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.
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 http://herdailymuse.com/tag/water/page/4
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.
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.
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.
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 https://firecrafty.wordpress.com/techniques
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.”
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
If you play with your sword
you won’t; but I’m HERE
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.
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