Daughter of the Voice

 

I am felled with the silence here – a “Wisteria” morning. The sun just came through, I opened the windows for a big buzzing fly, and birds sing outside and there is the line of the oak trees. My holiday! Blessing and victory. You know – I watched about half of the Seventh stage ambassadors replay last night in bed – I am now online in Wisteria house; and Richard talks of VICTORY. THE FLAG OF VICTORY. Doesn’t this bring me to touch a friend’s recent violent Netzach (football) moment and a broken flag? The universe breathes with opposites like this – the Light, the Dark, as palms together, as the waves cross each other. A speechless bird within me strives to stretch wings with the Knowledge. The unknown cognition – Daat on the Tree of Life – is BAT KUL, daughter of the Voice.

 

 

 

In Tarot, the High Priestess is Daughter of the Stars. If we are but daughter of the Voice, how can we speak, how can we express the oceanic clarity in the wood … through the veil? It is as the alchemist in the engraving who peers out through the caul at the wheels and hydraulic gears of cosmos. His landscape and settled life and cottage is a bubble in the womb.

 

 

Helen Ede is in this room – not always noticed, for the drawing is delicate and dark. My grandmother’s portrait has the best position over the fireplace. She used to enter my psychedelic moments profoundly, eternally soft, homecoming and wise; like Annapurna, like the grey rocks and the sea …

There is a breeze outside and the oak leaves shimmer. The deluge of quiet solitude presses my soul. This, like suffering in life, is the treading of the grape, the kneading of elastic wheat for bread. The black and white magpie returns to next door’s tall oak tree. This is the same phenomenon of the Light with the Dark, but without suffering. Listening – the piping chaffinch.

And now – jottings from Richard’s transmission on the previous Sunday … how immaterial is the chronological measure of this moment. My words:

Our symbol for the SIXTH stage of Ambassadors was the lotus: spiritual Centre and the loving kind. For seventh stage of Ambassadors, it is the FLAG. What is this? a Victory banner! … through a portal, having achieved … As at the beginning we blew the Conch to summon ourselves, so we now raise the Banner on the field of Victory. As we break through the battle into the mental plane, the heart breaks open so wide there is no end to it ever.

Consider privately – what is Victory? What is this moment? How can I sanctify it and make it whole – potentially whole? Don’t resist it but do the slow, and sometimes costly things in human Karma which are necessary for its clarity and release.

Justice is a kind of homing pigeon … The item got thrown out onto the ground with the dispute, like a glove.

The glove is a swordsman’s provocation, but it is also the falconer’s where the noble bird returns. Within the glove is love. Within the glove is Hand – the nature of YOD the smallest letter in the Hebrew alphabet: the sense of touch. To make up a quarrel, people touch hands.

 

 

 

Let the Tarot Empress’s creative Imagination flow, as she sits on her stone bench in ripe labour, in the garden by a brook, by a bower of roses – in the background are dark cypresses; before her are stems of wheat and her footstool is the Moon. She does not tread or crush the Moon. She rests her foot. The brook’s watery music reaches her from its source in the Priestess’s lap. She herself is about to or giving birth to the eternal Child from out of her stretched House of Bread – the Bethelehem: BEIT L HIM – a make-up word of mine echoing ELOHIM – the M sound on the end is the Hanging Man’s letter ‘MIM’, the child dropping head first from mother into the earthy channel: the dew. The M sound on the end is the eternity of AUM through the earth of millions and billions of births through history’s time; the humming of the bees. B-Hm.

This naturally is a Spell. But the spell-maker does not limit it to any event, because the spell-maker becomes enchanted – spellbound right into the symbol’s eternal Life: the event was a small catalyst for the flooding forth of mental and Atma planes into the breaking heart of birth.

The Priestess gives birth to the brook. The Empress gives birth to the child. The child comes forth with a rush of blood and amniotic water. The sac is broken and the alchemist looks through into life.

ELOHIM thou art the Glory.

The colours in the Empress tarot key – black, red, yellow, green, white – are alchemical Arsenic; the transmuting of poison through new birth – like refugees inside a phoenix.

The land-based hedgerows, lanes, cities and fields are in the same matter the highways linking galactic star to star. The galaxy is the mother’s milk of Heaven. These things I felt beyond words when I gave birth to Ris and held the little baby in my warm bed: her scent and soft stretching movements. Language? Language reaches back from far downstream of the timeless event, with a learned poetic syntax to catch the speechless beauty. Was there ever in my life such joy and mystery as those summer nights with the little baby in my bed?

 

 

The heart is really uterine, deep within the belly. Human beings are mostly conditioned too stiff and shy to speak of these things. There is no language for them except for poetic retrieval over the decades. What is poetry? It is the Priestess’s memory reclaimed – her brook. Cosmic galactic Law is poetry. Everything we are is poetry – but we forgot. The supreme task in human life is to re-member and reclaim. So, Isis searched the fourteen scattered fragments of Osiris through the black land, and brought them together and fertilised herself anew with his Yod.

The fragments of Osiris are the perennial wisdom.

The evil inclination scatters, damages, wastes and distracts. That is its role: for the parts to be gathered together, healed and made whole. In the First gene key, the Shadow Entropy’s siddhi or opposite is Beauty. And you find that, through the Gift of Freshness.

The quarrel with a flag, and my being moved to the Bull and Bush a week later to see the man with my own eyes, is a simple device to jog my Akashic memory today … of an unfolding Principle in some part of our world. Recognition eases discord by its nature. Recognition brings a sigh of satisfaction. Human court cases desire satisfaction in any currency. This satisfaction is available. Perhaps the two fighters can touch hands.

My back is pressed against the wall.

The wall in any house, or the trunk of any tree or surface of ground to lean back into is interconnectedly and inviolably the sacred mountain Arunachala.

Well, I think the message is delivered. Take note: the prayer for harmony or for Something is ineffective as a worded purpose. Surrendering into the cosmic dance my coin returns the interest in kind which cannot be described, except through Yeshua’s parable of the Talents.

Wisteria house where I’ve been given a new art-room, offers space for deep writing and reflection.

At some point yesterday I thought of our human world twenty or thirty years ago and all its local pre-internet charm – at least before 2001 … and I asked myself – would I want to go back there? and the answer came: No – because if I retro back there, all the pain of humankind’s Crucifixion initiation is yet to come: the eruption into sight and tension of the thriving monstrosities which in those days were hid to many of us. The satanic economy must come up and out in full, all the age-long atrocities and confinements to clear; be brave. I am proud to live and keep the Lighthouse in these times – yes – Apocalypse. We are in the dark waters. This is for real and it is progress. Keep going!

The 6th Siddhi is peace brought to wherever there is conflict and war. A true warrior or guardian rests his sword in the ground. The Sword is Excalibur and none but the King of peaceful intention may draw it forth from the Stone.

I wanted to say that I rediscover today that a prayer or any good intention is mentioned and then let go of because it is absorbed into the bigger Picture. Whenever I am absorbed into the bigger Picture I am felled; and this is spontaneous prayer: the love. Among the medieval stone guardians around Chartres cathedral there is a boychild. With an almost blind wonder, the young boy beholds the Glory through the veil – the caul – of his Guardian’s cloak. The man carries the child – on the bus yesterday a large bearded Englishman carried his slumbering collapsed baby in sling upon his breast; his wife was a small Oriental woman. Many men carry their infants in sling facing outwards – like I did with Ris. The Chartres child though resting on and growing up the Knight’s thighs, is like the merry children carried upon their father’s Yod and belly, enjoying the view. The

children bud from their parental stem. I remember long-ago biology lessons at school about the budding on stem of a micro-organism at amoebic level.

A prayerful intention is not a setup but a contact, like my back on the wall with the faraway terra firma of Arunachala throughout the oceans and their continents. It cannot arise through deliberation but through letting go. This answers my question about ritual and ceremony. When the heart is deeply moved it likes a little ceremony; that is all that can be said.

My Seventh Stage notes, continued:

From spiritual quotient, up the centre stem, we move into the Pearl: the timeless pulses of Pearl – where are they in your life? In the Atma plane all thoughts are living entities, immortal like Tolkien’s elves: the synchronicity of every piece and parcel of the world’s puzzle of continental shelves. All the moments of awakening are One and present Now. It is vast.

The gene key highlighted for Seventh Stage is the 11th

The Eleventh gene key lies over the galactic core! … does it? Yes – it is at the end of Sagittarius – yielding Earth over creative Heaven. What a wonderful transformer of dark Mula in Jyotish astrology of the Light. The 11th gene key is the white hole – birth of star – through black hole galactic centre – the singularity that funnels and bursts into light the other side of the garment.

I have as my vocational wound, gene key 34 the Beauty of the Beast, and as my culture, this 11th gene key, the nature of Eden. Eden in Hebrew lettering echoes Ayin the Shadow and DIN a Gevuric name. Eden is the discovery of Heaven and the Glory in the ground. Trust fearlessly in your INTUITION. Reflecting my 11th culture is my Emotional Quotient 19 – the future human being. We are here and now these future human beings and the glorious transition which is coming into our world: the harmonic diversity – a HIVE. The honey hive of all the bees … HMMMM

Solar fusion plexus power.

Generosity all to all; open mind; contribute to the new society which grows like Phoenix from the ashes of the old paradigm. Be proud then to see the ashes exposed in the form of media travesties, and know deliverance is at hand within and through us. We build an ARC upon the out-cleansing flood of plastic junk and reach an oak leaf and a dove as the surge begins to lessen and drop. It is water’s Hermetic nature ever to carry the All in everything and return to purity.

This day and age has no more avatars. This term became a mockery in the cyber-world. There is the simple splendour and beauty of the human heart.

The ultimate human expression of generosity is greater than grace … the joy in the joining of genius.

Thus far my impressions of Richard’s words which arrived on my screen last night.

 

 

3 Comments

  1. Midi Berry says:

    Hi Jane

    You ask ” If we are but daughter of the Voice, how can we speak, how can we express the oceanic clarity in the wood … through the veil? ”

    I reading you here in the same day as receiving a link to a Youtube of Leonard Cohen on Finding his Voice, I catch an echo in wood.
    If it pleases you, see how you experience this beloved and wise man’s words: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4PfeqNjXrc

    much love, midi

  2. janea says:

    Oh Midi. That voice, yes. OH. What an honest true man. Thank you SO MUCH, and the lovely art work too. I corresponded briefly with him a year or two before he died, because I posted in my blog his conversation with Ramesh Balsekar in Mumbai (it was in I think 1998 and was recorded and I transcribed it when I got back home.) Two sages together … You can imagine. In the wood.

  3. Thank you.xx Love Ramesh.

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