The 21 Codon Rings are interwoven through the programming partners of the gene keys within them. My last post on the Ring of Gaia featured the 60th Gene Key – where she cracks open!
The programming partners of the Codon Ring of Gaia are 33 and 56 in the Ring of Trials and 62 in the Ring of No return (not shown in the above sketch). 12, 33 and 56 are “stop” codons which punctuate the flow of the cosmic serpent through the 64. 12 connects the Ring of Trials to the Ring of Light through 11 the Light of Eden.
For full picture, see
What is the Ring of Trials?
Where Gaia’s Ring cracks open, a clearing rises through it; space for the world to happen in. She pauses, as in the Mountain 52; the forager in the forest stops and looks around: “The trials our Gaia consciousness encounters are Forgetting, Distraction and Vanity”(RR). The trials are overwhelmingly self created when I blunder through the clearing, lost in thought.
What of the space between sounds? – between thoughts?
It amuses me to collage together my old paints and their daemons, letting them arise as they will from my archive. It releases my inner world into colour and splashes of geology. I listened to Richard’s contemplation of the three Keys within the ring of trials: “Our distractions are so unsubtle! … give attention and focus to moments each day, otherwise life is unlived and unloved. In the Clearing (33rd Mindfulness) with active creative imagination and rituals, make the mundane magical.”
I played by a small river, I had built a dam with mud and branches and stones and bits and beavers, and my whole life was that dam holding back the flow; and I began to pull out small pieces, straws, bit by bit, year after year, to shape it better; and suddenly one day they all are gone: there is the stream.
In each important script the story comes to an end. The dam with bits in it dissolves into the simple life of Lake and Earth. In my primary relationship, my attractor sphere 2 is double Earth and his attractor sphere 58 is a double Lake; join them as the synergy of Lake over Earth, what is its hexagram number? – 45, the Cosmic Communion.
There is no death in the eternal pause which moves across time. Beginning and ending curl around into each other and push up Revelation through the garden. Revelation – Heaven over the Mountain – silences the gardener and stops the tale. The programming partner – Earth over Lake – is 19 in Gaia, the sensitive future human. Within each heart is planted the Shaman. Do our huge human agitations (which conceal so much) rest in this kind of “stop”today, this moment? A stop codon is a kind of unifying eclipse. The silence arouses the reactive beating of drums and great trials.
“The 12th Gene Key within the mystery of the 21 Codon rings forms a ring of its own within the ring of trials: the Ring of Secrets.” No concept can be other than vanity. No summit power may grasp the open secret. The heart of gene key 12 is Purity, partnering 11 in the Ring of Light. Obscurity exists for the light to enter it.
In the I Ching, the 12th hexagram is a state whose trigrams Heaven and Earth seem to draw apart the harder we try to pull them together. Heaven ascends and Earth by its nature descends. It is called the “Standstill”; whereas Earth over Heaven in 12’s programming partner 11 interpenetrate as Peace.
Here I must wait! for the other two keys in the Ring of Trials are climbing the mountain … (Heaven over Mountain, Fire over Mountain.). The great trials are my Vanity, Forgetting and Distraction. The gifts are Discrimination, Mindfulness and Enrichment. The siddhis are Purity, Revelation and Intoxication – on the tip of the tongue and behind the throat and in belly to taste: the manna. The Gift of magical realism in 60 where Gaia’s vessel cracks is enriched in the holy fire of Trials. The fires come out and flicker over the mountain peaks. Divine indulgence kisses the lips.
The Ring of Trials seems crowned by the programming partnership of 12 and 11: the lover’s idealism. Through Gaia into Trials passes the shade of vanity for as long as it walks with me; an implicit sacrifice. In Jung’s Red Book is his painting of a fabulous odyssey: the toothed fishy shadow keeps pace and the voyager revels in the mythic adventure.
It is a trial to write this post – a searching struggle for each word. Standing still in my clearing, it seems I cannot see. Be yet guided by the ring of Light – photons of the stars and in my cells.
In the I Ching, 56 is “the Wanderer” and 33 is “Retreat”. Fire does not stay on the mountain; Heaven retreats above the mountain’s limit. With “Standstill” – heaven and earth drawing apart – these three keys seek interior resources to bridge the points of life. First I wait, to savour a new sense which is at first a nuisance, a trial.
The trial triplicity suggests also a testing ground – a cremation ground between living and dying. The three hexagrams hold connections to the numinous, impelling them to “stop”. There is enormous resistance in the middle of a problem, to letting it go! And I see the dam again, and suddenly it goes.
The 33rd Retreat reminds me of the 52nd Gift: the natural beauty of restraint. Problems and limitations are coercive when the imagination is not in harmony with them. It is extraordinary what may open up, when I stop trying to hitchhike.
Pause … Part Two
Spacing – a pause or silence between the notes …
I was about to round-off this post, but this morning’s Gemini gene key in the Zodiac turns out to be 12! bringing a flow of childhood memory – so it will have to continue for a bit and be rather longer!
The picture is “A Pure Heart” with a very old toothless man laughing. Plainly, the heart itself is pure by its very nature. “Pure Heart” is this morning’s perfect mantra. It doesn’t matter what the heart is loaded with. The heart is more than the individual heart of being. It is Heart, as Ramana said – carried within me as the miracle to dissolve into at any moment. All is heart. This is heart. Take heart. It is nothing but purity. Love, sorrow and obstructions! What about Trials? – Nothing can compromise the pure zest in the heart of every trial.
Ah – it’s the one called Standstill, when Heaven and Earth seem to draw apart, Heaven is placed over Earth so they don’t mix and so you have to stand not moving, pinned to the heart! This Key holds great expansion of ascension and descent: root and shoot. It is like a child’s drawing of things going on, and a strip of blue sky along the top. In my own drawings, the gap contained lighthouses and the sun.
There is that moment when just beginning a rock climb or traverse – engaging with, meeting the face and its holds; lifting myself into it with a slow skip, hands and feet, make love, hello.
The inexorable movement of the gene keys brings me at this point spontaneously, right into the heart of my Spiritual Quotient or core – 64.5.
The heart of the child (learning skip-rope and fairy-bike) is unconditional in the joy and scent of red geraniums; even bad noises. The child meets every trial face-on. Here are some of my memories written down in my book “Lighthouse in Kettle’s Yard“:
“Our new house was a large white cottage with hollyhocks and apple-trees around it. I didn’t at first like it, because I wanted to live in a big grand house in the city of Gathertegen. But my parents said it was very pretty, and the garden was full of flowers, which grew in hosts of summer and spring: I knew all their names.
“Tall stems. Tall stems by a window-sill, and the blue corona of the scabious flower. Here is the pungent scent of a red geranium leaf: the blood-purple heart of a pansy’s yellow velvet sun on the ground: round furry leaves of drab green whose vein of purple releases to the touch the cloying fragrance of mud and cowpats in the yard, of weathered concrete, of trees like hands in the sky and the wet grass down the lane … Quince is trying to play Mummy’s cello in the garden. The scent releases the flowers I drew and named as I drew, and the tart tang of Lionel Miskin’s metal paintbox. I wore socks on my feet, and sandals and cardigans, and I was ashamed of my body when I was ill, just like a car. The thorny meadows are drenched, and the clouds fall down onto the ground when it thunders. Hot sunshine on the chalky concrete road leads up to the farm called Pencois where I waited for the taxi to school. At Pencois in a new concrete house lived Mr and Mrs Dowidge and their boy called Brian, he with whom I trod on a snail.
“It is a smell of grey soil and cool trees bursting hot warmth from summer. It is full of stories. The round and purple heart has crimson edges. It splits the world into golden voices. It hovers at the very edge of my senses. I can’t catch it. Nor do I try. It’s just there.
“It is red and green by a window, sharp rot and turpentine. And it is warm and kind. It’s a lane going down to a seaside beach, a beach I cannot quite remember. It opens all the passages behind my throat and all the way down my back, it strokes my hair; the metal is soft, and when it happens I fall for that second into a place where light glances and slants, and I am wide: red flowers, white walls, and the sunlight in the lane.
“At the other end of the lane, the meadowsweet grows among kingcups crossing an overgrown brook. I eat that luscious smell. Here I looked for and found the magic Swallowtail Butterfly: my prince with long horned moon-yellow wings, darkling tipped. But the grownups didn’t believe me when I said I saw him; I had wished for him so much. Nearby, in the wood, the wet dark undergrowth pushed up in spills and clusters, pungent flavours of dogwort, and of flowers which did not wear bright party dresses.
“Peter loved the ragged robin flowers, and pink campions. He called them “Bridget in her Bravery” because they bloomed when all the other flowers died. Near our house was a tall wide oak tree, which had had its top cut off. One day our father climbed right to the very top and sat on the stump, looking fierce. His employer Mr Strauss who came sometimes in his big car in a big suit and tie with big gangsters, wanted to cut the tree right down, and he did not.
“We kept geese in the back garden by the orchard, who stretched out their long white necks and hissed and frightened me. Once I found an egg in the grass. I picked it up and dropped it on the ground to see what would happen. It burst open, sticky and yellow and messy. My mother arrived – ‘I didn’t do it!’ I said – and scolded me.”
The Cornish prompt is beautiful as I approach again my SQ in the Venus path. Pure heart is the cosmic tendency for everything to arrange itself serendipitously with my gene key studies. Heart far transcends the confine of my soul’s small i. Surprise in being the sea.
Richard’s Venus text: “Ecstatic laughter can be a glint in your eye, a soft, penetrating gaze, a poetic and considerate turn of phrase or a playful poke in the ribs at the right moment. Laughter is the natural law of the future humanity … to laugh at ourselves and life; it warms and opens. … Memories before the age of 3 are not stored in the mind but in the cellular memory of your solar plexus.”
Is this so also with the poor diagnosed demented or elderly forgetfulness? We are all “wounded fellow travellers”.
Physical contemplation is the deepest form … the genetic structure of the pattern itself, a sacred geometry including the fibernacci snail spiral of Saturn from or into Pearl. SQ is the heart and Pearl is the throat where it speaks and where the triadic circuitry is complete around a new Yod point embracing the whole in a different way.
Absorption is when the love inside you begins to feed on itself … awareness reaches the point of your birth.
Now, the Ring of Secrets – 12 within the Trials – is the unbreakable opening and omnipresence of Heart, the “house she may unlock without any key”. It bypasses every esoteric password, needing none: no selfish intention can find it, they pass straight through. The nature of Heart like that of water is undisturbed. Oh Vanishing of Vanity!
RR writes that Humanity’s vertical or upright larynx sets us apart from the animals. The animals’ horizontal larynges operate under a group spirit: the development of upright larynx led to ego” … and ultimately to the freedom of individuation. 12’s animal Gift is the Wolf – they hunt in tribes and tend their young – and its Siddhi is the Nightingale where the throat sings.
Larynx and sexual centre gonads are traditionally connected: the larynx grows rapidly in puberty. In Dutch the word for larynx is “shield gland” – “a protecting mechanism concealing a great Secret.” Do we touch here on YOD SOD, the secret of Yod in alchemical Kabbalah?
The 12th Shadow develops the root of language – where the apple got stuck in Adam’s throat – and all its defensive by-passings. Something happens in sex. The Great Secret in all the traditions is sexual evolution: the connection of sex and speech, tongue and groove. The Great Secret kept on altars and guarded by ritual and misuse is stored in the universal pure heart. The 12th gene key generates the huge trial of forgetting this in gk33 and being distracted in gk56. Naturally, the 12th gene key is partnered with 11, Eden in the Garden of Light!
From the Gene Keys book: The 12th Gift falls in love with the Art of Love. The higher frequency of “Discrimination” can “see through walls”. Authenticity is everything. The deep respect for purity is rooted in prudence. We are here to cultivate the deepest feeling. The thyroid system knows that life is transformation and death is the symbolic movement from one stage of consciousness to another.
This is plain at any awakened moment; it does not wait for time or physical death. The 12th Key has this nature of inhabiting, surrounding and bypassing everything. Laugh and cry.
Purity – the Siddhi – realises the Self, “selflessly”. The Sufis fall into the beloved. When even spiritual vanity is outgrown, we fall into the innermost Codon Ring of Secrets – the open one. Purity. Purity. Purity.
A pure thought like grains of salt in Tibetan tea, permeates the Solar system. Purity of thinking? How wonderful it is that my 11.3 Culture is paired with the 12 in depth, whose resonance of love enters my privately “chosen” gene key, the 25th. I do not write – it writes me. So the Divine falls in love with a pencil.
What do I cultivate day after day, year after year in the mornings? the taste of an elixir, all-pervasive to find and sip. The genetic “stop” codon brings an end to separate form by dissolving it in All form. “Be swallowed by life itself!”
Next post – the codon rings of Light and of No Return. No return? This suggests that a turning point is passed through – a point of no return, as in the osmotic flow in nature through semi-permeable membranes: the sap rises to the sun.
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