An Instrument of Power

From time to time I notice a certain troublesome unease on the periphery of my awareness.  It isn't serious or spiritually debilitating;  it is simply a movement that leaves a certain sadness, and a wanting, in its wake. Most of the time I don't even notice it because my other activities, such as preparing pieces for posting here, produce enough 'noise' to mask the discomfort. Nevertheless, it will still remain, gently haunting me and refusing to go away.  In the more distant past, I would have brushed that unease away with annoyance.  Not any more.  I have learned to trust these discomforts, to approach and investigate them before they develop into something more demandingly uncomfortable.

It was whilst undergoing one of these periods of slight discomfort that I found myself preparing for a morning meditation.  There seemed to be no problems, except that the occasional thought would intrude and distract.  I find that thoughts, however, are obvious when present and can be summarily, if only temporarily, dealt with.  On the other hand, emotions and feelings are far less obvious for me, and cannot so readily be dismissed.  Indeed, it is sometimes difficult to be aware that a feeling is even present. On this particular morning I noticed that now familiar sense of unease, but this time I decided to approach it and determine the cause of the problem. Immediately, I recognised the cause as a pervading sense of spiritual aridity.

My most recent posts have been concerned with my first meeting with my internal Druid, my Voice of Authenticity, and my interpretation of the symbols that arose.  Lying in the background was an awareness that it has been a long time since the Druid and I have obviously travelled together.

"Has he abandoned me?"  I asked myself.  "Am I doing something wrong?  Am I not working hard enough?  Am I being too lax?"  These and other questions of a similar nature, arose to plague my uneasy mind.

Of course, all such thoughts are the product of an over-zealous and dictatorial ego.  The real cause of the aridity is a joyous one, even if it doesn't feel like it at the time.  It is the perfectly normal response to an inner journey going ever deeper, a journey which my consciousness cannot be privy to.  Patience and faith are needed.  It just so happens that I am a little short of both commodities.  Once the problem had been addressed, I could once more return to my meditation, and that was when I received a massive surprise.

..........I found myself sitting on a log of appropriate proportions, looking into a fire outside a cave on a mountaintop.  I felt no need to immerse myself in its flames as I had done on a previous visit. To my right, closer to the mouth of the cave and still remaining in the shadows, sat the Druid. Somehow, I had been plucked from the conscious state of my meditation room and brought here to the mountaintop.  We sat awhile, enjoying each other's company, slipping into that familiarising process that floods the heart with joy. Yes, it was good to be back. 

          I sensed a movement from the Druid, but only a slight movement, but it was enough.  I found that I was holding an ebony wand in my hands, a black, polished instrument of great power. It was incredible. Here, in my hands, rested something so beautiful and potent that I could see no way that I could carry it to a lower level of consciousness.  It would have been as if I were trying to live a peak experience for the rest of my life, or manifesting the divine in an environment unsuited to its presence. How different this experience from that of the rock chippings that had turned to amethyst.  On that visit, the rock chippings had been ordinary, run of the mill. This wand was anything but that.

          As I felt the slick smoothness of the gift that had been placed in my hands, I began to feel, to become aware of, something else.  It seemed as if a secondary presence existed within the wand. That inner presence seemed to indicate that it was akin to a stick of charcoal, that it had an inner, hidden purpose, and that I was required to draw with it.  That made no sense to me.  How could I draw a sketch or a picture with something so obviously unsuited for the task? I was receiving no apparent help from the Druid; this was something I had to sort out for myself.  

          Then something seemed to click into place.  I wasn't required to draw pictures with this wand. I was to draw up, or draw down, something, energy or power perhaps, from some place deep within me. Or maybe I was to do nothing, that whatever was needed would, of itself, be drawn from my psycho-spiritual being, for some purpose yet to be disclosed. Maybe that process of drawing on the spiritual realm was already happening.  As that realisation dawned, the Druid stood and clasped my hands in his, and I knew the rightness of my conclusion. 
          It was then that I received my second massive surprise. 'His' hands were unmistakeably female. Even after all the slight hints in the past, I had always imagined the Druid to be male.  I looked up at her, longing to see her face so completely hidden in shadow.  And the thought spoke to me, 

"Why should it be otherwise?  Have I not already opined that there is a spectrum of Truth of which Wisdom, or Sophia, is a part?  Why then should not my Druid also be female?"............

                                                                                      (Extract from my current diary)

Somewhere, deep inside me, I sense a block has been removed, a kink ironed out, ........ and yes, a rough place made plain.  Now the quote from Isaiah 40:4 makes sense for me.

           "Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low:  

           and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places made plain."

I have been lifted.  Can unease wear a smile on its face?  I prefer un-sadness to sadness just as I prefer happiness to unhappiness, but I accept the need for both.  Without the one I will never find the other.  I am a living creature, therefore I react or choose to respond to stimuli. Those stimuli do not always need to be severe;  a little unease on the periphery of awareness can be enough. Meditations and contemplations do not always go to plan, or as my ego so readily reminds me, even go very well at all. But I no longer need to compete, to win, or even get things right.  I am that I am.  It will suffice.

To Be As an Atom

When I first attempted to write a first draft of this post, I discovered that uncomfortable feeling of mild panic. What do I write? My deadline was approaching and everything I had tried thus far was unacceptable, either on the grounds of content or of timing.  At the same time, I was aware that this panic was triggering certain other feelings which were acting as positive feedback, thus enhancing the problem I faced.  The only good thing about this script was that, having written the first paragraph, I had made a start on something that might eventually be acceptable.

When I first began Gwynt, I was determined to post every Saturday.  There have been three occasions when I have posted on other days, for reasons that I felt justified their inclusion. Those reasons still hold, but I have still maintained my Saturday deadline for all other posts. My reason for this is quite simple.  It enforces a necessary discipline in my life, without which I would quickly become uncomfortable, and maybe lax.  That laxity would in turn lead to wandering along unnecessary and unproductive paths.  It appears that when I need to deal with spiritual matters, and particularly those which reduce the importance of my ego, that self-same ego fights to turn my energies into the frittering of time and resources on other activities. That is unacceptable. However, wisdom dictates that I must allow some slack in the system to allow space for those spontaneous insights that erupt from beyond consciousness from time to time.

To turn to another matter, I have to say that I do not enjoy being vulnerable, but it is a necessary condition so long as I continue to write about the subjects I discuss here.  I feel passionately about the issues I raise, and sometimes that extra yard of vulnerability can seem to be too much, too unsafe.  Yet I cannot cover myself with protective plating.  There would come a time when I would be carrying so much psycho-spiritual armour plating that I would be unable to move.  And still there would remain a few chinks where I was vulnerable to a damaging thrust.  I know, I have been there. My preference, therefore, is to play the role of the atom being subjected to the incoming attack by a neutrino, anthropomorphically speaking. Now as everyone knows, neutrinos are very tiny subatomic particles, and atoms behave as if they are almost entirely pure space.  There is, therefore, a very high probability that the neutrino will pass through the atom without touching anything, or even noticing the atom is there.  This is my preferred stance, even if it isn't perfectly safe.  In any case armour plating is what one Has, vulnerability refers to a state of Being, the latter being preferable to the former.

Part of my vulnerability is allied to my choice of subject rather than the depth to which I probe and how much I reveal. This is compounded by the language I choose to use, often because I can find no meaningful alternatives.  Let me try to deal with this latter point first.  I know that people can be put off by such words as God, Jesus, Holy Spirit, spirituality, ego, lower self, higher self, esoteric, occult, alcoholic, narcotic, codependency, and a wide range of other scientific, religious and psychological terminology.  And there is one other word that is so personal to me, and that is the recently introduced 'Druid'.  This image has been my constant companion in my inner world, just as the Inner Christ image has been for many a Christian. But what can I do?  I have no other language that remotely answers my needs.  Yet I feel I continually run the risk of glazing peoples' eyes over by the mere mention of those previously cited words.  And the real rub is that I'm not completely comfortable with most of those words either.  I know that what I write about is specialist stuff, but it's such fun;  it really is.  All inner discoveries and the journey towards Truth, whether it be called God, the Kingdom of Heaven, the Ultimate, or whatever expression is your particular, chosen synonym, are worth the effort.  

Quote from "The Red Book":

"My speech is imperfect.  Not because I want to shine with words, but out of the impossibility of finding those words, I speak in images.  With nothing else can I express the words from the depths."
                                                                                                                    C.G.Jung

Until I committed myself to this great inner experiment and its resulting experience, until I began to try to understand my inner imagery, it was as if I had been two-dimensional.  That inner experience supplies the third dimension.  The dimension of time doesn't really enter into the scheme of things. Something akin to a kind of eternal now, with lapses into time for the sake of convenience, is the usual way that my inner life operates.  And this causes me no problems because no words are involved.  It is only when one tries to verbalise the experience that problems arise.  It is then, perhaps more than at any other time, that I become acutely aware of my 'alone-ness';  not loneliness, never that.  By extension, of course all people are in the same condition of alone-ness. When one adds to that the fact that everything we experience in the outer world, from the mind outwards, is our minds' interpretation of incoming data from our senses, thoughts and emotions, one begins to get some inkling of the extent of our condition.  We can no more directly sense the world around us than we can look directly at the studio or film set from which our entertainment comes. Safety seems to lie in words, and our commitment, even addiction perhaps, to the use of certain words or particular sets of words.  But that safety is an illusion, and all too often words isolate rather than unite.    

The second point I raised earlier, namely the choice of subject about which to write can be difficult to decide on.  This difficulty arises in part because I do not work through my material in a particular time-wise fashion.  There are reasons why I work in this manner, any difficulty arising being offset by the acquired gains.  Sometimes it means that before I can introduce one subject, another preparatory subject must be dealt with.  It is similar to the mathematical process that, one cannot try to prove a concept which uses inputs which have not themselves been previously proved.  Of course proof is not a requirement here.  However, meditational data and realisations honestly arrived at are, for me, a prime requirement.  The sources from which I draw some inspiration will include religion, with all its shortcomings, Christian theology, the Mystical Qabalah, Twelve Step Programmes, the Bible, and in fact any source that seems to offer a way to the Truth.  Nothing is exempt, although inevitably I will choose from sources with which I am most familiar.  One of my most important sources of data is the inner journey I psychologically travelled, almost exclusively dealing with my childhood, in the company of my Inner Druid.  I cannot, in honesty, call her anything else. I will not deny her by even trying to call her something else.  I can only say that this is who I am;  this is where I'm coming from.

Finally, a calm has descended and I sense a small crisis has passed, so perhaps this is the right script to post. It is always my intent to listen for that small, inner voice that decides my next step. Of course I don't always listen hard enough and so I don't always hear.  Maybe on this occasion I've heard aright.

Life Force

Throughout my life I have, along with most other people I suspect, built subpersonalities or what might be termed 'mind/brain sub-routines' which I use in my dealings with the outside world.  The nature of each subpersonality depends upon my chosen combination of character strengths and weaknesses, and what I decide is the appropriate function of the subpersonality.  These routine behaviour patterns are learned from repeated usage, and may eventually be used in situations where they are no longer appropriate.  Furthermore, I may unthinkingly use my own subpersonalities against myself in a form of inner civil war.

Now keeping an open mind, or choosing to look at situations without preconceptions, is the antithesis of operating under the influence of a subpersonality.  Clearly, the former action would seem to be better than the latter for all sorts of reasons.  The most important reason, perhaps, being that my Self remains awake, alert and fully conscious.  Why then did I choose to develop habit-forming ways of operating? And why did I fall into the associated trap of cocooning myself in shells of prejudice?  Why would I choose to do all that?  The most obvious reason, or so it seems to me, is that subpersonalities are processes with which I appear to be able to effect some control on the world around me.  If I can control, I acquire that something called safety.  This process begins in the crib of course, where the baby learns that by appropriate utterances it can generate immediate and beneficial responses from its parents.  What power a baby wields;  it is almost Godlike. However, when the baby's apparently divine status is removed, fear enters the domain of the growing ego.  That fear is extremely powerful because the infant faces the twin threats of loss and annihilation, states that the ego decides are totally unacceptable. Yet in the end, for all the struggles in which we engage to maintain control and assumed safety, those sought after states are illusions.  

Many years ago I had a quite serious car crash on a busy, dual-carriageway road.  I was driving to work in the morning rush hour.  There was a particular moment that seemed to last for something approaching eternity, when I was totally powerless.  I was in the well of the car, held in place by my seat belt;  I could smell the dust and the petrol.  I felt no pain from the burns caused by the seat belt cutting into my neck and groins.  The silence was wonderful;  the end was near, and I did not care. There was absolutely nothing I could do to change anything.  Learning curves about illusions do not come any steeper........Then another car hit me!  That was no illusion!  During that seemingly long period of powerlessness, it may only have been seconds, the realisation that having no control over the events in my life did not bring instant annihilation, brought a profound sense of relief and, oddly enough, a sense of happiness beyond my normal emotions.

All my subpersonalities, and hence how I habitually use my character traits, combine to create my ego. Just as those habitual forms of behaviour create an illusion of power, so then is my ego, and its supposed reality, also an illusion.  By somehow ignoring the reality that control of my ability to live, and also not-live, is not in my hands, I fall into denial.  Perhaps I need to clarify this point. There is a force or energy within me that keeps my body operating.  It is my Life Force.  Over that force I can exert no control whatsoever.  Throughout the period that my life force continues its purpose within me, my physical body will develop to a certain point and then deteriorate and become unfit for purpose.  That is inevitable.  (I suspect deterioration begins at birth or even earlier, but is outweighed by the process of development.  Thus what we see as physical development and decay is the net effect of these opposing forces. On the other hand, psycho-spiritual growth appears not to be necessarily hampered by destructive forces.)

I am unable to change significantly the conditions required for continued living.  My body is a biological machine suited, as far as is possible, to its environment which sustains but also destroys it.  My body has adapted to existing conditions of gravity, yet it is gravity which causes ageing.  I need oxygen to breathe, yet that gas also produces oxidants that in the end may bring about my downfall.  I cannot win.  One day my body will simply stop and I will be powerless to make it continue.  Similarly I cannot order my body to stop at this moment.  Fortunately, it will ignore me. All suicide can do is to make the body unfit for purpose.  It doesn't destroy the Life Force, because energy can neither be created nor destroyed. When the body can no longer sustain life, the life energy is converted into some other form, or perhaps returns to its source.  I can of course take care of myself to a degree;  I can up to a point maintain my body in a state that is fit for purpose, but that is not control.

Sometimes, because I never could stop asking questions, I wonder if it is possible that the ego is a virtual reflection of the life force, just as it appears to be a virtual reflection of the Higher or True state of the Self.  Are the Life Force and the True state of Being-ness one and the same?  Perhaps the Life Force is what people call God.  I don't know;  in fact there is so much I do not know.  I do know, however, that if I concentrate all my energies onto my ego or virtual self, I will become increasingly identified with it, and thus increasingly out of touch with spiritual reality.  I need to continue to detach from that situation. I need to see that I cannot have, but I can Be.  I must put away childish things, that is the need to have, as St. Paul, John of the Cross, Meister Eckhart and others have all said, and become adult with the desire to Be.

Ten Virgins

There have doubtless been many books written on the study of symbolism and the meanings of symbols.  I have a couple of such books myself, although their use has been very limited in my experience.  There are some symbols that tend to be universal of course;  we are one species after all.  However, I believe that no matter how general or even universal a symbol may be, or appears to be, in the end it is the task of the individual to discover for their own selves what lies hidden behind a symbol, assuming the task is considered to be one worth undertaking.  For me that task certainly is worth the effort, but that alone is not enough. More than that positive effort of discovery is needed before the task can be completed.  A state of open receptivity is also required, and that can only be achieved by putting aside all preconceptions.  

Jesus was reported to have said, "Seek and you will find;  knock and it will be opened to you."  He didn't say that the answers would come immediately, by the end of next week or even by the end of the month.  It may take years.  One must be constantly open and alert for that which we seek.  I like to think that perhaps the parable of the 'Ten Virgins' (Matt. 25:1-13) refers directly to this state of affairs. From the fountainhead of Truth (the Kingdom of Heaven) and brought to consciousness by means of the five senses of sight, hearing, taste, smell and touch (the virginal, as yet unfulfilled, areas of receptivity), spiritual truth in the symbolic form of the Bridegroom, or even the Druid in my case, will eventually come.  On the other hand, if the five senses are allowed to fall into a state of slumbering and sleep, like the foolish virgins, truth may come but pass by unnoticed. One must be prepared for the long haul and take sufficient oil for our lamps. 

Let us now turn to the journey up the mountain to the meeting with the 'wise person' described in my previous post, "Voice of Authenticity".  The first thing to notice is that the whole scene is bathed in moonlight.  That is to say, enlightenment comes from a state of receptivity, symbolised by the moon, traditionally a female symbol.  In addition, the mountains are arranged in a ring which again is a female symbol, but also a symbol of the eternal.  Now that enlightenment comes not easily;  the darkness of the unrevealed needs to be persuaded from his cave, his hidden place, by a willingness to listen and to learn with an open mind.  Unless the mind is open and a willingness for purgation of all else expressed, nothing is able to enter it.  It is significant also that truth shows no face, no personality or ego.  It is above all that.  Yet this was not the first time in my experience, nor would it be the last, that an abstraction such as truth would show itself as something living, as something alive.  That experience always makes me tingle with excitement.

Before leaving the mountaintop it is worth considering the inner geography of this place.  One talks from time to time about the 'Higher Self', the 'Lower self', and so on.  Now whilst I agree that talk of such selves can get in the way, can interfere, nevertheless there is some justification for talking about those states in that way, so long as one doesn't fall into the trap of assuming them to be separate, discrete entities.  This particular mountain or high country stands out from all other mountains in the area, thus underscoring a sense of relativity about the Druid's cave.  In a previous post, "A Walk in the Hills" (posted 25.5.2013), the high place was a ring of hills, not mountains, rising from a flat, surrounding plain.  This sense of one thing in relation to another is typical of my inner journeying. Thus one can indeed speak of a 'Higher Self', or at least a higher state of Being-ness within one's Self, but with caution.

Now we must retrace our steps down the strait and narrow way to the place where I stopped to look at the gift that truth had given me.  The amethyst is still worn by Catholic Bishops, or so I am given to understand, being called the Bishop's stone and representing piety, humility, sincerity and spiritual wisdom.  Well that's all very well, but is it really me?  Would I have applied those meanings to my Self? Much as I might like it to be otherwise, they would not be the character traits uppermost in my mind. Rather, I see the amethyst only as an amazingly beautiful jewel, a so wondrous gift.  Yet at that previously experienced higher level within my Self, this gift was just ordinary, run-of-the-mill stuff, rock chippings.  Is that not a staggering revelation? There is so much that is beautiful and wonderful inside us that it is almost commonplace, the normal. Yet as a species we seem to spend so much time searching 'out there' for treasures when there is so much that lies hidden in plain sight 'in here'. As perhaps an afterthought, I must add that there is something about the colour of amethyst, particularly when combined with emerald and white and/or gold, that rings a spiritual bell far down in the deeps of my being.  There are yet exciting, extraordinary journeys still to be undertaken.  

Within the depths of the amethyst, and after a great deal of loving exercising, appeared a gold ring. Once again, much has been written on the symbolic significance of gold, and gold rings.  For me a gold ring represents something of precious union.  "Union with what?" one might ask.  Union with God, or whatever that word may be a synonym for, the nostalgic longing of all mystics, the union that already exists here and now.  How could it have ever been otherwise?  And at the very heart of the jewel and the ring lies the diamond, perhaps a symbol of my mystic centre.  Would that be what is referred to as the soul, I wonder?

On this visit to the Higher state of Being-ness, the source of Truth, two positive actions were carried out.  The first was the ridding of all preconceptions, to allow an opening of the mind to receive what was on offer.  The second action was to exercise, with loving willing-ness, the gift thus received. Truth needs to be used and exercised, not returned to some dark place of unknowing.  Without Truth offered through contemplation, without a constant renewal of inner life, the soul will wither for want of spiritual sustenance.  This I believe.   

Finally, and as I continue on my inner journey, a question comes to mind which arises from my search for meaning and truth,

"Knowledge, Understanding and Wisdom, are these not also part of the spectrum of Truth?"

Voice of Authenticity

In the early 1990's, when my inner life appeared to be settling into some kind of short-term pattern of spiritual study and meditation, something very unexpected occurred. I say a short-term pattern because I had no clear and specific idea about where I was headed, except that as a matter of faith it was in a generally upward direction.  The trauma of living with a woman suffering from severe alcoholism was in the past, but only the recent past.  A particular morning came when, having gone through my usual preparations for my morning meditation (the subject of which I have long since forgotten) I suddenly found myself, in my inner state, on a mountainside. I was climbing upwards to meet with a 'wise person', whomsoever that might turn out to be.  This was not my first experience of 'imaging' or 'pathworking', as it is sometimes known.  It was, however, the first time (though it wasn't to be the last) that I had been taken willy-nilly on a path not of my choosing.  It was clear that my unconscious mind needed to communicate something, and although I could have refused to listen, I agreed to travel that particular journey.  This post is a sharing of the start of that journey, the first time I met my 'wise person', the Druid.

For many years I could not say what the Druid himself represented, beyond the fact that he was an inner guide and guardian.  Only now do I recognise him for what he was and still remains, my inner 'Voice of Authenticity', or in other words the psychological truth of what has really happened in my life. Although this journey is rich in symbolism it is not my intent, at least at this stage, to enter into what could be an imperfect interpretation of that journey.  Whatever was to come later, that first meeting was an experience of joy, wonder and hope.  It is something of that experience which I hope to convey, if only in part.

Amethyst with Gold Ring

..........I stood on a precariously narrow track no wider than the width of one of my feet.  The slick, shiny mountain, composed of some unidentifiable but igneous-looking rock, slowly curved to my right to enclose a roughly circular valley filled with trees.  From overhead a full moon illuminated the face of the mountain and just the tops of the trees below me, to produce a gently mottled light on a sea of deep shadow.  I continued my slow but steady progress along the mountainside until I came to a cleft in the rock.  There I waited awhile, taking in the scene around me, and deciding on my next move.  There was a harsh angularity about the mountain that contrasted starkly with the roundness of the full moon, and the softness of the forest.  Yet there was also a feeling of cleanliness and purity about the mountains, uncluttered as they were by soil or pebbles.  There was nothing to mar the slippery slopes glistening in the moonlight.

          I had had some difficulty keeping my footing on the slippery track as it wound its way onwards above the treetops.  The cleft not only offered me some relief from that dangerous path but also a way upwards to the summit.  The cleft lay in deep shadow but offered a safer, wider path upwards towards the mountaintop where I could see a cave at the entrance of which burned a fire.  I climbed steadily towards the cave, approached with caution, then waited just beyond the light cast by the fire.  I found there was something attractive, deeply magnetic about the fire.  I could feel the drying heat on my face as the flames drew me ever closer.  The desire to step into the fire strengthened steadily, but I resisted.  Then I saw that to the right of the fire was a pile of logs.  With these logs I began to feed the fire, turning the flames from yellow to white heat.  The desire to step into the flames and be purged, to experience catharsis, became overpowering.  As I made to take those last steps into the fire, the tall figure of a Druid, dressed in a black, cowled robe appeared at the cave mouth. Although I thought I could see what might have been the barest hint of a nose and a chin, the newcomer's face was completely hidden from me.

          I began to talk with the Druid, but not by word of mouth.  I knew that I wanted access to my unconscious mind, which I felt he could give me, and that desire appeared to be well received.  He approached me, and the moment he touched my right shoulder we fused, then drew apart but having in that fusing exchanged bodies.  As a result of that joining I became aware of his feelings and his thoughts as I imagine he must have become aware of mine.  I discovered that the Druid had waited a long time for me to come, and also that the Druid's powers were not unlimited, though immeasurably greater than mine.  We had both wanted this meeting for so long, and now that it had happened there was a sense of having arrived and been accepted.  Again he approached me, momentarily fused and withdrew.  We were once more in our own, original bodies.

          For a while I was lost in silence, not knowing what to ask of the Druid.  Just when the silence began to become unbearable, he reached into a large leather bag leaning against the wall at the cave mouth and drew forth a handful of ordinary-looking rock chippings and gave them to me.  Carefully placing the apparently worthless gift in my pocket, I turned to leave.  I walked down the path, westwards, until once again I arrived at the bottom end of the cleft. There I stopped to inspect the Druid's gift. 
          The first thing that I noticed was that in some strange way the light had changed.  It was as if the night had passed and the day had returned.  At the same time it seemed as if this new light was localised to the area in which I stood.  Furthermore, the rock chippings had undergone a remarkable transformation.  They had joined to form a composite of intensely beautiful amethyst crystals, purple and surrounded by a circlet of milky white.  They seemed to hold such mystery and purity in their depths.  They were life in inanimate form, were both weak and strong.

          I began to try to prise the crystal structure apart until my fingers began to bleed with the effort, and my finger bones began to break under the strain, yet I felt no pain.  So strong was the structure that it defied all my efforts to dismantle it. Then it was that I discovered that I could easily take the structure apart by lovingly willing the component crystals to slide along their fracture planes.  Just as easily I could reassemble the structure.  After continuing to dismantle and reassemble the crystals for some while, I saw at last in the depths of the crystal lattice a golden ring containing a single diamond. At the same time a mist of glittering particles which had emanated from the amethyst crystals, had formed around me.  Yet for all the apparent detritus that had been formed by my playing with the amethyst crystals, the structure had steadily grown larger and ever more beautiful..........

                                                                                   (Extract from a private diary)

Exploring Nostalgia

There came a time when I first felt a wanting to return home, or a sense of being called home, but in this life not in some possible hereafter. That wanting has never gone away. The situation is reminiscent of that of the Prodigal Son, a parable which tells of a similar sense of nostalgia. It would appear to be related to a wanting to re-experience a state of true Being, a return to my spiritual home. Naturally, the question arises as to whether I have ever truly experienced a state of true Being to which I could return. The sense of nostalgia would imply that I have, but I can no longer remember it. Then who and what am I?  Perhaps the 'who' relates to the personality, the Virtual self*, my everyday consciousness, whilst the 'what' refers to the True Self**.

My Drawing of an Egyptian Queen

"Man, know thyself.......and thou shalt know the Gods," it allegedly says in the inner temple at Luxor. Who or what must know what?  I can know my Virtual self by means of my intellect, emotions and sensations, and have travelled far down that road already, discovering many of the lesser gods that have ruled my life. However, that cannot be enough. There would clearly seem to be a call to know something much more, namely my True and Higher Self. However, that would appear to be a process I am unable to enter into, at least of my own volition. Yet, surely, if meditation and contemplation are the recommended means by which my contact with God can be improved, then just as surely there must be some process by which I can know my Higher Self, as a first step towards that ultimate end. Of course it may be that God and my Higher Self are one and the same state of true Being. Now meditation and contemplation do not of themselves improve my conscious contact with God, but they appear to trigger the process (like a spiritual catalyst) of opening a channel to, or drawing down a response from, a higher state of Being; to clear away, or find a way round, the distractions of the material life.  Or put another way, their practice indicates a willingness to be open to a process of consciousness expansion.

If the desire for some form of higher contact exists from beyond my everyday consciousness, and the means are available to concentrate the mind in the appropriate manner, then there must also be hope that contact can be established, that a way home can be found. "Seek and you will find; knock and it will be opened to you," was the encouraging exhortation offered by the first century, Jewish spiritual master, Jesus. Since I can know my Virtual self and, as I have said, I have done a great deal of work to that end, is it possible that I can use that knowledge to infer any conclusions about my True Self? Is there any truth in the  Hermetic assertion that "as above so below", that some distorted projection of my Higher Self appears as my Lower self? Can a study of one's personality profile lead to any conclusions about what has been called the divine aspects of one's nature? Or must it be that the path to knowledge of my Virtual self must be rejected in the cause of detachment from that state, hidden perhaps by a cloud of unknowing, so that one's gaze is focused on a higher level?

It has been said, and quite rightly in my experience, that I cannot do this alone. I cannot force contact to be made with a higher level of Being. That process of meditation and contemplation will only lead to the ultimate discovery of answers if God/(True Self?) chooses to respond. Yet it has also been said that the question, "Who am I?" cannot be answered until I at the very least begin to obey the injunction, "Know thyself!" It would thus appear that both the roots of the problem and its solution may indeed begin with the consciousness of the Virtual self and the inferences that can be made from it, but end with a requirement to hold that self and the Higher Self in some kind of balance. For that process to be effective, some level of spiritual detachment becomes necessary.

The next question is, who or what is it, what state exists, that creates the balance? What is the tacitly assumed observer in this process, that presence that feels a nostalgia for its spiritual home?

* Virtual self:  a synonym for the Ego.
** True Self:  a synonym for the Real or Higher Self.

"God Loves You, Tom!"

Now I didn't know she was going to be there, did I?  Even had I looked at the visitors' book and seen her name, I wouldn't have recognised it.  After all, I had never met her before. In any event it is certain I would have attended anyway, regardless of her presence.  Yes, I know, I would have been 'being silly to myself ', but one has to take a risk or two.  Where did all this take place?  In a retreat house run by a lovely group of Roman Catholic nuns.  The woman who so freely vocalises in this tale was later described by the Sister in charge as a pain in the backside, that being after the woman had left with a full refund of her fee, having decided to retreat no further.  I say this only so that you will not get the impression that I was alone in my opinion of my fellow retreatee. One thing I did discover about her was that she was very, and I mean very, Welsh Chapel.  No, I have nothing against the Welsh Chapel, so long as the evangelical types stay on their side of Offa's Dyke, and leave me an escape route and a running head start.

The theme of the retreat was St. Mark's Gospel and included some related practical art in whatever medium, or mixed media, we chose.  

Resurrection - Rebirth

The man who led the retreat was a certain Reverend B.  He had retired from the ministry to concentrate on retreats and religious workshops.  He was a free-thinking Christian working within the confines of the Church of England.  In private talks with him later, I discovered he was unorthodox, electrifying and intellectually invigorating.  Yes, I liked him a great deal.  In a sense those conversations gave me permission to explore my own puzzling ideas about matters spiritual and religious.  Needless to say, there was one particular woman in the group who disagreed with him.....about almost everything he said.

There must have been somewhere around fifty or sixty of us perhaps, strung out in a double arc in the large room where the Rev. B was talking to us, about how Jesus was seen from St. Mark the evangelist's point of view.  We needed to imagine ourselves following Jesus as he travelled around the Lake of Galilee. We all settled comfortably and waited expectantly for the Rev. B to take us on the journey.

"God loves you, Tom!"

What the hell! I thought.  It's an odd feeling when someone suddenly says your name out of appropriate context.  My ears took on a new state of awareness, like receiving a mild, aural electric shock.  It was as if the whole of sentient creation had focused its omnipotent attention on this single piece of quivering, bewildered humanity that just happened to have my name attached. And I was certain that everyone in the room was looking at me, as if I were guilty of some heinous sin, but about which I could recollect nothing. Who had said that?  I saw who it was in a jiffy.  The people on either side of her were looking steadfastly away from her, which was an interesting way of focusing right on her. I looked at Rev. B, shrugged my shoulders, and he continued with his talk. He said that in St. Mark's Gospel, one only ever seemed to see Jesus from behind, as he hurried on his way.  In my mind's eye I began to see Him hurrying away from me in the distance.  I could still hear Rev. B talking but my attention was in old Palestine.

"God loves you, Tom!"

Oh lord, not again!  This was getting embarrassing, and Rev. B had paused.  One or two people were looking concerned, others appeared to be uncertain as to whether they should frown, or simply pass  the time with a fit of the giggles.  Some even found things of surpassing interest on the perfectly plain ceiling to study.  Anyway, Jesus was gradually increasing his distance from us, so off we went again.

..........As I chased the elusive figure ahead of me, I found that my progress was constantly hampered by fishing nets hung out to dry. Other nets were in the process of being mended, but laid out in a manner that seemed to be designed to catch my feet.  Gradually Jesus was increasing the distance between me and him.  The more I tried to hurry, the further away he became..........

"God loves you, Tom!"

This was becoming too much.  She was beginning to irritate me beyond measure.  Why had the woman picked on my soul to save?  Perhaps it was just that I have one of those souls that is eminently save-worthy;  I'm sure we could all agree on that, couldn't we?  Well soul saving is important;  my father was into that in a big way. 

Now I was sitting at one end of the arc, and the woman so intent on assuring me of divine feelings-support about halfway along the arc, a position directly in front of the Rev. B.  At the far end of the arc was a group of Church of England ministers.  Now those gentlemen of the cloth, to whom I had taken an instant dislike - which is unusual for me - were very far from being amused, but to my relief they said nothing.  They never appeared to have, or desire, any contact with the rest of the group, but each to his own I suppose.  They simply fixed their gaze on Rev. B.  I also noticed at this stage of the proceedings, that one or two people had begun to develop a particularly nervous kind of cough, or had suddenly found the gardens outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of particular and pressing interest, all of which disappeared as Rev. B, after a eyebrow raised and a wink in my direction, and receiving my almost imperceptible nod of assent, continued with his talk.

..........More nets were being thrown across my path.  The actions had about them a greater sense of intent, as if I had to be slowed and stopped.  The shore of Galilee suddenly threw up a crop of large rocks surrounded by broad layer of very sharp seashells.  That not only slowed me even further, it also made me lose sight momentarily of the man I was chasing.  And the fishing boats being drawn up out of the water by Jesus' disciples didn't help.  Finally, I called out to the now very distant, fleeing Jesus, asking him to stop.  He called back that this was his Way;  it wasn't mine..........

"God loves you, Tom!"

I did, I must freely confess, make a rather indignant (or was that a tart?) reply.  Well what would you have done?  No, I wasn't rude to her, although I doubt that anything I could have said would have penetrated her psychological armour.  But one has one's pride.  Well I did then; but I'm much nicer now. No, I really am! Now, one neither wished to appear to be too abashed, nor to be seen to be goaded into action either.  Above all, I had no desire to belittle myself in front of those rather haughty-looking churchmen facing me across the room.  Anyone would think it was all my fault, for heaven's sake!.  Anyway, as I have said, one has one's pride, one's dignity.  Yes, dignity, that position of last resort on which one sniffily stands when a suitable quip refuses to come to mind.

At this point the Rev. B decided it was a very good time to break for coffee and biscuits, a suggestion with which we all, or nearly all, concurred.  You can guess who did not concur.  She probably saw my soul slipping beyond her reach on its inevitable path down into the spiritual nether regions.  After the break we returned, minus one.  I also noticed that Sister A, who had been listening in at the morning's session, had not returned either.  I never did get another chance to try to catch up with the fast disappearing Jesus, on the shore of Lake Galilee.  I was left to ponder his words to me for many a year thereafter.  Have I at last understood what he was trying to tell me?  I don't know.     

Finally, the other activity of the week was to meditate on St. Mark's Gospel and produce a piece of artwork that reflected our understanding of "Rebirth" or "Resurrection".  My offering appears above. I was to develop that initial piece into a much larger work that was unintentionally a psychological self-portrait in oils. 

Footnote:    It is only now, many years after that retreat and in the light of subsequent work, that I am beginning to see the significance of the chase along the western shore of  Lake Galilee, and why the disciples were so intent on stopping me from reaching their master.  It all has to do with my changing views of Jesus and who he might really have been, and nothing whatsoever to do with how he was portrayed in the New Testament Gospels by his disciples.  However, that is material for future posts.