Monthly Archives: July 2017

Stellar Interiori

‘...One becomes Two, Two becomes Three...
And out of the Third comes One as the Fourth...’
- Mary the Prophetess.

77 Plate One of Duvet’s Apocalypse.

The Apocalypse of St John serves as more than just a Coda for the New Testament.
Its constant cycling and re-cyclying of ‘sevens’ also re-works the creation of Genesis, subsequent Hebraic festal traditions and the calendrical speculations of the Prophets.
We give below a taste of the seven-fold structure which runs throughout the whole of the mighty work…

“It was on the island of Patmos.
I was meditating on the seventh day when I heard behind me a voice as of many waters, “I am the beginning and end, first and the last.”

I turned to see who it was that spoke and I saw a figure resembling the Son of Man.
He was standing in the middle of seven golden candlesticks.
His beard and his hair were like white wool
His eyes were flames of fire.
His countenance was bright, as the sun when it shines at its height.
He was clothed in a long white robe.
About his breast went a golden girdle.
In his right hand he held seven stars.

His words rang out of his mouth clearly with the poignancy of a double-edged sword:

“I am he that lives and was dead.
I possess the keys to death and hell.
I shall live forever more.”

I fell down at his feet and they were like fine-brass forged in a furnace.

He laid his hands upon me, “You must write down all you see in a book, and send it
to the Seven Churches of Asia.
Let all the churches know that I am he who searches the reins of the heart and gives to every one, according to their works. Tell them to remember from whence they have fallen, to return to their first love lest I come upon them like a thief and remove their candlestick from its place, thus speaks the ‘Amen’: ‘I know your works, I know that you have a name, I know that you live, and yet, you are as the dead!’

To the guardian of the Church of Ephesus write,
‘He that is the beginning and end, first and the last says this:
‘I know your labours and your patience, yet this I have against you, that you love the Deeds of the Nicolaitans which I hate.
Turn within!
For to those that overcome the tribulations of the world will I give to eat of the tree of life which is in the paradise of God. Let those with ears hear the words of the Spirit.’”…

– Revelation.

The Kabbalah is a Ten not an Eleven.
The Octave is a Seven not an Eight.
The Tetragrammaton is a Three and not a Four.
The World is without but also within.

The Word is a Whole; the Not-Whole is the World.
How to make the World Whole?
‘Turn within.’

Metanoia…

Untitled3

 Future and Past?

Our Cube of Space constantly turns or flips.
One moment the Future holds sway
The next moment the Past.

The Past and Future are
‘Death and Hell’
The Old and the New,
But what of the True?

Where is the Present?
Where is the Now?
Where is the Spirit?

Within.

To be present is to be centred within…

Within is a Temple:
A temple is a Church;
A church is a Kirk:
A kirk is a Circle…

…But what kind of circle can be considered a Star?

*

 

Riddle Me Ree

2 - S France*

The device of riddling is common to most traditional cultures.

Maidens set riddles for their suitors: ‘What is sweeter than mead…?’ ‘What is whiter than snow…?’ ‘What is lighter than a spark…?’

Antagonists use riddles to settle their disputes: ‘Forty white horses on a red hill first they gnash then they champ then they stand still…?’ ‘What is blacker than the raven…?’ ‘What is swifter than the wind…?’

Divinities play hide and seek with their devotees within the miasmic form of riddles: ‘What dances on the surface of the water…?’ ‘What good did Man find on earth that God did not…?’ ‘What is sharper than the sword…?’

A riddle is one thing, or a collection of things, described as another thing, or a different collection of things.

It is an extended metaphor without its point of reference.

To solve a riddle is to gain clarity and rid one self of confusion.

‘Thunder before lightning…Lightning before cloud…land parching rain…give me a name.’

Solving a riddle allows one to recognise one thing in another and so transcend one or more of the polarities or categories that apparently govern the perceived world through language and thought.

A riddle then simultaneously highlights the rigidities of language and its potential flexibilities.

“A shepherd stands in a field with twenty sheep, how many feet?”

Riddles act like little bundles of experience to be untied by the uninitiated.
The riddler knows something you do not yet know…
Riddles straddle two or more different frames of reference.

Landscape features are given human attributes and provide ample food for the riddler.
‘I run never walk… my mouth never talks… my head never weeps… In my bed, I never sleep.’

The answers are rarely if ever immediately obvious… their solution requires contemplation.
Just like crossword clue solutions they are though obvious once you know them.
Unlike crossword clue solutions, there is more often than not a very practical purpose to their solution.

If a landscape can have human features then, why can’t a human have landscape features?

3-SFrance*

The Irish are particularly fond of the riddle and of the consciousness, which underpins its use.

When living in the village of Saughall on the border of Chester and Wales my brother-in-law and I were frequent visitors to the village pub which boasted two Stouts: Guinness and Murphy’s.

We prided ourselves on being able to tell the difference and would often buy one of each in order to discern which particular brew had been ‘kept best’.

Upon joining a couple of Irish chaps at their table one night they must have observed our traditional ritual with some amusement and challenged us to ascertain what they were drinking.

“You are both drinking Guinness,” we said after taking a sip of their drinks.

“I am drinking Guinness,” said one, “but that is Murphy’s” and then pointed at his friends drink.

“You are both drinking the same stout and it is Guinness,” we reiterated.

Then they swapped drinks and the one said again, “I am drinking Guinness but that is Murphy’s” and again pointed at his friends drink.

Still we did not ‘get it’ and our faces must have been a picture when Gerald Murphy took a sip of his stout and introduced himself.

A riddle is a trick played with words.

Niall of the Nine…

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When young, Niall and his four step-brothers, Brian, Fiachra, Ailill and Fergus were given weapons by a smith and sent out hunting to prove their arms.

After losing their way in a forest, the five youths lit a fire to cook the game they had killed, and Fergus went in search of drinking water.

He came to a well guarded by a monstrous Black-Hag who would grant him the use of the well only on condition he gave her a kiss.

Fergus fled screaming…

Each of his three brothers in turn undertook the same errand but only Fiachra deigned to give the Black-Hag the merest brush of a kiss for which he was promised, in return, the merest of contacts with Tara.

Faced with the self same challenge, Niall kissed and embraced the Black-Hag who, when he looked again, had changed into the most beautiful woman in the world.

“Who are you?” asked Niall.

“I am Sovereignty,” replied the woman, “and your seed shall be over every clan.”

*

Star-Boy…

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In the beginning…

Star-Boy went about the world

Defending people against their enemies.

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Star-Boy was so strong…

He broke all bows of wood

And armed himself with a bone-bow

A bone-knife

And a stone war-club.

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One day…

Star-Boy came to a village of frogs

The Frog-Men poured out of their lodge to greet him.

They set before him food but no water.

“Whoever goes to the water, never returns,” said the Head Frog-Man.

“A great warrior lives there.”

“He has swallowed many of us alive.”

“So now, we thirst.”

*

Star-Boy, himself was thirsty after his meal.

He went down to the waterside and was swallowed by a Big Fish.

With his bone-knife he slashed at the gills of the Big Fish and cut his way  out.

He went back to the Frog-Men and slung the fish carcass at their feet.

“You need thirst no more,” he said.

*

 

Isle of Emain…

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A far distant isle

lies in leagues fifty-thrice

over the ocean to the west

larger than Erin, twice.

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Many faceted Emain

encircled by sea

rising from tide into sky

an ever wondrous beauty.

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On the fair isle of Emain

a hoary tree grows

its silver-laced branches

blossom like no-one yet knows.

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Multi-hued birds

sing within the tree tops

on a white-silver plain

do dragon-stones drop.

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Unheard is wailing

as sweet-music strikes ear

it issues through Emain

banishing all fear.

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A band of nine women

come down from a height

over variegate plains

to the seaside, pure-white.

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 Onward they run

to a stone shining-bright

for about it to dance

raising songs in the night.

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The pure man arrives there

 rowing in on the flood

stirring the ocean

as sun turns to blood.

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At dawn he arises

a delight to sore eyes

his coracle of bronze

illumining blue skies.

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 A splendour of colour

glistens in the land

spreads its glorious range

over sea-washed sand.

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The host he brings with him

for long ages stay

their beauty in freshness

knows not death nor decay.

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In happiness and health now

their laughter peals loud

on Emain in each season

reigns joyousness proud.

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My song to you all then

still in strife and in pain

you must voyage on the ocean

to the fair isle of Emain.

*

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Craft of the White-Crow…

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Whiter than the swan on a lake

Whiter than the gull of the stream

Whiter than snow on the high-peak.

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Like a wave of the sea from ebb to flood

Slender as the tall-birch, blowing…

Of a shape-sweet as full bodied clover, bobbing…

Of a colour-fair as summer’s bright morn, glowing…

Your presence, the dawning glory of the land.

*

Lovely the sun’s smile, rising…

Lovely the moon’s sheen, climbing…

 Lovely the stars gleam, shining…

 More lovely, the blush of your cheek.

*

The Ticket Inspector…

*

I am late.

I am expected in Leicester and now my only option is to catch the last train.

The last train to Leicester is a slow train and also appears to be experiencing difficulties.

Stopping where there are no stations.

That sort of thing.

It becomes clear that many of my fellow passengers are not going to get to their destinations and as the ticket inspector makes his round they discuss alternatives together.

As this is an unfamiliar route I assume that Leicester too is now out of the question.

A strange thing about the ticket inspector, although this is a new route and I have never met him before, he knows my name…

“Yes, Stu…”

…and uses its familiar form.

“You’ll be in Leicester in twenty minutes time.”

Not only does the ticket inspector know my name and use its familiar form, he is also incredibly accurate.

My alarm clock is due to go off in precisely twenty minutes time.

*

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Cusp of the Moon IV…

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When ravens

In battle-torment

For torn-flesh fight…

 Morvran, my horse

Firm-hoofed in stance

 Is indisposed to flight.

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 Splendid my saddle

  And bright never sore

Polished my ring,

  Blameless, pure.

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 When ravens

Over battle-field

Scream for strife…

Dormath my hound

Noses the green floor

His red gaze to ground.

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Escort am I

For the grave

East to West

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North to South

Alive am I,

Safe in death…

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