Category Archives: autobiography

The quest for Schuon

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An artist’s impression of the six-dimensional Realm of Light. The balls of light probably represents Higher spirits, who receive beams of spiritual Light from above and send their own beams of light down to those below, in an intricate pattern of Light.

It must be over 5 years now that I have been religiously following the weird and wonderful blog One Cosmos, which alternates between neotraditionalist metaphysics and mocking socialism and materialism in all their forms. These are really two modes of the same thing, since materialism is incompatible with metaphysics of any kind: If you are simply the electrical fluctuations in your brain, you can never know it. Or anything, really.

There is much one could say about this, but my point today is that this is where I first heard of the mysterious Frithjof Schuon. The blog will occasionally brandish quotes by Schuon, and they are generally held to be the final and perfect crystallization of metaphysical truth. Whenever something is true, Mr Schuon will have summed it up in such clarity that it cannot be said better for the duration of languages as we know them. Or that is the impression I get. Not that the author agrees with Schuon on everything (Schuon evidently believed that modernity was an unredeemable descent into barbarism, and that ancient cultures were superior in all the ways that count.) But for the vast stretch that they do agree, Schuon says it best.

Now if this was just one lone tax-cutting blasphemer on the Net, it would be unremarkable. The quotes themselves are remarkable, but they are dug out from a huge number of articles published over many years, so it could be just the occasional lucky strike. But then I read Huston Smith, the famous hands-on teacher of comparative religion. And he too had this fawning respect for Schuon. More than once when he was about to teach about some specific religion, he discovered that Schuon had already written about it with great clarity. Schuon himself, however, was aloof and barely approachable. He certainly had no interest in building any kind of relationship with famous people who looked up to him. I find this a very endearing trait.

My own attempt at reading Schuon, however, failed spectacularly. His writing is simply too hard. His words are used so precisely that you need not only a good grasp of the English language with its many nuances, but you also need to know what he is talking about before you read it. Metaphysics is necessarily far removed from the concrete world as observed by the senses, since fundamental metaphysics lies above even the world of archetypes, of which our daily objects and actions are instances. So it’s never going to be “beach reading”, as you say in English.

At the time, I was widely read in science, religion and mythology; but my knowledge of philosophy was limited to early college level. This must by necessity be so simple-yet-fuzzy that it can be understood even by socialists. Unsurprisingly, Schuon proved too hard for me. I understood some of it, but not enough to put the pieces together.

A couple more years have passed. I have continued to read One Cosmos religiously, but also Ryuho Okawa (cautiously), Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz, A. G. Sertillanges, James V. Schall, Pope Benedict and saints Athanasius and Teresa, to name but those that may be relevant for the topic. (I tried Sri Aurobindo as well, but he is harder to read than Schuon; I suspect he is doing it on purpose, as only superhumans are likely to benefit from his thinking anyway. I may return to it later.)

Finally I am prepared to assail the diamond towers of Frithjof Schuon again. This time I know what I am up against, and have prepared. I have also found a book about a topic I am already familiar with, namely Christianity. The Fullness of God by Schuon has providentially become available for the Kindle. Wish me luck.

***

Two chapters later:

I see now why Schuon must write in an inaccessible manner! Whether by his own choice or by divine providence, it is necessary that these teachings be hidden for the unlearned and inexperienced. For such words could cast the unprepared into fear and confusion, even into perdition. I believe those who may benefit from this are few, compared to those who may take harm from it. Most would shrink back, I believe, and this for their own good.

That is not to say that this book should not have been written, for “one man’s medicine is another man’s poison”. But I have more understanding now for gurus who retreat to the Himalayas. Sometimes it is required that you have gone far.

St Teresa, prayer and me

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It will work if I pray to God!

It will work if I pray to God! That’s a big if, though. I mean really pray, not recite a wish list. Most people probably don’t even know what this “mystical prayer” is which really works, really changes people. So it is twice ironic that I still shrink back from it. But I do, most of the time.

Well, the recent entries should be enough fluff to convince even the casual observer that I am not the next St John of the Cross. So let me briefly return to the more interesting topic of prayer and the inner life, this time illuminated by the autobiography of St Teresa of Avila.

It was eerie to read her many-sided attempts to describe the first and second stage of “mystical prayer”, and realize that she was putting into words what I had not been able to express accurately myself. I have mentioned occasionally that “I was taught meditation directly by God”, something I found strange and  nearly unique. That may not be the case at all. Rather, this seems to have been a fairly natural thing in the time of St Teresa. (What I and most people today call meditation is closer to what the saints call contemplation. The two words seem to have swapped meaning since then.)

The saint expresses her sincere hope that she was the only person who, having experienced the sweetness and consolation of the second stage of mystical prayer, still fell back into an idle and lukewarm spiritual life for many years. Unfortunately, she was not heard in this prayer, for the same thing happened to me, only more so – deeper and for longer. Then again she was purer from the outset, and all the way. Some of this may be ascribed to the difference between men and women as concerns the nature of their temptations, but even adjusted for this, she was definitely a purer person even as a child, as a youth, and throughout the desert years before her great awakening nearer to the middle of her life. Well, saints will be saints, I guess.

But despite never having been a saint (except in the generic sense that the word is used about all Christians, and even then only under doubt), I still recognized her description so far as to this second stage. In it, the will is taken into a lock or embrace (my words, not hers) so that one does not particularly want to pray or stop praying, but one is just there and the experience of much stronger than usual heavenly presence happens while one is there. The activity of memory, imagination and understanding is as if on the outside, words and thoughts seeming superficial and irrelevant, not even worth suppressing… anyway, you should read St Teresa, she explains it much better.

Many arrive at this stage, says the saint, but few proceed further. And I am certainly not one of those few. When she moves on to write about the third stage, it is utterly unfamiliar to me. I may have seen it as from afar, but I have no experience with it, of that I am pretty sure. She writes so clearly that I should have recognized it. But no. I may as well stop reading right there, for from now on we are in spoiler territory, secrets unknown to me.

And no wonder. I have been wandering far astray, it seems now. And still am, if perhaps now partly from habit.

I see it now as if I was thrown a lifeline when I happened across Fr Dubay’s book on the two great Carmelite saints and their teaching on prayer, Fire Within. Despite a general awareness of imperfection, I was fairly OK with my prayer life. After all, I experienced (and still do, thankfully) the presence of God or some fully authorized representative, day and night, even when I least deserve it. It did not occur to me that God being present to me might be less important than me being present to God.

(By using the word “God” here rather than my common phrase, the Light, I seek to stress the personal aspect of this relationship. Also this usage is closer to that of the saints and their biographers. I am however aware that the word “God” is very saturated today, and often in an unfortunate way, as people have their concept of God from newspaper cartoons and similar misleading sources. Perhaps I should adopt St Teresa’s favorite phrase, “His Majesty”, to express the personal aspect? Or the Jewish “King of the Universe”? Perhaps “All-Father”?)

Anyway! Even now, knowing better, I find it hard to prioritize “actual prayer” (or “focused prayer”, as opposed to “continual prayer” which is, I guess, best described as “non-exclusive”. Wherever one is and whatever one does (at least within a wide range), one can be aware of the Divine presence and communicate accordingly; but that is like being at a party together with your Beloved – it is a very different thing from being together two-alone! That last one is what I mean by “actual prayer”. Get a room!)

If I sought literally first God’s Kingdom and His righteousness, then I would be very quick to spend time apart from other things, alone in the beams of the Light, seeking to learn there the Truth as it concerns me, and let the Light burn away what is not compatible with itself. But rather than first, it seems to be “seventh and last” as we say in Norway. Even idle amusements slip past before the one thing necessary.

There is a saying that “Hell is the absence of God”, and that is certainly how it felt to me as well, for the brief times I have experienced such an absence. But to my sinful inclinations, and my lower nature in general, it would almost seem like Hell is the presence of God, the way my mind squirms and wriggles to get away from the more concentrated form of it.

So that is why I hesitate to read any further. I am not at this time one of those who can benefit from it, but rather from rereading and reflecting on what concerns me right now.

I don’t mean to be all depressive here. In fact, I don’t feel that way. I have been unreasonably blessed despite not deserving it. But there are also blessings even much greater, not only for myself but which could have brought happiness to many, that I not only don’t deserve (that doesn’t seem to stop the Heavenly Brother) but that I am not even capable of receiving, much like someone who is still crawling does not have the hands free to carry something, no matter how freely it is given.

Rose and Butterfly

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screenshot anime Goshuushou-sama Ninomiya-kun

“But if you hesitate with your choices, another chance may not come again.” That is one interpretation of it, I guess. Or two.

Listening to a collection of popular songs in Norway from 1955, I heard one I remember from my childhood (some ten years later). It begins with a rose speaking to a butterfly: “Soon the summer is over” she says to him, “and my beauty will be scattered by the winds. Come stay with me, and you will find shelter for the autumn storms.” But the butterfly disregarded this, and fluttered by. Eventually, however, he regretted his decision and came back. Too late, too late! Now the rose was dead, and only thistles offered him rest. And that’s why, with the rise of the dawn, a butterfly was found among thistles.

As a kid, I remember mangling this song to make one about tractors. OK, I may have been a pretty big kid, I was always childish for my age. But I definitely knew that the song was allegorical. It was not really about roses and butterflies. My suspicion was that it was about men with fear of commitment, and the vengeance that the natural order would wreak upon them.  (The unnecessary use of gendered pronouns in the song certainly made it clear who was the rose and who was the butterfly.)

Listening to it again, I am not absolutely sure. It may be a more generic message to not let good things pass you by. But I still think my first impression was mostly right. Little did I know back then that I would listen to this for the first time in decades, alone in a family apartment, at a time when the summer of my life was ending.

Of course, back then, I did not expect to live this long, what with the illness that harried me since I was a toddler.

“continually with thee”

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"Everyone feels that evenings alone are lonely times"

“Everyone feels that evenings alone are lonely times” says the teacher. But wait, there is one who does not feel like that, and that is I. For I am continually with thee…

“So foolish was I, and ignorant: I was as a beast before thee. Nevertheless I am continually with thee: thou hast holden me by my right hand.” -Psalm 73, verses 22-23.

This paradox is the heart of my life. I am not all heart, I have many other sides as well. But when we come right down to it, this is the mystery that sets me apart from the average person and changes everything. The “thee” in this text is presumably God. At least it is someone in Heaven. And that’s so for me too. If this Presence is not God personally, it certainly seems to represent Heaven.

The strange thing is that even though I have been as foolish and ignorant as a beast, if not more so, nevertheless I am continually with this Presence. It is beyond obvious that it is not something I have deserved or achieved.

And this more than anything else is what creeps me out about the teachings of St John of the Cross and various other highly respected saints. I can live with not eating tasty snacks or playing computer games; most of the world probably still has other priorities than that. I can live without a lot of things, if it is necessary. But I am not sure I can live, even literally, for long without the Presence.

The few times the Presence has been hid from me, typically for a quarter of an hour or so, I felt an anguish unto death. It felt like the core of my being was ripped out, and I felt physically weak, icy cold from the inside out, stunned by unspeakable fear, and the world had lost a dimension much like if you woke up and could only see in black and white. Everything seemed to be reduced to mere matter, as if the life and beauty and presence that fills everything had retreated to Heaven and closed the door behind it.

Now you may reasonably say that this is how people see the world, but I doubt it. I don’t think even hardcore atheists see the world dead and bare like that. They just are not able to realize that the life and beauty and presence all around them is not an automatic part of matter. Or they think it is just added by their own mind. And I guess that is correct, in a manner of speaking. But it is not automatic. It is not something the mind just can choose to add, or simply add by habit. It is something that can be taken away. But that intrinsic quality of the material world is not all of it, although it is striking. There is also a presence as if someone always watches over me with warm eyes, as if I were a small child playing in the presence of its parents.

“Continually with thee” is the best description I have ever seen of this. And even if I knew that something amazing was on the other side, I would not have the courage to let go of that hand.

I believe this Presence may have been there all my life. When I was four, my mother took me to a hospital in the city where I would spend several days being checked for various things about my asthma. She could not stay there with me, and could not afford to stay in the city even. She had to return to the farm, a night’s travel away, and it probably broke her heart. I did notice, but not much more. I had a most excellent time, except the nurses forced me to eat meat and fish. I put up a ferocious battle, and that was how my mother located me when she came some days later to pick me up. I was screaming – not for my mother, but rather, I was screaming: “I want just dessert! I want just dessert!” – because the main course was all full of dead bodies.

As a child, I was a talkative fellow, but I also spent hours on end alone by the river or in the forest or the mountain. All the while I was speaking out loud (it took quite some effort to stop it when I grew up), as if I took for granted that there was always someone there with me. I did not really think about it until much later, who or what my invisible friend was who was listening to me. When I learned to pray and later, in my teens, learned to stop praying and just listen, I could sense the Presence there, its aura as real as I myself if not more so.

And, except for those brief glimpses of Hell – or that was how it felt to me – I have been continually with my invisible friend. But it is not merely a silent presence. It has definite opinions on many things. It approves and disapproves, warns, comforts, gives me advice. It cannot be forced to “say” anything at all, and not to keep to any particular topic. It will supply information that it deems useful, for the most part, and often practical in nature, while my own thoughts often wander to obscure scientific topics it refuses to discuss.

So that is how it is. Sin is said to separate us from God, and it certainly makes things awkward, but even though I have been as a beast, I have been continually with Thee. It never caused a complete separation, a closing of the door. Well, actually I am not sure that one or two of those glimpses of Hell did not start with me sinning, but I know not all did. It seemed more like a biological thing, as if my God-sense was blinded. In a sense, it may have been more like my spirit had left together with God and the me that was left was “meat”. Although I am not entirely sure. I am in no hurry to test it again. Never is soon enough.

“Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel, and afterward receive me to glory.” -verse 24.

The Presence has guided me with its counsel, exactly, probably before I even read this verse (although that is hard to say, I may have read it in the old Danish Bible I found on the top shelf when I was 10 or so). I am a lot more worried about the reception into glory though, because I did not always (or was that “not very often”?) follow that counsel if it seemed less fun or more bothersome than my own alternative. Only when things went wrong did I have to take the next counsel.

“Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee.” -verse 25

This was the verse I was actually looking for when I returned to this psalm today. In Norwegian it says “I have lust for nothing on Earth”, which unfortunately is not an accurate description of me AT ALL. But “none” is an entirely different matter. I mean, I am glad there are humans, I would not be able to live long without them, I even like some of them, they are decorative and sometimes interesting. But there is no ONE of them that I “desire beside thee”, no particular person that fills a hole in my life. I have never been in love, even though I tried when I was young. But there is no keyhole to which anyone on Earth is the key. There is no human-shaped hole in my life (or dog-shaped or whatever). There is only one hole in my life, in my heart, and it is continually filled, except during the glimpses of Hell (luckily long in the past right now, long may that last).

I know from experience that if I pray earnestly for something to be taken away from me, it can happen. I made that mistake once! I was young and too eager for my own good, and had noticed that when I did something good for someone, I felt a kind of reward inside, a warm glow of happiness like that of a dog being praised. Having read some hagiography, I prayed to God to take away this feeling, as it was pleasing to the ego. And from then on, it disappeared. I feel bad when I do the opposite, but I feel no pleasure in doing good. Which worked nice for the saint I had been reading about (Madame Guyon, I think), but not for me. I haven’t really done much good since then, because I am a big bag of ego and when I don’t get praised by the Presence, I don’t really care. I mean, sure, I can help, but I don’t look for opportunities or go out of my way.

So I am not going to ask for the “Thee” to leave me. No ifs and buts about it. No way. As far as I am concerned, I would be happy to stay like this forever. And ever, amen.

“What you deserve”

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I probably still underestimate my happiness, compared to what I deserve. But less than I once did.

How would you like to get what you really deserve? I know there are few things that worry me more than the supposed law of Karma, or Divine Justice, or any such thing that would ensure that at some future time there is a reckoning for my life and I get exactly what I deserve. That would be a definite downer.

And it’s not like I’m some kind of criminal, or even given to grotesque and blatant transgressions against the specifically religious codes of behavior, not by human standards. Well, I have eaten some swine and cows, especially in my younger years, so I may not be welcome in those communities. But I stopped eating blood as soon as I was my own master in the food tray. And I don’t actually sleep around with other people’s wives (or husbands, God forbid) or get drunk and pick fights and blaspheme with impunity. Stuff like that.

That’s pretty much as far as it goes, though. The compass needle of my heart still goes crazy at the sight (or even thought) of certain types of women, although I can control my hands and generally my feet. I am still an unstoppable wellspring of excuses for laziness and gluttony, at least by the traditional standards of these things. (Not American standards, but that is faint praise indeed, may the Light have mercy on the unlucky souls born there.) Despite my supposedly pure intentions of doing my job to the best of my abilities and with love, I somehow end up doing very little and being very slow to acquire new skills. And my own wants generally take precedence over other people’s needs, almost every time and without a second thought. There are lots and lots of such things. Enough to fill books for sure.

In short, I am horribly lacking in divine love for my fellow travelers, and correspondingly full of love for my little earthly self. Despite all I have seen, all I have experienced, and the constant support of the holy Presence in my life, I remain a venial man pretty much across the board. I certainly don’t deserve the happiness that has been chasing me virtually all the time for years and years now.  That is not to say I don’t eagerly accept it. ^_^  But I definitely hope there won’t be a complete and fair reckoning anytime ever.

It baffles me that people who are utterly beholden to sin, think they never get what they deserve. Isn’t that a reason for jubilation? And I’m floored by advertisements that says things like “You deserve the best” when obviously only the best people deserve the best.  If I found a cure for cancer, or a safe and pollution-free energy source, or a way to regrow lost limbs or safely raise a low IQ, I would perhaps deserve the best. But just for being an ordinary citizen mostly looking out for myself? What the Hell do I deserve?

But of course, most people who irrationally think so highly of themselves, can’t help it. They have been raised that way, or the voices in their head don’t instruct them properly, but rather lead them astray. Jesus Christ says that the servant who knows what he should do and fails to do it will receive many lashes, while he who did not know will receive fewer. Likewise that he to whom much is entrusted, of him will the more be required. That’s basically what they say these days, “with great power comes great responsibility”. Although it is not just about power, it is about knowledge too. So a blind-hearted atheist may get away more easily in his life review than a religious person who received many revelations from Heaven but failed to use them responsibly. Yes, I am looking at me here.

For all these and many more reasons, I have no wish to ever get what I deserve. May the Light eternal avert from me its full Justice, that I may abide in Mercy forevermore!

***

PS: No, I am not feeling particularly depressed or anything. This is how I generally feel. I am not fibbing when I say that I feel happy in general, but I am very much aware that this is an undeserved and unwarranted happiness, a gift that I keep being given like a small child who keeps receiving and receiving from its loving parents even though it does nothing to earn its keep in any way.

Refracting the purer light

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Ouch, it is too bright! I kind of know that feeling.

It is hard to read even a few lines of Meditations on the Tarot and not be inspired to write a whole entry about those lines. The reason for this lack of proportion is that higher dimensions multiply when described in lower dimensions. In order to properly describe a mountain in pictures, you need innumerable photographies from every possible angle, and even then you have only described its surface, not its interior.

In a more poetic metaphor, you may compare Unknown Friend’s writing to a beam of bright light, that is refracted into a spectrum when passing through a different medium, which I certainly am. Admittedly, I am not a pure crystal but rather hazy and with shadows and impurities, so some quality would be lost even apart from the loss of compactness, intensity or concentration. Furthermore, I have my own “color” which colors everything that passes through me, so the spectrum I might display is different from the same light passing through another.

If I was a saint, or at least walking the path of sainthood, I could have done this to the Bible itself. In fact, I did, when I was young and innocent – in the sense of innocence where I was covered by grace like a junkyard covered in deep snow. These days, the light from High Heaven seems too bright for me, for the most part. I wonder if I shall live and die this way, illuminated mainly by the lesser lights, similar to the light of the moon rather than the sun itself? Although in the end, there can only be One source of Light, for sure.  (Speaking still in the spiritual sense, of course.)

And to be honest, I probably add a little too. I have lived many years now and learned many things, some by personal experience, some by reading or listening, and a little by the Presence in my heart. When some related ray of light hits my heart, it had the ability to wake up what is there, so that sometimes there comes out more than came in. But generally it is the other way around, at least with Unknown Friend. And let us not get started on Frithjof Schuon, a single paragraph or perhaps a sentence of his could easily expand to fill a book. It is incredibly dense. Or perhaps I am, but then in a less flattering sense!

 

 

Exercise and heart rhythm

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If you want your heart to flutter, there are probably other things you would do than elite endurance sports. Surprisingly, however…

Generally exercise is good for your heart, except in some cases of acute heart trouble. But things are not quite as simple as they sound, Scandinavian scientists have found out.

Studies of runners over 40 in the Norwegian “Birkebeiner” race and the Swedish “Vasalopp” race show that the top runners were far more likely to experience disturbances in their heart rhythm than the less “elite” participants. Both those who ran the fastest and those who ran most frequently had dramatically more cases of arrhythmia. In the Vasalopp, those who had participated at least 7 times had 29% more risk compared to those who had participated only once. And those who had run at less than 1.6 times the winning time had 37% more than those who ran at more than 2.4 times the winning time.

The most common disturbance is extra beats, which are considered harmless but tend to be disturbing. However, these people are also more at risk for oscillations, which can be life threatening. This risk is far lower, but even those who survive will usually have to step down from elite competition.

There is as of yet no official explanation for the findings, but the hypothesis that has been mentioned is a larger heart in top-trained individuals.

Source: Dagens Næringliv (in Norwegian), specifically “Vasalopp-toppene mest utsatt for hjertetrøbbel” and “Trener knallhardt – sliter med hjerterytmen“.

***

Regular readers will guess why I noticed these articles: Both this year and in 2005, I developed heart rhythm disturbances after a few months of regular exercise. Not exactly a great incentive to continue exercising, although the doctors and available literature assure me it is not life threatening at the current level.

There is a big difference however between me and the elite runners: I don’t run at all, I just walk (although in some cases I walk up long hills, which is an equivalent load to running on flat terrain, but uses the muscles differently.) There is nothing elite about my physical exertions at all. There are two other similarities, though.

Most notably, I have a remarkably low heart rate. Usually my resting pulse is in the interval 55-60, which is on the low end of normal. But late this summer it fell to 50, which is only normal for those who are active in endurance sports: Runners, bikers, swimmers etc on at least local competition level.

In addition, I am not visibly fat. It is kind of weird to even have to mention this, but these days it is normal to be fat if you are not an athlete.

I am pretty sure it is the first of these that is the key here. I believe the extra beats arise as a result of the slow heart rate. In the pause between beats, the heart is probably in some way more susceptible to false clues to start another beat. For most people, that pause is simply too short to trigger extra beats often (without the help of caffeine or romance, at least). As the beat gets slower, the opportunity for false starts increases. That is how I imagine it. I don’t have any medical education whatsoever, but it seems logical and it fits the fact.

So basically I consider myself a control group. If it was just the exercise that caused the change, then it would not affect me, since I exercise much less. But if the exercise causes this by lowering the heart rate below a certain threshold, then it would work for both of us.

Of course, there are (as implied from the start) many other things that can cause the heart rhythm to get unstable. But those are not things that change with the amount of exercise. If anything, exercising more means less time to drink coffee, and surprisingly also less nervousness. Whether it also causes less romance, I won’t have an opinion on. ^_^

***

Note that for most people these days, their pulse is on the high side rather than the low. This has its own problems. If your pulse is above 80, you should have a talk with your doctor about finding ways to exercise in a gradual way so as to build up your heart, and get the heart rate down. Obviously most people in the western world face very different health challenges from what I and the top athletes do! How did I end up in the wrong bin anyway?

 

Me, by my side

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I am perhaps the only one who get associations to “the other shore” from this Twinings ad. But that is not what I will write about today.

A friend of mine luckily mentioned this advertisement from Twinings, and provided a handy link. This is a YouTube video, so it may not be suitable for all workplaces even though there is no objectionable content. But it has moving pictures. It has also a song, which in my opinion can be skipped without great loss. It is not inappropriate or ugly, but it does not resonate strongly enough with the animation to be crucial.

\”Twinings gets you back to you\”

For those who cannot see it, this is a short animated video with a slightly watercolor style, especially of the character. A young woman is rowing a small boat alone in the middle of a sea with high waves. She loses one oar and fails to catch it. The waves increase to frightening proportions that would by rights overturn or fill the boat, but strangely instead the waves and the storm conspire to push the boat ever more rapidly forward until it is flying on the top of the waves, and the storm-tossed foam takes the shape vaguely of seagulls flying overhead without losing its character as foam. As the boat lands again, the water rapidly becomes calm and the sky clears up, the boat continuing by its momentum toward a beautiful shore. At the shore someone is waiting. The young woman jumps out of the boat as it stops on the sandy bottom, and wades ashore there to meet her identical twin in a loving embrace. Then as the two line up side by side they seem to fade into one person drinking tea, and the message “Twinings gets you back to you”.

In real life, I would say that under such adverse conditions it would take rather more than tea to bring us back to us. But that is not my message today, gentle reader.

***

Rather, after watching the video clip a few times, I had my own inner vision (albeit dimly) of a potential story for this year’s NaNoWriMo, one appropriately symbolic while detached enough from reality to riff upon, as you say in English.

The story would be about a young man who has a fateful encounter with himself – but not his current self. Rather, a godlike being (in the classical, idiomatic sense, not in the monotheist sense) who may be him from the future, or from an alternate timeline, or a higher reality, or two or more of the above. Basically, his ultimate potential.

Over the last few years I have repeatedly begun writing about a young man meeting a woman from a higher reality – a goddess in the classical sense – who for some reason has decided to seek him out and live with him, although usually others cannot see her at all (and certainly not for who she is). This is basically the Jungian approach, since the Anima is usually the first experience of the numinous for a man, not counting religion as such. Rather, the goddess-complex is normally projected on some woman of his own generation, and it is with this projected ideal woman he falls in love, rather than with the actual person. In real life, amazing women are very rare (I have only really known one offline, outside my own clan) and goddesses are rarer than hen’s teeth.

The upside and downside of the goddess approach is the erotic tension in their living together, which I circumvent in various ways. I like to think that most normal readers will not see a great deal of erotic tension in a person meeting his higher self: Most autoeroticism is pretty far from “higher” in any way I can think of. The downside is that it is probably a larger leap of imagination for the reader, if any. (The “if any” part makes it ideal for NaNoWriMo, which used to have the slogan “quantity over quality”. Not my favorite slogan but somewhat comforting for a write-a-ton.)

***

Being rather far from typical, at least now in my later years, I remember an amusing episode brought about by the voices in my head (which, need I remind you, are not actual hallucinations in my case, but rather streams of thought with some level of independence: People who are unfamiliar with introspection would probably assume they were thinking these thoughts themselves, which is in a certain sense true). The “voices” or muses can sing, however, and do so much of the time, enticing me to sing along. Conversely, they tend to sing along when I play songs I like. This also happened one day while I was listening to a love song by Chris de Burgh, for many years one of my absolute favorite artists (and composer and songwriter).

The song was, appropriately, By My Side, from the album Power of Ten, the first album of his that I bought (although he had been active for a long time by then).

When everything has gone,
you help me carry on;
you lift me up,you make me strong,
you give love to see me through…
Oo-oo-oo what would I do
without you
by my side?

But my voices took a slightly different route: They sang, without me by my side?

Which is kind of appropriate now, I guess. Thanks to Twinings…

 

Speaking or being spoken

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“The road to refinement is difficult.” But you’ve made a great start just by shutting your mouths! Congrats!

In the first chapter of Meditations on the Tarot, our Unknown Friend mentions speech almost in passing (when talking about concentration or yoga as stilling the oscillations of the mental substance, or willed silence of the automatism of the intellect and imagination). His point is that to most people, speaking is automatic. Not in the positive sense that you don’t need to think of how to move your tongue or your vocal cords, but in the negative sense that words just jump out of your mouth without a conscious decision to speak, much less exactly what to speak.

He says that the Pythagorean school prescribed five years of silence for beginners, or “hearers”. Only once they had learned fully how to be silent, could they be allowed to speak. At this time, it was judged that they were no longer just speaking automatically.

By default, there is an inner pressure to speak. The restless activity of the mind seeks an outlet. It is not so much that one has something to share with others, or even that one asks others for a favor.  Rather, there is speaking inside the head and it comes out. In the really bad cases, this is similar to how a baby excretes bodily wastes – it just happens, and the best one can do is clean up the mess afterwards. This is generally how children speak for many years after they have learned continence on the other end. Some people remain in this sad position throughout their lives.

Others – probably most, now that service is such a main source of employment – learn to “potty train” their mouth, so that they can hold back the words that bubble up inside. It may require them to ball their fists in their pockets or behind their back where the customer cannot see it, but then as soon as the source of their agitation is out of earshot, it all comes out.

This kind of verbal excretion is mentioned by Jesus Christ, who says that it is not what goes in through the mouth that makes a human unclean, but what comes out through the mouth: Evil thoughts that come from the heart and pass through the mouth; these make a human unclean. We Christians call this Jesus Christ “our Lord”, but it actually does not come easy to us to obey him in this. Of course it does not, for as long as the evil thoughts (or at least “thoughtless words, which cut like swords”) bubble up inside, the pressure will just keep rising if we close our mouth. Silence of the mouth is a terrible fate if one has no way to achieve at least a modest degree of stillness of the heart.

Stillness of the heart, then, is required in order to truly speak, rather than being spoken by the pressure of words that bubble up from inside. Stillness of the heart is hard to achieve without some degree of solitude. In fact, it takes a lot of solitude for a long time, for most of us. It is not impossible to arrive at this stillness in a noisy, busy, crowded life; but it takes an inordinate amount of dedication and grace put together. To expect that God’s grace (or some other karmic benefit) will make up for the lack of outward quiet – when one has a choice of such quiet – is rather similar to jumping from the top of the temple spire, relying on God’s grace to not get hurt.

Of course, not everyone can live alone or should live alone, or in a monastery of silent monks or nuns. Sometimes you just have half an hour now and then, or perhaps Divine providence makes it so that you cannot sleep for a period at night, so that you then get a chance to still the waves of your mind and commune with the Light in the depths of your heart.

But first and foremost we need to become aware of the words we speak (or type, for those of us so inclined!) We need to choose self-reflection: What did I just say? Where came these words from, did I really mean to say this? We need to reflect on our spoken words for sure if we shall ever hope to reflect on our thoughts.

To the religious, self-reflection saves from Hell; for it is written: “Pay attention to yourself and the teaching,  keep doing this; for when you do so, you shall save yourself and those who hear you.” (The phrasing in your particular religion will vary, but not the fact, surely.) But even if you are not religious in the traditional sense, surely you have a higher aspiration, or you would not be here reading this. You are not like cats or dogs, who make sounds merely to scare enemies, attract mates, evoke sympathy and obtain food.

I have had the opportunity for transformation in this regard that only a tiny, tiny fraction of humanity has ever had in all of history. If I have achieved some degree of awareness and choice of speech, it is no more than is required under such circumstances. In truth, almost certainly less. So I am not here as a teacher to instruct you, but as a fellow aspirant to encourage you in our shared hope and aspiration. May my words have been acceptable.

 

Letters and Light

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That’s pretty much the result I am aiming for. Bright, warm happiness. ^_^

I just got an e-mail from the Office of Letters and Light. Despite the pretentious name, it is actually the organization (such as it is) behind the NaNoWriMo movement – the National Novel Writing Month. More about that later, Light willing. Probably a lot more.

From my experience with the NaNoWriMo stampede, there is rather more letters than light, in the sense that many people write rather dark novels. I guess that is an expression of their soul or something – most are young and the majority seems to be girls. Youth is not an easy time for most people these days (and some never recover) and girls don’t have as many opportunities to act out their internal tragedy. So I am understanding if their novel ends with the world exploding or at least the main characters all dying. But that is not what I personally think of as “Letters and Light”!

When we are young, we are usually in the shadow of other souls that have dominated us: Parents, obviously (mostly mothers, these days, at least in Scandinavia), but also teachers and leader personalities in school or in one’s flock of friends. Few have the strength when young to stand up in this massive onslaught of informal authorities, to rise up and say “I must follow my own heart, I must walk in the Light that shines inside my soul.” This did not happen to me until I was around the age of 16.

Each person has his or her own soul and destiny. But when you are young, your destiny has not yet unfolded. Others are responsible for you. But subconsciously you know that the life you should live is different from what your supervisors imagine for you. (Usually – there are some cases where they align, but this is probably the exception these days.) This difference causes a friction that is perceived as a suffering. They are walking in their own light (which may or may not be Light as we know it) and want you to also walk in their light, but you are walking in their shadow until you become you in earnest. This usually takes quite some time.

For me, on the other hand, who has already lived on my own for over 30 years, I rather prefer to write actual “letters and light”, or luminous prose. I want those who might read me to sense some of the happiness and joy of living. I admit that it can get a bit shallow and fluffy. I am not good at Great Drama. I think people who are in an existential crisis should not read my fiction or even my journal, but rather the Book of Job or some such grand message from Heaven. I hope I am a good influence overall, but I don’t think of myself as the kind of person you would call for when you realize that your final hour on Earth is at hand.

(I have a brother who is that kind of person. There is definitely a difference.)

In Meditations on the Tarot, Unknown Friend has a chapter (the High Priestess) where he treats the levels that the Light has to go through to become a book. (Well, among other things. His chapters are pretty wide-ranging.) Perhaps I should read up on that? Well, I guess my aspirations in book-writing are quite a bit lower than his yet. I really don’t think I am up for writing timeless classics anytime soon. But I hope at least my letters will give off light rather than darkness, by and large. That is certainly my aspiration!