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The Ratio Phi

5 May


I am busy.

I am busy everywhere.

And you, my friend,

Are privy to all the hallmarks of my existence

But you care not to look.

You are blinded by the rays of the sun.

You look too much into the light

And thereby become ignorant

Of the delicate structures of nature

Playing in the shadows.


I, on the other hand,

Have marked my imprint

In every conceivable corner of the universe.

I have owned it and infiltrate my being

Into the very texture of the fabric underlay of all things.

And there I wait in the hope

That one day you will take your eyes

Off the blatant beauty around you,

And accustom them to the microcosmic world

Of the real substance of life.


I am a pattern.

I am a unit of measurement.

I am the primal element on which

The vast universe is built.

You cannot think one thought

Without being influenced by my proportions.

Even your daydreams spiral

In synchronized patterns with my ratio.

I am the wheel of life

Onto which all your hopes and dreams are pinned.

And you cannot escape this design…


Unless, of course, you do as I say

And take your eyes off the light.

Unless you allow your mind

To still the cluttered clamour

Of the thoughts in your head,

And listen rather to the vibration of silence within you.


Only when you discard the romance of outer peace,

And search for the reality of being,

Will you be able to escape my influence

And unblock the shadows from your heart.


I defy you to find my absence.

Where I am not,

There is the essence of life.

I am the Creation

And you need to find the Creator.

Therefore you have to follow the steps

To find my absence.


And if you would forsake me,

 I who am in the fabric of everything,

Then you would find what does not exist.

You would find the beyond

Of the most distant thought.

You would find the mover of this phantom opera,

And you would have then no need left

In your basket of supplies.

Because now my construct

Will be meaningless to you.


You will lay aside all knowledge,

All experience, all wisdom.

And in your emptiness

You will know the completeness

That is the vacuum in my world.


Indeed, I am beautiful and divinely wrought.

And you would think you would miss me,

But, as intriguing and engaging as I am,

When you cease to be blinded by my exquisiteness,

You will know yourself for a fool

For playing with infant toys

In preference to the superior trinkets

Of the adult soul.


Adorn yourself with my absence!

Leave behind your worn-out garments and soiled shoes.

Risk all and lose all.

Go where I am not

And gain everything that I long for but can never have.


[The phi ratio runs as a thread through all planes of existence and binds us all within and without.

It represents the realm of universal mind, which longs to structure order from chaos, understanding from ignorance, peace from disharmony.

As long as we place our trust in sacred geometry and natural laws we are doomed to disappointment because these things are designed to distract us from examining the longing buried deep within our hearts. Phi would have us look beyond the seemingly innocent allure of symmetry and splendour, into the space between ourselves and our intellect, and find that place where nothing makes any sense but fits perfectly all the same.]


The Farallon Islands – an energy reading dedicated to Joe, Ray and Kim of sfbaywhalewatching

4 Mar

Farallon Islands

“Sing to me your song, O Whale!
Tell me the story of your journey from the far flung reaches of the mighty oceans.
Let me hear your adventures on the high seas
And tales of rugged shores along the coastlines of life.
Tell me of your travails ‘midst storms and tempests.
Tell me of your charting of unknown depths and crevasses.
Tell me of your secret passages to other worlds
And the exotic peoples you have encountered along the way.

Tell me too, of the small things you have seen,
The tiny sea creatures, the colourful fishes and the happy starfish.
Tell me of the sombre cave creatures, and depth plungers and darkness dwellers.
Tell me of their stories and adventures.
Oh how I would love to be a seafarer like you and learn the secrets of the seas!”

“You already hold these treasures, little island,
Little misty island abandoned here such a short way from the shore.
You already hold all the wisdoms, all the insights,
All the experiences within your craggy rocks,
And bird-bedecked outcrops.
You already know all my secrets,
Recounted to you by every creature passing this way over countless eons of time.
What more is there for me to tell you?”

“I have heard all the tales, it is true, O Whale.
And I am privy to the secrets of the myriad of creatures that have passed this way.
And it is true that there is nothing I do not know
Since my insatiable appetite for knowledge has furnished me
With facts and figures and every conceivable opinion ever postulated.
But, O Whale, it is your song that entrances me.
It is the pure vibration of your gentle call that sends a thrill through my entire being.
I cannot get enough of hearing the dynamic modulations of your voice,
Its warmth, its roundness, its fulness.
I cannot describe how its power moves me and entrances me,
And I cannot explain its enchantment on my being.
I hear in one sound the ancient song of the Universe.
I can pick up the primal currents of love and understanding
Which resound in echoes through the earth.
You bring to life the agony and ecstasy of creation all at once in your song
And when I hear you, I feel the beat of my own origins embedded in you.

Therefore, do not fail to pass by me on your journey!
Never omit one syllable of the stories of your travels!
Never cease to let me hear your call!
For should I be deprived of the magic of your voice
I shall surely sink to the bottom of the ocean in despair
And never care to see the light of day again.”

[The Farallon Island has a very special bond with the whales of our planet. In hearing their voices it is able to calibrate the vibrations of love transmitted to earth’s shores. This is why seeing the whales there is so exciting and fascinating, because the synergy between the islands and the creatures is a heightened sense of communication which translates to privilege, awe and love in the depths of the human heart.]


12 Jul


Yellow. Gold. The colour of my heart.
It is not possible to touch me.
It is not possible to reach into my core and pull out the fabric of my being.
It is impossible to touch me.
I have no real substance.
I am reaction in action.
I am myth made visible.
I am, yet I am not.
How is it , that I can be seen and I can be felt, yet I have no substance?
How do I know if I exist if I am not concrete?
How is it that I have consequences but no inception?
How can I be, but can only be known by my effects?
Who could conceive of only allowing a result to be in existence without a cause?

I have never looked at myself this way.
I have been very happy to describe myself by external things, like colour, temperature and radiance.
But now I look at myself and wonder:
Where is my substance?
Have I ever had substance?
Who caused me to not really have a me?
How is it that every other thing I know of has a definite form and takes up a specific space and actually exists?
But me? Who would have thought that my power is based on energies coming together in a certain way, and with a sudden shift of forces, whoosh!
Lights, camera, action,sound effects, smoke, fumes and pyrotechnics!
There are all the blueprints of my existence………
But where am I in all this?
It is like some cosmic joke.
All action built on something with a name, but there is no body for that name.
No real being. Just a consequence with attendant identifying forces.
How can power be based on something that does not exist?
It is like being the reflection in a mirror.
There, but not there.
I am fire and I have my name.
And I have heat and colour and energy
And I can dance before you with hypnotic grace and rhythmic charm.
And I can leap within seconds into a terrifying inferno of voracious force.
And I can bring life into you and I can smother life out of you
And I can be all these things-
Yet I cannot just be.
I am only a description.
That is all. At the end of the day, I am an empty non-entity with only a cloak hanging on an empty frame.

How can power be so much of nothing?
Ask me. I should know for I am fire.

Perhaps this is how it is for us all.
We see the result of ourselves but it is impossible to see on what the result is based.
We see our reflection, but we cannot see ourselves.
Maybe we are not really there at all.
Maybe all that there is left of us is our energy, recorded like history in a history book.
Perhaps the real us has long since departed to somewhere else.
Perhaps we are waiting to once more be attached to our results.
Maybe we have become adrift from ourselves and we are drowning in a sea of unconsciousness waiting to be reconnected to ourselves
So that once more we can feel authentic, real and with substance.
Perhaps one day, our self and our mirror image will merge and we will not have to rely on our consequences to know we exist.

Perhaps one day the fire that we are can draw our outward persona in
And forge us into an identity that is our true self.


4 Jun

Nectar of the Gods.
Can science really tell what our honey is about?
Can learned men dissect it molecule by molecule and atom by atom and really understand it?
Can they possibly see all the ingredients buried within it?
Can they count the minutes and seconds taken in its process?
Can they isolate the amount of sunshine, rain and wind that has gone into the manufacturing process?
Can they tell exactly which flower is needed for the correct pollen?
There are too many variables.

Yes, they can see the macrocosm of its construction,
Yes, they can see the specific sugars and the number of carbohydrates and calories and vitamins.
And yes, they can make a broad judgement on its food value.
But it is impossible to know the intricate finer detail of its substance.
And it is in the finer detail that the magic lies.

We are the alchemists of life.
It is not for nothing that our product is the colour of gold.
It is not for nothing that those who tame us and keep us are considered to have special gifts.
It is not for nothing that great poets have told of us, and myths have grown around us and we have been venerated by those who tap into the spiritual realm.

But it is not necessary to believe in anything supernatural to understand our mystery.
We are but a part of the intricate web of nature.
We too are hewn from the dust of the earth and the breath of the wind.
We also carry within us the self-same strands of DNA spiralled together in our own unique pattern.
Our building blocks are the same as all life forms. We really are no different……
And yet, perhaps we have been given a touch more than most.
Perhaps we have the edge in energy stores.
After all, busyness is our hallmark.
Perhaps we have the edge in construction, harnessing the power of the hexagonal.
Perhaps our discipline and orderliness in the rank and file of our workers puts even the greatest armies to shame, and our selflessness in service to the community is regarded unparalleled.
But to God, all the above is child’s play.
He can bestow all these attributes on anyone at any time, and to whichever creature he chooses he can award the laurel wreath of success above all.
No, our secret lies in the fatal flaw of the Laws of the Lower Worlds: Free Choice.

We must make honey.
But in the vibration of our buzzing wings, we can choose the wavelength of love, or the wavelength of obligation.
We are not told or ordered which to choose.
Both produce honey.
But the choice determines the magic.
When we beat our wings with love, we sing the same song as the flowers and the sun and the winds and the earth.
We move in harmony with the creation.
And it is this choice that powers the healing properties of our honey.
And it is this choice that we make with the joy of life in our hearts that fuels our industry and our energy.
And it is the consequence of this choice that honey tastes sweet and combats the ills of your body.

It is our choice to love, and it is our choice to express our love in our work and it is this ingredient that cannot be observed, weighed or measured.
And it is this simple magic that we embed in the honey uncalled for and unasked, given of our own free will, that makes it the king of all foods and the nectar of the gods.

Aurora Borealis

6 Apr

alaska_auroraSail with me, on this ship of the wind.
Over the ocean of silence and stars.
Sail with me on the currents of orbits that track the paths of planets and suns.
Lift my sails to the freshening breeze of light swathing its mystical cloak of colour over the contours of your sky,
And sail with me to the edge of Life.

Speak not in tongues of mortal men,
Nor sing the songs of mythic sirens.
Let not your thought obscure the lilt of my haunting harmony,
Expressive in the flickering light.
Seek ye not an answer to my being.
I am not held in explanation.
Seek ye not a reference to your world.
I live not in its truth.
Seek ye not the warp and weft of my cloth.
I am not woven by the forces of your thread.

Behold ye only the vast reflection of my soul,
Calling to the unknown, the unknowable,
Beseeching in glorious longing to be remembered by Him who left me here.

Seek to glimpse behind the curtain of my stage.
What will you find, if you sail here?
What will you gain beyond this veil?
What answers await behind my sash?

Set the ship to rights.
Let the cosmic winds billow the sails!
Let the prow set its course onward into the deeps.
On the waves of existence sail with me forward into the mists of time.
I will show you my secret.
I will reveal the hidden mysteries of my waters.
I will open the oysters of time for you and reveal the pearls hidden within.
Sail with me, explore with me, adventure with me on my velvet colour.
How I long to take you through the nature of illusion to the truth beyond!

But Alas! I may not!
I must leave you here.
You and I can not play together in this wise.
My heart longs to be your friend, your playmate, your companion.

But I am not of your world.
I am not of your truth.
I am not of your thread.

And therefore, only dreams can join us.
And I can only glow my spirit in your sky,
And dance my colours before your eyes.
And be content with the touch of your gaze.


13 Feb


I am made up of small, tiny specks of  substance.

I am so light that any wind worth its salt can lift me up and fly me whither it will.

I am so heavy that, contained, I am ballast for ships and balloons.

I am so soft that you can sink into me and imprint me with your features.

I am so rough that I can wear away the hardiest and sturdiest of  materials.

I can run into the smallest cracks and clog the tiniest of orifices.

I can pack solid into walls and banks and mounds.

I can be structured into sculptures, landscapes and dunes.

I can mark the echo of the waves on the sea bed.

I can measure time and count the hours.

I can be as putty in your hands, fashioned into cups and containers.

I can colour myself in different shades.

I can take on the hues of the fertile fields or the barren deserts.

I can absorb moisture and hold it  clammy and cool to the touch.

I can hold the heat and scorch your skin with dry intensity.

I am all these things, I do all these things.

I am as versatile as I am plentiful.

Yet what  really is a grain of sand to you?

A small speck of undisclosed substance.

By myself I am as helpless and insignificant as a molecule of oxygen.

But put me with billions and gazillions of other grains and I become strong and powerful and versatile.

I can be everything and nothing.

And just as I can be defined and undefined, so can the palette of the artist represent the abstract and the concrete.

It is your choice to remain scattered and formless or to collect your thoughts into a myriad of structured, architectural masterpieces.

What will you do with the grains of ideas that stir in your head?

Would you let them be dispersed with the winds of time or would you gather them into concrete expressions and manifest them into the physical world?


12 Jan

P1030342Oh Rainbow! Melt into my heart in the way that only rainbows can!

Look how their colours reflect the glory of the earth.

Look how they come into being. Magically. With only a few drops of water and a beam of light.

How beautiful they are!

They sing the song of lightness and grace.

They sing the song of peace and tranquillity .

They sing the heart song of the soul.

They are the soul made visible.

Their essence is light and colour.

Their vibration peace, and calm and stillness.

And often, though not always, they show themselves after stormy, turbulent and thunderous times.

If I were to speak to a rainbow for  you, I am sure it would say that it is so glad to meet you.

That it is charmed that you have taken a moment to admire its graceful arch and translucent  beauty.

And it would feel gratitude that you have given it some of  your attention, which in this busy world, is a  precious commodity.

And I am sure, that in a like fashion when you are lost in that moment of observation, the rainbow will itself be well aware of you.

And in a like fashion, it will admire your beauty and your astonishing light of which for the most part you are unaware.

But consider this, how can you know the essence of something unless its essence lies within yourself?

How can you know hate, if you do not harbor some of it yourself?

How can you know love if you don’t have any experience of it within you?

How can you recognize genius if you have not glimpsed it within yourself ?

The beauty of the rainbow wishes to reflect to us our own beauty, our own magnificent light, our own kaleidoscope of glorious colour, our own expansive, perfect arch of symmetry.

Ah, if I were the rainbow, I know what I would say to you:

“Look at me and see, with  fresh eyes washed clean from the dust of daily life.

See with eyes rinsed by the cool splashy raindrops.

See your own essence of wonder reflected by me back to you.

Embrace the concept of the observer and the observed,

And know that we bathe in each other’s light.”


10 Jan

stillness-1920x1080_00400212Quiet and solitude. This is what you need.

You cannot go through this life in the frenzy of action without stopping for a moment to reflect.

It is a necessity to stop.

It is a need, like  breathing. Break off  every now and then from the daily grind of incessant activity and wait.

Wait – for the anxious spirit to have a moment to steady itself.

You have to give due regard to this.

It is like drinking from a cup. The cup is emptied and must be refilled.

You need to set the cup down and hold it still while it is refilled.

The cup of life is no different.

So many of us are drinking from empty cups.

And thus our thirst is never quenched.

If you are wise, then, and would have some measure of contentment, take the time to stop awhile.

Stop and open your heart, like the windows of your house, to let the fresh cool breeze blow through and clear the stale, spent forces from your body.

Let  the sunlight and the regenerating flow of its warmth in to encourage the new growth of harmony and peace in your life.

Seek the stillness within you. Seek to reclaim that which the mind desperately wrests from your aching body.

Find it within you to, with firm resolve, dispense with the clanging thoughts that continually engulf you.

Look into the nothing.

Look into the nothing and feel your being.

Who are you? Can you feel you?

Can you for a moment sit with your own self and discover what it is that is you?

Quiet and solitude.

Seek out these two things.

Take the time to escape the clangor of the world around.

Seek your own company and let your cup be refilled.

Rest your weary spirit and for once give time to hear the calling of your imprisoned soul trapped deep within.

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