New website

www.jenniferhashmi.com

To grasp we have to reach.........

          When climbing the rock-face of life one can be subject to attacks of vertigo. These occur if one looks down, as it were, at memories of events or incidents which took place much earlier in the journey. The scene back there is awash embarrassments, horrors, and anxieties, so best not to look down!
          Keep looking up at the possibilities and prospects of all that is awaiting those who reach for the stars. They are there for us to grasp.

When the will is too weak for action....

          For a long time we entered the regions of border-land where the souls of those who have died reside, that is the ones who have not passed through to Heaven. In what sense I was there I have no idea. It was a mode of communication to perform a healing. We took with us light in one form or another to light up the passage-ways and corners where these souls hide from the light. For a long time we used to take up individuals and carry them to the door, as it were, into Heaven. They had gone beyond any ability to do this for themselves, or even to choose to.  Someone would be there to receive them. Sometimes this was an exhausting job as the person was weak and inert and very heavy. I would get a sense of the person though, whoever it was. One might argue that they should do according to their free will, but these were so-to-speak stretcher cases for whom free will no longer had any meaning. I was always under instruction from J.

         From "A Spiritual Diary"

Avalon

During the Glastonbury season recommended reading would be:-

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Glastonbury-Avalon-Heart-Dion-Fortune/dp/1578631572/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1372398346&sr=1-1&keywords=Glastonbury+-+Avalon+of+the+Heart

Turning as water into wine.......

Some of us read in newspapers this week of an Anglican priest frankly acknowledging he is atheist. He isn’t the only one, I have heard.

It is deeply puzzling that they should continue as clergymen, unless it is for the base practical reason that the salary, if not handsome, is at least a pension with the promise of a further pension later to boost that offered by the state. In a way the logic would be that since there is no God neither are any ethics attached to being paid in his name.

Presumably such priests had believed at one stage and had been willing to offer their lives in service to Christ. What had they expected in return that this faith gave out? The profession was a male bastion and its’ stronghold has been taken over to a large extent by women whose style and type of faith (if even that exists) is very different. Christianity was a man’s religion. The female clergy seem to adhere to that premise since they wear token male garments. 

But what about spirituality? What is that? I think it is a slow transition from the base to the refined. And if one were in a crucible under a bunsen burner one would find the process entailed much anguish. The rubble has to be burnt away. Are we the rubble or the refined ore?

In christian language this is the process of crucifixion. We need a narrative and that is the one given to us by Christ, who himself underwent the process. He was born a human baby with all that is entailed in any human life ahead of him. He showed us how it is done. 

What for? Well for the reason that the reality is there is only spirituality. A spiritual universe and a spiritual body. That’s all there is. We are to be transmuted from water of the earth to wine of the gods. Essentially we already are spiritual entities, but a journey or a process is the movement of the spirit. We are heading somewhere whether we like it or not. This isn’t a bus we can get off. 

If you think the idea that Jesus rose from the dead is preposterous, think transmutation. He showed us before our eyes that the world is not what we think it is. It is part of an eternal spiritual entity. We are of its essence. What we think we can see  (and remember Einstein – things are not as we see them even with these eyes)  is not as it looks. It isn’t. Jesus demonstrated  on our earthly level that all that we think we see is not as it looks. 

We are part of something wonderful and we need a compass. Jesus is a compass.  

Think rebirth. Why should this process be limited to one earthly experience. Why not many? Try past-life regression to discover what has happened before. This world seems to be a sort of gym for spiritual work-outs and training.

It may also be a means by which less refined levels of the spiritual universe are also refined by the action of the spiritual entities which choose to spend lives here, and usually really try to improve and help things along. Nearly everyone has some small ambition to make things better in his or her small corner. Such efforts are heartening. 

Clergy who are all at sea without a compass can go back to their New Testament, or maybe look around them to discover all the signs of green shoots sprouting up, and wonder from whence they receive their nutrients.  

More nuisance

Now I am receiving the attention of flf-course.com , which seems to be a British spam outfit. According to google it offers Kent beauties. Right.
Not through my blog please, robots or human.

Would blogsrating.pw/ and kmzackblooger.com and t.co/MaAptuGFVu also kindly give my blog a miss please?


http://www.tecnoxps.com/2012/08/how-much-spam-visit-your-blog-some.html

For anyone reading this post the above site gives a list of blog spam.
If you play dead for a while the spammers lose you. :)

from "The Aquarian Gospel of Jesus the Christ "- the Introduction

          "This philosophy recognises that all primordial substance is spirit; that matter is spirit moving at a lower rate of vibration, becoming, as one master expressed it, a coagulum......(see later*).....This primal substance is not relegated to any particular part of the universe, but is everywhere present. It is in fact the 'universal mind' of which our metaphysicians speak."

         * "The primary substance is of exquisite fineness and is so sensitive that the slightest vibration of our ether any place in the universe registers an indelible impression upon it."

          "Man cannot die. The spirit man is one with God, and while God lives man cannot die."

I walk the night

I walk the night

and hardly feel

the ground beneath my feet.

The soft breeze cools

the fidgety thoughts

and brings me news of other climes

where souls explore

the boundless sweep

of far-flung lands and times.

While here and now

the soul contracts

before the lash of words

which need response

and we must serve.

But when it can

the soul steps out

to ride the universe.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Gleanings-ebook/dp/B009YHVXSI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1370369044&sr=1-1&keywords=Gleanings%2F+Hashmi
 

Description of Jesus

Description of Jesus written to the Roman Senate at the time of Christ by Publius Lentulus, then Roman Proconsul in Judaea, a predecessor and friend of Pontius Pilate.

"This is a man of noble and well-proportioned stature, with a face full of kindness and firmness, so that the beholders both love him and fear him. His hair is the colour of wine" (probably tawny) "and golden at the root – straight and without lustre – but from the level of the ears curling and glossy, and divided down the centre after the fashion of the Nazarenes.

His forehead is even and smooth. His face without blemish and enhanced by a tempered bloom; his countenance ingenuous and kind; his beard is full, of the same colour as his hair, and forked in form; his eyes blue and extremely brilliant.

In reproof and rebuke he is formidable; in exhortation and teaching gentle and amiable of tongue. None have seen him to laugh, but many, on the contrary, to weep. His person is tall; his hands beautiful and straight. In speaking he is deliberate and grave and little given to loquacity; in beauty surpassing most men."

 

The other face of God........

          It is important I think for women priests to realize God as feminine. Unfortunately at the moment femininity is confused with sexiness which seeks to tantalise, manipulate and control.

          Femininity just “is”. It isn’t manufactured and it doesn’t want to seduce or control. And yet it can lead by being always just out of reach.

          Dog-collars, on the other hand, even on dogs, are worn for the purpose of being controlled. The wearers must not run off on whims of their own.

          How do women priest wish to appear really? Initially the issue was so dodgy that they probably didn’t want to create waves. The great ship of the Church must sail on as if nothing had happened. It was safe. Female clergy even donned their male colleagues’ clothing so as not to look threatening, or offend notions of propriety.

          To get round this in later years, concerned about their image, and not wanting to look dowdy or freaks to other women, some have now taken to wearing really sexy frocks or tops, but still with the man’s collar. It’s downright creepy.  And so confused.

          I think they need to meditate on the nature of the feminine. That is the nature of God as Mother. Somehow the aspect of Mother God has been lost in the Church, so possibly the clergy could go back and take a look at the feminine preserved in modern paganism.

          Femininity is seen abundantly in Nature, and is represented traditionally by the moon. It is not threatening. It does not seek to possess or control. It is a channel of the female nature of God, generous, forgiving, loving, and mystical. Women are not derivative. They are in their very nature the other face of God.

Gleanings

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Gleanings-ebook/dp/B009YHVXSI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1368198288&sr=1-1&keywords=Gleanings+Jennifer+Hashmi

The Buffalo

The buffalo plod heavily along the road

pulling loads their massive bodies were not made to haul.

The sun beats down remorselessly on head and spine.

It is a long way to the lake and evening time. 

The driver dozes back against his bales,

and wakes to urge his team to greater speed.

The buffalo continue, staring into space,

unmoved by pain, discomfort, wrath, or praise. 

Is a servant shocked at inconvenience?

A tractor angry when it’s short of oil?

As calves they had had thoughts of love and fun,

but these are long forgotten ‘neath the sun. 

What else is there but thirst and aching feet?

What else but burning back and chafing wood?

Then cool green water lapping o’er the spine

and refuge into sleep at evening time

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Gleanings-ebook/dp/B009YHVXSI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1370369044&sr=1-1&keywords=Gleanings%2F+Hashmi

He (she) is my................?

An Indian painter said of her husband that he was her roof, and of her lover that he was her sky. Which would most of us prefer of a spouse I wonder, or can some people be both roof and sky to others? 

Dawn

The waning moon hung in the apricot tree

like a giant orange left by some cuckolding squire.

The fragile branches seemed too frail

to bear the burden of its’ gold.

Ten minutes and the sky paled for dawn,

the tree now Cinderella in the morning light.

The crows croaked asthmatically to tell the world

the early rays shone low, the air hung cold. 

Twelve hours of reality to steer

till the return of intimacy and fun,

the night of illusion when the world is what we make it,

a place of love, of mystery, or horror,

a time for stories, make-believe, and laughter.

Silence waits unseen

for eyes, now blinded by the world,

to know again its secrets till the morrow.        

     http://www.amazon.co.uk/Gleanings-ebook/dp/B009YHVXSI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1370369044&sr=1-1&keywords=Gleanings%2F+Hashmi

Le Grand Meaulnes - translation

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Big-Meaulnes-Grand-Translated-ebook/dp/B009W5PSD8/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1365949591&sr=1-1&keywords=Le+Grand+Meaulnes+Jennifer+Hashmi

Near our house

A stench from the soul?

Unbridled hate is a visible sign of an insidious form of inner suicide.

I want more

If there's one thing history and life teach it is that embedded in the nature of things nemesis lies in wait for unbridled greed.

Journeys

The clock in the hall struck ten

as I climbed up the stairs to my bed,

and I thought of the thousands of times

I had slept and got up to its’ chime. 

My father was born in this house

and Grandfather lived here too,

and my daughter just then in her sweet sixteenth year

had grown up to the tick of that clock. 

We all reached our prime and declined

while its’ fingers pressed on round its’ face,

but what was its’ native connection

with the grey hairs adorning my head?

What had it even to do

with the rolling and vast universe?

If I marched now away through the stars

in my trendy seven-light-year-stride boots

my body would age, I am told,

with its’ personal velocity rate.

The planets would revolve many more times

to each new grey hair on my head.

If I carried the clock on my back

its’ tick would keep time with my boots. 

A super-giant star blooms and fades

to a rather deep scary black hole,

and a rose in the park flares and dies,

each fulfilling its’ own given nature.

Fruition, decay, are the law

which we cannot escape or reverse.

 

But that’s not the end of the story.

The decomposed matter remains

arranging itself in new forms

in an orderly cycle of birth out of death

and recomposed life from the dead.

Kierkegaard's crowd

I refered to Kierkegaard's book "The Crowd is Untruth" in my previous entry. Here I will quote a paragraph as an indication of what he says for those who may be interested.

          "A crowd - not this or that,  one now living or long dead, a crowd of the lowly or of nobles, of rich or poor, etc., but in its very concept - is untruth, since a crowd either renders the single individual wholly unrepentant and irresponsible, or weakens his responsibility by making it a fraction of his decision. Observe, there was not a single soldier who dared lay hands on Caius Marius; this was the truth. But given three or four women with the consciousness or idea of being a crowd, with a certain hope in the possibility that no-one could definitely say who it was started it, then they had the courage for it, what untruth! The untruth is first that it is "the crowd" which does what only the single individual in the crowd does. For a crowd is an abstraction which does not have hands; each single individual, on the other hand, normally has two hands, and when he, as a single individual, lays his two hands on Caius Marius, then it is the two hands of this single individual, not after all his neighbour's, even less the crowd's, which has no hands. In the next place, the untruth is that the crowd had "the courage" for it, for never at any time was even the most cowardly of all single individuals so cowardly as the crowd always is. For every single individual who escapes into the crowd, and thus flees ......contributes his share of cowardice to "the cowardice" which is the crowd.
          The crowd is untruth. There is therefore no-one who has more contempt for what it is to be a human being than those who make it their profession to lead the crowd."

          Copenhagen Spring 1847

          I have quoted here from the kindle edition and do not have the page number, but this passage is near the beginning. I have omitted a few lines where the dots are to cut down the length.  There is much more on this subject. In notes at the end of the book he clarifies,

          "I have never denied, that is in relation to all temporal, earthly, worldly ends the crowd can have validity, even its validity as a decisive court of last resort. But I am not speaking of such things. Seen ethico-religiously the crowd is untruth when it is taken as a valid court of last resort for what "the truth" is. "The crowd" here is understood as a purely formal conceptual definition, not what one otherwise understands by "the crowd". "The crowd" is the number. As soon as the numeral is at work, the "crowd" is "the crowd"."

 

The individual and the crowd

          I feel it is vital for children to learn to know themselves as individuals capable of thinking for themselves. They are tribal by nature and tend to follow anyone displaying leadership, but some seem to have degenerated into packs looking for prey. Their homes are failing to teach them self-worth and self-respect, so they can't stand alone on their own feet. They look for an identity in the pack.
          So (without government funding) I feel children in school need to be talked to by their teachers as individuals. In class they can be invited to stand up in turn to talk about some issue and end their account with a personal opinion. Or this may take the form of a debate with others invited to speak in response. The rest of the class will be expected to listen with respect.
          In private maybe children could be asked how they feel about any problems in the school or elsewhere, anything said in private being completely confidential. Where classes are unruly this might be the only way to start with.
          Hopefully in this way children can be challenged to think as individuals and have the originality not to follow a crowd for the sake of it.

          See "The Crowd is Untruth"  Kierkegaard

A Wedding Song

The river, dark, and brown, and deep,

flowed slow and heavy down the creek.
Beyond rose Holly Berry hill,
and on its’ peak the tower.

And then I saw a small green boat
emerge from out the hanging trees,
and at its’ oars a young girl sat
too still to row a boat.

As she neared I saw her hand,
and in its’ grasp a red-stained cloth,
her face was white as porcelain,
her cloak as black as silt.

Then with alarm I saw her slip
deep down inside the boat.
As just ahead the rapids plunged
I leapt into the brook,

and as we rushed towards the brink
I grasped the maid and pulled her out,
then dragged her back towards the shore
and laid her on the bank.

She began to wail and cry,
"Oh leave me Sir to do my will.
I have a mind to join them both
in payment for my sin."

"What ails you Mistress that you weep
and beg so young to leave this life?"
"My love lies dead in yonder tower,
my father sick with grief.

My suitor came with merry step
to meet my father old and frail,
to ask him for permission free
to marry me next June.

My brother leapt in mighty rage
and slew him with a shaft.
I flew at him and struck him down
 – the brother whom I loved.

So now they’re dead because of me,
and I must die for them."
"And this napkin? Whose is this?"
"’Tis from my loved one’s hand."

"But Maid wherefore your brother’s ire?
Why kill a suitor bold and fair?
How doth your father old and frail
left now without an heir?"

"John said he was a lying cheat
whom all the girls adored.
He loved me true, I know he did,
and would have been my lord.

John said he loved my face and wealth
and not my inner soul.
My father lies a-bed and weak,
and now I must be gone."

"Sweet maid how can I leave you here?
You’re wet and cold and need a fire.
Come to my house and I will send
a message to your Sire."

I took her to my humble cot
and did not tell her next of kin.
She milks my cows, and cooks my meals.
Next June I’ll have an heir.

So hey tra-la, tra-la-la-la-la-la,
one day I’ll climb yon mountain lane,
and claim my rightful place as lord
of tower and domain.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Gleanings-ebook/dp/B009YHVXSI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1370370536&sr=1-1&keywords=Gleanings+%2F+Hashmi

A Maiden's Lament

Four maidens dancing o’er the lea
beneath the moon and silver tree
came singing sweet a wild lament,
“We’ll follow where our dear lads went.

They sailed beyond the broad lagoon
and promised they’ld be home by June,
but now the frost and silver gleam
in frozen hope and broken dream.

They said they’ld bring us crocks of gold,
and we’ld be wed before the cold,
and snug we’ld be by hearth and fire
when Winter came in white attire.

The butterfly which soared and spun
would crumple when its’ day was done,
while we poor fools went dancing on
not knowing that our time was gone.

So now we dance in bridal train
with wreaths of frost and wild refrain.
We’ll follow where out true loves led
and sleep tonight in marriage bed.”

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Gleanings-ebook/dp/B009YHVXSI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1370370536&sr=1-1&keywords=Gleanings+%2F+Hashmi
 

Signposts

To arrive at the Real, point downwards towards the central point.The point is sub-atomic in size. It is also invisible, but we have its' location so we dive towards it. The way is that of unknowing because the destination is unknown. We press on in faith. not in anything but in nothing. (See St. John of the Cross) We may not know what we will find there but we know it is our root. We are on a journey of discovery of our self, to discover who we are, and to discover where we are going. The point has no dimensions. From that point there is no retreat. The only way forward is via the routes which lead from the point of the soul by reason of its' own nature. Thus we travel on a journey of discovery. The terrain is the terrain of our own soul. We see for the first time what nature of landscape this is, or spiritscape. There may be several routes but each leads from the soul's centre. Each is true to one's self. We are free to choose which to take but the routes diverge. The choice is crucial. We can't wander without purpose. That leads to disorientation of the psyche. We left the world of commerce and have forgotten how it works. The life we have discovered from the centre is by its' nature a journey. To think we can sit down and go no further is an illusion. To sit down is to be lost. To find the road again involves returning to the centre. Then possibly one may take one of the alternative branches from the centre. The centre is the fine point of the soul. Its' root.

Starflight

"Will you wander with me, love,

in the wonderland of night?"
"I will come if you can take me
to the paths of milky light."

"Close your eyes and I will bear you
swiftly there in soaring flight."
"Hold my hand lest I should fall
and plunge down crumbling slopes of fright."

"See now where the flowers spread
their billion petals for your sight,
and lay their heads before your feet
and bid you kneel in sweet delight."

"They are soft and frail and tender.
Tell me why they shine so bright?"
"Let us lie here where they grow
and wallow in their fleecy white."

"I will follow further still
through the shadows of the night."

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Gleanings-ebook/dp/B009YHVXSI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1370370536&sr=1-1&keywords=Gleanings+%2F+Hashmi
 

The kingdom of darkness

          "Another time I asked again about personal  evil in spiritual domains. We were sitting again on the thin scrap of silk with legs dangling over the abyss. Darkness enveloped us and I clung to A. We heard sort of fiendish voices. A indicated that a power-struggle was going on in the darkness with various leaders fighting for supremacy, and forming camps. They sense God as a threatening power but can’t see his Light. They vie for human souls, especially if they seem to be veering towards this unknown super-power, as they sense God to be. He is a mystery and nameless and faceless, but sensed as power is perceived as a threat.   These spirits form corporal bodies to win souls, and are in that sense personal. They think darkness is the reality. They are dead or dying. They live in hell. They challenge the power of God because God ‘s Light is swallowing the darkness, rolling it back. So they are trying to annex all the support they can win to prevent their domain from being rolled back."

        "A Spiritual Diary"

The Pioneer

 Man was ever a pioneer,
a wanderer, a pilgrim.
Stuck in the jungle with implements of stone
he looked outwards and started on a journey.

To pioneer the bounderies of consciousness,
expanding them into the nothingness of non-being.
To explore the newly habited areas of being
and pit the forces of being
against the resistance of nothing.
To domesticate and make habitable the new tracts of mind,
and cultivate them with thought.
To organize and govern the newly-realised with reason.
To transform nothing into something.
To redeem the something with values,
and thus enlighten it and call it good,
the resistant darkness evil.

The law of something was love.
For the elements of something to hold together
they had to support each other.
To fail to do this or destroy
 would return the something to nothing.
The darkness of nothing was evil,
the antithesis of being which is emptiness.

Emptiness at times encroached
into what had been redeemed,
and colonised the mind of man
to turn him back from love and good to nothing.

Only the will of a man could make him embrace nothingness,
or turn him again to good.
The choice of a man was between what was,
and what was not.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Gleanings-ebook/dp/B009YHVXSI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1370370536&sr=1-1&keywords=Gleanings+%2F+Hashmi

 

The glory of the Father

"We went up and up and I wondered how long we would go on. Then above I saw a sort of heavenly dome and clouds of glory. We observed the inner surface of the "dome" and it was darkish, and the clouds were golden. Of course it wasn’t a solid dome. It presented the opaqueness beyond which we could see no further. The glory showed the endless light, golden light, of forever. He said there was no end. We were looking, as it were, in the direction of the Father, the originator. We all gazed and gazed and could see nothing but light on light, shifting and ebullient."

"A Spiritual Diary"

What is power?

          "Another time I asked for a little more light on Holy Saturday. I saw a vast tall building in yellowish stone, flat-fronted and rectangular, reaching up to and piercing a small cloud. There were a few windows in it. We went up and I asked, sort of off-the-cuff, if this was the Tower of Babel. A said no. We reached the top and from the little cloud ran a damp darkish foot-path, but with light like moonlight piercing through the dark. In the light I glimpsed running water. We walked along this path, and as we did so I realized the path had become a corridor along a very large grand yellowish governmental building as it were, as in the Roman Empire, and a lot of people were walking along with us fast. This building represented worldly power and authority. Then we went down some steps to the right, to ground-level. The corridor and steps were in the open, outside. At the bottom of the steps we looked across a dark square to where three crosses stood with their victims blackened and dead. We did not go across because this was merely to show the death and darkness experienced by Christ when placed in the hands of worldly authority.

          The vertical building probably demonstrated the climb in worldly authority to its’ pinnacle, embodied in the worldly power exercised by the Roman Empire. And the level corridor the experience of this power. I don’t know what the little dark damp path meant. The black crosses and figures represented Golgotha. This was the seeming triumph that day of worldly power over spiritual. And spiritual power hidden, but acting unseen, the worldly power impotent to challenge it, and heading for destruction. What use the big tall buildings?"

         "A Spiritual Diary"

The fulcrum

The point of despair, the fulcrum of one's life, can be likened to the Crucifixion, the death of all that went before. After that there is the choice of death or life. If one chooses life one chooses the experience of the Resurrection.

Life beyond despair

      The following verse from Emily Bronte's poem "Remembrance", written in 1845, is part of a lament over the grave of a lover by one of her imaginery charcters. However real or imaginery the bereavement in the poem may have been, the grief she portrays is not pretend. She wrote from the heart, knowing what she was talking about, and it is one of her finest poems.

                                            "But, when the days of golden dreams had perished,
                                             And even Despair was powerless to destroy,
                                             Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,
                                             Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy."

      Has anyone ever compared the experience she describes here with Jean Paul-Sartre's 'life on the other side of despair' about which he wrote so many years later?

Ascension

My Lord went into Heaven

- I don’t remember how –

but where Heaven meets the universe

in one eternal whole

I must have been a witness,

I must have had a role.

My Lord he went to Heaven,

the clouds concealed his going.

Just so, within my psyche

he’s hidden from my sight

behind the cloud of self-love

 in uncreated light.

Can man devise a ship

to cross the bar of time

and seek the Lord in the abyss

 - the universe’s crèche?

No – but I will go there

through the barrier of flesh.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Gleanings-ebook/dp/B009YHVXSI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1370370536&sr=1-1&keywords=Gleanings+%2F+Hashmi

 

Free person or slave?

            What is liberty? In 2013 we think of oppressed peoples fighting for their freedom, but there are worse tyrants than dictators. No-one who is jealous of someone, or envies someone, or resents someone, or coverts something someone else has, or hates someone is free. These interior oppressors eat away at the soul. Not to know them is true liberty. And the decision not to know them is an act of the will, a choice.
            One has one's own life to build on solid foundations. Time spent resenting someone else is time wasted. The only applause worth anything comes from beyond, from those who know why one was born. The arena here is tiny. The audience there is counted in hosts. 

Love or lust?

            What is bondage? In answer to that question does the 2013 mind see Isrealite slaves, or women in black lacy smalls and toy hancuffs? Something helpless or vulnerable is now a magnet for thousands of men. Sometimes white hunters in India would have bait tethered to attract a tiger. Then sit close by and shoot it when it arrived. Our hunting ancestors, on the other hand, were out there catching their dinners. It was a dangerous game and their adrenaline rush is still in our veins, but the chase in certain men has degenerated to a callous form of recreation.
            At the same time the instincts of chivalry and tenderness are strong in most little boys. Wouldn't it be a wise step to open the barn door for these instincts of a later civil society to come out in force and take possession of  the field before it can be usurped by their violent cousins?

Exodus

 The little whisps of cloud sail on,

 remote above the night-dark sky.

The wintry breeze which bears them forward

chills my face and stirs my hair.

I watch and dream I too drift out

floating lightly on the wind,

 gallant, serene, in space unchartered,

cool, unfettered, through the night.

Effigy or person?

          "Now I found we were in dirty water paddling it. At first I didn’t notice but then I saw a gigantic monolith stretching upwards. It seemed to be an image of Jesus or the Buddha, but like stone. It was an image and we were in gloom, not light, though not dark. Then I noticed that we were all the while paddling this water with our feet, and I saw a marigold floating on it, and I said, “The Ganges.” That was correct. We rose upwards again in front of the image. Whether Jesus or the Buddha it was apparently an inaminate image and very large.

          We then rose above the gloom into bright light. Very white. There was no colour and it was like the surface of a bright sea with spotless foam, and it stretched into a far distance of white light. Or you could say the sea was like the surface of very white cloud. Shining bright. Anyway we sat to contemplate the scene. Then we floated forward into it horizontally, and the light entered our bodies so they dissolved in it. A said, “Now we are full of light and our bodies have disappeared.” I said, “Yes.” And he said, “But you know me and I know you.” I said, “Yes.”

          The images of the Ganges and Christ or Buddha showed that as images they have no active role in our lives. At best they are reminders. The committed  participation of faith is needed for a creative relationship with our saviours. Then they are truly guides and liberators for us in this life, and no doubt in the next.

          The layer of white light or white cloud floor was above the layers of images where colours were rich. We are part of God’s creation but we can also create with the imagination there, and with hands and tools here. We are invited to participate in God’s fun and play."

            "A Spiritual Diary"

A door-mat or a door?

In this life we need to distinguish between when one should go with the flow, and when one should stand up.

Variety is the spice of life!

            Isn't it amazing to think that a daisy and a gladioli are both equally flowers? And that a pekinese and an alsation are equally dogs? Yet we would laugh if a daisy were to say (supposing it could talk) of a gladioli, 'That is not an attractive flower. A flower should be small and white and have a yellow heart'. Or if a pekinese said of an alsation, 'That is not a superior dog. A dog should be brown and squat and have a snub nose'. Human beings similarly need to observe their fellows with a liberal eye, not measuring the appearance of other people by their own appearance. How intolerably dull a town centre would be if all the human beings walking around there looked alike! Instead a town centre is as exciting as a Chelsea Flower Show or a Crufts Dog Show in its variety in shape size and colour of the human being.

The Kite

Oh kite you soar up weightlessly

on power invisible to us.

You rise beyond the walls and roofs

and meet the birds and trees in flight.

If only I could fly like that

and float above this frenzied world

and gaze upon the gleaming towers

of clouds stacked tall and pearly white! 

From there I’ld see the towns below

and fires and smoke and heaving crowd.

Up there I would not hear a sound.

I’ld have my spell of ecstasy,

my moment of celestial bliss,

until I sank into the pit.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Gleanings-ebook/dp/B009YHVXSI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1370370536&sr=1-1&keywords=Gleanings+%2F+Hashmi



 

Snakes and ladders?

          "Then A and I were in darkness. I followed him through a shining narrow passage. Then there was an opening like a window into a “night sky” and we went out through this window into the dark heavens where stars were visible. Then we went up a spiral sort of staircase led by a small light. Then we fell down into the darkness, and we talked about this a bit, that this was a bottomless abyss and yet it held no terror. He asked me why I was not afraid and I said because it is God. I was happy. Then a light began to shine through the “valley” below and to the right of us. Then there was a rocky  cliff beside us and we started to climb up it. Now there was a dark blue sky and a bright sun shining on us as we climbed. It was quite a stiff climb but very beautiful. We agreed that falling through the dark was easy. Climbing through the light  required effort. Then we started to climb up through a narrow crevass and the sun was shining down brightly through the crevass, and we were climbing towards the light. Then a lid came down on it and we were in gloom. A said, “The light is still there but you can’t climb into it in this life. It’s still there.” But I was still to climb towards it. I understood.

          Then he said it was time to return, and we descended, and he said I should think about these things. I should remember it is easy and fast falling down through the dark, and hard work climbing up through the light. This darkness was the weepy things of life, and the night in contrast to the day. We are to know the darkness to its’ depths, but climb up the bright and shining cliff, or passage, (with its’ window looking out into the night where stars are visible) to the light."

           "A Spiritual Diary"

The Waves

I love the sea,
it speaks to me
in waves of froth and foam.

They tell me how
through endless tracts
of rolling time and space
the world was young
and life began
secure in their embrace.

I look and look at them and ask
how many ages more
they’ll foam and spray
and leap and froth
like this upon the shore.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Gleanings-ebook/dp/B009YHVXSI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1370370536&sr=1-1&keywords=Gleanings+%2F+Hashmi

No short-cuts.

            An arduous spiritual journey can't be formalised into a simple walk.

We are wanderers as all our fathers were.

            We have to learn to discover our home in the abyss.

            The abyss is both fulness and emptiness.

The landscapes of reality.

            It seems to be that all the areas, layers, and landscapes of the spiritual world co-exist as one thing, and in a sense it doesn't matter which layer or area you are in. Nor of course is it even a place. It is in some sense projected from the mind. Our world itself is a layer of the spirit world.

The healing touch.

Reparation is spinning light out of darkness.

Tools or weapons.

            Maybe we need to consider that the gifts that we have are meant to be used as tools and not as weapons. As the surgeon must use his tools with the greatest delicacy in order not to cut through a fine membrane unintentionally, so it is also too easy for us to forget to employ equal delicacy in relationships.
            How easy in a forgetful moment to let the scalpel slip and cut a thread vital to the other's self-image, pride, or sense of self-worth! Human-beings can be destroyed by a careless word.

Is the outlook sinister or benign?

"He asked what I could see and I said darkness. He said, "Keep looking." Then I saw the scene lightening up. He said did I want to pass through and I said yes, so I did. I then continued along on his request. I saw vague fire-work-type lights around. Then I reached a bright light and was asked to look up. Above us was the source of the light and it shone a bright beam down over us. He asked if I would like to go up, so I did. I passed up through the column of light. After a while the way became dark and I found myself crippled and enclosed and hampered by dark metallic rods, rather like being trapped in the middle of a broken umbrella without its’ cover. I continued upwards but frustrated by the obstacle of the painful twisted rods. He said, “These are your fears. Let them go.”

So I found I could cast them away, and they fell below me. I emerged on to a downy surface like a quilt. It was cream-coloured and soft to the feet. He wrapped a blanket round me. I discovered I was like an infant being wrapped round cosily. Then I walked forwards on the surface like a small child. He said, “Everywhere is safe. Wherever you go and however far you go you are safe.” I had been feeling uneasy on account of various possible nerve-wracking scenarios. These feelings were the dark rods. They didn’t matter. Faith or fear, these are one's own choice. I was to be like the trusting child in its’ world of safety."

"A Spiritual Diary"

 

What is life?

          "Then he caused me to find myself in water. It was rather slimy as with plantane, and such primitive vegetation. I found a muddy surface below my feet and started to climb out. I heard in my head the words, “primaeval swamp.” As I waded out on to a muddy shore I saw a bright round light in the sky like a white sun. It was approaching and I heard the word, “watch”. It descended and enveloped the whole of the surface of land. It spread out and I saw how it enveloped the whole round earth with its’ own larger circular white light. A halo round the earth’s surface. At first I could not understand what I had seen but I heard, “Think about it.”

          Later I did and I understood that at the very beginning earth had received not only a biological llfe but also a soul, (or spirit?). That everything is indwelt and surrounded by soul, of the nature of God’s light. Its’ life is therefore essentially indestructible. I don’t know if I mean soul or spirit here. I saw the earthly part of it crumble and fall away, but the life-forms of earth taken up and transfigured in the circular light. This rose up and moved away with all that had lived on earth safely contained in it. The earthly parts were also attended to but I didn’t see how. It was like angels coming and collecting it up, but that was a vague peripheral impression."

         "A Spiritual Diary" 

Smile please......... :))

            And then we started to walk. I saw that the scenery was rather like a Noddy landscape, as for children. He said we would not exert ourselves but would enjoy what he called the 'geniality' and 'innocence'. After moving along horizontally, during which we at first walked and then skimmed, we started to go upwards.

            We entered the round light of the sun, and he said it was the soul of the sun like I had seen the soul of the earth. From there we could look down on the toyland scenery through the pale golden haze emitted by the sun. He said earth needs to regain its’ innocence. He said human beings must now relearn their ability to contemplate the world, and try to make sense of it, and then learn how to communicate with it again as people used to in myth and legend and symbol.

            Another word to relearn the meaning of was 'truth'. We used to see our world with the eye of truth. The ability to see things and then communicate them in myth he attributed to the quality of innocence. The early North and South American peoples could contemplate their world and discover its’ meaning. Their stories were passed down meticulously from generation to generation. This is the eye we have to regain.

             He mentioned a couple of other attributes. I think one was righteousness (maybe – I’ve forgotten). The other important one was “geniality”. He said earth has had enough recently of 'masculinity' (meaning the use of force, domination or assertion, by either men or women – this was not a feminist remark) and now needs the embracing quality of geniality.

            "A Spiritual Diary"

Who paints the butterfly?

We went far up, way above the mountains, up and up. We stopped on a cloudy landscape, greyish and not very light, billowy cloud underneath us. They said that I knew the way to reach a destination was by thinking it, so where should we go?

Up there there did not seem to be any destinations but I said, “Heaven.” They said alright that’s where we would go and immediately we were in a wonderfully coloured cavern-like area with brilliantly-coloured “walls” but these were not solid. I examined the colours. They were like those painted in oils by genius painters. We looked at the different shades and how they merged together. We looked at the blue-range, the yellow-range, and the red-range. We could see all the delicate in-between shades. They were molten in texture, living. One could have spent a day looking at all there was to see. J said, “God’s pallet.” I wished some real artists were there to see everything critically. 

             We traced the source of the colours to a narrowish channel of purplish liquid. I was encouraged to go through the channel. They pointed out that I couldn’t drown! In any case it was a real adventure, and I waded through. We came to an area of light. The same brilliant colours were on display, but as of air rather than oil or water. We looked again and discussed the process of creation, water or oil as solidified air so to speak. We looked at how the creative process of God proceeds first through light itself, white and coloured. Then it moves down to the more solid, and manifests in liquid form. We sat on a rock and thought about how the liquid form moves down into the “solid” – for us. Yet it is all the creative process of God’s mind. The rock issues forth from God’s mind just as much as pure light. It is merely further down the process. J said God himself is Mind.  And he creates.
 

I tried to compare this process with that of human artists, and considered whether they are just sitting there copying down what they see or imagine. J said some may be forced to do that, but a true artist can enter into the mind of God and present the inspiration of that experience on canvas for others to see. I felt that only a very great artist could mix the colours that we had seen and put them on canvas. I then thought of music and they said music comes on auditory waves which are another area of the spectrum of creation.

"A Spiritual Diary"

Shining towers

We came out on to a flat surface and entered a building close by. It was vast inside. The roof was so high I couldn’t see it. It was lost in darkness. The whole building was vast. J said it was a cathedral and invited me to come to the altar. This was an area of bright golden light, and the altar was like translucent golden pillars, reminiscent of the white cold icicle mountains we had passed earlier. J looked at it and quoted to me, “If there be a heaven on earth it is this, it is this, it is this.” (From a carved inscription on an arch in the Red Fort.) J invited us to worship and we lay face down in the chancel with our arms spread out in the shape of a cross. Then we stood up and J said, “This is the Church. When you pray in any church, beyond it and through it is this. You are praying before this." He said that the mystical dimension has not disappeared in the modern Church. It is always there. And if the clergy at the moment concentrate more on good works at least people looking at them know God cares. Then hopefully they will look through and beyond to the glory.

            We then rose up through the golden pillars of the altar to more and vaster areas of gold, and beyond these, as it were shining towers, we came to a vast golden sun-like area which J said was infinite and for-ever, the Godhead. We knelt and gazed. 

           "A Spiritual Diary"

The big bang.......

Today I was taken up to the grey cloudy area of “un-knowing”, way above the mountains. J pointed to a small door in the distance, so we went to it and opened it. Inside, from the door, a  passage led to a narrow flight of stairs. We went down these and came out on to a beach. We walked out across the sand and knelt to look at the sea. On the horizon appeared a golden ball, and I said, “The sun.” J said yes, but it wasn’t the usual sun.  It came across to us over the sea, and up the beach towards us. Finally it enveloped us, and then I realized we were going up in it, as in a balloon. It rose up and up, and we could look out across the sea. J said, “The seas of knowledge.” And then, looking at me to see that I was getting the message, said, “And this sun is the light of inspiration, lighting up the sea.”

We travelled above the sand along the shore-line, and then descended back down on to the sand, and looked around us. As we stood enjoying the scene a new light arose along the horizon. It rose up across the sky, brighter and brighter, and finally it exploded in millions of golden “fire-works” all across the sky. J said, “The explosion of realization.” He asked me to think back again to the "cloud of unknowing". Then the seas of knowledge. Then the light of inspiration. Then the explosion of realization. The light of the explosion lit up the sea, and the beach, and ourselves, and it formed an arc across the horizon.

"A Spiritual Diary"

 

The will

            "Some people think that the will to do a thing is an enthusiasm from the area of the solar plexus, but it isn’t. That’s where the fire comes from. It has no temperature. It is pure intent and comes from the top of the head, even when there is no fire in the belly."

"A Spiritual Diary"

A disappearing act.......

            "We then rose above the gloom into bright light. Very white. There was no colour and it was like the surface of a bright sea with spotless foam, and it stretched into a far distance of white light. Or you could say the sea was like the surface of very white cloud. Shining bright. Anyway we sat to contemplate the scene. Then we floated forward into it horizontally, and the light entered our bodies so that they dissolved in it. He said, “Now we are full of light and our bodies have disappeared.” I said, “Yes.” And he said, “But you know me and I know you.” I said, “Yes.” "

"A Spiritual Diary"

Thither or hither?

            We walked round the cliff looking out to sea to the far horizon. J said, “Look at eternity but also remember to think of eternity looking at you.” We stood for a while and I was told to understand this. As I looked out I saw the sea and the horizon and the sky as also looking back at me. Jesus said, “It isn’t that you are subject, and the sea and the sky are object. They are also subject and you are object. You are all one thing.” 

            He said, “Think of God at the moment of creation. He thought everything, and everything emerged from his thought. Creation was therefore not separate from God. It was his thought and originated in his mind. If you imagine something it isn’t separate from you. It is part of your mind.” I said yes, and added, “But the things which have been created have their own life and their own reality, which we can examine and research.” J said, “Yes. Each thing is real in itself.” We thought about animals in particular, and how real they are with their individual characteristics. And at the same time they are also God’s thought.

            How intriguing is that! Just as we learn about a person through his creative work we learn about God from the universe. It really pays to look at the littlest creatures of the world and consider how each of their tiny needs is attended to. Someone said ducks prove God has a sense of humour. Of course one might also consider the slug........ but there are those who find them fascinating. Nature is a book for those who wish to read. And we learn not to be picky and choosy. Or priggish. None stands in a priviledged position. We are all in the same position creatively speaking. We just differ in our destinies, and the destinies themselves are part of the whole in God's thought.

"A Spiritual Diary"

Enter now his courts........

 Before I had even started my meditation I had been seeing waves of green and blue luminosity crossing a cosmic sky, like the arora borealis. During the meditation we saw pearly-white luminosity like mother-of pearl weaving around above us where normally I see mountain scenery. Something like a bird took us up, but I couldn’t see its’ shape. We were engulfed in whiteness, but like possibly feathers and the sense of being carried up and then along.

We came to an abrupt halt, as of crashing into something. It was a closed door and there was a key-hole. J asked me, “What is the key?” I said, “Faith.” That was correct and the door opened. We entered a spacious boulevard-type of avenue lit up and decorated with coloured lights. J said, “Halls of gladness.” Then we came to a tall sort of mountain reaching to a pinnacle. J said, “Spires of reason.” We rose up to the top and found it to be decorated with coloured lights. J said, “Lights of reason,” and gave us each one to place in our heads. We then looked across the landscape and J said, “Joy.” We floated in this atmosphere and came upon a golden decorated throne. J said, “Throne of grace.” I asked, “The throne of God the Father?” and J said, “Yes. But we don’t place on it an image of the Father do we?” I said, “No.” We placed on it our intercessions.

"A Spiritual Diary"

Floating the boat...........

          While we were standing in the boat I asked A if he had any teaching for me, reminiscing how he had taught me to function in this world, how to communicate, and how to relate to everything. There was a bit of a pause and he took me to sit beside him in the bow of the ship, looking ahead. He remarked that in this dimension the boat was real, and the sea, and the people. But if I were to lose my intent it would all disintegrate and disappear. What held it together and made it purposeful was my steady intent. Yet my intent did not create what happened. It did not create the boat for instance. The boat appeared and the rowers. In that sense I had to co-operate with what happened. I did not orchestrate what happened.

           Likewise in life a steady intent is necessary. That is not on an object, but into infinity. And not into spatial infinity, but into the heart of God which is infinite. Do that and other things take their proper place and fly past, as this sea flowed past me. My intent will never be on them. They will never be objects of desire, or destinations to reach. They will flow past, serving their necessary purposes and disappearing. In that way my life will hold its’ form, and not disintegrate. The fine point of the soul must point the way.

"A Spiritual Diary"

In a bluebell wood......

"He said that green and blue are important for calming and nourishing the soul, and he directed my attention especially to the blue of the flowers and the green of the leaves of the wood. He demonstrated how the bluebells could be swept outwards into the distance in any direction we wanted, or retracted. 'And every flower is perfect and real.' He showed me how they coiuld all be retracted to a tiny dot in the mind of God, a point of an idea. And even then, in that point, every flower would exist perfectly in God's mind. And they could issue out from his mind in that same perfection, still of course in his mind. Space isn't necessary for their existence or perfection."

"A Spiritual Diary"

Light

Water and light are the same thing. Light can descend as water.

Intimations of Joy

Intimations of Joy 

Endless as for ever,

so love let us fly

in everlasting now. 

We’ll merge and part,

and speed with light

on highways with no end.

We’ll leap as dolphins,

dive as hawks,

in boundless timeless here. 

Through secret forest paths we’ll walk,

or rise on wings of choice,

to castles bright

on mountain heights

beneath a cloudless sky.

In meadows green we’ll run and play,

in sparkling oceans swim.

‘Ought’ or ‘must’ will not be words,

we’ll move at spirit’s whim. 

And if perchance we choose to rest

we’ll find a cabin snug

with oak beams low

and polished floor

and chintz and bowls of flowers.

A cat and dog will snooze before

a cosy parlour fire.

And armchairs two

for me and you

we’ll take because they’re ours. 

And there we’ll sit and dream a while

of what it means to be.

Of essence, forms, and serious things,

to check our jollity.

Of fishes from primordial light

dissolving to reform,
back and forth, and to and fro,
in sportive cosmic flight. 

The forms as real as bees and wax,

the light as starlight clear.

If bees be light,

and light be wax,

what fun it is my dear!

 

 

Tempus fugit.....and how!

I can hardly believe my own memory that when I was a girl 'sexy' wasn't a word and no-one would have understood the idea that anyone would want to look it. Nor that we played out at the weekends and got muddy without caring, went to the local woods and fields perfectly safely, enjoyed Children's Hour on the radio, imbibed the morality expected of good children by Enid Blyton, sat in rows facing the blackboard at school and listened quietly, went home after school to mothers who had cooked our food and made our clothes, and sat darning in the evenings while listening to the radio. Boring? Maybe - but we were safe. Fathers were there in the home to ensure that. (Except during the war when we didn't feel safe.) Do I wish I had been born earlier? - no. I love the internet age and all the exciting things people can do now. But I'm certainly glad I'm up to my knees in the culture of the 1940's and 1950's. It gave us strong roots. It gave us absolutes. We can discern the fake. And most of us believe we are answerable to a higher authority, and are visible to a throng which dwarfs any TV or O2 audience, a good deal kinder maybe, but still..........!