Hide and Seek

Hide and Seek...2006

Abandoned Games, Forgotten Toys

Abandoned Games, Forgotten Toys...2006

Song of the Seraphim

Song of the Seraphim...2006

Voyage of the Rose

Voyage of the Rose...2006

Universal Theatre

Universal Theatre...2006

Celestial Guardians, Astral Navigation

Celestial Guardians, Astral Navigation...2006

Betrothal

The Betrothal of Artemis and Aphrodite...2006

Old Mother Time

Old Mother Time...2006

Iris

Iris...2006

The bird was singing brightly within his breast, and Anselm walked by the guard into the gap betwen the golden pillars, into the blue mystery of the interior. He was penetrating into Iris's heart, and it was the blue flag in his mother's garden into whose blue chalice he floated, and as he quickly approached the golden twilight, all memory and knowledge came to him at once. He felt his hand, and it was small and soft. Voices of love sounded nearby and familiar in his ears, and the glistening golden pillars sparkled as they had in the remote past, during the spring of his childhood.

And the dream that he had dreamed as a small boy was also there again, his dream about entering the chalice, and behind him the entire world of pictures came and glided with him and sank into the mystery that lies behind all images.

Anselm began to sing softly, and his path sloped gently down into home.

Hermann Hesse (1877-1962)

Secret Toy

You make unknown the child's sleeping face, his half-open eyes and mouth. Everything in the world is a secret, and the games are still the game of love, the game of hide-and-seek, and the chilly game of solitude. In a secret room in a secret house his secret toy sits listening to its own stillness. Crows fly over that city. the ghosts of his and our dreams come together at night like window dressers and their mannequins on a street of dark, abandoned buildings and white clouds.
Charles Simic...Dime-Store Alchemy.

Bebe Marie...Joseph Cornell

Simic's book is a little masterpiece. A series of short meditations, these little boxes of language evoke the spirit of Cornell's imaginal soul-theatres.

Our Sibling Kin

Joseph Cornell in his Bedroom...Duane Michals

Every art is about the longing of One for the Other. Orphans that we are, we make our sibling kin out of anything we can find.

Charles Simic

(from Dime-Store Alchemy)

These words of Charles Simic from his book about Joseph Cornell and this poignant photo bring tears to my eyes.

Toward the Blue Peninsula

Toward the Blue Peninsula....Joseph Cornell (1903-1972)

It might be lonelier
Without the Loneliness --
I'm so accustomed to my Fate --
Perhaps the Other -- Peace --

Would interrupt the Dark --
And crowd the little Room --
Too scant -- by Cubits -- to contain
The Sacrament -- of Him --

I am not used to Hope --
It might intrude upon --
Its sweet parade -- blaspheme the place --
Ordained to Suffering --

It might be easier
To fail -- with Land in Sight --
Than gain -- My Blue Peninsula --
To perish -- of Delight --

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Entrance to the Rose garden

Entrance to the Rose Garden ... 2006

Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning

T S Eliot 1888-1965

Hermit

Hermit 2006

The Great Happiness

The Divine Land 1979 (Cecil C0llins)

The lowest level one could call the small happiness, and above that..a small unhappiness, where one is restricted to fear of losing the small happiness. Above is the great happiness, which means you have seen through the small happiness. I mean by that it doesn't satisfy you, and you are unhappy in a very deep way because you know there is a great happiness, and, if you can't experience that, you reject every other form of hapiness, because that is the happiness you know to be the greatest and the most real...Let me put it another way; you are unhappy because you can't reach it but you are very happy because you can see it. In a word, you're alive...

Cecil Collins (1908 - 1989)

In the Forest at Night

In the Forest at Night ... 2006

We Two...

We Two...2006

Soul-Shrine

Thou angel of God who hast charge of me
From the fragrant Father of mercifulness,
The gentle encompassing of the Sacred Heart
To make round my soul-shrine this night,
Oh, round my soul-shrine this night.

Ward from me every distress and danger,

Encompass my course over the ocean of truth,

I pray thee, place thy pure light before me,

O bright beauteous angel on this very night

Bright beauteous angel on this very night.

Be Thyself the guiding star above me,

Illume Thou to me every reef and shoal,

Pilot my barque on the crest of the wave,

To the restful haven of the waveless sea,

Oh, the restful haven of the waveless sea.

from Carmina Gadelica

Something Helpless that Wants our Love

We must accept our reality as vastly as we possibly can; everything, even the unprecedented, must be possible within it. This is in the end the only kind of courage that is required of us: the courage to face the strangest, most unusual, most inexplicable experiences that can meet us. The fact that people have in this sense been cowardly has done infinite harm to life; the experiences that are called "apparitions," the whole so-called "spirit world," death, all these Things that are so closely related to us, have through our daily defensiveness been so entirely pushed out of life that the senses with which we might have been able to grasp them have atrophied. To say nothing of God. But the fear of the inexplicable has not only impoverished the reality of the individual; it has also narrowed the relationship between one human being and another, which has as it were been lifted out of the riverbed of infinite possibilities and set down in a fallow place on the bank, where nothing happens. For it is not only indolence that causes human relationships to be repeated from case to case with such unspeakable monotony and boredom; it is timidity before any new, inconceivable experience, which we don't think we can deal with. But only someone who is ready for everything, who doesn't exclude any experience, even the most incomprehensible, will live the relationship with another person as something alive and will himself sound the depths of his own being. for if we imagine this being of the individual as a larger or smaller room, it is obvious that most people come to know only one corner of their room, one spot near the window, one narrow strip on which they keep walking back and forth. In this way they have a certain security. And yet how much more human is the dangerous insecurity that drives those prisoners in Poe's stories to feel out the shapes of their horrible dungeons and not be strangers to the unspeakable terror of their cells. We, however, are not prisoners. No traps or snares have been set around us, and there is nothing that should frighten or upset us. We have been put into life as into the element we most accord with, and we have, moreover, through thousands of years of adaptation, come to resemble this life so greatly that when we hold still, through a fortunate mimicry we can hardly be differentiated from everything around us. We have no reason to harbor any mistrust against our world, for it is not against us. If it has terrors, they are our terrors; if it has abysses, these abysses belong to us; if there are dangers, we must try to love them. And if only we arrange our life in accordance with the principle which tells us that we must always trust in the difficult, then what now appears to us as the most alien will become our most intimate and trusted experience. How could we forget those ancient myths that stand at the beginning of all races, the myths about dragons that at the last moment are transformed into princesses? Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.


Rainer Maria Rilke (from Letters to a young Poet)

Nothing Else but Miracles

Walt Whitman is one of my most significant teachers. For someone like me who can easily become muddled and ungrounded, his passionate evocations of life in all its manifestations, his affirmation of everything human, pull me back to the earth. I am soothed, comforted and inspired in equal measure.

Miracles

WHY! who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love—or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with my mother,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds—or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sun-down—or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curve of the new moon in spring;
Or whether I go among those I like best, and that like me best—mechanics, boatmen, farmers,
Or among the savans—or to the soiree—or to the opera,
Or stand a long while looking at the movements of machinery,
Or behold children at their sports,
Or the admirable sight of the perfect old man, or the perfect old woman,
Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial,
Or my own eyes and figure in the glass;
These, with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring—yet each distinct, and in its place.
To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same;
Every spear of grass—the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women, and all that concerns them,
All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles. Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

Becoming Water

Madonna del Parto (Piero della Francesca)

The faith community I have been part of during the last few years has been the Religious Society of Friends. I have imaged the Quaker tradition as a trellis supporting the vine of my spirituality. But now the trellis seems to be dissolving…the hard edges, the forms of it are blurring…melting as a block of ice would...though it is not in brilliant sunshine but some darker, cooler place. (How can something both cool and melt at the same time? Yet that is the way it appears).

I am meditating more, finding the space behind, beneath and around things….Content is not so significant..or what there is is loose, allusive, obliquely visioned. I am reading fiction and poetry…Rilke, Thomas Moore and soon to return to Proust…looking at art books.

I use Reiki…gently. In the next few weeks I will receive my Reiki 3 attunement. Actually the dissolution seemed to start with my first attunement. From there the softening and melting began.

In a recent dream I was in a white cathedral. I saw many art works depicting the Annunciation. This gospel story speaks to me of something hidden.…Mary pondering these things in her own heart…Impregnation…receiving…conceiving…all in the dark womb, which welcomes and receives….a powerful metaphor for contemplation…the virginal womb into which the Spirit pours in darkness…a place of watery containment.

Recent intermittent feelings of fatigue have forced me into whole days of inactivity…. I resisted and resisted these but the times I surrendered to them have became a contemplative space where I can be nourished by emptiness…no choice but to be still, to rest, to go down…allow something new to grow in the protective darkness of unknowing.

Of course it is all more fragmentary than this...by its nature it is obscure and lacking in any clarity. Rivers... streams.....rain....oceans....gutters...puddles...the still waters of the evening....harbour and open sea.

Life's Dark Beauty

Religion, too, often avoids the dark by hiding behind platitudes and false assurances. Nothing is more irrelevant than feeble religious piousness in the face of stark, life-threatening darkness. Religion tends to sentimentalize the light and demonize the darkness. If you turn to spirituality to find only a positive and wholesome attitude, you are using spirituality to avoid life's dark beauty. Religion easily becomes a defence and avoidance. Of course this is not the real purpose of religion, full of beautifully stated wisdom, , and the religious traditions of the world are your best source of guidance in the dark. But there is real religion and there is the empty shell of religion. Know the difference. Your life is at stake.....

The spiritual life is both deep and transcendent. It shouldn't whisk you away from your daily challenges but should offer you an intelligent way of dealing with all the complexity involved. It should make you a person of character and discernment, emotionally tough and intellectualy demanding, as well as loving and compassionate. It should give you insight into the deepest of your questions and problems, and give you a vision which extends beyond the everyday issues. Religion often fails to explore the depths and only offers the vision, but then the transcendent possibilities lack depth and in the end hurt more than help.

(Thomas Moore)

Cloud Hidden, Whereabouts Unknown

I asked the boy beneath the pines.
He said, "The master's gone alone herb picking,
somewhere on the mount,
cloud hidden,
whereabouts unknown."

(Chin Tao, 777-841)

And if ever you come to this cloud, and make a home there and take up the work of love as I urge you, there is something else you must do as this cloud is above you, and between you and your God, you must put a cloud of forgetting beneath you, between you and all the creatures that have ever been made.
The cloud of unknowing will perhaps leave you with a feeling that you are far from God. But I assure you, if it is authentic, only the absence of a cloud of forgetting between you and all creatures keeps you from God.

(The Cloud of Unknowing)

Two Serpents

Two Serpents Drinking from the Same Cup 2006

A Luminous Cloud of Maternal Love

I have been reflecting in this last couple of days on angels. During this reflection I came across the following extraordinary passages (from an extraordinary, even unique, book) concerning one's Guardian Angel...

"...and this is the tragic side of Angelic existence-this geniality only shows up when the human being has need of it, when he makes room for the flashing forth of its illumination. The Angel depends on man in his creative activity. If the human being does not ask for it, if he turns away from him, the Angel has no motive for creative activity. He can then fall into a state of consciousness where all his creative geniality remains in potential and does not manifest. It is a state of vegetation or 'twilight existence', comparable to sleep from the human point of view. An Angel who has nothing to exist for is a tragedy in the spiritual world.

Therefore, dear Unknown Friend, think of your guardian Angel, think of him when you have problems, questions to resolve, tasks to accomplish, plans to formulate, cares and fears to appease! Think of him as a luminous cloud of maternal love above you, moved by the sole desire to serve you and to be useful to you.

Meditations on the Tarot (The Unknown Author)

I know from experience that when I ask the Angels for help then extraordinary things happen. It would seem that they long for us to call upon them, that in their unmediated reflection of the Love of God they exist simply to love.

In the psychedelic sci fi film fantasy of the sixties 'Barbarella' ,the Angel says..."An Angel does not love. An Angel IS Love."

Golden Shadows

He follows me
With golden shadows to my secret rooms.

Charles Tennyson Turner (1808 - 1879)

These last few months I have been experiencing and reflecting upon many personal traits which, at first sight I would much rather be without.

But I realise that what appear to be 'shadow' aspects also themselves have 'golden shadows', gifts they bring to me and to others.

My abiding laziness frees me from the cultural obsession with being busy, a life of appointments and schedules, the fear of being alone with nothing to do. I have time for myself, to think and pray and I have time for others. I rarely have to put people off because I have 'more important' things to do.

My procrastination reminds me that most things aren't that inportant and frees me from the need to be perfect.

My sometimes critical nature connects with witty conversation which makes people laugh, instils a sense of fun into life and punctures pomposity, including my own.

I am greedy but what a love of life that manifests! I encourage others to let go a little and enjoy themselves.

In my spendthrift nature I can 'take little thought for the morrow', be free from the obsession with security and living in the future.

I have struggled with anger but often it relates to a sense of justice and fairness.

In my personal vanity is a love of beauty, self respect, and even a healthy self love. I don't have to shrink from others...and neither do I feel I am more significant than them. Each person is beautiful with many gifts to offer to the world.

There is also a very real darkness in me...which in some ways seems unredeemable. But perhaps in some ultimate sense God can use what is darkest and most despicable as raw material for some new creation. That is my hope anyway.

Cruelty and Mercy

Cruelty has a human heart
And Jealousy a human face
Terror the human form divine
And secrecy the human dress.

The human dress is forged iron,
The human face is a fiery forge,
The human face is a furnace sealed,
The human heart its hungry gorge.

William Blake (1757 - 1827)

For Mercy has a human heart
Pity a human face
And Love the human form divine,
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.

William Blake (1757 - 1827)

Funeral

I have been arranging a funeral this morning. Thankfully not for someone I know. Talking to the undertaker I felt relief that I wasn't there for someone I love...yet I was aware of how many people over the years must have sat there overwhelmed with the terrible pain of grief.

It is a privilige to support a family at this time. The practical arrangements, making sure the funeral takes place in an ordered way is as sacred as the prayers, the hymns, the readings. Isn't it the routines which partly carry us through painful times?

Life is short. How many times do we hear those words during our lives....to the point where it becomes a cliche', hardly noticed, easily ignored?

May I live richly and well. And you also, unknown friends!

Simplicity

Here is a very simple drawing I made yesterday. Some of my drawings (like 'Soul Friends'..see below) are complicated in their design but I also love to make pictures which are simple, naive, primitive, innocent. I am in the process of making a new series of drawings which are simple....maybe contemplative.

Spirit of the Fountain

'The Spirit of the Fountain dies not.
It is called the Mysterious Feminine.
The Doorway of the Mysterious Feminine
Is called the Root of Heaven-and Earth.

Lingering like gossamer, it has only a hint of existence;
And yet when you draw upon it , it is inexhaustible."

Tao Teh Ching (trans. John C. H. Wu)

'Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated

And let my cry come unto Thee.

from 'Ash Wednesday' by T.S. Eliot