitioner’s failure or unwillingness to incorporate the Heisenberg principle – (that the observer’s consciousness influences the experiment;  that a wave particle may be detected in position OR in motion, never both at once).  The Heisenberg principle is the observer, inseparably.  The problem is the false separation.   As J.Krishnamurti knew and said, “The observer is the observed.”  But what academic ambition could tolerate that?

The Table of Hermes also states, “Let all obscurity fly from thee.”

On a broader canvas, modern science – which in Quantum theory approaches the vision of the Vedas – is divorced from the medium which is Gaia – ourselves – our Earth and biosphere, weathers, oceans, creatures and volcanic interior.   The whitecoat is divorced from the laboratory bench, because he seeks to manipulate a new toy, something commercially viable for the tiny humanosphere.  Whereas, an Alchemist IS the bench, the laboratory, the elemental table, as handed down through thousands of years and the distillation of many civilizations.

Trinosofia figure 2, photo of the facsimile on my computer screen.
De Givry said of this figure: “It represents a man gazing into a prophetic cup forming a magic mirror. The conjoined signs of the Sun and the Moon are seen against the pedestal of the table; at the top, a super-position of different coloured rectangles indicates the phases of the Work, and the double sign of the Lingam in a circle emblematically recalls the Hermetic male and female. An inscription in Greek letters and made-up characters gives a formula for the composition of Gold/the Sun King, by means of a mixture of gold and silver regenerated by vital mercury. Linked to the blue rectangle giving this formula, is a red rectangle inscribed with the rule for the furnace fire in Hebrew characters.
“The Hebrew letters in the red panel are translated: ‘On account of distress, they shall cling to the Bestower. The wise who are wearied with worldliness, shall turn to wisdom, the bestower of all good things.’ “
“The letters in the circle are Greek and translate to “the Light of revelation”. The inscription in the blue rectangle describes the quickening of the soul seed (Aries) and of the breath upon the waters. The number 62 appears, with an admonition to open the holy gate (clairvoyance) with the aid of the vessel or cup … adepts drink the water by which the soul remembers its own substance and origin …”

Alchemy, Freemasonry and the esoteric schools of Europe, were Master R’s hobby when he dressed as a diplomat among kings and nobles.  When I feel him – or who? – drawing near, it is like a river flowing into my back from behind, and over my shoulders … playful, pleasurable and awesome:  joy, truth and tearful.   The connection with him is my natural Yes.  My years of refining my tools and studies in his working channel are the current: apprenticeship.  The Master goes away to attend to his stuff on the inner planes, and leaves the apprentice to work things out.   The Master outside and embracing space and time, dips into it at will, condenses himself to a heavier medium of thought for a quick visit, dissolves back into light, presents a countenance through the sky colour changing clouds which his apprentices  recognise.  The light rejoices the fields.

The Master comes to the way of love, because love always meets its own, and “truth agrees with itself” as Paul Foster Case has said.   “Love, and you shall know.”

Right now, we are carpenters, builders of furniture and carving at a bench, and both wear leather aprons.   The Master is better known, however, as a jeweller.  In this drawing, his profile and left eye looking down, is across the upper right corner, and when I drew it, those were planetary orbits coming near, and detailed chippings into the soul, releasing gems.

It was 1988:  I did not know then, that Saturn, Uranus and Neptune were conjunct, entering Capricorn.

Jeweller 1988 – or gem maker from planet orbital planes

His eye has compound vision – multi dimensioned – yet is deeply attentive to one thing.  The shared lens is “concentration”.  Those may be cones of sight, or simply one-pointedness.

Having hinted at what a Science might be – the expression of a path of knowledge – let’s look at Mystery.   Any so called Mystery which stands in front of the mystery of why am I here at all?  Why aren’t I you?  Why is the nose on my face like this?  Why do the flowers grow that way, and how do the lambs dance out of their mothers? … is a camouflage.  It conceals and congeals.  Mystery is the “plain to see,” or as a friend once put it – “the Miss Trees”.   Because life and the economy are hard, many of us prefer to go to the cinema or stare at a smart, smart phone, and be frightened of robbers.   The Greater Mystery is nude.

The figure on the right was drawn when I was seven or eight.  I guess this post is inspired by my classic dream last night of walking up Finchley Road and talking to people and then discovering I had no clothes on at all, which up till that moment, felt perfectly natural.   There was nothing to cover myself with – my aging defects and blemishes – but a large book, which was inadequate.   That tells reams !

The Mystery – a hidden treasure which loves to be known – resides perhaps at the heart of all the conventional interpretations of being stark naked in a dream.  I feel the connection.  In my dream as I woke up, I found some transparent nightwear in a small shop, to go home in, which did the job less effectively than Aphrodite’s hair!  My dreams poke fun at me.  I love it.

Revenons a nos moutons.   It is time to tackle that new drawing.

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Not knowing Greek, I had to guess at the letters and shapes in the blue rectangle; also the online reproduction of the facsimile blurs them. The coloured planes behind it are the elements. I gave it a grey background, to suggest the cave.

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What fun I had with this!

For Master R’s writing of the inner journey, see my new Page in the title bar – Trinosofia Texts.  I particularly love where he says, “Without reproach of the past, without fear of the future, I went on.“

FROM MY JOURNAL, 17 October – Yesterday was interesting after the naked dream.  I began a new Master R post in Aquariel, tugged into writing about science, a hobby horse of “his” – and I began to realise the naked dream was coming up through it with an alchemical meaning of its own … and at last began the new Trinosofia drawing.   It took a very long time, as the two figures in the original are clumsily drawn, and the anatomy is very difficult to copy.  The original in colour is online, and though much better than the xerox in my book, the repro is low-resolution and the lines are fuzzy.  The two figures are naked, but she wears a peculiar black skirt or shawl round her waist, and black boots.  I made her skirt an indigo velvet colour (saturn).

He wears nothing but a pair of red strappy sandals with yellow soles, (mars-mercury colours) and is very muscular.  He bends over the blue “table” on which stands a golden cup and a lance-head/sword.  He gazes in his feminine mirror.  With a turquoise wand – the scorpio force – she touches his third eye, making him an Initiate.   In the painting she lays it across his left shoulder as if knighting him, but in the text it says clearly, his third eye, his forehead, so I decided to follow that.  I also altered the position and shape of her legs.

They are an extremely dynamic couple.  They ignite an alchemical Great Mystery – a fire self-combusts on the night-sky floor, near where the sun and moon conjoin, and it bends towards him.  This is the secret fire, which quickens him.   I worked on through the evening, with time off for my friend H’s visit (during which I wept, as we talked of painful stuff) and watching Grand Designs on TV and then I fell asleep on the floor for an hour and a half – final session midnight until about 2 am, I filled in most of the panel detail, background etc.

It is beautiful to copy and savour the precise Alchemical Colours, the reds, blues, yellows, green, violet, indigo, knowing what they signify.  The Mystery throbs to life.  It is right that he is muscular, for this is the tonicity of Mars.   Her breasts and upper body are plump above her dark skirt, and she has an earnest expression.  She is Isis, with long flowing brown hair, curly, and she looks like Morgan in Dion Fortune’s Moon Magic.   With the robes on she would be regally dignified;  with the absurd concealing skirt and boots, she isn’t, she is rather a comedy – just like I feel if caught undressed – but she presses on with the job.   She represents the man’s encounter with Mother Nature, himself mother naked, from birth, as he will be, in the grave.   Above them are beautiful plaques hanging, red and blue, with alchemical letters.  I’ve done the red one/hebrew letters, and have just the blue one to do, this morning.

I love the way the colours so unexpectedly come to life and sing together.   It is the good Prang crayons I use, and the long practice with the Tarot Keys.  Alchemy releases the inner rainbow, and Master R’s art did the same, in his day.   The “originals” in Trinosofia are actually copies of his work which disappeared.   He said to the Cases in 1947, that they are good copies.

The cross depicts the deep room the neophyte came to. The doors leading from it are red (faith and universal medicine), sky-blue (purification/elixir of life), black (labour, making material gold) and white (philosophers’ Stone). On the north wall over the black door by which the neophyte entered, was hung the painting.

As well as Science, I touch on Mystery.  I said the real Mystery is “existence” – more so than anything put on an altar.  But I fib, because I am unable to bathe in the Mystery, with all my worries taking up the space.   Nevertheless I know that an Initiate does bathe in it and is washed clean.   With the drawing, something of the Greater Mystery is touched and unveiled:  the keys which deeply nourish the soul and link with Eternity.   The Greater Mysteries, as far as Master R is concerned, have an essential ceremonial in them – something is at first blindfold, then unveiled – viz the symbolism of me going naked up Finchley Road.

Always it is an exchange of man and woman – as demonstrated in colour in the drawing, for the blue plaque is above the man and the red plaque above the woman – hers is a right-pillar active role;  he, like Gevurah on the Tree’s left pillar, receives.   The man who is about to be initiated into the Greater Mysteries, strips and bows to Her.

Passion does not fulfil the heart.   Life softens and ripens the fruit of love.

“When the heart is deeply moved, it likes a little ceremony.”

Up came my Nakedness in Public.  I have been struggling with my worry about A …  I have tried to keep cool and okay and not think about it.  But I decided to talk to H, who is always inviting me not to bottle things up but have it out with him.   And alas alack – the emotional pressure, my thick voice, my tears in eyes – all the work I have done on myself seems useless.   And how foolish I feel then about my esoteric studies – to non-esotericks like H, they must seem to be my escape route.   On and on I go with this traumatic pressure inside unchanging.

None of us, he said, live our lives without making significant mistakes.  They make us grow.  He began to outline a few of his own.  We live with them for the rest of our life, but it is not negative, because of what we do subsequently.   It is our responsibility.

I live with my feeing of having done wrong …  Address this, because otherwise my expectation that bad things might happen,  materialises.  I am wise when silent and writing of it, and I am a mad merrygoround when trying to drive the chariot with someone else;  when trying to speak of it.   It is so frustrating.

A healing colour combination, the other day. The blue is meant to be indigo, but my camera saw it differently. Indigo is Saturn, root chakra, Orange is Sun, the heart, and Red is Mars, navel chakra. Tarot Keys the Lovers and the Sun are both in the solar orange frequency: the tone is D-natural.

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The core problem is Worries.  The habit of worrying about anything  I depend on, like my bike making funny noises,  or my laptop behaving oddly.  if it seems not to work properly, guilt slams in, and a sick tension inside, I did something wrong.   This must be seen to, because it is a chronic condition, and it may get worse as I get older.   It says I have let someone down.   I neglected.   I didn’t look after her.  I had a fantasy, a playground, and it wasn’t true.   I let down even the Great Work.

So that is also the inappropriate naked feeling in the street – suddenly uncomfortable where I was insouciant.   The guilt feeling is so backed up, that when I speak of it to anyone, it makes it worse, the sound of it, the stuck wheel.

Enter Art Therapy!   My dreaming re-booted, because of this plan: I shall go to an art therapist to explore this thing in clay and collage, hands on, rather than struggle with speech.  It feels somewhere refreshing and discharged, to have dreamed busily again last night.  I dreamt of a wacky commune by the sea.  They had a huge communal bath-tub outside the house, and the rooms inside were like Mick Jagger’s in the “Performance” movie.  I had long conversations with wild hairy drop-outs and old acid-heads,  and am amazed at their colourful personalities and their faces – how did my mind invent them in such detail, and their life-stories?  Then I dreamed of a complex citadel or town of many levels, and suddenly I saw through a window, the rocky summit of Mont St Michel, just outside.  My way forward would traverse the peak.

I felt relieved, after what my friend H said – about what we do with our mistakes –  but the turbulence takes time to settle, and I made supper – brown rice and lentils, tin of spiced sardines, some beetroot, tomatoes, coriander and cress and a bit of curry powder, golly how delicious – and went straight back to my drawing.  The rice and lentils boiled dry and burned on the bottom.

The turbulent location takes relief in its stride, it is a circuit of tension and relief, it is self-important and doesn’t move.   This is the substance to address.

The Inner School isn’t concerned with time.  It doesn’t make immediate changes, it chimes up the process which then takes time to clear – many years, as I now know – or lifetimes – being human.   Facing grief – turning to face the wind.

Therapy with the Inner School opens spectacular insight, and the feeling of great seismic shifts and clarity and progress – and then a bewildered disappointment on discovery that the situation in the surface has not eased.   The emotional upset – the trauma deep down – is as intractable as ever.

Remember:  the seismic shift is REAL.   Deliverance is certain.  But the Karmic stuff remaining – the slow fuel – takes time to consume and release.   Many years of Capricorn.

This is also the meaning of the fire under the Initiate, which blows towards him.  His legs and body glow.  He is being speeded up, confronting the fire directly, even as he drinks the water of life and is touched by Isis.   Life isn’t easy.

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A strange image! It heads this section II of Trinosofia. The reproduction I copied it from is itself blurred, so I don’t know what the figures are at the “tunnel” entrance. Or is this a convex shape? I left my perspective deliberately a bit awry. A portal of some kind … to an underworld or interior realm – it doesn’t anywhere say “abandon hope”.
I had a dream of bricks looking watery, like an Irish or Highland stream with its .autumnal glints – the flow of “snake water stone”. I may work on this a bit more, sometime.

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And I have an aim.   I want to be and live like an Initiate, discreetly camouflaged to the social terrain of today, because this is the real way.  It is like “toning” the colour in a painting, to a plant or stone in the hedgerow.   I want to work with persons.

It seems to take decades to weather the raw Stone.  I must NOT appear as a wild occult loon, or have sticky opinions about it – and that is tricky, because the juice of the inner School ignites the personal ego to burn-off.   Dignity and discretion!   What layers and layers of training there are – and how far off this ideal still seems, even if – like my glimpse of the rock and lichens of Mont St Michel last night  – i can almost reach and touch it.

This morning I read and reblogged Lissa’s wonderful article about Trauma.  Her insight and her “damascan discovery” reach right in to my Trauma zone, and illumine the subconscious strata from which my habitual worries sprout:  for give.

We give to each other the Fruit of Life.

Orpheus. Note the strata of the soul, behind him. He rises like trees, from the core of the Earth and ancient hieroglyphic history.

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Peace, peace.  The opening phrase of this Sonata by Master R, is beautiful and gentle.  And the finger-friendly pair of Minuets at the end!

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

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