tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85781005605908293642024-02-19T01:21:39.360-08:00Hexagon Art - The Art and Musings of Jeff RichardsJeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.comBlogger64125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-12540484362310415782023-01-22T09:23:00.003-08:002023-01-27T18:55:04.537-08:00All Dressed Up With Everywhere To Go Part 3: Ritual Behavior<p> <u>Prelude</u></p><p>Let's hop off that two-edged sword of discernment for a moment ((it can be really, really sharp!), stuff it in our backpack and take a stroll into the landscape of the Imaginal. But, one may ask, how do we get to that terrain in the first place? Here we are in our day-to-day real world, paying bills and making lunch and driving to work; the thousands of mundane and often irritating tasks in that shared world which constantly draw our attention, feed our anxieties, lure our desires. Getting from the here and now of phones and computers, news and gossip, risks and responsibilities, to the Imaginal Realm seems at the least daunting, at most a pipe dream.</p><p>Putting aside the obvious fact that we go into the Imaginal naturally every night in our dreams, we'll have to look for hints and clues, perhaps even obtain a roadmap to help us on our journey. But even with a roadmap in hand we will need a vehicle, a means of transport. There is a clue available for us on that quest - that symbol that the Imaginal Realm passed on through the dream I referred to, the one that initiated this discussion. Namely, the white tuxedo. In that regard I'll reach back into my backpack and snag that black bow tie of discernment again (if you're gonna wear a tuxedo you're gonna need a bow tie), and... voila!!... all dressed up with everywhere to go.</p><p>I spoke in a previous posting of the possible symbolic associations that a tuxedo engenders. There is one I hinted at yet somehow couldn't quite nail on the head at the time, and it's that association I want to explore more clearly now, the one I'm hoping will possibly transport us to our destination. I'm talking here about an important clue the symbolic tuxedo gives us - the notion of ritual.</p><p><u>Fugue</u></p><p>One very common use of the term "ritual" is, simply put, habitual action. I have a morning ritual - I get out of bed, make a pot of coffee, turn on my computer and bring up a weather site. This happens pretty much every morning without thought. It's a simple routine without mysterious meaning or depth, yet it serves a function - the coffee perks me out of the night's slumber, the weather report helps me plan what I will wear that day, how my intended goals will be effected by rain or snow, cold or heat. I imagine we all have many such rituals throughout the day, rituals we hardly notice.</p><p>At the other end of the spectrum is my dictionary's primary definition of ritual - a religious or solemn ceremony consisting of a series of actions performed according to a prescribed order. This type of ritual might simply be for some a method to bring a community together, a bonding, or a networking tool of sorts. It might, for those so inclined, actually trigger an Imaginal experience - a vision of Jesus or Mary at church; a conversation with spirit guides during a peyote ceremony in a sweat lodge; an eruption of bliss and ecstasy while chanting mantra on a yoga mat. These are all legitimate forays into the Imaginal Realm, usually by individuals though occasionally shared by many or most of the community in attendance. </p><p>In any case, it's a prescribed event with rules and methods, sometimes evolved and formulated over eons of traditional practice, and which by the nature of repetition can become nothing more than habitual action, remaining on the level of a networking event, a fun Friday night psychedelic trip with buddies, a soothing chant during meditation to help relieve anxiety and lower blood pressure ( all legitimate activities, but not forays into the Imaginal).</p><p>Between semi-conscious habitual actions (like my morning ritual) and prescribed ceremonial actions (like ingesting peyote in a sweat lodge) lie a whole range of ritual-like activities. After my morning ritual I oftentimes engage in a series of what is popularly known as yoga exercises. My intent is very particular in this regard. I'm not a student of Hatha Yoga, in which case these exercises might be a very solemn affair among other practices with the intent of achieving Satori, or Moksha, or Kundalini activation. Rather, I simply want to take care of the body, make it more limber and agile in its actions within the world. I have a book describing these exercises in word and picture, and these are indeed prescribed instructions I follow. In this case the ritual also engages a process, in that repeated sessions over time gradually achieve my aims. Yet in no way am I looking to explore the Imaginal Realm through these methods.</p><p>At least not as a primary process. There is a secondary process that seems to tag along in parallel on its own. When I'm done with the exercises I'm more relaxed yet highly focused, more open and receptive in the sense of beginner's mind. This changed state of being just might, at times, open doors to the Imaginal. A similar thing happens when I go to the gym 3 or 4 days a week. I perform the prescribed activities dictated by the various machines, ritually following a specific order every time. Once again the primary process is oriented toward the body, to improve strength and endurance so as to to increase effectiveness in the world. Like yoga I come out focused, relaxed, etc. (though I have yet to exit the gym to see faeries dancing in the evening sky).</p><p>All of these actions I've described are prescribed rituals, whether religious or secular, Imaginally purposed or practical. They have their structures presented to the practitioner by a traditional institution of one sort or another, the parameters developed within a culture over time. Sometimes they achieve their goals, sometimes not. Sometimes they have secondary processes at work, sometimes not. But what if you were to endeavor to develop unique rituals for yourself, rituals not handed down to you by the Upanishads or Planet Fitness, especially if your purpose was to create a vehicle to transport you to the Imaginal Realm? How would you start?</p><p>To be continued....<br /></p><p><br /></p>Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-41020538219761838132023-01-06T19:40:00.000-08:002023-01-06T19:40:07.506-08:00All Dressed Up With Everywhere to Go Part 2: The Black Bow Tie of Discernment<p><u>Prelude</u></p><p>White tuxedo, black bow tie. That was the odd costume I suddenly found myself wearing at the emergence of the Big Dream from the confused chaos of the seemingly mundane small dream that night. I say "odd" because I have only one time in my life worn a tuxedo (at a brother's wedding decades ago) and that is not the sort of attire I aspire to; blue jeans and a t-shirt will do just fine, thank you. Even so, the black bow tie especially stands out for me as a symbol for the simple reason that I have owned only one tie of any sort in my entire adult life. I find them vaguely repulsive at worst, strangely silly and superfluous at best. The only one ever in my possession was a signed Jerry Garcia psychedelic tie given to me by Mr. Garcia himself in thanks for my volunteering at a fund raising event he had participated in. I never wore it, and eventually gave it to an aging Deadhead I was acquainted with. Thus, you can probably imagine just how odd it was for me to find myself in that black noose while in the imaginal dream world.</p><p>Obviously a strong symbol here, so what would one associate with such a specific article of attire? A few things come to mind - tradition, formality, constriction, pageantry, celebration, novelty, authority, sternness, silliness...hmm, some contradictions showing up here (btw, a bow tie also reminds me of the mathematical symbol for infinity, but I'll put that aside for now). If we're to tease this out it seems it's time to bring in the context of our destination, or more precisely the territory of our journey; the where amid all the every-wheres waiting in potential. And that, of course, is the Imaginal Realm. In that context an entirely new word symbol comes to me, one born of a particular necessity while traversing the various islands within that island nation - that is, the term discernment.</p><p>So now we have the black bow tie of discernment.</p><p><u>Fugue</u></p><p>I'll point out here that I'm not advocating the black bow tie of skepticism; or disbelief; or worse yet, cynicism. To quote my dictionary: to discern is to detect or perceive with the eye or intellect; to discriminate. One might say, to discriminate between truth and fiction, to perceive what-is without agenda born of hidden or unhidden paradigm fixations. Most skeptics and cynics can't see outside the box they've built around themselves, the paradigm they cling to. I have a small story to illustrate this.</p><p>This story played out during the time of the lead-up to the U.S. invasion of Iraq in 2003, close on the heels of 9/11. The Bush administration was making a great effort to convince the American public of the necessity to embark on that war. Colin Powell, a man respected and trusted by many from all sides of the political spectrum, was called upon to make the case. At one point in a presentation to the presidential press corps he displayed a satellite photo of two trucks parked by a road in the Iraqi desert, stating that U.S. intelligence believed the trucks were carrying missile launchers armed with weapons of mass destruction capable of hitting Israel and even parts of Europe. Later that evening Kofi Annan, then Secretary-General of the United Nations, was asked by a reporter what he thought of this evidence presented by Powell. Annan replied "All I see are two trucks in the desert".</p><p>Kofi Annan was using discernment. He saw trucks in the desert. Colin Powell saw missile launchers with weapons of mass destruction. It turns out Annan was right - no weapons of mass destruction were ever found in Iraq.</p><p>One might ask in this light what the uses of discernment are within the Imaginal Realm. After all, discernment is to a great degree a function of logic, a cognitive skill which some suggest does not apply to the island of the dream world, much less the island nation it inhabits. Nonetheless, I would suggest discernment is an important tool to carry in your backpack on that journey. When traveling among faeries and dead people and ascended masters a healthy dose of discernment just might be illuminating, and by default a bulwark against hazards. And hazards there are. When a channeled entity is met, one who has taken over the mind and body of a living person, are we to trust the message even if we accept the truth of the channeling? I have personal experience meeting a self-proclaimed channeler who evaded questions and dissembled left and right. Was he actually being channeled? I have no idea. But my bullshit detector, a great tool of discernment, was sounding the alarm. I later found out his closest followers eventually abandoned him. To use the analogy, they had been seeing weapons of mass destruction, then finally saw trucks in the desert.</p><p>But it's a two-edged sword, this tool of discernment. It can, if not being used carefully, blind us to possible truths outside our hidden paradigms. As a friend once suggested, in the Imaginal Realm one sits on the edge of that two-edged sword. Does it cut our butts, or tickle them?</p><p>To be continued... <br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-82676849093071972622022-12-25T19:21:00.000-08:002022-12-25T19:21:47.908-08:00All Dressed Up With Everywhere to Go Part 1: Imaginal Entanglements<p>Prelude:</p><p>To begin with I'd like to explain the genesis of the title of this new blog series. It began with a dream, one in which a recently common theme of obstacles, frustrations, misdirections and confusions in my dream world inhabited an apparently necessary journey I was embarked upon, a journey with uncertain intent or destination. In other words, a mostly mundane and forgettable nocturnal adventure. But then the scene suddenly shifted, and what had been what I sometimes term a "small dream" began to morph into its flip side, what I term a "Big Dream". With this shift I I found myself in a large, brightly lit room, perhaps a ballroom. To my surprise I noticed I was dressed in a white tuxedo and black bow tie. I began wandering through the room, now peopled with a number of equally well dressed guests. I passed close by a woman I recognized who, upon seeing me, commented with a smile "You look like you're in love!". This seemed rather odd on its own, yet as I passed by another female acquaintance a few steps on she repeated the same declarative, "You look like you're in love!". This scene repeated itself exactly several times more as I wandered through the room, which confused me since I am decidedly not in love with anyone, nor have I been so since my young adulthood (unless being "in lust" is synonymous with being "in love").</p><p>And then the dream abruptly ended as I woke up to the blare of my alarm clock. As I fumbled out of bed to make coffee I pondered over this strange string of identical comments, puzzled but mildly amused at the disconnect to my real-life amorous condition, or rather the lack thereof. Just then a thought popped into my mind, one practically as disconcerting as the dream comments from my female dream interlocutors - I realized that what they meant was not that I looked like I was in love with someone, but that I was IN LOVE, or more precisely I was WITHIN LOVE.</p><p>I was absolutely certain of this new revelation of the meaning of the dream message, but it had a peculiar feel to it. I have never, as far as I can remember, thought or felt or intuited that I was "within love". This characterization of my life condition is one I've never expressed, nor is it one I would anticipate embracing in any foreseeable future life condition evaluation. It had the feel of a message from something outside myself, or perhaps from some strange and usually inaccessible region of my interior self. In any case, I knew this to be the real content of the nocturnal message.</p><p>Later that afternoon I had occasion to email a friend on some matters and, knowing he appreciates the slip and slide of our dream lives, related to him the content of my dream and the sudden revelation of its interpretation. His reply was immediate. "Knowing you as I do, Jeff, I would add another meaning implied in this dream - you are all dressed up with everywhere to go!". </p><p>And so the title of my new blog series. Which begs two questions. Firstly, where does one go when everywhere is in play? And secondly, what does one wear that qualifies as "all dressed up" when embarking on that journey? I think these questions are closely related, though for now I will begin with a discussion of the second.</p><p>Fugue:</p><p>If one is to embark on a journey, appropriate attire is called for. You might say a tuxedo is appropriate for a wedding, or a splashy event like the Oscars. It is decidedly not appropriate for an exploration of the geosphere, like a hike into the Grand Canyon. Nor for exploring the biosphere, as in a trek through a tropical rain forest. It is apparently appropriate for a dream journey, which is by definition a journey through the noosphere, the sphere of thoughts and ideas, dreams and reveries, culture and creativity. The noosphere is vast, yet mostly invisible. You might call our dream life a little island in the vast landscape of the noosphere - a very special kind of island where linear causality in time is rather loosely held, where stories have a beginning, and another beginning, and another; where the middle is sometimes the end: where the end is almost never. </p><p>Let me rephrase that. Our dream life is an island within an island nation within the noosphere. Recently I stumbled upon a name for that island nation, one that is derived from a Sufi notion and expanded upon quite beautifully by the author Cynthia Bourgeault. That name is the "Imaginal Realm".</p><div style="text-align: left;">First off, I don't mean by that name, imaginary. We don't imagine our dreams, like we might imagine what it would be like to get rich, or play professional baseball, or suddenly score a date with that hottie down the next row of cubicles at work. Dreams happen to us, and in that sense they are real (at least when we're immersed in them). Yet they are not real in the same way our normal everyday waking life is real. They exist within the imaginal realm, and are real in that realm - an island within that island nation. And it's the contours of that island nation that I want to explore in order to figure out, at the least, what the appropriate attire is for that journey. To begin that exploration, I'll quote from Bourgeault in her book "Eye of the Heart".</div><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><i>The term "Imaginal Realm" has its original provenance in Islamic mysticism, but the idea itself - if truth be told an archetype more than idea - is common to all the great sacred traditions. It is traditionally understood to be a boundary realm between the worlds, each structured according to its own governing conventions and unfolding according to its own causality. In traditional metaphysical language, it is the realm separating the denser corporeality of our earth plane from the progressively finer causalities which lie "above" us in the noetic and logoic realms.</i></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><i>I say "boundary", but the imaginal world is more of a confluence, for the word "boundary" suggests a separation while what is really at stake in the realm is an active flowing together. </i></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><i>Experientially received within one's own quiet subjectivity, it appears as an allusive aliveness, a meaning presenting itself in "glimpses and visions", a foretaste or reminder of a higher order of being to which the human heart actually belongs and to and from which it responds, with infinite tug. The imaginal nudges us, beacons us, corrects us as we stray from our authentic unfolding, rewards us with dazzling glimpses and reassurances of that "other intensity" to which we truly belong, and in whose light the meaning of our earthly journey will ultimately be revealed, like the treasure buried in a field. </i></p><p style="text-align: left;">Pretty much everything she says here does, or at least can, apply to dreams. But like I said, dreams are one island among many in this island nation of the Imaginal Realm. The Imaginal Ream can pop up in everyday life in the form of synchronicities, intuitions<i>,</i> creative epiphanies. Just as importantly, it can show up as visions, voices, precognitions, clairvoyance. It can appear as a dialogue from a disembodied entity as in channeling, or a message from a deceased loved one, or simply as a sculpture of the Goddess in the form of a twig at one's foot. </p><p style="text-align: left;">I suspect all of us have experienced the Imaginal Realm in one form or another, even if we won't admit it to any but our closest loved ones (if even them). But it's there, it's real. I experience it almost daily in my creative work life, in those moments when something appears in the work that is decidedly not me, but of me in some strange and mysterious way that I can't rationally explain, that is somehow outside the causality of the normal world I usually inhabit. As I've also related, I have occasionally encountered it vividly in my dream world, in the "Big Dreams". So, to get back to my original question, if I want to explore this realm further, what is the appropriate attire?</p><p style="text-align: left;">And in that, I will refer to the dream I related at the beginning of this blog post. Dreams are saturated in symbolism, and the symbol that pops up most strongly for me in my dream attire is the black bow tie I wore.</p><p style="text-align: left;">To be continued...<br /></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><i> </i></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><i> </i></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><i> </i></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: justify;"><i> <br /></i></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><i> </i></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><i> </i></p><p style="margin-left: 40px; text-align: left;"><i> </i><br /></p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-18091192235407389732022-04-25T19:31:00.000-07:002022-04-25T19:31:44.491-07:00Confessions of an Explorer, Part 6: On the Nature of Faeries (And Mermaids)<p>"Every once in a long while a fisherman reels in a mermaid." - comment by a friend after hearing my story of the blue circle.</p><p>There's something curiously Faerie-like about the art making process. We've all heard descriptions related by novelists of how they plan a story idea, work out the outlines and structure of the tale, frame the attributes and personality of each character - all of this only to find as the writing proceeds that the characters start to write their own dialogue, changing the direction of the narrative seemingly to suit their own purposes. All of this culminating in the author questioning who exactly it was that wrote that novel. I imagine improvising musicians often have a similar feeling, as well as musical composers - Johannes Brahms spoke in an interview in the early 20th century of how he felt that his best music arose when he was able to hand over the work to a higher power and just get out the the way. In other words, let the Faeries do their work.</p><p>I've written before in this blog of my finding those moments when, after finishing a piece, I could think back and remember every step, every decision, every nuance - yet still wonder where the heck this thing in front of me came from. Some call this almost typical creative experience an intuitional breakthrough, perhaps one facilitated by a letting go of the small egoic self that allows the usually veiled higher self to move to the center and speak. The experience is quite magical, yet something the creative agent can grasp, can own. Let's call this a borderline Faerie experience. </p><p>In contrast, the experience of the blue circle is of another order. I set up the conditions - the circular panel, the grid laid out to accentuate a spherical effect, the failed attempts that led to a thick layer of blue paint to establish a new starting point. That was the extent of my input, and as I explained, when I left the shiny-wet blue circle laying on a table to dry I was more than a little discouraged.</p><p>Then something I can't account for happened overnight and I returned to discover a masterpiece; a totally unexpected, unimaginably sublime message from some source outside my experience, conscious or unconscious This was a real, full-on Faerie moment.</p><p>Which begs a question - what exactly do I mean by the term 'Faerie'? As you may have surmised, I'm using it in a generic sense pointing to the possible existence of realms or dimensions outside of our usual rather limited 5-sense perceptions and equally limited cognitive abilities. I could use the term spirit world, or inter-dimensional realms, other-worldly habitations, or just simply the ghostly realms. The word Faerie was suggested to my by my Irish friend, that being a term meaningful to her culture. Another might say Angels, or Daemons, or Spirit guides. I like Faerie because it's so in-your-face goofy. It directly challenges the rational mind-set because it's so silly in a way, so childish - think of fairy tales, or Peter Pan's Tinkerbell. We've all grown out of that, haven't we? No one over 8 years old believes in Santa Claus....right?</p><p>But then a blue circle happens, and suddenly Faeries seem perfectly reasonable, or at least reasonably possible. I mentioned that encountering that artwork immediately gave me a sense of otherness, of forces outside my day-to-day perceptions. Is there something, or some things, or energy, or entities that exist beyond our usual abilities of detection?</p><p>For the off-the-cuff doubters out there, I simply suggest they examine the dream world they inhabit every night, remembered or not. I'm not speaking of psychological analysis, as valuable as that method can be. I don't think I'm at all unusual in having found myself, on occasion in dreams, within completely other-worldly landscapes among other-worldly inhabitants; places and 'people' of shape and form and mysteriousness such as I have absolutely no reference in the waking world, including Hollywood. Even in the most common dream we might fly, or breath underwater, or hurtle off a cliff in a car headed to a deep river valley below, only to slow down and finally hover safely over the raging waters just feet away. Where could this all possibly come from, on a nightly basis? Is it such a common experience that we mostly ignore it, mostly lose any sense of wonder about how it could be? How many times have you told yourself "It's just a dream"? And you think Faeries are silly and childish?</p><p>For the rest of us non-doubters, or at least non-dismissers, the idea of a Faerie realm is an intriguing possibility, if for no other reason than most of us have experienced at various times in our lives experiences so unusual that no reasonable explanation cuts the cloth. In fact, reasonable explanations can be completely irrelevant. But it's hard to admit these experiences, given the usual ridicule they illicit. I know. Who seriously believes what I've described as my Kundalini experiences? Not many, sadly. I can't blame them; at times I can hardly believe it myself! Yet there it is. And there is the blue circle, hanging right now in my new exhibition space in my studio, which I've titled " Fairy Portal".</p><p>And so, what do we make of the nature of Faeries?</p><p>To be continued...<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-194084821926863032022-02-25T18:18:00.001-08:002022-02-26T04:14:03.519-08:00Confessions of an Explorer, Part 5: Mystery Appears<p>Something happened in my art studio recently.</p><p>I had been working on a large circular panel, laying out with thread a grid of squares and then painting over that grid with layers of color. Other than the intentional nature of the grid as a starting point I had no firm idea of where the piece was to go. As is often the case, I was simply content to let the process take me where it wanted. Unfortunately the sneaky fella (can we speak of an artwork as a fella?) took a wrong turn and before I caught on we had hit a dead end in the form of a pool of quicksand. A little discouraged, I decided it was necessary to retrace my steps and get onto firm footing I spray painted a rich blue color over the entire circular surface, laying the paint on heavy to assure that I would end up with a solid blue color field as my new starting point. It happened to be late in the afternoon and, realizing the thickness of the wet paint would take quite awhile to dry, I lay the piece on a work table and packed it in for the day. As I headed out the door I caught a last glimpse of the shiny wet blue circle, hoping with a sigh that the freshness of a new day would indicate a different direction for me to pursue.</p><p>When I returned to my studio the next morning I was in for more than a big surprise. Here's in image of what I found had happened to my blue circle in the dead of the night - in my empty and locked art studio:</p><p><br /> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHNXNm-tZ9C-Dl4K06Dt4xYc3c5f3d8b6vSTz1oP4MOI-hl3cFPVkeqX9-hyF66_o_wSd34xHgcFfAFm8qgUJ5WWHoBfim9xsWlSQOZaRMFW9d63R9XFotmhCGPqekEwfW4bG1owVTxbd1k1jXfIXT1HMkS3o1XilcAHvIAyItrL6h5qgzR7LKlCM=s4608" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="481" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhHNXNm-tZ9C-Dl4K06Dt4xYc3c5f3d8b6vSTz1oP4MOI-hl3cFPVkeqX9-hyF66_o_wSd34xHgcFfAFm8qgUJ5WWHoBfim9xsWlSQOZaRMFW9d63R9XFotmhCGPqekEwfW4bG1owVTxbd1k1jXfIXT1HMkS3o1XilcAHvIAyItrL6h5qgzR7LKlCM=w361-h481" width="361" /></a></div><p></p><p>I was flabbergasted! Look at these details:</p><p><br /> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiLGYx65JDdq_zTaTwxHnCuME8xxHSIXYWCS1mCtrLTn-YR4w93hy3wsQm4DXYSXM94UsQlDFP84Ad4c3aS0UQXsekng_oadIdZRayGhhaBAIaE0UB_PK9itehN2m7vTDumrNtKxvX5rv2dfiy7lTPFqdPbsqWoKjZHf6RQR3oH5pkYLFtbtTMrTs8=s4608" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="488" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiLGYx65JDdq_zTaTwxHnCuME8xxHSIXYWCS1mCtrLTn-YR4w93hy3wsQm4DXYSXM94UsQlDFP84Ad4c3aS0UQXsekng_oadIdZRayGhhaBAIaE0UB_PK9itehN2m7vTDumrNtKxvX5rv2dfiy7lTPFqdPbsqWoKjZHf6RQR3oH5pkYLFtbtTMrTs8=w366-h488" width="366" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiyhhcvbrsT_4PPy_o7D85GCQBHVwMwdOHSABmlWj3eLj_FjUHFOsPRhC5axNsFU_B-ZPD6wJmhmv6SVcLAyM63bZoDj5PX4JKFHucnl9Fgh45D3cW-tMdmUaP0QDZq935adt5daQajGyMOIp7E3o8uiXMgapxoHyDyNoKEB5Ox8LjFExRQPGNyJRc=s4608" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="491" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiyhhcvbrsT_4PPy_o7D85GCQBHVwMwdOHSABmlWj3eLj_FjUHFOsPRhC5axNsFU_B-ZPD6wJmhmv6SVcLAyM63bZoDj5PX4JKFHucnl9Fgh45D3cW-tMdmUaP0QDZq935adt5daQajGyMOIp7E3o8uiXMgapxoHyDyNoKEB5Ox8LjFExRQPGNyJRc=w369-h491" width="369" /></a></div><p></p><p>I kid you not, I had no part in this transformation. I was dumbfounded by the sheer beauty of it, by the absolute coherence that is so evident. A strange feeling of otherness came over me, the sensation that some alien presence had shaped the paint. Even today it looks to me like a symbol language, an alphabet with a distinct yet mysterious message which speaks not to the rational mind, but to something deeper, something almost instinctual, something untranslatable, ineffable, yet profoundly moving.</p><p>I immediately realized this artwork was finished. Nothing more for me to do here; it was perfect (which in my book is good enough!). In fact, one of the most perfect artworks I've had a hand in; yet my part was simply to set up the grid on the circular panel, lay in as much blue paint as I dare apply, and blithely walk out the door. I had not the slightest inkling that some entity, some spirit, or at least some beyond possible stroke of luck would take over and create a masterpiece. For my part I was home dreaming of strange dogs following me around as I searched anxiously for where I was supposed to be, which I'd forgotten because the car had spun off the road over a cliff, hurdling at a dizzying speed down to the waiting river below, only to slow down and finally hover inches above the raging waters, which allowed me to leap out of the car into a crowded holiday party on shore where no one could give me directions to my destination because I had forgotten where I was going and WHY ARE THOSE DAMN DOGS FOLLOWING ME EVERYWHERE???!!!</p><p>Well, it was a strange dream, but that's what was occupying me as faeries were working their magic in my studio. </p><p>Of course, we all know in our modern, sophisticated, rational minds that there is no such thing as faeries, or Santa Claus, or the Easter bunny. Ask anyone with a cell phone if they've videoed a faerie, and if they say yes demand to see it. This whole thing was just a natural process - paint resisting paint aided by the winter coolness in my studio which caused a very slow dry time. So I set out to duplicate the effect, identifying the sheen of the paint, the density of the added pigment, the coolness of the environment. Making some small panels to experiment on, I tried one combination, then another, then another...and got nothing. Persevering, I tried different brands of the paint medium, different sheens, different densities of pigment...and got nothing. This went on for two weeks, when finally I got just the slightest hint of the effect, but that would be the best I could do. It was getting frustrating and I was baffled as to why the solution was eluding me.</p><p>Then it occurred to me that I was approaching this conundrum from a completely wrong perspective. It wasn't a matter of identifying causal factors, like solving a chemistry problem. There would be no solution for me at the end of a physics equation. The real truth was that I needed to figure out how to communicate with the faeries; and to do that, I might have to translate the message in the artwork.</p><p>To be continued...<br /></p><p><br /></p>Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-87633836266002645992021-10-27T19:57:00.000-07:002021-10-27T19:57:01.246-07:00Addendum To a Prelude To a Plelude<p>If you read my last posting here you might remember the story of an unusual healing I underwent, the apparent result of an experiment in utilizing the potential of energies that I've observed coursing through my arms and into my hands. It was certainly a surprise to me, one that was encouraging yet perplexing. The little jeffy in me, the skeptical one, was unconvinced. Alternately, Big Jeff simply echoed the comment from a friend who had read the account - Why not? I decided there was a need to experiment further, and an opportunity quickly presented itself.</p><p>Soon after the period of the mysterious healing I decided the eyeglasses I had been wearing for several years were scratched beyond help and in need of replacement. I went in to the shop to order a new pair and was informed that the prescription had expired and I was in need of a new examination. That seemed like an annoying expense, but I acceded and set up an appointment with my ophthalmologist. Little did I know that I would be in for a surprise.</p><p>After all of the usual mini-tortures that come with an eye exam, the doctor informed me that not only did I need a stronger eyeglass prescription, but that he had detected unusually high pressure inside my eyes and had spotted signs of early stage glaucoma. He explained that glaucoma was the result of this high pressure squeezing on the optical nerve at the back of the eye, and over time this pressure would cause a gradual decrease in peripheral vision, eventually leading to a kind of tunnel vision. He also explained that if caught early -as it was, hopefully, in my case - it could be treated, and so he referred me to have a more thorough examination at an eye surgery clinic in the area.</p><p>As you might imagine this was rather unpleasant news, exasperated by the fact that I am a dedicated VISUAL artist. As so many come to realize, getting old sucks!!!! I was unsettled, but the news of possible treatment was at least a bit encouraging. After mulling things over for a couple of days I decided the best thing to do was to get the whole picture as quickly as possible, so I called the clinic to make an appointment. They had received my referral and I was on file, but this was a busy clinic and the earliest time I could get was six weeks out. So much for quick. I agreed to the date and time and resigned myself to waiting it out. </p><p>Which turned out to be a blessing in disguise, for I realized this was the opportunity to experiment once again with the kundalini energies coursing through me. I immediately integrated into my almost daily kundalini session a focused meditation, similar to the one I described in my last post concerning the skin blemish. In each session, once I could feel the energies strongly flowing into my hands, I would raise my arms together, then lower them until the palms of the hands hovered just over my eyes - right hand over right eye, left over left. Every time, within seconds, that particular indescribable sensation that some label prana would envelope my eyes. In my mind I imagined the prana working to return each eye to its natural, healthy state. Two or three minutes would pass, at which point I would raise my hands high again, then return them to my side.</p><p>Did I believe this was going to make a difference? Big Jeff simply suggested, why not? On the other hand little jeffy counseled, don't hold your breath. You might say the totality of me didn't believe this would work, but nonetheless had faith that something good would come of it. At the least this faith allowed me to cut back on some of the anxiety and go about my day to day business with a degree of equanimity, where eventually it became a back burner issue in my life...until the day before the exam, when little jeffy started to lose it with flashes of anxiety. Interestingly, Big Jeff held his calm, repeating over and over to the little guy the simple question - why not? And guess what? The calming advice worked. By the day of the exam little jeffy was, if not exactly enthusiastic, at least mostly stoic about what was to be revealed.</p><p>And so I, meaning the totality of me, walked fairly calmly into the clinic. In fact, looking back on it now, I'm surprised at how calm I was. This was quite possibly a life changing moment, yet I simply arrived, spoke pleasantly with the attendant at the desk, and submitted to a barrage of bizarre vision tests - modern medicine, as good as it supposedly is, is a madman's technological nightmare. I had no idea what was being done to me, or for what purpose. Room after room of crazy machines to stick my head into, barraging my eyes with unspeakably crazy light effects intended to tease out how far I have deviated from normal eye health. After an hour of this I was led to a quiet room, where I received eye drops to dilate my eyes, being told that after 20 minutes the drops would take effect and a doctor would examine me.</p><p>I had brought a book, anticipating possible long waiting times. It was one I was re-reading at the time, titled "The Time Falling Bodies Take To Light", an irony I only just now see. It's a fascinating book examining the beginnings of language and culture in very early Homo Sapien life as long as 100,00 years ago. Surprisingly, I became completely absorbed in the book despite the coming verdict from the doctor. When he arrived he put me through a detailed examination of my eyes, yet for the first time since I arrived I felt I was being examined by a DOCTOR, not a machine. He was a nice guy. The assistant he brought was a nice gal. They worked smoothly together, and I was comforted in a weird way.</p><p>Then the verdict came. I just listened with no anxiety, no expectation. Whatever was coming, I was ready for it. The doctor said, rather simply, that I had no high pressure in my eyes. I had no signs of glaucoma. He recommended I come back in a year for another exam, but otherwise I was OK.</p><p>You can imagine the shit-eating grin on my face as I heard this verdict, partially disguised from the doctor by the covid mask I was wearing. As I left, driving home with my temporary sunglasses shielding me from the intense light entering my still-dilated eyes, I considered the possible implications. Maybe my ophthalmologist had made a mistake, had misdiagnosed my situation. Or perhaps, just perhaps, prana had done its work.</p><p> Why not?</p><p>To be continued... <br /></p><p><br /></p>Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-13146585467110244672021-10-12T08:24:00.000-07:002021-10-12T08:24:45.046-07:00Confessions of an Explorer, Part 4: Time Is On My Side???<p><u><b>Yet Another Prelude to a Prelude</b></u></p><p>I've been reporting observed events related to my Kundalini experience with the intention of getting them on record. I'm not necessarily certain how to interpret them - what does one make of electric toe wiggles, dancing lights, arm to hand rushes of energy? Not for me to say at this point - just the facts, ma'am. Here's the latest:</p><p>As the arm to hand energy sensations continued to increase I thought to conduct an experiment. Many who speak of Kundalini conceptualize the energies as Prana, a life force that normally supports our biological machine at a low level we hardly notice, yet has the potential to greatly increase when activated. Given my experience this seems a sensible possibility to me, and so I began to wonder if the discharge of energies into my hands could be utilized in some way. We all have probably heard of individuals who claim to use energies of some sort to heal - laying on of hands, so to speak. Could this energy radiating into my hands be some version of that? If so, how would I test it?</p><p>I have very light skin, and noticed a dark growth appear just above my left clavicle perhaps 5 years ago or longer. Very small at first, hardly a concern, yet over time it has slowly increased in size to the point that recently I've considered having it looked at by a dermatologist and possibly removed. Instead, I decided that this would be the object of an experiment involving the strange energy sensations rushing into my hands.</p><p>Let me first describe my current Kundalini practice. Almost daily at some point in my activities I stop the normal flow of events and lie down on my back to do a 20 minute Pilates session aimed at loosening my upper back, neck and shoulder joints. Quite effective, by the way. After finishing, still flat on my back, I start a mini-ritual, taking a deep breath as I spread my legs to shoulder width, then another deep breath as I spread my arms a bit from my hips, turning palms up. One more deep breath and I close my eyes. At that point I mentally fall into my body, and within minutes, sometimes seconds, the Kundalini/Prana energies begin to make themselves evident. Often beginning at the perineum, sometimes in the heart region, the energies typically slowly build until they run down my arms and into my hands, creating an exquisite sensation in my fingers that causes them to flex and wiggle. Here's where, recently, I began my experiment.</p><p>Using the notion of Prana as a life force underlying our biological selves, I began conceptualizing the energies in my hands as having the potential to return damaged organs or cells to their normal, healthy state. With this in mind I started to proceed with the experiment, the process as follows. I extend my arms fully upward, and as I do so the sensations increase, surging to my fingers. Then I lower my arms, hands going to my left neck area. With my left hand I pull back the collar of my shirt and hover the open palm of my right hand over the skin blemish. I hold this position for perhaps a minute, sometimes longer, literally feeling energy flowing into my palm. When my arms begin to tire I end the experiment, raising hands first to the sky, then lowering into my normal Kundalini session position.</p><p>Did I believe anything would come of this? The little jeffy in me was entirely skeptical, but willing to go along for the ride - after all, what was the harm? Big Jeff just observed with arms folded over his sternum. He had seen enough of the unusual to know better than to form an opinion; he is by nature very, very patient. The Unborn was kicking in the womb.</p><p>I performed this experiment almost daily, but after ending the session tended to quickly forget about it as I immersed myself in day to day life. After my usual morning shower I would occasionally glance at my shoulder, though most of the time it would not occur to me to check if there was any progress. Then one morning, after three or four weeks of experimentation, I consciously took a look in the mirror and thought I detected a small change in the blemish, though I didn't have my glasses on and couldn't be sure due to a little fuzziness. The next morning while in the shower I felt a little itchiness in the area and when I scratched it a piece of skin sloughed off. I jumped out of the shower, putting my glasses on and wiping steam off the mirror. I looked and...behold! The very dark patch of skin was gone, and all that was left was a pale remnant of the shape!</p><p>What to make of this? If you're going to insist on coincidence I can't argue with you, except to remind you that this patch of dark skin had been with me for many years, slowly growing over time, showing no signs of going away. It had become a familiar, if slightly unnerving, presence in my body. And now it's gone.</p><p>Just the facts, ma'am.</p><p>To be continued...<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-17059091796083002572021-09-19T18:16:00.000-07:002021-09-19T18:16:12.137-07:00Confessions of an Explorer, Part 3: Can Culture Make Whoopee?<p><b><u> Prelude to Another Prelude</u></b></p><p>In keeping with my last posting here I have a new Kundalini observation to share. I previously mentioned the curious physical phenomenon I associate with my developing Kundalini process - the toe tingles, and the low illumination visual perceptions of dancing lights. Not long after those arose yet another related surprise made itself known, a pattern of lovely tingling nerve sensations running down my arms and into my hands and fingers. Subtle at first, these sensations now are quite strong and consistent, often signaling the beginning of a transition to a whole body prana/nerve explosion. All of these experiences are available to me at most any time, though the intensities vary from day to day. Yet in the long run there seems to be a steady increase in those intensities, suggesting a developmental arc, the goal of which is not yet apparent to me.</p><p>BTW, this recent August 18 was the 13th anniversary of the first onset of this mystery. Quite a ride. </p><p><b><u>Prelude</u></b></p><p>Mark Rothko (1903 - 1997 was a Latvian born American painter best know for his works under the genre identified as Color Field Painting. He came into prominence in the 1950's and 60's and was an active, internationally renown painter until, after a protracted and deteriorating illness, he committed suicide.</p><p>If you're not familiar with the term, Color Field Painting is pretty much exactly as the name describes - large swatches, or fields, of pure color laid out in an abstract manner, usually on large canvases to amplify the effect. Here's one of Rothko's works:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix6PV-Mk8fORinL4fOfpMIZjlqqHACg-L6zWwn5kRwbV1OXsgcrYV73QwHLmYO5O69lCK0dWn0nPC80y4aQdsfK2mY4iXBO03FFPts0Yn9dr-SmFJ8tYftPIIFUknAXp2ENKfUFYBnDoo/s2048/Rothko.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix6PV-Mk8fORinL4fOfpMIZjlqqHACg-L6zWwn5kRwbV1OXsgcrYV73QwHLmYO5O69lCK0dWn0nPC80y4aQdsfK2mY4iXBO03FFPts0Yn9dr-SmFJ8tYftPIIFUknAXp2ENKfUFYBnDoo/s320/Rothko.webp" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>After his death a collector of his work living in Houston built a chapel there in 1971 and installed 14 large paintings that Rothko had produced for that purpose. The interior walls were almost completely covered for 360 degrees. Known as the Mark Rothko Chapel, it was (and presumably still is) a non-denominational chapel, free of admission and open to anyone desiring to spend time in contemplation within this aesthetic environment.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjviWH5nfJOf_hyphenhyphenOrP9ryse9EzCxmYCNycSU-JmSa9YlDUaGPtTbfFROcAhAH65bAvN2wVOW7npL7RSIBlxnupgBaTgQ3q3V2XZiORLmqexfGBXyLgOA9qBVKjuGwmXHlFhsnPWi4jTmAQ/s800/Rothko+chapel.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjviWH5nfJOf_hyphenhyphenOrP9ryse9EzCxmYCNycSU-JmSa9YlDUaGPtTbfFROcAhAH65bAvN2wVOW7npL7RSIBlxnupgBaTgQ3q3V2XZiORLmqexfGBXyLgOA9qBVKjuGwmXHlFhsnPWi4jTmAQ/s320/Rothko+chapel.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>From 1973 to 1976 I found myself living in Austin, Texas, about 100 miles east of Houston. I was in no way involved in an art practice at the time and knew next to nothing about contemporary visual art - a few works by Andy Warhol were probably the scope of my experience in that world. I was young and mostly directionless, proverbially still trying to find myself. The Rothko Chapel had only been up for a couple of years, and had make quite a splash in Houston; enough of a splash that word of it reached my ears in Austin. When I had a chance to visit Houston for the first time some friends urged me to make a reservation to visit the chapel site, and that I did. <p></p><p>I was one person when I walked in, and quite another when I walked out.</p><p>It's hard to describe the experience - ineffable, as they say, though almost 50 years later still indelibly inscribed in my memory. The painting were huge, maybe 10' x 12' on average, and dark, yet incredibly subtle in the variations and nuances of color change. I was alone, and spent my allotted time standing in place slowly turning round and round and round, almost breathless, stunned to the core. I had never come close before to experiencing such a viscerally powerful visual presence. </p><p>Perhaps because I was in a directionless, seeking stage of life I was ripe for it; open and defenseless and willing. Or maybe that chapel was a true contemporary sacred site, and I experienced what many people did within those walls. In any case, when a little bell rang announcing the end of my visit I exited in something like a dream, which stayed with me for the rest of the day. I was a changed young man.</p><p><b><u>Fugue</u></b></p><p>This was, without a doubt, a whoopee experience, one between me and the work of a man 4 years dead. How did it happen? It was pure,laser-hot cultural transmission, perhaps similar to the experience of a stone-age young adult, innocent and naive, being led into the cavern of cave paintings at Lascaux, France twenty thousand years ago. And as I imagine it was for my stone-age comrade, it was transformational for me.</p><p>So now we can see not only is there whoopee in the physiosphere, and lots and lots of whoopee in the biosphere, but that whoopee does indeed enter the noosphere through cultural interaction. I've written here before of another cultural whoopee experience I had in that same young adult time frame of my life. after the first reading of Tolstoy's <u>War and Peace</u>. I've had several since then - for example my first hearing of Beethoven's <u>Opus 111</u> piano sonata, and the live concert experience of Benjamin Britten's <u>War Requiem</u> in which, upon ending, an entire audience of several hundred people were stunned into silence - nary a clap or bravo for at least a full minute, followed by a spontaneous and sudden thunderous applause.</p><p>These whoopee moments don't just come and go, like an ice cream cone on a hot summer afternoon. It's my contention that they become a part of you, a living part that ceaselessly works on your personality structure, invisibly shaping and forming what you are to become. Sometimes consciously, but mostly unconsciously or at best subconsciously, these experiences accumulate, each one entering into the process of your becoming, joining in the little workshop of your ever-changing life. All of it driven by whoopee.</p><p>A process it is, and there is something about process that is always true - it happens over time, past to present to future. Or should we call it past-present-future?</p><p>To be continued...<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><u> </u><br /></p>Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-56680680570588439962021-05-17T17:35:00.002-07:002021-05-17T17:37:07.906-07:00 Confessions of an Explorer, Part Two - As Above, So Below<p><u><b></b></u></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><u><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqCpjCOwscaoi7NxGIiTxyOLcIzI3YALWMKjlYSr8JuHXC8tXHoPkCj8SM_qaoOEQWYcWoMselgeI1N2re5ddpLL3Lmqwu28nlu07rkDqP5L0wmo0Mz8uiNaZ376MGjEat2AzZ58KtKmE/s2048/Grid+Horizen+I++32in+x+48in.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1317" data-original-width="2048" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqCpjCOwscaoi7NxGIiTxyOLcIzI3YALWMKjlYSr8JuHXC8tXHoPkCj8SM_qaoOEQWYcWoMselgeI1N2re5ddpLL3Lmqwu28nlu07rkDqP5L0wmo0Mz8uiNaZ376MGjEat2AzZ58KtKmE/w400-h258/Grid+Horizen+I++32in+x+48in.jpg" width="400" /></a></b></u></div><u><b> <br /></b></u><p></p><p><u><b>Prelude to a Prelude</b></u></p><p>You may be wondering at the title of my last posting - Vocatus atque non
vocatus, deus aderit. It's an inscription in Latin on the tomb of the
psychologist Carl Jung, and means "Called or not called, the gods
rise". I hadn't thought of that inscription for years until just
recently I noticed it while scrolling through some of my very old postings. It seems quite appropriate now in relation to my Kundalini experiences, appropriate in ways I hadn't considered many years ago when I first ran across this phrase.</p><p>But before I continue with my conceptual exploration of Kundalini I want to keep you up to date and share with you some of the more recent observations I have made in the development (there's that word!) of the Kundalini process I've been engaged in for these many years. About two years ago I began noticing a new direction the energies seemed to be taking within my body. Previous to that the sensations tended to start at the base of the spine, or sometimes the heart region, and move up into my cranial region. Then out of nowhere I began to sense a movement downward along the inside of my legs culminating in, of all places, my big toes. The sensations were not strong, but definitely pleasurable. It was like little mini-orgasms in my big toes - you might imagine my amusement! This was not something I directed or willed, it just started happening. Interestingly, I've seen no reference to this phenomenon in any Kundalini discussion, traditional or contemporary. Slowly over time this has branched out into all of my toes and increased in intensity. I can now, while engaging in what I call a Kundalini session, begin the most exquisite flow of sensations upward through the base of the spine, then the heart, then into the head, by simply wiggling my toes!</p><p>You probably think this is weird; I can't blame you, I think it's weird myself. But there is more.</p><p>There has been a new and subtle change in my visual field of perception, a change that began perhaps about the time of the toe tingles. One of my studio rituals while in 'little jeffy' mode is to take a break during the day, turn down the lights and do a series of Pilates and yoga exercises on a low assembly worktable covered with a packing blanket. It's an age thing - as I get older little aches and pains seem to persist and grow, and these exercises are a great way to minimize them. As I'm doing these exercises I'm facing an old peeling painted brick wall displaying a soothing and quite beautiful texture in the dim light. At some point, I can't pinpoint when, I began noting very subtle movement in the texture of the brick, as if little lights were dancing and flickering over the surfaces. At first I assumed it was just a trick of the eye and thought little of it, but over time it has increased in intensity, and now at times when I'm looking at that wall it's not even a bit static visually, but a whirling kaleidoscope of light particles, sometimes so intense I can barely recognize the old wall textures. Curiously, this light show disappears under normal illumination. </p><p>Weird, I know. Darker than any mystery...</p><p><br /></p><p><u><b>Prelude</b></u></p><p>As above, so below. Or put another way, as in the macrocosm, so the microcosm. Almost a cliche, yet there is a kernel of truth there, a seed we might germinate to grow a new seedling of perspective. The particular little seedling I have in mind is none other than the euphemistic term I used in the last posting when discussing early life on our planet - "whoopee". So let's make a little whoopee here (figuratively speaking) and tease this thing out.</p><p>We'll start with the microcosm - little you, little me, little doggie, little birdy. One thing everyone and every living thing in their holonic microcosm has been through (and probably remembers nothing of) is birth . We generally take it for granted, but it's actually quite an astonishing thing on all levels. For instance (speaking of seedlings), with the arrival of spring I've begun my annual attempt at growing potted tomato plants at my studio building. I take these little tiny dried up tomato seeds and stick them into some wet dirt, then watch for days as the wet dirt just sits there, being wet dirt. Then one day I check it out and there is this little stalk poking its head up out of the dirt. Miraculous! Yet, kind of ordinary, usually just taken for granted. And that stalk grows and grows and grows, till one day it flowers, and out of the flowers tiny green spherical objects emerge, and they grow and grow and grow, then turn red, at which point I cut them up and eat them....and experience an explosion of flavor in my mouth that makes me cry out WHOOPEE!!!</p><p>How all of this happens is simple. Whoopee. OK, the tomato form of whoopee is a little different than the average human form, but whoopee nonetheless. And it's that whoopee that paves the way to the astonishing miracle of birth. From little mice to massive elephants, ants to anteaters, fungus to redwood trees; it's whoopee all the way up, all the way down. You might say, the Biosphere is saturated with whoopee!</p><p>But what about the physiosphere, the sphere of rocks and moons and suns and galaxies? Dead planets drifting through a vacuum; asteroids being pulled around willy nilly by the nearest gravity field; stones falling mindlessly down a mountain side during an avalanche, only to sit right where they stop for the next ten thousand years. Where's the whoopee in that?</p><p>Well.......let's go back to the beginning, to that moment when time and space began and the cosmos was simply a massive burst of undifferentiated, incomprehensible energy. Eventually, out of that ocean of fire emerged relatively little fireballs we now know as suns, and out of groupings of suns emerged galaxies, and within galaxies from individual suns emerged solar systems with planets. Or to use another term rather than emerged, let's call it birthed. How did all that happen? Was it planned, orchestrated, guided? I don't think so. I THINK IT WAS WHOOPEE!!! I mean, look at this image from the Hubble space telescope -</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicFznbdYxaPLz_JX62enXc3fGtUzHXwPZz4-_ROETgT-zXJcak1HOONTV9JJLrAPRpFuxiYU5WI12IW9jO05DFkjkUCxl_eMDggWLyDgh21fhnNzikRteBWu0BFeLTFw2yaRdjm9Urv-o/s970/whoopee+too+three.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="673" data-original-width="970" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicFznbdYxaPLz_JX62enXc3fGtUzHXwPZz4-_ROETgT-zXJcak1HOONTV9JJLrAPRpFuxiYU5WI12IW9jO05DFkjkUCxl_eMDggWLyDgh21fhnNzikRteBWu0BFeLTFw2yaRdjm9Urv-o/w400-h278/whoopee+too+three.webp" width="400" /></a></div> <p></p><p>Dumb, purposeless accident? No way. That's pure, unadulterated whoopee at work. You might say, the Physiosphere is also saturated with whoopee!</p><p>Which leaves us - if we're to consider not just the Cosmos but the entire Kosmos - with the Noosphere. the sphere of mind and culture. Of course, lots of whoopee going on in most people's imaginations, but not much of consequence is usually birthed of that. But if we think of mind, then think of the meeting of minds, we find ourselves in the sphere of culture. Does culture somehow become the grounds for whoopee?</p><p>To be continued...<br /></p><p><br /> </p><br /><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /><u><b></b></u></p><p><br /><u><b></b></u></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><u><b> </b></u><br /></p>Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-30239129205668021372021-04-15T14:31:00.001-07:002021-04-19T14:39:55.370-07:00My Significant Other is the Kosmos: Confessions of an Explorer Part One - Vocatus Atque Non Vocatus, Deus Aderit<p><u>Prelude</u></p><p>I just re-read my most recent posting on this blog site, and the incident it details was indeed a remarkable series of events. But now I'm going to shift gears just a bit and go into a broader exploration of what overall has occurred in the last twelve plus years since my world was upended by that energetic opening in the body which took me, and its subsequent unfoldment. This potentially could involve some difficult reading for followers of this blog (and difficult writing for myself), so I'll try to keep it as simple and entertaining as I can for both of our sake. My intent is simply to arrive at some clarity by laying out a framework with which we can all look at and make some sense of this unusual phenomenon sometimes labeled 'Kundalini Awakening'.</p><p>But to do that I'll have to first clarify where I'm coming from. Though Kundalini is often spoken of within a spiritual context (and I'll use the term 'spiritual' in the most open, generic sense for now), I myself am not a spiritual seeker, nor have I ever been. I've never followed any sort of spiritual/religious dogma or practice, nor sought a spiritual teacher or guru. Even in art school I never had a particular mentor (I like to say I spent seven years in art school, then spent the next seven years forgetting everything I learned there; that's when the real work began). I'm not looking for God in any way, shape or form - for that matter, not even in formlessness. Though not a seeker, I will split some hairs here and describe myself as an explorer; perhaps, one could say, an explorer without a destination, but still guided by principles inherent in three questions I've mentioned in the past - what are we; why are we here; what are we doing here?</p><p>The vehicles of that journey have varied, though prominently centered around three activities - creative visual practice; philosophical speculation, both through deep readings and deep conversations with fellow explorers; and of course writing, such as in this blog. All the while through these activities I've carried with me - sometimes consciously, sometimes unconsciously - that faith that I spoke of in the last posting, that yearning to know that this exploration of mine into our sometimes painful, often wacky, occasionally awe inspiring Earthbound life is, in fact, not only a worthwhile venture, but is exactly what I, at least, need to be doing. A Buddhist might call it my dharma. </p><p>Where that dharma is leading me I have no clue, but along the way in my journey I stumbled upon something entirely unexpected and astonishing; or perhaps it stumbled upon me. That discovery, of course, was the Kundalini I've been speaking of. For twelve years now it has stuck with me, seemingly working me over through both body and mind. And yet, I can even now borrow the title of my last group of postings and simply say "it is darker than any mystery".</p><p>But it just so happens I have a little flashlight...</p><p> </p><p><u>Fugue</u></p><p>...and that flashlight's name is evolution. Another name is creativity. Another name is development.</p><p>Evolution, creativity, development - three words that in many ways are interchangeable. If we think of the term evolution as we typically do, we usually picture the evolution of the Cosmos. Consisting of the physiosphere and the biosphere, there is a traceable movement through time from the Big Bang to the emergence of life on this apparently lonely (for the moment at least) ball of rock we call our Planet Earth. </p><p>It's really astonishing to flesh out this picture. From - so far as we know - nothing, came an immense and unfathomable release of pure energy, followed by the gradual condensation of that pure energy into fireballs of matter, then further into stars and solar systems and galaxies on an unbelievable scale (it's been recently estimated that there are on average 2.25 billion stars per galaxy, and possibly a mind-bending <u>2 trillion</u> galaxies!!!). Then, 10 billion or so years later on our little, lonely planet, somehow someway life emerges within the primordial swamp in the form of tiny, squiggly one-celled creatures who could actually <u>make choices</u> (imagine the little fella swimming along without a care in the world, then sensing a strong glucose current and thinking "hmm, I think I better hang a left here" - OK, single celled creatures don't think in words, but you get my drift). Not only that, they eventually discovered that by making a little whoopee they could produce new versions of themselves (contemplate that - the evolutionary emergence of whoopee!).</p><p>From there time starts to compress as multi-cell creatures appear, then complex organisms leading to the underwater plant world, followed by the underwater animal world, and on to dry land. Species after species after species appearing then disappearing for billions of years, until 100 million years ago dinosaurs ruled the lands, only to be interrupted by the explosion of a large meteor strike in the Gulf of Mexico and the subsequent nuclear winter which wiped out everything on Earth bigger than a chicken. And that opened the door for the mammals - at the time no more than small underground dwelling rodents who managed to survive the calamity of the meteor strike, suddenly having the freedom to roam on the surface.</p><p>And after 100 million years more of mammalian species endlessly appearing then disappearing, the human species emerges 100-150 thousand years ago. And that species would eventually be able to discover and comprehend something astonishing - evolution itself! And write about it on glowing instruments that make letters and words and sentences appear and disappear with the touch of a finger...</p><p>If you don't look at that big picture and see <i>boundless creativity</i>, then, well... maybe I need to work on my communication skills!<br /></p><p>So in my view, one could well say evolution is, for all intents and purposes, creativity itself. It's also development - like I said, big bang to physiosphere to biosphere, and with our arrival on the scene , to noosphere. Clearly a line of development. And to quote a well used phrase from many religious traditions, "As above, so below", the below being little you and little me, tiny blips on the immense cosmic scene...or perhaps, if we forget quantity and focus on quality, not so tiny?<br /></p><p>To be continued...<br /></p><p><br /></p>Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-15276304319695432012020-08-11T17:40:00.001-07:002020-08-12T07:01:56.384-07:00My Significant Other is the Kosmos: Darker Than Any Mystery - Part 8, Third Movement<p>I want to quickly clarify something here. This blog is not about politics, nor will it ever be. However, to keep the sense of the little tale I'm telling I need to make a quasi-political statement. This is from little jeffy's world - it's there that politics sometimes rears its muddled head, and little jeffy has to deal with it on some level. Comes with the territory of the common, mundane world. I'll keep it as simple as possible:</p><p><span></span>As I mentioned earlier, I believe we have a unique opportunity in this time of personal, societal and cultural unmooring to remake ourselves. This is always available to us on the personal level, but on the societal and cultural level it's a much tougher lift, so this opportunity is important. To put it bluntly, the biggest impediment to achieving this in the political arena is Donald Trump and his gang. If he is re-elected it will be a huge setback and a much, much tougher row to hoe, which would be a real shame.</p><p>That's it, that's my orientation. Back to my tale...</p><p>You might now be guessing what that lunch conversation turned into. My three comrades spun off into a 45 minute mutually supporting tirade that could have come right out of the Fox News playbook - Black Lives Matter being a Marxist trained organization; COVID as a Chinese conspiracy, mask wearing a fraudulent fix; Joe Biden going senile; rioters at demonstrations as leftist provocateurs organized by radical socialists. On and on and on it went like a feed-back loop building to a crescendo. I was stunned into silence as they peppered me with one conspiracy theory after another.</p><p>I'd heard all of this before of course, but it surprised me and I was unprepared. Besides, if I had answered back it would have provoked them more, and I just wanted lunch to end! So I held my tongue and breathed a sigh of relief when we returned to work.</p><p>I was troubled by the incident, and it followed me into the next day. Upon analyzing my reaction I could see it was not the arguments that bothered me, not even the fervor and the gloating. It was the emotions that lay just underneath the surface of the tirade - anger, resentment, hatred. And underneath all of that, a real, palpable fear. And these were guys I had considered decent fellows.<br /></p><p>Little jeffy was shook up. His faith , his yearning for the possibilities in front of us to remake ourselves had taken a blow. With all that anger and resentment and fear dominating so many, what chance was there? And of course, his concerns for the common, mundane world followed him into the studio, and he couldn't shake it. Big Jeff observed his rattled studio assistant and could only shake his head. The trials and tribulations of the common, mundane world do not directly affect him - he's too busy probing the mystery dimensions and working his magic; and besides, he at most holds opinions very, very lightly. But little jeffy's agitation was getting to be distracting, even to the point that The Unborn was kicking a little harder in the womb, probably sensing the agitation himself. That would just not do!</p><p>So in my mode as Big Jeff I took action. I went to the singing bowl altar, ritually acknowledging the three holons and the holarchy. When done I took an extra step, one I save for only the most important occasions. I asked for help. I didn't direct this request anywhere in particular; no deity, no beloved saint, no angels or Earth spirits. I guess you might say, since my Significant Other is the Kosmos, I directed it to the Kosmos. Knowing that little jeffy's faith was teetering, was on the line and under assault, I simply asked for a message, or better yet a sign to help restore his battered faith. I struck the bowl and sent the request out into the Kosmos.</p><p>Later that day I was thinking intently about signs from the Kosmos, wondering what form they might take - an inner voice, what Teresa of Avila called locutions? A random but relevant message from someone I know, or someone I don't know? A dream perhaps? I was thinking "Signs, signs, signs, what would a sign actually look like?" And then a film I had once seen popped into my mind, "Signs" by M. Night Shyamalon, starring Mel Gibson and Joaquin Phoenix. It had been awhile since I'd seen it and details of the story eluded me, but I remembered that the signs the title alluded to were crop circles that Mel Gibson, playing a farmer/ex-minister, found in his fields and which portended an alien invasion. I got a chuckle out of that - no crop fields in my world, so I could cross that one off of my list! Nonetheless the film kept popping into my consciousness, the title so intriguing under the circumstances. Ultimately I decided I would have to adopt beginner's mind and remain open for anything, without preconceptions. </p><p>By evening I had forgotten the whole thing, busy cooking for the week's lunches and catching snippets of news on TV. It was a warm, pleasant evening and as dark approached I strolled out to my favorite spot in the local park to watch the sunset. When I returned I decided to flip through the 7 or 8 movie channels I have on the TV, looking for something entertaining to help wind down the day. <i>The very first channel I flipped to was showing "Signs", starring Mel Gibson and Joaquin Phoenix!!!</i></p><p>I kid you not. Believe me, I could not have made this up. The little jeffy in me was flabbergasted. "This is impossible! What are the odds?! How could this just be a coincidence?!" The Big Jeff in me simply smiled. "Of course".<i> </i></p><p>It was just 5 minutes into the film, and as I find M. Night Shyamalon films mysteriously eerie and filled with surprises I settled in to watch, looking forward to re-acquainting myself with the story. </p><p> (As an aside, I imagine most of you have seen this film; it was quite popular. I'm going to recount some of the action to refresh your memory, but if you haven't seen it I hope I don't ruin it for you. In any case it's worth seeing either again or for the first time.)<br /></p><p>In the beginning we get a flashback to a time when the Mel Gibson character was a minister. His wife is killed in a horrendous accident while jogging, pinned to a tree by a pick-up truck driven by a neighbor who had fallen asleep at the wheel. The minister is able to get to her before she dies, and her last words to him seem to be nothing but gibberish. </p><p>As the film proceeds we return to the present. The minister has dropped his vestment and collar, having lost all faith in his religion and quitting his ministry after the senselessly random and brutal death of his wife. He has returned to his farming, and this is when the crop circles begin appearing in his fields, the signs portending an alien invasion. As I watched I noticed something I don't remember taking strong note of at first viewing - a running theme throughout the story is the issue of faith. We hear it in the conversations the minister has with his brother and two children as the ominous events unfold. You get a real sense of how bitter and disenchanted he is, how the universe seems to him senseless and barren. He's in a black void, as if floating on a vast ocean with no land on the horizon in any direction.</p><p>I mentioned the crop circles. Certainly they were one of the signs referred to in the title; menacing signs, we find out, as the aliens begin to appear and threaten the family. But other signs show up, signs that are not at all obvious as they appear in the narrative. Simple things, so simple we barely take notice of them as we watch - the young daughter leaving half empty water glasses all over the house; the young son suffering asthma attacks as the fear builds; the brother's trophy baseball bat hung above the fireplace mantel. These all become highly significant as the alien threat builds. And of course, it turns out the gibberish spoken by the dying wife seconds before her death was not gibberish at all, but prophetic advice.</p><p>On the surface this is a science-fiction movie about an alien invasion, but the real message is about signs, and about faith. The subtle signs save the family, and the minister wins back his faith, is redeemed by the signs. And guess what? Little jeffy had gotten his sign - the movie, with its themes of signs and faith, appearing in my mind that afternoon and then at exactly the time I would turn on the TV that evening. It was the Kosmos responding almost immediately to my request in the most unexpected way possible, against astronomical odds. Little jeffy got his "Signs", and got his faith back.<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><span> </span> <br /></p>Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-59276515739875495122020-08-07T07:13:00.000-07:002020-08-07T07:13:15.400-07:00My Significant Other is the Kosmos - Darker Than Any Mystery, Part 8: Ya Gotta Have... 2nd Movement<div><u>2nd Movement</u></div><div><u><br /></u></div><div>Over a long period of time I've noticed an interesting aspect of my art practice that has progressively seeped into the day-to-day work in the studio. To put it simply, ritual has come to increasingly define how I approach even the simplest of activities. This hasn't come about by conscious intention; rather, it seems to have gradually grown into the fabric of my activities without my noticing, until one day it dawned on me what had happened.</div><div><br /></div><div>To illustrate what I mean by this I'll need to reintroduce a couple of characters I've labeled as holons, the ones that help to make up the holarchy that binds together my particular self-sense. As you may remember, the world of my art practice, the creative alchemical world, is the world of Big Jeff. He's the intuitive magician who somehow reaches into mysterious realms and pulls out dazzling and completely unexpected objects of wonder. Little jeffy, inhabitant of the common, mundane world, has no idea how he does it, but the little guy is along for the ride. You might call him the studio assistant. He has the physical skills, the rational problem solving strengths, the sheer determination and willpower to get Big Jeff to the studio every day. He also sweeps the floors.</div><div><br /></div><div>In my particular practice these two characters work hand-in-hand; it's a nice symbiotic relationship. Much of the work they do in the actual production of artworks is, as it turns out, rather mundane and tedious. For instance, while working with spools of thread on painted board there is a tendency for the threads to slide uncontrollably down the side when placed at a steep angle to the edge. To solve this problem the first solution was to rough the edges of the board with 40 grit sandpaper, creating a tooth to hold the threads in place. This worked to some degree, but was ultimately inadequate and so a new solution had to be found. What was finally arrived at was the use of a very small, thin-bladed wood saw to cut tiny slits into the edges of the board, slits no more than 1/16 of an inch apart. The threads slip into the slits, holding them in place.</div><div><br /></div><div>As you might imagine this can be very monotonous work. At 16 cuts per inch the average artwork of 200 inch circumference requires 3200 tiny cuts. Very carefully placed. Guess who does that work? Of course, that's little jeffy's job, the studio assistant. Little jeffy was not happy with that job in the beginning - tedious, repetitive work requiring intense concentration. To make matters worse, little jeffy's mind tends to wander as he worries about common mundane things like paying the rent, or what groceries to buy, or whether lentil soup is best with or without tomato sauce. In other words, the common, mundane world tends to follow him around, even in the studio.</div><div><br /></div><div>But little jeffy is the problem solver, and solve it he did. The solution came in the form of an audio CD called 'Shamanic Drumming', which consists of two tracks, the first a recording of one drummer on an indigenous drum of some sort pounding out a steady, flat rhythm - dum dum dum dum dum dum - for 30 minutes, much like one would hear in a shamanic ritual performed by an indigenous tribe. The second track is two drums, same flat rhythm at a similar speed of about 120 beats per minute, which apparently is the range used by indigenous tribes around the globe. The idea is to induce a kind of concentrated trance. Little jeffy turns on the CD, takes to his little saw and cuts the tiny slits in pace with the drumming, about one cut per 2 beats. In a few minutes he's in a trance, and Voila! We have a ritual.</div><div><br /></div><div>Big Jeff has his own rituals, though they are oriented toward aiding him in reaching dimensions of mystery where he plays his creative alchemy. One of the rituals I've developed for him consists of a small altar just inside the door of my working studio. Central to the altar is a Tibetan singing bowl, one with a rich sound and long period of resonance. Next to it is a hand-wrought wooden handle wrapped at the end with fabric, for the purpose of striking the bowl. Arranged in front of the bowl are three images on postcards of artworks of mine, each image representing for me one of the three holons that make up the holarchy of my self-sense - little jeffy; Big Jeff; The Unborn. When I've settled into my studio for a day of work, before any creative activity begins, I perform a benediction of sorts - I first place a hand on the image representing little jeffy, acknowledge his place in the holarchy and the value he brings, then I strike the bowl, focusing intently on the reverberating sound as it slowly fades. Then I follow suit with Big Jeff, and follow that with The Unborn. Finally I strike the bowl and stretch both hands over all of the images, acknowledging the holarchy of my self-sense and its structure that holds it all together. All of this is a very centering, very calming ritualistic start to my creative day.</div><div><br /></div><div>I recently found a new use for my singing bowl altar, and here is where my tale begins:</div><div><br /></div><div>Lately, in my guise as little jeffy, I have been going through a tough period in the common, mundane world - several rejections for possible exhibitions; a big art installation job vanishing with no explanation; a colleague getting extremely upset with me over an imagined insult; and on, and on, and on. One of those periods we all go through from time to time when it seems the universe is piling it on. Mostly we just tough it out and things pass, but one incident got to me, the proverbial straw on the camel's back.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was working on an art installation job in a new apartment complex with 3 other fellows. I've worked with these guys in the past and we've gotten along fine together. I don't know them real well but I've considered them decent folk and good workers, which I respect, though they are not the types I would likely befriend outside work. As is usual out in the field we went to lunch together, and while sitting at the restaurant the talk turned to politics and recent events. And that's when the camel's back broke. But that will have to wait till next time.</div><div><br /></div><div>To be continued...<br /><u></u></div>Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-44985807128843300852020-08-03T07:16:00.006-07:002020-08-04T15:58:15.254-07:00My Significant Other is the Kosmos - Darker Than Any Mystery, Part 8: Ya Gotta Have... First Movement<div><u><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUXb9N1_orZTVJZBrnW54d19QBGt-Cn-EZWz6F7BZHHKymNofMNHzz7-XxgzQfx8wnko2fHvYCN0m5KW5ralpb1-6zXnpKbHYyuR4VxwDGAxF0ztD6_MelgMgOttRpGoyTE9L9-9vB2rQ/s2502/Kilonova+XI++80in+x+36in.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="2502" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUXb9N1_orZTVJZBrnW54d19QBGt-Cn-EZWz6F7BZHHKymNofMNHzz7-XxgzQfx8wnko2fHvYCN0m5KW5ralpb1-6zXnpKbHYyuR4VxwDGAxF0ztD6_MelgMgOttRpGoyTE9L9-9vB2rQ/w410-h197/Kilonova+XI++80in+x+36in.jpg" width="410" /></a></div><br /></u></div><div><u>First Movement</u></div><div><br /></div><div>When the COVID lock-down descended upon us I had a curious reaction bubble up into my consciousness - it occurred to me that this was an excellent opportunity for introspection, and I welcomed it. Suddenly there was nowhere I had to be, nothing I had to do, and for an indefinite period of time. So I simply watched as automobile traffic went away, heavily polluted cites world wide became sparkling gems in the clearing air, and the biggest hole ever in the ozone layer completely vanished within thirty days. I simply watched all of this, and as I turned inward I found myself in a profound state of prolonged relaxation.</div>
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Eventually it dawned on me that another opportunity was being presented to all of us. We had entered, as it came to be said, the 'new normal', which really meant 'normal' had been completely jettisoned. Many of our notions of what defined our lives went out the window. Solid pillars that had propped up our habitual day-to-day functions and expectations now lay around in crumbled heaps at our feet. And I welcomed it. This was an opportunity being presented to us, an opportunity to look at everything with fresh eyes, unmuddied by both conscious and subconscious assumptions and habits.<br />
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This new situation had an eerily familiar feel for me. You might remember my writing in a previous posting of the existential crisis I passed through when my own personal self-construction collapsed like so many propped up domino pieces. It wasn't pleasant. In fact, it was downright painful, and it left me in a rather terrifying void, unanchored and with nothing visible on the horizon. It could be said that this current COVID crisis is a macro-cosmic reflection of that personal micro-cosmic situation I found myself in years ago. And you might remember that something astonishing and completely unexpected rushed into this void I had been thrust into, something which over time has remade me. This suggests to me that there is an opportunity here and now for something equally astonishing to fill our mutual void which has been presented to us on the macro level of society and culture by the COVID crisis. We can remake ourselves in ways big and small.<br />
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But ya gotta have faith...<br />
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I have a tale to tell, and I want to anticipate it by making a distinction between two commonly used terms: belief and faith. In my dictionary at home there is essentially no distinction made; the terms are, generally speaking, interchangeable. But I do want to clarify a distinction in my own mind because I think it's important, and because it is a more subtle approach than the typical use of those terms. You can take it or leave it, of course. <br />
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I see belief as the acceptance of a truth without proof or direct experience. This truth usually comes from an exterior source, say our parents, or an authority figure outside the family. It can be based on religious texts such as the Bible or Koran; Buddhism's Four Noble Truths; the Sutras of Patanjali. These truths, greater or lesser, are simply accepted, simply believed without question. I used to see here and there a bumper sticker that read "The Bible says so, I believe it, and that's that!" Pretty much sums up what I mean by belief.<br />
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Faith is a little different in my book. I was surprised several years ago, while exploring the ins and outs of Buddhism through various readings, to find more than one source stating that a fundamental tenet of Buddhism was the necessity of faith. At that time I equated faith with belief, and was intrigued to see this emphasis on faith/belief, especially since I didn't interpret Buddhism as being an especially dogmatic orientation - it has always seemed to me more open-ended, less rigid, less insistent on belief than most of the major religious doctrines around the world. And so I asked "What does a Buddhist have faith in?" An answer might be Enlightenment, or Buddha Nature, or simply the end of suffering. But these are rather vague, ambiguously fuzzy terms to those of us who have not achieved these states, whatever they be. Which is to say, fuzzy to most of us. Including most Buddhists.<br />
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So what does Buddhist philosophy mean by faith? They don't say belief; in fact, the Buddha himself flatly stated one should believe nothing - as the saying goes, if you see the Buddha on the road, kill him. Here's where I think faith is different from belief. Belief is a statement. Belief is solid. Belief is defining. Faith, on the other hand, is a feeling. Faith is a quality. Faith is a yearning. You don't believe in Buddha Nature, you don't even really know exactly what it is. But you yearn for it, you desire it, you have eros for it. You can't state it, you can't define it, you can't picture it. But you want it. Faith is, quite simply, yearning itself.<br />
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And that is what I mean when I suggest that there's an opportunity for us amid this COVID crisis to remake ourselves, and to do that you gotta have faith, you gotta have a yearning. Ya gotta want it. It's in that context that I will spin for you my little tale...but not now. Still some groundwork to lay out.<br />
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To be continued...<br />
<br />Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-77079055706468307022020-06-13T18:33:00.009-07:002020-08-04T16:01:56.771-07:00My Significant Other is the Kosmos - Darker than any Mystery, Part 7 continued: Three, Then Three Again...Then Again, Three<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJNl9oHiIV8aMtUkgjXEvH2aern7aS8q5Y08NJYqzzHlHUVVRX46938l0dZQclRmARuc6VAizZNXh43mTRDxktgaeFTTdY7wjV5TIhrGivi6pbmhlZkeL3A55GC4Mzar6nXeqrbdMBOg0/s1920/01_May+22%252C+2020.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJNl9oHiIV8aMtUkgjXEvH2aern7aS8q5Y08NJYqzzHlHUVVRX46938l0dZQclRmARuc6VAizZNXh43mTRDxktgaeFTTdY7wjV5TIhrGivi6pbmhlZkeL3A55GC4Mzar6nXeqrbdMBOg0/w320-h400/01_May+22%252C+2020.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><u><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Third Movement</u></div><div><u><br /></u></div><div>In my previous posting I identified, within the general field of my psyche, two groupings, each with three elements within my experience; identified them by simply witnessing them and recognizing distinctions. The first grouping is composed of the three worlds I inhabit - the common, mundane world; the world of Alchemical Creativity; the world of Mysterious Rapture. I've discussed each of these as well as I can within my limited abilities, and in fact it's by going through the process of clarifying them in this blog that the distinctions of each have been made clearer to me, as I hope they have for the reader. I've also described the three aspects of my psyche (as well as I am able) that inhabit each world, that speak its language - little jeffy; Big Jeff; and what I labeled in the previous posting as The Unnamed. Since that last posting I've come up with a tentative, perhaps temporary new name for this third inhabitant of the world of Mysterious Rapture - The Unborn. The Unborn has been conceived, is an embryo in utero kicking its feet so to speak, therefore can be identified even if still in a quasi-formless state.</div><div><br /></div><div>Reflecting upon the experience of these three separate aspects of myself inhabiting three separate worlds, it occurred to me a potential problem arises. Is my psyche fracturing, splitting off into three aspects that can never merge, as in parallel lines? Three worlds in three separate locations, three separate dimensions? That is certainly how it feels at times, especially when there is a language barrier involved, which might suggest the potential for a disassociating, for a pathological splitting off of the personality into independent entities. Yet I don't feel fractured; on the contrary, I feel more whole than I ever have. Let's look at this a little more closely.</div><div><br /></div><div>These aspects of my personality have a common characteristic in that each world/inhabitant is a whole that stands alone in some sense - little jeffy has his world of work and play, joys and anxieties, problems and problem solving, which to him is complete, is a whole. Big Jeff has his own whole world of intuition, of a kind of magical alchemy, which little jeffy can't penetrate - he doesn't speak the language. Yet Big Jeff can include little jeffy's world in his awareness; in fact he uses little jeffy's reasoning powers and physical skills to work the Creative Alchemical world in ways impossible for the little guy to manage on his own. He not only includes little jeffy, he transcends him. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>You might recognize that concept, transcend and include. One whole (little jeffy and his mundane world) is transcended by a higher whole (Big Jeff and his Alchemical Creative world) while still being included within the higher whole. It happens in nature all the time, in fact can be seen from one perspective as the very structure of nature. A simple example can be seen in some of the basic elements within nature. Sub-atomic particles like electrons and protons are in some sense wholes that can and do exist independently of each other. If you fuse one electron to one proton a new whole emerges - an atom, hydrogen, which is now a more complex entity, a whole that transcends the independent particles but includes them in its wholeness, in fact could not exist without them. Take another step, say fuse a two hydrogen atoms to an oxygen atom. Voila, you now have a molecule, water, that is more complex than each of the atoms, transcends the atoms yet includes them in its own wholeness - and of course could not exist without them.</div><div><br /></div><div>This type of hierarchical structure was identified in the 20th Century by a fellow named Arthur Koestler. He labeled each of the wholes at any level as holons, and the hierarchical structural relationship between them as a holarchy - wholes within higher holes within still higher wholes, something like nested Russian dolls. This relationship between individual holons, this structure we can now label a holarchy, is the binding force that holds them together, that prevents fracturing. In my case the three worlds/inhabitants of my psyche are members of the holarchy that is the entirety of my Individual Self (with a <u>very</u> big S!). Big Jeff is a higher holon than little jeffy, but could not exist without him (who would pay the rent?). The Unborn is an even higher holon - Big Jeff does not yet speak the language of its world, can't penetrate that world. However, it's my sense that, at least in my case, The Unborn would never have been conceived without Big Jeff's explorations of the deeper intuitions in the Alchemical Creative world. And certainly The Unborn cannot come to birth (if it ever will) without little jeffy's frantic efforts to keep everyone's shit together in the common, mundane world.</div><div><br /></div><div>To take it even further, this Individual Self holarchy is itself a holon! And that holon, that Individual Self, is within another holarchy, maybe even a few. Let's explore one. The Individual Self holon can exist within a group of friends who meet together for deep conversation, say a book club or a philosophical discussion group. In the course of the conversation some ideas appear that none of the individual holons attending had come up with on their own, ideas that are more complex, that transcend the ideas each of the individuals might have generated on their own. These new ideas live within a new holon - call it a We holon. There you have it, a holarchy! The We holon transcends and includes the various Individual Self holons. And of course that We holon is transcended and included by a still higher holon - say, the holon peopled by all the book clubs in the world reading that same particular book, each contributing through some kind of telepathic communication or morphic resonance to a still higher understanding.</div><div><br /></div><div>There's a story perhaps founded in a time and a place far away, say pre-literate China. In this story, an ancient king calls on his wisest sage to answer a question that has been vexing him. The king asks his sage "Wise sage, what is holding the earth up in the sky?" The sage answers "Dear king, the earth is resting on the back of a great lion." The king, perplexed, then asks 'Oh wise sage, what is the lion standing on?" The sage ponders for a moment, then answers "The lion is standing on the back of an elephant." Still perplexed, the king asks "OK wise sage, then what is the elephant standing on?", to which the sage responds, "On the back of an enormous turtle." Now the king is getting frustrated, and furrowing his brow, he questions the wise sage one more time "Well then, what is the turtle standing on?", and the sage, contemplating deeply, replies "Your majesty, it's turtles all the way down!"</div><div><br /></div><div>And so it is, holons all the way down...and BTW, all the way up as well.</div><div><br /></div><div>To be continued...<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><u></u></div>Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-37685486398379499332020-05-19T06:12:00.003-07:002020-06-06T08:06:05.086-07:00My Significant Other is the Kosmos - Darker Than Any Mystery, Part 7: Three, Then Three Again...<div><u>First Movement</u></div><div><u><br /></u></div><div>I wrote in my previous posting here of living in the two worlds. I imagine one might think it strange to live in two worlds running in parallel motion but never merging - on the one hand normal, even mundane life, much like everyone else in this time and place with its worries and concerns both petty and profound, its joys and delights, its dark confusions interspersed with moments of sparkling clarity. On the other hand right alongside all of that, the mysterious and indescribable transformation going on in my private interior, ignited by the awakening of mysterious energies in the body. This second world is seemingly a personal process that does not lend itself to interpersonal dialogue, to webs of interlocution. I do attempt a direct approach of communication from time to time concerning this world, this blog itself being one vehicle of that effort; one that, unfortunately, leaves many scratching their heads wondering what I'm talking about. And of course the experience leaks into my artwork, though I doubt many see it. So it can indeed be strange living in the two worlds.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yet, even stranger is that it's all further complicated by a distinct third world I live in, the world of creative process. This is also in many ways a private world, a personal interior process. But unlike the interior world of energetic transformation, this is one that interacts with and is highly influenced by the environment I live in, the environment composed not so much by its physical surroundings, the physiosphere and biosphere, as by that invisible aspect of the Kosmos sometimes referred to as the noosphere, the sphere of thought and culture, of interpersonal interaction - what I call webs of interlocution.</div><div><br /></div><div>Because the noosphere is invisible, is non-quantifiable, its effects on the creative process are a little tough to pin down. Let me try to paint a picture of how it works. I read (a lot). I engage in interesting, deep conversations (a lot). I observe intelligent news on TV and radio, following discussions around politics and social analysis. I absorb culture through the many art forms, be they musical, poetical, visual. All of this then seems to hover around me in the back of my consciousness, dancing in a vibrant cloud. When I go to my studio to work, to put my hands on the material world with the intent of creating something worth bringing into existence, the cloud (or web, if you will) follows me, hovers around me. It's out of this background cloud that I somehow - sometimes consciously, often subconsciously - pull out formative ideas and intuitions. Then I leave it to my hands, give them a shove and off I go on an alchemical exploration, destination unnamed but surely felt.</div><div><br /></div><div>So there it is, three worlds that I inhabit - The mundane, common day-to-day world; the world of creative alchemy; the world of Mysterious Rapture. One moment I'm in the grocery store, worried about contracting corona virus and wondering if my favorite lentil soup recipe is better with or without the indicated tomato sauce. An hour later I'm in my studio playing sorcerer's apprentice with thread, traveling a magical mystery tour. Later that evening I'm on my back on the floor at home being ravaged by God.</div><div><br /></div><div>What's a fella to make of all this????</div><div><br /></div><div><u>Second Movement</u></div><div><u><br /></u></div><div>It occurred to me that the key to answering this question might lie in finding out who this fella is. Does the same fella inhabit each of the three worlds? Or, does it take different fellas to speak the language of each world? As you might imagine, the answer is a bit ambiguous.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Let's take the first world, the world of day-to-day, functional, mostly mundane life - the world we all inhabit in common. This is the world of survival, of relationships, of doing. This is also the world of our conditioning, our habits, our reactions, often in relation to our five senses. Importantly, it is also the world of our emotions, feelings, sentiments, likes and dislikes. It's a very, very big world stretching far and wide - but not very deep.</div><div><br /></div><div>So who's the fella (or gal) that inhabits that world, that speaks its language? Basically, it's our personality - the sum of our conditioning, our experiences, our reactions; the persona or mask we put on every day to interact with that world (BTW, some would call this the ego, but that word is so muddled by its myriad and ill-defined uses that I tend to avoid it. I don't think I've used the term even once on this blog site...until now).</div><div><br /></div><div>For many, if not most, this is the only fella/gal they are or ever will be aware of. This was certainly the case for me for most of my life. When referring to this personality fella/gal some use the term self (lower case), as opposed to a posited Self (upper case). In that spirit here I'll use the term 'little jeffy' to identify my personality working in that first world. One of the hallmarks of little jeffy is that he evolves over time, he develops. From zygote to embryo to infant to child to teenager to adult, always developing, always changing. If lucky, this development continues to the death bed, though it appears most get stuck at middle age, or even sooner.</div><div><br /></div><div>But does little jeffy speak the language of the alchemical creative world? Certainly art school could and did verse him in the shallow aspects of that language, the cliches that riddle the art world. But there is a deeper, more complex aspect to the process of alchemical creativity that little jeffy cannot even possibly understand and articulate. Disappointingly, art school was not capable of delivering this depth language, nor was it capable of understanding it at all. It's only by diving into the vast chasm of the psyche in search of the basis of creativity and meaning that one can acquire that language. There one discovers a bigger Self - I'll just call him'"Big Jeff' for now. Big Jeff is the one who reaches into that hovering cloud vibrating with webs of interlocution and plucks out the formative ideas and intuitions, presenting them to the hands and setting them off on the alchemical journey.</div><div><br /></div><div>To little jeffy, this all feels like a dream. He doesn't speak the language. However, he's grown wise enough to go along for the ride. At times when an artwork is finished he simply steps back and asks, "Where the fuck did that come from??" But little jeffy also knows enough to get out of the way when needed, to empty himself out of the process; or, as they say, to let go. This is Big Jeff's world, this is his language, this is where the alchemy happens. Besides, little jeffy has a buddy now. Big Jeff may not always be there for him, he may disappear for months at a time, though his absences have become shorter and less frequent as the two get more comfortable with each other. For his part, Big Jeff knows he can't do anything at all without the little guy; after all, little jeffy pays the rent, drives him to the studio, negotiates all the wacky complexities of this 21st century world. And, he makes a killer lentil soup!</div><div><br /></div><div>Which now leaves the question of who exactly is that fella operating in the world of Mysterious Rapture, the one who is regularly ravished by God? It seems this fella has no name, at least none that I can identify. Perhaps that is because, for now even after nearly twelve years, I simply haven't become fluent in the language of that world. Without a doubt little jeffy is along for the ride - regular 20 minute whole body orgasms are quite enough to keep him smiling. Big Jeff is there as well, though rather than smiling he is simply astonished. And intuition being his strong suit, Big Jeff also has the sense that this third fella is still in utero, still an embryo slowly developing toward a new birth. At which point, perhaps a christening will be in order?</div><div><br /></div><div>To be continued...<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> <br /><u></u></div><div><u><br /></u></div><div><u></u><br /></div><div></div>Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-82998331776786140472020-03-21T18:19:00.000-07:002020-03-21T18:22:40.848-07:00My Significant Other is the Kosmos - Darker Than Any Mystery Part 6: Walk on the Wild Side<br />
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<u>Prelude</u><br />
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I do yoga exercises on a regular basis. If I had my way I would follow this practice every morning, though circumstances and personal distractions tend to intrude from time to time. This is not a strict Hatha Yoga practice in the traditional manner. The intention is simply to keep myself limber; a good physical state to maintain given that my art and work require maximum flexibility. But there is a secondary, and perhaps more interesting, benefit that I have found from this daily morning habit. These exercises are slow and graceful, allowing me to focus away from my chattering thoughts and toward the actual functioning of my body, in the moment. In the last year or two a new sense has been revealed to me - the sense of how surprising the whole thing is, this body we inhabit.<br />
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For instance, there is an exercise that focuses on balance. Standing, I lift my right foot backward, grasping the ankle with my right hand as I stretch my left hand to the sky, holding that pose to the count of twenty breaths. At times I just can't seem to find the balance point, but often it is almost effortless, and as I stand poised on one foot it can seem almost... miraculous! How do I do that?? It's as if I pull away from myself and just observe in amazement (and I don't mean how amazingly special I am, just how amazing it is). This sense has started to carry over into other aspects of life. Have you ever been involved in a mundane task, say folding your laundry, and suddenly wondered how you're doing this, effortlessly? I have.<br />
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Sometimes when I'm engaged in art making the same sort of thing happens. I pull my attention away and observe my body in action, simply watching the events unfold as my shoulders sway, my arms twist and bend, my hands and fingers in a complexly coordinated dance with the thread; all as if I wasn't even there. Even now as I write, pen in hand gliding over the college-ruled page, I'm baffled how this all happens, how my hand smoothly translates my thoughts into the physical reality of visual word symbols arranged in sentences, then paragraphs, all meant to allow completely immaterial thoughts to materialize in a manner that will allow them to de-materialize and enter your awareness.<br />
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Of course, most of the time I take it all for granted, but these moments of detachment and wonder come over me regularly these days, and this is new. It's kinda humbling, and at the same time delightful, like a child watching a pinwheel spin in the breeze. When I catch myself in this state at the laundromat I can't help but smile. Perhaps this is a bit of what some call beginner's mind. And if that is so, isn't it ironic that I had to get well into my sixties to discover this beginner's mind?<br />
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<u>Fugue</u><br />
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I recently re-read a book by Dorothy Walters - <u>Unmasking the Rose: A Record of Kundalini Initiation</u>. I first stumbled upon this memoir during the early period of my own initiation, a time when I was in a determined search to understand what had happened and still was happening to me. Dorothy's recounting of her experience in the form of contemporaneous journal entries and occasional commentaries on them was a great help to my gaining at least the beginning of some clarity about my predicament. Later I discovered she was living not far from me, and so I contacted her via email to thank her for publishing the account of her experiences. She invited me to meet with her over tea, and we have since become friends.<br />
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It's been at least ten years since I initially read the book, and re-reading it brought some amusing surprises. The first was an impression that this must be a second edition, since so much was unfamiliar; I assumed she had added new material. I was wrong: this was the original. It finally dawned on me that of course it seemed new - at the time of my first reading I was simply incapable of absorbing much of what she was plainly relating because my own experiences had not developed enough to take it in. I was literally blind to it.<br />
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The second surprise was amusing in a different way. As I finally closed the book at the last page I could only chuckle at the presumptuousness of my own attempt at writing of the energies in this blog, a realization that it was all there in her book, clear and precise and deep, and how could I possibly add anything to the subject??? A humbling moment indeed.<br />
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Yet here I am, scribbling on a college-ruled notebook because... well... I have to explore this mystery on my own, have to further clarify it for myself, and just as importantly for you, my readers. Spinning webs of interlocution seems to be almost instinctual to us humans, and me being one of us humans, I apparently can't help myself.<br />
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In the book Dorothy breaks up her account into five sections, one of which is titled 'Walking in the Two Worlds'. This phrase struck home to me; I am indeed walking in two - better yet, three - worlds. In one I pay rent, I chitchat, engage in political and philosophical discussions, laugh and joke with others, commiserate over troubles. In other words, the public face of who I am among all with whom I come into contact. But there is a second world running parallel alongside this public face, the personal world I've been tentatively trying to share in this blog - the mysterious world of the energies that have become my constant companion and, apparently, my invisible evolutionary engine. Call it Kundalini, call it Orgone, call it whatever you like; this dog has grabbed me in its jaws like a stuffed toy, and it won't quit shaking.<br />
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There's a third world I'm walking in as well, but I'll come back to that later. What's interesting here is that feel of the differing yet parallel worlds Dorothy so simply and clearly enunciated. This world of Kundalini is astonishing, bewildering, incredibly intense; yet my feeble attempts at communicating the experience seem almost trivial and pointless. It took three years from its inception for me to get up the nerve to share it with anyone! There is something about it that is simultaneously deeply personal and profoundly impersonal, a dichotomy that is impossible to explain. Over time I've slowly opened up quite a bit, yet I've found there are very few who are receptive, much less understanding. Outside of Dorothy I've personally met only one person who has started down the path into this mysterious world, and she was introduced to me by Dorothy! I've often thought, if I could just share the experience with this or
that person it would rock their world, turn them around, open them to
new possibilities (in fact, in the Hindu tradition there is a method for
doing this, labeled Shaktipat, which involves a Guru or Master
transmitting the experience to a disciple, often through the laying-on
of hands. I can't do this, and even if I could I would likely defer). <br />
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Don't get me wrong, I'm not feeling sorry for myself. On the contrary, I'm grateful and excited; and to be honest I feel undeservedly blessed. But this world of Kundalini I'm inhabiting, of coursing bodily energies, of real personal transformation despite my myriad failings, does not sync well with the rest of the external world. And that's a shame. And thus, I walk in the two worlds... oh wait, I said three worlds, didn't I?<br />
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To be continued...Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-21712241361857333532020-03-02T17:42:00.000-08:002020-03-02T17:53:07.484-08:00My Significant Other is the Kosmos - Darker Than Any Mystery Part 5: Filling the Vaccuum<u>Intermezzo</u><br />
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Not long ago I was in a conversation with someone who had read <u>My Significant Other is the Kosmos</u>, the book I had self-published 6 years ago. I was relating to him some of the evolution of my experiences since the time of publication, and I could see from his expression that he was, in that moment, just beginning to 'grok' what that tale was pointing toward. As I concluded he paused and simply asked, "Does one have to suffer so much for this to happen?" He was obviously referring to the deep and painful existential crisis I had passed through preceding the arrival of the energies (you may remember at the time suicide was looking a bit warm and fuzzy to me). All I could think of to say in reply was that it was absolutely necessary for me, and for more than a few whose accounts I had read of, though not for all; but beyond that I had no clear idea.<br />
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His question has indeed been something I've often pondered over. I can only speak for myself here concerning the need for suffering, yet with the aid of hindsight and a recent unexpected insight that came to me I may be able to offer up an explanation that resonates with some.<br />
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The surprising insight appeared just after I had written the first draft of this posting. a draft that was disappointingly rambling and incoherent, even if it did hold the germ of the idea I was aiming at. It came in the form of yet another dream: in that dream I was at work in an outdoor setting adjacent to a museum. A scissor-lift was needed for the museum, and I spotted one parked in the middle of a bridge high over a river. I got into the lift with the intention of moving it into place, but as I started the machine it somehow went into reverse and quickly backed off the edge of the bridge into thin air. I found myself falling straight toward the water below. I didn't panic; rather, I simply prepared myself for the impact. What I didn't prepare for was the fact that I was wearing a heavily laden tool belt, and when I plunged into the waters the weight of the tool belt dragged me down - I couldn't swim back to the surface. As I was desperately trying to undo the belt, sinking ever further into the depths, I realized I was done for; then I realized I was dreaming. I woke myself up.<br />
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This was a disturbing way to start the morning, and the dream haunted me throughout the day. It just made no sense, had no apparent connection to current events in my life. It wasn't until the next day, after I'd gained some distance from the frightening nocturnal event, that the light bulb turned on.<br />
<br />
Some context is required here. In the period before my existential crisis I was working at a museum, running the exhibition installation department. An unfortunate series of events led to a work of art being damaged. My immediate supervisor, who was not inclined favorably toward me to begin with, took that opportunity to justify firing me. Now, we've all been fired at one time or another, and we've all bounced back. But a curious thing happened within my psyche; something that, once again, is obvious in hindsight but was opaque to me at the time. It seems that the museum work I was doing was a major factor in my personal identity, more than I admitted to. I took great pride in my competence. The yanking out of that piece of myself was the catalyst for a startling domino effect: one after another the dominoes that formed my identity, my sense of who I was and why I was in the world, simply began to tumble down in a ghastly dance, and I could only helplessly watch the catastrophe unfold. By the time the process worked through to its finish my personality was simply emptied out ( and I assume not in the sense the Buddhists point to).<br />
<br />
I guess I was ripe for it. However, the extent and swiftness of this emptying caught me by surprise like a kick in the gut, and I was clueless about how to move forward. Painful indeed. Of course I was at first desperately pointing my finger outside myself as to the cause of this predicament, but after a period of time it became apparent that it was indeed all on me. So I grudgingly came to own the mess that was my life, and there I began the slow crawl out of the black pit.<br />
<br />
But this wasn't yet the onset of the energies. I was still emptied out, still bewildered; but the kick-in-the-gut pain of it had relaxed. To borrow a dream image a friend related to me once, it was as if I had been cast out into a broad and endless ocean, no shore in sight in any direction (and certainly not that further shore of Buddhist fame). But I had owned my predicament, and because of that I could at least tread water - after all, the tool belt had been jettisoned. Which was the irony the dream of the fall from the bridge pointedly illuminated - my identity, symbolized by the tool belt I often wore installing museum exhibitions, had been dragging me underwater, drowning me. And now it was gone.<br />
<br />
That was the necessary condition for the emergence of the energies - because I was emptied out and defenseless something new could enter and begin the process of refilling. And it was on that fateful August morning that a mysterious force rushed into the vacuum...and it felt like unbound fullness.<br />
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To be continued... <br />
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<br />Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-4799809573357863532020-01-23T19:07:00.000-08:002020-02-01T16:59:26.382-08:00My Significant Other is the Kosmos - Darker Than Any Mystery Part 4: I Dream of a Genie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Prelude - An Experiential Note<br />
<br />
I want to relate to you a recent dream I had, but to give it context I need a brief diversion. Wilhelm Reich was a mid 20th century psychologist, a student and protege of Carl Jung. In the course of his psychiatric practice he observed among his patients instances of the prana energy phenomenon I've been discussing and, ignorant of the rich tradition of Kundalini studies in Tantric and other cultural histories, took it upon himself to label it 'orgone', integrating it into a rather iconoclastic therapeutic method. He was of the belief that the key to mental health was bigger and better orgasms, and felt that orgone was the key to achieving them, even inventing a special box designed to collect orgone energy. His marketing of these boxes got him into trouble with the U.S. FTC, and when he refused to back down on his claims he was arrested and convicted, tragically dying of a heart attack in jail.<br />
<br />
So back to my dream, one which is perhaps an indicator of the changes I am intuiting vis-a-vis Kundalini energies. In this dream I found myself in a clinic of some kind, medical or psychological. I noticed a door with a sign labeled 'Orgone'. It seemed that's where I needed to go, so I walked into the room and noticed a clinical exam bed in the center. Also in the room was a white-robed technician and his assistant, and they indicated I should lie down. I did, and they immediately began a rather wacky program of startling projected images and sounds, apparently meant to scare me. I couldn't figure out if they were trying to scare me into an orgone activation or scare me out of an orgone activation. In any case I began to feel the pranic energies build, until they seized my body with blissful neural currents. I had a vision of my spinal column lit up in a light violet-blue electrical stream. As the technicians continued with the audio-visual scare program I kept thinking "they have no idea what they are doing, no idea at all".<br />
<br />
At that point the dream slowly faded out and I slid from sleep to wakefulness almost seamlessly. As I lay on my back, now in my own bed, I realized I was still experiencing the pranic energies just as I had in the dream, though now wide awake. I stayed in that violet-blue electrical mode for some time until I drifted off to sleep again. When I next awoke at dawn the energies were absent.<br />
<br />
Upon getting up from bed I immediately wrote down an account of the dream and its aftermath. Thinking about all of this later on I surmised that two possibilities were at play - either the Kundalini energies were activated in my sleep before the dream and then guided the dream to the orgone room, or the orgone room dream itself activated the energies. I can't say which it was, but what is most intriguing is that the energetic experience merged from the dream state to the waking state and continued for some time. This vivid nocturnal event was a first, and its independence from my conscious intent is notable.<br />
<br />
Fugue<br />
<br />
Theresa's account of her vision of the spear wielding angel suggests to me - and I'm not alone in this - that Kundalini energies were somehow involved in at least some of her mystical experiences. Theresa's vision, of course, was cloaked in her cultural and personal context of Christianity; how could it not be so? At the age of 12 Theresa's father had sent her to live in a nunnery after the death of her mother, and at the age of 18 she joined that same Carmalite order. She certainly was not going to be visited by a black-skinned, four armed, sword wielding Goddess Kali! A beautiful, fiery, spear wielding angel seems far more appropriate in her case. Nonetheless, there is a telling moment in her account that perhaps gives us a clue. When she is done describing the angel thrusting his spear in and out of her heart she says -<br />
<br />
"He left me utterly consumed with the love of God. The pain was so intense that it made me moan, the sweetness that this anguish carries with it is so bountiful that I could never wish for it to cease...The pain is spiritual, not physical. <i>Still, the body does not fail to share some of it, maybe even a lot of it."</i> (Italics mine)<br />
<br />
Could it be that Theresa was trying to be a little...discrete? It was 16th century Inquisition Spain after all, and discretion must have been an important strategy. I will not be quite so discreet and admit I've often been left moaning as the energies coursed through me, wave after <u>bountiful</u> wave of extraordinary pleasure running the course of my entire body, over and over again. No fiery angel of course, nor any sign of a black-skinned Goddess Kali. But oh my, what the body shares...<br />
<br />
Now I'm left with a puzzling question about context. If a 16th century Christian mystic experiences a fiery, spear thrusting angel; and perhaps a 6th century Tantric mystic experiences a black-skinned, four armed Goddess Kali; what is left for a white, suburban raised, 21st century American male who at the age of 12 refused to ever go to church again - namely, me? Apparently, at least for the time being, all that's left to be experienced by me is... the body. Which, come to think of it, may not be such a bad thing.<br />
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And now, even as I'm writing in this moment, a new thought just arose - <i>what if, heaven forbid, my personal deity is a white-robed clinical technician in an orgone room wielding wrathful audio-visual weapons????</i><br />
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Sheesh.<br />
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To be continued...<br />
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<br />Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-51358603932340401252020-01-15T18:54:00.000-08:002020-01-16T07:13:54.198-08:00My Significant Other is the Kosmos - Darker Than Any Mystery Part 3: Emptiness/Unbound Fullness <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">'Ecstasy of St. Theresa' by Bernini 1652 </span><br />
Prelude<br />
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I've never practiced Buddhism, and my knowledge of it comes mostly from various readings on the subject of Buddhist practice and doctrine. I realize the Further Shore spoken of is by its very nature ineffable, therefore not easily approached through words (though it is astonishing how much verbiage exists within that doctrine!). So when I hear terms like Emptiness, Void, and No-Self I make an effort not to take them too literally. I mentioned earlier that one problem hindering understanding is the tendency to project qualities onto the terms, and the very nature of those terms seems to invite negative qualities, even threatening ones. Yet it's stated that Emptiness is without quality, which makes me wonder - can we experience anything without qualities?<br />
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Over here on this shore, even as we're sniffing for that Further Shore, it appears that we do indeed infer qualities onto our experiences. That smell, is it pleasant or unpleasant? That taste, is it bitter or sweet or salty? That smile from a stranger, is it authentic or phony? Some of this quality-questioning is conditioned, some instinctual, some conscious, some unconscious. Some is apparently inherent in what we perceive, some is obviously projected into it.<br />
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It appears our human world is saturated with qualities; we seem to need them. One might even say that we can't navigate in the world without them. And indeed, the big three fundamental qualities - Truth, Beauty, Goodness - are perhaps our greatest beacons of light on the often dark path of personal and cultural evolution. That sniffing for the Further Shore may turn out to be a simple searching for the scent of the Good, the True, the Beautiful in ever higher and higher manifestations.<br />
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Which, for me at least, inescapably begs three questions:<br />
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Is Emptiness True?<br />
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Is The Void Beautiful?<br />
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Is No-Self Good?<br />
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Fugue<br />
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Theresa of Avila was a 16th century Spanish Nun, and a true Christian mystic. Her experiences were remarkable even in the vast pantheon of Christian mysticism. Lucky for us, she was a prolific writer (not an easy task for a woman living during the height of the Spanish Inquisition). In this last year or so I've been immersing myself a bit in readings about and by her, and I've been struck by how straight forward and just-everyday-human much of her writing is, even while describing the most other-worldly events imaginable. For instance, in one essay she speaks of going into such a rapture during Mass that she actually levitated; yet her keenest concern was not to describe the experience, but to lament that she had embarrassed herself, drawn too much attention to herself. After that event she insisted her fellow nuns hold her down should it occur again!<br />
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I want to take a quote from her account of one of her most famous visions:<br />
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"I saw an angel in bodily form standing close to me on my left side. The angel was not large; he was quite small and very beautiful. His face was so lit up by flame that I thought he must belong to the highest order of angels, who are made entirely of fire. He didn't tell me his name.<br />
<br />
I saw that he held a great golden spear. The end of the iron tip seemed to be on fire. Then the angel plunged the flaming spear through my heart again and again until it penetrated my innermost core.<br />
<br />
When he withdrew it, I felt he was carrying the deepest part of me away with him. He left me utterly consumed with the love of God. The pain was so intense that it made me moan. The sweetness this anguish carries with it is so bountiful that I could never wish for it to cease. The soul will not be content with anything less than God. The pain is spiritual, not physical. Still, the body does not fail to share some of it, maybe even a lot of it. The love exchanged between the soul and her God is so sweet that I beg him in his goodness to give a taste of it to anyone who thinks I might be lying."<br />
<br />
Now that is an experience loaded with qualities! No Emptiness there, no Void, not a hint of No-Self. In fact, I would describe it as <u>Unbound Fullness</u>.<br />
<br />
A few months ago I found myself thinking of this new term - Unbound Fullness - somehow in relationship with the term Emptiness; almost like a dialectic, thesis and antithesis. What would the synthesis of such a relationship look like? In response to that self-questioning I created this artwork:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB8_nXN87YQIsKWIDkZPYsaVxxfR1bMbMR046yGyGOCDaH8OL022_onJPv1k_4icrdgKMTuLKNY2fDzguyGRfOhTukYBHG1howHDuBZvdUKubMzoMyMf81lyqzG4jE5gxrgwqrB8UcZi0/s1600/emptiness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB8_nXN87YQIsKWIDkZPYsaVxxfR1bMbMR046yGyGOCDaH8OL022_onJPv1k_4icrdgKMTuLKNY2fDzguyGRfOhTukYBHG1howHDuBZvdUKubMzoMyMf81lyqzG4jE5gxrgwqrB8UcZi0/s400/emptiness.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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I may be the only one seeing it, but I find this artwork practically crackling with the tension these terms create together. This is decidedly <u>not</u> two sides of the same coin, not even the same currency, yet somehow each enlivens the other, the two together more than the sum of their parts. On the one hand, just words; on the other, powerful symbols in a dream infused dance. Just recently I took this idea out of the realm of text and created a series of artworks entitled 'Emptiness/Unbound Fullness'. Here is one from the series:</div>
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And of course, I'm curious how this all relates to Kundalini, to the energies of prana (chi) that course through the body; whether there are clues here to be teased out, unfamiliar paths to be explored.<br />
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To be continued...Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-53608688650866871552020-01-09T08:19:00.002-08:002020-01-09T08:24:38.658-08:00My Significant Other is the Kosmos - Darker Than Any Mystery Part 2: Emptiness Emptying? Prelude<br />
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Just in case there is a misunderstanding out there, I want to make a quick disclaimer. I am not a teacher, not even an expert here to share my wisdom (much less to suggest you fork over a few hundred bucks to gain access to said wisdom). My intention in this blog is not to lay out a theory of everything, much less a theory of anything. I'm far too cognizant of the vast depths of my ignorance to attempt any such thing. My intent here is to explore and inquire, and to share some of those explorations and inquiries in the hope of initiating a dialogue, or what I like to call a web of interlocution.<br />
<br />
I have a picture in my mind that we are all, every one of us, students. Imagine us sitting around the cafeteria if you will, exchanging ideas, letting our minds intermingle, sometimes clashing, sometimes melding, sometimes drifting down blind alleys; but always with a spark of excitement that comes from facing the unknown together. This is not quite like high school, or even university - let's just borrow a phrase and call it 'The Earth School'.<br />
<br />
There's a curious phrase that arises within the department of learning known as Buddhism that has always intrigued me - the Other Shore, or sometimes the Further Shore. I take this to be a description of the goal of Buddhist study and practice, to arrive at the Further Shore. Quite an ambiguous phrase for sure, yet I think we, as students of Earth School, are always oriented toward that Further Shore, whether we are aware of it or not. I would even suggest that just might be the orientation of Evolution itself ever since the Big Bang; and we are, if nothing else, part and parcel of that process - Evolution exploring. So let's lace up our hiking boots and take a stroll.<br />
<br />
Speaking of Buddhism... <br />
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Fugue<br />
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There are three terms that seem to persist in Buddhist doctrine in descriptions of that Further Shore - Emptiness, Void, and No-self. I'm assuming that a Buddhist Master, when using such terms, is absolutely authentic and as articulate as possible concerning his or her experience. Yet, as I hear or read those terms a quite visceral reaction wells up in me, and it's not a pleasant one. I find myself asking, why would anyone <u>want</u> emptiness, void, no-self??? On examining that reaction it appears to be quite instinctual, given that all three of those terms can be construed as a kind of oblivion, even death, and as such can appear as a threat. On the other hand, if I am to take the Master as authentic, this surely cannot be what is intended, much less what is waiting for us at that Further Shore. It could, of course, be a metaphor, as in the closing lines of the Prayer of Saint Francis -<br />
<br />
By dying to self<br />
We are born to eternal life<br />
<br />
Yet it appears Emptiness in Buddhism is not followed by anything resembling a rebirth; it's just....emptiness. Void is just...void. No-self is just...no-self, not new self. So what gives?<br />
<br />
OK, taking a deep breath here. I am, after all, not on that Further Shore, but on <u>this</u> shore, gazing out across a vast ocean (of ignorance?). I can't see the Further Shore, but I can sense it, I can orient myself to it, I can maybe even sniff it. Besides, I look around and see pretty much everyone I know sitting around on <u>this</u> shore, some of them with noses lifted, sniffing as their heads turn slowly side to side (and some muttering under their breathes " where's the juice, where's the juice?). I take some comfort in this. From the perspective of someone on <u>this</u> shore I see that as humans we can at least step back a bit from our instinctual reactions, step back and take another look at those seemingly ominous terms (sticks and stones will break my bones but words can never hurt me?). Dare I say, shake hands with them, give em a little hug?<br />
<br />
So if Emptiness, Void, No-self are going to be embraced, then a different way of understanding those terms has to be found, something deeper than what can look like existential nihilism or post-modern radical deconstruction, two philosophies I find distastefully shallow. If evolution tells us anything it's that we are decidedly <u>not</u> at the end of history, so we have a little time to mull this over.<br />
<br />
Perhaps the error I'm making is that I'm projecting a quality onto those terms, one that repels me. Emptiness just sounds so...bleak. Void sounds so...empty. And how the hell can that Buddhist Master tell me I don't have a self when he is clearly speaking with the voice of a self?? With an accent, no less. But there is another curious phrase I've heard, the claim that Emptiness has no qualities, it is unqualified (disqualified?). Now that gives me pause.<br />
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To be continued...<br />
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<br />Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-57461690121268797152020-01-02T19:06:00.000-08:002020-01-05T17:43:03.257-08:00My Significant Other is the Kosmos: Darker Than Any Mystery Part 1 - Where's the Juice?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Prelude<br />
<br />
It's been six years since I published "My Significant Other is the Kosmos" and I've done very little with this blog since. It's been almost 2 years since I posted anything here, and quite frankly the flow of my writing simply disappeared. Perhaps it was the consequence of my focus honing in on the visual art work I do, which has indeed been on a warp drive adventure in this recent period. But there was another factor that I see in retrospect - the intuition that after writing "Significant Other", I had reached the end of the truths I could convey in my musings on evolution and creativity, as well as in the narration and interpretation of the subtle energies I had awakened to in my mid-fifties.<br />
<br />
Eleven years have passed since the inception of that mysterious process sometimes labeled Kundalini awakening. As dramatic as that initial opening was (as I described in the book), it pales in comparison to what is occurring now. I spoke in the book of orgasmic-like sensations ten times the intensity of any I had experienced previously, rolling up and down my body for 10 to 15 minutes at a time. Back then, especially in the first year or two, the energies were elusive and inconsistent, though always in potential. I found over time that by lying down and putting my attention to the base of my spine I could, with increasing success, conjure them up, even if not always with predictable intensity. That's where things stood at the writing of "Significant Others". As of this writing, six years later, the energies are always available with little or no prompting; in fact I would describe it as more of a 'falling in' to them. When I think of those early body/orgasm experiences I can now with confidence say that what I get now is ten time that! I have frequent sensations of electrical flashes zigzagging over my scalp and forehead, and there is an almost constant pleasurable throbbing at the base of my spine.<br />
<br />
You might imagine this all leaves me with an ongoing shit-eating grin on my face. But in fact, I am profoundly mystified by it all. I've read many accounts of this kind of opening, and found enough commonality in other's experiences mirroring my own to give me confidence that this is indeed a body-based energetic process that has engaged me. One of the puzzling things is that, even with the commonalities, there is so much disparity within the details as recounted by so many. Even more puzzling is the number of those claiming that the Kundalini process has ruined their lives, sent them into a kind of hell - if you google Kundalini you'll find that more than half of the results point to this problem, ominously labeled 'Kundalini Syndrome'. Thankfully for me it has been nothing but a blessing. I feel my creativity has expanded, my cognitive abilities have sharpened, my health has improved, my intuitions have deepened. These benefits can't be easily quantified, of course, but they are qualities I'm experiencing.<br />
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There is more that will be fleshed out in future blog posts here, though I want to offer one caveat - I have not been transported mentally, or psychically if you will. No experience of cosmic consciousness, nondual oneness, out-of-body travel, God's infinite love, or anything related under the umbrella of 'The Spiritual'. This is all still body based, almost mundane... OK, perhaps to use a phrase, super-mundane? Nevertheless, I feel I'm in a process that is a train ride with an unknown destination, and this is perplexing at times. And now, especially in the last year or so, a new intuition has arisen that a new stage of this process is in a state of emergence. If this is indeed the case I want to capture it in writing contemporaneously, while it is fresh. I know the art work I am pursuing can do exactly this in a subtler, perhaps truer way, but I think clarity of thought and articulate communication is also essential if I am to capture the experience in a way that can engage a dialogue with others - namely, all of you reading this blog. Some of you may remember from "Significant Other" that I am fond of webs of interlocution. This is a new web I'm initiating, one which I hope we can weave together, and maybe in the process we can all evolve just a bit further.<br />
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Fugue<br />
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One of the odd conundrums that confronts me with Kundalini energies - at least to the extent of my direct experience of them - is exactly how to categorize the phenomenon. Generally, most tend to put this under the rubric of 'The Spiritual'. Yet as I mentioned earlier, as intense and awe provoking they are, the energies are decidedly body bound for me. I've read accounts of some being transported to mystical dimensions or other-worldly landscapes, others discovering a oneness with the universe or a feeling of infinite love. Not me. OK, I'll concede that sometimes I feel I'm being ravished by unseen forces, and from the inception I've been struck by the realization that, until that first eruption, I had <u>no idea</u> of what was possible! And that realization can be quite liberating. Nonetheless, even if I've gotten my socks knocked off, my feet have remained firmly on the ground throughout. No visions, no heavenly hosts, no angelic visitations, no world bathed in light. Nada. Which for me begs three questions - What is it? Why is it here? What is it doing here?<br />
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It's possible that all of these questions will be answered if and when a new stage emerges in my process. Gopi Krishna, a 20th century savant who experienced an extreme Kundalini awakening and wrote extensively about it, was of the opinion that the Kundalini energies were actually an agent of evolution, and that these energies worked on the physiological level and caused actual physical evolution of the brain. The energies themselves, though usually described as working on the subtle plane, indeed have correlatives on the physiological plane, and on that plane they are not subtle at all! I've often felt that my nervous system is being worked over, though I haven't submitted myself to medical instruments that might detect such things.<br />
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Recently I came upon a distinction that was worked out in the Hindu Tantric traditions. Their map indicates that Kundalini appears in three distinct stages - Prana-Kundaline, Chit-Kundalini, and Para-Kundalini. Prana-Kundalini is the initial release of the energies, energies known in the Hindu traditions as prana, the Chinese traditions as chi, and described and named in many traditions around the world throughout history. This helped me to make sense of my predicament, it being obvious in that light that I'm still soundly in the Prana-Kundalini stage. Chit in Sanskrit means consciousness, the inference here is that Chit-Kundalini goes beyond the body and starts to directly effect consciousness. Perhaps that's the emerging stage I'm intuiting...but who knows? I could be fooling myself. after all.<br />
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But let's assume I have at least a toehold on the truth here. As Ken Wilber is fond of saying, no one is completely, 100% wrong. Conceding that, a related conundrum appears to me, and that is the seeming disconnection of my experiences to the types of deep spiritual experiences that many traditions describe, be they satori, enlightenment, nondual oneness, Christ consciousness, or simply bliss. And that will be the topic of my next exploration here.<br />
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To be continued...<br />
<br />Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-72182782916285195582018-07-14T15:24:00.001-07:002018-07-25T12:08:18.435-07:00Kilonova, Part 2: LocutionsKilonova - two stars colliding, releasing a mammoth energy burst that is still being detected 130 million years after the fact. Somehow this was portentous to me, a metaphorical catalyst, one that came to me in a chance meeting with a friend. Certainly a synchronicity by definition, whatever you might think of the notion of synchronicity. But what did it portend?<br />
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Whatever was to come, it was clear to me that this particular astronomical event/metaphor resonated with something inside me. As I've suggested before, this kind of resonance coming to someone involved in a creative practice is not to be ignored, which is why I went through a flurry of activity fleshing out the contours of this hint from the far reaches of space. When I did step back from the frenzied exploration and took the time to wonder what it was that I had been doing, a very clear answer came to me - it was the omen of a coming personal Kilonova that I was pursuing . When I say the answer was clear, I mean CLEAR, almost as if there was another voice stepping into my interior dialogue. And this voice was not only clear, it was authoritative, compelling, trustworthy; in other words, true. This was not the usual voice of little jeffy richards, prattling away in his head about this or that bit of nonsense. This was... who... what... from where?<br />
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I'm sure many of you have heard fiction authors talk of setting out to write a novel by outlining the story, laying out the characters with each one's personal history in the background, and then proceeding with confidence - only to have the characters start to write their own dialogue, tell their own very different histories, take the author's carefully planned outline of a story and throw it in the trash. This sort of thing happens to me and most artists I know all of the time, and I've often wondered about the mystery of this aspect of the creative process, when you step back from a finished piece and ask yourself where the hell that came from. The very clear voice I heard seemed to come from that same zone of mystery, as did the other very clear voice years ago, the one that commanded "Don't be a coward!" as I was about to give in to fear and instead gave in to the sensation at the base of my spine, allowing a stream of astonishing energy to burst up my spine and into my head - the initiation of a Kundalini activation that continues to this day almost 10 years later.<br />
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Gopi Krishna, the 20th Century Pandit from India who wrote extensively on his own Kundalini experiences, had a related moment come over him at one point in his transformative process. He was a family man and a low level bureaucrat in British occupied India, someone with no creative interests whatsoever. One day much to his astonishment he began reciting poetry to a friend who was chatting with him as they strolled down the street together. The words simply came to him with no forethought, and in the months and years that followed whole poems of several pages would appear in his mind, some of these poems in languages he had no knowledge of (OK, as a poet friend who is familiar with his work pointed out to me one day, they weren't very good poems...but what the hell!!). Here's what Krishna had to say about this phenomenon:<br />
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" During the creative periods, I distinctly perceive that the ideas that flash across my mind and the words I use to express them come from the surrounding emptiness. In the formulation of ideas the ego is never absent. I know that the idea is mine and that I am the author of it. But both the "I" and the "idea" are not now confined within the periphery of my individual mind, but seem to be parts of a vast reservoir of thought encircling me. The ideas and the language for their expression emerge from this reservoir and, soon after, disappear to sink back into it again."<br />
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We tend to feel that our thoughts are generated in our brain, right there inside our head; that certainly is how it feels But what Krishna seems to be implying is that, at least to some extent beyond self-generation, our brain is actually a receiver of thoughts, much like a radio is a receiver of radio waves. We already know the brain is a receiver of our experience in the material world - our senses pick up energy information from our surroundings, send that information to the brain which then translates it into a kind of gestalt which allows us to make sense of and act in the material world. The thought world certainly is invisible to our 5 senses, but it's hard to deny that it is there, it exists - and that it is energy. Who knows what the extent of that world is? If it's invisible, with no apparent boundaries, why should it be bottled up inside the parameters of our brains? If the brain is a receiver of sense impressions, why should it not also be a receiver of invisible thought impressions, impressions in that "vast reservoir" surrounding our individual mind?<br />
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This begs the question, is our brain able to receive elements from the thought world that arrive from beyond its physical location? Or is our brain able to reach out somehow, to expand itself non-physically into the realms of the 'vast reservoir? Did that clear, authoritative, trustworthy voice reach out to me? Or did I reach out to it?<br />
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In either case, there is a relationship, one built over long hard years...a little like two orbiting stars slowly spiraling toward each other over the millennia, until...<br />
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To be continued...<br />
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Postscript: I originally titled this posting "Voices". Since then I've been reading "Interior Castle" by the 16th Century Spanish Nun/Mystic Theresa of Avila, and ran into a discussion touching on what I had been exploring. Theresa uses the term 'locution', who's dictionary definition is 'a particular form of expression, or a peculiar phrasing'. In her writings she speaks of several types of locutions, breaking them down roughly into voice of God, voice of imagination, voice of the devil, and explains how one would distinguish them from each other. Which category embraces my kilonova voice is still a bit unclear, but in deference to that great saint I've altered my title.<br />
<br />Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-83116135286555100732018-05-22T17:41:00.002-07:002018-07-12T15:29:21.128-07:00Kilonova, Part 1: A Galaxy of Metaphors<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Kilonova #1<br />
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In August of 2017 astronomical observatories and satellites around the world began reporting the appearance of what appeared to be a rather intense new supernova in the night sky. As data continued to pour in it became apparent that this was no run-of-the-mill supernova - a single exploding star - but rather the collision of two stars that had for millions of years been locked in mutual orbit, slowly spiraling toward each other until finally colliding in a massive explosion 130 million years in the past, the light and energy of that event only now reaching Earth. By correlating data from different locations around the globe scientists were able to amass information that allowed them to prove more than a few speculative astronomical theories, among them a prediction Albert Einstein made in the early 20th century that gravity traveled in waves; they were indeed, for the first time, able to detect gravity waves. Needless to say, the astronomical community was in quite a buzz over these spectacular observations and had labeled the event a "Kilonova".<br />
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By mid-October of that year I was not yet aware of this discovery. That's when an artist who works in a space in my studio building, sensing quite correctly I might find this of interest, queried me if I had heard of the Kilonova. I replied I hadn't, wondering what the hell such a funny term might mean. She pulled out her cell phone and uploaded a website discussing the discovery, including impressive graphics and clear layman-oriented explanations. Wee oohed and ahhed over this for a few minutes, wherein my colleague looked at me and said "You know Jeff, I bet you could make a Kilonova." This caught me off guard for a moment, but then, being one who loves a challenge (and this was indeed a challenge from a well respected fellow artist), I simply uttered a "hmm", and the wheels began turning in my mind.<br />
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I was barely into a new piece and decided to jettison that meager beginning and embark on my own exploration of Kilonova. For several days I ran down many blind alleys and dead ends in my search, miles of rejected thread piling up in the trash can next to my working easel. After awhile I began to despair that the Kilonova would elude me; but nonetheless something was prodding me, some mysterious, veiled yet sharply pointed intuition. Often creativity works with, if not a logic, at least a kind of order, a natural progression. B follows A, simply because A laid the groundwork, the context, for B; without A, B just would not arise. Yet at times C jumps in between seemingly out of nowhere, kicks you in the butt, then runs off in the mist. In that case there's nothing to be done but follow the scent and move onward through the fog, blind but sniffing. And indeed eventually the fog began to lift and I caught a glimmer of the solution. I grabbed that glimmer and shook it like a dog shaking its favorite stuffed toy, and suddenly the Kilonova began to unfold. in only a few hours I had it (and yes, the image at the head of this blog entry is that very work).<br />
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I showed the result to my friend and she agreed with delight that I had pulled it off. Curiously for me, that was not enough. I began a series of further explorations of Kilonovas, experimenting with color combinations, element relationships, backgrounds, panel shapes and sizes. I worked myself into some kind of creative tizzy, and in a couple of weeks I had 5 or 6 successful versions, not counting the further miles of discarded thread heaped in my trash bin. It was then that a question suddenly popped into my head - Why am I doing this???? And just as quickly the answer appeared - I'm headed into my own personal Kilonova!!! This was as clear as clear could be, yet I had no idea what this would mean, or how it would unfold. Something was afoot, and it had the feel of a coming internal collision, an explosion, a burst of light and energy.<br />
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To be continued... <br />
<br />Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-46846267304782123292018-03-01T17:08:00.006-08:002020-03-02T15:42:43.926-08:00My Significant Other is the Kosmos: Return of the Aesthetic Jedi, Part 7 - Closing Circle, or Spiral?Reorientation, of course, can be triggered by all sorts of experiences not normally considered 'aesthetic' - drug experiences like LSD or Ayahuasca, near-death experiences, other kinds of trauma, extreme depression, and more. In this exploration I've been emphasizing the more traditional aesthetic experience that comes about through encounters with the arts. This seems especially significant since the arts are part of human cultural interaction, or as I've pointed out, the webs of interlocution we weave together. This weaving is dependent on the 'we' of things, not the 'me' of things, and it is from that we-space that individual cultural evolution occurs; it is what orients human cultural and individual development, so to speak. And as I suggested earlier, it takes place in what I've labeled the fifth dimension.<br />
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The fifth dimension, however, is not just about orientation. It is, in a mysterious fashion, a source of seemingly <b>infinite energy</b>. The kind of energy I'm speaking of here is not quite energy in the sense a physicist would speak of; after all, most physicists assume there is only so much energy, no more, no less, and certainly not infinite. But there do seem to be correlates between the physicists' energy and this fifth dimensional energy I've hinted at. I'm sure many if not most reading this have experienced the sudden surge of energy that arose after an especially vivid encounter with a work of visual art, a musical performance, an immersion in the space of a particularly stunning architectural environment. Life seemed normal, even mundane, maybe stressful, maybe trivial, and suddenly... BOOM, you're dancing in the streets, energy coursing through your entire being! What energy source did you just tap into?<br />
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In many ways this fifth dimensional energy is intimately related to emotion. If you strip out the <u>content</u> of your emotions - your anger at an injustice, your joy at the smile of a baby, your sadness at a tragic event - what do you have left? Energy, nothing but pure energy. And if I may say so, energy that you may harness. As much as they are alike, this is where fifth dimensional energy has an edge over emotional energy, because in the fifth dimension you are being oriented, you are given a direction in which to apply that energy. Orientation and energy are a potent duo - you need them both to be involved effectively in a process. And the more of both you have the further the process moves; think of 13.7 billion years of evolution, rocks to roses to Rumi, and likely still going somewhere. Astonishing!! Right out of the fifth dimension.<br />
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This is (arbitrarily perhaps) the final entry of 'Return of the Aesthetic Jedi', so I'd like to complete the circle I began, and that brings us back to the Kundalini phenomenon and my inquiry into its mystery. I would suggest that, just as Kundalini and aesthetic experience are related as process, they are related as coming from the same source - the infinite potential energy source of what I've termed the fifth dimension. I've described the rapturous surges of energy I experienced (and still experience) with the arising of this odd, if increasingly less odd, psycho/physical process known in some circles as Kundalini awakening. I've also described the surges of energy one can experience in an aesthetic experience, oftentimes also rapturous. But what they also share in common sourced from that mysterious dimension is their potential for reorientation. Perhaps the strongest initial reaction I had after that fateful day in August, 2008 was "<b>I had no idea!!!!!</b>. It was then I suddenly and dramatically realized that everything I thought I knew was now in question. I mean <u>everything.</u> How could I not be reoriented? And ironically, that first step of reorientation was the discovery, for the first time at the ripe age of 57, of Beginner's Mind. And what was the first thing I came to know from this perspective of Beginner's Mind? I came to know, to really know, that my significant other is, indeed, the Kosmos.<br />
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And btw, you all are part of the Kosmos.<br />
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The end...for now...<br />
<b><u> </u></b><br />
<b><u> </u></b>Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8578100560590829364.post-25171552403088796102017-09-11T17:38:00.000-07:002017-09-11T17:38:03.855-07:00My Significant Other is the Kosmos: Return of the Aesthetic Jedi Part 6 - Adventures in the 5th DimensionThere is another factor involved in process that is not quite directly related to time but is just as fundamental. If we take Einstein's cue that time is the fourth dimension (space-time as some would say, binding time with the three dimensions of space) then perhaps the other dimensions need to be teased out a little. Depth, width and height bring us location in space, which is obviously one way of determining our physical place in a process, the fourth dimension of time determining when we are in a process, and the four together describing a pretty good map of the process in general. I would suggest that, at least in terms of a process, there is a fifth dimension, and that fifth dimension has everything to do with <i>orientation.</i> In other words, not just where we are, at this time, but what direction are we pointing toward?<br />
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Let's think back to my youth and that reading of 'War and Peace'. At that time in the process I'll call 'my development' I was, shall I say, disoriented. A friend at the time labeled it 'Modern Americanitis', a borderline pathological condition exhibited by many of the boomer generation as the counter-culture of the sixties collapsed with the end of the Vietnam War and the demise of the hippy movement. In my case I was drifting without clear orientation, and because of this the arc of my personal development was more than a bit fuzzy. When I read the Tolstoy novel and experienced that aesthetic moment I already had a place in three dimensional space and fourth dimensional time, but the fifth dimension of orientation was tenuous and shifting. What that profound aesthetic moment did was establish a definite orientation, and with that the developmental process could proceed. <br />
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Of course there were many such moments that helped adjust my orientation toward creativity. One memorable one was a visit to the Mark Rothko Chapel near Houston, just sitting quietly surrounded by those amazing color-field paintings. Another came years later in a cathedral in San Francisco listening to a performance of Benjamin Brittens's 'War Requiem', a performance which left the audience of several hundred in attendance in a stunned silence for many minutes after the conclusion, nary a clap or bravo as we all tried to absorb what we had just experienced. And perhaps to reorient ourselves a bit.<br />
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While recently pondering this idea of orientation as the fifth dimension I happened to pick up another book on Buddhism - 'Zen and the Psychology of Transformation', published in 1955 by a French psychiatrist, Hubert Benoit. This is a deeply thoughtful and densely written book by someone who had obviously spent many years exploring the nature of mind both in the context of western psychoanalysis and of Zen Buddhist philosophy.<br />
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Benoit's book is primarily a series of essays exploring the Zen Buddhist notion of satori, something akin to enlightenment, or Christ Consciousness, liberation or ultimate freedom. It was here that I was given a slightly different but essential interpretation of the Buddhist Doctrine of Dependent Origination, which I have written of previously. In that discussion I declared Dependent Origination as fundamentally a doctrine of cause and effect. In speaking of the attainment of satori I might have stated that that attainment would be the result of the correct series of causes - perhaps many hours of sitting meditation, contemplation of Buddhist teachings, of following the Way of the Eight-fold path, etc...in other words, follow the recipe, the 'practice', and satori will occur: cause and effect. However, Benoit points out that, according to Zen Masters who have achieved satori, satori is not caused, is not the result of effort; it is in fact already here now, closer than the tip of your nose. You and I are just blind to it. Then he quotes the Buddha himself on Dependent Origin - "This being so, that happens". Notice the subtlety here - the Buddha didn't say "This being so <i>causes</i> that to happen". It is rather, "This being so <i>is the condition</i> for that to happen. It took me awhile to grasp this subtle distinction, but once I did it became apparent that "This being so, that happens" could potentially be rephrased as "This <i>orientation </i>being so, that happens". The orientation doesn't cause that to happen, it is a necessary condition for that (satori, or perhaps a delicious fruit pie) to happen.<br />
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And so, in the context I'm exploring of aesthetic experience, orientation suddenly becomes an important element that is influenced, or perhaps we might say adjusted, by the condition that the aesthetic experience creates in its interaction with the receiver of that experience ( or, to hearken back to the philosopher Charles Taylor, the web of interlocution that is a condition of that experience).<br />
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I'm thinking things start to get <i>very </i>interesting when one finds oneself wandering in the fifth dimension.....<br />
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To be continued...Jeff Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061307873757574020noreply@blogger.com1