The Well, the Tao and the Fire-nest

the Fool in the flower


Gene Keys Journal 25 September 2015
The Gene keys teaching catches my little fire!  In gene key 42, the Gift of Detachment suggests: let go of the cloak which binds and blinds, while centering  … my lambswool, fool-lamb thread in the many coloured and never ending tapestry.


What is the gift of detachment?  Is it to become more adventurous, more present with my loved ones?

In the “never-ending-story” – and in all stories and sagas – it is curious how the hero or seeker invariably gets trapped into the linear quantum of his or her own Progress and loses everything else … until he or she suffers and comes to their senses. The linear Progress passes through conquest, empire and defeat of illusion, and terminates in struggling for all eternity to do or solve something ridiculous, unless the hero reaches the Misty Sea and learns to sing.


rising water, north devon

rising water, north devon


The interplay of Expectation, Detachment, Celebration in gene key 42 lets go of living and dying.  Sit and watch the river and its constant fading rebirth. On the gene keys golden path, I learn about gene key 2/the Earth-Receptive  as the River – Dislocation, Orientation, Unity.  Here, and in the 37th gene key, I feel my home ground: orientation and family alchemy. Here is my wood in the tide of evolutionary humanity, and I am swept gently along, with the gift of resting in my being now and again, even if at night this is difficult.

Concerning the family, the elder Tao in the gene keys teaching affirms again and again  what this means. The pulse generated by human healing, integrity and the facing of difficulties through small affiliations, travels farther and wider than we see.   It has a homeopathic potency.

The Tao is like an empty bowl,
which in being used can never be filled up.
Fathomless, it seems to be the origin of all things.
It blunts all sharp edges,
it unties all tangles, 
it unites the world into one whole.
Hidden in the deeps,
yet it seems to exist for ever.
I do not know whose child it is;
it seems to be the common ancestor of all, 
the mother and father of things.

Tao Teh Ching, 4


The spirit of the Fountain dies not.
It is called the mysterious Feminine.
The doorway of the mysterious Feminine 
is called the root of Heaven-and-Earth.
Lingering like gossamer, it has only a hint of existence;
and yet when you draw upon it, it is inexhaustible.

Tao Teh Ching, 6


Rain images from


The pulse as a wave-train passes through that of society and government. Oasis suggests: a green peace, a pause in the journey, to water the camels. By now the oases increase, underneath the world’s mainstream radar; the raindrop movement grows invincibly. It carries with it my old wonderment at oasis, the backwaters of the river – “dark brown is the river, golden is the sand” – which renew and refresh me, whatever the midstream crisis is carrying.

I can draw the river into a circle, a ring, a well.  The backwater slowly turns like a well, releasing back into the midstream current … thoughts and ideas of the anaconda and the deep.

The well as a backwater, slowly circling, deposits a profile of silt and stones as it clears and harbours life. Isn’t this like us? Tiny vortices or whirlpool spirals of our lifetimes are thrown into the well by the passing crisis in the main river current: the well remains fresh and cool to drink.


The ancient adepts of the Tao were subtle and flexible,
profound and comprehensive.
Their minds were too deep to be fathomed.
Because they are unfathomable, 
one can only describe them vaguely by their appearance.
Hesitant, like one wading a stream in winter;
timid like one afraid of his neighbours on all sides;
cautious and courteous like a guest;
yielding like ice on the point of melting;
simple like an un-carved block;
hollow like a cave;
confused like a muddy pool; 

and yet who else could quietly and gradually evolve from the muddy to the clear?  Who else could slowly but steadily move from the inert to the living?

He who keeps the Tao does not want to be full.
But precisely because he is never full,
he can always remain like a hidden sprout,
and does not rush to early ripening.

Tao Teh Ching, 15


I Ching hexagram 48 is The Well, and in the gene keys it is called “the Wonder of Uncertainty.” The well is a root of water in the ground; the river turns like a dervish and in the ecstasy, rests itself.

rahu 4 - turning dervish

The midstream river is an anaconda, a river-snake, because it is denser, directional and it flows. It doesn’t “head” its direction. It is pulled by gravity. The snake or cosmic serpent is pulled by gravity, the DNA helix is pulled by cosmic gravity, my walking anywhere is pulled by physical gravity and metaphysical future; lean back into it and ride.

current, brook near buckland filleigh


In the I Ching ancient Chinese symbolisms, the wind is also wood and boats: the fire which glows in the heart of the tree … the natural forest fire of the 37th gene key: Family Alchemy. How beautiful! Small communities of humans sorting themselves out, are the threads of bush fires spreading and joining and forming a golden net.   This alternative reality is not heard in the shocking, troubled news. But it is where we really are and should keep going. Get on with the job.

A water droplet is an inverted flame. It ripens and falls; it stretches upward and glows. Watch at any time a dawn on the sea.  Discover for yourself the hexagrams which mingle water and fire in the I Ching, and how they speak.

sunset over Cap Frehel, Brittany

How to make and link a family alchemy? Seek in any friendship or work environment, what activates care, tenderness and concentration; blow on it gently – it is a little fire-nest – to spread, subtly and contagiously; co-create an atmosphere. The given obstacles in life are fuel – be canny.


Fire images from

In olden days, people carried fire-nests from place to place: a spark wrapped in grass or some slow-burning textile. These became tinderboxes, as in Grimm’s fairy tales, containing a flint to strike spark onto kindling. Fire is latent until ignited with air – the gentle breath: the alchemist’s bellows or lungs. The holy fire was primordially pure and magical. In our day we have matchboxes and lighters and buttons, and we forget the magic; but the flame itself is primordial: the birth of a unique stream of “I” the instant another stream of “I” dies. Each time we die we are born; and birth is the death of another into being. There is no end or beginning to being uniquely “I”. The candle is lit by the One flame all over the world: the Sun star encircles and lights the world.

It is the golden net of Prometheus.

“The tenderness passes from person to person.”

Richard Rudd



The fire-nest is carried in the heart and belly and solar plexus field. It is more a fact than a thought; so it gets hidden and obscured – thinking about our thoughts, rather than with what is HERE.

The still, small voice

If you look HERE
you’ll find.

If you play with your sword
you won’t; but I’m HERE
our bridge.

You may not hear
what touches you

but HERE, my songs
in your tree are lovebirds.

Poems of Eclipse, 1999


Carried in the fire nest, Promethean in our world is the promise, the tendering of the tinder, striking flame, nurturing the child where man and woman meet.


Tidal Lagoon near Shingle Street





Each unto each other

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Living and Dying and Letting Go

syria children 1

With my gk42 Purpose in the Venus stream I string a few beads together from my private writings the last few days; with this week’s sketches of Syrian children for a charity project, and some of my early drawings of children and of love.

The Activation dance of Challenge, Breakthrough and Core Stability  recurred spontaneously in my stream of life.  Then, lo and behold – Richard’s writing on the Venus path itself, moving towards spiritual birth centre, expresses it beautifully.  The movement is a wondrous, communal thing to discover, and then find verified.



Meanwhile, I am reading Lawrence again, and at the beginning of my walk yesterday, I thought of Mellors’ beauty in his woodland wildness hemmed-in by the encroaching black pits; the silence in his movement, his smell and tenderness as a lover and un-industrialised human among the pheasant coops. No one but Lawrence writes with such beauty and power about the primal chord of sex in the hut, in the rain and the trees and by the hatching chicks, or through the clashing twitter in Wragby Hall. Lawrence knew that the key to human evolution is to venerate our sexual nature, and pointed out ad infinitum, the sad marionette atrophy of damaged souls in the black wound of the war; miners of the social-intelligentsia merry-go-round. The fragile triumph in the story, declares itself as not part of that, and survives as long as it can.

In the trees

Dig earth with spade is like a grave to seed a death into; and out of it comes the tender living flesh of human quickening – the glory of the Light of Man, who reads the wind, the rain, the depth of the intelligence, the nimble soft flesh, the path of awe by the fireside. He lays his jacket for her under a larch, and fits his quivering arrow to her bow.  I love the gentle passion with which he kisses her – and the slow awakening of her womb all that spring, with the birds and daffodils and the way the oak buds uncurl their soft fists from decay and hurt and atrophy, to blossom with their child.  The tenderness was all against society, and the book was declared obscene and banned. And Lawrence burned up his lungs and died. But the wood of Connie and Mellors is alive. Life and birth rebel against the hard rack of the collective surface mind and its customs of pain and prejudice.   The trees are singing and silent at night: the bulldozer comes for them too, but many remain, and go on seeding silence and tall strong stems for lovers.

I reflect and write, because it leads me into a realm where cramped carpings of bruised surface mindings and prevarications have no influence – they are the marbling foam-tracks on the wave, of spent wave trains. Thinking they have all the power to decide, the marblings have no determining power whatsoever, they fade and fail.

waves on shingle point

Then be true with what apparently does not fail – the rising and falling wave.   Living and dying and letting go is the instrument here – the bow on the strings.

Deep in my gene-keys Purpose element (42.6), I touch a profound chord of human resonance. As it vibrates, keep drawing the bow across the string because sound travels, and I am in orchestra. This tone defeats ultimately, the islamist state atrocity. This tone penetrates the heartbreaking pressure of the refugees and the ugly fence the Hungarian government puts up against them along the border with Croatia. This tone is humanity’s potential to survive the present chaos and to mutate. This tone is the butterfly within coiled dragon scales and broken hearts.

syria children 2

As I perceive the tone and try to practice it … go for it, aware and alive; a mast or aerial for transmission. It earths and recharges through my awareness and my focus (which I often lose). I want to send to those desperate people some existential hope, a clarity to flow through their veins. I cannot go there physically, but the transmission might be relayed through the mental plane. The mental plane is not the log-jam mind-stuff. The mental plane is Hermetic – the higher thought realm, like a golden net. It earths into the ground, even as is written in the Emerald Table – it descends in order to ascend and overcome obscurity.

Does a man plant his mast?   That is private for him, so I can only guess. A mast needs a boat to travel. Boats are she, and masts and staffs are he. It is a fancy and more than a fancy, it is creative imagination and as soon as this takes the wind, the deep keel is I LOVE. Not just “I love you”, but love as the inescapable condition of being the human vessel.

I did two drawings of Syria children yesterday, which drew me close to the holocaust reality in those camps, in bright plastic shoes: mud, puddles, tangled hair and small siblings. A parent can no longer keep her child tidy, bright and safe. Their homes are shattered. Who will these children grow up into? What happens to the family dynamic in the backbone?

syria children 3


The Tree of life opens from root to bowl. I went to visit my friend Paula on Sunday; she showed me some new paintings of trees she has done, and I loved them – they are Grails, they blaze, they are the mystic  bowl of providence, with exquisite care among all the little branches in space.  She and I both looked at trees a lot, this year.   I emailed her to send me a photo of her painting, which I would like to add here … but I haven’t heard back from her yet.  I will put it here, when it comes.


Wellbeing is when the current moves slowly and with light and relative ease. It is light among the branches like the kindling of the holy deva in Paula’s paintings, and her care with the twigs.  I am voyaging in a Long Thought, like the deep slow powerful currents out to sea. It harvests each day a shoal of impressions as the Hermetic Mind touches my wave. The Long Thought is cosmic, inner truth.



I Ching 42: “While observing how thunder and wind increase and strengthen each other, a man can note the way to self-increase and self-improvement. When he discovers good in others, he should imitate it and thus make everything on earth his own. If he perceives something bad in himself, let him rid himself of it. In this way he becomes free of evil. This ethical change represents the most important increase of personality.”

Further: there is decrease above and increase below. The decrease above is at the hands of the prince and the increase below is received by the official.

I find this exchange very beautiful, in the breathing in and out of tide and nature and the tree. The official is the executive: the prince is the inspirational ruler. It ascends and descends, sometimes the one is more the other: the Tao point is never exactly half way between. This is wisdom. Decrease is bound to bring about increase: the tide turns, there is no conflict.

The primary trigrams of wind and thunder in 42 increase each other. The image is of a plough, for the wind penetrates the earth arousing. Without the ground there is no speech of thunder, for it must earth down the lightning bolt. The gentle wind arouses this thunder. The speech of the inner plane is gentle; the touch of lovers is gentle, arousing the inner fire.

grail trees, 2002

grail trees, 2002

The trigrams in 42 Increase and 41 Decrease develop from Standstill 12 and Peace 11 where Heaven is over Earth and then Earth over Heaven. The yin and the yang lines entering the bottom of each trigram, are dynamic and it turns. Lay open the earth with plough.


hexagrams 12,11,42,41


The stability of the realm is mentioned somewhere: core stability. I Ching says,”Increase moves, gentle and mild: daily progress without limit. …  self abnegation gives proof of great clarity.”  As well as the plough, “the upper trigram of Hexagram 42 is a ship and the lower trigram guarantees the movement of the ship. Gentleness guarantees progress. The process of increase also is bound up with the right time, within which it comes to consummation.”.

How deep these wisdoms are embedded, and how often I write of them and read them!  It seems to be not what is done but how it is done or happens. The golden net above and through the coarse human model, cares little for appearances, and everything for … the law of life …

The activation through the Venus sequence is:
IQ-EQ (Hod to Netzach), Challenge.
EQ-SQ (Netzach to Tifareth), Breakthrough (into core softness) 
SQ-Vocation, (Tifareth to Gevurah), Core Stability (with the wound)


The dance inverts and ascends. In step 19 on the path of prioritizing love, we journey back into our first seven years and pre-natally, the unconditional maternal tenderness.

Indeed, I drew yesterday (after my third Syrian-children sketch) Gayatri, Mother of Mantras – a powerful androgenous Sari, with a big swan – the cosmic mothering together with the nature of mothering.

Gayatri Devi

Gayatri Devi:  Om bhur bhuvaha svaha< Tat savitur varen y am< Bhargo devasya dhimahi< Dhiyo yonaha prachahadayat


Because the Venus stream leads us back into our childhood roots and feelings, most of these drawings are from when I was seven years old and younger.


Love is the mind-stopping embrace, right now, with road works going on outside in the bright autumn sunshine. It is like being thrown into the back of my seat by a kind of G-force. Then love – the unconditioned love of breakthrough – is a rocket fuel!   It hurls me into the unbound NOW where contemplation thrives, unmethoded, unmythologised.

Love is pressure. God is pressure. Love is always breaking through as the dam is dissolved. The whole of nature resists and thus enhances growth and flow; and the current crisis in human environment is this in high relief. Without the pressure and the breaking through to birth, there is no life – the asymmetric way of birth which we are, and which we observe in every little detail’s miniature immensity.


Tree Spirit Yakshi guardian

Tree spirit Yakshi guardian





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Varuna Sigil

poppy path near wendover

Since beginning the Venus sequence at the end of last year, life and relationships have been pretty full on.  It isn’t easy to keep my blogs going, although the journal flows like a brook.

This post is a backward look in my journal to see what was happening in May 2014, a couple of weeks or so before I “met” the gene keys.  I find, when I am about to discover a teaching, life’s expression of it in full, comes like an ocean wave to the peak:  in these entries there is a lot about the Shadow and the Gift.


field of cloud and wind

11 May 2014             VARUNA SIGIL

I do love Companions. I love glimpsing a little ahead in Jung’s Red Book – he on his journey to the east comes up against a cliff – sharing that!   gleeful.   I love it that I can write and connect and touch and encircle my space of human.   Here is an environment, a landscape, a flower field, and here within it, glimmering slightly with aura, is my absence! a space – a human mould.   I am – in Douglas Harding’s seeing way – the space where all of it disappears.


A mention in Peter the Wing’s blog, of sigils – leaving sigils in patterns of stones, like the fibernacci spiral or … the Seal of Solomon, which is my sigil. They touch ground and drift out of pattern: they appear, they fade. Weather and the kicks of animals and humans, scatter them. Then they reappear in another place.


Remember the sigil I found near Pwllderi in south Wales! – first a snake in the path, and then a spiral of stones on the cliff top.  Recalling it, I look down even this moment, into that secret bay of seals and sea and stones and violet cathedrals.

domenico sea


It is peculiar that I get unhappy, and grieve.   I was grieving for a long time yesterday. Then it lifted suddenly on the bus, when I thought “good and kind”.   When I grieve and cry inside, it seems to be a need to. Then accommodate it without dramatising or giving it fuel.   It is peculiar, because of my vast ammunition of powerful sigils and beautiful ideas and Principles.   These are all far away when I grieve.   Perhaps when I am writing of them only, my mood is more stable.   As I now write mostly of my interaction with people – seeking their essence or sigil – the element is choppy with residual Karmas – the hidden currents crossing each other.   Perhaps.   So it rakes up at the moment, M’s ordeal as an utterly and ineradicable core grief in my soul.   Why?   I don’t dwell on it or muck it over, but here it is, whoosh, whoosh.   Why?   Perhaps the Companions of the Light, now doing something about it, put pressure on this sore place.

It isn’t sore now, this morning. I am seeing it objectively, with the serene simplicity around me which is Varuna.

Sacred India Tarot - VARUNA

Sacred India Tarot – Varuna: Justice

Varuna!   Vedic Varuna!   Rich beyond belief, and pulling forth hymns to the dawn from his devotees. Varuna’s severe benevolent gaze is from the sky. His feet rest upon the earth among the flowers.   VARUNA SIGIL.

Sacred India Tarot - VARUNA - Version 2

Negative tides inevitably backwash my positive waves.   They constantly clap hands together. Each day is negotiation and survival.   Each day is a sailing boat.   The more I have of the beauty, the more correspondingly there is, of the Shadow.   The Shadow appears to undo or muckrake what I gain, it appears to be Opposition, but it isn’t really.   It is just the light and shade of my human condition, the sides of the moving wave are in fluid balance, stroking the waters which rise like a lion, a dolphin.   The wave bursts whitely onto the beach; then there is a dragging sound as it pulls pebbles back into the sea.   When there is that dragging sound, I am in the pain of life which then breaks onto the beach again as Life and Wonder.   In and out … the soul.   Constant cycle.

cornwall 2011 232 - wave break with seal

What keeps it open? The spiral with the breath: to honour in depth, its modes of being, as I am long accustomed to.

What closes it up? Tension, drama and denial.   You see, the lower mind’s tendency is to go round and round.   Going round and round engraves the story and my egoic importance within it. There is always this risk, and yet I have to turn with it a few circles each time, as it requires consciousness.   Yesterday I thought: this takes as long as it must take, to clear.   It is not surprising that a mother’s sorrow is so acute.   I live with it for life.

If there was blame and hatred in it … but there isn’t.   That stuff isn’t fuelled.   Then it is … and this is surprising – it is a CORE VALUE, unconditionally, and remains so – the grief, the trauma, and all the creativity which emerges from it, and which was dedicated to heal it.   Healing isn’t just a release from a given problem.   Healing is HOW WE LIVE AND WALK WITH IT.   I’ve got this job for life.   It is B’s bequest to me.

woman in sea with Shadow 1986

And I would see his name without any stir of emotion at all.   In the workplace, we who use the deep tools, see them for what they are, we see their value in the transformative process, and we don’t fight with life.

(Sculptor and chisel, hammering along the grain, delicately, chip chip.   I perceive what the Light in B’ soul law was trying to do, when he was young as I know him, and so I don’t judge him.   It is not my place to judge him.   It is amazing to just see him. … Image of an illumined mountain ridge, and a black valley … phenomenally.   Phenomenologically: the tool. I see a person’s potential and promise, and his subconscious shadow which hijacked it. I see the extremes of experience which help us to grow.)

When the pain is acute, there is a lot of flak and chaos. (Right now, the dark pressure of tears; and the counteracting sobriety – admit, but don’t indulge: actually, I wonder at it.   Remember to breathe the root, it is alive.)   At such times I hide it from everybody.   But nowadays this has changed.   There is someone I can talk to.   I am tentative about this. But I know the point at which I can no longer travel alone with it, and then I call him, and sanity returns.

Since childhood, the moment someone came to me in my distress, made me cry harder for a while, the wave breaks – the contact.   I think it is the same phenomenon now, it works itself out, over a longer cycle.   The tears are also of sheer relief.

The Seal, Cliffs of Fall 1

It is not a projection.   It is something reciprocal unfolding between us – a kind of healing – which reverberates through DA’AT to others in the world.   What we do and are here, is important.   I think it tugs at me so, because deep down here is the masculine healing the feminine.   It is essential for both sides: a “mission” unfolds from it, under direction.   This morning space is dedicated to realising and valuing this, and I remember the sacred, and notice the specific stages of planting.

I find no indication that it is other than this.   It has a tempo like the slow waves through the deep sea. It is concealed openly.   It is chosen consciously.   The chosen love for this one, and how it acts.

Doesn’t this imply also a bereavement?   Yes, of course.   B was a battlefield in my soul which released mighty powers of Light. I touch base with him, in his love for discovering and using tools, which inspired me.   Then he mishandled them.   May he REST IN PEACE.   I live with him in my garden.   Rest in peace.

Yesterday my old friend D and I – trying to replace the broken post for his garden gate that I made – dug out from the earth an enormous cone of cement and stones, a foot or two deep, in which the old post had been embedded.   It was raining, and we got muddy.   It was like pulling out a vast molar.   When I began the job and hit rock everywhere, I lost heart, and tottered faintly back to D. He came out with his Aries vim, and started scraping to find edges, and levering with the spade. It moved!   The feminine took heart and vigour again, and they worked together.   It was like the stone Theseus shifted and lifted in Troezene.   At last, out it came, like a massive root, and I rolled it with difficulty to the corner of Miriam’s garden. D doesn’t bother with his bad back when he does this kind of thing, and it was very sore afterwards.   We drove to N Finchley and bought a heavy post and a ground-spike to bang it into, and some green plants for D’s bedroom.   This afternoon I fix it all together and re-hang the gate, touch wood.  In my ‘Poems of Eclipse’ there is a lot about dislodging the Stone in the riverbed!  Then, eight years of D and J, as lovers and then bro & sis, dislodged the rock. He helped me through his Capricorn-Cancer lunar node channel along my Sun and Moon.

Waters laugh, chuckle and gurgle as they run down the mountain.   It was of course raining. The weather put on a special display for D who is Israeli; he was utterly amazed all over again in N Finchley at the blue sky to the right (with white clouds) and the huge dark rain-cloud to the left, as we drove yet again along the edge between the weathers.   “Look what a beautiful blue sky!” he shouted.   Suddenly I saw, and said:   when you’re on the moon, or just outside Earth’s magnetic field, you see this radiant blue planet streaked with brilliant white swirls, and you wonder what it must be like inside the jewel; and lo and behold, North Finchley, jeep, the road, houses and buses, and looking up through the sky same colour!

As above, so below … the lens or veil into cosmos forever.     We see this EVERY DAY.   Do we remember to?


SHIN Yeshua etc 2 - Version 2

This morning’s is rich in discovery. Kabbalistically, the molar tooth – linked to the shape we just dug out – is symbolised in the Hebrew Letter SHIN with its three YODS.  A long time ago, I found this version of the SHIN in Michael Munk’s The Wisdom in the Hebrew Alphabet.

He wrote: “God engraved – rather than etched – the letters on the Two Tablets because He wanted them to be read from both sides.  Thus they would allude to two dimensions of the Torah – the revealed and the concealed one … The stone or other substance around the engraved letter is cut away; consequently the letter is legible only because the outline remains in place. Since the letters of the Ten Commandments were carved into the Tablets, they were outlined by stone, but were not themselves tangible.  

“In this engraved script, the three headed SHIN is formed by four frames, one on each side and two in the middle.  For this reason, the SHIN of the Tablets is called ‘a SHIN of four heads’.”

SHIN’S Tarot Key is 20, the Judgement or Ascension with man, woman and holy child to Archangel Gabriel’s intimate trumpet call.   Its planet is Pluto, who nudges my Jovian ocean-waves in Capricorn.

Arcanum 20 judgement

Don’t worry about the griefs. They are spin-offs from the excavations of this Cardinal Grand Cross at 13 Capricorn, where Pluto transits my  Jupiter. They are the watery response of Yesod (moon) in the Crab.  When we are rowing the boat, often the sky clouds over, and we just say Here it is again, and keep rowing.


poppy pod in 'A Way of Life' by Jim Ede

poppy pod in ‘A Way of Life’ by Jim Ede


Red Book
Jung wandered (Grand Cross) South, North, West, and then threw all his clothes away and travelled East through flowery meadows. In the third night, a heaviness came and he stood before a range of cliffs of sorrowful desolation. Everything tried to deter him from following his life’s path.   But he found the entrance and the narrow way.   The Door of the Wall.   The torment he says, was great … “since it was not for nothing that I had pushed the two dissipated and dissolute ones (Ammonius Sacca and the Red Devil: polarities of the Christian church) away from me.   I unsuspectingly absorb what I reject.”

Isn’t this just like me?   Moving on from an ancient Karmic attachment, is painful and aware: a tearing from the roots.   It comes in phases, I dig out the rock, I’ve been digging it out for … 28 years, perhaps it is done?   28 years is a Saturn return! When it is done, I am bored with it.   Like now.


gravatar rose egg

Returning to sigils – mine is SIGILLUM SOLOMONIS – I drop it around in blogland with every comment I make on a fellow blogger’s post.   Parker and I are having a little chat, and so on.

Arcanum 6 lovers - Version 2

Flag up this:   the conscious Seal of Solomon.   It is not a mark or a dab, it is an energy force-field, it is magnetised: keep it so, and don’t forget. “When the heart is deeply moved, it likes a little ceremony” ... as Redwood used to quote.

Another kind of sigil is primitive, the dabs or dog-scent-trails of graffiti.







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Human Landscape – Masters on the Seven Rays

drinking glass on sea bed

Reblogged from my gene keys journal – A midsummer portrait gallery – representing some sources of higher inspiration in humanity. The sketch of the Baal Shem Tav (see below) came about one day in 2002 when there was an argument going on upstairs in my house: when I left it and went downstairs I felt a “thickening” in the air, like cream, as if it came in through the window. I got out my sketch pad, and the Rabbi of Joy sprang forth with his strong blue eyes. Other portraits were the fruit of my tentative trial-and-error contact with the upper and inner worlds.

All the Great Masters are the One. Their different facial expressions are the way we perceive them and their teaching, through the clouds. There is a spectrum of relationship and commitment. As Dion Fortune has written, we first ‘imagine’ and then we ‘will to be there.’

impression of jung's philemon dream_0001


Gene Keys Journal, 20 June 2015

For all of us who tune in to the opening of the Seven Seals retreat this summer solstice:  a gallery of my portraits of the Great Holy Council and some Companions of the Light.

Many of these were commissioned as a series in 2008, for Anne Dorcas in Montreal, and you may recognise those who are close to you.  May Their blessings and peace illumine and go on transforming the shadows in our world.  They are the Lighthouse keepers!

Click on any of them to see the gallery, then click on “view full size” individually.



The Rabbi of Joy -  Baal Shem Tav

The Rabbi of Joy – Baal Shem Tav



Jung as hermit - medicine man of the twentieth century, and pioneer with the archetypes.  We who are travellers  are carried on his shoulders into the ways which he illumined.

Jung as hermit – medicine man of the twentieth century, and pioneer with the archetypes. We who are travellers are carried on his shoulders into the ways which he illumined.


With love, Jane





All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012-2015. May not be used for commercial purposes. May be used and shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address

Venus Stream – Tenth Gene Key – Grand Canyon

looking down bright angel trail


Gene Keys Journal, 17 May 2015
The Shadow of gene key 10 (my IQ – Hod on the Tree of Life) is the self obsessive spiritual search – a circular path, “treading”(I Ching) the treadmill, whose realisation becomes that the goal cannot be found – or not the way it is thought to be found.


colorado river

The Gift is effectively when it turns into a spiral: live your own myth, naturally, through the Ring of humanity.

This is an archetypal and legendary pilgrimage:  Wounded (gene key 25), you must do battle with your shadows (gk38), overcome your mind’s limitation (gk17), surrender your need to control life (gk21) and find your Self (gk10) before you can awaken (gk51).  Naturalness is when and wherever the argument with life ceases.

The 17th shadow which limits the quest, is Opinion – which transmutes to the gift of Farsightedness and the siddhi of Omniscience. Gene Key 17’s title is The Eye. Its I Ching title is the Following.   Treading and Following!

Serpent egg 87


Re Gene Key 17 (the Eye/Following), Richard Rudd writes – “All opinions are based upon seeing flaws in the geometry of life.”… “If you look within most human minds, you will find layers and layers of conditioned dogma – from books, scientifically proven theories, religious beliefs and/or traditional views. You will find minds that are desperately trying to become certain about life.

That is quite a picture! Most of us – and in my bleak mind – consist of edifices of fakery. It is useful to become aware of opinions and their tension – the layers are like flaky pastry, or the piled pages in the Grand Canyon. Along Bright Angel trail the rock formations resemble legal bundles, with the brittle old pages curling. This is a powerful image.



Leaves of a Book (from Poems of Eclipse, 2000)

Having lived my story,
who lives it now?
In the shadow of this tree
I prepared the mercury –
flaky pastry crusts
in loamy leaves of alchemy.

“It has the aspect of a stony crumbly flaky mass.
The crystalline layers forming substance lie
as leaves of a book, one over the other.
For this reason it is called the earth of leaves.

“This is the first matter of the Work expressed
as a book which is sometimes open, sometimes closed
as to whether it has been worked
or merely extracted from the mine.”

La Mystere des Cathedrales, Fulcanelli

Wondrous is our Art’s dark smell
lifted from the ground.
Sweet peace of sour nitrate,
tang of rain and essences sharp
recall my inner life’s fecundity.

Sweet peace settles now,
as when along Bright Angel Trail my arduous trek
delivered me before the gods
who rest their tired feet
within the Colorado waters
dividing the grand Canyon’s heat.

colorado river grand canyon

Into Cambrian strata shale
a great crack opens,
whose bookish spine
descending serpentine
beneath the desert shelf
feathers a tender greeny blush of aspens;

and above the mossy thread,
piled high as a giant pale,
lie un-numbered fossil pages petrified;
an alchemy, an earth of leaves within
alert akashic eyes
of lizards in their ancient sleep.

Poems of Eclipse


Zoo 1987

A footnote to the poem’s last verse – “PALE – this word used for assonance with “trail”, “shale”, etc, and “piled” and “page”, but also suggesting wood pales (from Latin palum, stake) for making fences or boundaries;  and the expression “beyond the pale” means “behaviour beyond acceptability or conventional definition” i.e. beyond the usual faculty for numbering, ordering or containing.  Name given in 14th century to the part of Ireland where English rule was effective as a result of the English settlement of Henry II’s reign.

“AKASHA” – sanskrit word meaning “etheric” – “a kind of matter freer than even air, just as water is freer than earth, and air is freer than water.  Inasmuch as objects partake of and associate with ether, they can have separation and distance from one another.” (Definition, Ernest Wood, and “Etheric Writing” – Aurobindo.)  Alternatively, “the imprint of the universal memory”.  Archival connotation – akashic records, by which everything in space and time is on subtle record, available to some seers.


It was very strange and exciting to be down among all that. Through the biblical geology a bright green path gradually descended the desert – the Tonto shelf – feathered with aspens, and alive with a burbling brook: life’s secret cycle, flora and fauna flows through the mineralized layers of climate in the vertical plane. It is a long, long walk down to where the central abysses of the Grand Canyon suddenly open up to the gods enthroned among them.

looking into grand canyon from bright angel trail

And so it is when we open the well of our mind into vast space. It is not so much that I dethrone my gods, as … I now see them. When they commanded me, they were not visible, they were buried like the Sphinx, and when I was young, I could not understand why I was driven in certain ways, far from what I “knew” to be wise.

snakes 1987

Visualisation is powerful. It only doesn’t work when I try to let someone else lead it. At present, it requires willingness and faith in what I see:  to “tread”. This is what I discovered in my creative pilgrimage in 1986-89. Later, I came to Ramana and the great gods in Vedanta.   It was all a vast excavation.


“It is false to speak of realisation. What is there to realise? The real is as it is always. We are not creating anything new or achieving something which we did not have before. The illustration given in books is this. We dig a well and create a huge pit. The space in the pit or well has not been created by us. We have just removed the earth which was filling the space there. The space was there then and is also there now. Similarly we have simply to throw out all the age-long samskaras [innate tendencies] which are inside us. When all of them have been given up, the Self will shine alone.”

Ramana Maharshi


With this image awake, which archetype unconsciously leads me now?

Down in the canyon, among archetypes whose hard strata the aeons of climate could not erode – they are left standing like spires – some are hidden behind others!   It is an open question. Which one for instance, compels the depth of my two relationships at present? It must be one of those deities, rooted in time, and entirely right for itself.   It comes forth to the play of my fingers, touching keys – like the music of the hidden Bright Angel brook: water in the rock,  as Moses’ staff struck. There are elements of nature untouched by human time and wrinkled brows. They stand, they flow.



They stand, and all around them is their realm and vortex: a landscape perfectly contoured to their worship. Such are great bass chords and roots of Life. I stand in awe.

The art of visualisation is to touch and see: to let it lead to the unexpected; it is not enough to just sit and hope. I touch the unknown, writing to love it, and when I write with both hands, it touches my lover and waits: it is my tantra. I am like a lizard or a rabbit: frequently I pause and am still.   Nature in the Mountain (I Ching/gene key 52) pauses as the water of life fills her.


Angel with Rabbit


Last night I saw a TV documentary on the Arabian desert. There is an irrigation by which the water from a natural spring is directed to flow along channels (artificial veins) built along sheer mountain ridges towards distant farms. The sluice is open to each farm in turn, for about 15 or 20 minutes. The cycle is determined by a sundial, a tall post whose shadow strikes small cairns representing each farm. When the water is released down one of these long winding ducts, it hurtles and leaps like an uncoiling silver snake. It is wonderful to see!   It is wonderful to see the head of clear water surge and tumble through the dry rock vein.


All creatures in Nature wait: the creative process waits to be filled: the breath, the sea-tide awaits herself. Adonai, Allahu, thou art God.


Alan Jacobs in the Grand Canyon

Alan Jacobs in the Grand Canyon





This painting is from 1987, when I was living in the spaces-between - it is developed from tables and persons (left and right) in a coffee-shop - the living "canyon" between them.

This painting is from 1987, when I was living in the spaces-between – it is developed from tables and persons (left and right) in a coffee-shop – the living “canyon” between them.

All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012-2015. May not be used for commercial purposes. May be used and shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address

Venus Stream – Red Horse and a Rage


Ravine, 1986

Ravine, 1986

Gene Keys Journal, 10 May 2015

The Venus stream takes me of its own accord into the unexpected – a revelation.  Here is my”red horse” in the volatile element:

I dreamed this morning a large, well-dressed and personable man (big stomach, like a family man I saw on the bus) picked me up in the street and invited me to a laid-back orgy. Nothing much happened, though a bit was going on around me. The man was amusing himself with a young flashy girl in a tub-like chair. He invited me to join them and I said “I hope I’m not interrupting something?” They laughed. He was nude, with his schlong tucked between his thighs. And other scenes.   Later on, he lay on the floor in a meditative Buddha posture, playing a pink dildo in his vagina. He remained pregnantly male and authoritative.

I spent some time hidden under bedclothes waiting for the coast to clear – my father had turned up.

I also dreamed of going down an almost sheer grassy cliff towards the sea below, and then worried if I was stuck, if I could climb back up, or if I would slip right down and be killed. I clung.


"Rocky" - 1986

“Rocky” – 1986


I was thinking last night about anger – my anger: how it blows up when my menfolk annoy me. It is destructive and hurtful. I wonder how much its presence distorts my general view of life, persons and journal. My older woman’s rage accumulates life’s setbacks into a tirade. Rage is the breaking wave of a long historic swell, and it uses the rock it finds. It uses the rock it finds, to blame; but the rock is not to blame. The love or the man or the woman or the child is not to blame. They help the wave to break.

corwall 2011 182 wave break


This is an interesting angle. Then it is a valuable condition, to witness and to walk with. Can I next time, say to my rage: You are valuable, you are a breaking wave, you release fire and salt, you are more than what or whom I think you are…. ?

corwall 2011 265 breaker

My rage won’t like that, because its nature is to pile the entire cause onto the person who offended, and on ME. It is a raw force of feeling, and it generates hurt around itself with physical pain in belly, tension, collywobbles, incoherent speechmaking, off-the-wall, out-of-order and frustration.   These are all invention!   Try telling that to my rage, next time.

headstrong horses 1987

headstrong horses 1987


The rage invariably passes when it is shared. When I am angry with C, and I tell him, we talk and it becomes a vibrant – if un-smooth – communication channel, and transforms to love and relief – sitting on a wall at night in canfield gardens with my tiny phone, when he at last called back.   I am scared of my anger and what it might do – it wants to upset people and their social arrangements, it is ME ME ME.   A Capricorn has a slow fuse but a long one, and when it gets going, it is volcanic.

new year flame


In fact the wind (like smoke over a small fire) turns swiftly. The trigger happens: at first there is little reaction, there is a philosophical space, assimilating the event. Then thought gets hold of it, like a bit in the horse’s teeth, and spells out the offense or injury or panic I have been conditioned to believe – what my friends might say, in this situation – it is magazine stuff – and the bit is all the unspoken words arranging themselves into patterns of rehearsal, not to forget them, so they are repeated, like lines to learn at school, and there is physical turbulence and adrenalin rush, and the bit builds and builds in my teeth, self-righteously, while my feet walk fast.


red horse 1986

The bit is in the horse’s mouth, and galloping, and the rider cannot control or stay the horse, but whispers along the reins: this won’t help, you are rage, you won’t be able to say it like this, try saying this instead, remember to make it a discussion, do a deep breath, (I don’t want to) – do another one, you are in the Great Work (so what?), what will alchemy say? (who cares?) The bit is in the horse’s teeth, and the horse’s mouth is insensitive to my hands.

The bit of rage is the bite of rage – like a poem I once wrote to B, wishing my words would bite.

C (who tumbles into his rages also) – his response when I am very cross, is to allow, accept, embrace the feeling and to help it to lighten up and laugh.  The splatter of wave-break words falls out of sight, because when the current is delivered, there is no need. Some of them get said, some of the eggs get laid, some of them splash on the rock.

Rage is tied up with personal survival – the fear that the words to resolve and commend myself, which I try to learn by heart, will fall out of sight through the stones – and of course they do.  The feeling comes from before speech.

There is consciously a deep need to be honest, to tell the truth. This fuels the rage. But look: isn’t the need to speak truth, itself the long historic wave from the ocean? The anger is the white bit over the rocks. The truth comes out, and alters the setting between two persons. It shares. My rage carried a cargo of opinions at its crest, and then I give them  up. I suddenly see: he has, I have, the freedom to be who we are. And I say to him: I love this peculiar way we are.


red horse and rainbow 2008


My pair of dreams this morning – curiously – illumine this topic. The stranger had a large abdomen, illustrating my rage centre. He is disconcertingly attractive and in command.   Later on, he pleasured himself as if he were a female yogi: he inserted a sensitivity-detector and became self absorbed.

That is like entering the anger sensation – the anger of men: my father entering the room, perhaps a recall of his frequent and scary angers when I was small. The man in my dream inverted himself benevolently. On the principle that each detail and inhabitant of a dream is “I” – I develop a big outgoing rage in my solar plexus: it is sexual in type (from cars when I was small): it invites me to join with others: it relieves and dissipates/disperses itself in an erotic environment.

corwall 2011 399 breaker 2

It – (I am fishing deep) – generates confusion and confused emotional states regarding eros, love and loyalty. It even ropes in my father’s volatile nature, and his awareness of his own femininity. The small child saw this with cars, dogs, women and sheep. They were attacked and cherished. The small child had very intense feelings with birth, grownup sexuality, wounding and anger. These prevail in different costumes now … but somewhere now, I touch the link: the connection. The light touch is enough.

karmic paths and streams

The precipitous cliff over the sea is my fear lest my anger plunge me into chaos and guilt. Sifting through the words, I try to uncover the saner voice and limit the damage – blades of grass and bits of earth – the insane ones recycle their urgent drift. The sea is breaking below.

The sane way is to ask for help, and to tell him what I’m angry and upset about, but at a trot, not a headlong gallop. Spell it out.

I think I am a failure and didn’t live up to my principles – getting angry – but this is NOT TRUE!

The anger is … a gold-rush.

The waves which peak as anger, close to land, are generated far back in the subconscious sea, and arrive rhythmically. They carry a glorious energy, like a concentric sound wave or song. These waves travel and break around all our coastlines, and from above, they form beautiful interwoven crescents and wrinkles as they bestow their beauty on the land: as life breaks forth.

corwall 2011 023 from the deep

WOW!   What an unexpected find, this morning.   What an insight, what a fish!

the time of fishes

alchemy through the Red Sea


wood yantra & birds


I had a wonderful afternoon with D and Maya yesterday. I dug a large hole for the smallish hedge tree we hope to transplant – it is drinking water in a large bucket for a day or two, it hasn’t much root-ball left. I made a soft path along the “tunnel” to the garden, with two bags of woodchip, so it doesn’t get muddy. Maya loves the woodchip smell and lay down on the pile before I started to rake it.   D was having a sharp pain day and couldn’t go out. I took Maya for a long walk up to Sandy Heath woods. Her guard dog nature is increasingly focused on D and on me, and she never goes out of sight: she turns to see, she stops and waits. Sometimes she comes to rub my legs joyfully – thank you for bringing me here.


Her black panther beauty and pointed ears sway her lean hips, kool cat, along bluebells, wild garlic and up hill down dale through the brown woods and under flowering trees – companionship and warm red kisses – she meets and plays briefly with a variety of other canines, learning the pecking order while I chat with their owners. Some of them are nervous of a black german shepherd until they see how friendly and beautiful she is. On Sandy Heath through the oak meadows, we came to a pond up there, with a clean gravel beach. She looked at me …? – Yes you can go in the water – in she went with big splashes and lunges, to fetch bits of wood I threw for her – and out of her depth she swam powerful doggy paddle, smiling sharp white teeth pink tongue snorting, then big shake-shake sparkle when she came out.

Poor D was horrified to hear this news (on our way home), having just cleaned the pad of fallen black hairs, and mopped the floor – he thinks the ponds up there are filthy, and it is in fact the first time Maya has gone SWIMMING, because the brook where she plays is not quite deep enough – but she came home clean as a whistle, I dried her in the garden with a towel, and groomed and brushed out her loose hairs, and she ran indoors just a bit damp, and eager for her wolfie supper, glossy black velvet all over, to lie down on the floor and enjoy her humans while they wolfed their M&S ready meals and stretched out their feet.


corwall 2011 058 headland

Vision: how beautiful the tough stuff anger is, with all the pain and sharp animal energy it carries. How astonishing is the wave pattern, woven around our coastlines, the way the bird-shapes burst from the rock.

With C and D, my two man-countries, the beauty is lived and acknowledged, sometimes with difficulty, always with reality. I have with this, a LIBERATION – the visceral and golden truth of what both private relationships have at their core – and to this I remain true and undivided.

corwall 2011 020 wave crescents

Today it all turned into LOVE.  I love.





All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012-2015. May not be used for commercial purposes. May be used and shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address

Venus Stream – Underground Epiphany


Gene Keys Journal 11 April 2015

On the underground from Golders Green to Southgate via Kings X, I decided (instead of escape into a book) to write or let the download write me, in my notebook:

To love without fuss or display – people love each other without displaying it publicly – deeply – including tensions, awkwardness, anxiety and barriers; the relationship is a form for what is hidden and links two or a number of souls. There is for instance, a warning signal or screen that becomes habitual through concealing things: this guard is only dropped by leaping through it and reaching for your hand when I feel safe enough to, or absolutely have to. Then it flowers again. The guardedness is necessary in the world. Be in the world and not of it.

Raw anxiety, I have learned, is the natural state of awakening, and stands apart from the immersing banal activity so as to see more intimately through it – but the anxious connectivity to human-ness develops readily into FEAR-OF. Accept some solar plexus tension always. FEAR-OF migrates readily into verbal thought patterns – anything to describe its history, which leads me further and further from the source or core – the naked anxious feeling of being human. Fear tells stories of what fear thinks it is, and believes to be true; and the truth is quickly hid – until the camera hoods are ripped away by an exchange of understanding or openness. Never put my trust on what I think.

A.N.D. 3 - roller coaster 1987


Every thought I have is ALLAHU but I forget – thou art I am.

The town isn’t the houses or problems of property – they are the passing show.
The town is the life of trees that grow within it through the seasons –
whatever they do to the branches

My forms of thought of forgetfulness, of clutter,
of blood and plaint and sorrow – all – ALL – are Thee.

I have no power.
The power comes through where I am weak,
and later on it stands


quantock beeches


Do what you are, not what you think. 

Turn money into gold.

When we leave our body, we won’t be tired.

Without Death there can be no existence, nothing to exist, for death is the Binah that forms the radiance from Hokhmah (understanding, wisdom) into shape and time. The centripetal defines the centrifugue or flight from centre – a fairground wheel has an orbital gravity which pins its passengers to space – flung out from centre, bounded by the concentric ripple or sound wave.

Love requires no protest or affirmation that it is. When I love you, I love your love for others, else it is not wholly love, it does not reach the boundary of Binah – the understanding – around the Lovers. Sobriety is the Gift. It surprises me, each time I open the hatch.

Tree of Life for group work

Our understanding about anxiety and death was and is amazing, launching me again into the human river underground, the tide flowing towards me as I wade and receive. At such moments, the solar plexus butterfly is strength and movement and breath and courage. Having outlawed and resented my anxiety – angst – now receive its real nature which is close to Self enquiry – What is this me I am so concerned about? Who are all these people?

Philosophical thought is an open question. No answer encloses it – it unravels the knot towards the beginning of the thread, and strangely untangles the brow and dissolves thought. Wherever thought dissolves, there is love, the root of all existence which dies and is born.

Mother Isis of the Moon - we should not take the name of ISIS in vain -  the feminine power of the ancient world

Mother Isis of the Moon – we should not take the name of ISIS in vain – the feminine power of the ancient world

Where do I feel love? In the heart of my being, in gravitation to another, and in my perineal core, close to egg and seed. The question is really which came first, egg or seed? and no one answers it.

Because it is unanswerable there is the opening abyss – the …. Wherever the path of awe is imponderable, there God resides, for God fills every atom, each particle is God; where man and woman touch each other, God resides.  When named, God moves from particle-position into a wave:  the sound.  To understand this is the beginning of tantra, the web of all the cosmos.

Where I touch you and am touched, be still and know that I am. After the event it gently flowers and is known.   Let God guide you, with all my affection for you – marius wrote this on the copy of Kempis’ Imitation of Christ he gave me for Xmas 1976. You see everyone, however adrift they might turn, has these connecting moments. They are the soul’s shining collective web, a free masonry, a net of jewels which pierces the temporal plane.  The jewels come and they For Give, they penetrate the track of space and time; and time stands still, like your mother speaking to you of the colours of the seasons on the floor. She lives.

To love is to bathe in your wishing well, marvelling at how unique and human and private and unknown, yet intimately known to yourself you are.

And then, to love is to direct this discovery into my secret depth of being – to honour, love and obey this reality. In the well of life, the evolution of all species, aqueous, reptile, mammal, feathered and human, is visible around the sides of the deep shaft in consciousness.

Twisted, turned and frustrated from carrying out my plans, due to having to get on an underground train to Southgate, the essence within the apparent obstacle of extra journeys, transforms into a flow of existence which would not otherwise have had birth, and was present all along, desiring expression, life and sunshine.

Everything in life wants expression. This is why we are here and why I die. Everything wants to be born and to live and to be conscious. Everything seeks expression as a whole, and events and obstacles only veil the river force.

What is anxiety?

Woman awakes in the night.  About a week ago, my inner eye saw for a brief moment this pencil drawing by an old master.  Here I have tried to reconstruct it.

Woman awakes in the night. About a week ago, my inner eye saw for a brief moment this pencil drawing by an old master. Here I have tried to reconstruct it.





All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012-2015. May not be used for commercial purposes. May be used and shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address

Venus Stream – the Hidden Skipper

Detail - snowdrop 1988

The Venus stream … I’m loving it.  It is full on just now, but I again find it fascinating to turn back in my journal to what was happening in January.  Italics are aide-memoires from Richard’s book.

Gene Keys Journal 15 January

The Venus path is simply “the opening” through the wood.

I think the vast Quantum Akasha in gk22 responds to the intentions upstream of acts, thoughts and feelings, because the intentions are the power lines – the little tsunamis which break catastrophe on human shores with acts, thoughts and speech. The intentions are the drivers.

Contacting these, I grasp the serpent’s tail. They are silent and dark and electric. The Shadow of Dishonour (gk22) is a misshapen twist of strings of DNA in the world. It is like the waves of a stormy sea. This Shadow is highly passionate and sexual with a huge emotional range encompassing extreme highs of sweetness and extreme lows of violence and violation – the relationship problems on our planet.

Caught within it collectively, there is no freedom of speech! It is a driver; it is unstable and it dishonours. No wedding is safe.

aaron & mrs

Set with this, the Siddhi of 38, which is Honour. Honour father and mother – the portal of my soul. “Honour is the energy field of living an individual truth; and honour binds all hunan beings together at the level of the higher self … Honour turns combat into a dance – the sword play of love itself. Any act which brings people together into the higher frequency field is an act of honour” – (including Bheeshma giving permission to Lord Krishna to disarm and slay him.)


“To honour another, hold him or her to their highest frequency, no matter what the current frequency may be. Do not sink to the level of the dishonourable ones. In sacred theatre, play the role with surrender.

“The 38th Siddhi fights to bring an end to human conflict … based on the respect for all sentient life. … As the true warrior of light, the 38th Siddhi does not fight the lower nature. It absorbs the forces of darkness deep inside itself through its actions, and shines out with immense purity in the world.”

Ring on table Rosicrucean Emblem 9

“Art begins where nature ceases to act”


The 38th Siddhi then is Tibetan Tonglen – breathe in the dark; breathe it out as light. Yang surrenders to Yin: the strong surrenders to a weaker force, the dark. “True honour turns surrender into victory. The highest potential within every human being resonates to the field of Honour. We fight to overcome our personal and collective fears.”

This in the Venus opening, reflects my Warrior of Light, the Pearl in Daat.

The Seal soul, cliffs of fall - 2000

The Seal soul, cliffs of fall – 2000


16 January

And it is winter dark here as I am straight into the Shadow which feels like failure, disconnection and loss of meaning. To be honest I can’t do birthday parties (abruptly rearranged for tonight, not next week) and I feel out of sorts.  It is also because C and I feel unbalanced at the moment. I “help him with his stuff; he is no help with mine.” So leave that be.

Snake spiral 1987


Venus path … the 13th gene key is called Listening through Love. I feel I did a lot of that, but it is backing up now and blocking the channel. You know, one can do too much one way, and I always tend to, and then there is a reaction: “I am not listened to!”

The shadow is called Discord. Discord is the absence of resonance and harmony – an unattended inner ear. And I suppose the antithesis of Venus is discord’s quality of Pessimism, and here it is. Pessimism is when I believe nothing hangs together, there are broken strings and intentions which didn’t get anywhere – failed connections – the political world.

However, this does not afflict me deep down. It is a dark cloud – much of it this winter – and an integrating weather pattern will in due course clear it.

“The mass consciousness of humanity is still operating for the most part at the Shadow frequencies – the old reptilian brain still dominates – you only hear the frequency band that it hears – ‘survival, security, certainty’ it whispers. … Pessimism is a sense of hopelessness, my inner child doesn’t work and the world is going down the tubes and nothing is fair.”

Yes I feel this, but under it is a withdrawal into dignity and Alone and the ability to wait, because I know the pessimism isn’t foundationally true.

Gene Key 13 is called (I Ching) the Fellowship of Man. It brought us around the council fires; yet it is riddled with mistrust. The shadow insists that the real world is the myth of suffering. It forgets about love.  So this is about LISTENING: HEARING: HERE. Where did I stop listening or being heard? Doesn’t matter. The hearing starts here. Gulls and traffic.

cornwall 2011 123

In the 13th GIFT – we listen to our responses, to our body, to our chemistry, to our heart and to one another. The Gift is called Discernment. Discern the voice of the heart from the voice of the mind.

ship anchor Rosicrucean Emblem Praenesis

The still small voice of life is within the ship. This treasure is never lost! and it will bring the crew of the ship together – it reassembles the passage in time.  The mind is not wrong, but sometimes it eclipses the heart. So I have to go quiet and wait. The impulse in the heart is natural leadership – the hidden skipper! I remember this 13th key and the 7th being the leadership ones.


snowdrop, 1988


“Discernment means to listen through osmosis: to listen beyond your ears. Listen for the hidden notes and chords in someone’s speech or actions: their body language, their heart.” Listen for mine. “The gift of hearing another’s heart comes only when you hear your own heart… When you hit the causal frequency you become still, and you begin to hear what is really being said.”


click on image to view

Reflecting on the 13th Siddhi in the big blue book, leads to other thoughts:  the Cube of Space is a crucible in alchemy. 13 are the directional axes of the Cube of Space through its centre: in Hebrew gematria, 13 is a holy number meaning Union and Love.

The worldly Shadow imparts to 13, death and unluckiness. But the tarot key of Death reveals movement, fertility and the white rose of the journey. On the Tree of Life, its path between Netzach and Tifareth is brilliant turquoise.



13 reduces to 4.  In my Tarot studies, The Emperor’s (4) descending interior vision is known as “he who sets in order”. It opens the first interior diagonal within the Cube of Space from the North east corner below, passing through Saturn in the centre, to the South west corner above.

This is rather technical. It is enough to remember the alchemical maxim: Visita Interiora Terrae Rectificando Invenies Occultum Lapidem: descend into your interior earth, put right what you find there, and discover the hidden Gem.

Emerald Table of Hermes

Emerald Table of Hermes

The latin words spell “VITRIOL” suggesting an acidic etching of the inner work; the burning of Karmic seeds.  Self-awareness gradually eats a path down through the layers and strata of life to the glowing heart – the philosophers’ Stone.

Heart strings - 1999

Heart strings – 1999





All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012-2015. May not be used for commercial purposes. May be used and shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address or


Venus Sequence – Entering the River

Jyotish:  Sukra, Venus

Jyotish: Sukra, Venus

I began the Venus sequence on my birthday, and I turn back to the page in my journal to see what was happening then.  My Venus path filled up with life and old leaves. The paths of Dharma and now Karma are the spring moving up through the winter ground: the blessed balm of sunshine into my face at last.

The river is a dark snake, and thus my path winds sinuously between Saturnine banks.  Trust in the twists and turns – let it guide and embody me.  It moves from beyond my sight, because it is the great human gene Pattern.  Give up and love it!



Gene Keys Journal 14 January

I found the Activation sequence quite plonky and hard to assimilate. I hope the Venus path will be more sinuous and Yin, like a fish.


I wonder if it will move in a stately way, pace by pace, among and along my relationships, illumining them. I begin it with a “broken stem” and the Venus may be the healing and aligning process. The 22nd Key is a major contemplation. This year’s resolution is to accept responsibility for my feelings, thoughts and actions. These all unveil during the bardos after death: they are entities developed and sustained during the lifetime.   In the bardo state, the soul is naked, timeless and revised. The causal body undergoes evolution and slow change, over many lifetimes and many purges. This, our element is nature: nature moving through trees, seas and souls – nature moving through the plant kingdom and the kingdom of human consciousness.

Listen to this. Be slow and listen to this.

I persevere with the Gene keys, because it offers a clear evolutionary path.  Relationships begin with the field within myself. I don’t have to do anything. It “does” through me – what I have persevered with (to access) reaches down through causal body to my lower vehicles and makes most social occasions pleasant and sometimes transformative, it turns the trick. Trust and have faith in this.

Ponder the antakharana – this convenient word sums up the channel and its levels of refinement and sense of being guided and safe.

Antakharana is the subtle channel of light I work and live within, and it helps to focus and visualise it.  Through its descending triad into my ascending one … things I could feel very selfish about, find less substance.  They don’t agitate or matter so much. Selfish may zoom at any moment like a river snake – when the mood identifies with that undulating oxbow suddenly and completely – but on the whole, it is more like the sloughed skin of the snake – it doesn’t grip: it died.   This is surely something learned during 66 years.   Selfishness regarding creature comforts is strong, and necessary today with warm cushions for my back; but note that my friendship with D is filled with unselfish action, like going to do his groceries etc.   I have this chore with him and it is often very tiring, but it is deeply rewarding: and he is unselfish and thoughtful with me.


Lucita, a Moorish philosopher

Perhaps you, my inner Teacher are wise Lucita with her foot dipped in the fountain in my painting upstairs. You of course are I, for we are not separate; but life holds a mirror between dimensions.


Zofira 1

bota key 3 Empress

Forget not Zofira, another enigmatic elder smile.   You and Lucita bring Venus and the brilliant beauty of the Empress in her green gown.


The Activation was like four great stakes in the ground for the foundation, it felt confusing and male and I found it difficult to absorb the information. The Venus might just be a gentle progress into the woodland path, stage by stage, receiving the dappled sunlight through the leaves.

Woodland 1986

I begin to align again with rest, and with the beautiful green Sufi master who carries a fish and is carried on a fish along the brook through the woods.


Becoming contemplative, I dip in my Sufi notes, enjoying the drawing of a lily in the earth: and … what is the Ikon of my inner being?   Be restored to my tempo, this is birth day, no haste. The Ikon of my inner being is like the brook through the woods near D’s house. In 2009 I wrote a poem about it:

The  Lovers at Henly’s Corner

With shocks of recognition
beauty has a tendency
to devastate its lodging.

Yet I carry water
between a sweetly flowing brook
and your hidden garden.

The path of leaf fall through the wood
has a key hole where two sycamores 
and daisies meet

and vagrants doss the seasons round
within these woods
by North Circular Road uproar,

as I explore the One Life
back and forth and all around
your oasis.

Time is a Great
circle around
this point

self renewing coats of
Joseph’s rainbow vestment
as I move.

from The Masters’ Eye, 2009

the brook

Beauty mirrors back. Sometimes I am cut off from it, and nothing I have scribed makes sense. But today this morning I can relish words and images sensually, like a small bay or inlet of the Self which holds the same water as the Sea … but what encloses it?

A garden inclosed is my daughter: daughters of Jerusalem – the Song of Solomon.   Beauty. This is healing, when it starts to amble and flow and receive Kierkegaard’s soft eyes in the Sufi book. It mends with warm fishes the broken paths in thigh and lower spine: it makes them chuckle softly.   Halt! they cried.   Pause!   The roe-deer pauses in the woods, to persevere. The cat pauses while washing; the squirrel while nutting.

Chandra Moon

I was trying to digest too much. The lesson is a little at a time – small darts along the path and to each side, pausing each time these become full.   Don’t try to complete the lessons – let them lead. They are branches on the winter sky, and sometimes there are pigeons. The sun comes out. Don’t go to school and write at a desk for assignment.   Receive the love for life and living: surrender: adapt.


The gene keys golden path is a Course in Miracles. Don’t go under with political dire straits – focus the Miracle within  reach of my embrace, at any moment: regeneration.  The Miracle is real. It changes all the other stuff. It is and creates reality.

Perhaps the Ikon of my inner being is my independence.   From existential independence, interdependence opens. Why? because emotional dependency gets in the way of interdependence, the evolved human tapestry.

capillary trees

The exciting way of relationship is to travel these paths like capillaries or the branches of elms or oaks in the sky, with unlimited space to love.   The squirrel shimmies and leaps from tree across to tree in one flow of the branch. These branches are friendship and human connectivity warming the veins.   No matter what is pinned on the world’s notice board, this is true here and now, it is the only answer. What is here is elsewhere;  what is not here is nowhere; and what is true is tantra, the web of the Universe.   Who can create it?   You and I, right now, as we are.   This needs all our strength and commitment. Pessimism is a cop-out.

friendship, oaks

An Ikon suggests an individual who dissolved into a greater human archetype and became an inspiration to many.

 Ikon 1987

My job is to watch, learn and tune in.   By this, I mean the Teachers of the soul – the magidim of the higher human waveband are more influential than the pulling of political party strings which flush lavatories only.

The magidim of the higher humanity – perceiving this more clearly today – are principle forces in the battle of good and evil. I feel that my awareness, networking with global light-workers’  attention to detail, brings the magidim further into Malkuth the ground, the tipping of events. They are not in isolation. They are ourselves. The unseen powers are to be reckoned with, and the Bigger Picture unveils them. We are community and coherence. Parting the cobwebs of fear, see what is true and down to earth.


The esoteric work stands clear of politics, serving all. Cultivate love, consciousness, truth.

Hokhmah Dancer 1989




antakharana symbol

antakharana symbol


All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012-2015. May not be used for commercial purposes. May be used and shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address or

Golden Path – Seeds and Waves

and ardhanriswara ref elephanta

The Venus sequence directs me to my old studies in alchemy, and to rediscover a lovely book – “Tantra, the Cult of the Feminine” – by Andre van Lysebeth.

The sound of an orchestral triangle at musical climax or pin-drop, carries, like a bell.


At noon in Kilburn graveyard, a beautiful bell rang out, three times, from a convent next to the open space: the Angelus … in the measured intervals of three times three, then nine …  upon silence. I have forgotten the Angelus and the ave maria for many years.  The prayer to the Holy Mother re-entered my soul, fresh in bud.

To love is simple. To say I love, gets complicated.”

Allow, accept, embrace. It flowers into a lemon-scented geranium in my house. The way woman and man might touch now, is what the moment asks FOR and GIVES. To be human is an unexpected private mystery, belonging to no definition.

Sacred India Tarot - Ten of Lotuses: Siva Ardhanariswara

Sacred India Tarot – Ten of Lotuses: Siva Ardhanariswara


jacobs ladder 1

Then don’t bother with attitudes which pillory and pollute. Let them go. Truth wants expression in this way.

Then serve the inarticulate moment, whose four worlds are: emanation, creation, formation and physicality.

It is not whether it happens, but how it happens in its unique way: walking round the graveyard with winter trees, birdsong and worn lettered stones, I heard the three times three:  ave maria.

The Virgin is: she whose consciousness is ripe to bear the child of God –
she lies with her man in the usual way, and both parents receive omens.Priestly dogma distorts – clergy abused the children.

The natural energy source is soft and slow.
Ask: what was your happiest sexual relationship, and why?

It is not confined to two persons.
We interact with other intimacies: an open “three”. We interact with thoughts of death or loss or a high revolutionary ideal, we interact with a living texture of resonance. We are triadic including the child or the life outside.  It is a solar fusion energy.  Caring with the constellation, is the seed.




An adept doesn’t compartmentalize sex, but moves at ease, grace and humour with the environment: the intelligence that everything in the garden is sexual – the Spirit in the blood – in and out of personal clouds and prejudices.   Being human are the knots and toils of the subconsciously programmed psyche! The brittle, blundering armours!   It is a rare gift to look at this.   It is the most interesting thing of ALL ELSE, to discuss and keep aware.   It is the key to the Greater Mysteries.  It is like a log-fire burning bright in the room and warming us.

Explore friendship through touch – physical or/and psychological. Stand in the space and let it be. Standing still … is brave and vulnerable.  Penetration is mutual, subtle, engaging and revolutionary.


Parvati pestered by sages

Parvati pestered by sages

Wives of sages get left alone a lot in the forest.   Up the path through dark stems and columns of sunlight, who is coming next? What matted lean stranger, with loincloth, waterpot and gleaming eyes? Any day, anything can happen!   The call of strange birds, through Himalayan valleys: the climbing rhododendron giant, the nocturnal mist lifting off the ground as Surya begins His day’s work.

I think Parvati’s ecstasy was greater in her expectant Solitude, sleeping out at night, than in all the future days of her marriage with Siva on Kailas.   Of course they squabbled, whenever they came off the peak.   That was the fractious energy field required to conceive their children.

Sacred India Tarot - Parvati waters trees

Sacred India Tarot – Parvati waters trees


In my portrait painting days, when the work could be “handed over” to its Knower in the field between us, I knew that however hard it might be, it would turn out well, because it was already Known.  I called this ‘the connection’ and it applies equally to friendship … and to gene keys.

tetrahedron sequence


A relationship extended into the third dimension, generates volume and receives Life.  The Tetrahedral 4th point includes the world, nature, and humanity.  The way is connectivity: the observer’s participatory influence in the human quantum field – the butterfly wing effect:  “What is here is elsewhere: what is not here is no where.” (Vishvasara Tantra)

To hear the shared space and its wisdom –  turn down my own volume so the shared volume comes up, which is limitless.   Keep practicing.   I forget much of the time, and slip into the brittle to-fro duality.  Philosophically, the Triadic way is supple and realises the One.   The One is always dynamic.

Magician1, Priestess 2, World 21=3, Hanging Man 12=3.


Where sexual combat ends, love begins – so it seems. From cultural chrysalis, comes the butterfly.



Bringing the TETRAHEDRAL FORM – the depth – up to consciousness, an idea takes shape. The core is care and love – the opposite of selfishness.

What is a tantra? An art of sexual love, a touch, the web of the world, a creative connectivity, in whichever way expressed.  There are many techniques and meditations of tantra, and sometimes there is a partner and sometimes there is not.  There is the attention given to a positive regard for life. It gets submerged, then reappears. This is a revelation.  We call on the deep, which is what the cosmos likes.

Regarding the fruit: the fruit is the deep. If I name and use the fruit for my own ends only, I lose the deep, and become lost in the small divided self seeking union.  Accept where I am in this.   I am somewhere in between. I can’t speak for what you or others feel. The story of humankind since the garden of Eden, is of losing the deep and becoming a seed: and being ploughed into the difficult earth, to grow.

ancient greek couple


So tantra is relationship as it is and as a meditational key. The meditation sometimes flowers into an intimate expression. It is beyond thought; sensory and poetic.

The fall from the Garden was and is into separateness – it is yet the whole, as god moves into god. I venture into unexplored land.  The Art, as I see it, is to remain sensitive to the time’s requirement. This in some way communicates, and is integral with the unknown unfolding process. At such moments I feel tender, respectful, independent, interdependent. I may be unable to find where we meet, but then it is rediscovered. Today’s world is polarised between repression and promiscuity. Between these poles is a growing field of relationships which explore their private honesty in an awakening way. Within them the warm love-fire glows. Tantra is transmission.


In the Art, my small shell self becomes gradually less and less, as I die, as it fills with the sea.

The sea is the salt of the earth, and all is well. The sea is the composition of my blood and bones and it is wider than my soul, for it is you and “they” and the Companions of the Light and Shadow, and the All.

The Art is the tide of life coming in, to fill my rock-pool: receive.   Seeds and waves through seasonal cycle are particles flowing into wave formation.


Buddha's mahasamadhi





2.3 is my sphere of attraction field.  I read this morning: “The … feminine principle is the binding force for all the seemingly disparate cells and events within existence … motherly embrace that pulls us all into a single unity.   Your personal resonance to this great truth of our unity determines the overall frequency passing through your DNA … the truth does not change.  There is a force within the universe that choreographs everything, and it is found right inside you.

“The 2nd Shadow is Dislocation – the sense of being lost in time and space, and of dismemberment.”

Indeed it was our Mother Isis who went about gathering the fourteen fragments of the slain Osiris and reintegrating them till his cosmic manhood woke again.

Primavera after Botticelli, 1957

Primavera after Botticelli, 1957

The unifying force is where cells, atomic fields and auras interface.  The true brain – the intelligence – is of this moving field of the universe, which projects us humans as seeming solidities.  But we are not what we seem, unless we allow ourselves to be trapped in the fashion.  I am really a vast discourse of unknown probables.  Where I think I know, and make a plan to speak, I can’t, and make a mess of it.

Yet it is not a mess, for the teaching in the 2nd Gene Key is:  “there is no slightest possibility that you can make a wrong decision or take a wrong turn in life.  It is all simply nuances in your biology.  Your biology determines your perception, and your perception is the measuring stick for your evolutionary frequency.”

Words founder: actions speak.

wedding, 1957




All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012-2014. May not be used for commercial purposes. May be used and shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address