Transference of Consciousness


H. Mosaferi

In the Sophian Gnostic tradition the Transference of Consciousness is an essential practice. It is a practice to shift of our center of consciousness from the physical body to a spiritual body, a body of light. Although in our tradition and indeed in the Tibetan traditions it is most often a practice given for conscious dying, it is also a practice for conscious living, representing an esoteric or mystical understanding of resurrection and ascension. To experience a shift of our center of consciousness into a body of light, whether astral, spiritual or supernal light, is to experience a very different view of name and form, and personal history, a very different vision of this body and this life – one that is transcendental. Even a glimpse of this greater reality of our being on an energetic level can be empowering and transforming.

Although this practice may appear to be a very lofty practice, I believe that the essence of this practice is also, and have always been essential in the evolution of consciousness in humanity. If we feel ourselves attached to name, form and history, it is very difficult to change our consciousness because we will feel ourselves trapped in our present form. Although we would like to change our consciousness we would time and again find ourselves up against the wall of what we think our limitations are.

Although we are quite capable of thinking alternatively, we have no way into it, because we have had no experience of it. What we actually learn and see is contained within our social and environmental parameters. What we do is also determined by what we can do and need to do in order to survive, given the environmental, technological and social context. What we do determines a particular sort of relationship with our environment. We participate in our environment, in a particular way, to achieve particular objectives. The outcome is a human being that has a particular way of relating to their environment and pays attention to particular phenomenon in the world depending upon social and physical context.

In our minds the form of something both gives it its power and restricts its power. In our minds, the form of something defines the potency or strength and innate nature of something. “An elephant is big and strong, it therefore does big and strong things.” A way of thinking about this link between form and potency is identity; some people or things do certain things and others different things.

Now, ironically that which I have written in the last two paragraphs is actually exact quotes used by anthropologists to explain primitive modes of thinking. All I changed in the texts was to replace “them” with “we” and took out “so and so postulated”. I did this to show how little we have actually changed in mode of thinking from the so-called primitive way of thinking. The reason for this is exactly the reasons outlined in the above texts.

This sort of thinking, involving the body as our insertion point into life, underlies the
phenomenological studies of Husserl, and later Merleau Ponty, that contributed to contemporary
considerations of embodiment and cognition. In 1967 Horton suggested: ‘In evolving a theoretical scheme, the human mind seems constrained to draw inspiration from analogy between the puzzling observations to be explained and certain already familiar phenomena.” We therefore look towards the familiar to explain the unfamiliar and because we do this we are actually stuck in a loop of consciousness. What really differentiate us from past cultures are our skills, also explained in Anthropological context as; development, in hand with practice and training in a particular environment, generates the skills apparent in different cultures.(Ref)

“Mode of thought is more resilient than mode of production,” according to Philip Duke in “The Foraging Mode of Thought” where he introduced the notions “that certain phenomena have different rhythms of change and that these rhythms have different effects on society and the individuals in it.” In other words although we now live in a society where we are no longer foraging hunter gatherers, we still think in that way. Today our hunting grounds are malls and the world of business.

New thinking have always originated in the visionaries among us. In tribal societies these visionaries were the Shamans and medicine men. In the West the visionaries are philosophers, mystics and artists. What they all have in common is that they are able to transfer their consciousness into a body of consciousness that is beyond the bound body of consciousness of the times in which they lived, which is exactly what the practice of Transference of Consciousness is.

Most Anthropologists agrees with an idea of Lévy-Bruhl that what really distinguished our present day thinking from so-called primitive cultures was, that primitive people lived in a world that had no distinction between the natural and the supernatural. “In this world that ties people into relationships with phenomena, it is possible to exchange abilities or powers.” It is in the sense of taking on an ability that Lévy-Bruhl recognized that Bhororo people of Brazil can actually become parrots. Similarly, Khoesan can become lions and that this was, not a metaphor but a reality in their minds. (This will also be an accurate description of what is achieved in the Transference of Consciousness.)

This concept was called by Lévy-Bruhl, “Participation mystique”, or mystical participation, and refers to the instinctive human tie to symbolic fantasy emanations. This symbolic life precedes or accompanies all mental and intellectual differentiation. (Ref) Jung used the term throughout his writings and the concept is closely tied to that of projection, although the Jungian “projection” is an unconscious projection rather than a conscious projection as is done in transference of consciousness or the techniques used by Shamans to transfer their persona into other planes of being or to access the spirit realm to transfer power. We may well ask why we unconsciously project our feelings; could it not be that we instinctive are already aware of the potential of transference of consciousness?

At the outset, of practicing the transference of consciousness, gathering our consciousness as light within our heart, envisioning the image of a holy and enlightened being in a body of light, and projecting our consciousness as light into that light-presence, and merging ourselves with them, is nothing more than a flight of fantasy – an imaginative exercise. However, over time, with continued practice, it can become more than fantasy. We may actually experience a shift of our center of consciousness into a body of light, whether astral, spiritual or supernal light, and in this experience we will discover a very different view of name and form, and personal history, a very different vision of this body and this life – one that is transcendental. – Tau Malachi

Dying and death are very similar to going to sleep and dreamless sleep – according to the Zohar sleep and dream are 1/60th the power of death, and is the same basic process in consciousness, although the vital connection between the body and soul are not severed in sleep as in death. Therefore, this very same practice of the transference of consciousness can be used as we are going to sleep, as a practice of “dream union,” or an invocation of luminous and lucid dreams.
This in itself reflects what was called “primitive thinking” – “making no distinction between the natural and the supernatural.” Life is a Dream” therefore we can transfer our consciousness into “bodies” that is beyond what we are at present.

The place of this transference of consciousness is at the top of the head, the top of the skull, hence the “Place of the Crossing on Mount Golgotha,” the skull.

This same center is also called the center or star of the Divine I Am, which becomes an interesting contemplation when the nature of this center as a point of transition is known and understood.

Although the practice of the transference of consciousness may seem like a very lofty and advanced practice, and on some level it is, nevertheless it is a practice any of us can take up and benefit from, even if nothing more than used as a visualization of what we can become. It is especially useful during times of crisis where we have to cross boundaries of transitions.

Transference of Consciousness is the way through which we can transcend the event horizon of our current physical limitation, which transcends thinking only from what we know to what we consider beyond the horizon of our imagination. In a sense it is exactly dying consciously in order to live consciously. For in order to move beyond our current limitations in consciousness we need to die to our former way of thinking through the process of resurrection and ascension. In order to make a radical leap in consciousness we need to go beyond the present event horizon of our mode of thinking.

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Trust


Wim Lassche

Don’t promise me forever. Promise me now, because that is all either of us can do. And now, becomes tomorrow, and tomorrow becomes years, You won’t have broken your promise. Promise me for now, I hope with all my heart that now will last forever.” Kayla Sullivan

I have felt myself deceived many times. When you first realize that your trust has been broken, it feels like an ice-cold stab in the heart, which slowly spreads through your unbelieving mind, your world thrown into chaos, believes shattered. But I have picked myself up, shook of the humbling dust, a lot wiser. I have been able to forgive, and have even felt grateful for the lesson I was taught, which saved me from bigger disasters. I have not lost my trust; my trust has grown in depth. From what I have experienced in my life, I know that I will find my way out of chaos, my supply of ideas are limitless, and out of that chaos you can rise with more trust, more understanding, and with a greater ability and capacity for love. The deeper your ability to trust, the deeper your ability to love.

Logically, why should we feel so deceived and hurt when our partner is “unfaithful”? Is it just traditional conditioning? Would unconditional love not imply that you love the other no matter what? There are obviously real concerns about your partner having sexual intercourse with another, such as unwanted pregnancy and sexually transmitted disease. Apart from that why should we feel so hurt? We are adults, we know that none of us are perfect, and sometimes we all act irrationally and do things we regret later. We learn after all by our mistakes.

If you were immortal could you promise to another person that you would never want to be with another? The myths abound with tales of the gods’ indiscretions. Although we may all give lip service to forgiveness, how many can truly forgive?

Just what is trust? Trust – Firm belief in reliability, honesty, veracity, justice, and strength of person or thing. Firm belief in reliability – what is it to be reliable? Of sound and consistent character or quality. That would imply that you trust that the person in question will never change. His or her perceptions will never change. How can you be consistent when you are always growing and changing? Life is change. Death is certainty; life is insecure.

Yet, we long to trust. Life is change, yet each time we experience change we consciously or subconsciously experience the feeling of trust broken.

Whimsical trust is what our lives are based on. Without it the world would be in chaos. We organize ourselves because we believe there will be a tomorrow, otherwise we might as well just enjoy the moment.

Sarte once said that every promise is going to be false. You cannot promise because you are not whole. Just a part of you can promise, and when that part is no more there on the throne and another part has taken over, what are you going to do? Who will fulfill the promise? Hypocrisy is born because when you go on trying to fulfill, pretending that you are fulfilling, then everything becomes false…” Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh

There are some that say that you can only trust yourself, but can you? Who has not disappointed themselves? Trust is based on expectation. We expect a certain person to act in a certain way. We expect… and when our expectations are not met we feel that our trust is broken. Yet we are almost guaranteed not to have our expectations met. If the world were exactly as we expected it to be, there would be no free will and what would we learn? Would a world that is exactly as you expect it to be not be boring? So what can I actually trust in?

For me trust is a deep feeling of inner security. Through my experiences in the world I have learnt to trust that no matter what curved balls I am thrown, I will progress. I will find the inner strength to meet the challenges that I am faced with. I can’t live my life in fear that something bad might happen, then I would cut myself off from enjoying life to the fullest. In love it is the same, I will give my love fearlessly. If pain happens through my loving then I will deal with it when it comes. I will not cut myself off from love in fear of some future possible hurt.

I had to go to a remote farm once as part of a job I was doing. It was sunset by the time I was making my return journey. All that stretched before me and behind me was thick thorn bush veldt. No sign of any civilization as far as I could see. Just as it was getting dark the vehicle I was travelling in, broke down. I sat there thinking” what am I going to do? “There was no way I could fix it and I had no form communication either.(No cell phone) I could hail down some passing traffic but on that particular road, for a woman alone, it would be dangerous. I recalled all the horrendous stories I have heard and I became very afraid. Perhaps some of the other crew will come looking for me, but after a couple of hours of waiting I knew that was not going to happen. They would only look for me in the morning. As I was contemplating my options I saw a truck go by and then stop and reverse back towards me. Two big rough looking guys got out of truck and I thought to myself:” That’s it, my time has come. “ All I could possibly hope of doing was just to run, but it was too late all ready for that and I grabbed something I thought I could use as a weapon. ‘”I will not go down without a fight.” I suddenly felt what one could call a “deathly calmness”. They asked whether I needed help and tried to fix the vehicle, then offered to tow me all the way back to the Hotel. I got into the truck with them and I felt twinges of fear pop up inside me. My fear was totally unfounded. These two men did not only tow my vehicle all the way back but also refused to accept any reimbursement for their trouble and fuel. That day my trust was greatly restored in humanity.

It is all about trust really. In reality nothing is for certain. We walk a thin line between chaos and stability. We are afraid of chaos because we fear we will loose our way. We are afraid of feeling lost. We do not trust our inner guidance. We ironically believe that it is the outer guidance that will show us the way. Without trust there is no love. It is out of the bedrock of trust that love grows and blossoms into its all-encompassing splendour. But before you can trust, you have to trust yourself.

Trust is taught through patience. I used to feel an inner irritation when I heard St. Augustine’s “The reward of patience is patience. What kind of reward is that?

The San had a as part of their wedding rituals a test; if the man failed the test, he would be banished from the tribe.

“The old people’s biggest responsibility was, never to let their eyes tire, of observing the boys … and to look how they walk from the moment they begin to walk. The boy-child that starts the path bent, – throw thorns in the path of other children – will not walk a straight path when he is an adult. The boy that shows he will be a great hunter is the man that will be a good husband for a woman. He is a man with the power of not being hasty … he has the power of the long wait.

“Patience?”

The power that comes from the long wait, until the buck is closes enough for his arrow. And he is the man who has the power in his heart not to break the great law of marriage during the first two weeks of his life with his young wife… It is the law that the woman lays with her head to sunrise … the man with his head to sunset … with the soles of their feet touching …”Jagters van die Woestynland – P.J.Schoeman

It was a test of patience, for the family of a hunter who lacks patient stealth, will know many hungry nights. With patience you become a master hunter. One who observes with awareness learns to see the finest nuances through eyes of the tracker. With patience you do not overlook the signs along the way to guide you; you begin to trust the signs, to trust that you will find your way through the chaos.

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The Keeper of the Keys XI


About The Keeper of the Key

Previously …

The Keeper of the Key 1
The Keeper of the Key II
Keeper of the Key III
Keeper of the Key IV
The Keeper of the Key V
Prelude to Keeper of the Key VI
The Keeper of the Key VI
The Keeper of the Keys VII
The Keeper of the Keys VIII
The Keeper of the Keys IX
The Keeper of the Keys X

It was as if I was surrounded by the light of the full moon in a crystal-clear sky and I felt completely calm, all feelings of failure, anger and fear seem to dissolve into the clear light. Incredible warmth filled my being and the light changed into that of brilliant sun light. I felt all desire dissolve into the brilliance of the light and I drifted in sheer bliss, and then it was dark and I felt no more.

I became aware of the warmth of the sun on my skin and a minty herbaceous scent drifted into my consciousness. The scent stirred hazy memories and feelings inside me but they were too indistinct to take any form. I was lying on what felt like straw, or perhaps dry grass, but I felt strangely reluctant to open my eyes. I took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of earth. Still I did not want to open my eyes and tentatively reached out to feel what surrounded me. I could feel the dry hard powderyness of unturned soil the rough coolness of stones and as I reached out further, I could feel the smooth slenderness of dry grass. I knew that I was somewhere in a wild veldt. With conscious effort I opened my eyes. The brightness of the light dazzled my eyes and I closed them again. I felt surprised that I could see and I slowly opened my eyes again. At first all I could see was bright light and the slowly vague shapes started to take form and for brief moments I could see what appeared to be small sparks jump from the surrounding vegetation.

I waited until my eyes became accustomed to light before I ventured to stand up. I found myself standing in a field of tall dry winter grass that stretched beyond the horizon with a few clumps of umbrella shaped thorny trees scattered amongst the swaying grass. I had no idea where I was, neither did I know who or what I was or what I should do. I part of me wanted to sink back down to the earth and another part of me felt a desire stirring. The longer I stood in the warm sunlight, the more distinct the desire grew. I must go somewhere; I must be somewhere.

But in which direction shall I go? I turned to look at all the directions and they all appeared much the same to me with nothing in particular beckoning me. I closed my eyes again and could feel a soft breeze tugging on my hair caressing my skin with its breath. I could near buzzing insects and birds twittering in the distant trees and the air smelled sweet to me. I could feel the warmth of the sun on my back becoming warmer and warmer the longer I stood there without moving and suddenly I clearly knew which direction to go. I will follow the path of the sun.

As I was about to take my first step, I felt a warning stab of fear. I could feel the presence of a snake and in the long grass I will not be able to see a snake on my path and there was a great likelihood that I will step on it. I was barefoot and had no protection with me but I also could not just remain where I was. Suddenly, a man with white robes and with a long white beard and hair appeared in front of me. “Fear not the snake, for he is as much part of nature as you are, become one with nature and he will not harm you. Close you eyes and receive the spirit of the snake into your being.”

I closed my eyes and breathed in what felt like warm air which tingled all the way down into my lungs. “The snake knows you, it will not harm you; it will slide away. You must not be afraid if the lightning strikes in front of you. You must just go through and say, ‘I am your child, one of you’. ”

I felt a warm breeze on my skin, and in its caress I felt my fear drain away. I could walk fearlessly through the grass, experiencing freedom in the touch of the grass, the warmth of the sun, and the breath of the wind. On my way through the grass I saw a black snake slithered away to find a comfortable spot on a sun-warmed rock.

To be continued …

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The Success of Failure


Let me be like grass that had been eaten to the ground, but always grows again.
Let me be like a fountain that had been trodden into mudiness, but always becomes clear again.
Let me be like the morning red that always triumph over the darkness of the night…

Success and excellence are the shinning baubles dangled in front us as the ultimate of life’s experience. Even in most spiritual writing these days most is focused on excellence and success. “Ten steps to Success”, “Ten Steps to Lasting Happiness”, “How to get all you Desire” and so forth. If you look at the amount of literature available on those subjects and how many sales they have generated, then the world should currently be experiencing a boom time and the world should be filled with happy people. Yet, what we see in the world is just the opposite. How many people are experiencing an economic boom and how many people are happy? What is wrong with the picture that we see in relation to the theories? The empirical evidence seems to belie the theory.

The problem with most of these theories is that they depict only a partial truth. They show only a small fragment of the whole picture. Life is change; that which is without change, without growth is dead. To be alive means that we have to experience seasons of growth and seasons where everything seems to stagnate and even retrograde. We are also part of the whole and therefore part of the spirit of the times. No matter who or what we are, we will find ourselves influenced by a greater or lesser degree by the season that humanity find themselves in. No one is exempted from this, unless of course we have completely transcended our corporeal form. Furthermore if we are part of the whole we cannot be truly successful if a part of us is not successful, nor be truly happy if a part of us is not happy.

Contrary to what is often said success and excellence can only be measured in relation to something else. In other words, success is seen as relative to failure and excellence is relative to mediocrity. Even if you do not measure your moments of success or excellence against the excellence or successes of others, it still has to be compared against what you see as success or failure. Thus we are not practicing non-attachment. We will either be striving to achieve relative success or excellence and thus be attached to avoiding failure and be attached to striving for success. If we are attached to something we set ourselves up for disillusionment and no matter how successful we may appear in the eyes of the world, we will still experience failure in our own eyes. Success or excellence can only be experienced in a moment. Yesterday’s success is tomorrow’s failure, and yesterday’s excellence is tomorrow’s mediocrity.

I find it interesting that in tracing back the word failure it seems to root from the latin word “fallere”, which means to deceive. To be deceived is to given cause to believe what is not true and thus involves the belief of a misrepresentation of the truth. This is indeed what we perceive when we think we are a failure or when we belief that we are failing because we can only see the partial truth.

In the current spirit of our times failure and mediocrity is seen as the modern day leprosy. In the Western world we have little or no preparation, or guidance for the process of transformation. We enter our transitions from one phase of life to another with no real preparation. As a result we only learn through the school of hard knocks. Even in this we are told to avoid mistakes and failure at all costs. We are applauded for our successes, and punished for our mistakes.

Nicholas Molina, reflects about the irony of success in his article “The Failure of Success”

… Eighteen years of a lack of failure teaches Harvard students to avoid it at all costs; we become extremely risk-averse. Ironically, classes might teach about the risk-reward relationship, but students who are too afraid to fail can only understand the former part of that relationship after experiencing it … Even those golden children who sail through Harvard as they’ve sailed through high school fail, in a sense. They’ve failed to experience failure, and their education is impoverished as a result. I’ve learned, sometimes painfully, to accept that it’s not possible to achieve everything and that only when we risk failure, are great gains possible … In the end, I realized that the criteria I’d been using to judge my education at Harvard were all off the mark. Even if the lessons that will be most valuable in the next chapter of my life have been those I’ve learned outside the classroom, my time at Harvard has been well spent. My only regret is that I didn’t learn the importance of taking risks earlier. That’s probably the most important lesson of all.
http://www.thecrimson.com/article.aspx?ref=519162

We are not shown that our mistakes and failures can show us new opportunities, new undiscovered potentials, and we hide our failures in the recesses of our past. With the result, young people look at those who have succeeded and see only the success, and do not know what it took to get there. The pain of growth is seen in itself as a failure, a lack of strength, unworthiness. If a dark night comes upon anyone, we feel that either we are punished, or are just a failure, or that life is just cruel and unfair. We have no understanding of the process of growth. We do not know, or we have forgotten, that chaos is the very source of creation.

How we perceive success and failure is a dualistic view. In the holistic view of success itself, the view of failure plays an integral part. In our limited view, we do not see ourselves as part of a unified field and we do not see life as a constant process of creative evolution. Evolution is composed of two movements; progress and regress. Seen over a long period of time it is a wave-like motion which is like an incoming tide, every progress moving further forward and every regress receding less far backward. Actually each regress is making the foundation for the next progress. If we look at the each regression in the process of evolution in this light, we find that each regression is a secret operation of the next progression working itself out. In other words, each regression shows us which aspects within ourselves still need to be worked on. The same applies to success and failure, for it is through our failure that our ultimate success is worked out.

Failure is nothing more than the limit to which we can succeed in a given cycle of progress, and represents regress necessary before the next progress. Likewise, we may say that each success is the manifestation of the work accomplished during previous failures. Tau Malachi

When we therefore look at success and failure from a more panoramic view with a non-dual awareness there is no such a thing as failure, only a process of development through trail and error towards eventual success.

What we are experiencing in the world at present is a period of regress in our creative evolution. We are experiencing a period where we must look at our previous so-called period of success and see what within that period still needs to be worked on, and what within that period no longer serves or next step in our creative evolution.

I had a dream where I was talking to Wise man with a black Cobra on his lap. While we were talking he was stroking the Cobra and the Cobra had its mouth clasped on his hand. My attention was diverted from the conversation to this. He smiled at me and said, “It will not hurt you, when you approach it without fear, its mouth is just affectionately clasped on my hand, do you want to try it?” The Cobra looked so serene and affectionate that I thought it made perfect sense. In trust I held out my hand, but as I felt the hardness of its mouth enclose my hand, I felt fear in a fleeting instant. It coiled back and struck fangs into my outstretched hand. Suddenly I was alone and I looked at my hand, the two fang pricks clearly visible on my finger. It was already red and swelling.

I awoke with a gasp of breath, checking my fingers and I instantly remembered the ancient initiations where the initiate is given poison to drink, or indeed the lethal bite of a snake, to transmute or die. Illumination or death.

The apparent failure of our tests, our flaws, our weaknesses, is like the symbolic bite of the poisonous snake.

“The symbol (the serpent) serves to indicate the subtle nature of that illusory lower self which first ensnares the ego, but which ultimately proves the means of enlightening the evolving soul.”

Each stage of our growth contains the seeds of its own betrayal. Each one of us are born with a lethal wound, one that will either bring us illumination or will kill us. It is the way the Divine Trickster trick us into finding our own individual strengths, our unique voice in the Universe. Our wounds reveals themselves to us through our childhood environment, those limitations, those apparent shortcomings that we have to transmute, whether they be mental, physical, spiritual, or emotional. The form of our wounds is unique to each individual. We can ignore our talents and positive abilities but not our wounds, for if we do it will surely kill us.

“When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be”
Lao Tzu

We cannot operate in this world if do not have an identity – a beingness. From our beingness all our actions flow. Whether what we think we are is true or false we cannot function in this world without an identity. What we think our function is in this world, naturally also flows out of what we think we are. However, from time to time, through our living and experience, we discover that what we thought we were is not what we are. Even when we have Gnosis of what we are at a particular moment in time, the very Gnosis will result in changing what we discovered that we are at that particular moment in time. Discovering who we are is an ever evolving process.

When you understand all things
can you step back from your own understanding?
Lao Tzu

Our falling apart is an imaginal process, like the collapse of
cities and the fall of heroes in mythical tales – like the dismemberment
of Dionysian loosening which releases from overtight
constraint, like the dissolution and decay of alchemy…
Afflictions point to Gods, Gods reach us through afflictions.” –
James Hillman

(It is the process of our falling apart that I described in my series of the Dark Nights of the Soul)

It is human nature to reside in complacency unless something forces a change in us. In our urgency to find an antidote, a cure for our affliction, we are led deeper than we would have been if we just passed the test. Our very flaws can if we acknowledge it, be the cause of our evolvement. We are at a point of our evolution where we can become conscious creators and stop the mindless destruction we are currently engaged in, and live in synergy with our fellow men and all life forms on this planet.

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Guest Post


I made a guest post on Wendy’s blog – Dream FictionThe Hotel. Wendy writes exquisite short stories inspired by her dreams. She also provides great information on how to beat the writer’s blog through dreams.

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The Man with the Full Moon on His Chest


It will be a long and far road

I came from far to search for far things. will you show me the way ?

You must come when the moon says goodnight to the sun, just before the white bull is in the blue land, at the other side of the hill.

The night before full moon?

Yes, then there will be enough light to travel into the shadow side of the hill…..There are places in the desert where we have to walk at night.

Do you have enemies there?

I want Twihi, my daughter, the child of the winds, to come with us.

Is she old enough for such a long road?

Others of her years, have children run around them.

Why do you want such a one to walk at night?

Where the great hunters of the desert lives, I first only want to show her footprints. Among us, you see a woman best, by her tracks. Beautiful little feet tread footprints in the sand that transfers into the hunter’s heart.

Do I hear you right Xameb, are you looking for a husband for your daughter?

First we must only show her footprints to the hunters White Father.

And then?

Then many of the White Fathers questions will be answered without him asking the questions. You just have to look with your eyes and listen with your ears.

Aren’t there any men here, where we are now, good enough for her?

The beggars of the big roads?

But they are your people…

They are just shadows of what their fathers were. Wait till you see Twihi, my daughter, and hear her speak. Then you will understand why these beggars of the big roads for your iron horses, no longer can put a bow in front of her shelter.

Where do you hide such a one that I have not seen her cook a meal for her father?

Xameb turned to look into the distant horizon and answered quietly.

Two nights before the full moon she will be here with me waiting for you White Father.

OK then Xameb, three nights before the full moon you will see the light of my fire on that hill. Then you will know that I have not forgotten.

Our eyes will be on the moon, White Father.

Day after day, Schoeman observed the waxing moon and impatiently consults his calendar. Four nights before full moon he could no longer wait and he packs his truck with provisions for the long journey. Among the contents are several bags of tobacco.

At the appointed hill he settles and wait. He gets out his binoculars with the setting sun and search the breath-taking panorama. In the distance he could hear the night cries of the Berg patryse. His eyes search the landscape, for the patryse. He spots them observing something quietly. In the distance he sees two figures following the truck tracks. They stop at intervals, to peer towards the hill. The older figure sits down. Giraffes cross the view. The smaller figure has disappeared. A lion roars close by. As the sun disappears behind the distant hills, he sees a fire flicker into being.

Schoeman struggles down the hill in the dark, towards the fire. On his way down he hears someone singing.
He arrives at the fire and sees Xameb sitting next to fire. Xameb does not even look up. He just adds another stick to the fire.

Who is singing?

The child of the winds.

Tell me in a language that I can understand, what is she singing about.

It is more beautiful just to listen to it, than to skin it.

Yes, for you who know the content

Xameb does not answer. Schoeman adds more wood on the fire. He walks towards the truck to fetch a kettle. He stops and listens entranced to the song.

Far and long ago….. before the white bull with his red horns tore the black blanket….before he could tear the black blanket covering the dark cave to allow the red morning to open a path for great blue eye of Eloib…..the dark lying deep and quiet…..under the dark waters in the deep cold mud. A child was blown out of the dark night to a seedhut of a white lily. Who among us will know why women are still like their first mother….she sings her song of loneliness in the night.

Xameb rubs his chin, stares into the dark, and speaks as if from far away.

The roads upon which the young hearts search are far roads, but beautiful paths. On those paths you can walk, with your eyes on the far mountains. You don’t bump your toes on rocks. You don’t step on thorns. There aren’t snakes in the vlei-grass with the many mouse paths. There is no tired voice of a mother that calls you to take a crying child, or to come and wash a pot. Beautiful are the roads the young heart visits with their dreams.

Did you yourself visit those roads?

Xameb does not answer. From the hill Twihi’s voice suddenly sounds clearer. The wind must have turned, because the smoke suddenly brought tears to Schoeman’s eyes. He gets up and stands with his back towards the fire. From the darkness he hears Xameb’s voice.

For two winters’ nights I felt Twihi’s mother’s warmth against my body. Then she was taken from me. Then I found another, she was also taken…What roads are left for me?

But there are men that build a third fire?

Not among the Heikum, White Father. Among us the a women will not take a man that has been left alone twice. They say that he has the hands of death. You can ask all the Heikum men that you will meet on the long road. It is an old law among our people. It is never broken.

Did Twihi learn about the beautiful roads from you?

For many winters only she was with me next to the fire and what child’s heart ever tires of stories? It is the sunshine and the rain from which a child’s heart grow. With whom else could I make the long nights shorter?

Now that your hair is white, do you still long?

Is it not at night that we want to be alone the least?

Twihi arrives at the fire. Xameb and Twihi speak together.

The White Father can now listen to the paths on which the young heart travels. I will translate for you.

Twihi stars to speak, Xameb translates, the story of Xa-xeib – the man with the full moon on his chest.

There once was a man. His name was Xa-xeib. He had a fullmoon on his chest.

He also had a wife. She was very beautiful.

The two of them was as if one person. Where he walked, there she walked too. There were not two foot paths to their hut. At night when the others were already asleep, the two played in the bright light that shone from his chest. The night was theirs. They never became tired.

But as her months became shorter, she could no longer walk the veldt with him. For the first few days he did not wander far. He found no pleasure in walking their old paths alone. With the days he had to walk further and further, for his wife wanted honey, then eland marrow.

So he arrives at one day at a rocky ridge, where he sees bees flying against the midday sun.

But there was another who also saw the bees against the midday sun. It was not a honey bird, nor a honey badger.

It was a woman.

The first afternoon he left her only one small cake of honey.

The next day he was there earlier, to take out more honey.

She was there too.
This time he gave her two honey cakes.

The next day he left earlier and the whole way he was argued with himself.
She was not there, but there were fresh footprints.
His heart said to him he must go and look to see whether she is not trying to show him a new nest with her fresh footprints.

His head turned, and his eyes looked to the path that was behind him.
He found her in the bush that was denser than it was at the honey nest.

They stayed together till late because he had the full moon on his chest.

When he arrived at home that night, his wife cried a lot. It was dark in her house.
There were clouds covering the moon. A woman sometimes knows without having seen.

That night he did not sleep.

The next morning he told his wife that he would only look for food on their old paths. At first he did only look for food near the hut. But when there were more and more trees between him and the house he did not look back so often.

Then his heart won again and he left for the bushes denser than the honey ridge..

Far behind him at the home where previously there was only one foot path, she that must become mother, waited and waited. Only when the evening breeze blew colder and colder, did she go inside and tied the door from the inside. She did not want the owls and the wolves to see her tears.

On the new road, ahead where the bush was denser than the honey ridge, a bright light shone all night. There was a lot of playing and laughter.

For the one the night was without beacons. For the two it was a few winks of the eye.

When the white bull with the red tipped horns, tore the black blanket to shreds, for the morning to climb out from behind the mountains, Xa-xeib – the man with the full moon on his chest – did not feel like drying tears for the second time. He was also clever. In the bright light that shone from his chest, he could see that one woman does not like to cry in front of another woman. So he brought Kai-oris, his new playmate with.

And Kai-oris the black tipped vulture, came, looked around a little and said to herself; this house is for two not for three.

He, who brought his wife company, then went to a place in the field where the wind did not blow, and the sun shone bright and went to sleep. His honey knife he left behind.

Kai-oris saw the knife; she took the knife and prepared the house for only two. Before she dragged the one that did not want to cry before another woman, behind the trees, she took out the baby.

Because the child now entered the world too early, she stuffed him into a milk-calabash. She closed it with a grass stopper and rocked it to and fro as if the fat was separated from the milk.

When the white bull arched his back on the mountain and tossed the black blanket with its red-tipped horns backward over the plains, Xa-xeib got up. He was well rested.

Kai-oris heard him coming and hid away the calabash.

In the light that shines from his chest, Xa-xeib saw the empty place in the house. But when the blackwinged-vulture’s eyes said that this house is not for three but only for two that plays all night, he did not hear the wolf crying for his mates behind the trees. His blood warmed. And he tied the door from inside.

Many days passed. And little red toes in the calabash kicked harder and harder against the round walls. Kai-oris heard it and kept Xa-xeib outside by day.

One day the calabash burst open. When she rubbed the child of another mother with fat, she saw the full moon on his chest. She tied a hard skin around his chest and hid him in a big hole.

One day Xa-xeib returned on his old footpaths and saw the child. Kai-oris was not close by. He picked up the child. The child’s one little foot kicked against his heart. It was a small little foot that still did not have hard toenails. But it caused a small drop of blood to drip from Xa-xeib’s heart. Then he knew whose child it was. In the pain that came to his heart he could see the child clearly. He could also see the little full moon under the hard chest-skin. And he became afraid that the black-winged vulture would cut out the full moon with the honey knife. He held the child tightly and looked around. When the little foot again kicked against his heart, he did not wait for Kai-oris to come back. He took the little full moon to his first wife’s sister. He told her that the child has a weak chest and that she must never remove the skin.

But a child that does not drink from mother’s milk is no one’s child. Everyone speaks loudly to him. On no one’s lap is there a place to cry, for one such as he, when a thorn sticks in his foot. He had to carry wood for every one’s fire. He had to clean every one’s ash heaps.

When his shoulders became hard from all the loads of wood he had to carry, and a thorn could no longer penetrate the soles of his feet, he went to look for another house. He walked for many days.

One day he arrived at a big city. There was a rich king that needed a lot of wood for his fires.
There was also a beautiful princess. But the illness from the swamps wanted to take her away each summer. One day he had to help build her a high platform of Tambotie poles, where the little wings from the swamps could not reach her.

For the milk that comes from Tamboti wood, his shoulders was still not hard enough, and his shoulders became bloodied. And just once he carried a lighter load. The king’s men saw it and said that he was becoming lazy. They nearly beat him to death and dragged him away to a little hut just outside the city and left him in the forest.

The king’s daughter saw how he was beaten and dragged away. That night she thought she kept hearing something in the forest. She thought she heard someone cry and then she thought she heard someone sing.

She waited till everything was quiet in the big city, and sneaked out to the forest. The door of the hut was closed, but from the inside she could hear some one play on a bowstring. It was so beautiful that she opened a small gap to look inside. There was a great light inside the hut and she could see clearly who was making such beautiful music. He was for her more beautiful than any man she had ever heard from her mother’s stories was. His clothes were so beautiful that it took her breath away. She became afraid of the small voice in her heart that asked; This man, who was kicked and hit by everyone by day, this man with the bloody shoulders could he not be the one I have so often dreamed of, the great hunter from that will come from the desert?’

In the days that followed, she sat on a hill near the king’s city and her eyes searched on the roads of the great desert. Every night when it was quiet in the king’s city, she sneaked back to the little house in the forest.

One night the man with the full moon on his chest heard a finger opening a panel in the dark hut. In the bright light that shone from his chest, he saw who it was. He sang-spoke to her on the bowstring:

In the great desert there is a high mountaintop. Ahaa
A house with many windows will be built on top of it.
At night many eyes will look towards it, and will ask;
‘Whom of our princes built that house with many windows.
Many will ask but only she will know who built that house on the high mountaintop for her.
Only she will know that it is not lamps shinning in that high house.
She will know where the many light comes from.

The next night she was there earlier. On each of the following nights she was earlier, until one of the king’s men saw her.

Whom amongst us would have the heart to scold her because she went earlier each night?

Whom amongst us would have scolded her for staying later and later each night?

Did not our hearts entered with her, when first the little door was opened from the inside for her?

Did not our hearts form a wide guardian circle around the little house in the forest?

Only the king’s spies did not join us in the wide guardian circle, which we formed around the little house in the forest.

It was a dark night when the king and his spies encircled the bush house.

First he called his daughter.

In front of the people with the hearts of hyena’s, he lashed out at his daughter with his tongue, and said that she was no longer his daughter that from now on her job will be to carry away the ash heaps.

Then he told his hyena’s to quickly get rid of the dog in the bush house.

The dog, though, was a lion.

And what lion hits out at hyenas?

He slung her across his shoulders, and just opened a small section on his chest to light the way ahead. She whispered in his ear; ” Run, there is nothing here for me to look back to. Take me to the house on the mountain top.”

After not many days the people in the King’s city started to ask each other at night;” That house with the many lights…It must be a very rich man to afford so many lamps in his house?”

Some people went to look. And those that went did not return. Then more went.

One day the King saw that all his people were gone.

By then he was so poor that that he himself had to carry his winter skins.

He followed the footprints of his people. It was a hard road for one like him.

When he arrived there no one could believe that once he was a king.

He had to look for his food outside the city, where the ash was thrown.

Because he wanted to throw the two young hearts to the black bee, his hard heart made him eat ash.

When Schoeman looked up from the fire after a long silence, he saw that Twihi was no longer at the fire.

She went to the koppie. Tonight her dreams will visit far paths.

Did she make up the story herself?

There was an old skin that she made more beautiful with beads and shells of her own.

Will she tell us another story tomorrow night?

She is a child of the winds. Who would be able to say where she will be tomorrow night?

Do you still want her to come with to the far away land?

Did the beads and the shells on the old skin, not tell the White Father how she longs for the big hunter of the desert?

Then we will wait.

We will wait white Father …so that the two of us will not also eat ash.

Part 1

Adapted from “Jagters van die Woestyn” – PJ Schoeman

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The Keeper of the Key X


About The Keeper of the Key

Previously …

The Keeper of the Key 1
The Keeper of the Key II
Keeper of the Key III
Keeper of the Key IV
The Keeper of the Key V
Prelude to Keeper of the Key VI
The Keeper of the Key VI
The Keeper of the Keys VII
The Keeper of the Keys VIII
The Keeper of the Keys IX

An image appeared in the mirror of a dusty alley set between red mud brick buildings. Curled up against one of these buildings I saw a motionless figure. I felt myself drawn to the figure through the mirror. As I merged with the body I felt intense feelings of failure and I knew that the body I now inhabited was dying. Memories came flooding through and I knew I was blind.

So proud was I when I began this life. As a seer priest I was respected and had a place of honour among my people. So distant and so far away now seem that time of my arrogant youth. Here I am now, a blind beggar among strangers. I knew I was dying. I no longer had any strength to lift my body to beg for food. No one will mourn my death. I died a long time ago, on the day I lost eyes. That day still burns as clearly in my mind as did red-hot iron poker that burnt out my eyes.

I felt no resentment towards those who blinded me. It was the custom amongst our desert tribes to and to burn out the eyes of those vanquished in battle. I should have seen the trap but I did not. As seer priest it was my duty to keep my people safe. On that day I did not just lose my eyes, but I also lost my sight.

My body was feeling a great thirst and I knew that the time of my passage was close. I did not want to see anymore, that much I could see now. I did not want to see anymore cruelty, if I could do nothing to prevent it. Suddenly I could see with clarity that my failure was to give up. I could have returned to my people and shown them another vision, but instead I withdrew from life into my self pity. When my people needed my vision most, I failed them. I failed to rise from my darkness.

I was feeling my bond loosening with my body and I became aware of two identities within the body at the same time. I was separating from the memories but could still feel the sense of failure. A deep compassion stirred inside me and I embraced the soul as it separated from the body, merging once again in love. As we drifted towards the light, a vision of hope filled our sight and in the darkness there was light.

Upon a cold winter’s night.
I found myself alone.
A stranger in a once familiar land
A world of dark despair.
So many dead and many dying

Entrapped within
their own pain,
monsters of humanity
roam the night

Doors and windows bolted
Against the fear
Unspeakable abominations
of human behaviour,
in search of innocent prey
Eyes cold and dead
A world where sanity is lost

I call for help
But silence greets me
Answers eludes me
Anger rises inside me
Against my own helplessness
But even my anger
Falls into the mud of despair
I am tired
Caught in a web

I find myself in a marsh
Where it is cold and dark
No light to guide me
Too tired to struggle
I am afraid I will sink into
The mud of despair
Into my infirmitas

In the darkness I see
A light dancing,
A will-o-wisp
I reach out
And fall sobbing
In the mud

Slowly within
I feel rising
Like far-off rumble of thunder
With lightning flashes of joy
Distant memories

How swiftly you can shake the mud
From your wings
Remember you can fly
Soar into the blue heights of joy
Knowing that love surrounds
You always
Knowing
Even for a brief moment
That nothing can harm you.

To be continued …

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The Purity of the Moment


“The purity of the moment is made from the absence of time.”

In the stillness between,
in the quiet instant,
there lies a treasure beyond compare,
a song of piercing beauty,
penetrating the deepest secret chamber of my soul.
Within dusk and dawn arise subtle hues
memories of the night
Possibilities of the dawning day.
Within the breathless moment,
I hear,
I see,
I feel,
in the moment of infinity,
in quiet wonder
I know the miracle of being.

“… commune with your soul on your bed, and be silent …” Psalm 4:4

I awoke this morning and I did not move, neither did I open my eyes. I remained still and became aware of time moving from my past to the present and to the future. As I remained still, and allowed the past and the future to swirl around in the moment, I became aware that even in my stillness, by simple being aware everything is continuously changing. Even in my stillness a present moment is being created that is always different. Yet, here I still am, and while I am doing nothing I am changing. Just as a rock that remains unmoved for thousands of years in one place, is never the less still changing. Perhaps in another thousand years it will become grains of sand, and perhaps through some fierce burning fire even change into glass.

I continue to remain still and motionless seeing thoughts and emotions swirl around my awareness. As long as I remain still, I remain between being asleep and awake and am just a being in becoming. As soon as I move I will be incarnating into my being a set of beliefs of who and what I am, of what I am becoming. As long as I remain still I abide in just becoming in the fluidity of moment, but as soon as I move a paradigm of meaning will shape my awakening and as such I will embody a set of beliefs. In truth my beliefs are based on arbitrary hopes of possible becomings birthed in hidden desires. All I can really know for sure is that I am becoming whether I remain still or not. Right now I have a choice to remain still and still become, or I can consciously awake within a chosen paradigm of becoming. I can choose to be in the eye of the storm of my becoming, or on the extremities and experience suffering.

“Pain is unavoidable, suffering is not.”

No becoming is without pain, knowing and observing our becoming ease the suffering. Being a being in becoming, we observe our pain and happiness as flickering moments shaping our becoming which still remains an essential mystery.

In the Kabbalah Binah consciousness is the mind and heart actively engaged in thought and desire, akin to our ordinary state of consciousness, and Hokmah consciousness is the mind and heart completely silent, without thought or desire – a state of pure awareness, thus just being.

There is a term called Hashmal which indicates the simultaneous experience of Binah and Hokmah consciousness and is called “Speaking Silence,” or Dynamic Silence. There is silence and there is voice, and there is no contradiction between them, but they are one and the same. This “speaking-silence” appears in Ezekiel, at the culmination of Ezekiel’s vision, when it says God speaks to him out of silence. In Exodus 20:18 it is written; “and all the people saw the sounds.”

In this state of consciousness, one actually experiences a silence of the mind and stillness of emotions and desires, yet, at the same time, thoughts and desire-energy continues to flow. It is a supramental state of pure awareness, yet, at the same time one continues to experience the mental and vital states. The experience of Hashmal or Speaking Silence is the experience of being in the now – a zone of complete silence in the mind and vital, which is in the midst of the mind yet also beyond it, and at the same time there are thoughts and images and emotion – a complete stillness and motion at the same time. This allows a linking of the various levels of consciousness and thus a free flow and exchange between them.

Although Hashmal is a very lofty attainment and requires a radical change in consciousness, we can relate to this experience through the experience of love. Just as we cannot actively seek out love, as seeking it directly often obstructs it all together, we rather have to cultivate the conditions necessary through which we may naturally and spontaneously experience love, just so it is with Hashmal. In the Mysteries the social identity of the neophyte, the focus of the self-aware person, was temporarily dissolved so that the individual could experience “wide-field” cognitive ecstasy in the presence of the Other, the Beloved. For initiation to be undergone in a way that assured that the content of illumination would be retained, a long process of depersonalization was required, thus a process of clearing away all unauthentic concepts of self.

To experience love we must first clear what will obstruct our ability to experience true love, otherwise will not see our beloved as they are but rather we will see the projections of our needs and our desires and be sorely disappointed. The experience of Hashmal is the state within which the Gnosis Mind manifests and we are able to behold the true nature of reality; hence Reality as It Is. Within the Gnosis Mind the knower and that which is known becomes one. In the moment of sexual ecstasy the beloved and the lover becomes one, yet continue to exist as two distinct individuals simultaneously. Just so it is with Hashmal. We can only “run and return” to this state of being.

“The god Eros lives in the gap between
what we have and what we seek,
what we are and
what we are becoming.” –Connie Zweig

Eros perhaps, it could be said is the passion for transformation, the passion that transfuses and transfigures all forms, sweeping one form-thing-being through another, interfusing self and other, human and divine, perpetuating the eternal mystery of these brief encounters.

Diotima, a seeress and midwife from Mantinea in the Peloponessus, is famed for telling Socrates that “Eros is a mighty daimon, for its power mediates what is divine and what is mortal.” (Symp. 202 E) When Socrates proposes that “Eros is a part of the beautiful (to kalon),” Diotima corrects him, saying “No, love – that is, Eros is an esthetic bent, the passion for engendering and expressing the Beautiful – tes genneseos kai tou tokou en to kalo.” The “esthetic bent” as Diotima called it, is intimately linked to our capacity for love. Love and Eros enhance and complement each other at every turn. Love includes the capacity to embrace and transmit the Beautiful.

Thoughts returns to their arising. A bare tree in the icy winds of winter. All drawn within. In days long ago a mighty wizard cut a wand from its branches, gathered Mistletoe clinging to its limbs. Owls reared their chicks in its safety. Lovers whispered sweet caresses in its shade. Be quiet now and rest in a winter’s dream as your acorns dreams in the dark body of the Mother. Dream of mighty trees swaying in the Spring’s enlivening breeze. Softly I heard the Mother hum a song of dreaming, of dreams arising, within her womb.

Drifting in the Dark Sea
Formless potency of the Primordial Night
Chaos envelops me
and I surrender

In this night
a dream arose
Images rising from
the dark depths
of my soul
and stirs fathomless
desires
What image will you choose
to represent those desires stirring
in the womb of the night
What will be the colours
of your wings?
What does your voice cry out for
in longing
in the night?
Come Beloved,
Join me
so that together we may
weave a bright new dream
Let us play for a while longer
in the starry night skies
of our imagination
before we give birth to a new dawn.

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The Keeper of the Keys IX


About The Keeper of the Key

Previously …

The Keeper of the Key 1
The Keeper of the Key II
Keeper of the Key III
Keeper of the Key IV
The Keeper of the Key V
Prelude to Keeper of the Key VI
The Keeper of the Key VI
The Keeper of the Keys VII
The Keeper of the Keys VIII

I stood in front of the mirror gazing but not gazing into my eyes as we were instructed to do. It was surprisingly hard to do. I kept finding my eyes wanting to wander off and that it was a lot easier to look at one eye in focus and the other not. Thoughts arose wanting to know why that is, but I gently steered my thoughts on their way by telling them we will have plenty time later to discuss it. The Blacksmith told us to be aware of any thoughts that arises during the practice; allow them to rise but do not fix on them, they will pass away.

“Just be aware of the passings, they are the footprints of your shadows,” the Blacksmith told us “you will start to recognize which footprint belongs to which shadow.”

After our ritual cleansing and swearing in ceremony, the Blacksmith put drops of stinging liquid in our eyes.
“So that you will be better able to see the shadows.”

“There are three kinds of people who raise the shadows: the shaman, the warrior, and the black magician. Everything within this world has a shadow. Everything we see is a shadow cast by that which we do not see. You may summon an old warrior to guide you in the arts, or an old medicine man to guide you in medicine. In this way you begin learning from someone you cannot see – getting in touch with the master who can create movement within you. Even the shadows of plants, stones and animals can teach you.”

For three days we had to practice the mirror gazing. On the first day I barely thought I was going to survive 5 minutes of doing it, but he advised us to continue for as long as we could with breaks in between until we could gaze continuously with ease – “until the mirror image became the shadow.”

“You will not be able to see clearly until you find what blocks your vision. Each one of you has something from your past that blocks your view and which will be your weakness when in battle or when you enter the shadow lands. In the shadow lands this weakness will be used to trick you.”

“After three days of mirror gazing you will be ready to enter the land of your shadows to find what blocks your vision.”

I closed my eyes as I lay my head down upon the pillow, repeating the words “Show me what blocks my view,” with as much earnest desire as I could muster, until I drifted over.

I found myself once again standing in front of the mirror. This time I felt afraid to look into the mirror. I had a feeling of dread that I will see something truly horrible in the mirror. I closed my eyes and turned my head away. Invisible hands seized my head, forcing me to turn and look into the mirror.

To be continued …

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Close Encounters


Each contact
with a human being
is so rare,
so precious,
one should preserve it. – Anais Nin

I dreamed that I found myself upon a ship navigating the ocean. I found myself within a group, standing before a large window, the sun shinning brightly in through it. We had a guide with us. He asked us to cup our hands, and in our hands he poured, a small amount of sea water (marrah – the bitter water). We had to focus ourselves on what we felt were our essence and imbue the water with what we felt. On his command, we had to throw it against the window. Before our eyes; on the window developed, from each splash, an individual pattern, some big and bold, some small and bright, many patterns. Our guide continued, and told us that from these patterns the masseuses would know what deep massage to give each of us, and so bring our healing, and reveal our individual beauty.

So many people when in search of spiritual meaning for life want to withdraw from normal life, go to faraway places and seek enlightenment in isolated environments. Many years ago, I found myself at that point. I wanted go and live in complete isolation, with not even the convenience of electricity. But as I stood at the verge of waving civilization goodbye, I realized that it was the old way. To withdraw from active life would only simply be an escape. If you truly want to test your spiritual mettle, you have to live in the real world, walk your talk.

In the process of preparing I did at least learn a lot about lost crafts and what living without modern conveniences entails. One of the most enlightening aspects was being without communication; no TV, no news or any other direct form of communication. First thing that I observed was that all that really mattered was what happened in the here and now. If anything happened in the wide world that would affect me, the wave would reach me sooner or later. I realized during that time that what you need to know will come to you when you need to know it. Often it will come to you through the most unexpected sources or you will find it where you least expect it. What this in itself taught me was to live with greater awareness of what transpires around me. What does the sudden song of the bird evoke in me, what does the gentle breeze stir in me? It also taught me that no encounter with another human being, no matter how brief, is ever without meaning. Each person that you meet is a messenger of the divine.

Relationships are the basis of our existence. Relationships exist not just between two people but it is every interaction that happens between anything. In itself one can replace the word relationship with that of alchemical interaction. Every relationship that you experience changes you forever. The encounter with another always leaves an imprint on your soul and prepares you for your relationship with the divine.

Our primary relationship is with ourselves. This is the one relationship that you will have throughout your life. This relationship affects and colours every other relationship you have. If you have a stormy relationship with yourself so it will be reflected in your outer relationships as well, If you are judgmental of yourself you will be so with everyone else. Even our relationship with our environment is reflected in this.

I went up the mountains for a walk in the Fynbos Biosphere. I stood in a gorge looking at a picture that is immaculate in its serene beauty. Straight ahead is a waterfall that drops into a calm rock pool, reflecting the sheer cliffs surrounding it. Ferns, Restios, trees, clings to the rock face against all odds. Somewhere the renowned Disa Lilly will flower in its season. The rock pool, was begging me to jump in to, interact to feel the water, float and gaze at the clouds pass overhead. Sadly I saw a signboard that said no swimming. I know the rules are there to protect the pristine nature but I felt saddened by it. I had to turn down my invitation to interact. It was not always so. I have had many wonderful swims in such mountain pools but life has become a lot more complicated.

We are allowed to see but not to feel in the depth we can. Our relationships with others have become much so too. We observe but there is a mental fence around us. In general, we interact superficially with others in contrast of how deeply we can. I wonder to myself, I know what is like to fully interact with nature but how many children are there in the world today that has not had that opportunity? Is it the same with relationships; quick sound bites and flash thumbnails of impressions, categorized by previous conditions?

Every encounter that we have is meaningful. Every other human being holds a clue to my own existence. If you are open and aware you will be surprised how much insight every encounter you have with another human being can bring you.

Each encounter, no matter how brief leaves an impression on you and reflects a part of the puzzle of what you as an individual are. If I look back to the sea of faces in my memory certain faces stands out. Some I never even said a word to; just a brief silent communication that said so much, meant so much and then was gone but not from my heart.

Each person is a window into a universe unknown to us. The thirteenth century, Persian mystic Aziz Nasafi wrote that the spiritual world, standing like a light behind the bodily world, shines as through a window through every creature that comes into being. According to the type and size of the window, more or less light enters the world. Each one of us is a window on the Universe, the whole of understanding. When you loose someone you love, it is indeed as if you die too, for a part of you existed only because of your relationship with that particular person. Just as each one us are unique in our identities, so each relationship we form is unique in what it reveal about ourselves. Through the loss of a loved one, a person with whom we shared intimate moments with, we lose a window into ourselves, and we feel a death in ourselves, because that part of us no longer exist in local reality. Yet it is not lost but has just been transformed. We now carry within us what that person has revealed to us.

As specie our strength lies in our ability to co-operate with each other, to pass our insights on to others. There are exoteric (outer) and esoteric ways of seeing the same thing, which is really just different perspectives of the same thing seen, felt and experienced from different angles, neither is wrong in what they see, only by looking at the whole perspective can you see the context of what you are seeing, feeling and experiencing. The eco-functioning of the whole will determine the true function of the aspect each one of us sees from our individual “window “ onto the view of the whole. (See;Elephant )It is through our ability to interact and co-operate that we evolve in consciousness, that we can make a leap in consciousness.

Rather than discrete things and independent events, there are but ripples upon ripples upon waves upon waves in this universe, propagating in a seamless sea. – Ervin Laszlo

You

I open my eyes
To consciousness
With your name upon my lips

With you I found
sacred space
shelter

With you I shared
my most intimate depths
moist darkness
tears
fears
joy
bliss

With you I entered sacred space
and found eternity
in a moment
without measure

You touched me
with a reality so clear
brought me beauty
without compare

I close my eyes
whispering your name
with gratitude

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