Chapter 4 – A Path with Heart

No diagnosis then from Friday’s visit to the hospital, there are a lot of things that have been ruled out and I am feeling a little reassured. This gives me some quiet time to start to elaborate on what I mean by a path with heart. In a sense any path, although we might see it as achieving a goal or ambition, ultimately leads no where, for we all must die and that part of incarnate awareness which is the totality of us, in the words of the Bard, shuffles off the mortal coil. Our form disintegrates or is burned and the atoms of our vehicle are re-cycled and used by the universe for another purpose, our bits might one day end up being a plastic Tesco’s bag; who knows. In any case once the power within has left, it is not that important. The form then becomes the formless. The formless is then reorganised into something else. It is the vis viva that takes the clay of a human being and through the magic of life re-organises it into something else. If the atoms are incorporated in an organic sense then some other consciousness uses them, eventually.

What then is a path with heart? Eric says that this differs for each of us, yet deep down we all know when we are treading a path with heart and when we are not. That is the simplicity of it all. The trouble is that most people lack the honesty and live lives of denial, because they are fearful of change. It takes a great deal of courage and some considerable measure of practice to learn to listen to the heart. The heart is not all fluffy and warm, roses and sentiment. When operating fully it is powerful beyond imagination and can be quite a demanding master. For in one sense the heart, that is an expression of true feeling, is that part of the total being which is most in sync with what the power within has set us up for. In this context the heart is not the muscle which pumps our blood. It is pure feeling.

Eric says that most people get hooked on romance and idealism and use the mind to try to force this romance on the being, to an extent where after compromising the emanations of the heart for so long, it controls. The mind is the master of what he calls the first ring of power whereas the heart transcends this; it operates on the level where true inner tuition takes place. That tuition of the inner being, whether a work in progress or truly listened to, leads one on the path with heart.

Many paths first appear to be a path with heart, the mind hoping above all hope that a given direction in life will be a path with heart. The being then invests a great deal of effort in following these paths, to the point where it will vigorously defend the “fact” that this is a path with heart. Deep down though, everyone knows when they are bullshitting themselves and even those around them. When such a point is finally admitted the reluctance to change can cause all sorts of problems. The heart never lies. It is a shame that human beings do. In a sense many of us get caught up in a trap of our own making.

Consider each path very carefully and ask yourself only this. Is this for me a path with heart? This is really the only question and it is the 64 million dollar one. Everything else is just so much intellectual masturbation. For opening your heart and listening to it renders all else mundane. Eric says that this then is the bottom line. For as we traverse this, the sea of life, whenever we are faced with what appears to be a dilemma, asking this and answering honestly will enable one to gain sufficient clarity to work out what are the next steps that need to be taken.

Like all paths, it leads exactly no where, what it does though is to provide a journey of quite stupendous novelty, variety and excitement. Esoterically the path with heart is linked to the cabalistic glyph of Tiphareth and is associated with choosing between the old and the new. Every day is nascent at dawn, lived to the maximum, dies at the sunset, rests overnight and life starts the next day, fresh. Knowing full well that each day brings change and the being walking the path with heart will not be the same being on the following day. It takes guts to walk such a path.

Eric says that it might be wise to put in another quotation here.

This one is from M.F. Powers

Footprints

One night I dreamed a dream. I was walking along the beach with my Lord.
Across the dark sky flashed scenes from my life. For each scene, I noticed two sets of footprints in the sand, one belonging to me and one to my Lord.

When the last scene of my life shot before me I looked back at the footprints in the sand. I noticed that at times along the path there was only one set of footprints. I also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times of my life. This always bothered me and I questioned the Lord about my dilemma.

“Lord, you told me that once I decided to follow You, you would walk with me all the way but I noticed that during the most troublesome times of my life there is only one set of footprints. I don’t understand why, when I needed You most, You would leave me.”

He whispered,

“ My precious child, I love you and would never, never leave you during your times of trial and suffering. When you see only one set of footprints it was then that I carried you. “

This then re-presents a journey through life and in choosing a path with heart, there will be times when the challenges such a choice calls forth can make one feel completely lost and abandoned. If one sticks with it, the power within guides and in a sense carries us, even when the rational mind has packed up, run away and felt very sorry for itself. The power within, leads us to do things which we might not always have the emotional wherewithal to do and makes sure that we make it through to the other side. In doing this it causes us to grow and change. At times we all feel sorry for ourselves and play the martyr.

If we choose to look at our lives for what they really are, hopefully before the last days of our sojourn here, we can always find a purpose for what has happened and if we are lucky the meaning inherent in that purpose. For it is really us, our own power within, which sets up the circumstance for us to learn, blaming others is just stupid and disempowering for everyone concerned.

If we do not take responsibility for ourselves who is going to? Is change then a path with heart?

“Be the change you wish to see in the World.”

Mohandas Gandhi

As far as I can tell most people want some form of change in their lives, yet direct the intention and responsibility for that change towards external sources, hoping that if he (or she) changes, then it would make my life better.

It is a wistful hope that is often forgotten as quickly as it arises, and then so, back to the day to day business of living. Very few people are willing to take responsibility for changing themselves, hoping that someone else will do “it” for them. The changes which they think they seek are perhaps just a tinkering around the edges of life, maybe a better holiday would do the trick…? So here is a question for you are you going to walk this most difficult of paths and see if you can find the extent and wonder of your being-ness by listening to the power within?

True change is not for the fainthearted. It is a matter of bringing the inside out, letting the spirit surface and breathe. The outer form can only present an image of the state of the inner being and true change begins inside. Once a process of change has been initiated it can come at one like a relentless tide, where the sea of change washes before it all that one once held as true.

True change is seldom welcomed with open arms, rather it often comes about because of a moment of clarity when one knows without any doubt that a way of thinking and of being is no longer tenable; that living as one has been, has in some strange way ceased to be an affair of the heart. Such moments can be initiatory of change or alternatively spark a journey of denial in an over expressed need to be right. That over expression of just how great the form side of life is must constantly be verbalised and re-enforced by others to mask the flight which the inner person much deeper down, knows that they are doing. This has consequences.

True change starts slowly as a way of being and behaving is gradually and sometimes painfully eroded. Then the shape and the constituents of a life, are stripped away, allowing a space for a new person to emerge from the chrysalis. What that being is, may bear little or no resemblance to the caterpillar it once thought it was, avariciously feeding on the substance of life and taking from all around.

True change can be said to be transmutative, transformative and perhaps transfigurational. The expense of change is a former life, the gift, a new one, heralding untold wonders of what it is to be alive; bringing with it a new found sense of purpose and meaning. Somehow, setting one apart from the crowd, who may look at you blankly because such a change is beyond the scope of their experience and as such, so very much a part of the unknown and perhaps, because of an unwillingness to change, the unknowable.

In this respect if one really does change, no one may ever notice. Because of the 99% rule which says that 99% of people think only of themselves 99% of the time, many will miss what has been an act of magic, worked at over a great many years.

Eric says that there is only one way to go and that is to walk as gently on the earth as possible, trying to not impose petty wants and desires upon others and taking from the world only what it is that is truly needed. And that life is a journey of learning and of approaching, leaving as few footprints as possible on the rice-paper world whilst having the best impact one can.

This then is a path with a heart, we do not own the world; we can celebrate our incarnation by making our lives an expression of the emanations of our hearts as we dance the pattern of our existence, hand in hand with the power within.

Floating Things

We human beings can imagine that we understand where someone else is coming from, be convinced we know their motives and then find it difficult not to opine thereupon.

——————————————————————

On the wind,

Carried by the wings of perception,

It comes.

 

The words of another,

Telling of how you feel.

Convinced and convicted in the beginning.

 

Tenuous and stretching,

Well meaning but wrong,

Painting themselves in impressionist points.

 

The message and the shield,

To massage and deflect,

Holding that point in sea of the floating things.

 

Formed in the rust of trust,

Sewn into the fledgling in the nest,

And rewarded by the worm of the early bird.

 

The clamour of the glamour of it all.

Life is too short to be right.

 

Dressed in dead-letter logic,

And the twelve-bar blues of again and again,

The so-called facts question.

 

But hidden beneath and,

In different clothes,

The sound echoes an empty tone, going through the motions.

 

Under the carpet,

Where all the fears lie,

Are brushed the fragile bones that hold the tissue intact.

 

The cabbage patch dolls,

Huddle to write their play, to have their say,

Performing to conform and looking at their cake.

 

Consent and compromise,

Coerce and corrupt, rob the spirit,

And drive the man from the parapet.

 

The courage of silence is not.

Life is too short to be rite.

 

In the clay cup he puts the Tea,

Pours water and takes the brush,

Deftly he stirs.

 

In the swirled of the floating things,

Searching inside for:

The meaning of it.

 

The raft of bubbles breaks,

And foams in the Maya of it all,

Yet another storm in a teacup?

 

Words like tiny purses,

Score double top, as sharply,

As the dart players take chalk in hand.

 

Five hundred and one,

Itches under his skin like mosquito bites,

On a summer’s night.

 

He never liked the Joneses anyway,

Their white picket fence and pet crocodile,

Were Saatchi and Saatchi.

 

The salt of the Ganges is ours.

Life is too short not to write.

 

What is a truth,

And how does it taste?

Clear on the palate and fresh on the tongue.

 

Far from the pre-packed and processed,

Wrapped in cling film

And sold at Sainsbury’s on Saturdays.

 

Personal and specific,

Not agreed by committee,

A feeling of feelings and a knowing of knowledge.

 

No less than a flame,

Kindled inside and singular,

An island in the floating things.

 

Seen in a dream as in the dream,

Watched in the circus,

Without puppeteers’ strings.

 

There is more to life than process,

Immeasurable and imprecise,

No key performance indicators here.

 

The air that we breathe is free.

Life is too short not to read.

 

The pages of Kells,

Illuminated with love

And decorated with care on the journey of the Dove.

 

Set free from the Ark,

The un-caged bird in search of the olive branch,

Comes back in sea of floating things.

 

Soaring in gentleness,

White with vulnerable beauty,

To tell of its travels and share of its fare.

 

The memory of before,

And the sense of the divine in each,

And the eyes of a child, awestruck and in awe.

 

The warnings are there,

The cloying sterility of the Vulcan mind

Overpowers the beating passion of the heart.

 

I re-member Martin,

And the Christ in each of us.

I have a dream and it dreams me now.

 

Brave heart be strong and beat on.

Life is too short not to see red.

 

The Player?

An early piece written in my pad in Brixton where I was starting to open my heart centre, often with the aid of some Einaudi..

———————————————————————

Ivory on ice,
Light in haze,
Autumn afternoon.

It filters through that
Pine tree maze.

Tendrils of smoke
Dance in the late sun,
As that moment comes.

Alpha and Omega united in the room.

Will the player
Or, does the heart
Make it’s own tender tune?

Strung on it’s own frame taut and moving.

A single note stands
Out,
Within the chord.

It dances the heart this afternoon.

An instrument of bone and sinew.
Tuning in.
A harp of my very own.

Butterflies at the top,
Tickle and excite.
Condor wings at the bottom,
Stir and delight.

The pace of it,
Stretches the limits.
Yet grows with a surety that…

Ivory on ice,
Light in haze,
Autumn afternoon.

Ice Dagger of Reason

It is possible to be so stuck up in our heads or with our heads so far up our own arses that we forget. We can be so fixated on being “right” that we become artic frozen beings, fragile and hostile.

——————————————————————-

This cold artic world

Now murdered

Run through

With ice daggers

 

The stakes of justification

Banish the hope

Of resurrection

Hearts, pierced silent

 

Bang on urgent target

Devoid of love

Brutal and

Pregnant with blame

 

Each frozen scalpel finger

Excises precise

Any quivering warmth

To extinguish

 

Artificial intelligence

Full of artifice

Is already here

With a deafening profit

 

Power, money

Death, destruction

The human iceberg

Now inured

 

On the blade

Is writ

Me and mine

So fuck you

 

Each stabbing reason

The serial killer

Again and again

And again

 

No need for love

Nor caring

Bullseye blind

Stiletto sure

 

Tell me precisely

What exactly

do you mean

by feeling?

Our Children Bleed…

Measure, measure,

Conform.

Measure, measure,

Outcome.

Measure, measure,

Agree.

Measure, measure,

Die.

 

Is it safe?

Will they sue?

Where did I put my cabbages?

 

Our children bleed,

They are so scared,

Like a pillow in their faces,

We stifle and suffocate.

 

How did we get here????

 

We put a condom on life,

Lubricated with rationality,

Packaged in nonoxyl nine,

Sold in day glow green,

With strawberry flavour.

 

Will they still love me when I fail?

 

Scream.

Scream at the top of your lungs!!

Howl at the moon!!

 

There HAS to be more…..

 

Bow down at the temple of the mind,

Worship at the altar of logic,

Listen to the language.

 

But that email said this,

Therefore I conclude.

Damned for all times,

By words in your words and for your words.

 

Face value?

 

How?

How did they miss?

How could they possibly miss?

 

The feeling……..

 

Don’t you know,

Emotion is a dirty word?

Let’s be sensible.

Let’s be rational.

 

NO!

 

Take away those ropes,

I do not want them.

 

Take away that chain,

It will not hold me.

 

I feel…

 

I feel……..

 

While we wait and discuss,

I have gone limp.

I am not interested anymore,

The moment has passed.

 

That spark was there,

But safety deflates,

Like wet blanket to fire.

 

Life is not rational.

It is…

Well, it is what it is….

 

No it is not!

 

We CAN control it.

We know our destiny.

The clown laughs.

 

Legacy,

Is a terrible word.

That is what we leave.

 

Lubricated with rationality,

Packaged in nonoxyl nine,

Sold in day glow green,

With strawberry flavour.