Théun Mares – Heart Dream – 01-08-2011

I am in Africa with Théun. We are dressed in khaki shorts, with boots and khaki hunting vests. We are walking in a river, and he is showing me some aspect of hunting {stalking}. As we walk along we catch various fish which we discard. We near a rock pool which is where we are going to fish. The river goes between a rock formation, and he waits to show me what is past that. So, we go through the formation and right up to the lip of a waterfall which is there. The water cascades over this into a massive plunge pool. It is totally beautiful. I am a little nervous about the height but cope OK. As we pull back from the edge, I lift up the entire river bed as if looking underneath a carpet. I can see stars and a night sky under the “carpet”. I replace the carpet and we move back to the fishing spot.

Later on, we are inside a room. In front of us on a table lies a giant human heart which is still pulsing. I start to run a grater / mandolin over the heart. This removes the vitrified muscle so that the heart can function better. Théun looks on and there is the sense of us working on this heart together.

On the evening of the 4th of September, we were sat in the kitchen and our Le Creuset cast iron baking tray spontaneously split in two. I later learned that Théun is down as of the 5th of September as having passed peacefully in the night.

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.

My Ferric Justifications

People can talk themselves into and out of pretty much anything.

The trouble is regret is as slippery as an eel and can sneak through the bars, the bastions, of reason.

—————————————————————–

With the rusting bars

of those ferric justifications

my dreams they rot away

so reasonably confined to cower

 

Each nail bashed home

with the Mjölnir mind

resounding thunderous home

to pin my hopes to the page

 

Each slant, every twist

slams prison door shut

to echo along death-row

and no reprieve from the guv’nor

 

All that alleged sensibility

cuts razor blade the skin

whilst my heart bleeds

unnoticed tears, into a bucket

 

And when the bell tolls

I shall empty the slops

of all my reasonable reasons

which did treason to my love

 

The painted corner of my cell

surrounds me so perfect tight

as all my gaveled demi-truths;

my Soul does forever swallow and choke

 

Would that I could vomit

most visceral up

all this heinous bile

I feed myself and to others

 

Within the rusting bars

of all my ferric justifications

my dreams they rot away

reasonably confined to cower and decay

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.

Soft Waves of Regret

If I let one tiny wavelet

past the bastions of reasons

the ramparts of justification

‘t would set me all a shiver

 

My vigilance must be supreme

for to allow such a heady thing

might shake my core

to litter the ground with tears

 

That pregnant tumult

with its full quiver of feelings

will overwhelm the keep

and battering ram the heart’s portcullis

 

To feel its orgasmic climax

shaking, shuddering through me

must I myself forbid

for to taste such fruit….

 

My frail hidden vulnerability

stripped harsh, naked, human

all that I tend to pretend

shattered into shards of glass

 

Each feather tickles enticing

soft undulating waves of regret

surreptitious at the harbor’s edge

resist you fool, resist…

 

Must fend of that tender melancholy

till dawn’s alarm beckons me busy

I can make it through one more night

I can, I can…

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?

Serenity “Haiku”

a heron stands

one leg in the reeds

he reaches for his oboe

 

a contented carp

blows bubbles

puckering his lips

 

a lotus unfolds

her petal wings

butterflies waft incense

 

a busy dragon-fly

is a rainbow

who caresses time

 

clear crystal ponds

reflect pure light

whiter than snow

 

a pendant drop

hangs from the gallows

of a moment

 

a ripple stretches

across a dewy pond

and yawns sleepily

 

a reed bends

in the harsh winds

which soon, too will pass

 

a moorhen dives

hungry for breakfast,

a croissant with butter

 

the spirit churns

all of the milk

to spread on toast

 

a hungry falcon

hovers in the wind

seeking a morsel

 

the rain falls heavy

the ducks rejoice

water off their backs

 

a rōnin waits

for he has no master

else his heart

 

he sits seiza

and watches only walls

for there, is wisdom.

The Silence of the Heart

This arose whilst I was working directly with my heart centre, trying to open it wide and generate compassion for all sentient beings.


I breathe deeply,
Ex-hale all the day,
I ex-hale all the previous days
And all that has gone before.

I am clear and NOW,
It comes to me,
The rhythm of the heart

It beats and I hear,
The warmth spreads from within,
It is bare.

I feel it quicken,
My ribs feel cleaved,
And….
THERE it is.

The silence.

Beyond the tumult,
Close and Far,
All around.

Into the stillness it comes.

Before after
And
After before

The space between
The seconds of the clock
The time between
Two places

It hangs
Like a question mark from the sky

Then

Now

Tomorrow?

Dancing the edge

Tingling and tangling

Dancing the razor’s edge

On the weary toes of… hope

 

Searching the dark

winding

Passages wound

In the Lenten fabric of

before

 

Watching the whirring

Windmills of the mind

Step with Scheherazade

On to

The fragile stage of fate

 

In the wind comes

The fiddler’s note

Carving the heart strings

Tidal pull

 

And surging with Passion,

To bathe away doubt

Hung in a moment

On a bridge still to cross

 

In the never ending

In between

Of the vital, living, now

 

In the corner shop cavern

Of the aching heart

Searching the shelves

For that final ounce

 

Wrapping it well

With a moistened

Tear stained bow

 

And giving it anyway

Because…

 

That is what it means

………… to be truly alive.

A Dreamer’s Miscellany

Trying to capture a little of “The Unbearable Lightness of Being” written about by Kundera

Nesnesitelná lehkost bytí

 

Ridges and swirls,

Curling and whirling

And softly

Pressed.

 

Into the hot,

Hot

Red wax of life.

 

Now the clumsy nimble

Thimble

Of thumbs.

 

Closing the flap

Of the present’s

Present.

 

With the heart’s

Ghostly

Watermark.

 

In the springtime

Trees

That envelop the wood.

 

And now clothe

Those millstream

Blades.

 

And gurgle

The nursery

Daffodil’s rhyme.

 

That finger’s

First

Walk into the glade.

 

On snowdrop’s

Tippy toe

Truths.

 

Mille feuille,

Layered

Onion’s

Tear

 

Dances the dressage’s

Formal

Fearful

Dance.

 

Folding the fragile

Quail’s egg

Fabric

 

So,

Oh so

Fine.

 

With icing

Sugar’s

Filigree

Frame.

 

On the pristine

Mountain’s

Hillside path.

 

Each tender

Ticklish

Toe

 

Teasing and

Making

Its way

In the virgin snow.

 

To soothe

The heart’s

Lyrical

Waxing

Scar.

 

Written in

That first,

First

Fateful

Touch.

 

That prised

Prised open

The whalebone

Chasm

Of his chest.

 

And found

The black and white

Span

Of hope’s

Tender

Tender chord.

 

And placed

His stubborn

Heel

Hard

On the dancer’s stage.

 

To soar

On desert winds

Crescent moon

 

And to count

The infinite,

Infinite

Stars.