Silent Passage

the prose-poems of
Harvey Bornfield - musician with words

(born into this veil of tears Friday May 4th, 1945,
called back to the Source, Sunday January 8th, 2006,
passing unnoticed by the world which had no place for
him, except in the smallest of ways among family and friends.)


When I first became aware of Harvey Bornfield, it was while I was a member of an e-mail discussion group, called at that time The Ark, and concerned with the discussion of matters spiritual, especially the Anthroposophy fostered by one Rudolf Steiner.   The membership of the group was eclectic, but most at least knew a little of Anthroposophy, and many were deeply religious (spiritual).  More than a few had and/or were having direct spiritual experiences of the Divine Mystery in one way or another, such that our discussions were lively and rich.  Of the membership, each unique, Harvey's voice was other-worldly in the nicest way.

Harvey's posts to the group from the beginning were for me hard to read.  I could not quite get a relationship to his style and mistook the problem for his and not mine.  It did happen that we ended up living in the same state - Arizona, near the end of his life (our e-mail relationship lasted about four or five years).  As a consequence I met  him about three times: once in Tucson where he was living, and then twice in Prescott, where I was living as was his son, so that when he came to visit his son, Harvey would take the time to see both of us.

Harvey would come by my little studio apartment and we would sit outside, in view of the dominant local geographical feature, called by the residents of Prescott, Thumb Butte, which I later learned the local native Americans (the Yavapai Indians) called: lion lying down.  Once understood in the imaginative way of the Yavapai, this feature became more living, as if Prescott was overseen by its own Sphinx.  There is a story here I'll not go into, but it did happen that Harvey and I would sit outside facing north, in view of the lion lying down and talk, for hours.

Sometimes during our conversations, he would begin to speak the same way he wrote, but even then I could not follow where he went in his soul, and thought to myself that he was being a bit touched in the head, as some used to say.

Then one day I got a call that Harvey had died.  I was surprised how strongly I felt his loss, and about two months later decided to make on my websites a memorial by posting there the many copies of his e-mails that I had saved on my hard drive over the years.  I had done about two dozen, and then one day got it into my head to read one of them aloud.

When I did this, everything changed.  These words were never meant to be read in the silent inner voice we normally use in reading, but to be spoken - to be felt with passion and rendered into speech!  Quickly I found myself going back to the very first one and beginning to read them all aloud and with passion.

Now my loss became even greater, because for all my less than humble tolerance of his strange ways, I had never really seen him at all.  He had entered my life, sang his songs, and fool that I was I never tried to sing them (voice them aloud) in order to be able to do with them what the very Gods had intended when they lent him to us here on the Earth.

Now you see, I suspect, why I call this collection of his prose-poems: Silent Passage.  He came and then was gone, and no one noticed him at all.  He was so naturally self effacing and humble, and somewhat incompetent at life, that most of us mistook him for a bumbling fool who did strange things with words.  But we were the fools, as I suspect you will find out when you pick up this little book, and even just at random render what is written here into passionate speech, as any actor must in rending the dramatist's art on a stage.

So that such art not be lost, I have published here my incomplete (and far too partial) collection of his writings sent by him to various e-mail discussion groups to which we both belonged.  I have omitted to whom they were addressed, and left out names in the body where necessary.  They are otherwise unedited.

The line of bold at the beginning of each song (e-mail) is the subject line by which Harvey (who sometimes called himself in these e-mails Earlyfire) introduced his offering.  A small caveat: many of these are in response to a message that you will not see here (such as #1) which means that you might have to think a little bit to parse out the context.  He also made up words, and on more than one occasion misspelled some.  I have left it all as written.

It is also, I suspect, not necessary to read these in order, except perhaps the first few, which oddly enough come just before and around 9/11/2001 (and my records end at 6/21/03).  Other than that, I'd just open the book to a page, and begin to read aloud (or have someone read it aloud to us), and let Harvey take us places we didn't know existed.

- imagine what might happen if the Sufi poet-mystic Rumi, and the deaf composer Beethoven,
decided to write together (as dance partners) some seeming prose as an organic
(spontaneously alive and  evolving) sequence of jazz riffs -

these are best felt in the heart when read aloud with occasional trills of passion


(9/1/2001)  that was then, this is now (and tomorrow) - was: Sex and the City of God

"In behalf of we who cannot author light, love and awe within the focus and intent to birth and share beauty, thank you indeed for plaguing the cyber-air waves with such rabidly ecstatic cosmic salivations, brawl disguised as revelation. Perfuming us with this gonadically-enhanced ripoff is just the devout archetypal food we who have no interior lives have searched the wide world over since Atlantis has sunk, hoping against hope to perk up and inspire unmalicious wonder and abiding trust.

"Please do not steal the Carpenter's Drills to bore holes in the Ark. Misuse of genius is a crime against your own Manas. There is a difference between rapture and rupture, between a throne and a highchair. Become part of the solution, not the Occult National Enquirer."


(9/3/01) small words

"Thanks, etheric exhale: (the rest's a footnote)

"Courage is also required not only to source bravery, nobility in the presence of peril, his campaigns of 'Yang", but enjoys an unsuspected interior dimension also, and so like the autumn-foliage pigments which hide, through the soft-swoon dreamtime of June, July and August behind the bathe of chlorophyll, lurk backstage for the onset of cold, wait to come centerstage in the season of the Day of Atonement, to spend their brief, bright fire announcing in orange and indigo flames that the leaves have turned to glowing tears, and weep, and downward bless, and silently announce the loss of summer, we acknowledge, joy hastens to acknowledge, that when courage kneels, she authors simplicity.

"Which is why one suspects that shepherds and peasants are both welcome in Bethlehem, and how the unschooled may rival the Magi and the hosts of the non-instinctually credentialled, and why the real Shroud of Turin, seeming only a rag, yet is endowed with capacity to reveal what designer clothes and other language often obscure.

"Those who wish to spice and celebrate, or at least foreshadow the martyrdom of the summer, and the crystallization of rhapsody into inner spark to greet the coming season of bladed snow, can 'visit' Earlyfires poem Mozart at the University for Imagination -at

"Thanks, xxxx, for renting Adriane's lifeline to rescue us from the labyrinth. Abstraction, a double-agent, one suspects sometimes is another name for boast, and his mayhemmed traffic robs us of silence."

[this next must have been written in the early morning on 9/11, before Harvey knew of those events that day was bringing.  In the next one - #4 - you'll find the so very wise response he sent out on the 9/12]


(9/11/01) Autumn/Michaelmus

"For Earlyfire, mood ever upstages all memory of events. And Michaelmas then becomes a time of reflection, of consenting to let go of the spree of the summer, and the pastel float of its siren-song, and to bring her euphoria and fan of perfume, and all sweet fenceless expanse that let us reach to the meadows of every distant star at will in the long season of floorless song, and kiss and at last, to welcome it back to unwinged, places, politely handcuffed to more anchored beauty, and gone our drunkard's major chords, lost forever in the mists of Mists of Avalon.

"Let the introspection be medicine, always restoring the quiet, and de-spicing the warm and buoyant revels, guide us one and all back south of the sky, to the Place of Kneeling. This is what the leaves announce, that by catching fire, and descending pungeant to the air's seabottom, loud in braided harvest hues of peach and orange and cherry, sing before the Angel of Death, all this to remind us of how love comes to tell the last tale whenever the pages of magic, losing their ink,turn white as the coming snow.

"And chill is blessing, for the Day of Atonement, the Day of Hollows and plainsong is at hand, when the dragon and the flames of the dragon within is exiled to clay climates, and made flightless and sober, must drink wine of iron, reckon gravity his friend, and so anchored, made devout, holy by winter, light his own torch and learn to stand again..........

"It is the season when we learn the secret of how to respond to being orphaned, and encounter the opportunity to invite the development of the power of detachment which camphor cools the raging of wild campaigns, of all that's fair in love and war.  And thus what seems, slows, no longer glows and now descends from dreams, and what once round us wove famous parades, now de-charades, and suddenly becomes robust to our touch. And so it comes to pass we discover touch is another word for Thanks."


(9/12/01) Cold and Uncaring

"Often the manifestations of Justice make for intolerable assaults against Mercy, and by way of seeking to comprehend such mysterious competition, require, more gently, suggest, better, softly invite, that an event as punctuating,, as irrevocable in human history as we have seen yesterday, must be seen to serve what can be focused through different lenses. The Heart speaks first: There is no way to dissolve or in any way distancing, to exclude ourselves from participating in the personal tragedy which befell those individuals who suffered real loss. So we too, who witnessed yesterday's terrorism, no longer bystanders, are also compelled to endure the psychic rape at the destruction of the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. But suddenly a shift, now to transition from heart to thought, and dare raise a more graphic issue, even if the price of raising such a question is the revelation of knowledge from which one recoils:  "What is the linkage between what is undeserved by individuals and that to which our entire way of life is violenced, which can be connected to matters of justice? Patience! One must wait around to confront this, better, to listen and receive, best, to embrace the answer, for to fly from it is to invite history to repeat itself. Thus ask: "How do the lives of individuals and the tale of buildings interesect?"

"The World Trade Center and the Pentagon are bricks and steel cemented with a mythology, strange to say "saturated" with group identity and momentum, one which like donning totem masks upon one's face, overlays the lives of the people who perished inside them with an irrevocable dimension of martyrdom of ideals and values we ourselves wear. For all those who lost their lives, unwilling volunteers in the death of buildings, who were asked to wear, to bear the clothing of the headquarters at the very center of the competitive, triumphal heart of American economics and government, which embody the entrepreneurial sovereignty and deeply-treaded legacy of material accomplishments of America,  were also at the same time compelled to be clothed in the shadow, the double of those buildings, which are the symbols of arrogance which achieves economic triumph by the chill reptilian reduction of individuals and nations to objects of target marketing. And the relationship between the fulfilment of an American Dream and the infliction of a Third-World Nightmare will not go away, is immune to all distraction and bypass, is central to all Michaelic dialogue for this age, and so must be raised, felt as inevitable and must be answered not by those who would short-circuit thinking and speak in behalf of all of us, not by the flame-broil of spin doctors and well-jacuzzied media hypnotists, and the appointed hosts of credentialled high priests of politics and similar corrupt Magi, but rather by far more quiet, sovereign, authentic acts of private individuals who heroically refuse giving up their right to think or interpret or vote to those whose very conspicuous power and easy confidence make the rest of us victims in the claws of a scorpion, blind in loyalty to unwholesome assumptions about what is important in human existence.

"No one can hesitate acknowledging, no one can doubt that the terrorist attacks were obviously directed toward mocking, degrading and annihilating the prestige of an inspired economic and often morally-vacuous torque which expresses, which  promulgates ferociously manipulative interests to which we, stroked till numb-drunk with thoughts of triumphal cannibalism of success, wealth, have become fast addicts, and confuse our addiction with belief, and so have come, at long last to prefer victory to beauty, the celebration of turf to the blessing of the whole.Were all this not true, then why the chronic outpour of ecstatic violence in our entertainment industry, or the premium, adorationally god-like salaries of our glowing gladatorial sports heros which we homage and in such genuflexion, make ourselve a nation willing to remain fast anaesthetized by heroism minus the homework of heroism, which is the sourcing of courage, which, truth to swell, truth to tell, makes of us all shameless, intellectually safely grazing sheep while the angels weep snow tears to wash away the bloodshed below, while war remains a synonym for necessity.

"Those who are devastated deserve compassion and warmth, which injected into the engulfing brutality of this catastrophic moment, Americans can nobly rise to source, to greet the dragons of the day. But now enter the other half of the perspective: For our response, for our bathe of mercy in this dark night to ultimately prove to be a source of its salvation, one must also in the wake of such work of healing, acknowledge that Justice is older, more mature than Mercy, and the law of "Goes round, comes round" will have the final say as the instrument of revelation. We must ask what have we done to deserve to be awakened by such murder. In what way has our corporate loyalty, our IV of monthly green that drip$ in this petty pace from day to day swept under the carpet many opportunities to address the harmonization of East and West, to seek out a spiritual chiropractic alignment of Wisdom to Tool-based cultures?

"This event is a reincarnation of the storming of the Bastille, of peasants who have been victimized by both literal and attitudinal machinery, made the voiceless subjects of an unidentified aristocracy. Peer down the dim tunnels of history, observing the centuries when Indians decimated by Priveleged Conquistadors, prepared the way for Manifest Destiny, for Lebensraum, for Palestineans being oppressed by Israelis. Observe how wounded pride, how it makes us all addicts scrambling without dignity or majesty to secure a place in the sun, how fattened it becomes, flooded with opportunity to employ instruments of murder purchased from factories which keep American and European economy thriving, how it perpetuates a grave injustice to something far greater, far more consequential than the success of an American Dream, how it militates against the evolution of a mankind created in God's image. It is more convenient for history to repeat itself, then to cut the circle and from it becoming Carpenters, with leaven of hope north to the future pulling, author a spiral.

"I think the third world war is the conflict between those who merely embrace religious, philosophical and humanistic omni-cultural ideals and those who climb uphill to practice them, between a well-credentialled Ghost God and his lip services, who with theoretical warmth massacres the human race by cliches of indifference, and those of us on an Ark, the survivors of the Ghost God, who daily birth an experience-able God within who honors the human dwellers of this planet with a destiny, rather than abandons it to a fate.

"And so Earlyfire suspects that this is the question which none of us are capable of murdering, the one which will not go away, the one which, depending upon whether we, as, individuals who refuse to rubber stamp another's judgment, become noble by an act of response, or, remaining below in sub-human squalor, become a terrorist by our reaction. Tis the stuff out of which either/or is sired, and once sired, like a child, must now be raised. And they asked again and he says all this, 'tis but a mild footnote to a Christmas Carol, perhaps sung, it will remain to be seen, by the tone deaf.

""As ye from crimes would pardoned be, let your indulgence set me free""


(9/21/01) terrorism and unconditional love

"Earlyfire, wait till it's midnight, then, backstage of the eyelashes, come forward: don't even whisper this, just think it on tiptoe)

"Love is present to coordinate the relationship between the presence of mercy and the workings of justice, between the Divine gift and Human choice, and so, by way of  honoring those to whom Choice is entrusted, whether they choose to exercise it wisely or not, for this reason, in honor of such distance, seems to refuse to absolve us who wield that sceptor,  of the course justice must take.

"Enter time, and so it comes to this: Justice is about revealing a relationship between decision and destiny, and like the Floorless Divine Scales of Libra upon which it is anchored, is about balancing conditionals which operate in process, and like seed and fruit, like ancestor and progeny, paired twins, intertwined Living Idea, is about circumstance which tutors the development of intuition,through whose stereoscopic third eye and sixth sense, we are enabled to see in, to develop in-sight into how every today is an After to yesterday's Before, to prophesy how every tomorrow's the "Not yet" to today's ongoing "Already".   Soft Sea of Mercy, unearned, is the gift of the possible, and dwells in abundance. Justice, what the possible becomes in the crow's nest of the ship of human intention, which descending into the concrete, like the Word made Flesh, finds its way down from dream into the real, becomes deed wrought by human hand.

"In this epic war of an ancient and a modern world view, between cultures which are the fruits of Greece, tool-gloved, and outward evolving, and the as yet unharvestable fruits of the Lands which Alexander the Great, Aristotle-tutored, through an inscrutably transcendent mystery which defies the egocentricity of conquest as a modality of influence, not allowed to overwhelm and transform into its image, and of the listening to establish the future conversation between Imagination and Concept much can be said. Now, however is not the time to discuss that which is wove into the role of Russia, and of those lands which lie East of Iron curtains and are, like the root races to come be concerned with the Archetypal personality of other Metals not our like, which share a scope and intent still for the most part hid. And so, to become more useful,  this tragedy makes it possible to initiate the nascent stirrings, the faint foreshadowings of what will grow into the achievement of dialogue leading to a harmony between the clash of interior strengths of religion-based cultures and the exterior adaptability and genius of the West.

"But have a second look into this Gem of Gem: Other polarities,  other facets contending for harmonization can fuel our imaginary powers, can assist us to visualize the reconciliation of other dualities, advarsarialities, a few of which are the achievement of balance between what is holy which streams upon the stage of the 21st century from devout and ritually incarcerated inflexible religious law aloof to individualized intervention, and the equally calcified redneck arrogance of the worship of competition-biased forms of ambition leading to a freedom for selected individual I-Am people and corporate entities, claimed as victories for all humanity yet achieved in the wake of a long scarred trail of sheer indifference to the interests of world Community. The path from "We" to "All" whether graceful and wondrous, or like the shattering of the asteroid belt concussed by the clash of invitation and refusal, depends upon Who tutors the I across the next chapter of time.

"All prophecy's lightly pencilled in. Perhaps now to risk more, to use ink, or to become Mesopotamian, and chisel a hieroglyph or two.

"In the economic sphere, Global initiatives of corporations which are nations minus the encumbrance of morality, and put another way, perform the subtraction, the detraction, the metaphysical math: Ambition equals Aspiration minus altruistic intent. So the third world war will prove that Western Culture with its NAPTHA agreement where a corporation can punish a nation for interfering with its right to make a profit, a single example of how we all better pray that Justice, which Earlyfire merely suggests is as much championed by the Christ as Unconditional Love,-  this sturdy algebra being in a nutshell the entire point,  - does not leave us all of us Alexanders, with our generation long Legacy of Western Death Tools sold to the highest bidder, as in, suppose we offend you with this imagination " Judas Iscariot is paid in oil barrels" -  standing on what we're standing for.

"But we have condemned enough: "O Freunde, nicht diese Tone!" How to move forward on sin, how to make good use of remorse, to rethink, to achieve Aristotle's Onegnoresis and Parepateia, recognition and reversal, how to turn tragedy around:

"And so imagine this: A third world war must be fought not to destroy lives but paradigms. Come, Earlyfire, you can do better than this! Not to destroy a no-longer-servicable paradigm which allows national identities to continue to remain on as atavistic metabolisms, as sterile empty players in the unfolding stream of world history. Not by any means, for nationality and patriotism, once the respectable conduits for onsided delivery of moral influence, viable in world counterpoint, now, have become upstaged by global corporate initiatives which are morally anaerobic and clandestine entities which have seized control of the media and transformed it into their own Pied Pipers for the promulgation of appetite-based fulfilments, and have convinced millions that the pleasure of such a pursuit, regardless of the expense to the third world, is possessed of an unchallengable momentum which no voice dare oppose.

"For this reason, and in the joyous recognition that we, anaesthetized by a gamut of stimulations on the spectrum of pastimes, sports, children's war toys to scandals, have tacitly allowed the maturation of a tragedy which lets desire function as 'spiritual power of attorney', now offer this: The Third World War will not be AGAINST a visible enemy, but  IN BEHALF OF the germination of an invisible rearising of a globally-scoped, intimate and epic and irreversible dimension of virtue. To fort-spin out the idea: Virtue capable of welcoming Michaelic aims which invite the germination of individuality at a new Round Table. The recurring pattern of hypnotic luciferic enchantment, and coercive Ahrimanic threat, of fire and frost, of advertising and martial law, the orchestration of star-spangled blowtorch dragon breath polarized by ruthless reptilian external-heat indifference to human compassion will all be devices of the past, archaeology which harks back to a no-longer existent age when a fledgling humanity had fallen chronic prey to a roller coaster of careening, imbalancing, decentralizing seductions. Compared to this new Dialogue, which promises, because those of us on the ark will guarantee by our silent oaths as knights to what is good, true and beautiful, to redeem the frailty of ourselves and others, will historians of the 22nd century will be compelled to regard the United Nations and International World Courts  as but ancestor infrastructures, frail of wisdom to conceive, love to harbor, and courage to manifest an emerging realization that the earth is one country and mankind its citizens.

"The rest's but a footnote to our tiptoe, putting on the brakes: As to the workings of justice, the child's first teeth are martyred when the second appear amidst swelling and furor and intolerable irritation. Just as in the process of biological labor, where one can hold a solemn funeral for the death of a placenta, or a celebration for the birth of the child, so also in the irreversible transformation of a world order, in which a moral inspiration and purpose which lives in what has been regarded as the gifts of human nobility can now arise in all corners of the globe, independent of the canopy of national identity, and so can, in the narrow isthmus of this Now, become experientially visible, and usable, it will be up to human beings to affirm, pursue and midwife omni-cultural sources of spiritual energy, which is identical to the wisdom which has and always shall underwrite religion, philosophy and art. It is not Alice who must pass through the looking glass from color, the sufferings of the rainbow, to find the seamless uninterrupted sea of light which shares itself equally into the crystal which fractures diversity, but, except as we become as young as she.........(Text breaks off here, turns faceless as a Waldorf Doll one can only imagine!) ;-D............

"<Hears: What is our role in making Justice as embracable as Love? Phlogiston, anyone?>"


(9/23/01) IndyMedia Israel, B92 Radio, Noam Chomsky,  "Sept 18th Inter...

"Recall three children singing the opening to act three of Mozart's Zauberflote.

"The Morning boldly dares to announce, the sun upon a golden path. Soon all superstition will disappear, soon the wise man achieves victory. Approach, O Sacred Silence, descend then from the Realms on High, and return once more into the hearts of men. Then the earth shall become the Kingdom of Heaven and mortals will become gods themselves."

"We are over 2000 years downstream of His Coming......Retaliation will postpone the descent, stave off the inevitable kindling of Conversation between the individual and the Christ within. Who knows this, knows that the war for the coordination of spiritual and economic priorities, achievable through dialogue between wisdom and will, always takes place in the City of Love, in heartspace.........

"As to villifying Noam Chomsky, whose spiked thought, choreographed with bladed metaphor which rips open the very ozone layer, he holds a point of view which many of us, in the name of clarity, rejoice to regard as mightily offensive, scarring and damning to that of the prevailing American populace which like safely grazing sheep, who rest assured in media-priested confidence, that wolves, Fenris and otherwise are but fictitious. Now it is easy to create a fable that corporations are altruistic, benevolent infrastructures, cathedrals of hope, paragons of virtue, champions of human joy, and hypnotized by such windfall gladatorial ecstasy, the rapture of triumphal obsession driven by the enslaving outmoded paradigm "all's fair in love and war" which dwells at the demonic root of the same religion of material cannibalism which inspired the Conquistadores, the Manifest Destiny which "legitimizes" the Decimation of the American Indians, the campaigns of Lebensraum, and now

Humiliation of the Palestineans, which, known by their fruits, rather than their PR, are doubtless decidedly Antichrist acts, indelible to overlook. Anyway, XXXXXXX, these are Choleric, not cosmetic times. To skim away slag metal requires conditions of volcanic intensity.There is no polite way for a second set of teeth to birth itself. The diamond, when asked of the secret of his success, responded 'tremendous heat and pressure'. But what he brought to light was not appreciated by those who, like devotees of the paralytic "History repeats itself", smugly expected him to remain black-boned as midnight, prefering prayers to the sourcing of unpopular alternatives to massacre. So also with us.

"Our government has allowed, has welcomed her corporations authoring abroad continuing Martian acts of malice and tyranny abroad year upon year, decade upon decade in the name of economic initiatives which with each passing campaign, operate more and more independently, aloof and immune to subjection to moral order. And so we say, Whoever among us who dares to equate the ownership of the initiatives of such corporations with the responsibility of American people, will gladly throw away his/her innocence, and ascend to the next rung of human responsibility which will enable us to honor the creation of Rights of Dialogue between Technology-based peoples and Religious-Focused cultures, in which the relationship between freedom and law is going to be rewritten on a spiritually-trustworthy, rather than a legally-coerced basis.

"The question is not whether Chomsky offends safely grazing sheep, but whether Justice is both offended by and therefore offensive to the Laissez Faire of Free Trade, which turns people into target markets, making them the vehicles for atavistic impulses which advocate honoring privelege and the entombment of a human race modelled under a crude food-chain hierarchy appropropriate to the animal kingdom. From this moment henceforth, one must ask, can a food-chain scaffolding, ever again be regarded as appropriate to sourcing, to inspiring human order which lives in the presence of spiritual priorities?

"What shred of any substantial moral fiber can be brought forth which can make any compelling distinction between the Imperialism and Jihad. Try as you might to launder this distinction, both are manifestations of insatiably deranged appetites, one to possess the resources of the world, the other to possess and preserve the loyalty of religious convictions. Both require aristocracies, both are slavery, one to the external, the other to interior mindset; both superimpose first, and listen later, or listen never. Both are unfree offenses. September 11th. Evening and morning a second day!

"When Philosophy recovers from the controversial rhetoric of charlatans which have replaced dialogue by policy, vulnerability by self-assertion, and agendas with the ability to see the other, it will become obvious to the waking that the term "Free trade" is an oxymoron. Freedom and Impulse are antonyms. Impulse wishes no element of perspective to intercept its blind swell of mandates, transform its intention or change its direction, and stamps itself upon people and nations. Freedom is a spiritual quality of achieving, an altruistic point of view which enables those who are free to author omni-cultural initiatives, which operate in the space where I, We and All are harmonized in utmost unrehearsed, trusting fellowship.

"As to Testosterone. When testosterone is elevated into pituitary regions, the serpent, always a symbol of wisdom in the Orient, is no longer villified, is, no longer fallen, no longer chauvinistic, i.e., subject to embrace in the Myth of the Western Fall, which is to say, no longer seductive, clandestine, no longer subject to limitations of intrigue and hidden agenda which mask true intent and spawn veneer and advertising,  but rather made sublime, Sublime-ated. And with such camphory gust of Alchemy, delivered in hollows of whenceless and witherless wind  threatening to elevate, we're suddenly transposed, back to Mozarts three voices, which we'll all listen for amidst the Melai massacres and the Dresden fire bombings, and the relapse of the labelling of people as enemies. Perhaps the Mothers against  Weapons Factories could dial up.......(Text breaks off here)

"And concludes from all of this, that  one kind of solar power is not enough, and that the Platinum Rule "Don't do unto others", is not nearly as unworkable as originally thought....................;-D  And a sea of Major chords to lightly wash tidal strum upon every beach, and at the shores of the distant stars and the branching places, and all voice unsturdies, and dissolves to dream, and backstage of eyelashes finds oasis."


(10/2/01) Crossroads

"It is great to hear you grappling, to see evidence of how crisis nourishes transformation. What you voice is widespread, and echoes in all of us, ripples out to the ends of the world. Ask the diamond how it was once for him, self-absorbed in the black soothe, drinking light and heat and returning nothing, and what hatched from all that, what heat and pressure came to change all that. So also with us, and with the world, where the civil war of Machines and Righteousness, between freedom and kneeling, between Need turned Greed and Holiness, now comes front and center and names the conflict between, the (up to now ) mutually-exclusive genres of boast of the First and the Third World as raw material, 'un-diamoned' charcol, pivotal to developing a luminous, thriving coexistence between East and West. The allies will not align with nations anymore, for the time of the molting of nationality, of its turning to husk, of the rendering of its relevance as merely ancestral to a new experientially-spiritually-recognizable unity of the Human Race, will no longer be postponed. What Intuition reads between lines what is indelible to mortal assault. Which bird do you know has permission to steer the wind?

"About those manuals, the rule books which define how we shall encounter, confront, embrace, transform death. There are none. Only people. The heart is a pen, blood, a flowing tale, and each of us, awakening, an author. Death can't be abstracted from circumstance. The intimacy between those who depart and their loved ones is integral to the mesh of the experience and the grief and hope, the letting go, the pierce of abandonment that kettle drums the rite of passage for those who ascend to Floorless Places and Haunts, the feeling orphaned and being left beneath in brief trap of mortal anchor, the entrusting of the unfinished dialogue, unauthored songs, and lost chords, to faith and the unfolding of Compassion is part of a karmic braid, whose threads are are a 'You' and an 'I' or a 'You and a 'We', and the third, a Voice of Living God to bridge the two, all individualized beyond all protocol or formula. "Then rest your head here, My Son".

"The very notion that there can be a correctness of interpretation, a window of acceptable response to the passing of an individual or a group seems a tyranny or a mockery, an implicit violation of what is destined to spontaneously arise in Sacred Heartspace. Never doubt this, that there are as many ways to say good-bye, to welcome with courage, even in breath of celebration the next chapter of relationship to the Ascended, to all Ascended across the river of stars, as there are mansions in my Father's House.

"So it becomes clear, that the Sea of Christ's Presence has come to dark earth so that Love can pour, Love the most original and miraculous of all acts can arise to answer, to unchill the most commonplace, the most unevadable and real act, Death. And Love, the Dissolver of Greyscale Stereotype, and of the Dungeon of "I Must", and the Redeemer of all Judgment, which scabs the River of Forgiving, does robustly, and with charm, with golden charm abounding. sources, midwifes like a prism does a rainbow, as many paths to Truth as there be people."


(10/2/01) Echoes and Ripples from Delphi and other Unannounced Places

(Apparition as Apparitif: Now it can be made suspected, perhaps even known: 'Tis Wonder, voice of undefined beyond, which fills the Holy Grail:

"Disarmed, unhinged by sudden encounter of Beethovenesque Sybil-rant, as rivals the screaming red-orange burst of leaves which, tarentelle-like, ferocious spawn most makeshift coda to the death of chlorophyll and all his fluorishing summer spree, let well-policed reason find himself far too young to resist, too childlike to corral such iridescent magic sear as here, from all artesian hollows follows, hosting in this most reckless slum, unscheduled tides of spark and lofty strum.

"It is but gust to thrill with devout uncanny chemistry, and debuts with strange and winged trajectory, and stealing inland of widest heaven, peasant-ragged in cindery words, hoboes his way to this mortal unkempt theater of makeshift magic on which we're but briefly docked.

"And make of all this unexpected Sea of Tears which in first morning light off the green riverbed of a trembling leaf arises, Dew: Then how to share such debut, into this dark roam of silence, to share such would-be legacy spectacular at best in the mind's crow's nest. And pray his thoughts die not a stillborn poem. Then further, Earlyfire, lay your grail aside, let wonder be dead, and in his sturdier stead pave your gusts, bolster them with tread, hand-carry, ferry them across the gulf which separates dreams from this world, and dressed up cunieformed in deeds, fast-twined in bind of restless atoms of unvolatile news, indent human events and wonder then, if they, grown solemn, made not nearly so fleet thus sublimely disguised, your apprentice psalms might find their way to the street..

"Thus round you unseen, careens our untame flame in dervish Sibyl-chant Dream on, dance on, and all that's inbetween, not one breath shall we



"Requiem on Foot

"First, that the dust of the skyscrapers shall be collected, and the hollow of September's sorrows made the the site of a potter's kiln which that shall become, in due time, an Eternal Flame, sister to the one at Arlington national cemetry and that throughout the course of this year, individuals who have lost friends and family in the events of September, will come to hand engrave the name of whoever was loved and here lost on wet clay, and fire it to sturdy stone,. Slowly a symphony of bricks each one composed of a slightly different hue would share the tale which now people have to bear in their thoughts....

"Perhaps 50 a day would be sourced at this Kiln's fire, given presence in stone, and there accumulate over the months, till all those who are missing have a mention. Around the graveyard of the towers these will these remain on watch throughout this year of mourning, while every day the names of those for whom bricks were fired on that day, shall be read aloud across national television, published in newspapers, and on a web-site as well.

"And as the number mounts so shall these serve to remind us to keep watch over, to remain close to those visible only to heart. But when a year has passed, and crisp bladed autumn has upstaged once more another summer of dreams, announcing the first anniversary of this tragedy, all of us shall commemorate the event, still fresh, by "an unveiling", a giant procession, in which all the families and friends of those who  died, and anyone else who wishes gather at the rubble, there to rehonor them. Work will be suspended for a given hour on that day, and New York will become silent.  All will slowly walk north in a memorial procession into Central Park. So shall it be, that along one of its familiar paths or upon an altogether new one along which a short wall already cemented winds, each brick will be hand inlayed on top, mortered by friends and family, each surfacing a foot upon a road of hope.

"Thus what has fallen from the sky and relies upon human hands to rebuild, is now evidence by our care care and devotion, and finding suitable response to the invitations and responsibilities of love, forwards their memory live into today's purposes, enabling future generations to able to walk and contemplate what happened here, and share in small measure the presence of those who now rest. And Labor day will be relocated to the 11th of September to celebrate the commemoration. An appropriate outdoor service or a concert will punctuate the event...................

"As to the remaining dust from the skyscrapers, let it be be fired into glass globes of lanterns, and every year hence, a night vigil shall be commence, with these lanterns rekindled, like we, in borrowed light from the second eternal flame, and carried north once more in a ceremony there to glow resting atop the bricks.

"When Death make us floorless, Innocence becomes Wings."


(10/9/01) dog soldiers too

"The archetype of the Warrior is a Romantic Ideal, most untrivial , something we ought not to mock, martyr and trash in an unmarked pauper's grave. For the problem is not in living the life of Beethoven, of being Orange Torchlight, Courage incarnate, ambassador of fierce and rare virtue evidencing the power of deathless awe in pour and leap of unbridled leonine majesty. None of this energy, the very antidote and redemption to all sad, emaciated intellectual abstraction, and chill reptilian arrogance alike, presents a problem to those who would freelance the wilds and balance the orbits of the planets and the lives of men and nations, and fine tune the songs of birds in flight and bearing witness to the dialogue between the wind and the leaves, wear the Crown of Thorns.

"Yet Twixt the steep of ancient loyalty, of being drowned in sea-soothe of reverence and all his royal entourage of sacred obligations, which blankets us in centuries of sleep ere we bladed rose, punctuated in sorry exile and airy knowledge to earn our leap of freedom, we must learn to rescind everything which holds intellectual and moral power of attorney over us, that loyalty may find his way to principles. I am afraid to say, I am delighted to say, Knighthood, the door to noble initiation which confers the power to honor, then to understand and finally mete out the workings of justice, is voiced in frost of solitude. And thinks this thought and rides it to shore: Patriotism is the ancestor, freedom the heir apparent. 'Twixt the two, terror, and warm Love to answer. (Voice can only travel so far on horseback, before his very words dissolve into fresh wind, like flame rises north into dream)

"In his first period Beethoven, spearless, wingless, armed with just devotion, imitated the classical style."


(10/9/01) Loyalty's Optometrist is a Metaphysician

"Expanding a bit on yesterday's post. Courage is unrehearsed process: When Justice forgets how to read between the lines, he puts cushions in cathedral floors, hires kneeling scribes, declares kneeling synonymous with humility, and soon laws are born, and the pure swift rivers of the Voice of Intuition, arteriosclerosed in vocabulary and precedents, are reduced to whisper and crippled with apology. Soon, wine and wafer appear, but little more than lackluster magic there, and a scant few centuries later, pharmacological panaceas replace them, and messiah the countryside: A drugstore in every market. Not by bread alone. So at last, Noble Intuition, the Lazarus factor which lifts us out of the sepuchres of our gilded and professional vanities, spokeswoman for Sophia Herself, has been martyred yet again, as first by arrogance of external authority, who heavy-handed, would cramp the Emerging Christ within, now by shiek blinking lights that embellish the Tree of Life beyond all recognition, and the nitrous oxide of convenience. A syndicated rerun of 868,  when the nascent humanity of  the West is turned into a headless horseman, defrocked, dogma-numbed of access to intercourse with the gods, and intimidated by the unwritten law of AhrRomanic Catholic Martial Law, by edicts sweetly delivered in flowing designer cobra-hoods, jewelled and Draculesque crimson papal robes never worthy disciples of any wind ever John spoke of; and so the West is made nocturnal, blood-thirsty, clandestine with hidden agenda, hid, bunkered behind his magic machines, flooded with mockery, made conquistadorial for manifest destiny and the decimation of the Saturn race, made Supermen, priveleged to lebensraum. To know all this, to plan on answering it. No wonder Morya says, "the suffering of a decade is crowded into each day in the lives of the Chosen Ones. Better a full cup of grief than a life of mild sadness".

"Not to be surprised, nor dismayed, though, "Pardon gentles all, the flat unraised spirits that hath dared on this unworthy scaffold to bring forth so great an object " (Henry V), again, not to be nihilized, ground to powder, for this unrivalled age in which the energies and perspective of assess, caress and reverse the extent of thousands of years of interior collateral damage we have authored by oblivion, by our crimes against spontaniety, crimes against listening, crimes against touch and unconditional embrace.

"XXXXXXXXX's posts upon the integrity of intimacy in Moslem culture and the trustworthiness presupposed and required to maintain the resonance, to live within authentic relationship, defines the joyous challenge of the ascent back in Western culture, from alienatingly insulting, 'merely credentialized'  forms of human encounter prefaced, pocked and barriered with titles, and labels, and denominations of wallet-friendly, profession-hawking identity, back to full recovery of inner plane rapport, all our wars laundered, washed away in good will. As if, reading between the lines, one hears: Inspired is more practical than strategic. Purify the intent, and the deeds will follow.

"For on pondering the exalting infrastructure of Moslem community, and inviting upon ourselves requirements of seeing into the heart of the other, it occurs to Earlyfire that were we interested in being able to look into the countenance of our anonymous brothers and sisters who share yet leave no tread upon our teeming sidewalks, the interior paths they walk, the doors to the thoughts and feelings they source would be flung open in our faces, and the apprentice angel straight-jacked in mortal ritual would reveal their identity, and from such strum and thrill, one can easily distinguish as a gemmaker does glass from diamond, or a metallurgist, gold from brass, or lovers Chemistry from chemistry, whether they possess a pure, kindly and radient heart, or are steeped, remote with agendas of boast, chill and sabotage. So this is what the Moslem world has to teach the West, the dialogue which defuses the imperial land-mines which indwell the heart of ambition and vanity, which clothe every Anakin Once-Skywalker with black garb which trades vulnerability for the falsely-human path "I am a force to be reckoned with", I am the CEO, a stainless steel Christ, armed, made ruthless with perks, bow with desire before my mechanical blessings. So there you have the virulent, hypnotic fire of the dragon hacking right into our faces, what we, who wish to become Grail initiates, are dealing with, yes, and the latitude and longitude of his lair as well, visible in any, in every mirror! About the term catharsis, the de-slagging, the skimming off of the molton impure metals surfacing under such raging, brutal times as these, when there is great heat and pressure in the human cauldron, we acknowledge this cauldron is the ancestor of the Grail itself. But catharsis, strange to say is born of an Arabic term 'Kawthar', meaning "pure spring". Earlyfire, youngest grasshopper, learn from this, but no need to kneel, for the time of the Inquisition is past. You are now old enough to recognize that placing your knees to the floor cannot possibly add any substantial significance to the distance between the floor and the sky, which makes a good fashion statement, wondrous closing argument which very handsomely rests his case for the existence of something we easily forget, a gulf between Man and God. Then be safe, exhale. Love makes better stronghold than enchantment."


(10/11/01) voice of an american

"The phenomenology of oblivion might be a better subject for what follows:

"XXXXXX's Jack-the-Ripper letter, sports an almost "refreshing degree of malice" steeped in, reveling in, hawking and bragging unbridled intolerance as if such defiance were a heroism noble and laudable,in front of which all humanity kneeling, must homage as a source of strength. But the opposite is true: It is callous arrogance and such retaliative gusts as isolate one person or nation from access to the other, and create barriers to intimacy, the rapport necessary to nurture and achieve holiness in relationship, offer no honorable or useful antidote against absurdity, or any slings and arrows of any outrageous fortune.

"Archetypally Klingon, its hostile carbon-arc glare brings to the fore and defines an interesting eccentric genre of self-expression, which henceforth shall be called "Redneck Ecstasy". Here, we actually get to witness the unadulterated simplistic kneejerk which lives in compassion-anaerobic climates claustrophobically pedestaled upon will-based headless-horseman a-cultural mindsets, such as 'Reflection-optional', 'wisdom optional', 'mercy-optional' (and reminds himself: Loyalty to self-absorption does not a Dog-Warrior make.)

"No question there is some recreational turbulance here, a macabre emotional rollercoaster ride, but the maturity level of that adolescent Jihad, with its intent to beat the shit out of the golden-calf worshippers is showing: The official breatholizer test results are in fresh from Sinai, XXXXXX's Charlton Heston "NRA blood-level" is way up and over the moral limit of self-infatuation. Like everyone else who falls out of evolution through such paralysis, this man, unable to find wholesome work, will have simply have to become a parasite off captive audiences.

"What's dangerous about such sheik, raw, suffocating diatribe is that it's inspired."


(10/15/01) Sea Of Love

"All red lights have been declared illegal until further notice. Abandon all 911, ye who read on, this is Scherzo, tapdancing lightning, which when it strikes your sidewalks, strews banana-peels everywhere.....

"Hello, Ms. M's-chief!

I love you too

"First, to get right down to spass, Have some newly-hatched pounding popcorn, metaphysical punctuation guaranteed calorie and cholesterol-free, fresh from the Anthroposophical Microwave's carnivalesque menagerie! In the ongoing "war" between miraculous and meticulous, Meticulous Spiritual Scientific research reveals that it is strongly, perhaps even dogmatically believed, and if not believed, then downright strongly asserted that each golden, asymetrical, tooth-crushable, gnome-liberating buttery kernel has, tutured by the excellent snowflake diamond-cutter, a precise and uniquely unduplicatable shape, a serial number with a highly-prized gravity-laden astrological meaning, inscribed in parchment wrapped in red-laced velour string, till a nasty Iowan sorceror cast the Orville Redenbacher spell upon it, and henceforth permeated by verbal nitrous oxide whose traces persist 'even unto this day', it burst its sorry seams, and wanders freelance, awaiting the hungry, awaiting you. And so in reverence, I hand over to you this bowl of Goetheanum-Authorized Laughter nobly wear-dated to read "best when experienced immediately or sooner"; its sole claim to fame if not virtue being that it tastes every bit as delicious as its invisible older anglic non-consumnable sister, Rapture, which, according to the most Akashic-fluent Spiritual Scientists, lives, more reverently, drill sargeant,==> "D W  E    L     L     S" in the incredibly-shrinking Ozone Layer.

"It's Zunday night; we are dropping off our little three-month-old "Little Lead Baby", known affectionally in these parts as Doctor "Solemn", yep, ruthlessly dropping him off at Nightcare, and suddenly erasing the latitude and longitude lines all over the globe, so as to develop a convenient Amnesia. Verify for yourselves! Simply Buy and launch a satellite and go hunting for the grid that slices our little navigations into well-numbered portion-controlled searingly sharp lines of north and south compass and swerve. And peering into your TV's through the magnetic eye of yon satellite, Look down upon the green globe, this brave Zunday -  What did I tell you? Just as the wind is my eraser, and lyric poetry his tarnhelm, look far and wide: All latitude and longitude lines utterly vanished, as invisible as an abstraction. The North star has gone on vacation, all compasses pirhouette-like curtsy in confusion, Indeed. And were I not an experienced Zbiritual Skyientist, I would, in panic begin concluding that everything has suddenly become mysterious, undefinable, sacred, touchable. Then Cradle my little baby, Dr.Solemn; hold him safe in unsurpassed majesty,  O' Seamless, Ancient Unplural Lord of Awe Most August and Undivided , and thrill your young human race, Lord of Wine, Woman and Song, who creates Ted Nugent and Osama bin Laden out of the same Love as the rest of us...............For Evil is Good gone undercover.

"So Dr. Solemn, our three month old, as we so meticulously documented, is now abandoned to various buoyant gurgling bubble-gum-chewing sprites none carrying the official Hierarchy-Id cards - for these 'unfortunately' disappeared along with the latitude and longitude amnesia.  Cheer up, though, in a brief century or two, when the sun rises again, and the Unkempt Thrill of bladed clarity de-gausses our monitors of all Atlantean Blur and Mist, when, as the prophecys inform us, latitude and longitude lines rise again and we recover our bearings, and the world is made safe for concrete vocabulary, we'll fetch him back from Nightcare, and can start spit-shining our precision. Till then, behold the fluttering of Pteridactyl wings rippling in the ancient air, and the smell of silver wine, tutored by the glow and the swoon of the lover's moon. We'll leave little Doctor Solemn with the little elves till, caressed by smiles, he's turns a little more casual, giddy, and forgets to spell, he misplaces all his barbed-wire consonants, and clinically iniebrated, morphs into an unsturdy, volatile, swirling Sea of Vowels, as well-choreographed as any dream ever gets.

"And when we see him next, the little children will have stunted, grated down the entire contents of many a box of Milton Bradley Astral Crayons, putting the spunk back in his complexion, color in Joseph's Coat of many Grayscales, and leap and spark and strum in his trampoline. For Its vacation time from the Hour of Ponder. Welcome to the tongues of tide slurping up on your white ivory beaches. Please have your exhale tickets or reincarnation free-float passes ready for gentle punching when the conductor, Walt Steiner-Disney passes your way.......


"And so ends our Zunday gust, of Seraphim, Cherubim and Cartoons, disguised as tale: It was authored by Zing Arthur, you know, the softer-consonanted and alleged younger brother of the illustrious and awesome and altogether chivalrous keeper of Camelot who was the Divine Lense of the Arising of the Dew-drops of love, when chivalry, noble camphor-cool chivalry, noble as winter snow, placed limitations upon the sweet fire of romance.

"Thus, the Keeper of Nightcare sayeth: It is easier to swim in the Sea of Love than to see it.

"As for the spidery forms, one more of Orville's buttery kernals: Joy is outgoing, releasing, moving from the center to the periphery. Arachne's Web, the Minotaur's Maze, entangling, entrapping drawing from the outside inward. This explains 'perfectly adequately' ;-D, ...........why the spider is repelled by laughter. Legend has it that in the ancient times, before the Word was robed in flesh, when the unassembled Periodic Table of the Elements was just an unriveted kit without an instruction guide, times when the Sea of Laughter was too young to be heard in anchored places, he was a gleam haunting, charming the halo of children. And this, I suppose, perhaps even imagine, is but one of the recipies from Zing Arthur's calorie and cholesterol-free book of robust sound bytes."


(10/30/01) A Trance-Sylvanian Gust for the Halloween Full Moon

"Being a permutation of what was intended to be a 'Tranquil-Vanian" variation of same: (being one of the chapters of a little-known driftwood, now debuting upon your shore, entitled, "The Psalm-Pilot Journeys of the Part-Time King David")

"Dear Friends: What follows, though not necessarily rhetorical is Spass, Seasonal Trick-or-Treat: Any attempt to regard it as anything other than 'Poetically-Licensed Gust', is purely intentional only on an allegorical level........


"So imagine this little self-spun article I never read in the Occult National Enquirer. I've shrunk myself down to sub-leprechan scale, and, riding horseback upon a cricket, on a romp, a buoyant, rhapsodic, "strum-thrill romp" through the Sherwood Forest most uncartesian sector of the Elysian fields, spot through the grass, an Implike-scaled, - please, I beg of you by all that is Milk-white, lofty and upward-rising, -  do not think this oxymoron - a "Very Young Rudolf Steiner", recreationally smirking, brandishing a miniature slingshot, ethereally

whispering "Take this, Goliath", who then fires off a tiny lead pebble at a hovering butterfly, obviously preparing to dock for an ecstatic moment's sip at upon the nearby hypnotic perfume-wreathed silk-surfaced crimson-petalled lips of a wondrous flower, curtseying like a Eurythmically undulating pastel scarf kneeling in a mild zephyr. NO, do not light up a cigarette yet.  "Awe-struck, I felt it my Germanic Duty, (- risking the use of capital letters, hope xxx xxxxx doesn't find out -), disembarking my cricket, and loosely tying him with a few modest twists of a blade of grass to the stem of the flower, I snuck up on RS, and balloon-like, resized myself to comparable stature, and boldly shouted, "Stop ravishing the Butterfly this moment! You're a noble sage" RS retorted, "Thats just the half of it. All which made me noble I learned sitting crosslegged upon one of the stools while conversing, of course, altogether reverently, - check the spiritual scientific research, yes, trust me, as verily akasha is my witness - with yes, Christ the Bartender: Now his expression changes, becomes unperplexed. I notice dirt under his Anthroposophic finger-nails. "However it was from Mary Magdelena that I learned to flirt. You see, you can't spend your whole life, Harvey, my little Marco Polo saddled up upon a Grasshopper just IN-haling. Once in a while, it helps to fall prey to a caress. "

"Truth to tell, If I had made beauty as important as knowledge, touch as important an orchestration as thinking is a process, blessing as important as awareness, I would have been able to create parallels between the way Art and Spiritual Science unfold, and ideas would become\ journeys rather than dead worshipped artifacts in the Goetheanum's pantries. Oh, and finally - I could have found robust friends to converse with both in this world and the one to come, rather than amassed a congregation to guard my 6000 lectures of second-hand

inventory effectively preventing them from becoming the means to access acts of creativity and awe courage which author them and all original gust.  "Just at that moment, the ferociously-fired stone, which, during what seemed an unusually, in fact, downright interminably long slow-motion trajectory...............;-D ............had, ---   unbelievable as it sounds, --- turned enroute into a perfectly round golden bead, this golden sphere then reached its target, and the Butterfly, struck with said mad flirt, began convulsing with such intense jello-like seismically-significant laughter  as rendered it completely out of control; right before my eyes, she compulsively shape shifted back into Mary Magdelena, who whispered to me "Joy is a special wisdom". And some say her ascended native shape, in that most awesome mapless quadrant, of the Platonic Equivalent of Sherwood Forest nook and cranny of the Elysian Fields, was that of a rainbow, while others insist that if such were indeed the case, spiritual scientific research would be able to confirm that it was indeed a coiled, serpentine, mysterious, elusive rainbow, voiced in swerve, sinewed with mobility akin to the freelance Northern Lights.

"Yes this is one of Earlyfire's unpublished Dead-Sea-Fairytales: Later, back at the OK Corral, where the Gunfight between Lazarus, St. Germain, Christian Rosenkreutz, Count Ragoszy of Transylvania who reincarnated as Osama Bin Laden, takes place within earshpt of the Bartender, on a clear day you can see Him fill up RS's ginger ale, and murmering slightly above the fizz and spin He confides: Mary, my Prodigal Daughter, Now you know why she's the One I so love!"


(10/17/01) Not Giving up.

"Excellent thoughts, xxxxxx.........

"Longevity often equates to simplicity. Bacon, in the preface to  The New Atlantis, puts in King Solomon's Mouth "All novelty is oblivion: There is nothing new under the sun." Yet, as the poet Blake says in The Marraige of Heaven and Hell, "Eternity is in love with the works of time". And these two, crisscrossing at the right angle, define the human crucifix, the Vertical and the Horizontal which has been spoken of.

"Mahayana Buddhism, which prefers to define the chapters of unfolding process as Mavantara, caused by different degrees of entanglement of Porusha, Spirit, (Listen! sounds like "porous rush", like wind, the default term for spirit in Hebrew, and in those John mentions are born of wind) -  Porush entangling, weaving into the workings of Prakriti, Nature (Prakriti, sounds like practical, pragmatic), duality which inspires Steiner to anchor all of Anthroposophy upon Man, the fulcrum where Freedom and Necessity and embracing, and for better and worse, make for mortal marraige and immortal promise.

"So how shall we, on the Ark, delight to do likewise. That part of us which is vertical, and seer, and to each of us a crystal ball with three echoes of seed-kernal energy germinating, outward rippling: Jupiter, Venus, Vulcan,  imagination to see, inspiration to hear, intuition to touch into. How shall we, gypsies on this Ark and old as cactus at this juncture of time, address our conversations so that what unfolds from them refuses just to begin with words and end with words? For if eternity is in love with the workings of time, if the horizontal and the vertical are to be Divinely, Nobly, Alchymically wed, than inspiration must, like a step-down chakric transformer, suffer a voice change (into something rich and strange) and clothe itself in baritone will, and all our fair and pastel dreams must grow bark and claw and fang and hoof, and become metaphysically seaworthy, perhaps developing what we do not yet have, a steadfastness which creates footsteps to prove that we as a group, have become interested in leaving some tread upon the beach, all this, regardless of what be the initiatives of the Tide.

"Do we leave JFK's and MLK's Camelot brickless flutter? Do we remain Rapunzel's Essene Ivory Tower, while all around us the world is flooded with Retaliatory Lunacy, when we, for the price of testing out how well the horizontal and vertical rafters make us their rivets, can become a voice, a global voice which reveals how to initiative the dialogue we have all been waiting for. It is a jewel with many surfaces, such as the handshaking between Christianity and Islam, the Modern and the Ancient, the Shephards and the Technological Magi, the Rugged Individualist and the Sacred Community, the Devotion to ideals and the slavery to machinery and to pleasure, all these are permutations flooded by one light, and we who know something about how to harmonize, authors of coexistence between, and the reconciliation of polar opposites. And imitate the reconciliation of the vertical and the horizontal.

"If there is to be kindled serious thought with shelf-life which endures and transforms itself into deeds, which can be sourced through our dialogues here on the Ark, we might wish, as a group to hold ourselves accountable, rather than be Hermetic and Elusive Essenes. So: How to make of our discussions initiatives which can feed the world, to turn the word to flesh, to imitate Christ, rather than merely to marvel at His presence. To move from ghostlike blueprints to fiery resolves which confront the dragons of the day in the vocabulary, in the medium of intellectual currency in which communication is being sourced, and so create metaphysical anchor here, south of the sky.

"Therefore, an old Pythagorean ratio: Wisdom is to Thought as Inspiration is to Feeling as Courage is to Deeds."


(10/23/01) Ark self-help

"If there is a possible flaw in the existence of the Ark, it is in our refusal as responsibly esoterically-scoped and connected people to champion, to require of ourselves the sourcing of initiatives which put to the test the beauty, wisdom and inspiration here sourced into the crucible of the world.

"Hamlet, as we ourselves several centuries later, can never have a problem with the "Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fantasy". Fantasy, imagination which is turned inward and in narcicissm's plastic Kubla-Kahn bubble hermetically battle-free, indulging "Most Favored Experiential Status" seeking oasis from the perils of circumstance, does make us all like the Essene communities gone before us, privileged in our isolation from risk-taking. And by such failure to source a voice which desires to encounter and do battle with the Demons of the Day, we very much injustice the Michaelic Hierarchies, who are waiting to knight who wishes to champion the transformation of the world. Kama Loka is not only about what you did, but about the crimes of oblivion and spiritual laziness, the unborn "what you could have done", the bearing of the consequences of trashed opportunity.

"Consider the myriad phobias, superstitions which ravage the world today, and ask yourselves one and all, if our conversations begin with words and fail to end in deeds, how can we dare call ourselves the advocates of threefolding,. In surround THX sweep, issues of formularistic coagulation and metronomic conveyor-belt thinking abound: Redneck, Fundamentalism, the torquing of education into polite intuitionless recipied stainless-steel Norms-based testing, and on the other hand, the arsenal of Luciferic ADHD-blowtorch as well: Compulsive obsession with scandal, feeding frenzy born of Deranged-enchantment, issues of the equation of Justice with Payback/Retaliation, our tragically oblivious defiance of the necessity of authoring spiritual solutions to economic problems, our Hypnotic enchantment with SUV's,  the continued applause for the honoring of the term "Target Market", the employment of Christianity as an anaesthetic to justify a world-view devout with pathological embrace of triumphal gladiatorial forms of charisma which confuses and installs Thrill as a state Religion.

"If the Ark were to assume some social responsibility for focusing the collective wisdom and inspiration of its members, and dock on human shores, go inland and armed with Excalibur, take the risk of challenging society to embrace a turnaround of paradigms, and sourcing an international, omnicultural community voiced in some external entity such as the Anthroposophic equivalent of the Christian-Science Monitor, including which are Native-American and Aboriginal voices, Perspectives from Eastern Europe, Tibet, and the like, you can be sure that we would never lack for closure in our endeavor. What Atlas carries is not filled with helium, but has, and must endure weight. Can we source gravity-free conversations which begin with words and end with words after the Skyscrapers are turned to dust? Is there such a such a thing as a theoretical response to human suffering?

"Therefore what Earlyfire wishes to connect regarding Santa Fe xxxxxx of Mozart's Garage's objections to  the shortcomings in closure, which one dares infer both he and I believe ought to be a source of irritation not to either of us personally, but to ANYONE who wishes to honor threefolding in general, is that a discussion group which is interested in operating out of wisdom and feeling, out of cognitive and heart-space, but not will-focus, lacks a "mundane factory outlet" in the real world, where Anthroposophical influence capable of outpouring transformative optimism and scope to a transition to new paradigms is being WITHHELD from  the challenge of finding the focus and courage to commit to inspiring world-change. We can continue to enjoy Essene-like choir-like isolatory sanctuary, and though not malicious, nonetheless in such tacit refusal to source initiatives which engage rather than evade the Dragons in the World-Furnace, scandal and dogma and the obviously atavistic church-state sacred cow against which authoring of experientiable spirituality ought to be poised ready to dismantle and dissolve, will continue to hold sway in world thinking.

"Steiner speaks of how Christianity is capable of addressing the most sophisticated needs of the Magi, and the simplest scope of the shephards. To carry this one step forward, each human being must find the means, if he/she is to recreate the New Lazarus, to source the Grail Initiation, to be simultaneously both Sage and the Peasant, the Head and Hands, in perfect equilibrium, heart, i.e., Christ-fulcrumed. Read between the lines: In this age Rudolf Steiner must walk out of the Goetheanum, and abandoning his box of pastel crayons, become like Martin Luther King, and march on Washington, else you have sumptuous Group-throw-posophy rather than Mankind.

"But it is OK. It is easier to be swaddled in dream than to listen to bladed words. We have placed each of you in a wicker basket and send you downstream on the Nile. And therefore be not surprised to discover there is absolutely nothing wrong in imagining that a single tap of one's staff upon a distant rock will one day bring forth Manna-flavored Orange Julius."


(11/8/01) Pray for Steiner

""As the leaves are the ambassadors of the wind, as snow is the messenger of the cold, so is the word but the dust from the breath of a creative thought" Morya

"So, first off, to paraphrase JFK's "Turnaround Paradigm", unsuspected as useful, worthy, essential to the embrace of every idea, allegiance, theater of opportunity and suffering, garden of beauty, mountain-climb of challenge, breath of aspiration and detachment from mortal perspective, and bring it home here, where we all live, in the chamber music of interior thoughts which are as wind, and find their way to the masts and the sails that hang from them, sails which are the ears of the hierarchies, and we their lullabyes, through which They rest easy, that His will be done in corporeal climates, inaccessible directly to them.

"And to recognize that since RS mentions often that Christ is not a world-teacher, He is a world doer, paraphrase, decamuoflage JFK's occult invitation, here, within the four wallless walls of the society and the class. "Ask not what Anthroposophy can do for you but what you can do for Anthroposophia." Note the shift. Anthroposophy is a collection of thoughts, presumed, that is, as we, as if we, briefly borrowing the Eyes of God see them, potentially living, but like Snow-White, her voice paralyzed, her wakefulness numbed, entombed by a witch's enchanted apple looking out and up, eyes wide shut through a glass coffin, we, warm her, wake her. Sleeping Beauty, that most untheoretical Mary Magdelene within, who comes to life thriving, and vibrant redeems all chauvinism and dissolves forever the basis of any, of all, and upon a grain of Mustard Seed, of all future war which is predicated on the conquistadorial male model, imbalanced blade without grail, and so we become like Christ, doers, and then Anthroposophy is, like Sara, renamed, reborn, morphed, transfigured to Anthroposophia, and fed, not by frail words, mere promse, but deeds on credit, but by throb of most unimaginary acts which leave treadmarks on sturdy bronze earth as well as in pearl gleam of akasha, we can at last, on our dancing day, say, as sung each Christmas, "This have I done for my true love!"

"Thus it is, we must be able to ask at the dawn of every day, "How may I redeem my own inertia, that is, recover from the enchantment of having been lifted into Divine realms through what RS gives out, and in what ways shall we continue his work?" And not to fear using the present tense when describing our relationship to the work RS has given, and by bravely daring consider that much of it is deliberately incomplete, to honor us with purpose, and to know that the greatest part of the Legacy which he has left behind for the living, is the invitation to operate not out of guilt or necessity, or out of debt but out of joy. For what Lucifer bestows as Freedom, the Christ within cleanses, elevates, makes to sparkle, and so we say again, what arose in rebellion, now must be redeemed in joy. Joy. The Savior of Freedom.

"Therefore, it is Buoyant Joy which, within our acts as well as our dreams and thoughts, ANSWER, the waxing- solemn, the weight of bearing the Crown of Thorns. And whoever postpones the invitition to marvel at the last verse, with its still-dry ink from the Book of Revelation, scarce 2000 years old "For the former things have passed away", should be aware of the fact that He may, though infinite His Sea of Mercy, may nonetheless hold us, we who allege to be John's transfigured Disciples of Wind, born not of the Flesh, etc,  accountable for our procrasination."

"So these are Earlyfires leaves, and Snow, and they ride horseback upon fists of wind, and, such being our financial state, are shipped second-day priority, and delivered to the sails, your ears, which carbon-spined, upright sit  upon masts of vertical bone which populate us still of mortal ambience, with semblance of stature and lofty lift. ;-D

"Then try this freelance gust of thought on for size", and let it be dessert, like the last word itself: "Then come quickly, Lord Jesus" means: Be like lilies, toil not, worry not about RS's plight, and continue not to don similar Medieval Iron Maidens which Batlike, frock priests in caves of Hell-Robed thoughts designed to mock the flight of angels and distract you from sipping the laughter of the elementals.

"Our wine's poured. Drink not too much, lest you end up enchanted, skyword peering, as aforementioned, through a windshield of a coffin, awaiting "Knowledge of Prince Charming, How is He Conjured?"

"(Exit backstage, Bornfield, and whisper: Lord of the Elements, of the Lost, and the Awakening, forgive us our love for encryption and mythology, and for smuggling Golden Ages across the Threshold in carry-on luggage and for dissolving ideas in seas of dreams, and by power of grin alone, loosing every anchor on green earth.)""


(11/9/01) More on WC and Steiner attacks

"The WCO, located in cyber-Afghanistan, is indeed the 21st century Lion's Den boot camp for all aspiring initiates, saints, prophets, and more importantly than all of these flavors of nobility, human beings. Here you will find puppets with fangs, the Orphaned, Faceless and Betrayed, the vastly Recycled and yet UnReborn, the Raw, Ferocious and Mad, those who inhabit the snowy continental divide between erudition and arrogance, far above the treeline of nurture. But Now to leave our autumnally flaming orchestra at day care, descend from ether, and try our hand with discourse.

"XXXX, I agree with your observations, regarding our vulnerability as advocates of love and light,  mercy and tolerance to the carni-voracious overtures of those who make Klingon Ambience their highest priority, and conceal it in grandmother's white bonnets.  We all need to reread little Red Riding Hood. Said again, we are lucky if we know enough to applaud a stance which regards the pursuit of wisdom as an overture, an unblemished gesture to an outreaching act of invitation, and observe that those who are not lucky are often angry, and bear ongoing, evidence of heavy-handed karmic grudge languaged in a thousand issues, concealed in politics and controversy, as though dealing with the epicenters of conflict redeem the sources of human discontent and malaise, which is remoteness from access to wisdom above, beauty within and courage below. To crusade, to aspire to offer, to present philosophy as a simple act of welcoming the approach to human perspective, and in so doing to risk scathe and subtle forms of intellectual martyrdom in the act of creating the alternative devoutly to be wished, to all those who continue to wish to superimpose points of view which launder a craving for dominance, lying by presenting it as altruistic in scope, noble in intent, pure, untorqued, of guileless, virgin motive, this is what we do with Excalibur.

"Possessive, entrenched points of view promulgated through argument, hawked through clever and labyrinthine and convoluted strangleholds of so called 'Rational Proof', enjoy far too wide a circle of applause and credentiallized acclaim in this, our gladatorially-obsessed western culture where triumph challenges truth for "most-favored Prime Directive status", and in so doing mars the Divine signal-to-noise ratio, deafening the experience of self-evidencing, with seduction and skirmish, advertisement and policy.  One looks around, in THX surround-sweep: Everywhere at universities and schools, which have been made the whores in the herim of the Salary Overlord, one sees evidence of advanced metastatic spiritual degradation in culture, beholds cloaked in Darth and Batman's B.A, M.A and Ph.D. dark priestly robes, vampire-crimson-lined, a bureaucracy of cowards who authorize such flatline lunacy in the name of higher-education, all off on a wild-goose chase for pharmacological messiahs and panaceas, as though a caress from Prince Charming now legally equates to a prescription to avenge, antibiotic-like, a chaos of voiceless, terrorist bacteria. We are constantly molested by this boredom, and our blood made to boil with this tragedy. Ask your doctor if war is right for you. Side effects include laryngitis of dialogue, back-burnering of hope.......

"So we discover that our acknowledgement, respect for and alignment to the wisdom of Steiner's remark that Christ uses no coercion whatever, places limitations upon the degree to which internally corroborated intuition can be "presented", "packaged", "marketed", "made appealing", "made believable" to those who equate time and time again intuition to belief, insight to opinion, and thus blurred, find no discernable axis of crossover between what is subjectively arising and what is but personal, owned. In a certain sense, the very associating of the emerging probe-talents of metaphysical-stethescoping, or modern-day-water-witching to realms of non-allegorically impregnable concepts and metaphors insults the integrity, literalizes the scope of spiritual-scientific-investigation, and fills one with recoil!

"Having spent, as many of us here, several months being bathed in the addictive mockery of the motley WCO, whose members range in level of emotional maturity somewhere on the spectrum of "sincerely discenchanted", to "woefully-malicious", Earlyfire has noticed one common ferocious umbilical cord wrapped round each one of their necks, and this is an implicit unspoken collective terror at even the CONTEMPLATION that there is indeed an 'experientiable' self-inspired accountable spiritual path which implies human participation. Heedless of this, I see them all as smugly sailing away on a modern day lifeboat-challenged maiden voyage on the North Atlantic on the USS Lazy-Boy, and up ahead three icebergs: Imagination, Inspiration and Intuition. Gashes in their egos, waiting to happen. The abandoning of sacred-self-delusions like the worship of the triple-beam-balance, and the reduction of the status of empirical science from a worthy and reliable religion to 'merely' a useful tool, somehow entails for them a  "court-martialling, a debrassing, a ripping off of the buttons of self-respect"; bordering upon  humiliation, and all because living within the presence of metaphysical potencies and voices and influences to which we acquire wondrous connection presupposes awe, reverence, modesty, metaphysical trust (=faith), qualities which they imagine interfere with their freedom, with their right to flood the airwaves with blowtorch aggression and their blue-cheese melancholy, yang and yin reactions against discovering that chauvinism cannot turn them into Gods, and that disgruntled suffocates aspiration.

"As to the status of AP, methinks it creates a bridge not so much between church and state, between holy and worldly, between moral and utilitarian, but the possibility for the authoring of conscious correspondences between empirical and intuitive modalities of experience, and so foreshadows the time in human history shortly to come and fast upon us in a "cricket's hopscotch of but a few centuries", when these spheres can find like approaching circles on a venn diagram, a growing sphere of intersection. Bound up in the unfoldment, in the flowering of such a process, it seems that the balance between enchantment and responsibility, the flight of a redeemed Lucifer and the anchor of a steadfast Love creates a new dialogue which renders the outworn, moltable snakeskin, the paradigm of "rational vs. belief" an outmoded model, useful up until the end of Kali Yuga, yet, "suddenly" in the spark of but a swiftly-passing century, having become greyscale, unnegotiable, vestigial. Place it along with caste systems, behind the velvet ropes of a wax museum. And let us all dare to know that the shelf life of the church and state dichotomy is now out of date, and those who insist upon forcing the prolongation of a stale drama of a war between the two, are the ones who fail to see that Doctor Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde now comes in two flavors, Christian and Islamic. And that the insistance in the separation of the belief and acts, of hope and muscle, creates American People and the Global Corporations, and a government which rivals Janus. And, likewise, witness relocated 180 degrees of longitude like an about-face, that the aristocracy of corrupt mullahs, royal families and other middle eastern self-styled CEOs makes subtle, heinous blend with the American Mr. Hyde, well-disguised because it does not matter whether Red Riding Hood's "Grandmother" sports a turban, robes and beard, or well angled, well-padded, wind-resistant Armani suits and like the spirit of strangle itself, boasty silk neuces, for, pause to weep, and reminder of what we're here for - most people will draw conclusions upon the "Words the enemies of the human race wear". You have heard of color blind. We are all deed-blind, deeds which clothe purpose, and are unwilling to dare infer motive from the surface.

"Yet, all this having been said kneeling, still, not to drink too much at this well. 'Tis the work of angels to dissolve intrigue, to flavor the air with rising thoughts and to canopy the halo which round us secretly glows, with brace of widespread majesty. For the Lord of the Sea of Dreams comes at night to each friend and enemy: both He turns to child, both She embraces, and dissolves the raging metals of the world, and backstage of the eyelashes in the place where place turns to haunt, and words to waves and tides, we are indeed all privileged, and instructed in the arcane subtle art of innocence; and it is said by whispering alone, with most unserious sublime ambrosia, makes locksmiths of any of us whose oberbricked thoughts by day imprison and dismay.

"Please have your Elysian Eurail passes handy when the conductor passes this way. Next stop, Afghanistan."


(11/15/01) Spiritiual responsiblity and Steiner

"The difference in spectrum of interpretation regarding expectation and disappointment of gurus and disciples, of RS and the society, speaks directly to the comparison of Co-dependence and Interdependence, which are, methinks, in turn octaves, or overtones of a more fundamental distinction between group-soul and the individuality which emerges freelance, to at long last responsibly author karmic "goes round" and analyze the corresponding karmic "comes round" from it at the expense of safe, socially-acceptable blind forms of loyalty to moral, cognitive, and volitional sphere, no matter how lofty these may be.

"Don't follow Earlyfire off the Pied Piper's cliffs on this gust, but it seems altogether as "supernatural as intuition itself", to infer that hierarchies rejoice, are pierced with the ambrosia of joy at the manifestation of our own human, home-spun, down-home moxie which feeds them, nourishes them copiously each time either an individual or a group assumes conscious, loving, courageous responsibility for siring in clarity dreams, imaginations, thoughts, feelings and initiatives down on bronze and green earth, "south of the subtly-sparkling ether" which bear consequences of beauty to both visible places and invisible haunts................

"Those who are willing to assist the perfection of the universe, will "automatically" pay back Steiner for his sacrifices with each deed which sports a breath of detachment from mere appetite, habit and craving, and rises above flatline and redneck, and the safely-credentialled anaesthesia of the lazy "That's the Way we've always done it", and the tedious echo of the medieval "We can do nothing", called "History repeats itself", as though history were an 'it'.

"Pardon the forest fire.............

"(Coming attractions, Sherwood foresters, students of radient asymmetry, amorphous caress, sundry undatabasable tides and outlaw Anthroposophists! To analyze the Goetheanum's reticence, its complete inability and terror in regard to how to be a muse, to conjure, to invite, to make happen the emergence of the energy and ambience which shall sire into real topography the other two circles of the Free School of Spiritual Science, which dwell outside of the imprisonment within the dark, crisp 90-degree angles of the "Emperor's Attache Case".

"And to respond to it in a way which does not begin with words and end with words. For in the case of these circles, the primary distinguishing characteristic of the intent and quality of ambience native to the metaphysical exploration, is that co-dependence is unworthy, is exiled at even point of departure, and so require anchor of trust yet flight of genius, of manas, to author original vocabulary, 'unowned', 'unrehearsed', 'unfranchised' by bastions of centralized power.

"And so brings to mind, sings to mind, the voyages of the sorceror Ludwig van Beethoven as he singlehandedly, and altogether deaf to the world, and without the help of any 'how to' manual, any lament over how the unavailability of Spiritual Science to coach him to the flame-crowned stars and the midnight-kissed caves and luminous sea-bottom alike, crippled his scope and fire, proceeds nonetheless unassisted by volumes of books and lectures to author musical architecture which both invites and presupposes a vast elongation of attention span, as in 6 late quartets, every movement of each is a remolecularization, a reincarnation, a discernable permutation of a single four-note germinal motive......... You may now safely remove your fingers from the electric outlet)

"For regardless of whether one needs to be inspired by remorse, is inspired simply by a woe-less invitation to perfection, the welcome lightbouse is ever lit."


(11/27/01) Tell me...

"The first snowflake of the Christmas season,

and since it debuts in Cherry-Pearl,

therefore must compose it in A major..........

"Thought benefits by being multidimensionally clothed, which is to say, achieves a more powerfully nuanced orchestration and subtle expression through the spontaneous genre of the Oral tradition. Voice writes better than pen, and people make better pages, better lakes upon which to entrust islands of words, better pages to cradle a message than square paper ever dreamt........

"But when you deliberately chill thought from considerations of the intimacy of spontaneous delivery, steal thought from its messenger, suddenly the quality and sincerety of the ideas to be shared and assessed are no longer available, are divorced from considerations of performance, and enjoying the privelege of such abstraction, made immune to gesture and the intent which it carries, find aloofness, find sanctuary and escape from immediacy, living in, if that indeed is what words and thoughts amputated from living contexts still can do, - giving it the benefit of the doubt -  living in a language of symbolic experiential distance, then comes also the opportunity to concentrate ideas, reworking them, transforming them beyond the storm of the theater the turbulence of the Haphazard Now which shares them into the wider circle of the audience.

"The message is a reflection of the author. Both Mozart and Beethoven were masters at improvisation, made pianos their airports, but, in the perfection of their thoughts, in the entrusting of the river of music to a stream of ink within the imprisononing of a riverbed of barlines, Mozart records ideas which historical accounts corroborate were composed without any intervening reflection between the dream and the finished product, whereas Beethoven amassed numerous sketchbooks, which chronicle time after time, that his act of descending, (the verb!) of de-celestializing musical themes which found their way into more concrete harness of sonata architecture often evidenced a reworking through which they were brought to perfection by subjection to 12 or 15 levels of revision. Brahms, by his own account, trashed over thr course of his lifetime over 60% of the music he wrote, and none of this reached our ears. Rossini composed in bed, and is known to have preferred to recompose a page of orchestration to getting out on the floor and picking it up.

"So the creative process which births significant thought, descending, alchemically coagulating the will-of-the-wisp that, brainstormlike, floats in lucky meander in lofty ether, companion to roar of angel flutter, and 'descends' it into concrete form, the way in which the Morning Star's jewel achieves exodus, landing fresh immigrant from empyrian heights, with each new art work midwifed in the creative process, and, lands gloved in Grail, plays an important part in deciding whether spontaniety is a better or poorer focus for assembling self-expressions and anchoring the enchantments of Lucifer into the embrace of responsible art.

"Earlyfire prefers performing, 'conjuring' Shakespeare and Mozart in the volatility, in the elasticity of the oral tradition, and thinks privately that any thought which does not, upon subjection to the raging crucible, again the lyric meadow of performance, profit from being subjected to the reverse process of the deed of the Christ, which would be the Flesh made Word, is somehow incomplete, remains deaf, inert, does not become "offer-uppable", hearable back to the hierarchies, but lies like the peasants say of Arthur, sleeping, which lies, like any uncredentialled child will delight to tell you, like Sleeping Beauty, staring up on high through a glass coffin, 'as yet unLazarused', which is to whisper, awaiting Prince Charming. as in, for example:

""Oh for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention. A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, and monarchs to behold the swelling scene (Henry V, prologue)

"Therefore, beware written messages stillborn, dis-graced, unawakable, imposters, seeking to influence, seeking to be honored by being called art, but decapitated of breath, robbed of the right to ride, to soar high-saddled upon the wings and sweep of the wind, and instead tedious and chore-dinary, lackluster, fill the press releases of those with agendas.......

"Thus shall we, rainbows turned nomad as the very Northern Lights, now lightly roaming in your neighborhood, do stir, do singe the glass fires of the ether, offering braid, putting spin and tread on the singing planets themselves........."


(12/6/01) Music right here--Re: music born of the spirit

"The term "Dead White Males" is most archival, stillborn cardboard, most tedious, ungemlike inventory. Can we not vibrationally reformat it, moving further East than sorry Eden, and waging Noble Jihad, perchance by an eyedropper of such spiritual supernova, to enhance with soul of spark most mustardseedlike, with your consent, give birth, awaken mirth, and this to do with but frail power of our own home-spun

"Non-industrial flavors of light and magic." Therefore, to meet these post Halloween-like chords firsthand; to strumlike drink their floorless sea, inspire, go source a bonfire, brew up aromatic coffee, and making of our means your ends, saddle up on the wind, friends! Han Solo, be no longer frozen, neatly ziplocked in carbonite, no longer mercurially challenged, inert, devoid of flirt and flight.  Area code 777:

Let us ring up Luke Skywalker on the Akasha Cell Phone, and reformat the DESCRIPTION of the dawn with the INVITATION to experience it, such imaginative Lazaruslike upgrade being altogether sparkling and unaccustomed as the Shroud of Turin blowing in an Ancient, Well-favored Atlantean Breeze altogether,,,,,, unrehearsed

"Then Prelude your snowy 2001 Christmas Carol, my little Ghost of "Neither Death, nor suffering nor grieving etc., usw, shall there be, ...... for the former things nave passed away. " Include in the alive and vibrant voice of the Human race, buoyantly, imagination dares suppose -  floataceously,  serendipitously bathing the ether round Future Jupiter in an etherically luminous canopy of iridescent Manas Crown Light

already sourced by genius, O future Alladins to your own Genie within, include among the now alleged 'grave and gravity-free humanity' to which we already aspire to belong, some of those selfsame "former Dead White Male De-Composers allegedly passed away". Allegedly Dead, that is, if you ask the priest, and note he is wearing the ever-popular, mood-creating throwback color of a cheery bat-black human-double-hued robe. What shall we infer fom this? But now, less morbid, more peachy-keen be:

"Steiner bids us take him up on his invitation to talk to the dead. This being the case, firsthand conversation with alleged mortal-hasbeens might compel a more jubilent interpretation as to their current psychic whereabouts and ambience, than officially endorsed parameters of modesty gleaned from reading from the Book "Knowledge of Higher Worlds colon: How may it be Evaded?" might suggest. The point: Not to confuse Goethe with the Goetheanum, or the Fall of Man with those of us whose lives wish to ANSWER,  to boldly, as in the Most Untheoretical Christ, the World-Doer, CONTRADICT that condition..........Metaphysical Gaming Casinos just up ahead.

"Enlightenment: we used to think of it as encapsulatable, harnessable, within the book-binding parameters, happy in an 8 and a half by eleven room, well-endorsed, well bathed in permission of reason. One nation, "Under Reason",as it were, but strange to say, though analytically bladed, still stalled at the Gates of the Stars, labyrinthed, in sight of the Minotaur, compressed out of heaven, and thus temporarily made straight-and-narrow-jacketed, made safe from invasive imagination:

"Meanwhile follow this gust:

Some weird Persian prophet who claims to be the return of the Christ, without even asking Rudolf's permission, and from whose 20 years imprisonment emerges the 100 books and tablets of the Bahai Faith, whose world headquarters curiously, and of course totally accidentally sits atop Mount Carmel in the Holy Land, makes a statement in the "Seven Valleys", the book of initiation sourced for the Sufis around 1853 that

"Knowledge is the last plane of limitation", and that having ascended to higher climates, such as Unity, Contentment, Wonder, and True-poverty-and--Absolute-Nothingness (7),  the seeker "breaks the cage of the body and begins to consort with members of the Immortal Realm".........included among which are perhaps even Dead White German-Speaking Males who spawn key signatures..........

"Oops, Wrong discussion group: Pardon Earlyfire's mysterious pearllike distinction-softening blur, it's such sloppy thinking to presume that all religions are the clothing of reincarnating wisdom, and that the Boddisattva can be redefined in any age in terms appropropriate to the level of responsibility and clarity which reflects what powers, talents and metaphysical muscle the human race has perfected up to this point in time, and so, we try this fully-refundable definition on for size, that the Bodhisattva is known for the ability to silently embrace, rather than publish on HBO his oath, to champion and to manifest, shoes off on holy ground, such Oath most silent which, strange to say resounds the loudest in realms to which only a Beethoven is not deaf! Sorry for the Rhino Attack! Moving right along!

"A few years later assuming that Bahaullah was utterly wrong, comes RS and as intuitively saavy to the handwriting of the Wind, makes a point to define, rather, one thinks, if one really wants to be responsible, to "Non-define", to in fact, metaphysically parole Thought Itself, ennnobling it with something close to this idea: "Our goal in meditation is to reach a state where thought is freed from objects of thought",

(De-materialism-ization as a Prime Directive. Kirk Out)

"Thought turned from a collection of things, ownable abstractions, commodities well constellated and alphabetized, which we, as Egyptians were bereft of such lofty option, commodities which 'jam-pack and chock-full' our universities, in ifs and therefores, packaged of knowledge, but, through the living muse of ethereally-saturated consciousness available in meditation, or in the process of poesis, by which we preangelic midwives generate art, marry Heaven and Earth, poesis, an act meditation will-inscribed in sarcaphagus of language, and then kissing the language, the breath of God is once again released, and like atoms unfroze, reenchanted, quickened, metaphysically levened, and we ourselves are 'Lazarused' back into processes "most 'Music of the Sphereslike'  " ;-D

"Now, Earlyfire, Sybillike, grabs his Phantom of the Opera Horsewhip and yells "Sing!, Think!, ride this surf!, pass go, collect your Immortality! Abandon "Pass Not", Rather practice instead "Be with Us!! " And softly hears, blurred as pearl: Hierarchies to Man: Hierarchies to Humankind, to men of shoes, to women of wings, perfectly chorepgraphed: It is our intention to include you in Our work! Lucky Saggitarious and a side of Shakespeare: "I shall shower welcome on ye: Welcome All!"

"((( (And tiptoing, has 'in mind' this gust, this approach to thought: That our spirits, by such bravura made guiltless do invite unto ourselves the responsible privelege, which is to say, the lofty freedom to roam the macrocosm on our own recognizance, free to ask for ourself, Kabalesque-like, to interview the Living Numbers to "Tell Us", to spill their beans, and Consciousness Soul-Like, reveal what they processes they host, imply  and underwrite........)))) Coming attractions

"Regarding the Legacy of the Fall of Mankind, and of Punctuating Blame to lifelong shatter the child's peace of spirit, and of Forgiveness, Artesian Sourced, and rounding caresses to deblade, dissolve the wounds of previous races of mankind, and offer rise, present the alternatives: The Medieval Death-frocked priest, rejoices like velour, to utter the word  "Solemn", yet, twas not so long ago one of those presumed Dead White Males set to music an alternative to this pall: "Freude schoene Gotterfunken". And so we therefore know we are lurking in the celestial environs of Lucky Sagittarius and so encounter Beethoven's warning slash invitation like a prince charming, who introduces  in the 4th movement of the 9th, to we, a Race of Lazarus, a new impulse, which makes human voice part of the symphony:

""O Freunde nicht diese Tone"........ which enables us to, like My Full Fathom Five Father gone before me, to morph, pearl and corallike, into something rich and strange........... Major Keys do I hear?, and the twining smell of rising cinnamon to braid and haunt our holiday coffee, to unlackluster the ambience, to tune stars, (Sound of children laughing, so too, Easy Wind and Downy Flake)

"Now you are really ready to begin, Earlyfire!: This is what it has all been about! Up and say it!

"When someone asks you who your teachers are, it should not sound in any way farfetched or extraordinary to reply in the present tense "I study with Mozart", who knows what the emperor does not - which notes need to be included and excluded ere the descent by earthly parachute to the place of debut. Or to say "my piano teacher is Vlad 'the Impaler' Horowitz" . If one takes Steiner's voyage of thought about talking

to the dead as an invitation to become, while "still mortally incarcerated", let us conjure from the 'hood of the Vasty Deep, (conjure, then think, if literal thought be not in this noble and magical context but a redundancy), and wandlike spell it out, and whispering, voice a metaphysical Kruggerand "Celestial Mariners" All this as has been aforementioned, while allegedly Trapped in Biology and Chemistry and Physics, "Erroneously perceived by Spirits Above as but drunkards of instinct and desire and authority"

"Footnotes to the subject of the post, Music born of the spirit: Let it not have to lurk backstage of closed eyelashes, for in this Age of Thrive, when we have made death a messenger of joy to thee, we dare close most scientificially, and with one word "Therefore" to make locksmiths of us, to tutor us in our way out of Plato's Cave: Therefore descends a few pegs south of the mind's eye, to the heart, and is renamed Courage, and it was in this way, great grandchildren, that your dark ancestors were able cleanse themselves with breath of detachment, so that their former inhibitions, skeletons and closets passed away........"


(12/17/01) Thank you !!!

"Let's all send Thundrous-THX-surround-sound-an-Atlantis-sinking flood of hearty, robust  weapons grade "Ghost of somewhat Merry Christmas Future" cards to the WCO's.

"So to dilute their rancour, so to dissolve, dispel  with our own brand of unsolicited unwarranted AP Good Humor, the Winter of Mr. XXXXX's  Discontent, and all manner of redneck envy which follows funereal-like in its wake. Yes, a veritable SuperNova of Well-Harmonized Chorale 'freshly-ferocious'd ' from the College of the Sun, containing the collective cyber-mirth of all of us WiseMen, WiseWoman, and WiseGuys on the Ark, calling a truce, and apologizing for thinking which we acknowledge most contritely does mightily interfere, like an earthquake would the work of a diamond-cutter, with the solemn business of preventing communication."


(12/17/01) Soul Purification

"Thanks for this excellent "48 Hours walk-through of Kama Loka". Your visualization resonates with experience,'generates oxygen' (forgive the seemingly strange metaphor);  it "abundances" the presence of inspired, conscientious steadfast responsibility. By way of photosynthesizing an encore breath, I wonder what life will be like when we, as individuals, acquire with growing frequency, the ability to make quantum-level-leaps during the day into realms of celestial awareness which enable us, bathed in sublime perspective, to intercept, watch, even transform our motives and so acquiring a grace to purify them 'en-passant' at the moment of encounter in the heat of conscious life, begin to author deeds whose intent is evident to us at the moment we source them. What would this do to our evening homework, as well as to a transmutation of the nature of Kama Loka itself, where it might became possible to work out of invitations of freedom rather than compulsions of necessity. A time when we assimilate impulses to altruism to the point of it being 'second nature'. Will this mark the beginning of an inability to manifest clandestine intrigues? An other word for peace......., and perhaps Socrates would rejoice to overturn his 2400 year old verdict "Life is a

long Illness"  Footnotes to "A new heaven and a new earth"? A Utopia born not of arrival in zero-gravity, but instead out of our ability to achieve, maintain, inspire ongoing balance between anchor and flight, a balance of imagination and love."


(12/18/01) Hi

"And now, a most unbladed weavelike waft of altogether drumless XXXXX'sIncense, XXXXX'sowncense - - - -

"Now we know pre-zeiss-ly when we shall meet again, in thunder and lightning of this, comma, the Ark Drama Queen's Reign.

""Therefore",   An altogether Royal Welcome back, Mysterious, Tempestuous one!:  And may a face of soft white gold flame, swirl-spiced, well-choreographed, slightly etched and lightly blurred upon a borrowed page of a dark green sea be upon you, together with a side order of abundant, abiding and eternal peace.........."


(12/22/01) Lord of the Rings

"Can we rephrase, so as to reveal the intention: The value of suffering and of sourcing, sorcerially sourcing Mythology,  (it's not just to pay off the Ghost of Past Tense, you know), suffering's   not only there to encourage forging strength of will to acquire what enables us to endure circumstance, the charm and wiles of the world, but to reveal the presence of Beauty and Purpose, which war obscures and thwarts. Circumstance, however enmeshing, is but the veneer, the epicenter of our spiritual condition, the clothing of our lives wove in rock of events of and sea of feelings and air of attitudes, and meeting these three, which are as raw material, awaiting Prince Charming's Kiss of Fire, whose name whall be called choice. Therefore, one imagines Tolkein's initial impulse to write the Lord of the Rings for his son,  is not for panacea or consolation, or in any way an attempt to reset the HG Wells odometer back into a golden age, dissolving slings and arrows presently outrageous, but rather an offering of the restoration of a dialogue which war has thieved from us, the dialogue between what is ominous with intrigue, and that which rises to meet it, majestic, unalloyed with craving, and paroles us from the many genres of imprisonment which follow in its wake. The word 'Glad' comes to mind.

"And in this sense, Myth focuses, bears the call to reawaken, to bridgebuild between realms, to coordinate a relationship between thought and imagination, perhaps, even one might even be tempted to surmise, between "particles of thought and waves of imagination", enabling, inviting, abundantly welcoming the would-be initiate, the youngest guest  to traverse the gulf from Sullen Earth to Jupiter, casts us into roles which revealing, better, in life of will courageously descending, entering into the relationship between war and hope, and, Myth has a share in enabling us to forge our voice, and so become an architect of the a new relationship of the world of "As is" to the utopian "As-If".  How to detheorize Myth, rob Lucifer of his canopy of anaesthesia in which he has held in 'most favored customer status' far to long, and instead crystallizing the scope and energy of story, into challenge, and sturdy up endeavor, as it is said in the poem "The Hunter" to make us "Seaworthy for Love"; all of which Is another sublime footnote to what we've all been thinking lately, and which enjoys wide whisper:  "For the former things have passed away." You heard it first not here!

"For it is clear that all of us live in the MeanWhile circumscribed by the subtle boundry of "the once and future king".  Examine the Staff of Hermes. One snake to descend, gloving in fire, then unglowing air, than cradle of water afloat, then this too, like we, heirs to the fall, the waters collapse to firm and frozen earth. And after the clearing of the mists, the other snake, Jack's Beanstalk, Jacob's Ladder, the Gradus ad Parnassum, and through such grades which milepost the "impossible quest", named impossible only to ward off the charlatans, the frivolous and the decisionally unripe among us, the Once King becomes the Future King. Gradually, Gradually, Gr'al. We have it on authority most Akashic, that these were the indelible and flightborne thoughts most Michaelic, which Arthur has, present tense, on his mind, sufficient to wrest Excalibur from a Stone.

"Transformational creativity, the work of initiation, dare we hazard, or even halfhazard a guess, as to the gist of its lofty treadless agenda? Perhaps, to begin the Sea-Change manual, it equates to developing an idea of what it is to author responsible, architecturally sound, aspirationally earnable individualized paths to de-locksmith the doors of the Lesser and Greater gated communities that count, and round us in sleep still widely wrap, like a cocoon and we the butterfly, such as in Mozartean Ecstasy (the zero-gravity entrance to the Macrocosm, and we all weaponless) or Shakespearean Soliloquy (Microcosm, the emerging art of enduring weight, the knowledge of the Crown of Thorns, the ability to endure silence and distance and chill, warmth-armed from within)

"But no more can we say. Bury your watch, turn its crystal face to the earth, and gaze into your ancient hourglass, in which you can see time. Now haunting midnight passes through her isthmus. And who dares explain why for one moment the sand becomes astonished, paralyzed with spike of fresh and thriving wonder, and like you, well gyroscoped one, refuses to fall, and  suddenly look up, you Midnight's most loyal Citizen, and see the sun shining.

"Three and one make four: Gold, Frankincense, Myrrh, Fable upon your shore and so together weave.  And asks what other tricks have we up our sleeve?

"Welcome to Bethlehem, dear Friends!"


(12/23/01) no whine before its time

"From a karmic standpoint, the thoughts which create moral disintegration, suspicion, manipulation and intrigue, cry out to echo into the economic and physical sphere of nations and groups, in order to present and to mirror back to people a comprehendable scenario of the depravity, hopelessness and interior squalor which sourced it. It is not to punish, but rather to reveal. For the spiritual chaos is the source of danger to survival in or attainment of immortality, i.e. a condition of majesty, purity, beauty, trust and other halo-bathe of many-petalled

virtues a swirl.

"On another plane, if the country consists of a collection of people whose behavior manifests a palette of marvellously endowed, transcendent  spiritual attributes, such as the Hopi, then the challenge is to invite the development of will by entering into and engaging the challenges of the stream of time. Recall Quran "God has beneath his Dome of Glory, a People whom He hideth in the clothing of radient poverty"  "How to recognize and build from the strengths..........."


(12/23/01) Lord of the Rings

"I am at a loss to see time and time again the equation of Anthroposophy with the totality of Michaelic Initiative that ever could be. Isn't it incredulous to imagine that a metaphysical school whose capacity to life conscious comes from spirits one to three eschalons above Human Ken, and to us therefore most UnCanny and exalted, whose entire thinking processes are sublime, which is to say, are unlike our own frail projections, already completely free of objects of thought, would have no operative potency in the lives of people in the world without the tedious encumbrance of our membership lists, neatly symmetrized, and dutifully organized, and our newsletters. Isn't there anyone in this world who suspects, (cheers, swallow this pill, Alice, come a little closer, looking glasses are more than then seem! )  - that  Organization is an Ahrimanic abasement of the word Organicity. To discover Organicity compare news to art. Artists author works, which are not the servants of the the literal, of circumstance, but bring doen each artwork, unique architectural integrity, ether-engraved, (as all chelas aspire to); each masterpiece is the equivalant of a reincarnation. The impulse to sabotage the responsibility of the manifestations of spirit by superimposing conformity, by labelling, "I am an Anthroposophist", "I am a first circle member", I, a Unique Rice Krispy (singular! ;-)) swearing fealty to the Kellogg Group Soul Archangel, may you, like Texas, 'love it or leave it', this is judgmental hence retrograde blowtorch blare, truth to tell utterly boring, an anaesthesia to open-mindedness. Americans are in love with magical packaging. SUV's perched, eaglelike on the needle spires of Canyon de Chelley, the sound of Indian Wind, none knoweth.........

"Besides, by Steiner's own admission, Michael is concerned with enzyming human intelligence in such a degree of transformation as renders it "Cosmically-Compatible", i.e., useful food, hearable music, evolutionary leaven to both the Hierarchies above , and Earth below. Which makes us worthy bridges, ferrymen across Lethe in the Goethe Marchen.

"No, Earlyfire thinks not that it is Anthroposophy which, enjoying "most favored conduit status" makes Michaelic Initiative safe for the world.  Anthroposophy just identifies, is one of many noble and resonant epicenters to challenge human inertia, an opportunity to identify, to source, to voice inspiration catalytic to world transformation, and is but one of many spiritual tools along an entire spectrum of depth an responsibility, one of many kindred spiritual movements possessed of sufficient purity - guileless, that's the secret! -, and possessed,

through the quality of its practicioners, of limitation-shattering granduer we call hope, and so become capable of epic-magnitude agents threefold-level changes. Social, Economic impulses, the virtue of Rosicrucian clarity, of gem-cut quality bladed Jesuit command of reason, and opposite to this, though not opposed, the impulse to manifest courage, to bear the cross of Manichean transmutation of Evil, to which we in America must add in a new dimension of rejuvenation, the role of Science Fiction, Mythologically potentiated to populate the emerging Manas, to "Prince-Charm", to "Lazarus" (yes which now, courtesy of a wholly unauthorized elasticity of language, has been canonized a verb!),  "to Lazarus" the sleeping world imagination from abstraction's cobwebbed attic where the chakric spinning wheels of Sleeping Beauty lay vibrationally mute, deaf to the music of the spheres, inert, servants of the "Bah-Humbug".

"And from the combined exercise of these initiatives, this far greater watershed of virtue and energy than can be helmed in but one Swiss Stronghold, one Swiss Spiritual Bank Account, we see before us, though is war to outward seeming that is the messenger of the change, the possibility of the eradication of all dogma, formula, prejudice, especially the bankrupt "History Repeats Itself Demon". Michaelic agenda:  the end of all reptilian chill in the 'life' of thought, for Ahriman cannot thrive in zeal and warmth and innocence, in unbridled effulgence of human light, in the perfume of love; that's why the Vampires all flee when morning comes. One Gem, many facets, faces, streaming teachings, all 'tomorrow-able teachings'. Love that word that invades concentration. Think I'll use it again! What do all 'tomorrow-able' teachings share in common? Fiery optimism in the virgin original archetypal meaning of the word "Jihad", the crusade for the burning away of veils of "doubt and smug".  In this respect, well is it with whoever is capable of recognizing that Jihad seems an absolutely symmetrically perfect antonym for Terrorism, (echoes "virgin, original, archetypal" meaning of Jihad!), for we are not trying to obscure, numb, destroy the fire within, or chill the will by fear-based weaponry, visible or invisible, to make the world safe for mechanical forms of organization. And thus Earlyfire, eaglelike on the needle spires of Canyon de Chelley, lands his SUV. The sound of Indian Wind, of Saturn syllables, and for those who ride horseback upon it, all know its wither and whence.

"One final treat to alter the jigsaw puzzle, (and authors his own preemptive first-strike with this Surgeon-General warning: It is arrogant to imagine the thought that it is "just a matter of time" before all Transcendent and Noble mystery can rendered into a scaffolding of knowlege, and shrink-wrapped in metaphor, turn up on a Barnes and Noble shelf, as though Mystery were an impediment to a perfectly-functional machine. But enough 15 thousand pound bombs on fabled Tora Bora!  Recall Doestoyevsky's Crystal Palace)

"So, our dessert from the desert: Consider, the scope which resonates from one small paragraph of the still little-known Persian-Arabian originating Bahai Faith, which stethescopes in the most succinct way the role of Michaelic Intelligence just one component in a larger Manichean picture which Anthroposophy can by no means enjoy a unique franchise to claim its own. It begins in the paragraph starting below. But on a 'lighter' note, the founder of that faith, whom we all know because of our reverential connection to extremely informed sources "possessed of the doctorate", has, of course "no right whatever" to make the claim of being the return of the Christ, which he did do. He lived from 1817 to 1892. And finally the construction of an Institution called the "Universal House of Justice", the highest administrative organ of that faith which today sits atop Mount Carmel in Haifa, Israel, which will, one day be to the coordination of religions, what Switzerland is to Nationality, is probably just a purposeless accident, a frivolous miscarriage of metaphysical enterprise, and probably completely unknown to the hierarchies.

""The vitality of men's belief in God is dying out in every land; nothing short of His wholesome medicine can ever restore it. The corrosion of ungodliness is eating into the vitals of human society; what else but the Elixir of His potent Revelation can cleanse and revive it? Is it within human power, O Hakím, to effect in the constituent elements of any of the minute and indivisible particles of matter so complete a transformation as to transmute it into purest gold? Perplexing and difficult as this may appear, the still greater task of converting

satanic strength into heavenly power is one that We have been empowered to accomplish. "

"Earlyfire looks forward to the time when Anthroposophy will seem less like a convent and more like a battlefield, when its swords are not just made of dreams, when those who cherish, champion, relocate it from the Elysian fields, and consenting to practice it become therefore as courageous as they are erudite, as capable of being touched as they are of authoring thought. Love, like the sea dissolving sandcastles in round caress of tide, makes unsuspected and most respectable sorcery, and brings power into equilibrium with mercy and justice. May your Anthroposophy come in unsuspected genres and flavors, and be heard from the mouths of strangers............."


(1/2/02) India/Afghanistan/Pakistan

"Perhaps that the statue is a dolly wheel, and when one acquires balance, the wheel can come off, when the wherewithal to ride the bicycle unaided has come to initiate. Therefore, to creatively visualize the Buddha in Epic Grandeur, in cosmic scope, untethered by scale of rock, perhaps this is graduation to a more subtle form of Majesty, devoutly to be desired. And wondered if on Sinai, 'tis now time to rewrite next to the nine companion laws: "Thou shalt set no rock gods before thee, once thou hast wrested free of image, and moved on to imagination"

"But now abandon the sweep: Exhale and weep: Therefore in some remote grotto, kneeling in the Garden, summons silence to bless, and whispers to self: Failing the once and future statue, our ability to conjure, which is most frail, the talent to carve for those of us who are not yet cosmic mariners, what enables in one spark and spike of wonder, one brief sighting, to join into the presence of the Buddha, and recognizing the loss of a symbol which takes us out of standby, and penetrates us with awe wherewith to fluorish, this is tragic.

"Christ "Lord of the Elements", Buddha methinks, "Lord of the Ether", And twixt These Two, the rungs of the ladder, called Man, who journeys and midwifes in anchored elements, in charmed freeze-framed music of the spheres, Beauty amidst Terror, that one see, and beholding the two side-by-side, compare, and decide............

"One hears echos of what Steiner says, and if our Mariner's sails are tuned, continues to say, at the destruction of the first Goetheanum, how its flames must be internalized. And for dessert, a mysterious twist of phrase: "Should all the servants read and ponder this, there shall be kindled in their veins a fire which shall set aflame the world!""


(1/5/02) XXXXXXXXX and others....

"XXXX, I have great respect for your ability to navigate epic, "spiritually wide-angle" points of view which traverse and coordinate diverse metaphysical streams adeptly crisscrossing the boundries of Orientaland Occidental, Conceptual and Meditative, Ancient and Contemporary ghettos, drawing out from such 'travel', as if by walking through the pores of walls, experience which profiles and communicates parallels in thinking which are exotic because they are anything but obvious.

"Awesome, intimidatingly formidable a talent as this is, which years of conscientious reverenced-discipline have fructified still further, I pass on the warning my xxx XXXXXXX always says to me "Please do notthrow snowballs at the mortals". For often times I have felt while confronting the multileveled scaffolding of your ideas most chivalrous, a certain shadow of chivalry,- for want of a better word a 'Philosophical Imperialism', that they carry with them a certain burr of competitive swagger, which implicitly self-revels whispering, "You, grasshopper, must possess these prerequisites acquirable only by successful completion of the knowledge-base gauntlet of disciplines I most regally define, in order to author meaningful discussion, to be taken seriously. A variation of "We use only Kruggerands at this poker table!", or as the sign at the Old Tucson Movie Studio children's car track reads "You must be this tall to drive!"

"And had Earlyfire not the same hidden hubris by which he would dissolve the bones of the real world with Shakespearean Camphor and Rumi Drakkar, because he cant live in the spartan "As Is", and so secretly wages an ongoing and expensive war against "Get Real" (C.G. Jung: "we pay dearly for our creative fire") he would not be able to offer such an Achilles-Heel-Side counsel, which, truth to tell be never more than friendly joust.

"I wonder if St. Francis through such brave grind-stone-like turmoils and hobknob, collections of degrees, his aura bathed to a roar in floorless charm by scintillating, interviews with Iridescent Illuminati was finally, through such excellently-labored litany of dire exertion, able, at long last to acquire permission to converse with the animals. Or whether its already just a matter of Akashic Record that one of the Lilies like unto which Solomon was never arrayed whispered but a single walk-on-water word in his ear."


(1/12/02) "Brave New Schools"

"I love this groping-in-the-dark way of attempting East West dialogue. It is bound to be awkward; trampling on the unsuspected vulnerabilities,

on the white flowers in the other's garden undelicate. And so much built in expectation, implicit unacknowledged demands volcanically erupting as rage as everyone discovers that a sword slice of Islamic Jihad, very how very Conquistadorial, what a 'terrible swift sword", how both would make wondrous opposing centerfolds in the "Cutting Edge" catalog. Yes, spice up your religion. Yes, opposing pages, separated into separate turf by just a couple of modest frail staples. So there they are, folks, each religion the candidate for being the shadow of the other, charter members of the black pot, black kettle club. Each, kryptonite to the other. A Cobra-Mongoose combo. Why settle for dialogue when we can have knee-jerk comes so much closer to the ideal of fast food and "just do it!"  Side by side, one message that reads from right to left, the other from left to right kingdom for a mirror........... and would make a wondrous addition to the   "Cutting Edge" catalog. Do you remember:  "And we'll travel along, singing a song, s i d e   by   s i d e".

"So the Crusade and Jihad each come in two flavors, the Noble and the Double. Oval Office tales of Dornach-osophy.

"So visualize this thought, most hieroglyphically at that: that instead of polarizing opposites as a pastime, as a first choice to analyze ideas, to metabolize philosophical similarities and differences as if to tediously deposit notions upon the plates of a triple beam balance to assess the relative weight, as a criterion to convince, bless the visualization, and it at once sparks to imagination.

"And so Earlyfire imagines this:  A tree, concentric circles, and the inner ones are ancient, and the outer, the cambium of living thoughts whose cool upward-rising moisture we can feel when we place our hands upon the bark. And all the religions and earlier than that, philosophy, and further back than the ancient, the mysteries where wisdom was danced and voiced and lived in magical rhythm of the stride and dwelled in the warble of song, all that you see today, all the complex well-tuxedoed language that defines the famed labyrinthlike ghettos of medical, psychiatric, anthroposophical ghettos which prevent the peasant and the professor from embracing common experience, uncommon wonder, all-embracing love, all were once a single point.

"The Tower of Babel is not about fracture of a single language into diverse mutually-incomprehensible language, each rigid in its literalness. It is about the loss of the magical, allegorical common ground which unites the One Humanity in what lives between the lines of the written, the legal, and about the anaesthetization of the talents (Latin Taleo, to lie deep or hidden) of picturing imagination, riverrun of inspiration process, and gesture, pierce of intuition, which now "wish to reemerge" in human life. These are the luminous, majestic

spectral gifts of awe and spice to which we have to look joyously forward to bringing back, each of us a Marco Polo, in our voyages across the Threshold. (As opposed, for example, to late-breaking clairvoyant Sybilline CNN rat-a-tat-tat, dysfunctional woodpecker chatter from the asteroid belt.)

"Anyone who affirms that Truth is Seamless, not multiple, will be able to see the various teachings, like the garment of Russian Dolls gloved within each other as well as the arts themselves, sourced by those who have already gained rite of welcome, then rite of passage to access firsthand influences native to other worlds, and developed sufficient courage, therefore sufficient genius to create the architecture in color, or sound or rhythm to bring it down, to make the Word Flesh."


(1/17/01) The love poem and the New Jerusalem

"This coupon good for one free waft, no expiration date...............

"Love, one of the Son of Man's Many Excellent, Mysterious Names, behold Love comes to visit, and hides out well camouflaged in the Objects of Love, which at first seem to us, God's Youngest Spirit Creatures most gorgeous and irresistible, and so we embrace them widely, like iron filings a magnet, while unbeknownst to us Love, our compass, is ever disguising, investing His Ultimate Nobility and Intent into our circumstances, clothing Himself in the daring blade of a glance, robing herself in the sweep-caress of Poetry. And through such blessed, clandestine, exalted Initiatives, Love, all His Acts, all Her Dreams which over long centuries  lead us, a most Most Spellbound grace-hungry Race to say the least, leads us out from this Abode of Dust, which if we would seek to amaze and more adeptly paraphrase, invites us forth to Celestial Climates, ever stowing away in the Chivalry of Touch, the Campaigns of Romance, not to whisper the Flight of Fancy.

"But, Truth to Charm, Truth to Disarm, Love's the original Thief in the Night, a Highwayman who has come to place all our fascinations and distractions and sweet sirens that ravish us and consume us with longings, and from their hold and wondrous glide of slavery, tutor us in the road to freedom. For we are Salmon, and once the free ride of gravity has delivered us to the sea, and we find ourselves wrapped in salt-sorrow, Love leads us upstream to the Source of Love, which is no object at all, but shoreless music which sires the world and the

elements. And all this the Lord of the Elements is wont to teach, to make widely-known, to offer as a source of celebration for his children.

"One Song to invite them all, for where there is color, there is a prism, and a rite of passage, and where there are numerous moments of Love, so also remember that the Ancient seems like only yesterday, and therefore forget not Love's fast and sturdy companion which braces the journey, and stops us, when it is necessary to stop us, from dissolving into the Embrace of Love, which we imagine would be called, if we dare summon it,  Awe!

"And we, from all of us here at Sherwood Forest, to most magically hope you have enjoyed being robbed of a few well-practiced nanoseconds of Business as Usual. For we've heard told, that for every moment of well-credentialled "Business as Usual" there be also an elusive moment of "Art as Miraculous". Thus Alice spoke from behind the prism.

"And dives off the tips of his own closed eyelashes, into the real world, into the maim and mayhem of the bazaar of sundry distractions, and all

waft now turns to plummet and surprise.............

"For the Son of Man is the name of the Race in which no trace of the former things which have passed away can be found, the Community which

that shall blossom from this mortal cocoon which lives beyond all doubt.........."


(1/17/02) DISREGARD and DESTROY the first The WCO and the Metabolism of Ideas

"Stay tune, R!

The difference and similarity, the degree of overlap in scope, intent and content of the Circles of Anthroposophy and the Theater of Michael, is one of the most paradoxical and mysterious and fruitful avenues of discussion for the Ark. For the AP's are addicted to subtlty, which trumps what Michael wishes to inspire, which is not subtlty, ethereal bonbons, hummingbird flutter, the pirohouettes of butterflies, the curtseying of flowers to the kiss of the wind. None of this perfume shall we refuse, yet at the same time, there is the matter of the Demons of the Day, and how to greet them, with courage, unspeculative, unprotected courage to spike our own complacency,  courage, the brave language of deeds. And though tis written "Which of the bounties of your Lord will ye deny", yet nonetheless Dream is a sea which wishes, like the first amphibian, to graduate from the blue-green, and come forth upon dry ivory beach.

"The threads which must be gathered involve issues of the coordination and reconciliability of opposites. When to coordinate, when to reconcile. Platonic and Aristotelean, The Magi and the Shephards, the Traditional and the Elias Stream, the Cain and Abel. The perfect Yang-Yin calibration of Christ and Mary. For these ideas live in nations and tribes and religions, and in the crude events of the day which bear the seeds of the future history that must be embraced, not evaded, authored, not bypassed. In this way we move from questions to quest, from raising and metabolising issues, to sourcing, to thrilling circumstances the likes of which do not now exist on the earth.

"And finally, Wisdom is to Water as Love is to Earth. And though it seems convenient, almost pharmacologically bureaucratic to separate the Angels and Man into sold separatelys  all for the sake of sourcing through false simplicity, an analgesic to peril, consider for a shirtsleeve definition, that dragons are immature angels, and in our mirrors are never fairest of them all, and that there are many of us who dwell midway between these rungs of Jacob's Ladder, some flambuoyant and mercurial and will be known as Genius's and others deliberately camuoflaged under protective canopy of anonymity and wear a Tarnhelm and by Earth of Love anchor the Flight of the Genius. But be gone, vultures, give Prometheus some rest!

"And for a last word of preview on the issues of how to source a common solution to both Terrorism and Fundamentalism, both coercive, both devoutly wishing to put dialogue out of business, and so seem congruent in intent, Siamese twins sourced of the same genes, think this:

"Here, 'South of the Stars, it is indeed easier to say and think,"One Ring to Rule them All", and become thus drunkards to the rush of applause, than to kneel in the Garden of Gethsemene and voice in silence "One Ring to Serve/Heal them All" And now we begin to suspect we might come to know why Beethoven is Deaf, and why the Hindu's recount Jesus walking on water thus: "The water saw its master and blushed"

"This will take us a month to strum these strings......"


(1/04/02) India/Afghanistan/Pakistan


and anyone else who enjoys putting on life preservers. Fancy this Dune Drift, and pray for floor!

"The possibility that Christian and Buddhist scope can meaningfully intersect, discovering common ground, discovering ethereal sky, in matters of attachment, in breath of detachment, commences from this point on, on tiptoe with a subtle observation that 'undercurrents' the whole notion of sourcing dialogue between these.

"What enables a Buddhist to navigate the trials of the world, and steep into Nirvana, and Christian to achieve Welcome, capital 'W' in what we can call, "Holy Places and Haunts', is the very same voyage; For the Christian, that journey is one of "over the river and through the Gate of Death", and like a good gun law, a three day wait, and imitating Christ, a Reawakening, the Kindling of Cosmic Consciousness, which we, whether right or wrong, one dare not speculate, nonetheless, making reason the female to courage, feel intuitively resonates with, (and if one has got to homage the coercive franchise of logic, "equates to" ) the Entrance to Paradise. <sound of 'Evening and morning a second day'>

"To cover all the bases, to define the bandwidth which spans this gulf 'twixt mortal floor and celestial expanse in esoteric terms, the boots of worldy attachment, fruits of desire and the harvest of cravings come off, catharsed away in the Place of Desire, the Sphere of the Moon, Kama Loka, all in that 'three days', in order to become vulnerable, innocent, divorced of all vestiges of outward possession, external wealth sponsered by physical death, and personal opinion through reflection, 'corporeally unencumbered'. Then, when anchoring is no longer necessary to achieve centering, which, in the poem 'Kings" is identified as the moment of "Coming forth upon the Lakes of Stars" you, once flower most root-ensnared have now become 're-rainbowed', so also are you named butterfly, and so are free, licensed to float and flight, free to debut once more in Devachan.......... Seems like only last reincarnation!

"Continuing on forging strands of common ground, and miraculous scope, predicated upon a trustworthy assumption that Truth is unified, (The Hebrew 'Shema') and that it is preferable to insult honoring the integrity of each religion being "sold separately", then to commit metaphysical schizophrenia by asserting that Akasha is fickle as men, that is to say, subject to the same fracture as subdivides the One Universal Language through a reenactment of the Tower of Babel, the Fall of Language which parallels the Fall of Man.

"But Earlyfire imagines that in Buddhism, the esoteric dimension lies far closer to the epicenter of human existence, for the epicenter of the day to day is made of, and seen through, therefore, seen as smoke and mirrors, composed of snake-oil, of charlatan ambience, a House of Cards, regarded as Maya, Elegant Charismatic Veneer, the Archetype of Tinseltown before there was Los Angeles, a movie sprayed in fluttering sway of shadows upon the walls of Plato's Cave, the magic slate of our unconscious.

"And if this is known, better, if this is Fathomed, best, if this penetrates consciousness not just in scheduled 'quality time' episodes of meditative oasis, delivered in cc's and minutes a day, but verging to continuously, so one can use the word "Therefore" with sincerety. Therefore, life itself becomes a path rather than a religion, a doing rather than a teaching. And now the charm is firm and good. Therefore one nimagines that the intent of the Buddha is to invite the disciple to make each day, and the events which populate it, at the moment it is lived, Ongoing Kama Loca, and that the inner and the outer are concentrically in dialogue. How to flirt less, to probe more, to expect less, and by way of blessing , to thank more.

"As to the difference between The more deeply desire-gloved, desire and ambition-trapped Westerner who prizes winning not just power to satisfy physical needs to pay off the Angel of Death, The Pope, The Sicilian Insurance Salesman, the Boss, but the freedom to laugh out loud while being a pall bearer at his own funeral, the practicioner of any Oriental metaphysical perspective which acknowledges the world is Maya places formidable limitations upon the "ability" to embrace and regard the ponderous gravity with which the Westerner takes mortality, and all human suffering as a crown of thorns and a cross to bear. 'Tis not what we touch, but how we touch it that determines whether we condemn or redeem circumstance, and how the circumstance comes back to us caressed or marred ten or a hundredfold.

"But now, to the 21st century, when the East must descend to the earth, and discover how to forge the hammer and sickle from a wand and a sceptor, and every fairy tale is entrusted to black ink, and dehieroglyphed on a square page which no leaf ever thought an appropriate shape with which to honor the seeing or present to the wind and sun. What more can we say? The 21st century, when the West must seek, must discover, must enter, the Sky Within. Then Goodbye 'Must', which fails to invite, and hence repels freedom, and falls short of Welcome. 'Welcome' - methinks another, more mobile, 'more weightless' name for Love. Will this be for here or to go? Paper or Plastic? <hears "Ether!">

"So now, to imagine the west in relation to more fabled ages and spectral intents, to forgotton legacies: This whole transition downward to the assimilation of will in concrete theaters, altogether Western and economically handcuffed, so late to debut centerstage in history, it's all pocked with its entourage of machines, and gears and torque, and water-wheels, and spark and steam and turbines, and no airplane ever floated at five-miles an hour like a dove, bringing silence in its wake.  What suave exhilerating imposters our machines are -, replacing lost sorcery, lost majesty, lost purity, 'ozoned qualities' which are necessary to the healthy practice of lofty sorcery, sorcery, the Lost Chord, the voiced access to the luminous winged life-ether, which in this century we would replace with almost equally awesome, sophisticated caprice of Industrial Light and Magic Special Effects, our makeshift, homespun hillbilly, dial-up, mouse-click miracles most UnMerlinesque, And these acts being so universally applauded as most conquest-worthy, emulation-worthy, so very pro-active, rebellious, so very freedom-bent against the corral of given circumstances, and seizing every opportunity to host Jihadlike, spring-loaded campaigns against 'the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune',     . . . . . . . . .

"             .............So now we have it, The Karma of the West, which the Orient, gracelike prefering robes that rejoice to catch the breath and pirouettes of the wind, to spring-loaded Martian brass buttons and laced shoes and boots, and snugly menacing neckties like hangman's neuces, like living deadlines around our neck, and in such prison compressed, all this dressing up in tooth and bone and claw and scale, and other ego weaponry most porcupinelike, bursting with boast. But why? Surmise this out: The Orient, "East and Earlier to rise", perfected more from within ere the chill of time with its cry of 'get real' slapped it upside, giving the green apple its fiery rage-red autumn face, and evidencing wisdom which from the Moon rose, fell less prey to feeling which attaches itself to objects, and sires 'De-Sire', the place where Love makes his first appearance as a "Thief in the Night".

"Oriental Metaphysics then, would not make nature even a Messenger, much less an Inflictor of Death, and so could not come to regard as dishonorable, HENCE an enemy, would never succumb to regarding as advarsarial to peace and beauty, the life of Instinct and Rhythm of the Earth; But all this just frailly echo's Hamlet's crisis: "To be or not to be". That monologue is the triple-beam balance upon which it is possible to weigh, to visualize, to imagine the scaffolding of a future dialogue between East and West, which since 911 as it says in the book of Job, has become most untheoretical as "The moment I feared is now upon me, and the moment I greatly feared is now come unto me!". 'Tis not a task for an emaciated Theoretical Christianity, one which in torpor and oblivion, refuses to take up arms against the Genocide of the Native Americans, the campaigns of Lebensraum, Ethnic Cleansing, The most unArial atrocities of Ariel Sharon. Wherefore RS once said "the Crucifixation of Christ is an ongoing event" And so too, the Halocaust, and we the ones who have come to insure that "History repeats itself" ceases to have a will of its own........

"But the Archetype will not stop here: There is contrast between Cain and his descendant Hiram the Doer, Spirits who must intervene in the order of things, who must froth and pound metals, filling up God's creation with rhythms and intents and deeds which make their own library of "As Ifs" become real, etched in earth, while Abel and Solomon, ever slain by him,  can bathe as Buddha, haloed in seamless wisdom, effortlessly thanking, cherishing, championing the "As is", and virgin, in it find no fault, no cause to strive, but rather to mirror. Tis they who remind us of "Ask and it shall be given to you". And RS says the time for the coalescence of these streams is not yet at hand (Temple Legend) But 911 is upon us, and we have reacted. Now we must author response........

"But walk backward a few more steps!  The myth pierces back earlier to re-echo the parable of the Prodigal Son/Daughter, whose name is 'The West": Fenris Wolf: Restless and coiled, He seethes, blackmailed, raw with unrequited ambition that scars every thought of peace, wishing, like so many of us, ( so many of us........... like so very   v  e   r   y   many of us!!!!!) to embrace the Light in a strangely swerving, circuitous way most roundabout: By discovering, by paying the price of learning in the distance, learning through Distance, in the sorry exile of remoteness from Paradise of Divine Presence, what he has lost by so robustly, dragonlike, courting the seductive wild darkness where the effulgence of a sun can be reduced, belittled, shrink-wrapped to a scatter of frail twinkling candles populating the Sea of Midnight. But all this is but preparation for turnaround, but prologue, for it gives him/her space to dream and learn to dwell in the space, in the stretch twin-bounded by ethery seas of yesterday and tomorrow,  in which the bladed island we call now, bereft of the once-and-future consciousness, finds brief sanctuary, builds resolve, courts Return.

"But now the Handshake of Orient and Occident begins. How to bring it forward. William Blake finds a way to conjoin the perspectives of the hemispheres by an error of omission. Punctuation (or the absence thereof) as Camouflage. As you reread this terse aphorism from the Marraige of Heaven and Hell, think "My kingdom for a comma"

"The sufferings of mankind are not for ever there is a judgment. To which we add: There are many face(t)s in my Father's Gem.

"And now you know why the dolls they use in Waldorf Schools have no face to save, are left blank, in order to make conjurers of men, to give the Appointed understudy's of Jupiter's Angels, a touch, an in-touch, an intuition of Jupiter!

"And whispering backstage, robustly concludes:  For its plain to see that Imagination is the Sorceror's Apprentice.......

Here Endeth (For Danny, End-Death) Chapter One


"And the following preview has been rated G:

"But the element of the Will to perfect the external, to bring the machines, our make-do wood and steel and platinum reincarnations of Frankincense and Myrrh and Gold, migrate to the Orient, born by three historical waves of homespun course-grained Wisemen, The Glory of the Church through the Conquistadores, then The Empire-Realism of Nations who would defrock the dignity and heritage of peoples in return for the legacy of a few roads and bridges, and finally, phase three, the perfection of Ruthlessness, Reptile-Overlord Coercion perfumed in Laissez-Faire, which gets OJ off the hook everytime, announcing the Global, A-national, A-moral Gunslingers, humming "For a few target markets more"..............And so the wind whistles in the flute. Ask not what your High Plane Drifter or Dalai Lama can do for you...........;-)"


(1/23/02) supersensible perception for dummies

"Great Luciferic Pest Control, XXXXXXXXX!

It's about time that AP begin to perceive the extent of our vulnerability to manifestations of vanity, and to develop pro-active responses to acknowledging that power-brokering is alive and well in groups which are steeped in a deep regard for the value of the quality of reverence, and that such reverence is ever vulnerable to both overt and subliminal exploitation in relationships. "Spiritual Scientific Research has shown" that Humble people kneel lower when offering thanks.

"Expanded 'a half a stretch more', the desire to be regarded as a perceived authority (as they used to say in the Watergate Era an "informed source" whose exalted and clandestine credentials are immune to analysis, considered beyond the ken of the common man) is an insidious seduction. It creates moneylenders in the temple, who hawk unspoken entitlements to homage, and seeking  astral payments of unspoken adulation', as they the Clairvoyant, or the "Perceived-as-supernaturally-gifted spokesperson" bring home from distant and holy places, lofty Edens, Greener Elysiums, Alpha-Centauris and Ringside at Saturn, a handsome Marco-Polo-Spice-harvest of  "weapon's grade shaman's produce" for the mortals, for the spiritual flatliners all available for sale.

"All this is stand-up tragedy, agenda to mire the purity of one's motives and initiatives, yet it does oftimes interlace the society, rapes

modesty, and shrivels uproyal majesty, companion soul qualities necessary to experience welcome in the Higher Worlds.........and thinks of the Emperor Concerto and the Jupiter Symphony.

"Perhaps all this is a footnote to: "The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in the stars, but in the fact that we are underlings"

"Perhaps Anthroposophy has developed an undiagnosed preference for a "very elevated white blood cell count ratio of Wise Men to Simple

Shephards", and there is an infection at hand."


(2/4/02) Lover and Others..


I can't comment upon Tantric practice, except by way way of saying that 'practice makes perfect', to ask, what are we seeking to perfect, and

how will we experientially come to recognize our practice is an ascent?

"But as to the second question, the endless one, we are indeed victims of separating off what is and what will be. Consider the Arabic saying: "He is a true believer who dwells in both this world and the world to come." Are we to understand that the present and the future are holding a dialogue within every human being? And that we are 'citizens' who span a gulf, what is and what's becoming, and play into both, and author both?  When Shakespeare says 'We know who we are but not what we might become', are we to rejoice that we are not "done deals", that we unfold, that we are immune to stereotyping ourselves and others, that superimposing a foregone conclusion is an arrogance, a weapons grade sin, a slap in the

face of wisdom?

"Thank you for letting Earlyfire non-answer this question. Philosophy is valuable because sourcing 'elastic', even unanswerable questions fills us with promise, an optimism, and advances civilization by providing a useful means to rival the impulse to succumb to the shrivel we see around us such as, for example, in contemporary Darkforce-WhiteHouse "Business as usual", "Enemies as usual" agenda. Wonder is the original and indestructable open-ended question, and one of the few known liberating antidotes to necessity.

"So now to adventure, to hazard an answer: There is a rhythm between immediacy and destiny that at the same time both confirms as well as jeopardizes the longevity of relationships. We're sourcing life in the now, but we're also dreaming, sourcing "world to come', sourcing the  future, the "Not Yet". And there's the rub, whether we enter dreams with infatuation or responsibly. For I am beginning to think that some dreams equate to ambitions, are just hungry and acquisitive, rather than are born out of an attraction and conscious focus to achieve virtue or development of intuition, or the experienced presence of God, or mysterious experience filled, flooded with inspiration, imagination, wonder. If two people in a relationship, embark upon a quest for the development of genius, beauty or a new perspective, wider angle, indeed even noble, verging upon immortal in scope, the clothing of their individual quests will somehow mesh and harmonize, even if the vocabulary of the path, the ideas, the rituals embraced seem vastly at variance to each other. IMO, intent to self-actualize is more important than the strategy through which it is sourced, because Love, being Universal Solvent and Balancer and Inviter, weaves, weds all languages of growth.

"So what are we left with? If the Canopy of Love appears no longer to work as a locale creator, providing shelter, stage and nurture and inpiration to gather, cradle and sustain the Lovers and strengthen their dialogue, perhaps there is a confusion being made at some point between a lifestyle and a path. A lifestyle is indulged while a path sources honor, virtue and wisdom, components of the enlargement of consciousness but through responsibility and focused discipline. There is a healthy ratio to be maintained between consumption of wine and



(2/11/02) shoreline

In Major Kays, lighter notes............We probably need the 'considered opinion" of everybody's favorite 'Universal Superego-smashing rent-a-double' => Ted Nugent to help us out of our frailty. On the other hand, you're already Lilliputianized to Lower-case forms of self-respect? Where would we go from here? An unscheduled seance with the witness-macrocosmically-relocated Valentine Tomberg?  Inhalation quality Anthro, courtesy of Dr. Endorphine......whom spiritual science has revealed in its cry for freedom, to be Lew Wallace, who had his liver pecked out during a previous reincarnation..............


In Minor Keys.............Use parentheses to insulate these whispers from the world......

(What is the value of Shoreline corked and out to sea? Is truth really intellectual property, for sale?, or is wisdom an Angelic property, immune to possessiveness? Which root race do we belong to?)  (After one has asked, in order that it shall be given unto them, does the Christ, the one without sin, turn around and cast a stone for the

crime of signal theft?)  And finally, shall he who contributes to obliterating the paradigm "truth for cash" be regarded as waging a noble war on undiagnosed terrorism. Next year in Philadelphia......


(2/16/02) The BLUE CODE system

XXXXX, and friends:

Many thanks for suggesting that we follow suit, like the body's autoimmune system which biologically isolates infections preventing them from becoming systemic, with this wonderful idea. The Blue Code idea will allow those victimized by various genres of irritation and blame to source a breath or two of detachment, and in the sanctuary of such silence as private communication affords, heal. I think it has become apparent that XXXXXXX's hungry drum-pounding military-tribunal attitude, with its implied advocacy of a Martian solution to a Venus problem, is, to say the least, as the Bard might voice, "a wee bit full of sound und Fuhrer". The notion of the entire human race passing across the Threshold, blurring the distinction between voicing Luciferic Enchantment, Ahrimanic obsession and Rosicrucian courage, often unkemptly weaving their way to the Promised Land - Initiation -  is, how to say it  "Extremely Non-Theoretical" an enterprise. To superimpose rules which preclude dialogue, perpetuates an ongoing immaturity in trust and love levels; to blow off the depths of heart work, is to attempt to prevent just what the good Doctor prophesied, and intuitively invited, the coming to grips with untransformed impediments to enlightenment.  To be up to embrace this social component of the threefold transformation, this act of inner migration, and to recognize that we, on the Ark are all in a state of Exodus, capital E, one which requires we develop and refine and mahatma-like master the capacity to intercepting ourselves in the esoteric crime of projecting irresponsible glory or rude muscle, is the very heart of catharsis. Like the bumper sticker says "The War on Terrorism is Love".

Ponder this then: Who of us, after the scathe and menace and dragon-flame we have witnessed here, has any doubts whatever that a transformation to living within Christlike ambience, the Grail Path in the Wilderness is going to be a trivial enterprise, one which we all should, with unbounded pride, make the assumption is something to which, without inner work are 'entitled, - priveleged to shout, "We've all got down". Purity of motive is an aspiration, not an assumption. Becoming noble, rising into exalted realms to ((be invited to!)) converse in the Macrocosm,  is not something you "get down".  Perhaps the ratio between the ecstatic beating of breasts, the remake of "Sub-Humans in the Midst", and wearing, and bearing the Crown of Thorns requires a little chiropractical adjustment. Screaming "Hysteria" is not the way to honor nor acquire the virtue of patience, nor to embrace a selfless, radient tolerance and honor of the other.


(2/20/02) Steiner and digits

The instant conjurability of knowledge with but a keyword and an enter key, is a new rub on Alladin's Lamp, and certainly such on-demant access

by the molecule is magical to any child or inner child.

On the other hand, there is philosophy implictly attached to the ways in which approach knowledge, and why. Therefore I will slow down the enchantment, and leave the skyward-braiding incense and pet unicorns, the marvels of fast-food sound-byte extraction at day care for a moment in order consider an alternative perspective. For there is hurry and fever in this approach, and it seems conspicuously bereft of the pursuit of majesty, and of the cultivation of the ambience of a Grail Knight. Ergo all which follows: To begin, what do you make of pondering the Quran statement, "All knowledge is a single point which the ignorant have multiplied"; consider this as not just as a miraclous endeaver, but as practical. Consider the parallel to reading Akasha, learning to read the Occult Script. Such a statement is, of course, a commentary about imagination, which, if the statement is not the work of a charlatan, imagination, we can fairly say, is what authors knowledge, what enables us to visit, to touch, that single point of 'Authoring'. And it explains why artists who

engage creative enterprise are always reinventing the wheel. The Mahatma Morya of Agni Yoga, offers a homologous take, when he says, "As the snow is but the messenger of the cold, so knowledge is but the dust from the breath of a creative thought"

Imagination, being one of the Ancient Languages, like its elder more mysterious siblings, inspiration and intuition, is ideation of more angelic order, is possessed of a different shelf-life than academically-incarcerated concepts with little connectivity or capacity for kindling rapport with spiritual experience, for inviting lofty genres of intimacy, capital 'I', also called Holy.  So now, to follow Alice through the looking glass, and flesh out the enigmatic "All Knowledge is a single point", we visualize a prism, and traveling backwards through it, going 'upstream of history', if you will, premordial light, seamless, undifferentiated, rivering through the fracture of a crystal, and, passing downstream through it again, and on this side of time, turning into a symphony of color, on this, the "less-Elysian, less-greener"  mortal side of the fence. Whereupon Goethe says "Color is the sufferings of light". And all of this is paralleled in the myth of the Universal Language before the Tower of Babel makes it impossible for the language, 'small 'l' of the mind and heart and

courage to talk to each other, But why say all this?

Dostoyevsky, in his little essay on the Crystal Palace, which I believe is buried inside one of his novels speaks of the ironies, the subtle danger of a building in which all knowledge is  accumulated, and already known. Nothing left to be added. A Done Deal. How very convenient. To think that the call to perform responsible, analytically-saavy acts of interior exploration, which a mystic might simply call "Astral Travel", and which RS terms "Spiritual Scientific Research" ought to be ideally upstaged by offloading the endeavor upon the shoulders of one of the world's greatest and loftiest geniuses by a simple referencing to the GesamtAusgabe, this is 'intimidatingly wonderful', to be able to access Steiner's thoughts in this or that issue with accomplished 'needle in haystack search algorithms', horsewhipping the gnomes and the silicon they ride in on by unlocking subtlties at the speed of light. Yes, all of the red lights have become shorter, and all the children are above average: and the Esoteric Automat leaves more time for more money. Yet at the same time, the issue of acquiring the spiritual wherewithal, the metaphysical industry, demanding of ourselves the rigors of exercising the Muscle of talent in order to become able, to become worthy, for it is a moral challenge as well, to achieve travel to that single point, and there discover in the graphic truth the gesture of the consciousness soul - this is a challenge and invitation not to be refused.

Remember Steiner's warning about the intentions of the Ahrimanic Shadow of Islam which operated out of the medieval Persian University called Jundi Shapur, and of the perils of accepting calling up Ahrimanic bestowals, and "ordering out" on a silver platter, the entire haut cuisine of self-knowledge in such a way as preempts suffering, and the embrace of the growing pains required to mature courage, beauty and wisdom.

Therefore, Earlyfire's take on whether Steiner would devoutly desire, encourage and applaud dropping three AOL-Kruggerands into the online fountain, and automat-like, lifting out American sold-separately molecules of references to knowledge ruthless ribbed out of context to how they gracefully unfold within a lecture series in connection with other co-evolving ideas, is that he might accept the opportunity with extreme caution. For the artistic processes through which ideas are kindled, unfold, and are transformed, the reinventing of the wheel, are frought with quests for virtue, grace, beauty; the reduction of insights to "Just the Facts", imposes a pretty severe psychological corral upon whoever wishes to become a Grail Initiate, to work, to voice, to choreograph Acts of Wonder heard by the Hierarchies reflecting in standalone Michaelically-inspired labors and achievements on Earth.

Said like a peasant, to see Steiner as the ultimate pantry in which every need for knowledge can be considered complete and available, to suscribe to and embrace a warehouse inventory model, may seduce us into a mode of thought which preempt us  from "visiting" -  encountering the single point which generates the knowledge. Utilizing our higher vehicles, meeting the Guardians, searching the psyche's internet, visiting our organs and planets and metals, may well turn out to be the real "Alta Vista" the Good Doctor intended.

Nonetheless, this much is sure:  In the quest to overcome temptation, One can count on meeting the Temptor.


(3/16/02) A red carpet camuoflaged in sturdy fonts

Greetings in return, XXX XXXXXXXXXX!

At the moment when the Equinox extends through the frail isthmus of spring's and autumn's invisible hourglass most Janus-like, a symmetrical handshake to both down-under and up-over, a robust welcome to you both, in this, the gramatically-reformatted, 'celebration-ready', exclamation-mark-enhanced reincarnation of "It was the best of times; it was the worst of times!!!"

The Ark is always enroute to as many destinations as there are destinies of the inhabitants on board; many hands share time at the helm, each in our own spin of musical chairs, now an Odysseus, again a Merlin, perhaps St. Francis, even Don Quixote, a King, Pauper, Ghost, etc, etc, incense-braided, upward rising. Like the larger theater of life which, unsolicited, bids us voice bravery to meet, to greet, to defeat the fire-breathers of this day without acknowledging them as such, none of us possess or enjoy immunity to the controversy which so widely round us undertows our aspiration, but for occasional, lightlike blessed, seemingly accidental, virtually unannounced cameo appearances of wisdom invading the subjectivity of our impulses. <and taking off his shoes, whispers "Thanks is unsuspected strength!">

And in the vulnerability sometimes bordering upon such grace, many of us have learned to sport less interest in acquiring such immunity to what catharses us forward, and melts our slag metals, as we advance into the full embrace of various Divinely-Scheduled perils with all manner of by-now weathered and cultivated trust. We are all rivers, hung on frames of bone, in motion, and on our gravestones, is carved the only possible expression of faith, a comma.

For most of us, it is a rich privilege to continue discovering that halocaust and adventure, the exhilerating, the devastating, do, like the Yin-Yang embrace of a circle sliced by a swerve of "S", share equal time in human space, like Eschenbach's Magpie of Mixed Plumage, and the little swerve of "S" is the serpent, coiled, sometimes graceful, sometimes seething, a symbol whose name in the Robed Orient is over thousands of years, reserved to identify and honor the initiate, likewise a symbol in the Handyman's Wild West, bound to its machines

which it has made a Promethius of freedom rebellion-won, and lends a shadowy conquistadorial, sometimes chauvinistic shapeshift to an enduring legacy of fallen temptation to the slavery of the external, making us fugitives to Eden, and proud of it!

Often lacking the means to disavow bearing the crush of either circumstance or unanswerable issues or mysteries we all suspect that peace be found amidst all manipulative intrigue which arms war with raging purposes mindless and compelling and atavistic, by moments of chamber music all this while arrows fly. Therefore none of us are as startled as we used to be, that in moments of battle, we discover the art of Stopping in the woods on a snowy evening, and uttering "He will not mind me stopping here, to watch His woods fill up with snow, and exiting with, "And all around, the only sound, of easy wind and downy flake!"

The best of times, the worst of times!. And they said, "Grasshopper", carry this mantra around like a Grail Knight, and lift your love to do more than console, but rather celebrate. Ask "if not me, then who, if not now, when?, eagerly listening for heaven's response. For our midnights are now ended: this is the Golden Age, beyond the claws of Kali Yuga, and it has singled each of us out, gathers us beneath a star-sprinkled campfire, and invites what used to be coerced; all with ears to hear, do savor its roaring, do mention it abroad in the world.

No matter what turbulence presents itself, which rips grace, which finds us wintering in Valley Forge, it is here we all midwife the development of dialogue. And in this way, with but a spray of a few fair-weather words corked in glass of understanding and sent out from the Fjords upon the cyber sea we practice: I shall shower welcome on thee: Welcome All!

You who are as ancient as we, therefore no newcomer can you be, drain a swig from Our Grail, stay in touch, help share this watch.......

Warm regards, leaven from the Sonoran Desert, and everywhere else others think these thoughts. Hope you enjoy our Nag Champa, delivered by wind, as it ever shall be   ;-)))

<and latcheting His Sandals, whispers "You are unsuspected strength!">


(3/1 5/02) Testeronic moronic responses

If you unpacked these sound bytes, it would be tantamount to saying that in an "Off-Road"-reincarnation the oasis-ing of an otherwise powerfully-focused spiritual striving in a few score years of "Reverence-challenged" mockery, cynicism, psychic brutality, a life of MEAN-while and scathe, that it is possible to dismantle 'temporarily' the scaffolding of the angelic, of kneeling, and disassociating oneself from sacred perfume, the pursuit and bathe of ecstasy, flee "South of Devachan", into cinders and rock, into the underground, in order to play "catch up" on developing the musculature of the will in campaigns which are coarse, and donning the scab of an exterior personality which seems completely inappropriate to sainthood, make anger and other such puncturing attitudes as attempt to conceal rage, the vehicles of charm and awakening. This is alarming and mysterious and bewildering and sometimes devastating..............

It is a chrysalis period, where one's holiness, backburnered on hold, has flown to the desert, and rings of the phase of life in which the caterpiller, dreaming of shoreless fire backstage of closed eyelashes, weaves braiding flame, a robust, heroic fabric of which the butterfly's wings be composed to thrill the petals of the flowers and the fancy of men, spun wind-worthy to startle an up and coming age. And though to outward seeming there be Martian turbulence, which alerts, repels, offends the devout, come on tiptoe and peer inside: there is Saturn here, but warmth most concealed and sports little press-release that would broadcast the suggestion of capacity to respond or project subtle influence.

Such aerobics may provide respite from the overwhelming presence of the Hierarchies, perhaps compensating for ascending too high, drinking too much ambrosia, and intoxicating as the ecstasy of a dog with face perched out an open automobile window, or if myth be food of safe shelf-life still, the flight of Icharus, prior to collision with the gods of "get real" for as Steiner adeptly says "Ahriman is the karma of Lucifer", and the evolution of the I am is nothing if not a balancing, an Alchemical valencing act.

For Wisdom, when he shall soften his pouring light to glove into water of compassion, becomes she, and cloaking in flow, dissolves into inspiration, and his shine turns to pulse native to the heart's temple. And comes a time when the Jews descending to Egypt, abandon their gypsy roam and cradling, seek anchor, and forge a "factory outlet" on earth, clothing in yet another layer of glove earthlike, this time called courage, this time under conditions of severer gravity and slavery than can be had in close proximity to the Dart and Leap of the Volatile Elysian Fields.

All this vindication of the "phenomenology of disenchantment" a raft down one of Hermes coiling snakes, having been said, you remember it - yet there arises another, less flattering, less tolerant voice which emerges to chill, to warn.  That of authoring future karma borne of the rejection of what others are sourcing in holiness, which to the one in temporary exile from loftiness and lyricism of Heaven, who will refuse to walk barefoot on Sinai, but must indent, leaving treadmarks, the same murderous ones the Arabic word forgiveness can, in one moment of redemptive flight of wind, erase from the face of the sand, and to the rough and tumble Off-Road One, whom Lucifer has taught well to worship the acts and vocabulary of brash and joust and boast who cannot kneel, nor courtsey, all wonder be a disease, a tear in his armor and threatens once again an overdose of the Presence of God.

Nonetheless our Off-road Nomad, thus de-eagled, thus vaga-bonded to the romance and charm of an occasional scorpion who dons an abrasive hair coat and pilfers honey from wild bees, may get stung, may indeed, if ethereal and other memory serves us correctly, get his head chopped off, for inadvertantly, while engaging the shoutlike severity of iron-clad posture he succeeds, though not intending, to demean others, pulling them who are content desiring to hold fast to a purity of motive which sires Innocence and the invitation to Return, Capital "R", into his or her theater of the "Clash of the Titans", and so, we see closeup, the raucous face-ripping claws so characteristic of the Waldorf Critics, who with violence, hysteria and malice, which be hysteria coagulated into strategy, the nightmare made rational, imagine they can author justice, good will, and major chords........................

When the coal finally morphed, miraclelike with catharsis into diamond, though almost deaf we were, yet still.......... we hear him say, as Akasha be our witness, "It is difficult to live the life of a Beethoven............... "


(7/03/02) loving our neighbors

Greetings XXXXXX!

Asking about the relationship between love and fear is not as profitable, approachable, "metabolizable" "thought-friendly" a polarity to consider when approaching the contradictory nature of human existence at a profound level. Of all the Geniuses of the Consciousness-Soul Era, Goethe deals most masterfully head on, "full-rhino-stampede, all ahead impale"  ;-))) .........- in his Masterwork Faust. God, the Author of the Mystery of Duality counts Goethe his most accomplished Sorceror's Apprentice, adept in the art of conjuring up the polarity between light and darkness, of dealing with the implicit advarsariality between the Warmth of Love and Chill of Awe. Awe, perhaps a term far more useful, (you dare to decide!) "better-balanced-against", hence more spiritually mature a term than fear, which implies trauma and rip and thrash and foment that begs for an end, rather than presents a presence. For truth to swell, truth to tell, (and you all are honor bound never to reveal this message which will self-destruct in three seconds), Methinks fear is but an unstable, an unripe response to the experience of Awe. These two magnetisms TOGETHER comprise, source a primal breath, inhale and exhale, taking from and giving back,  not unlike the expansion and contraction of a rib-cage, the bones of the ribcage toward the top, most like the full moon and those at the bottom like the new moon, and tells a tale of intelltale phases, of all that can be experienced as falling somewhere upon a continuum between full and empty, most connected, steeped in the Presence of Love and most solitary, most remote, most divorced, abandoned from it. Ask why should Love be the only useful and solitary pole. The I-am develops strength through negotiating its way through either-ors, through surviving opposites. And so when we voice words which leap across the cliffs into the gulf which separates Love and Awe, making us Mariners, it is as if we were practicing marraige. This duality speaks to the waxing and waning of the human condition. So also, when we speak of the relationship between Love and Awe, what appears as advarsarial, in mortal terms irreconciliable, is, to eternal perspective but an apprentice to ongoing dialogue we have, by grace steadfastly anchored, become strong enough to endure, and so trauma turns to adventure, and as the last word of the Apocalypse eagerly reminds: "The former things (death, gnashing of teeth, etc.) have passed away" To revamp in a 21st century non-Microsoft upgrade: When woman from Venus and Men from Mars mature their interchange, their speech softens, his blades, her lyric sea start to admire, rather than repel and compete; then war discovers love and soon, right under our noses, turns to art! And the Sorceror appears, and says, contratulations you, grasshopper, may now own the wand you stole, which to Us was always intended to be your gift, for you are now No_Longer_Apprentices. (Any takers! ;-))) ) Thus adventure (before there WERE endorphins, there IS adventure) turns scholars into initiates.

But Earlyfire has hawked enough leap for a day, white-watered enough. Fellowship of the Ring, Behold Goethe's, Faust, his Prologue in heaven: which alone can carry us farther.........

(Consider its position in the rest of the work! Before anything else can be said or done on earth, look down below at the First Word: Acknowledge this, embrace this, know this, live this)

(2nd paragraph)


Und schnell und unbegreiflich schnelle

Dreht sich umher der Erde Pracht;

Es wechselt Paradieseshelle

Mit tiefer, schauervoller Nacht.

Es schäumt das Meer in breiten Flüssen

Am tiefen Grund der Felsen auf,

Und Fels und Meer wird fortgerissen

Im ewig schnellem Sphärenlauf.


With speed, thought baffling, unabating,

Earth's splendour whirls in circling flight;

Its Eden-brightness alternating

With solemn, awe-inspiring night;   (literally with deep,

terror-steeped )

Ocean's broad waves in wild commotion,

Against the rocks' deep base are hurled;

And with the spheres,

both rock and ocean

Eternally are swiftly whirled.

translation source: As to what to "make" of the polarity: from, some interesting third-party preface: It is useless to try to figure out what the "real" point of Faust is, or which of the many views of life it presents is the correct one. It is par excellence the Romantic masterwork precisely (Bornfield chimes in: mysteriously as well!) because it explores a wide variety of polar opposites without resolving them. Goethe has created a microcosm of life, trying to preserve its complexity, its tensions, and its dynamism. Appreciating the work's complexity and enjoying it should be your goal. But now, our Air-Traffic controller hyphen muses have cleared us to descend from ethereal haunts to less theoretical airfield, (as in The 'Stone" part of Stonehenge!)

XXXX's four different levels of ownership, are they not like the phases of the moon, sometimes we are in a lighter phase which enables us to scallop, to coast gravity-free as a Unicorn, "diplomatically immune" to involvement, free of love, (a-love, a'loof , aloof) and in the distance of non-engagement, in the unencumbering detachment from the vortex of involvement, enjoy clarity? And we say things, perhaps chuckling like: "No problem", or when the silver lunar scimitar thickens just a bit, "I can live with the problem". Then, suddenly we collapse, fall prey to the denser part of the cycle, and don the Crown of Thorns, accept, bear the brute brunt and weight, as in the time of the full moon, time of greatest psychological turbulence, metaphysical core-meltdown, suicide, and the like and realize that we are victims of circumstance, drowned, and are the cause of the problem, and so disarmed by lack of aloofness one fortnight hence, do seek the healing of touch, and so comes love, which enables unconditional cherishing at every level of touch, Love, capital 'L", the Very Force, we suspect, which devoutly binds the circling hunter-electrons to the nest of the atom's nucleus, the same which invisibly "puppet-string" the Dervish planets honor-bound in swerve to their parent suns. And thus descending out of distance, seek the embrace of warmth, and the family, and the anchoring cradle of earth, and give thanks for the containment in which She, Christ's 2000 year-old Temple, softly, mercifully swaddles us with oasis amidst the Mortal-Thick-and-Thin.

I always liked the picturesque, intensely burning images of Kenny Roger's "The Gambler": "You've got to know when to hold, when to fold, when to walk away and when to run"

You never count your blessings when you're sitting at the table, there'll be plenty of time for counting, when the dealing's done."

XXXX, thank's for letting me borrow the idea of your scaffolding and for the adventure of incorporating it into a process of "Wachs on, Wachs off...."

The human neighborhood is cyclic, and the the requirements of the changing attitudes of the universe, are changing treads, and, one suspects and is entertained by the volatile thought that diversity makes excellent trackers of us all. More about this, later.  Good Sun-screen, and Swarthy, Summer Dream-greetings to your all, from the Sonoran Desert,


(6/20/02) Re: social life

XXXX, freshly returned ambienced with the metaphysical flavor of "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea", asks an unfathomable question: So be it!

"Can I have two different world views at the same time?"

One can acknowledge that the view humanity has of itself, of its potential, of its 'tomorrowy-destiny' is vastly different than what one harbors and cherishes. And so Solomon's sword has struck again, cleaving the 'AS-IS from the AS-IF, and the gulf between the real and the ideal is reborn again within the individual. Let there be initiation.

But once the two are spheres most uncongruent, and for some not even intersecting, our metaphysical chiropractice must make chiroperfect. But how to align: With a strategy alone, with a dream alone, this is impossible. But where shall these two meet again, except in the individual who will not stand still for givens.

Christ enters the stream of time, and "turning point" is born. The free downward glide and the gloving in the midnight of matter is complete, the trip down the black snake is over. Slowly we come to, and discover how to make gravity our gift, and to strive upward on the rungs of the other, the white snake. Paradise-like, we enchant the struggle with a smile, and by such blessing, and to such blessing fast betrothed, begin our ascent. Transformation says "There is nothing for you here, man, in this dustbin of ownership, time to rediscover what you have forgotton, and bring it down here. Christ, who bestows, henceforth known as the "Lord of the Power to Continue", says, "I give you Love". And as you know, whenever Love enters the Stream of Time, Hope is Born.

The rest's footnote, a small classic comic book beside His Literature....................

One can start with the Bard,  who bears a more "Jupiter-mentored, rather than "Solar" scope than Central Europe. "We know who we are, but not who we may become". So when we look at ourselves, and in situations of social interaction in the present, it is refreshing, - is it not!, even bordering upon awesome, that everything in the present circumstance is a frozen snapshot of something in process, as if to say, the human being is not a done deal, a package, a "we've seen it all," but mysterious, volatile, kaleidoscopic, expansive, part bloodstream, part milky way, part clay, part song, part thud, part leap, part fortress, part meadow. Or Eschenbach's mixed plumage. But how to celebrate it. More Mozart, drill Sargeant!

Now it is convenient  - that's what it has going for it - to regard ourselves as the sum total of our clothing, the turban of our thought, the robe of our feelings, the boots of our will, or perhaps the sandals, but the notion that we are progressive beings, beings under construction, under "guardian-Angel" and other loftier Assistance, this is a challenge to complacency, this is where we run out of Nitrous Oxide, this is a turbulent visit from Hack the Ripper to lay waste the old Lazyboy and the Days of Wine and Roses, and Pearl Haze of Nostalgia. This is cantata 140, "Wachet Auf."

So as regards our purchase of metaphysical building permits, we behold, suddenly wake and realize that our "I-Am", destined as Steiner mentions, to be a stringless species unto itself, as opposed to a puppet, is ever expanding in acuity and conscious clarity, our Astral bodies, their lives of feeling and desire, assisted through our own participatory acts of sacrifice and noble attitude, we seek ever to cleanse and refine, our Etheric bodies, becoming as well more adept and talented in our refinement of the perception of other worlds and in harboring ever expanding, ever more trustworthy climb for enlarged capacity for subtlty, depth, and yes, innocence, the highest level of trust most angelic indeed.

So now to carry the imagination into allegorical scope: For all these 'reasons', we are, by invitation of our dreams, all ever making a self-authored, and hierarchically-assisted Exodus from an Egypt to the Promised Land. From an Egypt of slavery to conquistadorial boast and brag, desperations, cravings and egotism, to a Promised Land of selflessness and love-sourced service.

It is Lucifer who would dangle enchantment in front of us, and trapping us in magic miracles, rob us of our aspirations and sacrifices and sufferings, claiming that the Crown of Thorns is for fools and for those who have not won the Publisher's Clearing House sweepstakes. And so presents his perks as a substitute for having a destiny. Destiny's another word for a "who we shall become"; but this one question's twin-bladed, and serves to target both the individual and by extension, the emerging world civilization, a global, nationality-transcending humankind.

Enter now the second eschalon of temptation: Far below the Golden Hypnodisk of Lucifer, compressed inside the Coal Carbon Caves of the Dark Underground, anaerobic to all change, it is Ahriman, who owns the word 'therefore" and brandishes it as a weapon to coerce, A., the Reptilian Over-Lord of "Either/Or" and the "Crown Prince of the Bottom Line" and the "Stereotype-King", who would substitute for the Evolving Who, a 'Done-deal What'. The Author of aphorism like: 'All Human beings come in paper or plastic, write from left-to-right or right-to-left, wage either Corporate Ambition, sourcing thereby CLINICAL terrorism or Jihad, PASSIONATE terrorism, and to spin it out, either use technology or face east and kneel five times a day.' And are either OK else belong to the Axis of Evil. And that obliteration, well-spoke in perfumed agenda, Ph.D.'d with quality delusion is just what the spin-doctor ordered, his jaded road to paradise, a religion.

What malicious fairy tales! And the human race, many of them not bound for, but bound up, and will remain in Egypt, rather than endure the slings and arrows of changing their paradigms from loyal citizens of "I only work here", and charter members of "That's the way we've always done it", to transformative spirit creatures, capable of assessing, of embracing the value of an aspiration UNREALISTICALLY (supernaturally, spiritually) Which amounts to saying, curiously aloof to asking 'what's it going to cost me!"

So XXXX, with these 20,000 leagues we do thee welcome now and ever share! I hope Earlyfire has given you more than your money's worth. The value of developing the ability to empty our saddlebags, both visible and invisible, in behalf of the unknown and mysterious Tomorrow, should not be underestimated. Chiro-practice makes chiro-purrfect..............


Delicious Outtakes:  So now we are in a position to revise the greeting from "What can I do for you, to what can I do for You."

(and reminds himself of what JFK never said/is now saying: "Ask not what 'History Repeats Itself' can do for you, but what you can do for 'History Repeats Itself".)

Long ago, how long ago I shall never know, They say it was when the asteroid belt eclipsed the sun, the spill of shadows most rune-like spelled out all that you read here, and what you see here is merely gathered together and concised into a prologue to a virtually unknown book, which I read and seldom understand, ;-))),

"Exodus for Dummies"


(7/12/2002) love/freedom concept



Wer sich an der Einsamkeit ergebt, bald is er allein

(Who surrendering gives himself over himself to Loneliness, soon finds himself alone)

- This ties to XXXX's idea of how one discovers Love, which Abdul'baha (Baha'i teacher) calls "The force which binds the planets together", arises to mentor, to stitch together those who have fallen prey, who have  become de-threaded from the fabric of the Macrocosm, those who, by as tales of Eden and all its sturdy woe that surrounds the wake of Paradise Lost, potently remind, teaching us the meaning of the word 'Alas', and weeping, whisper: The Race of Man, fallen exile, descended into the sold-separately of material existence, fallen out of connectivity and lost rapport with the Divine Hierarchies, for You infants in a manger have I Christ, have brought one invisible gift from the East, love.

So lonliness, desolation, abandonment, which interiorizes us, corrals us in mortal exile, so also all this orphanage, is topsoil which fructifies the emergence of Love, Who (if Christ authors it anew within hearts, love is a process, not an ownable "What!") navigates the Human Midnight, and finds us, and kindles our hearth, just as October wind in upstate New York slaps the green apples, and makes them outrageously sweet. Perhaps Red Delicious is also a term for Humans who learn to embrace the streams of love which washes up on the dry shore of apartness.

(Another octave of echo: As Isaac Bashevis Singer says "One should not expect to get through life unscathed"  Not a bad approximation, a 20th century Jewish storyteller's "foreshadowing" (pause for irony!) of the Crown of Thorns, eh!)

Finally,  Some 'cross-talk' from another, a Russian Sixth Root-Race mystery school, Agni Yoga, from "Leaves of Morya's Garden", the one that Prokofieff imagines false, manipulative and dangerous:

"Lonely stands the mountain top

Never does the feeling of solitude forsake it.

Blessed art thou if this feeling is known to thee.

Thou art on the road to Us............."

"And it is easy to walk beside the precipice when thou knowest of the Flying Carpet"

And for dessert:

Leonard Cohen, the Song Suzanne:

"And Jesus was a sailor when he walked upon the water

He spent a long time watching from His lonely wooden tower

'Till he knew for certain, Only drowning men could see Him

Said 'All men shall be sailors then, until the sea shall free them' "

So innocently dare think this, just as virginity is unconditional Trust: Perhaps Prokofieff, like myself, is afraid to walk on water...

Love is what enables us to embrace abandonment. Therefore, make haste to welcome exile.


(7/25/02) Michael

Greetings XXXX:

Thanks for the stunning images. I will chime in and add a few octaves to the talents of XXXXXX's wonderful,  Sybylline charisma, next to which, whose talents no kettledrummed earthquake, nor spiral of hurricane nor Lion roar can rival. What follows, what erupts from intuition, might be the first pencilling in, the frailest foreshadowing of a phenomenology of the Etheric Christ..........

For Earlyfire, the presence of Michael swimming into our consciousness, and causing us to utterly thrive, like bells in silence, is sensed as a sudden intervention in a situation, where a choice, an alternative to succumbing to an "either/or" upstages some brittle, unworkable, stale and threadbare paradigm, such as, just for example,  the choice-asyphyxiating Sacred Cow millions genuflect to adore, the poison ring, the death-filled maxim: *** History repeats itself ***.

One might then dare fairly characterize Michaelic intervention as invading a deadlock scenario, and through illumination which echoes into the astral and sparks the feeling of hope, of movement out of a state of crisis or quarrel into radience, and then after this further carves, etching itself graphically, if you close to chela be, into etheric inner-space, into what the poet Rilke has coined in the early 20th century the term: "Welt-Innenraum".

Going on,..... and utterly floods ones attitude with a residual optimism, levity, buoyancy, the release associated with what we might visualize at a somatic, acupunctural level, a physiological reverberation of the "dissolving-absolving act of forgiveness." (Whisper: Where art thou, Footprints in the sand? - Erased!,,, ... ... like all attachments too large to tiptoe, to float, to steal undetected through the eye of a needle", for it is said the Guardian of the Threshold never had need of a metal detector)

One hopes that the employ of imagination to create an experiential blow-by-blow 'close-up' of just how supernatural, Michaelically-inspired tides of spontaneous catharsis wondrously shatter complacency, does not seem too awkward, does not broadcast wavelengths too soaring to glove into tedious language. Nonetheless, parole us a moment from your misgivings, and indulge our brief attempt: It seems to us that the way in which Michael, swordlike bursts in upon the scene of some claustrophobic thought scaffolding, rending asunder the privacy hid behind the scab of self-absorption that a prejudice or a foregone conclusion superimposes upon us, holding '"what wants to become free thought, hostage", 'habeus-ether' reminds us of the depth of the Heavens, and the Purity of the Choirs, and so's Holy, wholly unclinical, a Unicorn-winged experience, composed of 'expression', rather than concussively cunieformed in scientifically horse-shoe-able 'description'. We are not accusing science of hammery heavy-handedness, of lack of a wand, but of often lacking interest in the flare and the flow of the way ideas approach and invite us. How often do we, in our fast-food mentality, worshipping the Nike-Knee-Jerk aphorism "Just do it" Golden Calf, do we seek to avoid, seek to blow off the inner homework of integrating the elements of the way in which we touch, embrace, even, (God Forbid), "Caress" Living Thoughts, the Cosmic Ones of Michael, prior to our act of anchoring them, hemming them into concrete stitch of language-bound, sense-accessible identity. Ahriman loves cultivating database-addicts.

One must be confident that the inner posture of kneeling, and the modesty which sires such a gesture of soul that bathes esoteric experience in the aura of reverence and startle, is what, in both the first brainstorm as well as the last analysis, renders such a close encounter of the Michaelic Kind and all its ecstatic overwhelm unhazardus to one's health.

So we back up one step, and share, or at least intimate how one might look forward to the challenge, to the adventure, to the honor of preparing for such an experience. Hid within, Trojaned within the idea of Catharsis, the etheric-flame-broiling away of impurity, like slag metal rising in the heat of the Grail-Cauldron of Ceridwen, is an ancient Arabic word "Cathawr", which means pure spring. And it is said that whosoever makes space to invite, to startlingly welcome but even the smallest drop of this glass wine into ones "Welt-Innenraum", ones Esoteric-Temple, that one learns how to source lightning. And, the story-teller continues, it is a known fact, ten-thousand times verified, that whenever lightning chills in the midnight hour, Michael's sword is forged!. Comprehend this thought at midnight: I shall knock upon thy door at dawn! Please line up single file for your complimentary cup of snow.

One more breath: The preparation of the ambience to receive, to harbor, to employ the presence of Michael, to rob war of its boast, it's reason for existence, - to raise the roof, to pull the rug out from under the prevalent, handsome, well-entrenched regularly-scheduled imprisoning thoughts - this comes like an unexpected, almost sudden recognition that while ropes still connect your wooden ship to the docks in safe sight of shore, the wind that lullabyes the sea in mysterious twist and to you speaks as well, John's 'Whither and Whence' which carries you forth, O human mariner into the Macrocosm, cannot offer you journey except but behind closed eyelashes, where your adventure must, as before, as before, as before, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, be confined but to dream, when you know you can, you know you are destined to acquire balance, through such power of inner gyroscope, hollow center, so also a voice. Be with Us.

All these energies, lyrical, inebriating and turbulent, they are invitations. There are no facts out there landfilling the ethereal topsoil of the Higher Spheres from which we descend and return more often these days than we suspect, but only flow and thought like to rivers and to music. Thus, to steal a word of logical consequence, 'Thus', thus Earlyfire slowly comes to suspect that initiation, which it is so easy to envision as the esoteric equivalent of bursting a pinata and winning the Publisher's Clearing House, initiation is the original Thief in the Night, and tiptoes in to cut your ropes for you. And finally suspects this as well, too, that whenever light, courtesy of your own emerging bravery, shines in the Darkness, Las Vegas and Wall Street engulf it not.



A cameo dose of epilogue:

To borrow, to commandeer, to impound Biological Metaphor in service of allegory, and let it unlikely debut in theater of spirit, think this regarding the changing of the guard we call world-order: One can look solemnly forward to being a pall bearer at a funeral for the death of a placenta, then Michael intervenes: Or to rejoicing to celebrate the birth of a child. We are all part miracle, part clay, sent forth from celestial haunts, to populate this bedrock in shoes and dreams.


(8/1/02) A challenge?


Thanks for your invitation to imagine. Earlyfire owes you one!

It seems intuitively self-evident, (which, because all intuition is an act of self-evidencing, is obviously redundant!) - repeat: it seems intuitively compelling to acknowledge as a corollary to St. John, that if, at the time of the Apocalypse, those who have fallen under the influence of the beast shall wear his trademark etched upon their foreheads, so also, it is but a short allegorical leap to suggest that those "Among Us", living now upon earth who are a second time achieving the purity of motive to be able to reacquire access to consciously interacting with, bravely dialoguing the chemical ether, and so are therefore capable of renewing sorcerial powers, that the act of engraving a circle upon a field seems a 'mild and interesting act'  to suicide bomb a few of complacency's Lazy Boy's, an altogether sublime signature to announce the return of ancient alchemical moxie, an invitation that what you take for granted, your etherically-hardened inventory of museum-quality "Been there, Done thats"  is not likely to pass through the eye of a needle.

There are some who might regard that kind of Til Eulenspeigel quality prank, to scar a swerve or two, as a vastly immature prank wholly unbefitting a spirit who has risen to noble and holy scope, while, on the other hand, I suspect, coming to see the world reemerge in the fullness of time, as a both a theater of mystery and miracle as well as of mere IV drip of events, dynastied in stale tread, claw and fang and other boastmarks is a breath of fresh air.

Are we not those others for whom wings are as valuable as boots, (imagination as valuable as thought), and unrehearsed, marvel startled at the aesthetic license, the sheer chutzpah of violating mortal expectations, by symmetrically mauling a field or two with a little esoterically-recreational finger-painting. Those of you who are safely cradle-boarded and take offense at enchantment, brutalizing it as inappropriate, Forgive our wine.

But remember also, one of the symptoms of the of the Third-Eye-Dead, under self-imposed house arrest in an earthbound South-of-Eden SYSIWYG prison, is that one evidences everywhere people who have allowed, given power of attorney to Dr. Solemn and His Violent Reptile-Overlord Double to hijack the Endorphine Lands, the Elysian Fields, the National Parks Within, the Latitude and Longitudeless Sherwood Forests, where Mr. Trickster and Peter Pan, Dionysius  normally hide out on their "Unannounced Instant Sundays"  to flirt with the lacy cirrus, strum ferns and to barbeque rhino, and to elegantly discuss Horatio's shortcomings while chuckling, repeating, and in backalley silence weeping chamber music like: "There are more things in Heaven and on earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Grasshopper!

Just in case it has to be hieroglyphed:   ;-)))   And now We have come full crop circle.


(8/7/02) Alexander -- 330 BC


Forgive the length of this celestial meander, tutored by the floodcoils of the Aurora Borealis roaming the Asylum of Midnight. You see, sometimes thought, which Ioda calls fable disguised as fact, clothed in cause and effect, befores and afters, lulls and climaxes, all of a sudden hoists anchor, and your sails becoming the wind's ears, turn thought back into voyage, filling us with swerve, making us adventurous again, hence young. Then read on, Volatile Ones, for the price of a few minutes meander, you can book passage upon Christopher Columbus's ship, see Pteridactyls again, and by the time you finish, you'll find Magnetic North...................

In the matter of Alexander, a curious tapestry emerges which seeks simultaneously to both condemn and applaud, to canonize and villify his acts.Yet because there intervenes in our frail judgment the uneasy notion that his intent is archetypal in significance, that he serves Gods whose noble intent at once hosts incoming influences destined to expand and enhance consciousness which on their way to becoming deeds are translated through a glass darkly and so receive human, i.e., sub-cosmic tint; And there's the rub! Like impurities in a gem, the Divine and the Depraved are intertwined; intermixed with greatness is also promulgated a menu of agenda. Agenda as here utilized means sub-altruistic motives born of personal spin, often naive and therefore merely tragic, occasionally like halocaust  itself maliciously sourced. And to behold it, even at the distance of two and a half thousand years, we, self-styled apprentices to wisdom on credit, render judgment, torn between mercy within, voicing a yes and justice a no. And so what Gods dreamt in the minds of men, by the time they make their way downriver to glove into deeds, render the intention flawed. Alexander's triumphal conquests leave brutal and coarse tread and scar behind and again we counter, saying he came to midwife a new consciousness and culture which seeks to coalesce Western power, meshing it  with an already matured Eastern wisdom, to source something universal, of which East and West are but participants, but components in a recipe which requires the stature of a personality such as his to be an indispensible enzyme, a metaphysical instrument in forging a new synthesis heretofore unknown in history.

And so the Warrior West and the Serpent-Subtle East, appear through these acts which both reflect and distort a majestic purpose, source astigmatic communication, and beget an uneven, dyslexic interactivity which falls short of conversation, how much more of dialogue. And so joust plays best man to what was intended to be a gift of love. And the intended wedding of Greek-potency of Human Will, anchored in concrete perception maturing west of the Bosphorus through the shovel and the hammer, and what lives in the East, in the the Crystal Ball Talents and the Yoga Posture bear hybrid fruit.  Notwithstanding, here's the rub: Two noble Prime Directives seeking asylum in each other's share of bounty, seeking to handshake, seeking heartspace where thought brings his sky and will brings his earth together, proves to be an impulse too immature, too unripe of grace to yet embrace, much less wed. Which proves if you're reasonable, or which implies if you're subtle, what you suspected for centuries: that war is but immature Love, for which reason it is recognized, all's supposed fair in either love or war. But fair often declares itself immune to the workings of what is Just, and would postpone consequence, experience glory on credit, and locks his mailbox at bill time, and hides in this or that gated community, While Justice, an Elephant, much more ancient and trustworthy than any scoreboard of tinseled opportunity, has all the time in the world to wait, reincarnation after reincarnation. What's swept under the rug is never dead pawn, but future suffering will redeem it.

So let us eavesdrop: Draw closer: Aristotle stage-whispers to himself: Behold the East, climaxed in wisdom, now fallen asleep, floats lethargic in its wealth and laurels, its philosophy turned to a drug, her peoples unable to make the world user-friendly, for both the hunters spear and the farmer's plow are maya, charade, and would insult her wisdom. Her outmoded social communities continue to corral, asyphyxiate her people in wall-less prisons of stereotypes and prejudices, and the way open for the emergence of what will become the element of the Freelance which liberates the individual from the clan and tribe and caste, and from all unconscious affiliation, here, has made no inroads. "Alexander, can we not help them?", "Dare we refuse them the thrill of our assistance, and spike them out of stupor?". You notice his smile reflects brightly on Alexander's glistening sword. Overhead an eagle screams......

Therefore "the West decides", the west being Aristotle the Pope holding the first ecumenical council with Alexander, deciding that the solution to the "Serenity/Complacency-is-from-Venus" problem is chauvinism, er, oops, sorry, very, very sorry, help me out Bill Maher, "Initiative-is-from-Mars", and Alexander "assumes the port of Mars, and suddenly leashed in like hounds at his side, shall famine, sword and fire crouch for employment" (Henry V, prologue). And so, at this moment, the buoyant, spring-loaded, fresh-frothed answer to the estrogen riddle is sired: "Let there be testosterone!". And their follows in its wake "DO UNTO OTHERS", a fairly good first-half foreshadowing of the Golden Rule, born this night, sourced in thunder, lightning and in rain. Evening and morning a second day! And so the conquistador and the crusader and the Grand Inquisitor is born out of the noon-like smile reflected in a sword of a 19-year-old, and Mother Mary is destined to become an Iron Maiden, and in the psychic filth of what alleges to be the secular, the very secular version of the "progressive stream", in such an Iron Maiden mentality, campaigns rehearsed in intrigue and executed in malice are hatched, and the Christ is crucified century after century.

So it would appear, indeed handsomely appear, like a book is presumed the reflection of its costumed cover, that we are dealing with individuals teabag-steeped in a group identity, and therefore any analysis of the consequence of Alexander's deeds, to a Lion's share of responsibility, Aristotle-inspired and etherically sourced, seeks a sturdy intuitive reckoning to assess in this present tense's tension to discern how what Alexander bestows, superimposes and inflicts, lives on, thrives on into the Theater of Today, and how it plays into the War on Terrorism. To transform a moral speculation into a contemporary, "act-upon-it initiative", to bring the ancient strands of the joust of East and West, Christianity and Islam, Technology and Community based cultures into a new globally-advantageous chiropractic alignment, to exonerate history of its destructive ecstasy -  this is the relevant challenge! Forgive us, Hamlet: The age of the Consciousness soul is upon us and so to celebrate the increased responsibility of which humanity is now capable, we've decided to replace questions with challenges, ("for the former things are beginning to pass away, the Progressive Stream whispers to him", and the sun smiles gold in Our Lady of the Lake.)

For now we know that Alexander clearly has "Authored-hyphen-Waged", and his contradictory moral torque reminds us of  Eschenbach's birds of mixed plumage, for whom he, from page one, pens Parsifal, those in whom are mixed the purity of Heaven and the Desire of the Earth, and failing the first, there will be no interest in Grail Quest, and failing the second, one has already entered the Paradise of God-Consciousness. To Author or Wage, that is the challenge. Make yourself the Jury, and welcome to Byzantium!! Which of these words first rolls off your tongue depends, one imagines upon whether or not you're you're east of the Bosphorus, and the acts he pens by his deeds, part thought, part impulse composed, part black-winged, part white-winged, get Akashically-chronicled, inscribed "as-is", and also "as-may-be" for free will's our locksmith. For other reincarnations will schedule future reckonings. And so Aristotle's thoughts and Alexander's deeds, become one of the pillars, one of the antecedent pivotal chapters of the ongoing karmic biography of East-West, and carve a stream and it widens, and downstream on this river, appear islands to punctuate the trauma of the sympathy and antipathy 'twixt a split East and West; islands they are,  fraught with ambiguity of interpretation, such as the mission of Ghundi Shapur, the intent of the Crusades, the dismissed benevolent effects of Islam upon Christendom which to this day paralyze free thought, as they ruthlessly impede the emerging global recognition of unity of all religions and their common ground in manifested virtue rather than in professed,

franchised, obsessed dogma.

All such blur, jaded with  notions of rivalry and dominance, continue unchallenged by wisdom, and so validate the approved mental illness such as "All's fair in Love and War" which honors target markets, and protects the rights of weapon manufacturers from any invasion of morality, and so there continues a zealous wide-angle laissez faire to poison the entire economic life of the West as its corporations function anaerobic to all ethics bereft of the healing notion of the value of siring omni-directional outward-pouring Love in the greenback theater. We pass over the recoil which schiz'd the Roman Catholic from the Eastern Orthodox split, and then the later aftershock of the Protestant Spinoff, and then the hundreds of  ego-plumed minds-eye renditions of splinter forms of Christianity which kept insisting on the value of upgrading the Message from The HeartChrist to the AccuracyChrist which hawks to this day the swarm of sold-separately-downriver forms of the oh so extremely cognitive-sheik religion. All the while, Europe notches the Tree of Life in a catalog of ongoing murder, and WWJD is but a dream of a cliche.

Thoughts as these, their brace of Autumn chill comes early,  and  in the wondrous astigmatic blur between the responsibility of an individual and the loyalty of the Folk Identity he/she bears like the Hopi their trustworthy Kachina masks at their always effective rain dances, there seems to be no crown of thorns yet, for heroism and martyrdom are not (considered!) descended, not yet (considered!!) grounded, not yet (considered!!!) anchored in individualized choice. ;-))). The pre-Faust world scenario to be sure. But before we play our "Get out of Jail free card", consider these two are initiates, those who transact in this lifetime what others must postpone to transform after death, for the meaning of the Islamic saying "He is a true believer who lives in both this world and the world to come", creates the imagination of two concentric circles, an inner center of gravity, the hollowed, hallowed temple of reflection, aloof as the eye in the center of a storm to the seductions and criticism of circumstance, which lives, which thrives, which creates and sustains ongoing dialogue with ordinary choredinary wars, pastimes, delicious dreams, and the dynasty of corresponding appetites, indulgences, and when those don't work, intrigues and deals which burdening nations, populate this oft-times spiritually-flatline Nintendo Theater of Boeing-winged enchantments and Manna from McDonalds and other Unicorn-robots Ph.D-caressed with industrial light and magic, inflicting rather than bestowing.

And, now, to get to the point: Methinks that the one responsible for launching a thousand foot-soldiers was not only Helen, but also Aristotle, who desires to reflect, to give back to the East, to offer in the most courageous sense, the value of the more muscled, less vanishable beauty of what the Greeks are able to develop as a far more concrete, and perhaps for this 'reason' death-shackled culture. The gift of transformation, of the quantum leap to next year's tree ring every time a spiritual spring season arises, you may argue, and if you make history, which content with habit, apparently prefers to repeat itself, make history your jury, history is on your side in saying that a gift, something intended as an act of love, is perceived as a threat, you have a war in disguise. And so Alexander comes armed with a bat and a batting average to die for, importing the Greek Pinata, or making the East His Pinata, and the power hitter goes to bat for his Archangel, releasing through a litany of murder, the gifts inside.

Rolaids, anyone? So you want a parallel, smoother imagination? Those who refuse to condemn the Alexander-Executive branch of the Greek Archangel may have some justice upon which to stand, by regarding his initiatives as the shredding of a cocoon and so see such violence as collateral damage to the birth of a butterfly. Now the Greeks were, as part of their unigue (4 of 7) mission, altogether prepared to discover ground: The ground, physical and metaphysical, upon which the courage to experiment and endure the trial-and-error of science, the rip and remorse of  tragedy, a Pantheon of volatile, Chameleon-intentioned Gods  into whom is injected, (some say humanly-projected) Luciferic astral corruption of jealousy, envy, and on level of will, intrigue, which would be the rehearsal of revenge and exploitation, and so also to this bathwater must be added the baby, Remorse, the ignorance-piercing idea of Recognition and Reversal (Onegnoresis and Parapateia) which underwrites the Immortal Genius of Aristotle's Golgotha-anticipating theory of tragedy, which could also be, in this day and age be renamed "The Mystery of Turnaround". Whose essence is: Now that you have discovered what led up to, what precipitated these dire events, go forth, Paul, forth no longer blind into Damascus; You have met Me; Therefore Sin no more!) But the East was not!

So, the interpretation of atrocities or manifestations of new cultural impulses seems, in sub-altruistic perspective, Bosphorous-Dependent, but yet the echos of both the gift and the disasters haunt the rest of human history, this war on terrorism being the latest installment of the serial-killing. Persia, in the 80's, identifying the US as the Great Satan, Bush, and all his horses and men, a side of intellectual Rump roast, awaiting in Kama Loka, the quality-time experience of a front-row seat in Hansel and Gretel's oven, invents another black kettle term "Evil Empire".  When you're ADHD, names can really hurt you! When you're an ADHD president, you can make the entire nation the watershed for your disease of metaphysical intolerance. Until the inhabitants of the US are able to assimilate the anchoring wisdom of the Indians and discover how to safeguard themselves from their own "economically justified" self-absorption and so emerge out of sub-altruism, they are but pre-Americans. Let us read between the lines: We, the Hierarchy, are awaiting with open arms to shower welcome upon those who recognize and reverse the tide of their priorities, who can come to transfer what they have learned from the Star Wars Trilogy, which would be the graphic

distinction between cold manipulation of  those who control machines and people they regard as machines saying only to themselves "Live well and prosper" and the Jedi , come to transfer the scope of the all from the now limited sphere of regional, nationalistically incarcerated notions of democracy into the theater of world democracy.  When you know where all the children have gone, there too, you shall find the moral, noble presence that turns a stockholder back from vampire to human. Look, up ahead! Magnetic North.

Let our fable now coagulate, condensing to cause and effect: Therefore   We are Patiently waiting, Patiently waiting, Patiently waiting........

Do we wish to think about this, or challenge ourselves to do what Steiner and Alexander hoped to achieve? Do we want etched on our personal granite, "I just worked here", or what someone in the Progressive Stream would want engraved upon his stone, a comma!


(8/7/02) Alexander - 330 BC

XXXXXX, a brief sip of Cognac from one of Marco Polo's Polish Night-Spice Nocturnes:

Just to borrow from the wisdom of the body immune system in handling infection, welcome that picture onstage and bid it homeopathically potentiate itself into fan of more spiritual climate. All this is but brave preview, faceless as a Waldorf Doll, and says to the child, "I am, like Nature, incomplete. That is why you, a Divine Work-in-Progress, one of My most cherished brushstrokes, are here, made swirlborn on green earth: Therefore forth imagination, let him cliffside boldface carve what he will. And they ask again: Let lyrical enchantment, italic as the scrolling seaside, source what she dream"

This is about the "Leaders", who confuse a God with a Boss. The rest's but footnote, redundant, even if it attempts to be elegantly hammered:

So the human body isolates an infection, whether it be a momentary pessimism or agenda'd campaign, and sourcing embargo in a surround-sound shell of white-bloodcell warriors, quarantines the scene of those leadership mannequins who are astrally contaminated with brute greed for applause. For greed is future boast that knows no credit limit. Now surely there are insulating, robustly powerful, to spawn a better term, more confident thoughts, best, soft rising peach blessings to corral these Mis-anthroposophs and place them under chill of subtle house arrest and make their voices mute to those who have real Michaelic work to challenge them that would evade homaging the press releases of the aristocrats among us; And thinks to himself, for a starter: Only if we are victims, can their oblivion be seen, be regarded as a crime. They may have hijacked lighthouses, and fashioning themselves self-styled metaphysical air-traffic controllers, these self-appointed Platonic 'Shipwreck-Kings' crying "no man cometh or departeth the air-port but through me!", they are our own modern day Sirens with perfumed vortex-songs that would steal the floorboards out from under us.

So how to navigate the peril of their presence, what remote ancient backalley Jerusalem pawn-shop backshelf has Odysseus' recyclable earplugs waiting to lend us? They ask the pawn-dealer for a price to Lazarus the plugs: He says: "Modesty makes for exact change". Modesty, the Ioda to mentor Humility, the same weightless, innocent quality which degravities us of our obsessions, and enables Mozart to walk on water, which makes us deaf to boast and greed. And kneels like Beethoven, wondering how to cultivate, how to be silent enough attract the music of the Shy One.

Soon he hears Modesty tiptoing onstage: "Those lighthouses they own will soon turn to Towers of London; soon they will all be decked out in cobwebs, and PR will no longer conceal their fangs, and so shall sport the familiar orange hourglasseson their underside."

Returning to Earth:

The answer may lie in morphing the paradigm. The hijackers would never acquire the swerve or moxie to say: "What need has a bird of an airport?"

And now we know all that we need to know. Anthroposophy, the entire stage of the world is user-friendly. No need to sing frail hymns, huddling in your plastic bubble, spending quality time going through their metal detectors, leaving trembling, penitent messages in John Ashcroft's voice-mail asking if we are guilty, or if we are worthy by his say-so to safely graze. Miracles, the Highest chemistry of thought, they require no credentials. What is man that Thou hast created him just a small leap up to the Angels. And though made deaf, is almost sure he hears, "Man, what are you waiting for?" The Grail is half FULL. Of course one can speculate, scheduling in handsome leather-bound appointment books the committee meetings for the best way to engineer and rehearse the spike, the moment of courage, or one can simply vow to become holy, therefore dangerous, dwelling in the thick of Sherwood Forest, consenting to be unwelcome Spirita non grata at the Sheriffs Courts of Power. Wisdom watches the face of "That was then, this is now" crack the mirror that lies before him, and molting like subtle-serpent, what the square clay leaders of the Brotherhood of the Lazyboy, inert of spark, can never utter, smiling, say "If not now, when?"

Michael may have outgrown the clothes of Anthroposophy, and Anthroposophy, his brass buttons bursting like a court martial, may happily, NOT TRAGICALLY, for the grail is half FULL,  be    f  r    e     e        to molt.

Earlyfire forgot the follow up the quote from Morya, with the lines which followed:

The erstwhile fragrance shall become a stench

The former song turns into the noise of the wheel

The former shield turns into an oven door

So grows the spirit, when manifest before the world creation.........

which are:

In a small room, upon a small rug, Thou hast shed thy former skin

What cannot be laved in the snows of the mountain and the warmth of the sun

The new garb will absorb the released wisdom.

Perhaps this is why Bahai's, fearless of discarding the robes appropriate to worn out ages, count progressive revelation one of the cornerstones of the renewal of faith. The imagination echos with the terraced dynamics of Baroque composition, of Max Plank's Quantum level orbitals in the atom's shells, of tree rings, both wood and resonant in the Sepher Yitzirot. For the Hierarchies are whitewater, and we their rafts, and so are not fixtures like the Roman Catholic Pope Frozen Stale in his Lofty uncaressable Carbonite.

Time to whisper, "My kingdom for a Skywalker.........."

Buoyant flames, floorless air, slurring tides, anchored earth, Hear it! till we, Silver Iodide's strum of brainstorm morph the clouds into live pelting monsoon, which rainlike, makes their scabbed pride porous to mercy again, becoming showers to their desert.


(8/7/02) Will Power

First, to XXXX:

Please launch a kind and gentle airstrike to acquaint XXXX with your web coordinates of various aspects of your comprehensive formidably-thrilling ideas, possessed of such Sibylline enthusiasm as makes for high-fire-danger implicitly offensive to the well-cautioned posture, the engineered mothball silence of the European addiction to find sanctuary and oasis from war, which distinguishes American Mythology well revved in the rip of Frontier Justice, Star Trek, Star Wars from the oft-times frail and emaciated archives of European

conceptual implants, bereft of Industrial Light and Magic which have sought audience, which have sought dominance upon these shores.

XXXX, many of us in America regard the unbridled entrepreneurial optimism which dwells here, a spontaniety which, like the unexpected debut of a volcano in our own backyard, "invades" our spiritual outlook as the core asset to all true striving, and we count such miraculous punctuation as appoints, as annoints courage the ideal voice to share abroad the Michaelic intent of Anthroposophia, the only genuine emotional scaffolding that is astrally seaworthy to bear Faust's Scope and Excalibur's existential cutting edge. For the time

when man hunts for bushel baskets wherewith to seek refuge from the Dragon passed away in 1879, and in this age of emerging metaphysical sturdiness of an I-Am which revels rather than gropes, such news, such celebration is nonetheless still young upon the land, and so for many, still tiptoes upon their interior lives like a thief in the night, lurking only in dream. So when we think "Choice", summon not the word, "require", rather rev up your inner gyroscope and think "invite". One can postpone or Invite oneself to the embrace of Evil.  

So it is that in the archetypal mythological expression of intent to transform, an impulse transplanted here in more ancient Atlantean-bathed topsoil of this, the world's first "Omni-Nation", we behold inspired evidence of an "upgraded Anthroposophical Energy and Focus" one which we cherish and champion as a true and worthy mode of experience destined to replace the inherited scaffolding of knowledge passed down, down, down in the fog through centuries of ritual like visible crowns impressing new fresh kings, and volumes of ideas FortKnox'd in library catacombs as dark as minor chords, amassed as a dowry to bribe the void, to pay off terror with moments of glory.

Therefore to our Cognac, throw in a strum of Molotov cocktail to chase, and cite us for speeding, for Godspeeding. For truth to tell, truth to swell, at times,- what radient malice as gets his liver pecked out! - the Ark seems indeed like an "open secret", a wall-less FreeMason lodge wherewith to incubate ideas, spawn revolutions. Who seeks to catharse rather than avoid, strange to say, like a Melchisedek, turns orphan to his famous arsenals, sturdy inventories, cloud-capped towers, gorgeous palaces and the winter of all such laurels, and molting his skin and sourcing freedom, the same becomes his own shephard, and by sourcing such courage as makes him fit to endure in full consciousness the cleansing poverty of this long meanwhile we call the human exile, parolled thus from codependent genres of Anthroposophy, his wand turns pen and soon he writes Elysian Psalms.

So it is our braiding softly-coiling incense embering, berefts itself of rise and perfumed leaven, suffers dusk, burns down to bark. And another high-fire-day comes to an embery close as the bathe of overhead stars subtlly startling, stitches us in luminous needlepoint.

You can hear the Moses raft float the Pharoah's river, which like all good river music, confides the taste of Manna to come.

Love, Harvey

America is the Sequoia which grows in the crack of history's sidewalk, and when she wakes to reformat the charisma and the reverence of the entire world, from that day lucky henceforth, there will never again be "Business as Usual". This paid political announcement funded by "" and generous contributions from doers like you.


(8/9/02) An Invitation

XXXX, here's an interesting starter:

Try analyzing Murphy's Law from an esoteric point of view, supposing, for a moment that it is an expression of a triumphal Hierarchic Intervention designed to tutor one with wisdom. All this, Fed-Ex'd, adeptly blow-gunned, (high quality curare), no-waiting, first-class, (loud cheek slap, like a frosty October wind upon a green Apple,) 'right to our front door', all just in order to provide a wake-up call that alerts us that a desire or initiative or wish spawned either naively or overtly "outside the protective custody of altruism", and which would therefore result in acts "astrally infiltrated", (and rewrites the wordless thought) "morally soiled", (this too may not do!), Eureka!, - "Vibrationally over-par" haunted with some fat-cat degree of greed or similarly addictive expectation, these deeds, the Hierarchy invariably, effortlessly "cuts off at the pass", and refuses to allowed to become part of the experiential inventory, the personal Mardi-Graw of the celebrated, the stuff of which memoirs and all manner of radient old-age-brag are made.

Mercy delivered by a messenger of Thwart!

Which brings us to an alternative:

Of course, Murphy's law can be orchestrated in less cumbersome apparatus than a rhinocerous  at ramming speed reducing a home to smithereens.

Perhaps Irony is the subtlest sting, and a warning more devoutly to be appreciated, one which leaves the "lightest", (both senses of the thought), least indelible fang or treadmarks upon our scrapbook of human pages.

For 75 cents more, Quest can, avoiding bankrupcy, morph your rhino into a kinder, gentler, silver-blooded airborne Unicorn, with but  minimal

architectural transformation. Such a deal. And wordless thinks: Perhaps the key to sublime-a ' tion, sublime-action lies, in part, tiptoe when you whisper this, in the way in which one welcomes, chooses to appreciate the strike of divine intervention. 75 cents worth of Innocence.

Mozart received his wordless artworks in one flash. As his unruly onetime 14 year younger friend's ink-scarred sketchbooks, telltale with growing pains, weary of tailoring, downsizing and compressing the Word into Flesh again and again reveal, Beethoven, seemingly so warlike and tempestuous for a lucky dice-loaded Sagittarean, was known to have shot many of his own arrows at himself, altering the Lion's Share of much of his most impressive music 10 or 15 times, until he was "satisfied".............. that he had brought into the world adequate translations of intentions which bore grace and justice to what he choreographed first in swirling light so much more easily than etched in midnight words. Read Rilke's poem, The Swan.

Which leads us to what is the nature of the conversation between the Dreamer and the Dreamer, when mortally disguised in the Here-and-Now?, aka,The landlocked, well-rooted Thinker. For it does seem fair to surmise, that the human is a child temporarily dressed up in necessity, a fable straighted-jacketed, stressed with news. Why fis the transition between the two roles, between the visionary and the concrete, between lyrical heaven and this most punctuated world, between the sea-vowels of spirit that cartilege, the barbed, angular consonants that scar ones very teeth, and pock the air in the sounds of weapons, for some, sometimes magical, effortless, 'twould seem as smile, like doing nothing except watching outward ripple effects of a stone impaling a lake with perfect outward-ringing circles? And for others, a hurricane has to overturn their kayak, reduce them to splinters, and they are strummed, thrashed only in minor chords, and thus Beethoven-like catharsed, their ideas are seemingly torn limb from limb ere they find sturdy anchor and home, in this Home away from Home. [text breaks off here ;-)))) This faceless Waldorf doll, orphaned of discrete identity but for your kind projection, intentionally left blank for formatting purposes]

So finish up then:

When the Motel 6 management, the bureau of Murphy's Law Swat Team, came hunting for the Motel 6 clerk who had written all this on company time, strange to say, all they found was a mint upon a pillow, and, of course this unaltered manuscript I see here before me, next to a hastily-scrawled cell phone number of a Dove!


(8/5/02) Evil


It was a mysterious remark which I am too right-brained to recall, even paraphrase, but Gandalf implied in no uncertain terms to Frodo, that evil must not be construed from the act alone, that underneath history, buried in events, are motives, and Evil and Good must be looked for in the analysis, in the beholding of the interaction between what is done and what intuition reveals to us as the intent voiced, vowed consciously or enchanted, behind what is manifested. Somewhere on the road in which a wish becomes a dream, than consolidates to a thought, then the thought gets gloved in a goal, and finally the goal takes on external profile as an event in real-time, there is a lot of room for error in the translation of intent as what is focused by thought gets filtered through the lens of desire. An interesting mesh. Perhaps rose-colored point of view, as in blinded by the enchanting warmth and caress of love, and there find Lucifer's wondrous snake oil, or perhaps disenchanted by Ahriman, blunted, bottom-lined, damped down, emaciated, lacklustered, emotionally crippled, sterilized by the rainbow-stripping grey tint of 'been there, done that" And what is desire? That part of Astral Life, that component of the theater of feeling which fear coagulates out of the cosmic, which falls short, which falls out of altruism, and descending from Lofty ambience, emerges as personal agenda. Be this as it may, gently to hear, kindly to judge! So Steiner himself reminds us of the existence of Achamod, or desire, that in it is a gleam, a pierce of illumination; that buried in what we need, lies a kernal of beauty, a messiah in residence, like an underground spring, and therefore not to condemn desire just because the passion it generates tints the light of clarity. For the same kiss that can addict, can also come from

Prince Charming, Prince Disarming, and can also awaken, and putting spin on our inertia and complacency, dissolve doubts, welcome Turnaround, capital "T".

So now back to Gollum. Upon his shoulders the torment of the desire for power, of which the ring is the vehicle. In the NiebelungenLied, the Middle High German epic told for centuries and not locked down into the fabric of the written word till around 1300, a myth which focuses the same theme as Tolkien, there exists Gold from which a Ring of Power is fashioned, and it lies initially submerged womb-like,under the protective waters of mercy, in the Rhine River, guarded by innocent creatures, the Rhine Maidens.

Just like the Sword of Power in the Arthurian Myth, Excalibur, lies likewise submerged in waters inhabited by an equally virgin Lady of the Lake. And implies, and whispers to each of us that Power can only be domiciled in a place of innocence. And we, almost out of earshot of the innuendo.

And in the NiebelungenLied, there appears an ugly deformed dwarf called Albericht, who is taunted for his awkwardness by those maidens, who discovers, or creates a curse that to possess such Gold of Power one must forsake Love. Exactly as Gollum discovers. And then fashions the ring, and a tarnhelm, which when worn, makes a person invisible, and echoes the reason why a Vampire casts no reflection in a mirror, has no power of self-reflection, perhaps no center, perhaps no operative soul, but is paralyzed by the powers of the night, of the double.

So what is redeeming about this? If you know what the price of the sacrifice is, and are willing to renounce Love, then you consciously earn the right to the Power, dangerous path though it is. So Gollum now has an opportunity, having discovered in grief the weight of his burden, of knowing what he has exchanged for the right to bear Ring, what no one except one who falls prey to the sin of trading love for power can come to know except through experience.  Which is remorse, which lies on up ahead. Comes from an ancient word: Mors, mortis. The dead Latin word for "Death". And Re-morse, we surmise, means "Death Again", the conscious experience of what it is you have lost and wish once again to have back, to dwell in the presence of, the condition of uncorruption, the reacquisition of a second innocence.

Enter now at the turning point of time, the Christ, first member of a new race of mankind yet to come, whose sandals we are unworthy to lachet, Who is called therefore the "Son of Man". And the experience of Death He undergoes, Known in the veneer of the Mystery of Golgotha, is the King of all Learning Experience, called Remorse, for when we feel this, He responds always by sending His Wind to erase footprints in the sand. And so Forgiveness, that special instance of compassion which can turn death upside down is, in this way born within us. And Christ, once beyond, is now within us, Word made Flesh. And this, grandchildren, is how we all have come, or if "Soon" be a worthy substitute, an acceptable understudy for the word "Now", we all shall come to born not of flesh, but of Footprint-erasing Wind, as mentioned in the Gospel of John. For anyone belonging to the new race of man, the Son of Man, as mentioned, so as it is writtem so also it is true, is endowed with a mysterious talent, is enabled to forgive!

And of all creatures, Gollum, most corrupted by power, who perhaps never INTENDED to forego Love, who knew not what he does, suddenly, in the depths of the consciousness soul, discovered that which he knew not, that to be exiled from the bathe and the canopy of Love, is to be on the outs from Eden.

Rather like us. We, Exiles, Orphans all, we all wear that ring he craves, practically unaware, one begins to suspect of the existence of a day foretold when "the former things shall pass away". So Princess Charming told me when I woke, tells me, me, Gollum, whenever I wake from the loom that has stopped spinning........

"Love, Gandalf"


(8/8/02) Was A challenge? No, not really; - Now: An Invitation

Now let me ask you a question. What do you think of the idea of wordless thinking? Is there any reason to attempt it?

warm regards, XXXXX


And XXXXX was overheard. For starters, Beethoven said outright that music was a higher revelation of wisdom than all of philosophy and religion. Those on the Ark contemplating, nay foreshadowing, preparing to be knighted with Initiation, will want, for starters, to acknowledge that the Macrocosm is probably not at all like a warehouse, a landfill, a broom closet, but floods one with open expanse, chill awe and silence, incandescent rapture, soft mercy, bracing wonder, infinite thanks and the like. Now putting 19th century programme music aside, a relatively recent "upgrade" to absolute which wishes to ground music out of its native freedom by attaching it to literal experience, of which an example is Symphony Fantastique, Beethoven foreshadowed what might be the most unperceived, undercherished statement Steiner ever "unearthed". (Paraphrasing) Our purpose in meditation is to achieve a thinking which is free of objects of thought" It is curious that when Beethoven was asked to explain why he attached labels to each of the five movements of his Pastorale symphony, not more then one generation older than Berlioz's work, he replies, "More an expression of feelings than events".


And so, for starters, launch your ships off these docks. Objects of thought are "What". A "What" is one moment of a process, a "How", or a Quest. Word made flesh. Word=How, Flesh=What. Booking flight to FutureJupiter, Rising into imagination, thinking's a river, continuously transforming, cutting new ground, its bed ever slicing, widening, a work in process. Objects of thoughts are but the interstate mileposts, the islands in midstream, the metaphysical bookmarks that punctuate moments of the restless journey, but reference points, the "Footnotes of the Quest", breadcrumbs and counted beans left behind for the H and R Blockhead.  

In other esoteric teachings, at home with, (therefore, one infers) unashamed to dwell and describe experience in the volatility of poetic metaphor, bathed in rhythm, strophe, mythological echo, multiple meanings, etc, - in other words ideas a bit more courageous and freelance, which refuse to be intimidated by the hunger of some professed need that reflects an existential insecurity with mystery, and so unfreely demands they hammer down the Sublime Adventure of being touched, caressed with God-consciousness into some macabre

databasable inventory of the "Exact Change Literal", you encounter candidates for initiation being offered invitation to wisdom in such ambience of welcome as this:

As the snow is but the messenger of the cold,
as the leaves are the ambassador of the wind,

to the word is but the dust from the breath of a creative thought..

So now, enter our Beloved Thief in the Night, come to steal from us our fixations with the accoutrements, the souvineers, the ballast, the cloudcapped towers, the gorgeous Lexus's, Christ as Robin Hood, and, since He knows something we have yet to learn, comes to rob us here in our own Sherwood, of all that will not pass through the eye of the needle.  

As in In the beginning was the Word..............He was in the world, and the world was Voiced by Him, and the world was deaf, and heard Him not...............And so the word was sentenced to coagulation, from compressed, wrapped in the husk, in the nuts and bolts of language, made, hidden, numb, mute, drydocked from paradise, made flesh.  So thought evolves. The languages most of us use today and count reliable centers of gravity wherewith to triangulate up and down, before and after, seasons like the summer of spree, the winter of our discontent, the phases of childhood, maturity, wisdom, and we are now root, and lose our first teeth, and come above ground to meet the wind, and turn leaf, and a scant seven years later, become attractive, turn, flower, then all turns to seed, and books passage on the wind to the faraway branching places. More process; If we're lucky, we ourselves are caterpiller, then are death-coma'd, estranged, made captive audience to sleep and silence, and dwell a in coffin of cocoon, and after three-days rise from inertia, Eureka! Golgotha!!!!.

But if one wonders where in the world, how in the world one can experience that last process as wordless, one can hoist anchor, and making their ears sails to house, to drink, to travel the voice of the wind, know this: There exists an experiential architecture within classical music, a noble form which was prototyped, developed and indeed perfected by three musical geniuses of the classical age, the paragons and mentors of Age of enlightenment, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven; it is known as Sonata-Allegro. It contains an exposition, a development, and a recapitulation, and it presents, then suffers the conflicts of opposing themes, and finally exhausts itself, and rises completely renewed like a Phoenix from its own ashes. It is a form which no conservatory on the planet can teach  any musical composition student to create - emulate, perhaps in exterior semblance, in formula, but never create, for how to confront and marshall the forces, the trust, the faith to undergo the process of death and rebirth, cannot be transferred, bestowed by one upon another, but rather only authored. Therefore the ability to author is the source of Authority, indeed, methinks its a form which only genius, the Jupiter Manas can germinate and unfold as a capacity within those who wish to bear the initiation.

So how to begin to practice parolling some of our anchored, literal, word-bound thoughts, and making them oceanic, allegorical, echoable in resonance, so that the Flesh Christ has became, and which haunts the bedrock and the clouds of men's consciousness, can once again find liberation, dare once in a while steal away from the inland preoccupation with ownable meaning, and get leavened by an impulse of beauty. So, let's borrow the energy of this train of thought, and invest it, transplanting it in a question: Can anyone else suggest an

alternative meaning to point to what Steiner may have had in mind (you be the judge and jury) that whenever the mind climbs down Jacobs Ladder, descends Jack's Beanstalk and to all razory piercing intelligence, adds bathe and halo of Love to trump the triumphs of the mind, so he starts negotiating in the sphere of the heart.

Then drown in this: "Full fathom five my father lies. Of his bones were coral made, those were pearls that were his eyes, nothing in him that doth fade, but suffers a sea-change, into something rich and strange" This energy shift which one feels leavening awareness in that passage from Shakespeare's Tempest is an appropriate, a miraculous, a visible expression of what it will be like when each of us begins, though it be but for two minutes, two strophes, (two dimes of spare change! ;-)))  ), a day, to cherish, to welcome the seamless thinking of the heart that sews up the fractures of the great globe itself that all the kings horses and all the king's wars on terrorism couldn't put back together again!   

Earlyfire, you should have known better, wasting all your time with this metaphoric ballast. Morya said "Through Art Thou hast the light"

Stars overhear this!  And and so also thank you all for eavesdropping on our meditation. Thus it was that Lazarus, unriveted, suddenly robbed of words, far from impoverished by matters and ethers altogether speechless, emerges as if from a cocoon, and slowly begins to suspect that all thinking is out loud.


(8/21/02) In the Circle


Here's aspirin!

AP is, fortunately, exhale now,  - but one miniscule circle, one of many lucky spheres which are receptive to the embrace and assimilation of Michaelic inspiration, that is, the metabolism of dynamic thoughts, by which we mean, influences which penetrate and shred human complacency 'cocoon-breakers' as it were, and so are invariably, but only potentially, potentially, potentially capable of inviting self or societal transformation. Michael's numerous vocabularies into which he is able to invest spiritual enzymes, exodus-leaven into cinematic, artistic and academic circles, causing them to resonate with spark, beauty courage and flight, makes him, to borrow from chemistry, small "c", adeptly metaphysically polyvalent. It is easy for most AP's to conceive of their vocabulary as some kind of privilege, a free ticket to ride, a "get out of ignorance free card" when experience shows that it's composed of primarily lucid invitation to do inner workscouring away distracting, I-AM-derailing forms of Luciferic enchantment, as well as pruning away obsessive-compulsive appetites which manifest in coercive-legally-credentiallized genres of occult imprisonment, in "Been-There-Done-That", in "Same-Old, Same-Old". In all of its arrogant self-deception that the AP society continues to inflict upon itself in its "Auto-Hypnotic-Camelot Rapture" * (see Editor's Transylvanian Notes below)

there devoutly persists, virtually unchallenged, tragically unchallenged, an unspoken "History Repeats Itself" Demon, an Astral Poison to the entire Progressive Stream, which superimposes not a 'writers-block', but rather something similar, call it, if you will, if you dare, an 'Authoring Block', which makes unwelcome, dogmatizes the impossibility of the assumption of courageous enterprise. This is called "Lion's-Den-Syndrome", abbreviate not, lest you be abbreviated ;-))), and is, precise spiritual science research shows, is related to

the sabotage of the money-mouth connection, to easy-chairs, to the Church of Human Inertia, and to ultra safe-helium, xenon, and the like.

The crisis in leadership in the AP silent, yet vociferous in its implicitly held self-assertion that one can equate the initiation of self-transformative impulses with the acquisition of proficiency in negotiating esoteric scope, ideas and terminology, does indeed requires a crop-circle or two to puncture her pinata. Such a crew-cut, this is but grade-school sorcery for the hosts of either white or black magicians.  One should rejoice that this long-dark earth is now beginning, in post Kali-Yuga, to become osmotically permeable once again to having its heretofore sacrosanct "natural law", invaded by the presence of miraculous process, is again becomine a Worthy Page upon which shall once again be voiced by virtue of supernatural authority so very 6th root-race like,  visible sorcery. 'All this Klingon-like shock as 'baseball-bats' our knees, and reveals that we be underlings rather than kingpins, all a long-awaited and altogether refreshing blast of humility. How very delicious: Pause to welcome it, to savour it. Imagine, a Non-Real 'Axis of Evil' that cannot be erased, laundered, shrinkwrapped, depotentiated, psychologically disowned or otherwise rendered unmysterious by all the Kings press releases. Writhe, Condoleeza, writhe!

Meanwhile, Achtung, Dreaducation President Shrub:  If you send now, we will include a coupon book good for ten svelte orgasms in Las Vegas, 100 rapid-diffusion doses of Sodium Pento-Neanderthal, colloidally suspended in a portable intramuscularly-injectable solution of SUV commercials guaranteed to enable sheep to safely graze, together with a magic carpet delivered to your home in Guantanamo Bay, under which you may safely sweep anything that won't fit in a triple beam balance. Specify Navajo or Persian. But wait, we who ever promised you a Rose Garden, there's more! A year's supply of exclamation marks (Ask your doctor if astonishment is right for you!, side effects may include the hallucination of enemies, swelling of the metal detector white blood cell count, and Fortress America), And of course, let's not forget, a refurbished wand, formerly used by Arturo Toscanini, and Harry Potter, which will morph a rhino back into a unicorn. Its called self-reflection.

And now we have come full crop circle.

Warm Regards,



*Dracula's Notes: Introducing, a new term: *AHCR, Auto-Hypnotic Camelot Rapture, this being (the Smithsonian Iridium Bar definition of ) the Luciferic counterpart to the Ahrimanic ADHD syndrome  Note: two previously undiscovered variants of the original term Rapture were found in different sources, and even as we imagine, are undergoing

thorough authentication background checks as terms with a bona-fide claim to urtext status.

1. Rupture - indicating that a break with clarity destroyed the continuity of consciousness, and nostalgia, and twilight sleep hailing from mist-shrouded Atlantis signifying a fall from Camelot, may have indeed been the true identity of the term.

2. Raptor . Believed to evidence Mesozoically-originating identity of predatory intention, physiology and/or attitude, indicating in general, the presence of a "Tar-Pit", primarily petroleum-based identity and allegiance. The ideological belief that even if it is true, Patriotism cannot be defined, much less condemned as algebraically equivalent to "Nationalism minus morality", (what is subtraction?) or that a CEO and a few select aristocrats, American Hussein und Milosevich-eschalon royalty, liquidating the worth of their shareholdings in a corporation scheduled to go down the tubes at the pull of their ripcord, is not algebraically equivalent to a crime against humanity. Or the religiously-held assumption that there can be a Luciferic genre of terrorism (pins in Voodoo dolls, Airplanes in a world trade center, suicide bombings), but not a corresponding Ahrimanic slash American genre (as in, for example Corporate Chill Dispassionate, calculated manipulation of 'target markets', exploitation of peasants and governments, insider trading, campaign contributions, lobbyists as archetypally equivalent to moneylenders in Solomon's temple, witness relocated Pedaphiles playing Musical parrishes, the Bishop as the DJ)

Does anyone have an aspirin?


(8/21/02) In the Circle, Harvey

Guilty of flight, and proud of it........How to ferment Cognac:

At night, you'll swear the words are parolled from off their pages, released from their sentences, tutored by black light, given leave, they say to roam the many various ages, unpadlocked mansions that court the wind. Rather like you, steeped in destinies and tales outrageous.

Earlyfire answers:

Yes, and whenever I am woman, plumed with rippling fragrant magnetism, volatile, aromatic with noble flirt, I play Mistress to Merry Old England, who, as you know, enjoys most favored hunk status. Then meet me in Sherwood, let the thief lighten your load. For Once a Psalm Shepard, and did not want, then soon a Bard, and 'twixt such diagonal asymmetric hopscotch, comes a colder sea and deeper green and ancient fog to bless and so must tutor; therefore doubt not we knew Stonehenge, and the irresistible Sea-Vowels of Merlin ere such secrets grounded, overdosed in anchored earth, and brutally bedrocked, were writ in sorry ruins. Those abnormal spirits of movement, that lurk in the Far and Wide, what mighty

Gavottes and Allemandes they sire, bearing creative torment as can by recreational scour dare scar the Lense of Mars with all ribald crisscrossed pock of unkempt blurt.  

But fear not, though Akasha makes time travellers of us all, nonetheless, sleep comes to bless; ere long this night dissolves, and all our gyroscopically deranged astigmatic blur that now so widely haunts, her mighty music martyred, made bland in a diet of swirling dust, and what's already far too lightly pencilled upon our most offroad makeshift minds to bear solid witness, recedes, as if to say touch, grown pale, grown frail murmering, begins to haunt and like chameleon glasses into scenery. Then Cheer up: and wake refreshed by all such vibrant bladed dream, who briefly camuoflages you in his immortal scathe, in her immortal bathe. Wake unhurried from your shoreless dream, rise, chameleon, robed in rippling seem.........

And Earlyfire concludes:

Glorious to be victimized by the eagles that live in the place where language turns to music. Drink no wine, refuse all soothe. Descend the staircase, follow the twelve dancing princesses.

From the Epilogue to "The Psalm-Pilot Adventures of the part time King David according to Lazarus."


(8/29/02) An introduction

   "Hmmm, I am wondering whether I have done something inappropriate by posting without introducing myself. " [posted by a new member to the Ark: ed.]

XXXXX: A warm welcome to the Ark. Congratulations on your emergence from the Lurker Underground, from the Mines of Moria, and the debut of your voice! Most all of us here became fascinated with Socrate's statement "The unexamined life is not worth living", and so, by slow degrees have become devoted to dissolving the hold that the 'face value" of circumstance, the 'what-you-see-is-what-you-get' dimension has upon us. And with death as an advisor, and wonder as a muse, have set about, on good days graceful as wonder, at other times haphazard and unkempt, to mature some kind of immortal scope through dialogue.

Consider the mysterious, floorless, elusive, statement which continues, for thousands of years already to tremble and resound in humanity's eardrums: "Where two or more are gathered in My Name, I shall be with you, I shall thrive among you, I shall speak within." All of us here are riverbed and would be dry and raw as the arroyos that coil the thirsty bedrock of the Southwest, were it not for the fact that through us, through such dialogue rush Living Waters. Which means it is one thing to gather at the river, and another to turn raft, to turn ark, and threading one's life into the stream, to share, to braid a future.

So what is bravery, anyway? Perhaps it's a decision to make exodus from just being content, even delighted to visualize wisdom, beauty and courage, to actually intending them in a world filled with adverse, tyrannical and ever so sweetly distracting influences. It's a long voyage from what might be considered the mere slavery of professing aspiration, to the freedom required to manifest, to actualize, to profile it in real events, to clothe it in the high noon of achievements, and so leave treadmarks upon the pages of history for others to follow. And so a central thought many of us here embrace and champion is "All inspiration wants to be challenged" That's how the flesh gets grail-knighted, turns back into Word, finds its way north to celestial ambience, how the Camelot of Spirit is voiced in these sorry cinderlands of human want, privation, greed, malice and countless genres which gravely obsessess humanity, which round us widely ring, all laundered, spiced, made delicious in various escape-clause enchantments. The turbulence of the Third World, the Tyranny of Corporate and Governmental and Pharmaceutical Power, and sweetly distracting melodies and hypnotic lullabyes filled with promise, rich in loopholes, alternatives to responsibility.

In this light, we are here to stabilize the extremes, developing balance, on a good day, developing wonder, and from reconnection to that naive sense of Holiness, birth unannounced, unrehearsed compassion. Which leads us straightaway to a secret: Many of the topics we discuss here, and the issues which have to be intuitively read between the lines of what is said, regardless of where within, or at what poles of the spectrum of human interest they dwell, whether political, economic, social, metaphysical, imaginary or ethereal, robust of substance or flirtaceous in innuendo, are just epicenters, echos of underlying challenges of the Age which we are lucky enough to be conscious of and desire to embrace and champion.

Facts, calories, the surface of circumstance - all these are but crust, beneath which, truth is vibrant, molton, and thrills, and what seems solid, like the anchoring gyroscope of love spindled within, like the very planet itself, spins!

"I shall shower welcome upon ye - Welcome All!"  The Bard


(8/30/02) Dia-logue

Dear XXXX,

(When Lazy no longer gathers moss, his name is changed to Courage! Here, we give asylum within these frail parentheses to notions and drift such as this: Our noble campaigns, behold they are all hexed, Enchanted with Inertia. Tis an occult imprisonment most elite, and we watch ourselves stall before the stars, when it is indeed the age and time to become untheoretical, to pawn our words most turbo-charged for a Pearl of Great Price, and so take pains to don a Vocabulary of Deeds. But clarity of understanding may in itself, be bereft,

stillborn of vibrant cheer, an ocean without tide, and failing to pierce our sacred cows, makes poor understudy to Parcifal............)

So now we subject imagination's arrows and the marksmanship of our plumed and mighty press releases to the powers of silence, and kneeling in the hollows beneath the olive tree, defamed of all prestige and authority and reverb, there learning to listen to what the hierarchies to suggest as they invite risks which shred the cocoon or our own complacency.

For it is clear that he who sun-hero-like wishes to stretch the cutting edge of Michael's sword into the chaos to fell the limitations of faint heart, may draw his own blood also.

To Cultivate shared responsibilities, to consent, to rush forth, invigorated by the thought of bearing epic tasks on our backs, and writing them upon our and other's hearts and upon the doorposts of the world's gates. Yes, that's the Lost Chord. This beats nostalgia, speculation, and the tragic amount of energy wasted in taking potshots at various Evil Empires, and bragging eruditely in this Ivory Tower's Cyber Limelight "Thank God I am not one of these". For we all know that Cynicism is not the way to ecstasy, that the one who thinks the

Grail is half empty is tethered to some kind of unabated thirst, and finds it more convenient to appease it with boast, and solemnly, muttering the word "must" to the last IV drip of recorded time, than to say "This right eye offends me". But what does Earlyfire know in his discourses with the Living Shakespeare and Goethe, in one of the many Neighborhood Backyards of his Father's Mansions, in all his offroad Akashic time travel tutored by the restless coil and slow swerve of the Northern Lights?

And finds the Garden of Gethsemene close at hand, and eavesdropping, suddenly thinks also to himself: It is clear that many, in narcotic privacy of fame's self-absorption, smugly unaware of the bladed cliffs which so widely surround, and how close to fall they are, cover their mirrors and all scrutiny, imagining that it is possible to dream their way unstartled through their own crucifixion and rebirth. So it is clear, knees on ground, that were learning but risk-free enterprise, safely veloured, memoired in pastime and nostalgia, then we were all instant locksmiths and would fling open a thousand locked gates to Paradise.

So the secret, the open secret is to clothe our soul's poetry in the dust, and by this initiative, set the dust on fire, though we ourselves be composed, and so's too altogether widely thought, half drowned in a homeland of atoms. So say it again: There are are some who imagine that they can be Joan of Arc, yet dream their way as rise of braiding flames consume them while they, the Almost-Catharsed turn Angelic with courage, all Compliments of The House. But dream must wake to turn to wonder.

And so we say that a day will come, when individuals trade the sharing of words for the blossoming of deeds, and this is the hour when the dove will return with a branch in his mouth, and your revels are then ended. Meanwhile, find tragedy in this! It is easy to worship reality and profess the alternative, and whispering, "martyrdom is for fools", contenting oneself with but a brickless Camelot. But Socrates and the Christ hear you, singing the Lost Chord. Yet because the Grail is half full, they desire not your shame. Such is the sound of Wind erasing footprints in the sands.

Thus Death has Advised

"So between the Web of the Celestial Animals Above,

and the Noble Ruin of Stonehenge below,

float Zoroaster's Rippling Flowers"


(8/31/02) note to XXXXX


Thanks for the dialect high, that dissolves the ponderous lead that wraps and swaddles the children of U-235 that warble green, rivalling moonlight, here on this makeshift campfire round which we roast our most respectable metaphysical marshmallows. Presenting a human veneer, relocating your voice, midway 'twixt effervescent slang and King's English, decostumed of verbal flambuoyance, vulnerable to intuitions still frail makeshift metal detectors, will definitely complement, rather than injustice your delightful asymmetrical

'navigation-optional' sprees of concert-quality "Every-Which-Way" evasions of thought.

Flatter us: Some of us are 'slightly addicted' to Germanic Solemnity, anchored in serious, and camp out, bedding down under the Northern Lights, quietly perched on the dishes of triple-beam-balances, where we can weigh in our intentions, and assess the acts which clothed them, and exchange idea which assist each other to balance dreams and deeds, imagination and courage, thrill and grit, enchantment and conscience, in terms which allowing uncloaking, present vulnerability to dialogue, which is why we are all here.

Feel free and welcome to add this dimension to your day-glow entertainment, your wonder-sauce, your trampoline-cartoons, which buoyant, impress, but take pains also to establish also common ground here with us, north of the entrance to wonderland, on choredinary earth. Magic's no antidote to Death. Love is.


(9/02/02) note to XXXXX

Because a persona makes a poor understudy to a person.

Because the use of archetypal, charismatic identity as a means to transact conversation, conceals face behind facade, which does entertain, yet by donning such a fig leaf, seems nonetheless to be a less than innocent a gesture. And though Earlyfire has not heard it told, it is possible to imagine that in the practice of Sherwood Forest Anthroposophy, the emptying the saddlebags of passersby of every prestige and all coin of the realm, is, like all catharsis, standard operating procedure, which assists to reveal the underlying modesty and humility which champions preferring the human being over the press release. For, as Robin Hood imagines it, between the two stretches a gulf wide as the divide that separates fame from responsibility.

If, on the other hand, one prefers heavier saddlebags, glistening with the ponderous inventory of a Pharoah's Shed, to lighter tread, more suitable to make rite of passage through the eye of a needle, than may we suggest one not enter Sherwood..............


(9/02/02) a note

I had made an assumption the term Person metaphysically equates to the "I-AM", that these congruence , and point to Individuality, the eye in the center of the storm, Eternal Anchor, what's left when we dare, in God's Mind's Eye, to defrock ourselves of all ripple effects, and all the chords multiply mixed, return from the perches of the overtones they inhabit  and converge to a single fundamental point.

So you are right, even Person, like all name, is but clothing, or semblance, sail that profiles Wind and gloves it in shape, just as atoms are the robes which music of the spheres wears. But it is past my bedtime, and to discuss the nature of God's I-Am in its relation to Man's, de-eleganced, strip-mined of all vocabulary, of objects of thought, of environments of language in which He manifests, is sometimes a miracle which at this stage of evolution is easier to caress in dream than in touch.


(9/04/02) re: Imaginative Knowledge?

Dear Beloved, Buoyant, most Clairvoyant XXX or Current Rivendell Occupant:

Interesting you should say this, you who streaming speaks in sweet major chords, O trampolinesque one of shoreless leap and most Mercurial feather-tread that would not harm the lace on a forest fern, or disturb the Face of Rippling God on a mountain Lake, whose glance bears gifts of wonder bordering on weightless homage miraculous and devout, artistically licensed to tiptoe who are, and truth to swell, truth to tell, telltale seem virtually parolled from pounce and ponder of solemn gravity itself.

But we were not so fair wind lucky as thee. Still ferocious are, and so share weight of care, and therefore on thee woe bestow: Just Yesterday we was again cited by the Archangel Slanguage patrol for utilizing the identical metaphor ('Standards of ......') in front of kindergardeners.

Called it a 'brutal misdemeanor against innocence', and suggested I weep blue flame tears and rephrase it:

"Invitations to harmony yearn to be kindled"

( "So the devas, inhaling the perfume of courage sourced in the world of kneeling atoms, fanning North to Paradise, shall rejoice to

descend, and every sin amend.")


(9/10/02) Goethe Studies 101

More, much more later,

but all such XXXXXXXX's lofty ambrosia, deftly cyber-vended, having made lucky clair-voyeurs of us would-be frail cosmic eavesdroppers does rouse most buoyant spunk. And so I exit my trampoline, together with XXX, and together we, in weave of duet most major-keyed, are fast departed this safe, gravity-cradled and adventureless ozone-bereft hobbit replete with its cornucopia of mortal breakfasts, and so are off to ask - quicker than you can say "Anthroposophical Homeopathist", - to ask our Rivendell Anthroposophical Homeopathist whether a high endorphine diet is right for me.


(9/14/02) All Quiet on the AP Front: An Unannounced Slow Movement

Dear Friends:

The Hunter Exhales.........

Mythological presence, Trojan-Horsed, drench-draped in the robes of allegory, metaphor, and double meaning often comes inland of the city walls of Fortress Anthroposophy, invading the delicious accumulation, the strong arsenal of choir-preached facts and done deals which landfill this handsomely-archived library upon whose swarthy, sheik mahogany shelves dwell a cornucopia of noble, aristocratic, meticulously organized scientific vocabulary we call our own, and which serves us as a vehicle of cognitive, and other travel.

Utilizing, hobknobbing with such royal spiritual-scientific weaponry conduited in voice and pen, it would be easy to blur the distinction between Sophia and sophisticated, and market onself as a Chosen One, and peacocklike, adorning one's sales-pitch-speech with stockpiled brand-name jewels such as 'Freedom", "Etheric Christ", "Grail", "Catharsis", "Meditation", spike the airwaves with stale authority, with Anaesthesia of Yesteryear. So it is that terms once vibrant, now become the pharmaceutically-authorized low cholesterol Ritz Crackers of some wine and wafer ritual that is no more holy than a drivers license, and makes poor tablecloth to host a Last Supper. Then Pardon our artistic license, employed in such shattery righteous fray, but, we, as you, know many with hearts of stone, indeed many within the society, in whose back pockets stashed inside the leather fold-up husks of murdered animals, stowaway greenback-flushed coin of the realm, the same metal saddled atop the camel that cannot pass through the first, second or third eye of a needle enroute to a Promised Land,

which, when we capitalize it, means a Place which refuses triangulation by resort to means of mere latitude and longitude. Such is initiation. Yes one can, indeed Earlyfire's gaze has already shattered far too many mirrors with such needle-pierce. Probably a good reason to kneel.........

For which reason JFK continues to say "Whenever a thirst for power drives a man to arrogance, he has poetry to restore himself to modesty". In this, one hears ripples of childhood, echoing in unscheduled virtue: "Except as ye become strophic, guileless, coilless, rhapsodic, improvisatory, wholly unengineered, virgin of attitude, which is to say, wholly free of strategy and the slavery of manipulation, indeed but lightly pencilled,  ye......... (Text, like the human race ;-))), breaks off here, remains below)

Then cheer up! Welcome back to Waldorf School. How was your summer? Have you seen our aura-fresh pastel chalk, or beheld in the new room addition, next to the River Jordan water dispenser, our extremely miniature Dolphin aquarium, or visited our Unicorn petting zoo? Call me Imagination.

Soon Allegory, undercover Manas, the Trojan Horse of the Hierarchies, campaigns on tiptoe, steals inland, comes to uncrisp, comes sea-sent to dissolve our Stereotypes and Prejudice, and the well-rehearsed straight jacket of Agenda and Policy and Dogma back into Tears of Ocean again. But we get ahead of ourselves. It is unfair to import literary foreshadowing and prophecy, and other volatile, mysterious mindbend of unannounced thought most mapless and driftlike, here in these proud boasty, angular cliffs of bladed science most cartesian.

But, then again, eyelashes will close.

After nightfall, when sleep gently defames, defrocks us of our proud white Lab-coats, our brass buttons, college degrees, our W-2 forms, and the braggers are washed with innocence, then, O, Immortal Beloved, XXX steps out of her Rivendell balcony, pearl-moonlight laced in Celtic swerve and there, beside the rushing waters of one of David's unpublished 23rds, silently makes sails of her ears wherewith to shell up the choreography of the songs of stars that horseback the sinews of the wind, and the Wind's own Sons and Daughters.  For then we know it is certain, that at such unlikely moment, - call me Imagination, - Shadow Warriors exit the horse under cover and camuoflage of dream and with finesse and rhapsody befitting the smooth muscle of the heart, become unclandestine and splashlike, and, if you're asleep to it "it is said", and "I hear told", and if you refuse the charm of sleep, then you're writing this with Ink of Light - and these Shadow Warriors do circulate their buoyant streams of miracle waters in the dry astral river-beds of those compressed within the Fortress Anthroposophy, those who, in some erudite theme and variation seek, Spiritual-Scientific genres of Thrive, At-large and the Pursuit of Enlightenment. Which, since we all are actively involved in a "Riverrun past Eve and Adam, from swerve of shore to bend of bay", suddenly watch mystery bathing the words, and courtesy of a most Lazarus-like cameo appearance of "Once-upon-A-Time", by such alchemical enzyme, behold: Seems turns into Is, and Islands of What, turn into Rivers of How.

XXXXXXXX Continues:

Soon the well-credentialled words of the Day and their henched strategies of survival, all our spare change and paper-clips that fill our knapsacks in this desert, like Novalis suggested happens whenever the Hierarchies sing their Hymns to the Night to ears which soothe of sleep unvortexes, makes deaf to the wheeling and dealing of the world, "go changling on us".  Knighted into something Rich and Strange!  turn back from the Flesh to Word. All along it was Inspiration which sources Our Father's Brickless Mansions recreating the cloudcapped

towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples in the bathe of the noble, lofty ether, the stuff of which Shakespeare and Goethe, the spark and warrior stride and devout shock of Beethoven, the Sweet Floorless Air of a Dancing Mozart are brushstroked. All in this vibrant Theater of Husk: When we wake, cold-clothed in glacier of bone, within which, travelling undercover, is fire of blood  Like spirit in matter, like poem in dust, like dance frozen in rock. Allegory. And now you know why Dervishes whirl.


All these words, ferry them South of Paradise, descend them, bid them appear in the theater of the living. Source laughter th thrill, bid Conscience lend them weight, delivering them like an Orphan to your doors; here, broad in the fields of mortal climate, let them gather, unfrail, thriving in the heart of Stonehenge.

So what is authoring, this act of weaving into the forces of risk and blessing which, like two trussed snakes, round you and each other

wrap, bring symphonies to birth?

Yet before you answer, Dervish, slow, render homage, make mention en passant that Love, because He refuses ownership, so also She cancels

debt, so erasing many kinds of footprints in the sand.

Now XXX shall Author: "Who learns the art of leaving Egypt, first becomes leaven."

The Hunter, now out of breath, makes Exodus, his expired wear-dated magic cemetaried underneath ancient granite. Glance up a minute at his brief eulogy, and freely read what strange signature Love, Who, I suppose can etch also, chooses to inscribe upon the stone.

"Here lies but sorry fact, which yet soon forths most Lofty Fable. Be Welcome to do Likewise, whenever you are Able!"

(Thank you, composers!)


9/17/02 AP at Work

Interesting ideas XXXXXX.

But how to graduate them from brushstrokes, ultra-lightly pencilled, and put tread on them, making use of them to engage the perils of the day, to dissolve the anaesthesia-hold of charm's Haut Cuisine, to walk away from our SUV's, and prick ourselves with prehistoric pine needles to gracefully shock, to roam summoning mankind, dining on wild honey. What ultimate modesty, this................

To get AP off the bread lines, and bid it emerge from its "Leadership Crisis", may we suggest, - this may come as a shock - Leadership! It is the spiritual which clothes itself in warmth of self-confidence, in camphory purity of motive, in piercing clarity of thought, which as a sparkplug to the engine of the world's stuns the Dragon, and enlist such Libido as there exists in the service of what exalts human perspective. It is time to redeem Lucifer. Yes. Now its clear! Quality time cannot be scheduled.

We all need to be able to develop the interior strength to become Don Quixote, and let courage arise, like the Phoenix out of its own ashes from the pomp and authority-entrenchment and nostalgia of yore. The imagination of being present in the Lion's Den is helpful to visualizing the Christ. Everyone who wishes to operate offering the world Michaelic incentive as an alternative to refilling another prescription to the emaciated "Been-there-Done-That", must graphically anticipate, must artistically foreshadow, must dare consent to prophesy the spike of auspicious moment when they will be required in the risk of the moment,         ====>  to  respond to allegations that impulses of unprecedented inspiration which Michael wishes to share through them have indelibly branded them fools and martyrs. If you can do this, then Courage, the Quintessential Michaelmas trait which crystallizes in blood-glow from the Whispering Iron of the rushing Meteors this time of year, shall not entertain you, but will instead arise from within to meet what you are brave enough to acknowledge is out there opposing it!

And, to deliver AP from Jabba the Hut's Carbonite, a Skywalker is needed: As in:, to wit, and for example: Individuals and groups who have a responsible rather than merely a speculative interest in manifesting Michaelic scope wherewith to upgrade the optimism level in the world will begin to invent attitude-transforming ideas which revamp our implicit expectations for this human cauldron.

Since the cultural sphere, which loosely canopies the academic, artistic, philosophical and religious focus has so much in recent decades deteriorated, abased, brutally trashed under the darkness of economically-driven ambition, resulting in Luciferic damage to the astral in the form of competitive euphoria/hysteria and Ahrimanic catastrophe to the etheric in the form of heavy-handed manipulation and the Dark-Star rule of foregone-conclusions, a healing realignment of threefolding suggests that we replace the head on the philosophically-lean, dialogue-bereft, headless horseman mentality now residing in the white-house and elsewhere, with the wisdom of sages clothed in a vocabulary a peasant can carry in a knapsack.

Knowing that AP is up to the task of being the bearer of the Sword makes each of us King Arthur, who must first, through a rite of passage, extract it from the stone. We have all watched the movie long enough! The sword is will of warmth infused, which softens the stone. It's the same archetype of being a Prince Charming to each other, of being the Skywalker, of being the one who liberating himself and his neighbor from paralysis of optimism from foreclosure by the bankers and bean-counters. To upgrade the life of the possible, to break the cocoon, to shred the envelope of the dungeon called "Attitudes repeat themselves", to emerge unpocked from the Medieval Iron Maiden. And then one gets to join the progressive stream, which he/she so often before merely championed, and straightaway burns his "Shit Happens" bumper sticker. It was either Meister Echkard or Jacob Boehme who once said that Christ can destroy your demons. Love, and Laughter, meet in a buoyant place, and pulverize Ahriman. Initiates! One size, one moment of time does not fit all. Therefore you do not have to be polite and kneeling for centuries, making reservations with the authors of "The former things have passed away" at the last syllable of recorder time. Become the trembling owner of a share of prime real estate in the heart of the Lion's Den now, and author your own "Former things have passed away" For you have now, for the first time in all your lives, chosen to upgrade reacting to Death with responding to Death. And recoil becomes embrace. But what do we know, we who know as little as angels in diapers!

The creation of a virtue-based international law authored at the United Nations, under which the exoskeletons of nations, religions and corporations - we see no difference between them, - are held responsible to support, whose canopy becomes the moral fulcrum for the determination of infractions, misdemenors and felonies against Humanity, all at last, independently of atavistic sub-global forms of identity. This will define the difference between the practicioners and the mere advocates of AP, and will also shout from the rooftops whether Anthroposophy commands any bravura, any real presence in human history, or will soon be under velvet ropes in a wax museum, which curiously, refreshingly to say, somehow altogether distresses us not.

For Michael can easily recreate a society of Knights if He discovers through our own errors of omission that we are but Voyeurs, no different than NBA, NFL fans, whose unmuscled passion is spent on an easy-chair rather than a battlefield.  All of this means: Do not search for Cauldron of Ceridwen in the lightly-misted world of legend.

For all this peasant knows, Robert Frost may have been alluding to the Dangers of Unpracticed Anthroposophy, let us coin it "Embryosophy", when he ended his poem::

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep and many miles to go before I sleep"

Let's hope we don't rewrite it "Many eons to go before I wake!)

Think ye all that you are not the obvious reincarnations of the noblemen who confront King John with a new Magna Carta, that Steiner has given you a "Get out of Kama Loka Free" Card, the title "King of the Plush" and if you send now - ;-)))   - - - - a lifetime-supply of Cherry Jubilee, Cognac and Cholesterol-Enhanced


More later. Lets hear your thriving imaginations for upgrading the United One Human Race, and making nations the mere middlemen to emerging brotherhood of individuals. Perhaps we can, after all, be of robust assistance stocking the lake for the One who makes Fishers of Men..................


9/21/02 Sauron and the Shadows ... is this all the story

Sauron entraps, becoming diagnosed and reacted to as an adversary as long as mankind sleeps. Nationalism is the general anaesthesia. A separate face mask for every nation, region, religion, community, all breathing deeply, drunk with group forms of identity to ward off the same demons off the end of the Square World off whose cliff edge Christopher Columbus's crew approaches.

It is amazing how the Greater Guardian of the Threshold compels those who reject the embrace of spiritual responsibility to experience that invitation as an act of sheer recoil, paranoia and most tyrranical megalomania. Bush, Rumfeld, Ashcroft, Cheney, behold, round them We, the Hierarchies have rejoiced to wrap round them an umbilical cord of oil and coils, Anacondalike, even as we speak round their necks, as they attempt to exit the womb of their ignorance, to make Exodus from the Egypt of their bondage, to their heedlessless of the dimension of spiritual accountability. Is there an obstetrician in the house?

This is enough to make Physicians of us all, to heal ourselves.......

A buoyant, unapologetic, unemaciated moral presence is all that is necessary to oppose, to dissolve them. Pull the sword out of the Stone and earn your Doctorate in Michaelic Study


9/26/02 Poetry and Spirituality

First, a short ode to coagulation, for the fin has turned to heel, and the wand to hammer, and sweatless magic, to silence-deafening labor. And the Peacock Rainbow now has become the plumage of the Lab Coat, a blank page inertia'd in inventory, catacombed in formulas, laced in numbers and right angles, the work of mechanics stalwart enough to be sure, yet there is in such pave of steadfast coma something abiding, refreshing, which serves to redeem, yet, strange to say, possessed of not a single secret, Don this costume, this unwrinkled starched totem pole. With this three-pointed jewel the Ph.D we thee annoint; kneel and rise again a high priest of the hypodermic needle and the tweezer, and take your noble place, becoming known far and wide as the community of the keen and sheik Lords of Blades. Yes, grasshopper. Science is a fairy tale a bit obtuse, terrified of syncopation, of cutting diamonds on earthquake faults; filled with gravity and teeth and tread and doubtless when you are Gods, will be the embryo of future laughter. And for now, useful, well recommended, fraught with handsome pin-tumblers, no two keyed alike, but the children will ask the important question: "Can it be sung......"

So we'll start our song:

What the Ancient Hindu perceives as unsalvageable Maya, Aroma and Veneer, has become the mainstay of the microscope, and solid has become the spokesman, the only reliable criterion for trustworthy. Coin has become the official voice of the sun, and Songs which traffic the Far and Wide, now robbed of roam, have froze into Names, turning into the serial numbers of the elements, like addresses in a subdivision, Songs once at large, whose  choreography voiced no crime, yet mysterious as crucifixion itself, are discovered made bold, made patient as Saturn, nailed squat to this raw Here and Now, and remain unparoled, oppressed, honor-bound till the end of time, and the inevitable ascent of men to Seas without Shores. But in this Meanwhile, they consent to inhabit graceful scaffolds of circling atoms while men schedule war, which is methinks, but thwarted love, a wisdom too early robbed of her fluorish and welcome, too early coiled, which, Truth to Spill, Truth to Thrill, tell a tale a dynasty telltale of Love's noble Camelots of serene and brickless promises and love's ferocious joust that cannot handshake, which so season the stumbling centuries with ruthless ecstasy, sending it downstream in seething campaigns most hazardous to dreams. And by such alien sands cruel-needled, I, pierced in the martyrs hour, so weep I at seabottom, tears of holy pearl.

From our point of view, more royal than suspected, which rivals the birthplace of distant glaciers, authoring original white light that the prism fractures into a million Babels, tis a most magical torture, composed of exquisite sorrows, once to have been free as Miracle, yet now policed, quarantined to cartesian coordinates, wintering frostbound trembling within the city walls of mortal turbulence, hexed by righteous rebellion.

So one begins to ask,  Why the scientist, making Fable his war on terrorism, why he decides that the common denominator which enables one to embrace with perishable eyes well-seated, incontrovertible reliability of a norm, and to predict like Hebrew Prophets, how comes it to be sense experience? An interesting question, for senses piggyback upon this corpse to be, and wash away all Merlins genius, erasing every gypsy ghost in this crystal ball, and replace it with stockpiled Measurable Muses.But as our tears dry, so let our unmenaced tale begin:

Back around five years ago, if well-credentialled most uncosmic memory serves us correctly, there suddenly appeared in the sweep of the big-chain bookstore shelves a truly wondrous fad, a somewhat, nay even altogether mystical collection of publications which shed light, and at the same time inject mystery, ambiguity, contradiction into the nature ofthe pure so-called sense experience, contaminating it with matters, better ethers enchanting. Well, you be our jurors:

Suddenly appear picture books with vividly interlaced colors, spanning a wide variety of gorgeous scenes and objects astigmatically blurred, that refuse at first glance to clarify to scenery or furniture, but appearing like the 3D comics of old requiring glasses to de-gauss, to profile, to Lazurus, to leaven from off the poorer horizontal, a third dimension of depth, but this time, without glasses. What magical enterprise. Three dimensions for the price of two. And so, friends, to all "outward seeming" - a fragile term whose ultimate meaning itself is, as we shall attempt with brushstrokes most lightly-pencilled to suggest is itself up for grabs, these bravely earthquaked pages of coloristic rubble required the would-be, the apprentice "3D_Initiate" to place their nose to the grindstone of the center of the page, and to inflict upon himself a trial of some subtle sort which, if survived, like a witch-candidate emerging from a half an hour test of faith under a 17th century Massachusetts lake, unflats their eight and a half by eleven landscape to gripping topography, and beholds a holograph under the sovereignty of his own talents conjured. A most enchanting notion. That an unsuspected gulf 'twixt sense and interpretation, objective and subjective, what can be scanned and what can be seen, is criss-crossed by a talent of insight foreign to what is on the page, and that such talent awakens the invisible dimension. That something unseen is responsible for presenting what seems, to be transformed into what is seen.

So the 3D_initiate, for the first time in his life, as he/she elongates the focal length from the printed page, and it recedes away from the nose like a camera pan, while devoutly relaxed in a highly recommended alpha state, that no one ever explains as such has any relevance to the two-dimensional made three-dimensional, at some point, yes invents the word 'Suddenly'. Voila and Eureka: Suddenly as a Schfortzando, in the instant when the unscheduled volcano arises in your hobbit, spark flexes his ethereal muscle, and so is born a depth of presence.

What does science have to say about that moment of shift, that Damascus point, when dreaming seems to invade, to blind the hold of the privacy and corral of the real, and like Saul renamed as Paul, renders it visually transfigured. And so we also reinvent a new word "Henceforth", and write it upon the doorposts of thy gate. For Henceforth every page in the book acquires a quantum level leap and we have successfully eavesdropped upon a mystery, no receipt, no refund possible.

As to the others, who did not survive the shift, who bought the book and cursed while their children delighted to unmask the stowaway three-dimensional lurking most clandestinely within the two, which imagination blossoms bold into the theater of the movement, they remain sense-bound, praying for messiahs.

Therefore, this Trojan Horse from whose exterior wood glove, under power of night, under power of moon, under spell of enchantment, bursts a higher level of meaning, tells us that in order to do science, one must possess, or because some blessings cannot be possessed, one must access the forces of poetry. And that what man brings to the world in his appreciation of it, thrills the dust, and that the perfume of a rose is an acupuncture point for wonder that makes all things virgin and courage that makes all things robust, steadfast, anchored.

Rather like Love, after the small letter 'l', liberated, paroled from the suction of self-interest matures, goes capital, goes freelance, and knighted, is given leave to soar in altruistic climate, immune to the traps of less than omnipresent, polyvalent points of view. And, now that we, thought and imagination, well-recommended, have found you, survivor from the lake, and met again in thunder, lightning and in rain, we'll close with a mild dose of 'Therefore': Therefore Poetry is Sorcery. And so it is that In sidewinder script is carved the way of migration.



10/07/02  Attempting an even-handed treatment of fairness.


While freedom screams "One size fits all", Justice is maturer, implies, indeed requires individualization, attempting to come to clarity in matters of cause and effect, and so in depth looks at, and probes deeds as the consequences of intention; and Justice, seeking a bladed clarity, inherently uncompromising, comes across as severe, and puncturing our sleep, inspires revelation, brings knowledge, mentors Turnaround and Transformation. When we think this, we also think: the awkwardness of a single moment whose complacence it shatters, a high and a noble price to pay to achieve clarity, let it also imply, invite, summon Love.

For In its stead, had Mercy been preferred to Justice and mercy manifested, mercy, whose quality is unstrained, operating out of abundance, dissolving blame and enchanting innocence without the focus of responsibility, perhaps a boil gone unlanced by Justice might have become a systemic infection, and that moment's trauma endured, would have been postponed, and an entire reincarnation wasted.

But we step out of immediacy now: It is wisdom which distinguishes which end of the spectrum between mercy and justice shall command the moral helm when dealing with circumstances. And though it is easier to rely upon precedents, and laws and custom, the pre-digested scenarios and rules born out of yesterday's courage, that would substitute in place of individualizing thought in the service of justice, Justice is spiritual aerobics, meditation descended from the Ivory Towers of Yore, made battleworthy, anchored here, south of Never, Never Land and Once-upon-a-time, resilient in the imperfect world, a Trustworthy Friend.

Virtues are metaphysical vitamins, and all of us, Practicing Physicians, Physicians in the act of healing ourselves.


10/26/02  Steiner and writing

Dear xxx,

One of the more outrageous ironies of the Steiner legacy, a bastion of some 6000 books and lectures, is that Steiner prepared and revised for publication, but the very fewest of publications, and so was a genius eminently capable of manifesting an outpour of torrential energy focused, for the most part in extemporaneous oral-tradition authoring.

It is clear that the degree of innate clairvoyance which enabled him to dwell in the conscious presence and witness esoteric processes, coupled with a comprehensive, equally strong innate capacity for translating these mysteries into unrehearsed and spontaneous scaffoldings of living ideas which gloved them in the molecular garb of vocabulary combined together, brought about this library.

Consider this imagination: Just a mere two or three thousand years ago, this metaphysical ozone, these startling shamanic acts of bridging of the worlds of Above and Below, of Beyond and Within, of Microcosm and Macrocosm, would have been experienced as a command performance from the Oracle of Delphi, or in more recent memory, the communications of a Joan of Arc).

And this talent points to the wholly unengineered improvisatory nature of the purity of motive which presupposes and underwrites the rapport between man and the Cosmos, which enables the free human being, inviting him, sustaining her in the presence of the Sources of Knowledge in the "Cosmic Far-and-Wide", in order to be able to think and speak and compose latticeworks of dynamic ideas such as Steiner did on a regular basis.

Notwithstanding this observation, together with the acknowledgement that the great composers were all master piano improvisers, it is indeed curious, perhaps even tragic that so many of those who revere the legacy of what Steiner leaves behind for humanity, fail to understand a simple statement by the Poet Rilke "To profit from that more mature of loving: If I could become like Her".

Instead, there is a widespread notion that conscientiousness and thorough immersion in knowledge systems can alone enable the recovery of the enchantment, inspiration, and spontaniety which define, and are tell-tale characteristics of the reacquisition of the presence of a living ancient favor, a rapport with the universe, which defines humankind's native, (and to borrow from King Arthur) "once-and-future" innocence. The reaccessing of clairvoyance, that modality of experiential connection to the experiences which enables Steiner, and all metaphysical teachers, as well as Artists, Statesmen, and Scientists, to bring down, i.e., to author knowledge from both beyond and within, is a footnote to the aspiration to moral perfection, is an sure and certain and direct echo of the fruits of ones efforts to acquire what we shall term an "invisibility or a transparency" to the magnetic influence of desires and cravings" In this way Gold and Iron can be looked upon as attitudes of different degrees of receptivity to the Song of the Sirens, which are as popular now as they were 2700 years ago.

If those who wished to develop beauty, making the shift from regarding astral experience as a scenario attraction and fulfillment, to one of unpossessed beholding, they would discover an unsuspected connection between the maturation of clairvoyant talents and a distrust of "Ask and it shall be given unto you". When suspicion disappears, so also does boast, competitive euphoria, cash-register epiphany and the over-confidence, the over-reliance upon "all the Kings Horsemen and all the King's Gesamtausgabe." And so, in acknowledgement of the hold of "been there, done that", and the heinous hold History repeats itself, equating to a licence for complacence, has over men, let us read between the lines, as to imagine in our wildest faith that it were possible to add another grain of mustard seed, and so upgrade the invitation to "Risk, and it shall be given to you"

The idea is to be able to develop the wherewithal to become in tune with authoring processes, rather than indulge, homage and mimic the rote of the chimpanzee in the assimilation of second-hand knowledge. And though Awe can be paralyzing, still one want's to apprentice to the fire-blossoming of their own genius within, rather than to continue to remain enslaved by a feeling of shortcoming and helplessness in the presence of other people's manifestations of verve and breakthrough. When wonder starts invading, starts dissolving the privacy of our agendas, concerns, and campaigns, and our walls turn to brickless glass, we will all look up and see a Gypsy overhead peering into our thoughs, making us his future. One must allocate time now and again to honor, to welcome the "Not-Yet" as well as to reverence legacy. Not all that man writes can be entrusted to the page.


11/02/02 Ha'aretz  y  Hashamayim

Floorless Prologue, North of the Beanstalk:   Only Wait: Invite it, Receive it:::::::::::::::::::::::::

(And graveside of human history, kneels, exhales, gathers the infant notions most Angel-robed, the legendary fixin's of pre-scienced thought, recalling in the camphory breath of autumn slapping, chilling, warning, which crisps the summer sprees to bracing tenor, and trading the swim of flowing love for more sober wisdom, circling thus from red to blue, brasses all words with bladed drum and stride, now births rhythm;     

Exhales again, recollects he does, blesses she will, deja vu like, the forgotton ivy-covered chapters, the glowing grottos, the lyric caress of yore, of Ancient Favor Unclocked ere the onset of the the Nano-moments of the now. What then can we say to spark, to broadly cheer the heart of solemn, to spike the morning, rising from the oasis of sleep, as if to imply, "When the sun comes out, extinguish your lantern. And thus courtseys, finds presence, ushers in a mood of photosynthesis: Depart, Kali Yuga, this wait's over!...........")

Descent to Earth:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Reliable Astral Transportation, on demand. Earlyfire was reflecting upon the German phrase "Weniger wird mehr sein" "Less would be more". Thinking about the difference in energy level and intent between a cat and a lion. And how tame and savage are widely regarded as opposites, and why, and whether it must be so, or is but supposed, and turns into a Religion, and clothing hard as scab, and into an Oppression. Such launch as can repeal dogma, behold how makes better Flight of Wine than Anchor of Milk, yet tis a good ponder. Like all philosophy, all metaphysical chiropractic and similar first-hand excursion, imperiled by beasts of unfamiliarity, wholly unauthorized, is credentialled only by courage.

Now his cat suddenly debuts, leaps up to the top of the sofa, by no means a padded perch, but rather a nine-inch-wide cliff, and there, the downsized domestic King of Beasts, politely ferocious, yet doubtless, I suspect, Eagle-like, well composed in after-mathed poise of unrehearsed air-borne pounce, there precariously perched upon empyrean heights of Adrenalin-ecstasy, from atop Kilimanjaro, regal and blue-blood, he in daring thus aura-bathed, views with gleam of wide angle finesse, the roam and rove, the shoreless sweep of teeming herds of vibrant Chipmunk-Zebra below, tracing out new swirl-fresh swerves, inscribing prophetic additions to the alphabet of experience, verging, some think, others conjure, to occult script.

Tis most arcane, subtle enterprise, voiced not by the solemn pronouncement of brute chisel as so many thus stricken have insisted, but choreographed, steeped in the lyrical, tutored by the hover and dart of a hummingbird's searing brushstroke. Continues pondering: When asked where such letters which some dream be soft as rainbow, while others think bladed as Michael himself, imagines both in capillary and sea, in labyrinth and expanse, adept, welcome to traverse all regions, and freelance as background friendly chameleon, dusts major chords upon the spinning atoms, by such shower, altogether inebriating it is imagined, with chords, that puncture sleep, all hosted, all thrilled, all seaside sourced off the dock of David's Harp, which everyone knows may be borrowed from the neighborhood Bookmobile. There it is, even as we speak, parked just across the street. Ask your Guardian Angel if a half a grail of David's Harp is right for you. Side effects may include optimism, unless, of course, the grail is half-empty.

And thus Tory, my furry fatso, my feline Pillsbury Doughboy, Furrough of Egypt, drowned in imaginations, and through his outward spraying whiskers, God's own satellite antennae, communicated to me in what watered down degree of potency an exiled mortal can bear in this unlikely theater of haphazard ruins and wonders, an undisclosed number of franchised Divine Breaths, spectral and cherished, the likes of which, in these well-policed parts, are judged as contraband, by slaves of appetite. Unless ye be boastless and lucky enough to consent to endure delicious hunger now coagulated to craving, and after a time, emerging as if from a cocoon, light as a holiday, spot the eye of the needle just up ahead.

From which we reluctantly conclude that the real Sherwood Forest that knows neither latitude nor longitude, is the place where They test to see if you are willing, some have robustly and buoyantly suggested, to risk falling into a rushing stream to cross a fallen log that stitches the gulf 'twixt libraries and adventure, all this far below the sun-canopy of Sherwood's finest, sometimes protected under cover of closed eyelashes, or if boastless and therefore lucky, at other times, startled.

Chronicle all this in noble Akasa, write it down upon a crystal seapage of roving wind, the deeds of sacrifice, the inventory of what safety has been given up, is thrown away, is abandoned while fjording the stream, you, unnamed heirs of majesty, would be Crowns of Creation. LIfts the grail to his lips, perhaps to drink, perhaps to listen, wondering if there be a difference, and suddenly hears whispering

"Weniger wird mehr sein",

preparing him a place in the midst of his limitations, leading him beside still waters..................

And offramping, exits now to fuel his Reliable Transportation at this, the shore of the sea of Charms and Tears...........


11/06/02  Ha'aretz  y  Hashamayim

When the cherry is a gift, one welcomes it, rejoicing in abundance. But the tale of seven fat years and seven lean years is no longer a sequence of biblical pages, the ghost of literature past, but descending, has become flesh, methinks necessary and complementary components of human roller coaster, the indwelling cycle of inner seasons, a summer of song and thrive, the long winter of suffering, Yin-Yanged in meshed swerve, occupying the same circle.

All manner of poverty, either inward or outward, it matters not the flavor, is the gift of purification. To be able to equally welcome Valley Forge and Eden as complementary opportunities is a sign that the love has grown up, becoming Love, has moved forward out of hypothetical to actual, from dream and affirmation to living embrace. For Love develops not in the inconsequential convenience of imagination but in the presence of Dire Circumstance. There is the Pearl of Great Price, camuoflaged as a cherry.


11/17/02  Stay in touch! (The Art of Conversation)

There is a gray area, a Bermuda Triangle which lives somewhere between "Must" and "May", between what labors necessity impounds and what options become available to us as a result of the way in which we, as interpreters of necessity, decide parole ourselves from grip of our nightmares. For nightmares all have a shelf life, and after a time lose their magenetism and sway and hold over us. What follows sails right into the middle of how choice is predicated upon the level of wisdom we desire and embrace, in areas where a teaching turns us into a locksmith, and like prison doors, and the safe cartesian coordinates of the walls in which we are briefly mortally coralled, lose conviction, and like former things, much to our surprise, pass away. The Human being is an adventure waiting to happen.

Seeking access to esoteric secrets, desiring to enter into rapport and to be in cahoots with the Hierarchies, and privy to their intentions, regarding those as one's own, so joining hands while still on earth with epic causes and sublime focus that reformat the face of life on green earth to reflect transformations in human priority in all communities - some have said that this is an ongoing rite of passage, and it is in the transition to acquiring the gift of harboring and actualizing such scope, that we catharse away the impurities, the hidden agenda of ambition and manipulation alike. In the last act of "The Magic Flute", Mozart's final opera, a masterpiece all about initiation, a chorus sings: "Whoever wanders these streets filled with tribulation, becomes cleansed by fire, air, earth and water." This is the art achieving what can be regarded as "Interior Exodus", if you will, a metaphysical migration from the Egypt of bondage to all familiars and expecteds, first into the Desert to dry out, and then, after a short 40 years of wandering, on into a Promised Land.

Such is right of passage, Journey  - capital "J", - and is not a cosmetic act, for it challenges one's slavery associated with initiatives of conquest and triumph and all such loyalty to sub-noble causes, and invites in its stead acquiring, better refining and perfecting an emerging ability to put aside the undiagnosed addiction to the rewards of the climb on the path to the pursuit of Holy Perspective. And so, methinks, defines the very apex of human aspiration.

Good things take time. The growth of the shell of the tortoise, the 10 years it takes for a saguaro cactus to extend an arm, the life span of a sequoia, these are not firefly glimmer and fast food, convenient, instant salvation. To imagine that joy and enchantment only take place in the absence of anchor and weight, are best experienced when steadfastness is on furlough, this is dangerous, for interrupts the growth of patience, one's spiritual bedrock. For this much is clear: Patience when it matures, experiences a voice change, turns Ancient and transforms into Majesty. Who wishes to become a king will marvel at, will entertain, will indulge this notion.

But meanwhile, down below, Here in the traffic, where Stonehenge and the Parthenon lie in ruins while missle factories abound, where press releases replace conversation, where we make do with subdivisions where neighborhoods once were, and latte saloons, beverages puffed in whipped creme bustle and thrive, and acts of moral stature, blackballed by maniacs in high places no longer influence, no longer play into authoring what has come to be regarded and accepted as Necessity; down here, where the translation of dreams afloat to hammered deeds is but seldom intercepted by the intervention of thought which rising from expediency, acquires destiny, down here, what is righteous and bears the fragrance of the lofty is afforded no center of gravity of its own, but rather implicitly forced to compete with the heavy tread of economic agenda for human priority.

Enter Steiner, one of the signatures of the Presence of the Michael School: To approach, to embrace, to steep into and assimilate Anthroposophy, no less than any philosophy, religion or art capable of attracting men to endure such suffering as will enable them to author original acts which transcend tyranny and self-absorption - this is the Quest of Quests, and leads to some say, the discovery of, while others say the forging the Gem of Gems.

Arrayed against such pursuit, robustly implied if not penned in our Declaration of Independence, often the would be sage and clairvoyant, the part-time idealist, falls prey to agenda which piggybacks upon unrequited appetites and cravings which lie at the root of the same exploitive consumerism that models education upon the dogma of the assembly-line, and so, in the name of what is noble, whosoever wishes to become a Grail Knight is in danger of remaining but another of outrageous fortune's gunslingers and pirates and sturdy henchmen, hell-bent upon acquiring of noble place in the world for an un-noble reason, the acquisition of a balcony-view, the awesome camphor of cliff-side stature, and a cornucopia of tales of boast and privilege which broadcast a recognized social or intellectual stature, which acknowledges the value of kneeling, at least for others.

Thus when you look at our collective blindness, you see America itself, borrowing an Islamic Scimitar, spawns the rave term "Axis of Evil" while its corporations, with their sober -hence undetected- fanaticism and their paper culture and their entourage of manicured lawyers, corporations, the Mr. Hyde double of the American personality, dress up their investors in the costume we call "Stockholders", and thus 'Church-Stated with sold-separately schizophrenia, allow their unspiritualized managerial infrastructures a "morality-optional" power of attorney to exploit underdeveloped economies with their technology, and so perpetuate a furtive, undiagnosed evil, a manipulative, rehearsed evil the complement of the passionate frenzied evil associated with revolutions, suicide bombings, and the like. In the west, tools and manipulation, in the Middle East, derangements of passion, Further east than that, Stillborn Monarchies of Nostalgia and Ritual unchanged, unchallenged and which, up to but a generation ago, fail the courage to break ground in the here and now and author a forward-moving destiny downstream of their exalted history. And of the powerful imaginations which sired this paragraph's sinewy drift, you can enjoy what Steiner has said of the mascot animals and their chakric location points on the globe - the Eagle, the west, the Lion, the Mid-East, the Cow, the East, in "Mystery of the Universe", (was "Man as Hieroglyph of the Universe")

But for us, people of the land of "Upgrades", 'twould seem that the very selfsame unbridled opportunity to climb and expand, to vanquish poverty and material oppression, and to ascend to Everest-like summits of command of one's outer environment, has also a reverse effect on self-reflection. Consider the enchanted labors of our nation's manifest destiny on our own 19th century frontier, how it resulted, how it results in the still unatoned-for halocaust which abased the dignity, if not destroyed the actual economy and existence of countless American Indian tribes, how such blind imperialism and privilege turns out to be a conspiracy and militates against, sabotaging the emergence of selflessness, a sine-qua-non for enlightenment, i.e. the realization of altruistic impulses within man. Like the God Within, The Axis of evil is as close as the bathroom mirror.

So what to do in this meanwhile? How to clear the land upon which Camelot will be built. This November 22, it will be but one year shy of 40 years, and little seems to have been done. Segway back in the H.G. Wells fashion into 18th century London. One remembers William Blake remarking in the Marraige of Heaven and Hell, that he who waits to achieve purity before entering the Kingdom of Heaven, will never enter. We are over two-hundred years downstream of such a vision, which lends strength to the idea that a warless ambience is not a prerequisite for the Gradus as Parnassum, the decision to mount the temple steps. Rather, it seems that one must build a crows nest, a perspective, a sanctuary in which Love protects the seeker from vortexes of desperation, from the consuming astral undertow of excess passion, "flammis acribus addictis", and from etherically corrosive cynicism which sterilizing hope, flatlines our buoyancy to shell and mute husk.

An old friend, long since passed over into Elysian climate, turned Prince of Candles, dissolved decades ago, set afloat into the lyrical ringing needlepoint of distant stars, as we indeed all soon shall be, once said he thought that a genius was a person who thought as much as ten minutes a day. To which we add, in earshot of such wisdom: What the genius is to spark and soar of ideas, the saint is to the pulsing sea of heart, and the knight is to the stride of courage. And in such threefolding of aspiration, in these brother-sister genres that inhabit the place between wings and feet where you find the Human, slowly I begin to suspect that what is dreamt and voiced and walked are love's children, rungs on Jacob's ladder. And so we say Love, the Yearbook of the Christ, is soon to be published in the lives of men. Honor, enter such whitewater as this, and carry it into battle and conversation, for it is said on the first page of the Yearbook, that inside every Human Condition there is, even as we speak, an Angel Embryo preparing to blossom. Meanwhile, while Stonehenge and the Parthenon share their imaginations with you, Cradle, glove, globe your fire in glass. Then you can meet the contrary winds.


11/24/02  Myra Hindley

Here is an elusive gust of wind, a footnote to Little Red Riding Hood, that the robes thoughts wear are often but spice, make pleasant distraction to the underlying food, and camouflage their underlying intention. We often indict ourselves by our concerns, especially righteousness, these days so inbred with unrequited desires and violent agendas. Enough said. And now, to the mob mentality which tells of a relapse of Old Testament Eye-for-an-Eye-Old-Business which underwriting, mirrors the unchallenged Warlord Rage of this black and ruinous age in which we find ourselves, where the tears of every mother who shall soon lose a son-turned-soldier, flow into the same salt-sea......................

We don't want to overlook the strange gesture of a murderer, placed in 36 years of incarceration, and how, through the limitation of external mobility imposed from without during that time, the prisoner may indeed, weighed down with the enormity of consequence little anticipated in the wilds of a more frivolous, adventuresome opportunism, come at long last to create a chapter or perhaps many chapters of self-reflection, in whose sanctuary they for the first time kneel to welcome the onset of a higher level of maturity. Presenting their deeds to pierce of light and grace of love, and in such composure, seeing the sordid, furious impulses that led to murder, one can suggest that Kama Loca is served up within the unlikely iron corral of incarceration, relocated to mortal climat, lived out while clothed in an unlikely chapter of biology, rather than on the ethereal moon, deboned of all instinct and mortal coil such as most of us endure. If this be not possible, then Rudolf Steiner never remarked that initiates may undertake to transact tasks between life and death "normally" deferred for the condition beyond death, for the 'sea change into something rich and strange'

If Myra Hindley, through coming to remorse, dissolved the blind hardness, the malicious self-centered youthful obliviousness to moral order which a Pit Viper National Enquirer Society such as our own, brewing from rage and condemnation an astral poison to toast in collective bloodthirsty revenge 36 years after the crime, - if Myra has already atoned, and contrition, the gesture, a virtue, a white light in the halo signalling the return to innocence which blossoms, matures in the wisdom years when the Hunter known as Biology, frails, loses ground to, and cannot so easily embargo man from spiritual connectivity, through such atonement, Myra may indeed have come to a reckoning. Such an act, always perfectly acceptable to the Christ, the Lord of Karma, who can steal the saddlebags of human weight away with but an oblique glance, a simple and miraculous act of atonement may signal she is completely redeemed, and will be found soaring and thriving in high places long the envy of men and often the theater of the martyr while still on earth,

For the one who has come naked through the hollows of death to the threshold, already abandoned of all joust and triumph and applause who attained the presence of a Holy Environment such as Kama Loca, that spirit, stripped of support for oblivion such as appetites and power-brokering which is offered spirits while they crawl on flesh on earth, may well indeed, especially if they have had long years to interpret their acts, come to sure and certain realization and sourced the very turnaround ever required to ground our acts in love and our hopes upward rising into fair light. Reminding himself, he of litle faith, that grail is half full, whispering, One must trust: Solemn is an island, Joy, the Sea.

Perhaps all this being the case, and not at all unlikely, the Christ Himself has, how shall we understate this, "more than adequate Stature, Resources, Inspiration" to completely cocoon the Forgiven One, say it again, to effortlessly protect the Turned-Around-One one from the ecstatic mockery of the crowd of Ax Murderers down below, those seeking to dine on, seeking by reminiscence to celebrate with the virulent potion of malevolence, a demise already overcome. Such astral poison is, truth to tell, as all you well know, is every bit as harmful to well being and corrosive to hope, as the epic high crimes she once committed. Never doubt this. So then, rather weep, praying instead for the steadfastness of the American Public which can enable a swift return to authoring a moral voice, that the American people will deliver themselves from a state alike to being three sheets to the wind, for it is clear that they allow their right to dwell in connectivity as individuals with their God Within and to converse with both the Hierarchies beyond, as well as the nations branded "Axis of Evil", not to mention the humans branded "Illegal Aliens" to be stolen right out under their feet by Vampires in Washington.

This being said, it is therefore time to rewrite "Blessed are the peacemakers" and upgrade it to: "Blessed are those who Dialogue". All this as if to 'semi-dream', which is to imply, if not altogether descending, and shoes on, make treads to "downright say", Many more than two gathered in His Name, did author, do author this.

Backstage, come omens in the wind, and soon, the smell of perfume:

"The curses of men pale before the blessings of the Gods, for the angry, the authorities, those who have not developed the talent to abide losing everything, and not yet welcome to undergo Golgotha, caught up, held fast as they are in the fame of various seen and unseen clutches, imagine themselves stronger than they are, while the humble, the paupers, the shephards, the little children rejoice, untrammeled, unshocked, untroubled, and thrive in the smile of the sun. Do you hear us, you who scream "Get Real!" This is the voice of Abel, the one who was slain!.

For which reason, 'twas long ago writ, though curiously enough has, or so 'twould seem yet to debut on human stage

" And the light shineth in the darkness and the darkness overwhelms it not."

Do likewise and Sin no more!

And, taking out her mirror, gazing on his faces, deeds, intentions

wonders what the relationship, dreamy or summoning might exist between a Self-concept and a Christ-Concept.

(Far out to sea an Angel corks up a message in a bottle and takes perfect aim)


11/24/02  The role of chlorophyll

From p. 121, chapter 14, Iron, The Science and Art of Healing, Ralph Twentyman, Floris Books:

"We can now turn to the functions of Iron in the vegetable and animal kingdoms. Our attention is at once gripped by the green chlorophyll of plants and the red haemoglobin of animal blood. These two substances are basically very similar, only chlorophyll contains magnesium whilest haemoglobin contains iron. Chlorophyll cannot be formed in the absence of iron, but it cannot take it up into itself................"

Earlyfire reflects:

These seem Siamese-Twin Imaginations, mysteriously intertwined. Consider that Steiner mentions that in the future, man will have reascended in purity to the point where he reacquires the pristine alchemical talent to etherically source pure oxygen kindled out of his thoughts, and so shall he no longer remain a sorry or indifferent debtor to the plants upon whom he now depends to reverse CO2 and all the days of his life, with silent devotion, parole it into free oxygen under clandestine cover of nightfall, and as well, tutored by his golden rays, as if inheriting from the plants the capacity to summon, to enchant, to bind down light and bid it indwell molecular temples as frozen process, suddenly drinks, as well as beholds the presence of sun. As a footnote to all this, All Food for Thought, Manas-preincarnate, is a muse, is Food from the Imagination.

Is there anyone on the Ark who has climbed a mountain and reaching elevations above 9600 feet or so where the air thins and sky begins to grow cobalt and indigo, there, seeking almost to defy their own shortness of breath, refuses to slow their pace to acknowledge the oxygen-sparce environment. Then, suddenly, like Saul on the way to Damascus, a spiritual impulse of snake-strike level of adrenalin, comes to one. Bursting in like a deep shudder, you feel a letting go, as indeed death is a letting go, and this stunning punctuation you experience as an act of sobbing. The element of humility, of ego deflation invariably accompanies this, as through that act of "giving-away control', you are spiked, grounded with a flood of energy, going at once from dizzy and air-starved to fully revived. I call this experience "Weeping your way up a mountain."

During both the three and one year residencies in the late 70s and the late 90's when I lived in Flagstaff at 7000 feet I found myself able, on various occasions, of performing this "esoteric exhaling", which is a pretty miraculous and astonishing experience, while climbing the Snow Peak (12,633). I think this foreshadows the moment when the human becomes capable of taking on the responsibilities and the noble, virgin attitude of the plant which seem in purity requisite to holding converse with the solar processes.

Haushka's remarks, quoted by Twentyman on the preceeding page:

"Or we can say that the function of iron is to help cosmic, weightless forces to enter the sphere of gravity. This is a characteristic of iron to be found at every level of its functioning."

And wonders if xxxx, with that 800 number of his, might talk to Magnesium for us and venture a parallel imagination, a late-breaking bulletin, as it might be...........

And this visit to the Greenhouse is, for now, like our revels, ended.


11/26/02  Grammy Award for xxxxx (List Moderator Division)


A Nice touch to upgrade the Greek Pantheon with a little Jewish.  "I'll see your Zeus and raise 'ya to Mother Mary". It is great to archetypalize the cosmos, an exercise in de-gravitizing the solemnity of being "Frozen in Devout", (Devout being the allegorical equivalent of being entrenched in esoteric Carbonite).

Say it again: To readjust the balance from "What you know, to Who you know". Staying in access, even on a good day or a good minute, in sturdy, subtle dialogue with the Living Ideas and the Ones who author them; to know of a certainty that the Celestial Ones do actively rejoice to look for conversational nodes among emerging members of the 10th hierarchy, which would be us: This is a royal road to intimacy, to holy-touch, to in-touch, to intuition, and to acquiring spiritual authority which congruences to initiation. Were it no so, Never did Mozart or Shakespeare or Goethe create a single solar system, strew gleaming, dancing stars upon an 8 and a half by eleven page of art work

Thus, though it seems entirely self-evident, nonetheless, we see that unlike non-esoteric aspiration, where familiarity breeds contempt, here, in the full-blown, fiery, wondrous aspiration to connectivity, resonance, embrace and co-authoring of Hierarchic Purpose and Intent, familiarity invites inspiration and responsibility.

So what does Mother Mary, who prefers the spoon to both the sword and the plowshare, and often  with occasional mischief a la carte regards the sword as but the understudy to the Spoon, hmmm......., what indeed, or in-uendo does she say (say if by words, voice if by music)  to you which offers complementary spin, counterpoint to what Steiner promulgates. Do we have a Steiner is from Mars, Mary from Venus scaffolding here? What do you imagine their ongoing dialogue to be. Steiner the circuit preacher of Awe, and Mary the Visiting Ocean of Mercy, and twixt the two, like warp and woof, weaves the process of Justice. And read between the lines: What are there attitudes: Where on the spectrum do they center themselves: part love, part joust, part miracle, part bottom-line. As the clairvoyant says "Let us Eavesdrop!" Move over, Spiritual Science. What is more valuable than Gold?: Light. What more precious than Light? "Conversation" (Goethe's Fairytale) To which we add Why conversation greater than light. Because it brings all things to light.

Best wishes,


(It is curious that the Pope, who in his youth was a Shakespearean Actor, and immersed in volcanic tragedy and mayhem whose tempestuous spiritual turbulance so "vortex" the frail human imagination in perilous tide and undertow, chose to leave those mountains, and abandoned the art of waging war, setting out instead, consolation-like, in search of valleys and static places where sheep might safely graze. Is this the progressive stream, to deny that war is an immature, a premature, an embryonic form of what counterpoint such as "choirs" the planets in circling sweep hangs out in the destiny of the lives of men.) Beauty comes from the embrace, not the denial of struggle.) Just Earlyfire's igneous spoonful of Chicken soup, a taste of tough love. Can there be any doubt that Shakespeare, smiling, has a pair of cut-off blue-jeans, mountain-climbing boots, and robust trail-mix awaiting JohnPaul-II.


12/08/02  Sparkin again sparkin again

Hi, xxxxxx:

What Jung calls the shadow, is acknowledged and dealt with in Anthroposophy as the "Double". Steiner deals with this phenomenon in considerable detail in relation to Lucifer and Ahriman. However in his book, "Man on the Threshold: the challenge of inner development (Hawthorne Press, ISBN 0 950 7062 64), the eminent AP Psychiatrist Bernard Lievegoed devotes chapter eight, titled "About the Human Doubles". There, he distinguishes and describes seven kinds of doubles. You will find this rigorous and interesting. My remarks are in black, Lievegoed's, Blue

I quote the opening to chapter seven, p. 77:

"If one can gradually give more form to one's life out of of one's ego - be it as a result of conscious inner training or because of life experience - one will start to take more inner distance from some aspects of one's own inner being. We can start to experience all kinds of habits, character traits and 'inabilities' as something that is not part of our higher ego, but something we are stuck with, and which sometimes is quite annoying. All of these aspects of ourself can be added up imaginatively in a figure, a kind of shadow figure, which is not us, but which follows us on our heels. That is how the experience of our 'double' (Doppelganger) arises'

The theme of the double has always played a role in world literature. Writers have given expression to the human double in many variations..

In daily life, too, the double plays an important role. Not only are we up against our own unsympathetic shadow figure, this sinister partner plays tricks on us in social contact as well. How often are we blinded by someone elses's double, so that we do not see his real being. Many misunderstandings and conflicts in social life are the result of the unconscious activities of doubles, and sometimes the most vehement and painful confrontations in marriage or at work are nothing but 'double-quarrels'. "

(Earlyfire's take: we would all do well to consider the Lab-coat vs. the "Speak-easy" perspectives, which over the past few weeks alternating like tide and undertow have spawned endless unnecessary conflict witnessed here between as traditional, altogether extensively knowledge-based anthroposophical voices on the Ark complemented by vigorous, almost magical, experientially-rich, creative thrust of many of less formally, but intuitively powerful younger members over the past several months, as echos, as validation of Lievegoed' remark on the Double)


"In psychological counselling, the same problem arises, of course. Client as well as therapist first show certain aspects of their double during the first meeting, and much has to be straightened out before the spiritual individuality appears on both sides.

If one wishes to follow a path of inner development, insight into the manifestations of the double is of great importance; it is a necessary piece of self-knowledge. Such insight is possible with the help of Anthroposophy,. Rodolf Steiner spoke more than once about the double, each time from a different viewpoint, from which it is already apparent that it does not suffice to speak of the 'the' double, but that we are dealing with several aspects of the double. All these aspects have one thing in common, and that is that they involve parts of our bodily make-up and our soul being that are not fully penetrated by the ego, if at all - in other words, something on which we do not have a hold with our (higher) ego.......

TWO Paragraphs later:

We may distinguish the following doubles:

a. Our heredity tendencies in constitution, temperament and character

b. Our upbringing, the indoctrination with a cultural background and value (comparable to persona of Jung)

c. The double formed out of undigested remnants from previous lives.

d. Unredeemed nature beings as doubles.

e. Certain geographic forces that have an effect on us such that certain (soul) structures considered typical for a certain area or continent arise (typically Eurioean, American, Asian, etc.)

(Earlyfire: When you read "The Mission of Folk Souls", you will discover how Steiner lays bare the operations of the relationships between racial characteristics, planetary influences, and physiologically discernable 'concentrations' of focus among peoples of the world. How, for example Mercury works on glands, (Black) Saturn on bones, (Native American), Mars on Blood (Mongolian (Martial Arts)), Moon on reproductive organs, Jews, East Europeans, Sun on Heart (Central Europe), Jupiter on Sense and Nerve (Celtic) etc. These influences 'dynasty right right on down" as an intuitively self-evident heritage from the Oracles on Atlantis, who led their respective disciples into the Post-Atlantean migrations, to locales which, up until the emergence of the Consciousness Soul sometime around the beginning of the European Baroque era, define much of what has already passed.

And the idiots (I can't help it - my double made me do it!!!) on the Waldorf Critics list, not willing to acknowledge that Steiner has mentioned that race-determined characteristics, talents and limitations are now going the day of dinosaurs, in favor of the decisions of choice-driven individuals to reascend from the dark sepulcres of outer-driven and group-driven self-definition, these Waldorf critic, Knee-Jerk Bush-Administration-Like Mannekins, puppet strings showing all over the place, making in their incredible immaturity - shout this: ADVERSITY out of DIVERSITY, have been "invading Iraq for years", unaware that to profess "Blessed are the Peacemakers", and to contradict it when they travel abroad of their Sunday Morning Christian Ivory Towers, is a schizophrenia which the once noble and now mindless church-state split continues to perpetuate, and so is another echo of the double, the conflict between the sacred and profane in Western 'Culture'.)


f. Incarnation as a man or as a woman as an aspect of the double in us (compare the animus-anima issue characterized by Jung)

g. The double as 'guardian of the threshold'

All these instrumental variations are not what we 'are' We 'have' them as a result of our individual past. Only on the basis of this 'crystallized' past a new incarnation begins, which every day again is a struggle fo come a step closer to the ideal of man - man as we will eventually be. And this ideal of man is going to be an individual variation within the totality of humanity, just as in an orchrstra, harmony arises from many variations in sound."

Hope these ideas shed some light upon some of the unfortunate and revealing manifestations of the "Either/Or" polarizations which we have, so abundantly and awkwardly evidence, in the sporaidic attempts to alternatively empower, and then disallow various conversational modalities and viscissitudes in dialect and intent so joustlike witnessed in this group over recent weeks. One, everyone has to be vigilant not to make enchantment the enemy of responsibility to thought, but to coordinate, harmonizing flight and anchor, in a balanced dialogue between the incandesent flourishing winged flight of Lucifer and the trustworthy, baritone reverent grounding of the Christ.

In the ability to create a dialogue between the catacombs beneath whose dark labyrinthian, clandesting weave we sweep our lepery thoughts, hidden agendas and all manner of unkempt condemnations under many a righteous rug, and the morning light of our loftier side to reinvent ourselves as the son of man, we find our purpose.

The paragraph concludes:

This open future, aiming for an ideal image of man, goes with the future of man as the bearer of freedom.........."


2/09/03  Confirming, Revealing, Transforming the LUCIFERIC DOUBLE

   "We need to examine this all very carefully because the difference between 'Stars' and the worship of Personalties infected with Luciferic Doubles is the difference between the Sun Aura of Lucifer and the Christ Sun Aura. Perhaps you are beginning to see how all this connects to the twisted wreckage we call current culture."

The Luciferic double presents a combustible, consumable vision of love, as dangerous to the responsibility of anchoring our motives, as Love, capital 'L' which catharsing, perfects, belongs, and will be accessed only through achieving the presence, and beholding the Sovereignty of the Christ.

Thus a most interesting warning, from the 19th century Initiation manuel written for the Sufis, called the "Seven Valleys" (Bahai):

... he shall straightway step into The Valley of Love and be dissolved in the fire of love. In this city the heaven of ecstasy is upraised and the world-illuming sun of yearning shineth, and the fire of love is ablaze; and when the fire of love is ablaze, it burneth to ashes the harvest of reason. (15)

    Now is the traveler unaware of himself, and of aught besides himself. He seeth neither ignorance nor knowledge, neither doubt nor certitude; he knoweth not the morn of guidance from the night of error. He fleeth both from unbelief and faith, and deadly poison is a balm to him.

   "Our job, as students of the Michael School, is to see what we see and know what we see when we see it. Sometimes we need a little help, after all the more we are removed from the first blush of the invigorating new wine of Dr. Steiner, the more we seem to stumble in our grasp of what are the navigational demands, the facts of inner initiation.  Which means, these are the facts, there is no wiggle room, Initiation is not only a science but dysfunctional psychology and all of the cultural events we see can be placed in Developmental Potential. We can measure humanities failures and successes in approaching the Threshold. That is why, when we look at "Lord of the Rings" we see that a sample of a high Initiate, the Elfin Queen, meeting the Higher Guardian of the Threshold is brought before our eyes. Most of us have failed to see this in the film. How does a high Initiate Experience the Temptation to 'not humble itself', to not serve but instantly become a god. What is the difference between Luciferic brilliance and Christ certainty?"

Perhaps the stability of the illumination, (its 'shelf life') its day to day usability, its employability in the world of human gravity. Lucifer, overwhelming us with Divine Flirt, steals from us our modesty, outfits us in an Astral Halo, and this is like a fire which has been lit in a forest, in which no clearing, no protective circle of steadfast rock to cradle the flame, is missing. So how to reverse the sin, dissolve the fame, leave the Flaming Firebird's Feather where it lay........

And kneels, whispering to himself, 'Eavesdrop on this thought:' The acquisition, the return to humility, the experience which invariably accompanies the courageous deflation of the Luciferic double, which rejoices every time it succeeds in de-railing, in inebriating a would-be initiate in the bathe of the infinite presence of an unassimilatable tide of Love, and equates that spectacular homeopathic empowerment with the station of man, saying "You are all wings - Feet are no longer necessary!", might be hinted at with:

The steed of this Valley is pain; and if there be no pain this journey will never end  "Perhaps it is the adoration of Hollywood against the real occult struggle for Initiation that slowly corrupts and infects the soul."

Triumph, especially Supersized-Superbowled American Triumph, the Spirit of Imperialism is a wine, and drinking it guarantees falling asleep at the threshold. You see this astral potion/poison pumped across the airwaves every day. The High Priests of Advertising, skyscrapered in their lofty-lifty vertical Manhattan abodes grow this urban opium, and sell it by the needleful to a harassed working class of credit-card serfs. Consider the mystique of sitting in the lofty commander's seat of an SUV, Television Warrior, for whom experience plays second fiddle to fantasy, as you, for a nanosecond's glory are perched eagle-like upon a spike of rock in Canyon de Chelley at large in the empyrean offroad ethereal realms where angels fear to tread, imbibing all this vibrant boast and joust offered as an antidote to Ahriman's deeds of lacklustering the world. Do you not remember from Goethe's Tale of the White Lily how the Will of the Wisps greedily lick the gold off the walls of the ferryman's cave, the gold which the light of his lantern creates wherever it is travels, how they insisted it tastes ' far better than ordinary gold'. What wine! Do you not remember the Grimm brothers tale of the Twelve Dancing Princesses, and how the wayfarer who, as bidden by a talking animal, absorbs the wine mixed with the sleeping potion into a sponge under his beard, and so gets to remain awake and follow the sisters into the underground world where they dance their shoes to paper every night. This too tells of the responsibilities of crossing the threshold, and, as the story tells it, of living to tell the tale, for he who falls asleep, and cannot respond to the challenge, wins no sister for his own, but is summarily beheaded, - no waiting - the next day.

And so to continue from the Seven Valleys, with the marvellous imagination of the Luciferic Double, of Luciferic Love which drugs and destroys acuity and responsibility in the realm to which the Christ is inviting all of humanity to attain the requisite purity of motive to behold consciously:

He hath bound a myriad victims in his fetters, wounded a myriad wise men with his arrow. Know that every redness in the world is from his anger, and every paleness in men's cheeks is from his poison. He yieldeth no remedy but death, he walketh not save in the valley of the shadow; yet sweeter than honey is his venom on the lover's lips, and fairer his destruction in the seeker's eyes than a hundred thousand lives.......

Wherefore must the veils of the satanic self be burned away at the fire of love, that the spirit may be purified and cleansed and thus may know the station of the Lord of the Worlds.

Kindle the fire of love and burn away all things,

Then set thy foot into the land of the lovers.

And if, confirmed by the Creator, the lover escapes from the claws of the eagle of love, he will enter the Valley of Knowledge.


Whereupon, it is understandable that William Blake says:

The Atoms of Demosthenes, and Newton's particles of light,

are sands upon the Red Sea shore,

where Israel's tents do shine so bright!


02/15/03  The xxxxx Meister


Far from cosmetic, the components of grief are often integral to the alchemy of initiation. In the silver lining of grief, one reads about the Word, comes a curious passage from the Bahai writings, which perhaps, by your leave to consider it, relevances, orchestrates our drift and concerns itself with the experienced properties of the Word of God, which to some is perhaps a fairy tale, to others, a movie, and still others a country western ballad:

"It teacheth lamentation to the nightingales warbling upon the boughs of the tree of remoteness, and bereavement instructeth them in the art of love's ways and showeth them the secret of heart surrender"  (Kitab-Iqan)

But now, approaching the path of cleansing, through the consciousness soul, rather than in fractals of poetic philosophy, and in such immersion, daring to resonate in a way as to be able to eclipse, to overshadow the unpopular notion that martyrdom - acquiescence to evil through Love, and its transformation through death, rather than triumph - is a completely Inconvenient, completely UnAmerican (therefore) a completely unacceptable response meeting to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, we, doubtless Unauthorized Princes of Denmark, offer the following imagination:

That the mussel who trolls the sea floor, the least of His Creatures, assaulted by just a grain of sand, weeps oceans of pearl, over that which pierces him in pain. Pearl Tears of great price. And though history records many times the in human legacy, miracles where virtue is bestowed, handed down by grace dovelike descending, methinks it is a greater honor in this most sub-golden ruinous age to earn it, to win it, to wrest it through courage and faith tested, like a metal annealed in vulcan vigor, in the black light of a dark mortal battlefield.

This having been said, still one observes how possible, how easy it is, through lack of vigilance, to allow Ahriman to elect himself chairman over our attitudes, and for Ahriman, CEO-like, to exercise his smoke-filled agendas upon the unsuspecting in the guise, veneering us in sophistication, professionalism, loaning us in oblivious moments a fresh dose of brutal sovereignty that brags from behind the helm of an automobile, or is megaphoned through the secular no-waiting clairvoyance of a cell-phone, or the firing squad of statistics and empirically-based authority massaged and twisted by human prejudice, all of which bespeak the imagined value, all of which extoll the glory of intellect and intellect's boasty freedom, asserting that he who hunts is blue-blooded, priveleged, priveleged to remain aloof to the onslought of overwhelming feelings of powerlessness in the face of suffering, loss, fallen hopes.

And Ahriman loves to compress human suffering into stereotypes, and within four invisible walls of such imprisonment, to inspire mockery, so that men start to trivialize the responsibility of committing to acts of lifelong transformation, regarding as valueless any aspiration to achieving the moment of the spike of catharsis born out of the endurance of cruel confrontation with unbearable heat and pressure, the same almost unendurable furnace and compression which spawns in a human heart what the forces of nature impose upon the midnight coal at the birth of transparency, the birth of a diamond, which would be, how shall we say it, simply, initiation.

Ergo In Christo Morimur. And so we suggest that to be able to discover, to digest, rather than evade the trauma of these times, to discover faith within the vortex of chaos is a magnetic taleent well worth cultivating.

And so slowly it becomes clear that the self-same forces which, when grief is turned inside out at the triumph over self-indulgence, germinate compassion, are those which would instantly will enable the Neanderthals Bush and Rumsfeld to see Arabs as People, and ask not what America can inflict but Human Beings, the heirs of all the Nations on earth shall consent, shall rejoice to bestow.

One footnote: Yes, we are all losing our religion in order to access truth, in order to become trust-worthy, truth-worthy, and so to acquire self-knowledge. Once such a decision is made, it becomes eminently, dangerously clear that Love becomes steadfast, anchored and abiding rather than a convenient dial-up connection. So it seems that religion, like art, individualized religion, is but one scaffolding for self-knowledge, that what one inherits, one may come to learn to author, learn to choreograph. When the sun comes up, it is time to douse one's lantern.


02/23/03  Invisible causes/xxxxx

So we were speaking of, or at least pointing to invisible causes. How very Artesian. So now to summon one of those underground rivers, to come show his ripples, lift North from hiding, bid him make brief oasis in this night, give refuge to the ruinous ambience of these times which pock the soul of sleep with weaponless wars behind the night-curtains, clandestine, backstage of closed eyelashes, bringing gifts wherewith to dream our predicament before attempting to profile it, here in sub-heavenly climates, in which we are, all of us, gloved in Beast............

And so kneeling, it comes to this, that once in a while, concerning matters of maturity, a person comes to confront head-on the task, the destiny of determining to what extent he or she has actually assimilated wisdom in which lives and outpours the Most Untheoretical, most buoyant forces of Redemption, and to what extent we  would be aspirants, are but sorry creatures, all of us, paper-mache'd, in slick stainless-steel cliches and artless knee-jerk slogans, attired and so just turn out to be well-dressed spiritual chimpanzees, mimicking phrases and inciting astral riots and desiring to remain addicted to all manner of outrage which follows in the dragon's trail from the ongoing rape of the righteous which in every age, from the Hemlock of Socrates, the Lion's Den, the wicked flame-writhe of Joan of Arc's pyre, to the grander devastations of Pogroms, the genocide of the American Indians and the well-engineered Halocaust all of which impose tyranny upon us, make us their alter-boys, and everywhere, talk, talk, talk of the Fall of Mankind and of quality time.

But now a greater, more subtle challenge arises in the hearts of those who possess, or wish to pioneer what elusive forces enable the acquiring of courage to allow brave warmth, a differently bladed talent, by Love most Lazaruslike to arise in our midst: What be the relationship between the disease and the symptoms, said again, if one may indulge a homespun, improvised and volatile language to point most makeshiftlike to the crux, what are the derangements on the inner plane, which sire external events. How to meet these, and head them off at the pass. For, to a would-be initiate, for a would-be passenger on the Ark, to a candidate for inner Exodus from the Egypt of various seen and unseen slavery, for an apprentice Diamond caught in a storm of heat and compression, for an apprentice angel on Jupiter, one must dare imagine why the hierarchies invite those who wish to become, be counted among and evidence robustly that they have overcome Hamlet's doubts provide a gauntlet of perils in order to insure we can become free and confident in the face of injustice. And so Earlyfire suspects that to Dare-Imagine,  is, as a term, sheer redundancy, and so comes through such meander of offroad thought, to a clearing in the forest:

Peace is an attitude, attitudes the embryos, the ghosts of yet unborn deeds, first and foremost they are all these, most unchiseled and earthless; then Peace descends the staircase, acquiring muscle and stride, and sires, configures, authors circumstance. And concluding his drift, half invitation, half warning, which flows, which flies in the face of plodding, bladed logic, with this: that from a homeopathic perspective, soon peace, which is a breath of detachment from past and future perils, no longer just an undercover muse, can turn from intent to deed; sprouting forth from the topsoil of external circumstance first they spark, first they appear in ethereal seed. And that the real Third World War which thresholds up all around us and is shortly to come to pass, might come to be embraced on an etheric level as a joust between Tyranny and Compassion. So let's rewrite one of the verses to the miracle-like opening to the Gospel of St. John, as an offering, as a prelude to making a rite of passage from mimic to author, which be the noble, subtle, courageous task, the invitation at hand, the Keystone for the emergence of the Deathless Age of the Consciousness Soul: "And Peace shines in the Surrounding Chaos, nonetheless the Chaos engulfs it not, torments it not, threatens it not!" It is harder to think than to say, for this much is certain: not everyone who says it voices it.

Enough said..........

Here follow in the wake of holding up to a moment's graphic spike the gulf between thoughts which bear the flair of righteous indignation and the prowling of intent to inflict, which, as the media attest, is most contagious, and sister-thoughts which offer a caress of healing. They are, one and all, but treadmarks in a moonlit cemetery, footnotes for those of us who are guilty of recognizing that art is evidence of first-hand grappling, a signpost that there exists in men even as we speak, transformed, individualized religious experience, that who loves more than reading, reading between the lines, awakens, and one day starts to pen, and soon knows that not every page is made of paper, but some are seas, and others scripted, well-stitched in the needlepoint of stars, and that, - listen to this! - that  the fluttering of Archangel's wings is deafening, almost as loud as the turning over of a new leaf.

Then recall the the Elf Woman in Lord of the Rings, when she bears Frodo into Rivendell, how she must confront the compulsive, ferocious Nine Ring Wraiths, once kings, now defrocked of all human dignity, majesty and purpose by the seductive rise to the embrace of unholy power, their once noble rainbow haloes, now fallen prey to a vortex, numbed, swallowed in grayscale doubt, to which she says simply to her trembling companions, just would one would expect of an Ancient, "I fear them not".

Likewise, when Prospero, in Shakespeare's Tempest, another Celtic Son of the Jupiter Oracle, describes how he overcame the witch Sycorax, he states that he conquered her teacher. So in both instances, a plateau of nobility is suggested by which we begin to visualize that some of those of us who populate this online Round Table will don the Mantel of Christ, an Etheric Shroud of Turin, and bathed in that countenance, acquiring insulation from triumphal tinsel perks, and the sadistic ecstasy of malice and manipulation which ransacks the ranks of the political among us, come to distinguish the gulf between that Power manifested through the Christ  from the Power which Steiner himself once remarked the Christ choses to share with Ahriman, which in his claws is Most Rude, and which defrocks men of innocence and in its stead imposes unrequited hidden agenda.

And so, for all these notions, dreams, visions, which perhaps might be considered far too loose a clothing to protect many from the winter of their discontent to be accorded the status of thought, nonetheless, we offer an interesting idea: That the political reality is veneer, and knowing that veneer is the ripple effect of authoring from the center, the unpossessed center of the Round Table, say simply, Fundamentalism is the Enemy of Dialogue, and denies vulnerability, the dependence of Man upon connectivity to Higher Purpose, if he is to  become regarded as dependable, as seaworthy to sail the floorless waters of the macrocosm beside his elder spirits, and so acquire a depth, and therefore a voice in the cosmos.

So to the Palestine-Israeli clash, think that one day "Soon" became "Now", "Owned" grew up and he became, better, she became "Shared", and this is in the nature, that this is the genius of the Holy. And we are back to discovering covalent bonding, and the serendipitous,  harmonized, blamelessly coexisting orbits of the planets, and musical counterpoint as the solution to war. What morphs 'soon' into 'now'. The presence of love, entering the stream of time, which is a most well-kept secret, called also 'the birth of hope'. (Thinks: Not a shabby closing argument for the existence of God - you be the Jury!)

In all of these ideas, the undercurrent that we,\ in this mortal greenhouse, are the ones who cultivate beauty from the topsoil of suffering. And thus we make of our lives pearls of great price. Then there is no postponing of the evil and the consequences of blindness of scope or perspective, which all comes to us fresh as we weave the Garment of Days, and chosing to dwell, rather than postpone or to evade on mercy's good credit and forbearance, the presence of bearing the fruits of whatever future penance or blessing we author down here in this Iron Maiden's habitat, soon, one suspects, Kama Loka itself is no more, for we are no longer scheduled, but dare imagine it is possible to be cleansed, well-rainbowed, prior to death. Just is one reads in the Quran: "He is a true believer who liveth in both this world and the world to come." Laughter, music do I hear.

With these gusts, all invisible, Adeptly Tarnhelmed causes, then balance a Gyroscope upon a glistening strike of light, make yourself wing spun and be wed to the Open Places.


o2/27/03  DUI

.............We need more research on what can influence thinking.

I would start by eliminating trash food.

Manna, the symbolic food which sustained the Jews for 40 years while in the desert is allegory, is food for thought, the most wondrous, the Tallest of Tales!

Then no one should ever doubt for even a moment's hesitation, that there exists such a notion as "poisoned food for thought", which would be imaginations which are corrupted, possessed of seemingly lofty magnetism, of charm, as rivals the charm, the tinsel-gleam of the snake-oil salesman, bathed in charisma such as is capable of distracting, derailing, deranging, the balancing act of the Divine "I am" which dwells, or if it as yet dwelling not, then which, like a good runner-up, seeks to dwell within the hearts of men, and as Internal navigator, warmly would advise.

Tele-Evangelical ministries, like other Vampires, filled with insubstantial advertisement, and which navigate from profit and loss statement to profit and lost statement on just this kind of floodlike energy, pitch their siren-tents in the back yard of many a peasant, helping themselves to his food, then burning his fields, saying "We offer you your Long-Lost Sky - what need have you anymore of Floor, of Anchor, of Responsibility, of Rudder, of an Inner Mentor, that Muse we call conscience?

So it is that we the vigilant reluctantly conclude that there exist, and always have, Diseased Imaginations which are an ancient foe of the emerging human race. These are the Apples of Premordial Eden that you read about, the ones which got caught in the throat of Sleeping Beauty, the entranced, who many say to this day lies eyes staring upward out of a glass coffin, peering up to the sun, Apples which are pure witchcraft, a scheduled Exile from Divine Presence, waiting to happen. These are the wands which deceived us all, which as soon as they are raised, turn to sword, the sword which must be turned to Plowshare.

Thus as all of this be thought, now as it did among the Druids, and the Knights Templar, so also let it be sound, echoing forth south of the nine heavens, here, below in this theater, upon this mortal stage of carbon-bone, upon this unlikely and flawed landfill of charred and broken optimism, of interrupted daylight, where war thwarts hope, let it be voiced that Imagination without moral compass, Imagination sired outside the nurturing presence of a stabilizing Living Moral Order, a Camelot Within, is but fantasy. Fantasy, Imagination's Shadow, Imagination's Mr. Hyde, is Junk food Manna, full of boast, triumphal promise and empty calories, Earlyfire and others suspect, "full of sound and fury" one of the unsuspected, or at the very least, well-camouflouged, therefore undersuspected, and thus made clandestine, of all woe made potent by disguise, is surely by far the most clear and present danger to the human race, the greatest threat to the destiny of the emerging human race.

No more need be said. So also let it be that we bear witness to the Christ tutoring us, making Locksmiths of us all, wherewith to grant right of return through the locked gates, to the Presence of God, the portable Eden, the Temple, the Revelation within. So let it arise here upon this biological stage, in this grayscale mortal desert, and be Food for thoughts.

Take these threads, weave rainbow, weave the Coat of Many Colors How goodly be thy tents........


04/12/03  Life or death for the Ark

Dear Friends,

Yes, on the surface, it would appear as though the potency of all of the sometimes flame-buoyant, sometimes sobering ideas transacted here in the voyages of the Ark, all are passengers, all now drown, as the Ark itself, seeming collectively to have become suddenly to itself demised on account of various and sundry dark reasons, utterly unseaworthy in the gunslinger turbulence and frothing mayhem of these predatory times; and so succumbs, goes full fathom five, but without undergoing any luminous, glowing, promised sea-change into anything whatever rich or strange.

What mysterious, de-hero'd, tragic malaise. Pause to kneel, exhale. My leaves droop.....Perhaps we, long prepared by "What you see is what you get", have all become a generation of 'Epicenter Worshippers', and homaging the storm, rather than acknowledging and finding our way to its Pythagorean Eye, to the rageless, silent "I" in the center of the vortex, have unknowingly cannibalized our faith by dining on other people's collective boast and madness, and subtly astrally poisoned by the Borgias around us, inadvertantly exiled ourselves from the sanctuary where thinking is possible. Pause to weep.........

Now all is lost: hop aboard the moonlight voyage which follows. Perhaps in our silver, you'll find a few of the islands at which we park, interesting, or if lucky, maybe even more than interesting.

The whole idea is for the community within the Ark, now reduced, 'twould seem to clandestine lurkers in search of a few open-ended questions which are vibrant, inspired and consequential enough to be posed as relevent not just to curiosity, but as ingredients necessary to forge Michaelic Iron, the stuff of which Excalibur is made, to reawaken Excaliber from a legend to a deed, rather than just a legend. So why use this term? Because without initiation, startling transformation, without reliable, reverence-validated, spiritually accessible knowledge, failing to acquire abiding rapport with vibrant metaphysical realities within, we all remain Maya-Deceived squires.

Waiting to be pulled from our each and everyone's bedrock of inertia and complacency, is Excalibur in a rock; who develops the courage to put Anthroposophy out in the world, profiling, voicing it in such super-naturally sourced confidence from wherevever on the spectrum of shephardlike simplicity to sage-like majesty as becomes it and so becomes the world, by such 24/7 authoring, undergoes a shift from Arthur to King Arthur. This act is congruent with initiation, and in its wake surely comes the inevitable and long-awaited rediscovery of ones individual life and purpose concentrically-echoed in connection to hierarchy-based scope and intention. This is the reliability for which we search.

But we observe instead a conspicuous absence of impulse to share, to broadcast joy and wonder, virtues heartspace-sourced in compelling bravery of attitude aura'd in luminous indefatiguable hope and so, over the past few months, our discussions, though perhaps animated, yet continue to rob the Angels, Archangels and Archai of their food, of opportunity to witness, and to reabsorb their holy energy reflected back to Them, Will-enhanced through the strength of human deeds. Behold, They, or better, We, with compassion, surely await humans arising to the occasion of forging, Vulcan-like sourcing in the cauldron of this morally-ruinous age which darkens exponentially around us week by week, a voice back to the stars. For it is apparent that in the shift to the rigors and the adventure of forging the consciousness soul, that for men, professions are but eulogies, and deeds have now become the only words. (Earlyfire, you must remember this...........)

All this having been said, one should in no wise be surprised to discover that dying and being reborn is an essential, rather than a theoretical component of the re-emergence of the Ark in full vitality and beauty, and that the trust which its members have always nobly harbored through meaningful, sometimes introspective, sometimes, exalting, sometimes vexed, sometimes royal communication, a trust which sources both community and Community in the below and Above, will doubtless return in full innocence, in full fluorish.

But to awaken Sleeping Beauty, the apple has to be dislodged from her throat. The apple is this: If you believe there is no coming back from the dead, and that, just to carry the rip of such absurdity to high-tide, that Golgotha is a mere idea rather than an experience, and is but the scam of a hype-artist whom Ahriman the Clever, the Ahriman the Mock-Spin-Doctor has revealed as scandal, published in his National Enquirer, remember, one is always free to cancel his subscription to his, and all the genres of National Enquirer. Free, unless, of course, Free Will is but a fantasia turned to husk, mere idea rather than a viable option.

Human responses are noble, and manifest the degree to which the I-Am, living in relationship to the Once and Future Adam Kadmon, God's Own Holy indwelling I-Am is present and bathes our thoughts as we navigate the marketplaces, temples, graveyards and the bright meadows which populate these rooms in Plato's Cave, bearing News from the Macrocosm, from the door beyond darkness.

The Ark will not be boundry'd, claustraphob'd, compressed in notions of the natural, and of the shelf-life of the merchants. Spiritual means supernatural. Like all of you who have once read "per spirito sanctum........,(etc, etc - i.e., !!!!!!!!!!!!,) we smile, lightly pencilling in upon your strangely rose-colored Chinese Fortune Cookie Message ('no two latitudes and longitude the same) the location of Excalibur, and on one of the islands just up ahead, we patiently wait. Ark firstmates, Methinks you, once exiled, are created robust, which, to magic-spell it out, capable of surviving the apple of knowledge.


04/15/03  Buddhism and Easter

  " ......... since most people in the West cannot sit still and be attentive  for more than five minutes!"

I think it is beginning to dawn upon many thinkers that phenomena such as ADD (attention deficit disorder), which now enjoy 'superbly' widespread and professional recognition as established educational vocabulary are in actuality the results of the sheer corrosion of moral impulse, but affecting the etheric realm. It seems that five minutes of salivation 'wait time' on an 'impending' quarter-pounder cheesburger does not equate to the same five minutes reading, pondering, and assimilating Hamlet's "To be or not to be" soliloquy. And to distinguish the level of responsible awareness between these two polarities, at some undiagnosed time, the phrase "Quality Time" entered into and established itself in common parlance as an antidote for dissolving attention or will-focus. The proper antonym for Quality Time might be termed 'Distraction' or 'Oblivion', since impulse reigns during moments when there is no "I-Am" at the helm.

As to the root causes of time spent on the planet, in which the human center of gravity seems to refuse to take on a role as the "eye in the center of the tornado", (and to spawn an imagination, on a real wall, the 100-ft long based image of an obtuse isosceles Pythagorean triangle with an eye in the center, such as is found here in Tucson in St. Demetrios Greek Orthodox church), I think we have to look soberly at what has become of competition, and examine how cut-throat it has become, how bereft of its erstwhile enchantment, how morphed from initiatives of aspiration to agendas of ambition the Luciferic illumination which once stood behind it has now become. And the etherically-sourced hysteria implicit in the descent into Ahrimanic manipulation and cold heart-bereft smoke-filled room strategies so ruthlessly encountered in piercing Corporate Mentality, is actually part of the unexamined American Double, which enjoys Laissez Faire such as refuses to distinguish freedom from impulse.

As a result of the social fallout of this collective (now primarily American) oblivion, which authors every form of imperialism and chauvinism on the planet throughout every age of history, and which like Shiva, turns altruism from essential, to optional to martyrdom, Civilizations turn into Empires, impulses of Statesmanship coagulate into the husk of Policy, the fragrance of the Man-God relationship, born of intimacy, the secular word for holiness, festers, and scabbing over, becomes chiseled into dogma, inaccessible to dialogue.

Now Goethean conversation, the original reinvention of "Whenever there are two or more gathered in My Name", the Christ shall make the whole greater than the sum of the parts", this is what awakens when competition dissolves back again into community. Competition is triumphal, lives in the head, in the sphere of wisdom, at its best, in the sublime, veil-piercing (Pars-valling) ecstasy of epiphanies of music, and turns offers parole, that is, offers an experiential alternative to a theoretical, history-bound definition of apocalypse.

(And whispers, kneeling backstage: "One calorie of Food for Imagination is equal to 1000 calories of Food for Thought")


   "On the other hand, what concerns me is that as Buddhism and Yoga make headway,  AP and Esoteric Christianity is slipping back. Though various initiatives are running strong, the real test is public accessibility to the initial teachings and perspective.  This is still a problem for most. And this is my running issue. There is no direct way  read, study and engage in a meaningful practice in AP or Esoteric Christianity without making a long and deep commitment. This may be the design but hints from Steiner and others point elsewhere to a more popular acceptance in this past century." 

If we could acknowledge that Michael's passport to leaven global consciousness and consolidate the virtue of Love here, and Detachment from Desire abroad, may not be claimed by Either East or West, but like song bears, implies, and indwells the language of the gleam of sun, sprint of wind, swell of tide, the anchor of earth, the smile of a child. So also with you, (and sneaks in a blessing)

(And imagines again: "It is beauty which turns achievement to offering, and ferries us across our own gulf from fact to art, from 'seems' to 'is' ". For methinks Sober, relentless Tyranny is threatened by laughter. And finally ravished into his Quarter Pounder Cheeseburg)


05/02/03  Biography as a term

Dear xxx,

For those who like to create AP communities in which developing ongoing fellowship and ever more trustworthy comeraderie and intimacy at heart-levels creates a dimension of dialogue which complements the study of lecture cycles,,,,,,,. (so we slowly discover). . . . . . karma and biography begin to become wedded, subliminally interwoven one to another. It seems that the term biography assumes a rich and arcane meaning not so much because it is connected to formal study of cycles of planetary influences, that makes it a vital understratum, 'metaphysical bedrock' in the emergence of potent and resonant and 'hierarchically-hearable' Michaelic interactions, but rather the willingness to bear, i.e., to assist to karmically carry at levels of depth dimensions and components of the other's inner life, and being their brother / sister's / stranger's / enemy's keeper, lend metaphysical strength and fiery courage to their individual strivings and our collective initiatives, which bestows upon the term such a 'loaded' innuendo and mystique.

The immigration of wisdom from the ivory tower of cognitive realms, where mere vocalization and profession inspires, abroad into battle where we have to figure out how to manifest it transforming the social theaters and economic enterprise - this is the challenge, the 'Money where your mouth is Circle', and it demands a much greater degree of honesty and transparency than the ground rules for mere AP study. Here, Biography, becomes spelled capital 'B', and stands for a willingness to penetrate below the mask, the persona, the labels, the degrees, the socioeconomic caliber of one's food-chain status - these are all stereotypes books in the Redneck library, and must be bonfired in order to see the other. And Love strikes the match......


06/14/03  To speak or not to speak that is the question

Bearing in mind that we are all 'etherically under construction', and that late-breaking bulletins of still-unperfected or unpolished, or not-totally-assimilated spiritual vector should pose no problem to sharing of interior adventures among those of like mind and like depth, etc, the communication of spiritual experiences create ongoing dialogue, and the interactive influence which emerges from such ongoing activity actually serves define the ultimate nature of a condition we call Friendship.

Outside of the inner circle in which friends meet, there is a maturer, a perennial modality of the communication of spiritual experiences - the genre we call "Art". Mozart once remarked in a letter that many would enjoy his works, and only a few would have any understanding as to why. And so the idea that art both conceals as well as reveals, veils in the frost of the symbol and locks into formal architecture as well as blossoms in fiery and volatile self-expression, renders it mysterious. Mysterious, which is as it should be. For in one of the mystical treatises, it is said "Knowledge is the last plane of Limitation". Thus the convenient duality, the borderline, the overlap between distinguishing the Content and Intent of art, itself eludes definition. For it is intuition, the muse, the ability to read between lines, which empowers the artist, utilizing words, to write between the words, and to source handwriting on walls...............

And so the sharing of experiences depends ultimately upon an act of self-evidencing through which whosoever audiences an art work, bearing witness to its energy, illumination, enchantment, and in a wider sense, all modalities of communication, gesture, etc, wakes to the intent and content of the sender, and is said to be possessed of "ears to hear".

Perhaps What is experienced by lovers as "Intimacy", is known by angels as "Holy". And perhaps also, initiation, the ultimate act of Welcome extended by the Hierarchies to the NewBorn, rests upon an invisible bedrock of lofty forms of trust and majesty, which align and harmonize the motives and acts of the seeker to Exalted Company. One reads in Leaves of Morya's Garden "Through art thou hast the light". Likewise, one reads in the Hidden Words "Write all We have revealed to thee with the ink of light upon the tablet of thy spirit"


06/16/03  To the Ark poets -- RE: [Ark] To speak or not to speak that is the question

Abundance upon you all!

The Druid's term for the initiate is the Warrior-Poet. In the interaction of clarity and mystery, the sayable and the implied, the surface and depth, we create the kind of dialogue which poses, reconciles, and celebrates polarity. In a certain sense, the conversation between stride and glide, between what freelances into our penumbra of awareness, and how we attempt to focus the energies, intent and blessings of the Unexpected, the Still-unidentifiable, the not-to-be-ours,  I think this challenge of holding anchor, of keeping center and living in the presence of flight, of remaining in continuous access to the Beyond and the Within, all this, we cannot say for sure, but 'methinks', all this was once practiced, perhaps even perfected by the angels before us, and so would not be surprised to discover that in the love affair between the powers of the hunt, and the power of kneeling, that we steer our way to celestial balance, navigate Jupiter.

The danger of knowledge is that it loses the countenance of God which lurks, which glows, which lucks within, and compresses into inventory, turning us into stale prophets of well-museumed cliches and stereotypes that comprise our Anthroposophical Dow-Jones portfolios of 'rip-cord words', 'AP-Lingo, AP-dress-code' like "Astral", "Etheric", "Golgotha", "Spiritual Scientific Research", "Goethean Conversation" once sacred and vibrant, now scoured by overuse of nobility, defrocked of wonder, the halo of the words strip-mined of awe and majesty, and husked over into the Taken-for-Granted, into professional indifference, into pantry staples and precious premium channels.

So to keep our more artesian elements alive, and bid them surface from time to time to enchant, to caress, to invest their light, like weeping gold laces the sorry bedrock of the earth to tell its sun-tale, and renews it, seems altogether a mercy, an honor, something to tolerate, something to invite and cherish, and could continue to enjoy welcome, within the focus of conversation here. And so we slowly come to suspect, that the use of metaphor and allegory is an emblem that the consciousness soul is metabolizing ideas and lifting them once again into the realm where philosophia, the love of wisdom starts to radiate again in the life of feeling and attitude. For no one need content themselves to a dictionary definition of a Muse, when one can behold Socrate's Daimon, most untheoretically thriving................

In many ways, Steiner's remarks that the Karma of the Anthroposophical Society is woven of being able to maintain a stability between the Platonic and the Aristotelian dimensions that form a bicameral esoteric continental divide between what enchants, and what fixes, what lives in process and what finds its way to sturdy names, do suggest that the Ark is a lab ideally suited for the practice, for the perfection of Alchymikal Marraige. Now our dowry's complete!

Then let both sides live, thrive, and interact so that we will all come to know why the whole is greater than the sum of the parts while yet held captive audience to the various siren songs which haunt this mortal ghetto of flambuoyant charade, of solemn credentials and what lies spectrum'd between, which would be, strange to say, we ourselves!. Thus the Hunter articulates, thus the Poet suggests. Tis but meander from the intersection where the labyrinth meets the expanse, and like Northern Lights, Skywriting of the Night


06/19/03  To the Ark poets

So, what it amounts to, wayfarer, whom inspiration robs of all nationality, and every label, whose name is henceforth inscribed on a page of rolling sea, is this: That without risking chaos, creativity is out of the question, and one is left holding his formulas, and acres, and the square footage of other blessings, and without the muse of danger, despite all conspicuous plumage of fame, one remains exiled to a cosmetic life, a trivial bystander life filled, glutted with handsomely-dressed, well-priced, approved right angles and coordinates.

Whereupon as one prepares for an interview with Whitewater, to be no stranger to courage, Whitwater's ferocious fingers pull him in whilest she whispers "Risk drowning", so also there sweeps over them a curious Imagination which now populates the place where once but a frail idea held sway, that only in a Lion's den can Christianity turn from fable to gospel, from hearsay and perfume, to a strike of time that defines the difference between before and after, between dream and adventure.

And pondering this startling moment, thus, you too, eavesdropper, discovered that the road to Damascus is strewn with hastily-carved stones of many a warlord who suddenly dropped dead in his tracks.

And so rejoices to conclude:You are Our shell, I, the voice of the wind. Then gather me up, like the ear gathers sturdy words from pouring music.

Not that this labyrinthine meander is poetry, perhaps at most molecules of  short conversation with the Deaf Beethoven, who regarded art as more essential than life, and who, unlike us, could weep flame as well as ocean tears. But nonetheless, so also it is clear from all of this drift, that the transition from mirroring the ideas of others to authoring, to navigating perils is essential to initiation, and that integral to such process, is the obvious, the unpostponable burning away, the invitation to burn away all one has amassed or shall covet, whether outer possessions or interior opinions, it matters not. For this much we, the Camel have learned: that eye of the needle is smaller than we thought.


> xxxxxxxx:

> "When does poetry become noise?"

And thinks: Perhaps when it loses bravery and starts to indulge, and hunts captive audiences, instead of recognizing that it is God who hunts the audience, the friendship of men, who are found shouting instead of listening.....

Poetry - Stream of Consciousness

A curious pair of words now presences, now presents itself, suddenly arises as a duo. To Earlyfire this is an altogether interesting and unkempt marraige, for the words form an unexpected distinction I suspect to be of bladed value in analyzing, in unearthing, in revealing the goings on, a few months ago during that Neanderthal-like era of confusing, ferocious poetry which now siren-esque flirted, which then again stampeded its junkyard way into the Ark, disturbing its equilibrium of discourse, presenting earthquake-like stimulation such as bore in its sorry wake the troubled chagrin of many a good voice and thinker.

Bornfield, though he is guilty of championing modalities of self-expression which he sees as at least one step up over being subjected to words and sentences which envelop us in papier-mache, which compress us all to death, innundate us in stereotype, cliche and same-old, same-old slogan-mongering, Bornfield went into hiding, raped by the same assault of endless oblique metaphors, 'offered to us' by those who had no clue who, if anyone was listening, and indeed, truth to tell, wished not to know. And though Earlyfire, vastly guilty of wordsmithing, excommunicated from all meticulous places, guilty of having unregistered weapons like upside-down skulls in his cellars, guilty of turning coal to diamonds, finds the sprints and sprees of Lucifer a bit healthier in their rhapsodic escape from the imprisonment of the sarcophagus of the literal, that is, to say again, more nourishing despite its irresponsible enchantment than all the heavy-handed manipulative obsessive-compulsive engineering of sparkless Ahrimanic recycle that often dresses up in the vocabulary of wisdom, and contributes utterly no risk, no life, no wonder, no movement or feeling to the mainstream of conversation, yet for all we love poetry, wo also found this breed of raw and narcississtic self-expression vastly disturbing, brutal and offensive. Why? because it seemed to me, - so it seemed to one for whom writing a poem typically requires from two to ten years and suffers perhaps 3 to 15 revisions, rebirths, Golgothas, before emerging from Plato's cave, that the open-mike night syndrome seen here during that time betrayed a haste, lacked patience to wait for maturity, refused to display evidence of reflection, was as bereft of majesty, reverence and epic scope as a gambling casino.

Now it is true, that the revelation of beauty is sometimes, and if you're as lucky as an Irish Mozart, often gifted through intimacy with a muse, more often, and not surprising, especially for those of us who live closer to soil, and are more heavily fretted into its gravity, art, even the right to practice it, is earned through bearing a crown of thorns, and what we had seen blowgunned and harpooned into the ark, as many of us who barely survived it also bore witness, evidenced the presence of a certain hysterical firing-squad fast-food mentality which refused to let thoughts gestate, achieve growth through a coherent process or find an anchored end. And most telltale, was a quality of rampant self-absorption, a psychic anaesthesia, similar to what paralyzes the authoring of moral judgments in congress. A self-absorption which was conspicuously Anti-Dialogue, imposed, Sybilline in intent. In short, a bizarre metaphysically impulsive Jacobin reign of terror ran its course, while we all hung out imbibing U-235 Lattes, turning glowing green at the local Starbuck Cafe. Gee, Earlyfire, It is sure lovely to have 20/20 hindsight huh?

So these are the beginning of Bornfield's thoughts, the 'fixin's of reasons' which only recently have surfaced to clarity, about which today's subject "To Poetry, or Not to Poetry, that is the Question", now once again turns us each and every into a Hamlet, seeking to solicit, seeking to welcome poetic intent as spiritual tender for all debts of communication, public and private, now proceeds, and launches a new point of departure. A lot of that poetry was downright narciccistically deranged, and the thought of a call to Pandrora's Locksmith to debut a relapse, to parole such dark torrential psychic monsoon fills me with an uneasy trembling. As they say in the prologue to the director's cut of the Lord of the RIngs: "And some things which should not have been forgotton, were lost!"

When thoughts which 'never knew each other' become intriguing and present themselves as a pair, we all configure ourselves for dialogue, and life becomes interesting. This is when the clawlike fingers of whitewater arise within, and beg for interview. So today, we are thinking of congruence and dissimilarity between Poetry and Stream of Consciousness, considering these as a polarity which share overlap, but also are possessed of substantial, perhaps even diametrical differences in intent. It is obvious that these share common ground, in that both affirm, extol and seek to invoke the life of creative enterprise to interrupt the Theater of the Humdrum, and with controversy so smash the status quo. A Boston Tea Party, the less graceful Storming of a Bastille a mere half a generation later, these will surely interrupt complacency, but will they inspire progress, allowing the snake of paradigms past to molt. As for the difference, Poetry, which does something with threads of dream turning it into a fabric, and stream of consciousness, which seems to reject attempts to clothe dream in form as somehow inauthentic, a breach of spontaniety, these are nowhere's close to congruent. Both allege, both profess the intent to penetrate surface understanding, to operate in mysterious, artesian depths, and to bring, like Marco Polo does to a spice-bare Europe, to bring to language and to the world of communication a glimpse of the Faraway, a preview of what's to come, sourced through intuitive talents. Yet here's the rub: One may tap intuitive resources, but not exercise them properly, that is, one may fail to place these talents in the service of a destiny, of developing a form and a voice which feeds, which blesses, which touches the universe, the world, the hierarchies, the lives of children, and so never becomes part of the Song of the Wind. (A nice orchestration, eh!.  ;-))) ) Now on to more responsible focus.

Self-expression, the freewheel blossom of unbridled, unrehearsed, uncontrolled human feeling, while enjoying a certain innocence in its refusal to manipulate, may nonetheless, like TV, Nintendo, Fast Food, Pharmacological intervention which now spikes, now soothes one's metabolism, courtesy of medical high priests who have the right to wear white, all this is an astral drug, which interferes with, sweeps under the rug of aspiration, joyously self-imposed mandates for self-directed growth, all of which used to be the province of church, state, family, and other group-glue. Put another way, the release of feelings, however powerful or subtle, which has always been part of the euphoric analgesia of the stream of consciousness with its 'steering-wheel-optional' mentality, does not in itself assure, does not in itself equate to the intent to achieve illumination, to attracting, to harboring the etheric Christ, to building Solomon's Halo-bricked Invisible Temple.The focus of self-expression energies and waft, in order to serve the development and achieve the status of a constellation of ideas.

 (constellation is C,G, Jung's term!, delicious with implied star-wisdom), the attempt to crystallize at times feelings into ideas, and then to dissolve ideas back into process and journey and transformation, this alchemical 'salve et coagula'. requires formidable discipline. (Earlyfire Kneels, pauses for the interval of a firefly's gleam, a few thousand nanoseconds, no more!, to reflect upon the Tower of Babel and the tyranny of slicing premordial words into sold-separatelys, and whispers Discipline, Disciple, Discipline, Disciple, as if to attempt to make them seamlessly linked again, and in so doing, wondering what age, what root race he inhabits)

So, where were we, coherent Earlyfire? Oh yes: Acts of Blurt, Deeds of Speak-Easy, this kind of verbal flame-throw does not evolve by itself into expanded consciousness, is not seaworthy, is not arkworthy. A dream is expansive, but, for those of us who fall short of conscious dreaming, dream's still a kind of release, an interruption, a parole from the responsibility of maintaining a well-ruddered consciousness. And Speak-easy, that would like nothing more than to have a passport to cruise the stars  without doing the inner work, is like the flutter, like the knee-jerk rave of an American Flag in a Fourth of July wind, pumped up, pomped up on adept Luciferic Nitrous Oxide, euphoriated in Spin-Doctored, flambuoyant, imperial genius, sporting day-glow astral plumage potent in its strike upon hearts, and yet, strange to say, may ultimately distract rather than redeem the human path, the human race. Think of this kind of gambling: A million dollars for thirty second's grip of Superbowl advertisement that says "Why worry about floor, when you have sky!" The same thing we heard Icharus say. Consider also that Christ walks on water for a far more modest fee, his crown.

So we were skirting around the difference between Blurt and Art, and of the eschalon of responsibility which cleaves the two, separating what remains an act of impulse from what acquires direction and intent, and lifting, and develops feelings into comprehensible scaffolding, sound into form, notes into melody.


And so we find oasis here, coming to this tentative conclusion: BLURT! is an immature form, an embryo of ART, energies of self-expression which still fail to evidence a clarifying balance, attempts at flight, not authored, but just conjured, flight which attempts to deny the need for stride, wings at the expense of feet, imagination at the expense of thought. Journey without the attempt to source architectural coherence.

Then let our fragrant filibuster end this way, sourcing fair weather.

Love makes good topsoil for the growing of any beanstalk. Who wishes to climb the beanstalk, in order to reach heights, to ascend to crowsnests of awareness in which he, she can behold, like the first Travelocity customer who signed up for an excursion beyond Plato's cave, experiences which will not fit in the saddlebags of words, must learn that the difference between noise and song has to with the honor of carrying the Other, the one you are entrusted to keep, to lift, to cherish.

These, then are your thorns, the stuff of which poetry is sourced. Go interview the whitewater, go weave your crown.


06/21/03  How I fixed my car, continued

Dear xxxxx,

One man's car is another's ark................

Thank you for clarifying the genre cross-over, for articulating the continental divide between dialogue and campaigns of obvious captive-audiencing. I do think that on the Ark, discussions of virtues and subtleties, useful solution-oriented controversy, finding ways to translate Michaelic ideas into a touchable,  non-erudite, de-arroganced vocabulary most shepherd-like represents an emerging, a valuable Prime Directive.

We, as Ark members ought now to consider ascending a new rung of maturity upon the mystical Jacob's Ladder, and begin to actually see ourselves as Grail Knights, armed with purity of motives, willing to assume risks and develop courage to develop a voice which wishes to transcend the claustrophobia of esoteric terminology. This as opposed to whispering in the lackluster morning "I just work here". To greenhouse a cornucopia of omni-cultural vision and make it a tangible food to all those who dwell abroad of our little ship, would create a destiny, it would become possible to begin once again to harbor, grow and share ideas which are pregnant with charisma and optimism, possessed of transformative scope, energies.

We are, after all, Esoteric Marco Polos, privileged with in-depth understanding of true causes and effects, which indeed makes us merchants of rare conversational spice suitable for Goethean Conversation, which  is the spice we spawn and weave here. Goethean Conversation which, as you know 'snow-birds half in the etheric' and which can indeed create alternatives to the obvious tyranny of a thought-raped world entombed, bearing a blank-stare like Snow White gazing up from her glass coffin, as under some kind of psychic house-arrest.

But here is the rub. Here you encounter the Anti-Christ: When groups begin with words and end with words, that is, fail to regard the authoring, the blossoming of deeds as a necessary echo and clothing of the intent, and never realizing the stakes, that words without deeds are stillborn, and so thoughts and actions are then the ONLY possible means to grow the presence of the Invisible Christ within human affairs, then those groups absolutely lose touch with the progressive hierarchies, and going retrograde to the purpose of human evolution, become unable to risk, unable to source alternative paradigms outside the plastic bubble of conversation.

The most dangerous of all these paradigms, is the prevalant mindset which upon comparing Michaelic Vision and Initiatives in merely a competitive, rather than a noble idealistic way to the entrenched machinery of a world, tacitly consents to be overwhelmed by the darkness and anaesthetizes itself with depressive hopelessness. This amounts to every person putting their own Excalibur back in the stone, and suffering such amnesia as prevents them from ever rediscovering that he/she recognizes that the King Arthur Within is now the same as an Etheric Christ.

Let this be enough for now. But be warned, the demise of the potency of this group, and on a larger scale, the utterly idealess, the Headless-Horseman syndrome of the widely observed sheer failure of the American AP 'leadership" to vocally identify and meet the dragons of the day, not to mention the refusal of Dornach to acknowledge the need to birth the second and third circles of the School of Spiritual Science, together with the most tragic telltale almost non-existent evidence of most Anthroposophists to emerge from the caves of their study groups and speak with a prophetic voice to the needs of the age as well as to find and work with others who display conspicuous Michaelic illumination and drive, - the ongoing existence of all these deadly scenarios will well nigh guarantee that those who do nothing to reverse encountering the flaws of the age, will stale over, will become as 'frozen in carbonite' as Han Solo, and waxing rigid, become as vestigial, as dogmatic, as redneck, as rigor-mortis'd as Latin.

For it is the Hierarchies which infuse strength to groups which attempt transformation, and refuse it to those who merely profess change. And this distinguishes the new set of responsibilities which men are asked to consciously assume, from those which in ages previous, were handed out, not from within, but 'On-High; by organizational structures, organizational structures, which have now become, I think we can fairly say, downright irrepairably dysfunctional. For now it has become apparent that Courage has become the new Enchantment, and that Risk alone is what invites Love downstairs, where Love turns Brave in the land of deeds..............

Words from the Marina, a drydock sermon, no doubt.............

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