It’s getting harder Mary.
I wish I had more of Crowley in me.
He knew the art of discernment.
He could smell the black of manipulation,
the stench of fear and submission.
Do you think me weak?
Or is all of this an attempt to sharpen my senses,
to cut through the false and illusion, to polish the ruby?
Because I have to tell you, this is getting quite tiresome.
I am in the middle of a storm that is not letting up.
I do not wish to stand in its center anymore.
Maybe, I’ll just step out of it?
Would you think less of me?
Or be proud?
How much longer shall I weather this out?
Tell me.
Please.
I don’t know if this is worth it.
I don’t know if I ought to care this much.
I pity man.
Man is a dirty dog.
I don’t think Gurdjieff said this to justify man’s behaviour.
He said it so that man would take it upon himself to become more
than what he is. To try. No?
But Mary, I think he would be so disappointed to see how man twists and tangles up words to mean something else, how he gratifies his own egoism, so that he can delude himself into thinking he is not required to transform the merde that he is.
Gurdjieff saw Truth.
But I’m supposed to accept that man is weak?
So he can continue to gallivant when he knows better?
Ah, the worst kind.
Those who know and pretend that they don’t.
I will not give an inch more, when I feel myself depleting.
And I will take all that I hold to be true and real,
for my own growth.
And the rest? The nonsense, the futility, the stupidity?
I will scatter them out into the sea.
Just like that.
Not one more breath, Mary.
Not one more breath on merde.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
Works, Indolence, Happiness
Three of Pentacles (Works), Eight of Cups (Indolence), Ten of Cups (Happiness)
I saw myself in Rider Waite's Eight of Cups--my back to the cups in the forefront of the card. I felt the figure's heaviness, my heaviness, disappointment, melancholy. Like a mirror, my Now was reflected back to me, with such uncanny precision, I wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold this being in the card, to reach out and hold my Self. What is s/he moving away from? Leaving behind? And what is s/he moving towards? Why is s/he moving at all? Is it necessary?
I saw myself in the Three of Pentacles too--people working together to create some kind of community. There's purpose and aim, mission and vision. This speaks to me in ways I had not imagined, ever, for myself, that I could be involved in a way that promotes change, builds foundation, creates something tangible and real. Works speaks to creativity and the manifestation of thought and will, the fruits of one's labours, the idea that we will reap what we sow.
And in the future position, I find the Ten of Cups. What a happy card, dare I say? But I notice, here too, that the couple's backs are facing me. Their arms are up in the air, and children are playing to their right. There is a rainbow as well which, I assume, they are probably marveling at. I feel that they are indeed very content and satisfied, fulfilled and uplifted. It is a good and wholesome family card. And as an outcome card, I understand, that this represents what I want and desire and not what is?
I chose to speak of Indolence first because it represents the present position, Works, the past, and again, Happiness, the future. It falls in the center between, what I perceive to be, two positive cards. It is with the present that I must work because essentially, it is bringing light to an obstacle of some sort that needs to be resolved, in order to draw, into my life, that which I want. My only reservation is why I should walk away at all, or from anything, or whatever this obstacle represents. Is there not another way? It sounds like the figure is giving up. But the card says, walking away is the resolution. Walking away is synonymous with acknowledgment, acceptance, and understanding that one's circumstances are no longer bringing one any contentment. The card says that this situation, this thing, has outgrown me.
How do I walk away when I don't understand what I'm supposed to be walking away from?
I saw myself in Rider Waite's Eight of Cups--my back to the cups in the forefront of the card. I felt the figure's heaviness, my heaviness, disappointment, melancholy. Like a mirror, my Now was reflected back to me, with such uncanny precision, I wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold this being in the card, to reach out and hold my Self. What is s/he moving away from? Leaving behind? And what is s/he moving towards? Why is s/he moving at all? Is it necessary?
I saw myself in the Three of Pentacles too--people working together to create some kind of community. There's purpose and aim, mission and vision. This speaks to me in ways I had not imagined, ever, for myself, that I could be involved in a way that promotes change, builds foundation, creates something tangible and real. Works speaks to creativity and the manifestation of thought and will, the fruits of one's labours, the idea that we will reap what we sow.
And in the future position, I find the Ten of Cups. What a happy card, dare I say? But I notice, here too, that the couple's backs are facing me. Their arms are up in the air, and children are playing to their right. There is a rainbow as well which, I assume, they are probably marveling at. I feel that they are indeed very content and satisfied, fulfilled and uplifted. It is a good and wholesome family card. And as an outcome card, I understand, that this represents what I want and desire and not what is?
I chose to speak of Indolence first because it represents the present position, Works, the past, and again, Happiness, the future. It falls in the center between, what I perceive to be, two positive cards. It is with the present that I must work because essentially, it is bringing light to an obstacle of some sort that needs to be resolved, in order to draw, into my life, that which I want. My only reservation is why I should walk away at all, or from anything, or whatever this obstacle represents. Is there not another way? It sounds like the figure is giving up. But the card says, walking away is the resolution. Walking away is synonymous with acknowledgment, acceptance, and understanding that one's circumstances are no longer bringing one any contentment. The card says that this situation, this thing, has outgrown me.
How do I walk away when I don't understand what I'm supposed to be walking away from?
Friday, January 14, 2011
Imagination
Why do I stay?
Anyone else would have left a long time ago.
I'm so busy putting myself in other people's shoes, I've forgotten what it's like to be in my own. But even this does not sound right. No one can ever be completely selfless. I do have more than an inkling of what it is like to be me. And so what?
What was it that Nick Cave said? Jesus is Imagination brought to life. Something like that. How true this is. Life is dead without Imagination. We all know people like this, who lack a certain kind of other worldly spark. They are practical and down to earth, creating little niches for themselves, with a comfortable home and money in the bank, to such a fault, that when it comes time to talking and opening up about deeper concerns or sentiments, or contemplating one's purpose here on this planet, they become fidgety, with a blank look on their faces, because they can't relate. And you're considered the odd ball. . .because of their lack of Imagination. Interesting.
My father is this man, exactly. But behind all of this comfort, albeit illusory, there is a deep fear he will not acknowledge. He does not befriend it. He does not take it by the hand or engage it. He just pretends it is not there. He is a machine like the rest of us. I wish not to be like my father. And I see that I am not, entirely.
I see that as a child, I had always been a seeker. I had always felt very strongly. I had always seen that I was alone in this. That he and I, we were on different planes. My heart soared upward towards the heavens and his, downward towards the earth. He made endless attempts to bring me down, out of love, in the hopes that he could fix me, and sometimes, he succeeded. I had not been strong enough. But my nature would not have it or was it my Higher Self? My Spirit kept moving. The more he pushed, the more my Spirit resisted. The more resilient It became. And my father was afraid of this. The contrast was so great between he and I, that I struggled for a very long time to find my way. Even now, his influence, if not kept in check, can tip me over.
There were no books in the house except for scholarly text books. We never played music. My art work, I kept hidden downstairs in the basement, away from him. My bedside radio, which I had received as a gift, was the only piece of equipment I relished, wholeheartedly. It's what I used to dream. That which he fought so hard against was that which I ran to ever more closely. And thank goodness for this. So you'd best believe that when anyone attempts, in my adult life, to proceed to tell me what constitutes the real, to repress the vehicle which brings life to creativity and manifestation, I will spit in their eye and offer a smile. To my father, whom I love, all of this was a waste of time, impractical, made me lazy and hazy. Not entirely untrue but, fortunately for me, I have no regrets.
Let no one kill that voice inside, that voice which says there is more, that voice which tells you to keep going, to keep creating. It is the Muse, the Daemon. Let IT flow through you. Let it be this that USES you for the greater good. We are instruments. Nothing more. Nothing less. But we must choose. And I have chosen.
Anyone else would have left a long time ago.
I'm so busy putting myself in other people's shoes, I've forgotten what it's like to be in my own. But even this does not sound right. No one can ever be completely selfless. I do have more than an inkling of what it is like to be me. And so what?
What was it that Nick Cave said? Jesus is Imagination brought to life. Something like that. How true this is. Life is dead without Imagination. We all know people like this, who lack a certain kind of other worldly spark. They are practical and down to earth, creating little niches for themselves, with a comfortable home and money in the bank, to such a fault, that when it comes time to talking and opening up about deeper concerns or sentiments, or contemplating one's purpose here on this planet, they become fidgety, with a blank look on their faces, because they can't relate. And you're considered the odd ball. . .because of their lack of Imagination. Interesting.
My father is this man, exactly. But behind all of this comfort, albeit illusory, there is a deep fear he will not acknowledge. He does not befriend it. He does not take it by the hand or engage it. He just pretends it is not there. He is a machine like the rest of us. I wish not to be like my father. And I see that I am not, entirely.
I see that as a child, I had always been a seeker. I had always felt very strongly. I had always seen that I was alone in this. That he and I, we were on different planes. My heart soared upward towards the heavens and his, downward towards the earth. He made endless attempts to bring me down, out of love, in the hopes that he could fix me, and sometimes, he succeeded. I had not been strong enough. But my nature would not have it or was it my Higher Self? My Spirit kept moving. The more he pushed, the more my Spirit resisted. The more resilient It became. And my father was afraid of this. The contrast was so great between he and I, that I struggled for a very long time to find my way. Even now, his influence, if not kept in check, can tip me over.
There were no books in the house except for scholarly text books. We never played music. My art work, I kept hidden downstairs in the basement, away from him. My bedside radio, which I had received as a gift, was the only piece of equipment I relished, wholeheartedly. It's what I used to dream. That which he fought so hard against was that which I ran to ever more closely. And thank goodness for this. So you'd best believe that when anyone attempts, in my adult life, to proceed to tell me what constitutes the real, to repress the vehicle which brings life to creativity and manifestation, I will spit in their eye and offer a smile. To my father, whom I love, all of this was a waste of time, impractical, made me lazy and hazy. Not entirely untrue but, fortunately for me, I have no regrets.
Let no one kill that voice inside, that voice which says there is more, that voice which tells you to keep going, to keep creating. It is the Muse, the Daemon. Let IT flow through you. Let it be this that USES you for the greater good. We are instruments. Nothing more. Nothing less. But we must choose. And I have chosen.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Me and Mr.Crowley again
Aleister Crowley is back. He won't leave until I get this right. I've been pondering about what to write, anything other than what is required of me now, but it is no use. I must stay with this.
He says,
It has returned. You thought you had overcome and now you see that you had not, have not. You are at a crossroads. The two of swords. You do not like this card. It speaks of choices to be made, of indecision. Do you remember our little talk?
How can I forget?
What do you not understand? What can you not see? I see that you see. You cannot hide. Wake up.
He continues.
Dry those tears. They will not help you here. I've seen your Magick but you deny. Be not what you are but become who you are. Now is the time.
Mr.Crowley, with all due respect, you are speaking to a mere mortal who does not understand the ways of this world, let alone the ways of the others. I am small and insignificant.
And so you shall remain if you should not become what the Chariot offers. Your heart fluttered when you read what I had said of faith and doubt. How faith is like a corpse and doubt, like a virgin.
I do not fully comprehend what you mean of this but yes, my heart did respond with great intrigue. I felt an opening then, like someone had rewired parts of me which allowed me to see and feel something different. Truthfully, it was like honey in my mouth.
You speak when it would be wise to remain quiet and...
Are we not conversing, you and I? Would you not deem it disrespectful for me to ignore you?
Ah, and you do not listen long enough to hear me. You misunderstand. You speak when it would be wise to remain quiet and because of this, you give everything away. Your job is to hold up the mirror to the other, only after you have held it up to yourself. By speaking, you fog up the mirror which prevents the other from seeing, which prevents you from seeing. You must develop your ability to see. Do you understand?
I'm tired Mr. Crowley.
Tired? You have not even begun yet and you are tired? Head up high. There is no time to waste. Hear me when I say this to you. There is always a price to pay for the gifts you receive. Do not be foolish. Nothing is for free. You must work for it all. The tougher it becomes, the greater opportunity for you. Then, the sun will shine but remember, the rain is not too far behind. Soon, you will see that the sun and the rain, they are the same. You say that you understand this but you do not, for if you did, you'd find no need to speak with me.
Now what? (He laughs a crazy laugh)
Take both swords, as I have said time and time again, and blend them.
Blend the swords?
Mock me all you want. It is you who are seeking help, not I. Blend the swords. You must see that they are one. You must see that there is no separation. This division you create in your mind is the root of your dilemma. Your heart sees the truth. Do not give either sword more importance over the other. Each wants dominance. You are not of this world but you must play by its rules and then transcend. It is the only way. Place these swords over the flame of life and let them melt into each other. Let them become something else, something new, like Art.
I am...
Stuck?
No. This is not it. You choose to be stuck. Because you want control. You will never overcome like this.
The Chariot is all about control.
No, the Chariot is about applied force and will, one who is certain of what must be done. You'd like for Life to decide for you. You give all of your power away. Your need to control and keep everything neat and tidy is your weakness and one that you must transform. Control leads to a place of stagnation. Applied force is something entirely different. Sometimes, one must submit to see their own strengths. You do not need to submit for you already see but pretend not to. Wake up, I say. Wake up.
He says,
It has returned. You thought you had overcome and now you see that you had not, have not. You are at a crossroads. The two of swords. You do not like this card. It speaks of choices to be made, of indecision. Do you remember our little talk?
How can I forget?
What do you not understand? What can you not see? I see that you see. You cannot hide. Wake up.
He continues.
Dry those tears. They will not help you here. I've seen your Magick but you deny. Be not what you are but become who you are. Now is the time.
Mr.Crowley, with all due respect, you are speaking to a mere mortal who does not understand the ways of this world, let alone the ways of the others. I am small and insignificant.
And so you shall remain if you should not become what the Chariot offers. Your heart fluttered when you read what I had said of faith and doubt. How faith is like a corpse and doubt, like a virgin.
I do not fully comprehend what you mean of this but yes, my heart did respond with great intrigue. I felt an opening then, like someone had rewired parts of me which allowed me to see and feel something different. Truthfully, it was like honey in my mouth.
You speak when it would be wise to remain quiet and...
Are we not conversing, you and I? Would you not deem it disrespectful for me to ignore you?
Ah, and you do not listen long enough to hear me. You misunderstand. You speak when it would be wise to remain quiet and because of this, you give everything away. Your job is to hold up the mirror to the other, only after you have held it up to yourself. By speaking, you fog up the mirror which prevents the other from seeing, which prevents you from seeing. You must develop your ability to see. Do you understand?
I'm tired Mr. Crowley.
Tired? You have not even begun yet and you are tired? Head up high. There is no time to waste. Hear me when I say this to you. There is always a price to pay for the gifts you receive. Do not be foolish. Nothing is for free. You must work for it all. The tougher it becomes, the greater opportunity for you. Then, the sun will shine but remember, the rain is not too far behind. Soon, you will see that the sun and the rain, they are the same. You say that you understand this but you do not, for if you did, you'd find no need to speak with me.
Now what? (He laughs a crazy laugh)
Take both swords, as I have said time and time again, and blend them.
Blend the swords?
Mock me all you want. It is you who are seeking help, not I. Blend the swords. You must see that they are one. You must see that there is no separation. This division you create in your mind is the root of your dilemma. Your heart sees the truth. Do not give either sword more importance over the other. Each wants dominance. You are not of this world but you must play by its rules and then transcend. It is the only way. Place these swords over the flame of life and let them melt into each other. Let them become something else, something new, like Art.
I am...
Stuck?
No. This is not it. You choose to be stuck. Because you want control. You will never overcome like this.
The Chariot is all about control.
No, the Chariot is about applied force and will, one who is certain of what must be done. You'd like for Life to decide for you. You give all of your power away. Your need to control and keep everything neat and tidy is your weakness and one that you must transform. Control leads to a place of stagnation. Applied force is something entirely different. Sometimes, one must submit to see their own strengths. You do not need to submit for you already see but pretend not to. Wake up, I say. Wake up.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Dear Mary
Tell me Mary. What am I to do? It’s you and I, every night, whether in the bath or on my bed, my sofa, in the kitchen. You speak but I do not hear you. No, no. This is incorrect. I do hear you. It’s just that I don’t understand what you mean by what you say, what you communicate. You do not speak like us mortals. And I hear like one.
You know that I long. You know that this is not enough. You know that I dream. You know that for some of us, this dream is an impetus for more. You do not judge me although I fear your gaze. I fear the unknown and what is.
When the water comes down up from these pipes and through these walls, I am reminded of my wholeness and my nothingness. I did not know how water could be my refuge. When I close my eyes, I pretend, I imagine what your voice sounds like in the spaces between and in drops. You know that I increase the pressure in the hopes I will hear you better. When the water comes down hard against my skin, I remember myself. I remember you.
I must admit, the water is also a form of distraction, a distraction from mindless chatter. It is not a form of escapism, I assure you. If anything, I’m drawn ever more close to you. Better you than anything or anyone else. This is for certain. I do not want to waste a single second, not a breath on anything other than what is real. . .for me. Should anyone tell me what I am best to set my mind on, what I am to do to be, what is worthy of my time and my heart, they will be ignored especially when wisdom and advice appear to be accompanied by insincerity and hypocrisy. No, no, no. The taste is heavy with metal in my mouth. Yes, they will continue to be ignored. And because of this, I shall become stronger.
I feel the blue that is you. You and I haven’t always been close. You had never been my first choice. It was He I went to, I prayed to, I spoke to, like friends, like family. Now, it is you. It is a feminine thing, I’m sure. You represent strength and beauty. You carry the sword and the wand, the cup and the pentacle. You are gentle when you need to be and stern as well. Good for the soul.
Thank you my Mother for being patient, kind and true. I am learning to hear with my heart, my beautiful heart. God Willing, and with time, I hope to perfect, to make use of this gift, so that I may serve you better, for we both know, I have not served you enough and not from the right place. May I, too be true. And when you see that I have gone astray, when you see that I am about to make a grave mistake, may you intersect, intercede, may you present yourself in all your glory, as a form of grace, of mercy.
I thank you kindly in advance.
With love and humility,
Grace
You know that I long. You know that this is not enough. You know that I dream. You know that for some of us, this dream is an impetus for more. You do not judge me although I fear your gaze. I fear the unknown and what is.
When the water comes down up from these pipes and through these walls, I am reminded of my wholeness and my nothingness. I did not know how water could be my refuge. When I close my eyes, I pretend, I imagine what your voice sounds like in the spaces between and in drops. You know that I increase the pressure in the hopes I will hear you better. When the water comes down hard against my skin, I remember myself. I remember you.
I must admit, the water is also a form of distraction, a distraction from mindless chatter. It is not a form of escapism, I assure you. If anything, I’m drawn ever more close to you. Better you than anything or anyone else. This is for certain. I do not want to waste a single second, not a breath on anything other than what is real. . .for me. Should anyone tell me what I am best to set my mind on, what I am to do to be, what is worthy of my time and my heart, they will be ignored especially when wisdom and advice appear to be accompanied by insincerity and hypocrisy. No, no, no. The taste is heavy with metal in my mouth. Yes, they will continue to be ignored. And because of this, I shall become stronger.
I feel the blue that is you. You and I haven’t always been close. You had never been my first choice. It was He I went to, I prayed to, I spoke to, like friends, like family. Now, it is you. It is a feminine thing, I’m sure. You represent strength and beauty. You carry the sword and the wand, the cup and the pentacle. You are gentle when you need to be and stern as well. Good for the soul.
Thank you my Mother for being patient, kind and true. I am learning to hear with my heart, my beautiful heart. God Willing, and with time, I hope to perfect, to make use of this gift, so that I may serve you better, for we both know, I have not served you enough and not from the right place. May I, too be true. And when you see that I have gone astray, when you see that I am about to make a grave mistake, may you intersect, intercede, may you present yourself in all your glory, as a form of grace, of mercy.
I thank you kindly in advance.
With love and humility,
Grace
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