56. Demonic Thirteen on the Rampage

These are difficult days as the demons of Mumbai went on the rampage engaging in a ruthless slaughter of innocent victims who just happened to be there. There are some strange synchronicities, signs and symbols linked to these traumatic events which started close to the New Moon of Sagittarius which was on 27/28 Nov. This was the 13^th new moon of the year . New Moon is of course the Islamic symbol of the Crescent to which they attach a symbolic significance. The attack started on the 26^th which is 13×2. The number of terrorists involved was given as 25 and with their coordinator that would also make 13×2. The total number of people mindlessly killed at random is only estimated, but was give recently as 195 which would be 13x 15. Among the victims was Alan Scherr, 58,(5+8=13) and his daughter Naomi, 13, both there on a spiritual trip with a group called the Synchronicity Foundation (more details here) Thirteen is a prime number but also 7^th  term in the Fibonacci series (1,1,2,3,5,8,13). The thirteenth is a symbol of Christ as the Teacher of the Twelve, but it can also represent Satan in the coven of 12 witches. I do not believe that the 11^th month is a deliberately chosen synch with 9/11 – it sounds more like an effort to link this incident to bin Laden who, by all accounts, was not involved in this case. I suspect that these synchronicities are a signpost to some other events which are, perhaps, more difficult to spot. Mumbai is called the financial centre of India, so there may be a subtle link to the ongoing global financial crash. It would be wiser to search deeper into the nature of such brutal happenings and look beyond what is obvious. Global consciousness is now a rapidly developing new experience for humanity. The All-seeing Eye of Horus may well be a technological wonder of satellite communications, internet, mobiles and TV cameras catching an unsuspecting terrorist for public view, but it is the ultimate purpose to awaken our human awareness that matters in the long run.

55. The Magic Chakra of Kyklaminos

There is something magically cyclical about my cyclamens. They hibernate in late spring and summer, when their leaves go yellow and this mysterious tuber plant looks all but dead. Some people throw they away, thinking they they have withered for ever. I have learned about their confused lief cycles some years ago and waited for their return to life in October and explosive blooming in November. The flowers sometime last till the New Year. Most gardeners think that their name from Greek kyklaminos refers to their round tuber which is the plant’s main food container. Greek “kyklos” means circle, ring, a place of assembly, the vault of the sky, a shield , the balls of the eye and any circular motion. The Greek word was borrowed from Sanskrit “ĉakram” which also meant circle, but it also described those whirling energy circles in the human etheric body which are known as chakras. My guess is that cyclamen was known to ancient people as the living chakra of the Third Eye. Its colour is closer to mauve than pink, but my guess is based on those mythical giants Cyclops, the One-eyed Ones, whom Odysseus encountered and outwitted in his wanderings. Three of those ancient beings forged the thunderbolts for Zeus. Cyclops might have been a race of clairvoyant smiths, who knew how to extract and forge such metals as copper. There is more to those beautiful November flowers than meets the eye. Even the third eye.

54. Return To Simple Life?

Easier said than done. Like all my brethren and sisters I am wrapped up in many bands of materialism, which prevent my return to that “simple life” vaguely sketched in my imagination as self-sufficiency. Could I really get all my supplies directly from the producer instead of relying on that ghastly, never fresh, stuff from the supermarkets? Fresh eggs straight from the hen, freshly baked bread from the bakery round the corner, fresh vegetables and fruit from my local greengrocer? Dream on, McDuff…But these dreams may be actually nearer realisation than we think. The monstrosities of the  ruthless and dishonest global capitalism are suddenly on public viewing platform. Shameless bankers and multimillioners stripped of their PR make-up are slow to realize their ugly nakedness and are trying to fight back or pretend that there is nothing they have to explain. The year-end bonuses are all that matters to them, but that money has been stolen from us, the gullible savers.

The people are now beginning to wake up from the nightmare of the soul-destroying complacency and blind reliance on that two percent of super-rich men who own over 50% of global wealth, while the poor have to be satisfied with the ownership of one per cent!  It will take time for that giant tyrant of capitalism with feet of clay to crumble, but we don’t know yet what will humanity choose to replace it with. Socialism and communism were once dreams that also turned into disappointment or glastly nightmare of stalinism. We need something new, which can only be described as return to the simplicity of life – self-reliance, simplicity, craftsmanship, small shops and barter instead of bankomats. Can we manage without cars, TV, mobiles and all the rest of the gadget civilisation that has enslaved us? We won’t know until we try and that time is approaching faster than we think.  

53. Looking At Naked Trees

Perhaps, maelstrom, that swirling sea vortex with a mighty downdraft, or our watery “black hole” is not quite what I have in mind on this sunny morning. A little private jacuzzi of delicate whirlpools in my stream of  subconscious coincidental observations, is closer to my intentions. I was looking at the nearly leafless ash tree in my backgarden and wondered if trees feel naked or simply undressed for the long sleep. I am not a tree, at least, not consciously, but I have always slept naked, because I find pyjamas claustrophobic. Trees dress in leaves. Without them they look skeletal, tragic and unattractive. I wonder if they gave Mother Eve her idea to become the world’s first dress designer, seamstress and model, rolled into one. But if leaves are the prototype of high couture, then at the roots of dresses, fashion and all that lurks the original sin. And that should make us think or, at least, wonder whether we should not go back to our days of innocence and go nudist again. Forewarned i forearmed, so we won’t listen again to Samael-Nachash’s seductive whispers. Mind you, I am all for nudism, but in this country I have to take into account the climate, which is getting colder as the global warming up gets hotter. Doesn’t make much sense, does it? But then these days reality is becoming more illusive and illusions become flesh.

Naked flesh in some cases.  Nakedness is not the same as nudity. The latter is usually relegated to the whole range of porn magazines, while naked is reserved for things like truth, which is normally dressed up in a whole range of  fashionable rags known as lies, untruths and fibs. Nudists also exists as naturists, though I have never been able to tell them apart. They all look undressed to me. I went once to a unisex sauna where a group of naked men and women were sitting on hard benches, immersed in steamy conversations. My reactions to nakedness are totally dependent on who, when, where and why; but I am a journalist,so that’s not surprising. We frequently do ask ourselves such questions. Naked bodies look better when they are nicely tanned all over. Any white patches, top or bottom, look as  weird as if someone couldn’t decide whether to be a bit of an albino or like president-elect Obama all bronze. Or, as Berlusconi would call him “abbronzato” which, in Italian, means “tanned”. What I find magical in Obama name, that he has Latin “love” (ama-re)  built into it. JI

52. The Day of Miss Chiefs

My upside down day started after midnight when I was woken at least four times by unexpected lights shining into my face, loud monologues and awakenings from disturbing nightmares and scary dreams. The morning was grey, gloomy and  cold. The radio was spewing out inane adverts which, heard against the background murmurs of dire economic news, sounded like the the drowning passengers singing merry songs on the sinking Titanic. I went out shopping. My DIY shop, normally well supplied, didn’t have energy-saving bulbs I needed. The supermarket ran out of my favourite variety of grapes and lemon cakes. When I came back . I decided to have a mug of hot Nescafe. Just before adding some milk I got a whiff of a very un-coffee smell. It was a mug full of gravy – the two bottles with powdered Bisto and Nescafe looked almost identical in the dim light of the cupboard. Then I wrote today’s entry for my other blog and tried to post it, but it did not appear. After three attempts I gave up and restarted the computer. This time I had three copies of the entry on my blog. I tried to deleted the two of them, but WordPress decided that the safest thing to do was to delete all of them. To escape from the unwelcome attentions of Miss Chiefs, I decided to have a catnap. I shouldn’t have used that term, because after 10 min I was woken up by a dog yapping outside my windows. Obviously, that dog didn’t like cats in any form. And it probably belonged to Miss Chiefs. It is now 17.17 on the 17^th day of the eleventh month and I am looking for a safe hibernation lair in a warm place. Any offers?

51. The Paradox of Being Awake

When I wake up in the morning (with some difficulty) I am actually continuing the previous day’s illusions. Dreams, on the other hand, are my joyful visions, dancing possibilities created in the real world, my personal music which is part of the great symphony of Life. In Old English the word “dream” meant just that – “joy and music” and those meanings still haunt many old languages. At some point in the battle between the feminine right brain and the patriarchal left hemisphere, the true meaning of dreams was perverted into “lies, injuries, deceitful visions”.

We are slowly recovering the true meaning of dreams, but there are still many difficulties on the way. Dreams are my field and territory. Waking state is only a static map on which I am trying to find my dream locations and then review and compare my dreamy possibilities with what my illusory world’s limitations may allow me to materialize.  Wakefulness is reducing the splendour of the unlimited possibilities of the dream world to everyday puny artifacts and shoddy market place leftovers. My splendid blue Mercedes limousine, from that last dream I described ,is converted into a cheap pink bicycle. A relaxing weekend on the Blue Coast of the Riviera turns out to be only a walk around the block. This shows how the scaled down reality of dreaming is being translated into the unreality of being awake. Nevertheless, the map of my illusory world has its uses, because it helps me to orientate myself in both worlds and realize that when I am awake I am really asleep. And vice versa. And the pink bicycle on the map tells me that I should love the idea of travelling, even if it is only around the streets of my unreal world. JI

50. Dreamy Dilemmas & Hesitations

The full Moon of Taurus brought last night a strange dream of many strands. It must have left it on the threshold of my memory, because I woke up remembering it quite vividly. Normally, my dreams disappear like wisps of the morning mist as soon as I open my eyes. In my dream there were three strange elements: a hired Mercedes car with a chauffeur; a mysterious lady, one of my anonymous internet contacts; and a weekend break in a luxury hotel on the Cote d’Azure as a present from that lady’s generous husband. All this was woven into the complex skein of trust. The lady informed me on the phone that a Mercedes limusine was coming to London to pick me up and I would be driven by a hired chauffer to that luxury hotel where her husband has booked two rooms. One for me and the other one for her as she was coming with me. He was giving me that present because he admired my blogs and wanted me to have a well-deserved short holiday in my beloved France. My virtual companion-to-be explained that her husband trusted her completely and that she knew I would not betray his generosity and trust by seducing her. I didn’t know what to do. I went out on the balcony and saw a blue Mercedes already parked and waiting for me. Then the lady phoned me again, said she was in the car and my time was up. I had no choice but to wake up and leave the dream to materialize in another dimension. When I went out for a morning walk there was only a pink bicycle, tethered outside my home. It certainly did not look like a Mercedes but, perhaps, it was a better symbol of my modest ambitions.

49. Full Moon Brings Old Memories

Early darkness and a shivery evening sent me to the safety of brighter days.  In my secret hideout on the computer there are old papyri where I can find words for the night of the Full Moon. Six years ago a stray Muse wandered in and dictated to me those two short poems.

 

HOW EASY…

How easy it is to lose our way

In that misty land of blurred signposts

In the tangle of uncertain paths

With the Will o’ the Wisp for a guide.

 

How easy it is to be led astray

By the voices of the mocking birds

The mischief-makers in the gloaming

Luring us into their magic flight.

 

Yet the lighthouse beam is always there,

As it signals through the darkest night

Calling us to follow its lighted path

To the safe haven of love and joy.

 

A glow-worm on a slender leaf

Floating across a moonlit night

How easy it is to go astray

And forget the flow of Time.

 

A VISIT

Wind blowing from nowhere

Sent yearning through my window

She sat at the spinning wheel

Twisting silken threads

and winding them round my heart.

At dusk, the weaver of old woes

Thrust a fistful of dry leaves

Into my tearful eyes

And disappeared…

48.Full Moon & The Sin of Scorpio

Tomorrow is the Full Moon of Taurus. Its bullish energy is in direct opposition to the ambiguous Scorpio, a much misunderstood sign of the Zodiac. I have been dabbling in astrology for many years, but today I no longer believe in astrological predictions of the popular magazine variety. Most astrologers still use discredited medieval starlore, even if they often dress up their reading in updated language. The only astrologer which has ever come close to my current understanding of these cosmic and systemic forces and energies was the late Dane Rudhyar (1895-1985). I have most of his books in my library and often look them up, esp. that less known “The Pulse of Life” (publ.1963).

His reading of the Scorpio energy struck me as almost prophetic in the context of the latest changes in the world.  Civilization has its roots in the energy of Scorpio, says Rudhyar. But its dark side is “ greed for social power. That greed arises in the individual who, instead of merging himself into the greater whole, draws towards himself the energies produced by living together, the human interchange of values and the commerce which are the foundations of society…When the fruits of commerce are cornered by the greedy, then there is social sin.

All big business trusts which are built on greed, all politicians who barter in public authority, all racketeers and gangsters, all leaders who play upon fear and mass-passions commit the sin of Scorpio. They lust for social power – instead of fecundating society as true civilizers…” Does this short passage ring a familiar bell? I think it does.

Maybe it is something worth thinking about on this Full Moon night.

47. From Autumn Painter’s Palette

 

A splash of colours in my little corner of London on a Saturday afternoon. It rained for while and then the sun burst through, lighting up the display of autumn leaves, still sparkling with the drops of rain. The pavements glistened like a stone floor of a forgotten temple. It was very quiet and peaceful – one of those magical moments when the borders of reality imperceptively dissolve and, from an observer, I become a participator in the tranformations of other worlds.