Questions 9 or 6 to 3

In the springtime of each year we’ve come to realize that like the flowers of summer we to come to bloom in the fresh morning dew, in the rich loom of the mind- jc

It was William Blake who stated that the ‘Doors of Perception’ need only be cleansed so one can see the infinite. Could’ve it be that to aid in our questions of life we need only to quiet the left hemisphere of the brain and start cleaning this door with the right hemisphere? Or as Robert Bly called it, “doing our kitchen work“, deflating our ego by performing the work of a simpleton, task that free the mind, holding our thoughts temporarily in reserve, as we earn the right to transcend this door which lays hidden, not known to exist. So in our kitchen work, we labor completely unaware of the task at hand as we scour the mind of fear and loathing. There is faith in this, the faith of the just and downhearted on the path to lite and love.

©jc2021-4

The Sirens Song

The sharp edge of a razor is difficult to pass over; thus the wise say the path to salvation is hard.
-Katha Upanishad

We’re a curious bunch, our thirst for knowledge is unlimited. This is especially true when talking about enlightenment which is sure to bring many to the discussion. But if we’ve learned anything we must keep in mind that those who seek will not find it, for it comes as a thief in the night, completely unexpected… that is the paradox. But still, we’re curious. What is it that drives one on this quest seeking illumination and transcendence.

In Greek mythology, The Song of the Sirens provoked many a sailor to fall into song-of-the-sirens, the sea to their death, so alluring was their song. It wasn’t until Jason and the Argonauts played a counter melody that the Sirens were destroyed. We also have a tendency to lose ourselves in our quest for answers in the deep oceans of life. We need our own counter melody to balance ourselves in the event we fall for the false sounds our own egocentric self.

In his short story, The Silence… of the Sirens, Franz Kafka wrote that a more fatal weapon than the song of the Sirens might be their silence. Indeed, where would we be without our wonder, our inquisitive nature, our song we hear in the deep recesses of our soul.

But all is not lost for the seeker on the spiritual road, for it’s said that one who travels this path and seeks an answer to life as we know it, is as a “dreamer of a beautiful dream where the dream is worth it, even if it doesn’t come true.”

Humanity has a need for metaphysical belief. Is this enough to imply its existence? Some say that because it’s contemplated to such a degree throughout the ages that this questioning is proof enough. But we can’t help but ask the questions. It’s in our nature. Thus there are more questions than answers or so it seems. Just look at the multitude of beliefs. And what of the questions… the existence and silence of God? Why are we here? What is the purpose?

What would life be if from the beginning we knew all the answers? Void of wonder, the end of seeking, of life itself. For it’s the experience of being alive and the enchantment of the ordinary that fills our days and our dreams at night.

©jc2021-9

*Photo’s courtesy of Pixabay

Prayer

…said at dawn

I step into the day, I step into myself, I step into the mystery…

(Anishinaabe: Odawa, Ojibwa, Algonquin First Nations)

Dear Friends, This prayer of the First Nations was given to me years ago and I have treasured it. But as time slips by the mind let go of one treasure for another. Or so I thought. And what we thought was lost is found again with I dare say renewed vigor and meaning. Maybe these few words are what is needed to put this troubled year behind us.

For me, the meaning in the poem is in its stillness when each part is seen in conjunction with the whole. Try and see each day such as this.

jc

copyright 12/2020-9 jc

Evening Tide ‘You and Me’

On this road, my life begins
Forgotten love, forgotten friend, a forgotten child that dwells within…

Who could show it all to me as we sit on the edge of creation
Perhaps in another time, another place
So what part of me have you become
Is it you or is it me?

And in this love, I commence doubting
What part of me can I live without
Who holds the mirror that reflects to me?
Who I gave think I am to be
Is it you or is it me?

When I seem too far away
In a hole where you can’t play
And if I leave will regret win out
A pain I wear that leaves a doubt
Oh whom I think I am to be
Is it you or is it me?

Mirror, mirror on the wall
Of all who’s left a mark on thee
Who’s the fairest one you see
For within another I see me.

*copyright jc 2020-11 images by pixabay-9

Valhalla

I said momma can you tell me about the love between the moon and the deep blue sea. How long did they ride the tide to the horizon where little secrets are told from afar that no one will ever hear. I remember our wings where we promised the world to one another. Running wild through miles of smiles talking to the clouds amidst the spent leaves of oak trees crushed under the foot of our shoes. And here we found the secret in the secret rite of spring… all things must pass and likewise return… the sailer to the sea, the farmer to his fields and the warrior to Valhalla and its hall of 108 doors said to be in waiting for the return of Odin.

*copyright jc 2020

The Moon Is Hanging Upside Down

And everything under the sun is in tune but the sun is eclipsed by the moon… Pink Floyd

The quote above gives the impression that the moon by way of a solar eclipse can become a bit of a trickster when it comes to situations here on earth. Add to that is the ability to raise and lower the tides or, induce a mystical exsperience from dogs, wolves, and coyotes to howl in her presence. Life would be a little less exciting if not for the earth’s only offspring tethered out there in space by way of gravity… juxtapositioned at an exacts angle which gives us the seasons of the year. Just think of all the books, movies, music, poetry in existence with the moon in character. Life would be dull to say the lease. So just what is it that moves us to romance this cold gray rock of a moon? I beleive that light and love have given us the greatest stories ever told, right here in the night sky above your house, stories that bring the earth, sun, and moon out to perform each evening.

Birth of the Moon

The earth in the heavens, a much younger age, on fire, molten lava, crust solidifying. A meteor crashes into the newly formed planet. It is pushed off axis to 23.5 degrees of tilt. A chunk of earth is sent flying into the heavens, churning, forming, taking orbit around the earth, the moon is born. Because of the impact, metals are left exposed and not buried deep within the earth’s crust ensuring the industrial and technological ages of the earth come into fruition.

The ancients named the sun after the Lion, as its flames are as loud as a lion’s roar. Along the Precession of the Equinox, it’s mystical path around the milky way, everything within the sun’s reach is given light. But trifle with the lion and she could take light away. Thus a solar eclipse is what the first inhabiters of this planet saw, appearing to be the sun growing darker taking light away because of some grievous sin brought upon humankind by the gods.

The sun is eternal, its light is never extinguished whereas the moon sheds its light… it is temporal and is associated with the snake which sheds its skin only to be reborn. The earth and her cohorts, the sun and the moon have evolved thru many different ages and changed in many surprising ways as the great mother she is. And all this is written in the heavens for our enjoyment.

Yes, the moon is hanging upside down, trying to recognize who we are, hoping to see our familiar faces again… jc

*copyright by jc 2020-9 image by pixabay

So This Is Love

*copyright 2020-9 all rights reserved…images by pixabay

So this is love, of something or other.
Merlin locked in a tree by his one true love.
Kerouac his scroll of the open road unfolding before us as we traverse space and time to the hemispheres where dusk and dawn constantly kiss the sky.
Into the mystic, the slip into the stream sounds like Tupelo Honey… sounds like the love of something or other.
Tolstoy finds the correct words and purpose in the simple life of the lowly peasant…
as he holds Anna’s hand, the train roaring in the
For Poe, its the Raven calling out from his chamber… forevermore, forevermore on that cold Baltimore night leavingv a trail of tears and a bottle of cognac.
And yet for others, its pain when it’s honest and it’s honest when its pain.
Stranger things do happen inside the lucid mind where large is small and small is large yet they meet in the narrow inspiring insight and sound in the very words we speak yet we never hear as they catch us bit by bit and surprise us at every turn.

In Vagabond Dreams

Not all who wander are lost”
-Tolkein

No, we are not lost but locked hand in hand with a destiny not always understood. We set forth not by force or a lack of responsibility but in love; a love which rules with the heart’s intensity for truth… jc

I’ve arrived back from my sojourn, none the worse for wear guided by Hermes, the messenger of the gods… seeking the grace of his good council. Such wisdom as has been drawn from a cauldron of nine maidens for centuries on end.

It isn’t necessarily the physical miles that earn one trust on the road but if the distance isn’t owing to any fan fair or parade as such but to what might be called an eternal state of mind or being. For example, how bizarre would it be to see the eternal in William Blake’s grain of sand, to sense it on a spiritual level? The miles that role can achieve this phenomenon for you. Some may call this day a daydream but all give evidence toward a spiritual exsperience.

As we see that it is the journey that is of most importance and not necessarily the physical destination. So what of this trip we’ve been on. It is indeed relative to call it long or even arduous. It’s relative to each of us.

One feels the need for the open country, the crowded city, the mesmeric ocean, or the reclusive mountains at any one point in life. And as time moves on to an uncertain fate, so does the wandering spirit we give title to as the gypsy, the pilgrim, the bohemian.

Is our faith blind? Maybe not, but still allow me to sail to the other shore to live, to learn, to contemplate. And I will be sure not to walk before its time, to only setting forth when the red-tailed hawk appears in the new dawn light with a secret from the sky and calls me on to another home.

images by picsabay copyright-jc-2019-9

Vishnu’s Dream

Once upon a dream in a time not long ago while sailing the dark silent sea in the vicinity of the constellation Crux which harbors the Southern Cross, our pilgrim found himself immersed in unwritten words, wordless readings, and silent teachings, for he now understood that nature is the true teacher in all of our ways of understanding words. The true understanding of what he read enveloped and afforded him the real test of insight, what he called intuition, instinct, a sixth sense.

The stuff of the mind can be calm in one instance and treatuous in another just like the river, beneath the surface, are rip currents wanting to pull the flow of water under into opposite directions much like the way the currents in the mind work. Indeed some drown in these waters never to be heard from again while others embrace themselves in timeless fluidity.

And where do we go next oh great ocean? Will we find our Pilgrim circumnavigating just as assuredly as brave Magellan did in days of old? Why none other than the cosmic ocean the same one where Vishnu dreams the universe into being for isn’t that what we’re doing, dreaming our lives into being. So we set sail in a boat made of dreams through an ocean made of stardust to the other shore as the backdrop of our lives slowly disappears into oblivion and the next adventure unfolds.

In A Dark Wood…Shunngmanitu Thanka

The Lakota say that it is not uncommon
To hear something calling your name
In the stillness of a dark moonless night.
This is ‘shungmanitu thanka‘, the Great Wolf.

One night our pilgrim found himself walking deep in a dark wood; overhead a new moon disguised as its shadow self-juxtaposed to an array of stars, as the sound of spent leaves crushed underfoot sounded in the autumnal air. It seemed as though the wind was guiding him towards an expected destination as he found himself facing Sirius, the Dog Star. At this moment, his vision caught sight of a light moving swiftly in front of him in the shadows of an oak grove. Like a slow waxing moon, a white wolf appeared before his eyes lending a radiant glow to the maze of yellow, red, and green on the forest floor.

In silence, it’s believed
As though shouted
From the highest mountain
That this seer has witnessed
A vision and is in store
For a special kind of teaching.

“Through an open window in a thicket of shrubs, I saw his head turn up toward the dark velvet sky, and howl into the thin air, moving his head from left to right and back again. It was mournful and very moving like he was self-contained in a certain kind of grief reserved for a departed lover. We both sat there at a distance, careful not to startle the other, a meeting of heart and soul… a revival. And on the 3rd day, we took leave of each other, disappearing as suddenly as he came, I walked away embracing a deeper understanding of life, love, and compassion.”

The White Wolf, a native to Tibet is a spiritual presence in the Himalayas. Native Americans call on him as a teacher and pathfinders to unmapped territories of the forest and uncharted areas of the soul. Sirius, the dog star of the constellation Canis Major, home of the ancients, is his symbol, the brightest star in the night sky. Sirius is, in reality, two stars seen as one from its proximity to the Earth. Because of its binary nature, it represents the paradoxical nature of life.

The Pilgrim on his path is like a Lone Wolf, he’s not of a pack, he seeks knowledge for knowledge sake. It is not important to the wolf or the pilgrim if one or a thousand hear his meditations in the night. In his indifference to fame and fortune, only a few may hear his prayers, but as a pebble splash on the surface of a pond, vibrations will echo in these waters until the end of time.

©jc2019-9… Images by Pixabay