What Time is It?
Stepping off the calendar wheel - further into the reality of the seasons. Am I late? I can’t explain. Continually restoring equilibrium, dancing on the fragile bridge, mid-step, look up, the sun!
Location, location, location
Oh Salt Spring Island! The dance and exchange with the influence of living on this island continues its deepening activities, within and around me. Just when I figure we’ve settled, landed, set forth, well…. not so fast! Another expansion, challenge, inner shift, opening. This island is a teacher - subtle but firm, and living here means I learn what to do, how to be, what to listen for, and ways to be in harmony here. It is actually another relationship, a component of life that needs attention, understanding, connection. As I learn its love language, a new vocabulary of being nurtures me in new ways.
How far can we go? As far as possible and then just a bit farther. That’s when the stars come in, sending down their guiding beams, right here, into the earth. Like the tractor beams of Star Trek, they pull everything along their influential silver threads. And those threads could be the strings of a great enormous harp-like instrument, vibrating all together, holding all together in sound. On this island, that sound is a particular tuning; we hear it in our dreams, but not with our ears.
Looking Past The Veil
Even I am tired of this same old refrain: I keep repeating that I’m changing, changed, different, etc. Like weather, there are conditions to be assessed, balanced and reported if necessary. But within my own personal condition? Time to get over it. Maybe I can retune myself not to keep scanning the same info-sources and let go of some of this nuance-pattern reporting. Use my common sense to get on with things.
And besides, when I am only reporting on the condition of the glass of the window, I’m avoiding the view of what can be seen beyond it - that’s where more is happening.
It is more than reading between the lines, peering past the words, and their dazzling heiroglyphic forms. I see another world that this richly embroidered veil has been covering the whole time. A visual world, unwritten, but spoken. Of course, we need writing to keep a record that can be handed down over time, a record that can survive the times of drought when society darkens, changes and doesn’t permit direct perception. But, as we so often say, the map is not the place, the notation is not the music, the written words are not the story.
As with everything I’m thinking about these days, this naturally brings me to Plato, and the rich teaching held secretly within his dialogues. Images dormant until invoked burst up from inside the soul in a fountain of emergent visual wisdom. They exist outside of the words, beyond the words, not in the dialogue per se but through it. Perceptible by intuitive intellect.
So no matter how much information and mis-info we might be inundated with in the upcoming tsunami we call AI, I don’t think the secret universe behind all the words will be conveyed by that means. AI can take all the words, and create all the images and expand our minds’ abilities to express so much more. But I’m not convinced that it can carry that secret code that opens the door to the realm beyond that expression. The golden ones won’t be riding alongside it, and it may be like the google map that sometimes fails to show the updated bridge or the new corner.
We will still need to use our own “common sense” - that union of all the senses that makes for understanding. If we can find it. We are already living in a simulation. Now we are creating a replica of that simulation, and transferring our senses even further away from ourselves. Ready or not, it is here now. It is a wild tiger in the house.
Sorry I haven’t written to you lately. I’ve been realigning all sorts of interior materials since attending a weekend immersion with Dr. Martin Shaw in mid-May. Great food for the soul and the imagination. (Plus special Mother’s Day joy - attending together with my daughter Rosie!)
Tad Hargrave shared his reflections as an insider at the event and tour, along with a super interview with Martin. Find it HERE.
Put Everything on The Line
Put all the memories into a basket, a laundry basket, and wash them over and over again. Despite the shame of stain, hang them out to dry in the sun, each memory is one sheet. Like a sheet of paper, ready for writing.
Some can’t be gathered to be written. Too much just now, let them remain on the line as long as they need to, through all weathers and all seasons. Don’t bring them in too soon. They will purify naturally now.
For these, you see, are the real prayer flags. And this is one way we can pray.
On the other side of the world there is war in Ukraine. You may wish to read this latest article from Yaroslava’s #warcoffee Letters from Ukraine for an everyday perspective.
Please consider joining my community of subscribers who help support my work here. From time to time there are special posts for paid subscribers, but mostly I’m sending out free to all. I especially appreciate those of you who have kindly stuck with me from the beginning! I’ll try to get out of the clouds long enough to write to you more frequently.
Till next time!
If you like this post, click on the heart! And even better, add a comment!
I'm always so relieved when you write to me. I can mosey down the road and just enjoy the view, the big picture.. Thank you.
Thank you, Carol. Keep on keeping on. Love.