Introduction
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
#1
(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."
#2
(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 www.mythologics.org/mozart.html
"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]
#3
(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."
#4
(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""
#5
(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?>"
#6
(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."
#7
(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."
#8
(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
recant.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
"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."
#9
(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
(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."
#11
(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."
#12
(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."
#13
(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!"
#14
(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."
#15
(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."
#16
(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.)""
#17
(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."
#18
(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."
#19
(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........."
#20
(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........"
#21
(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."
#22
(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."
#23
(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.........."
#24
(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!"
#25
(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..........."
#26
(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............."
#27
(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!""
#28
(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."
#29
(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, hmmm.....how 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 ......my 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."
#30
(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.........."
#31
(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......"
#32
(1/04/02) India/Afghanistan/Pakistan
Hi XXXXXXX,
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, (........like 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...........;-)"
#33
(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."
#34
(2/4/02) Lover and Others..
"Hi XXXX!
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
milk.............."
#35
(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......
#36
(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.
#37
(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.
#38
(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!">
#39
(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............... "
#40
(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)
GABRIEL:
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.
GABRIEL
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:
www.bartleby.com/19/1/1004.html As to what to "make" of the polarity:
from http://www.wsu.edu:8080/~brians/hum_303/faust.html, 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,
#41
(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"
#42
(7/12/2002) love/freedom concept
XXXXXX:
Goethe:
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.
#43
(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.
Love,
Harvey
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.
#44
(8/1/02) A challenge?
XXXX,
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.
#45
(8/7/02) Alexander -- 330 BC
Dear XXXXXX, XXXX, XXXXXXX, et all
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!
#46
(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.
#47
(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
"www.art_as_miraculous.net" and generous contributions from doers like
you.
#48
(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!
#49
(8/5/02) Evil
Hi XXXXXX,
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"
#50
(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.
#51
(8/21/02) In the Circle
XXXXXXX,
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,
Harvey
Bibliography
*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?
#52
(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."
#53
(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
#54
(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"
#55
(8/31/02) note to XXXXX
XXX:
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.
#56
(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..............
#57
(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.
#58
(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.")
#59
(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.
#60
(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!)
#61
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
Napoleons.
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..................
#62
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
#63
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.
QED............
#64
10/07/02 Attempting an even-handed treatment of fairness.
xxxxx,
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.
#65
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.
#66
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...........
#67
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.
#68
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.
#69
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)
#70
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.
#71
11/26/02 Grammy Award for xxxxx (List Moderator Division)
xxxxx:
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,
Harvey
(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.
#72
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)
Continuing::
"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'.)
GOING ON:
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.........."
#73
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.
(http://bahai-library.org/writings/bahaullah/sv/702.html)
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!
#74
02/15/03 The xxxxx Meister
xxxx!
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.
#75
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.
#76
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........
#77
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.
#78
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)
#80
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......
#81
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"
#82
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
#83
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.
#84
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.............