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The Ratio Phi

5 May

golden-ratio-overview-360x200

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.]

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Judas Iscariot

22 Sep


I follow the thread of the tale.
I see it has wound its way,
Ever present in the history of the soul,
Through the passage of time
Connecting each word,
Each paragraph,
Each chapter,
Into the fabric of a life.

In its meandering it has taken on a glow.
A gentle, quiet glow of effervescent silver sparks.
And if you look closely you can see them pulsating,
Like tiny explosions, one after the other,
In an electric display of miniature fireworks.
Yet there is no heat. It is cool and calming.

And as I follow this storyline,
Passing it gently through my hands,
I come to a place where I feel and see an anomaly.
It is as if the cord is broken, but it is not.
I can feel the gap and there is a definite break.
But no matter how I hold it or pull it on each side,
The apparent gap stays the same as if joined by an invisible link.

There are no sparks here, there is no glow,
Only a seemingly empty space
Representing a break –
But refusing to act as one.

I am intrigued.
I go through all the thoughts I can possibly find in my head
To explain this phenomenon.
Ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous,
The only one I can find that makes any sense
Is that there must be something there,
Its just I cannot feel it or touch it.
I have no sense that can detect it.
Therefore it must come from a world
Other than the physical one
I am inhabiting at this very instant.
Perhaps in that world,
Only the missing link can be perceived,
And the rest of the cord, which I have in my hands,
Is not visible there.

So now what?
My active imagination then begins to wonder
What lead am I following?
Whose strand of life is this?
If I could know that,
Maybe I would have a clue to that other world.

I feel a great sense of sadness welling up inside me.
As I hold this cool, feather-like strand,
I sense its loss and longing.
I sense its wishing that things could have been different.
I start to feel that it is trying to tell me
Of something that happened,
Which was unavoidable, destined and inevitable.

I sense and hear the anguish in its voice
Of how events were written into the history books
Long before they occurred.
And it sings to me the sad song of its fate,
Caught up in the rotating planets
And the coincidence of its being there,
Synchronizing with the juxtaposition
Of the earth, the sun and the moon.

And it whispers to me,
How in that unconscious moment,
When, hidden from the eyes of the seeing world,
The soul of a betrayer slipped into a next door world
To avoid the karmic debt of an allotted task.

One cannot move between worlds without a dire consequence.
Only he who has good reason is given the choice
To abandon all experience
And erase all memories of existence.
Only one who has the strength of Titans
Can accomplish this kind of task,
And only one who has earned the grace of God
Can expect to survive the challenge.

The strand becomes quiet in my hands.
I feel it is looking for past memories
Somewhere in its lost history.
Gently, I make a loop.
I bypass the gap allowing the two sides to touch.
I fashion a knot to keep them together.
It looks unprofessional and unwieldy, but no matter.
I feel a quickening in the cord
An electricity and a renewed vigour.

I get the impression
That an unexpected reprieve
Can come our way sometimes.
Not quite perfect,
But enough to allow us to move on
And pass the hands of destiny.

I get the feeling that we all once,
In some way or other,
Have had to swallow a bitter pill
And suffer the consequences
Through no fault of our own
Except the circumstances of our birth.

I begin to understand,
That for one such man,
An appointed task of such heinous proportions
Fell on his shoulders,
And that only the desperate measure of an eclipse
And a portal to another world,
Could save him
From the madness
Of bearing his destined guilt.

[Judas Iscariot, due to his lineage and destiny, was the only possible candidate available to be
selected to play the part of the betrayer. In the story, which needed to unfold, only the unique planetary alignments and his own mystic capacities could allow him to escape the epic karmic debt
he would have had to have incurred: by him being there but not being there, at the same time.]

The Crucifixion of Christ

17 Aug

I hang my head in shame.
I am forever condemned.
As a prisoner of my own indiscretion
I have forfeited my life to an
Eternity of hell.

No one can take this burden from me,
No one can release me from the chaos of darkness,
No one can ever strip away the horror of my own iniquity.
I have been tricked by my own mind
Into committing this foul and heinous crime
On the pretext of justice
Oblivious of any wretched guilt consequent to my greed.

I cannot beg forgiveness
I cannot ask for mercy.
I cannot allow any leniency or
Relaxation of the laws of clemency.

I, of all people, have allowed
That which should never have been sanctioned,
To be actioned.
I have allowed,
Knowing the colour of innocence
And the colour of guilt,
A bloodbath of torture and cruelty.

Now my hands are stained
Permanently with the slaughter of
The innocent
The kind
The just
The compassionate
The gentle
The loving
The champion of mankind.
And from this I can never hide.

There are many reasons for murder.
And every one has, at its core,
Some semblance of justification
Some sense of reasonableness
Some grotesque payment of debt.
And as an administrator of peace and political will,
I have demanded and ordered
Brutal acts of violence
To quell the discontent of the masses
In order to rule according to the sentiments of the era
And the demands of the title of kingship.

But this,
This conundrum placed before me,
This impossible, unpalatable circumstance,
This dilemma set at my feet
Which threatens the very core of my fragile control,
This distasteful, despicable obnoxious affair
Looms in front of me
Like a grotesque monster breathing into my face
Its fetid breath of noxious vapour
Demanding retribution for a crime
That does not exist.

I am comfortable here
Curled up in the armchair of my
Remorse and guilt.
Though I am thrown into the darkest abyss
Of torture chambers and horrors
No pain can be too great,
No night nor day too long,
No event can be so cataclysmic
That the Universe of evil is smashed upon my head,
For me to wish myself dislodged from this unspeakable suffering.

And with open eyes and outstretched arms
I beseech the heavens
To ensure I am immortal.
For death, even at the end of eternity
Will be too light a sentence
For the poisoned arrow of my sin.

I look into the eyes of my plaintiff.
I see the depth of his compassion.
I see the lineage of his soul
And I see the grace of God
Enveloping him in a translucent, effulgent light.

I am a man of the world.
I have lived amongst the richest and poorest of souls.
I have been graced with an intelligence and perception
Way beyond my just deserts.
I have been given the sharp cunning of the fox
And the guile of the snake.
I have been given the strength of the bear
And the perception of the eagle.
I have risen among the ranks of the generals and the nobility.
And I have paid my dues to each and every one
With favours promised behind closed doors.
I have played the game of power
With the skill and genius of the professional,
And I have relished my advancement
Unashamedly at the expense of others.
And I have always known the price to be paid for this –
Long term pain for short term gain.
And for me it has always been the victory of the moment
Which fuels the blood in my veins
And the triumphal drumbeat of my heart.

Yes, I am a man of the world
And the world of man has lain in my palm of my hand,
Mine, all mine,
Like taking candy from a baby,
As natural as the playground bully,
As effortless as the tattle-tale words of the teacher’s pet.

And each move of mine
Has been as calculated and as strategic
As the greatest army generals that ever lived,
For the purpose of immediate personal gain
Regardless of the cost to any
Unfortunate who may cross my path.

Most people would see me as cruel, heartless and uncompromising.
And in dealing with the world, I am,
For that is the game of the era in which I find myself.
And I respect the rules of this engagement.
Its a dog-eat-dog time,
Kill or be killed,
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
No quarter given nor taken.
Mercy is weakness exposed
As fodder for the adversary.
To the victor goes all the spoils,
And the vanquished lie as
Rotting carcasses in the barren
Plains of contempt.

And into the midst of this
Shark-infested ocean of corruption,
Here, amidst our battered sensibilities
And greed for self,
Into this pit of filth and betrayal,
Comes this quiet, gentle man,
Who only seeks to heal the wounded,
Broken heart of humanity,
Restore the memory of our own heritage
And remind us of the meaning of life.

I remember him.
In my dreams I have seen him.
In the recessed vaults of my memory
I have stored his image.
I had hoped to let sleeping dogs lie.
I had quelled the nagging reprimands
Prompted by his image.
I had managed to sidestep the possibility of this encounter
By being absent from my duties.
I had begun to believe in my own power.
I had managed to conveniently forget this day might ever come.

Hell bent on my own mission of destruction
I had forgotten that even the best laid plans can go awry………

And in one split second,
I am confronted by the baying masses of wolves outside my enclave,
And the pure gracious spirit before me
Of a man of God.

The story of my actions is well documented.
It would be pointless to revisit them here.
Each word, each question, each answer
Is indelibly marked in the history of mankind.
My journal of political suicide is forever exposed to the public
And in the passing of my damning judgement,
I damned myself.

This is no ordinary man.
This is not your run of the mill political pawn,
This is no murdering, plundering beast of wanton destruction.
This is no ordinary mortal reaping the reward of past indiscretions.
Here is a pure and gentle being,
Standing quiet and still in the will of his own god,
Not wishing for miracles
Which would only feed into the superstitious minds of his persecutors,
Wanting only to show his people
How to serve God, unquestioningly,
By example,
Under the most dangerous and trying of circumstances:
The sacrifice of the lover for the beloved
Encapsulated in this significant spotlight of time,
Here at my feet, in my domain.

And seeing all this, as clearly as I see the usual
Strategies of war demarcating the boundaries of my life,
I, for once, so used to betraying my conscience
For the principle of self gain,
Mistaking the wretched knot bound in the pit of my stomach
For illness instead of fear,
Wantonly throw in my lot
With the baying pack of ravenous wolves.

Cold and wretched is this space of self loathing,
Cruel is the torture of mistaking the truth for a game.
How bitter and damning is this hindsight
Of living with the knowledge that,
For all my astuteness and genius,
I missed the only chance I had in a million lifetimes
Of redemption in the sight of God.

Time

18 Jun

I have four letters in my name,
Four unprepossessing letters.
I am written down in your book so easily,
So recognizably,
So succinctly,
I am impressed.
A four-letter word,
An unprepossessing, recognizable, succinct word
That can only be meaningful
In the context of human existence.

I am measured by the demarcation of long and short intervals
Etched onto the wheel of evolution
And pocketed into eras of past, present and future.
I am inexorably expressed in the constant churning of day into night
And the battering of interplanetary revolutions
Upon the temples of our own solar systems.

I am wound tightly into the cogs of the seasons
And inked indelibly into earth’s orbit of the sun.
I mark everything in your existence with a yardstick
By which you can judge your position
In relation to everything surrounding your consciousness.
I am a concept from which you can never be free.
I am the sentinel of this universe
And you are captive in my stockade.

It would be best if you made friends with me.
My parameters are set,
And although I move constantly
I am immovable.
‘Inevitable’ is my hallmark description,
My force is untamable and impossible to arrest.
I am the intrinsic fabric of this universe’s construction.
I am the framework on which the system is built.
I came first and the decorations later.
If you strip away every element of human existence,
It is only at the stopping of the clock
That dissolution really occurs.
The whole illusion is built, essence upon essence,
From the first unit of an event inserted
Into the demarcation of an interval.

Knowing all this is of no use except to help you understand
That without me existence is non-existent,
And that you had best come to terms
With the limitations I saddle you with
So that you do not leave my jurisdiction
Before harvesting the crop that can only be grown here.

For within my confines
Lies the treasure of knowing mortality.
Concealed among the chaff and husks of the harvest
Lie the sweet, edible grains of understanding and realization.
Buried between the layers of threshing and sifting
Hidden truths are to be found
That are apparent nowhere else.

And it is because of my gift to you,
That of finality and the perception of limited resources,
That you are compelled to seek the fruit of human birth
And partake of its sweetness
Before it drops to the ground
And decays,
Its value wasted –
Spoilt and unrecognized.

[Time is an extraordinarily valuable tool that longs to be seen for its true value to us in this finite paradigm. Its constant ‘breathing down our necks’ wills us to wake up and perceive the true value of life.
Short of being able to speak to us directly, it does all in its power to make us uncomfortable in the full glare of its presence. It invades our every day with an urgency in whatever form it can manifest, goading us into action to serve our own souls as best we can given the circumstances in which we are placed.]

Light

5 May

I sink into the soft featherbed.
My weight lowers me down and snuggles me close to the soft linen bed sheets.
The feather-light down duvet whispers its warmth over me
And creeps into each and every air pocket it can find
So I am enveloped in a cocoon of lightness and warmth.
As I drift into the hazy dreams of sleep,
I forget my connection to reality,
And here, with no control,
I am surrendered to the protocols of other worlds.

Exactly when and where do I find this point at which I exit my reality
And enter this other world?
Exactly how do I access this dimension?
Exactly which parts of me accompany me into the new state?
It is so intriguing:
Realizing that I have this ability to step from one state to another
Like a magician.

I know only two keys to this locked door:
I have to shut my eyes
And I have to switch off my mind.
Only in darkness and absence of thought comes sleep.
And it is at the instance of achieving a sleep state
That the portal opens and I transform into an ethereal being
In another world.

When I come back to this world,
It is almost always that I become vaguely aware of myself in my bed,
And then I open my eyes.
I may remember the other world or not,
But I have remembered enough times to know that
I have lived in dreams.

So now I wonder.
Is it like a contrary mirror that when I open my eyes to wake here,
I have shut them there.
When I become conscious here
Have I become equally unconscious there?
Maybe the reality is that I never sleep.
Maybe my perceptions of the reality of my dreams are distorted
By the different laws operating in the other dimension.
Perhaps my experience of the oblivion I feel in my deepest sleep
Is merely the cancelling out of two opposing emotional vibrations
Of equal intensity.
Perhaps life on this inner plane
Is similar to life on the outer plane
Where sleep patterns are necessary to keep a body revitalized and replenished
But the spirit is always moving and conscious.

So then, perhaps consciousness is just a wave –
A kind of binary pulse that slips from one dimension to the next
In an irregular pattern.
And each pattern is unique to each individual.
And perhaps this pattern of being here and then there,
A slipping in and out of our own physical form,
Is like a light being switched on and off.
But the light does not disappear.
It just moves from one room to the other through the switch –
Its just that we can’t see it going through to the other side,
And we can’t control anything there.

I like to see where I am and what I am doing.
I like to be aware of what is around me,
And I do not like to be cooped up in a dark, dingy room
Feeling sorry for myself.
Light brings good cheer and understanding in my life,
And I can always feel the worth of a place
By the light that surrounds it.
What is this connection between my mood and light?
Why are the two so intricately entwined?
Why is it that the long nights of winter feel so heavy on my heart?
Is there some connection between the light around me
And my consciousness in this physical world?

Does the darkness around me echo my footsteps
In the corridor between my sleeping and waking worlds?
Does my psyche recognize the shadow of the sleep portal
In the shadows of this world?
Is the grey winter drizzle found in the path
Between one dimension and the next?

Perhaps for us, our real darkness of heart and soul
Is found in the transition from the consciousness
On either side of our existence,
And it is at this node where, for a time, we are lost to ourselves.
And perhaps this loss holds a fear, which is reflected in the physical darkness
Found in our earthworld.
When we sit at this node,
The crossing point from one place to the next,
Perhaps for a split second we cease to exist.
We are interrupted in life,
And we are separated from that which defines our existence:
The consciousness of light!
Perhaps it is the perception of light on all levels
That defines us as living.
Perhaps the secret of life is being able to be aware of light.
Perhaps light is the life force
That burns its way through our eyelids
And reflects itself into the retina of our eyes,
Nudging the mind into movement
And stirring our souls into breath.

Perhaps light is, by definition, life
And the ability to be conscious of it and unconscious of it
The duality of existence.

[Light is energy, a force whose inception cannot be pinpointed or discovered. It is more intrinsic to being than breathing. Our consciousness is an expression of light. Perhaps the more sophisticated our consciousness becomes the more light we are able to perceive. And as we grow in this super conscious ability, the less darkness there is in our direct experience, until at last, everything is light and we become so absorbed in that light that we become that light. And perhaps, it is at that point that we can say we have found and experienced God.]

The Soul – the true story of the sleeping beauty

4 Apr

Heart on fire.
Aflame, wildly aflame with the energy of Creation.
A towering inferno of white light
Incomprehensible in its magnificence
Awesome in its radiance
Its vastness way beyond the limits of the mind’s capability to imagine.
Vibrant with all-encompassing, self-certain belief in being.

Hasten yourself to me now.
Enter the hallowed portals within and destroy the rusted chains of past destiny.
Cut back the thorn forests encircling my castle walls.
Hew down the impenetrable, iron cladded wooden ramparts that guard the enclave.
Seek out the entrance to my tower,
I beseech thee.

Fear not the statued guards, washerwomen, dogs and servants.
Fear not the feasting courtiers asleep in their plates
Nor the king poised in mid-proclamation.
Find the staircase and climb, climb,
Climb to the very highest turret.
Find me. Find me asleep,
Transfixed in the spell of incalculable years.
Unbind the serpent coils that wind round me,
Choking the very breath from my body.
Find me! Find me O Prince of Light,
And wake me from the bewitching enchantment.
Kiss me; kiss me with the sweet softness of love and understanding.
Wake me; wake me from this mystery.
Bring me back to the world of life.

I have slept too long.
In countless dreams I have searched for you.
In countless forms I have longed to meet you.
In vast regions I have sought your sound, your light
But to no avail.
I am numbed in the paralysis of deep dreaming.
I am lost, buried in the embrace of a deceitful suitor,
Led into bondage by the drugged wine of illusion.

Only you can save me.
Only you can find me.
Drawn and directed by your heart, swollen with love and longing
Only you can you fight your way to find me.
Only your courage and sacrifice laid bare for all to see
Can slay the demons that encase me.
Only you, against all odds, can whisper those treasured words in my ear
And call me back from the waking dead.

[The soul’s journey is long and arduous. Bound by the four walls of creation, it seeks relentlessly the refuge of God. Ever hidden, ever present, the Ocean of Life tosses us on the stormy seas of existence.
Clad in beggar’s robes we see not our true reflection in the mirror of the world.
The radiance of the soul is beyond measure. Shrouded within each of us is the light of a thousand suns. We are hidden from ourselves to keep us trapped in the universe.
Oh that we could realize this and discover the awe of our own being!]

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