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anarcho-shamanism, mountain spirits; sacred wilderness, sacred sites, sacred everything; psychonautics, entheogens, pushing the envelope of consciousness; dominator culture and undermining its activities; Jung, Hillman, archetypes; Buddhism, multidimensional realities, and the ever-present satori at the centre of the brain; a few cosmic laughs; and much much more....


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Thursday 30 June 2016

Europe: A Voice from the Vortex


The silence from Pale Green Vortex on the topic of the EU as the referendum in the UK approached was both deafening and deliberate. I had written plenty a while ago on various aspects of the EU, to the point where I was finding the entire theme dispiriting, my own enthusiasm for this blog plummetting to a level where I was wondering whether to tie a little bow around Pale Green Vortex before consigning it to the dustbin of history. Such is the effect of directing ones focus too much onto matters of politics, parapolitics, and geopolitics. In addition, the world was awash with comments and opinons on the matter anyway, and the last thing we needed was yet another bunch of comments and opinions. It is actually the easiest thing in the world to spout opinion, even if it is of the reasoned and intelligent kind. Nothing special about that at all.

It was with considerable shock that, on that fateful Friday morning last week, I finally tuned in to the outside world to discover the result of the referendum. It was, I had decided, just a formality: the result was a foregone conclusion. At the end of the day, folk in Britain would lose courage, and by a considerable margin decide to  play safe, follow the track taken by so many of us in our personal lives, the track with the signpost saying 'I know this is all horrible, frustrating, and rubbish; but rather follow the comfortable, the known, the familiar. It is, in the end, easier than striking out into pastures new.' When I first saw the result, I wondered whether I was reading things right, or whether it was a preposterous joke. When it finally sunk in that this was real I picked myself off the floor, dusted myself down, and got on with the rest of my life.

Aside from any good things and bad things about leaving or staying in the EU, I took one big message from result. The vote suggested that the spirit of plenty of folk has not been completely quashed by decades of control, control, more control, mind control in the guise of producing nice, decent people (political correctness) and the rest. I had all but given up on the British, especially those in England, so I take the referendum result as a cause for slight optimism. I don't vote in general elections, local elections etc, for reasons that have been explained on Pale Green Vortex before; but this referendum was a bit different, since it was about control by institutions that are vicious and undemocratic even by the vicious, undemocratic standards of the conventional political world. It was about how many layers of control we want (and the answer is 'as few as possible'.) The result demonstrated that it is possible to bring about a few changes after all.

I like Europe. But I do not like the EU. This is, by the way, another mind game, a psy-op, played by many in the media, referring to the EU as 'Europe'. Not true, but designed to confuse the unwary. I realised many years ago while spending a year in New Zealand that I am an Old World person. Despite the language being more-or-less the same as I had spoken all my life, and in spite of the culture seeming superficially similar to that of Britain, New Zealand felt to me very far from 'home'. I really felt like a stranger in a strange land. Conversely, I experienced a distinct affinity of spirit whenever I visited Italy, Holland, Spain.

Europe: pizzas, piazzas, plazas, playas. Canals, the Rhine winding its majestic way. Passegiata, the many moods of the Mediterranean. This is an idealised view, I know, and there is another side. The ghastly urban high-rise wastelands of some of the Spanish coastline - how could they do this? Disenfranchised, disempowered beings on the Paris metro or hanging around on street corners, people whose soul appears to have fled by night. There are many dark images of Europe, but still.....

During one period of my life in particular, Europe - mainland, continental Europe - saved me. It was around thirty years ago that I would embark upon my annual pilgrimage to Italy. I use the word 'pilgrimage' deliberately, since I went in search of emotional, psychological, and spiritual sustenance. I travelled alone, or with my girlfriend of the time. Seeking to break out of the greyness which seemed to embrace the skies, the buildings, the culture and most of the people of London, I went in search of colour, vibrancy, spontaneity. In Italy I found all this in abundance, at times in superfluity. I especially loved some of the art of the Italian Renaissance, and the late-medieval dudes from the generations beforehand: Giotto, Duccio, Cimabue. Without them, I do not know what might have come of my life.

The EU is not Europe. Like most politics, it is a synthetic structure superimposed on the organic, natural flow of real life, as directly experienced. Opaque Lens refers to it, in his recent bit on Shamanic Freedom Radio, as the EUSSR, and I think that sums it up magnificently. Predictably, and sadly, the aftermath of the EU referendum is bringing out the vultures, the creatures of darkness ready to pick through the carcasses in search for anything that furthers their own power, their own agenda, their own rubbishy career. Out they come, sad beings with nothing better to do with their lives than accrue fake power to themselves within a system that is sick and distorted; to sow fear, division, dissent. The Tory power-grabbers, the Labour opportunists, the inevitable Sturgeon with her 'what about Scotland?' whingeing and whining. What a pathetic parade they make. These are people who I currently refer to simply as low-graders: poor specimens of humanity, really, involved in a low-grade game that has no end, and which unfortunately affects all of us. That, I suppose, is all part of the game.        

Image: The Tower, Ancient Italian Tarot



      

Friday 24 June 2016

Hierophantic Revisitings

                     

I like the Tarot. It bears ample witness to the joined-up nature of reality. In particular, it revels in the styles adopted by conditionality (the Buddhist term) that exist outside the linear cause-and-effect type insisted upon as the only one by crusty, boring modern rationalists, academics, and one-eyed scientists (come on out, Mr Dawkins - we know you're in there). In particular, Tarot brings forth correspondence and synchronicity, everpresent yet often missed elements in the fabric of experience that is being constantly woven.

Tarot can be related to on as superficial or profound a level as the subject wishes. And, with the plethora of different Tarot decks available nowadays, the interface between subjective experience (the creator of the particular Tarot) and the universal themes (as represented in the Major and Minor Arcana) can be studied, experienced, and played with.

It's a funny thing, really. I came across the Tarot in the early 1970s, when living in commune. While I had always managed to negotiate a trip on high-dose, high-quality Operation Julie LSD, it took the Tarot to freak me out. I would throw the Tarot for myself or for friends, or sometimes just pick out a card or two and see what happened. The images spoke strongly and directly to me. Too many hanged men, figures of death riding horses, and towers collapsing all around me, and it was too much. I really didn't like what was going on; the Tarot just had to go.

Nowadays, I am back with the Tarot. Not in any big way: some people are real experts, it's their full-time thing. But I'm back with Tarot sufficiently for it to make a difference.

Of the many Tarot decks around these days, the classic one, comprising the cards most people will be familiar with, remains the Rider-Waite Tarot (more correctly, it should be called the Waite-Smith deck, since Rider were simply the publishers, while Arthur Waite was creator-in-chief and Pamela Colman Smith the illustrator). The Waite-Smith deck comes oozing esoteric and mystical symbolism, originating with the Order of the Golden Dawn, mystical Kabbala, and Waite's own Secret Order, along with various other places. This in itself makes the deck a true university of learning about life and the workings of the universe. The style of the pictures is that medieval-cum-theatrical one, which is simple, clear, and as a result extremely effective.

There are, however, other tarot decks. In this modern day and age, loads of them. I shall unpack a little of this theme in a further post. But for now I'm back with my personal bane, the Hierophant. The riddle of the Hierophant, explored initially in 'the Buddhist Inventory Trilogy' a month or two back. The Waite-Smith card seemed to point up all the mess that comes with the authority of religiosity, even the soft-core religiosity of organised Buddhism. With the Thoth Tarot Hierophant, a bit of non-Christian light came to bear upon the figure; the perspective was expanded. It was while I was taking an internet stroll through the different Tarots in search of further illumination on the riddle of the Hierophant that I came upon this.  It is the Hierophant from the Royo Dark Tarot.

The moment I set eyes upon the Hierophant of the Dark Tarot, I almost wept on the spot. To this day, I remain in awe. Rarely have I came upon a re-working of an image, an archetype, so bold, so innovative, so magnificent. Everything that I had associated, brought to bear, brought into being, with regard to the Hierophant seemed to be turned on its head. Instead of the crusty dignitary of the Waite-Smith, trussed up in the heavy regalia of orthodox religiosity, there appears a radiant female figure. What genius, to present the hierophantic energy as female. Instead of dispensing patriarchal authority (the 'normal' Tarot hierophant is pictured with a couple of 'papal dignitaries', as one book calls them, sitting in a position of deferment and submission beneath the Big Boss in the hierarchy), the focus of our Hierophantess lies in receptivity: she is sitting at the foot  of the dragon, dispenser of Wisdom. The orthodox Hierophant is impermeable to the influence of true Wisdom coming from outside him - his heavy clothes act as protection, armour; while the Royo Hierophant is clothed lightly, almost naked, open to the influence of the Higher, the Greater, the more Beautiful. What's more, she sits with the books of knowledge, scripture, and undoubtedly rules and regulations. But they lie unkempt around; her focus is on the Dragon's Wondrous Wisdom.

This, at least, is what I saw. A gander at a number of Tarot-type internet postings revealed to me, however, that other people saw something completely different. The female was not the Hierophant at all; it was the dragon. The female was the disciple (me - us) in rapt yet completely balanced and centred attention. The manner in which the image can be read so variously only adds to its wonder for me. This interpretation also came redolent with meaning. The Hierophant manifests breathing Knowledge directly, dragon's breath, serpent wisdom, inviting a total reworking of the twisted Garden of Eden myth which has caused so much pain and suffering over the centuries. Most importantly, the disciple, the receiver of Wisdom, is centrepiece, not peripheral like the papal lackeys in the orthodox Tarot depictions. The Hierophant is not just about some bloody religious authority, or 'organised Buddhism' in my case. It asks questions about the querent's own relationship with Knowledge-Bearers, and his/her own responsibilty in spiritual growth.    

The image from the Royo Dark Tarot manifested so much of what the Hierophant could be about on a deeper, purer level, than that of the distorted images of popes, priests, and other figures of disempowerment. On the basis of this one card, I gladly parted with money in order to have a Dark Tarot deck in my living space. There's plenty to muse over with the Dark Tarot, but this will wait for another time.

Meanwhile, the question remains. I come across somebody like I was forty years ago. Idealistic, inspired, motivated, yet confused and in need of spiritual guidance, direction. What do I recommend them to do? I'm still not sure. The day of the guru is passed, thankfully, to quote or paraphrase Neil Kramer from a number of years ago. But there is a time and a place for the Hierophant card, when guidance and support is needed. Maybe I would say something like this. Do your retreats, make your contacts and friends; live and work even, in spiritual community, should you feel so inclined. But remember: the paramount concern is your own soul, your higher self, call it as you will. Remain in strong intuitive connection with the inner voice, and listen to it more seriously than any other sound. Do not give away yourself to any 'greater good'. Do not turn into a distorted version of the Tarot Hanged Man. The faintest sniff of anyone asking you to give away your own dream in exchange for somebody else's version and run a mile. Quickly. All groups, teachers, guides, all hierophantic representations, are means not ends. And as such, entirely dispensable when the time arises. The journey is unique, long, and in a sense uncharted. In its mystery lies its magnificence.  


    Images: Cheery Hierophant from a Marseilles deck (top)
                  Hierophant from Royo Dark Tarot (centre)
                  The final solution: Hierophant from Gummy Bear Tarot                                       (bottom)
     

Friday 10 June 2016

The Divinity of Polarity


Here's a thing. During my years as a practicing Buddhist I was never told about the sacred nature of duality, the divinity of polarity, how opposites are the portal to the infinite. The image above is of Hayagriva yab-yum, but it is not the male/female, yin/yang coupling that I am mainly concerned with here. It is the splitting of wholeness into light and dark; black and white; in everyday experience, nice and nasty.

The teaching of this sacred duality fell to Neil Kramer, as did many things that have impacted positively on my life over recent years. In his typically clear and coherent manner, he describes how polarity is a teaching mechanism. It is possible, I suppose, that other planets, other universes, may boast different styles; but we live on a planet which is pretty gritty, pretty basic, so duality is the name of the game, In particular, this means paying attention to, embracing, the negative pole, the one we easily wish to reject, to pretend doesn't exist.

A while ago I identified two things that really are my bag. The first one is consciousness: see plenty of posts on Pale Green Vortex. My life has been more-or-less devoted to consciousness exploration; it is the main man, the creator, reality. The second thing that is my bag is anxiety. Friends, welcome to the dark side. Anxiety is dark, believe me. The other side of the polarity. I am a specialist. I know.

Anxiety really came to the fore during my years working  as English language teacher. I am the kind of guy who wants to do a good job, not waste other people's time etc. Which is all very well, except that day after day after month after year I would experience a nearly constant undercurrent of anxiety: is this material interesting enough; have I got enough variety in the class; and, worst of all - have I got enough material to last the three hours? This was the real nightmare scenario: running out of things to do with an hour to go, and without energy or spontaneous creativity to sort it out on the spot, just left in this panic-filled void.

I gave up teaching, and planned wholesale life changes, involving, among other things, moving from London to Highland Scotland, aka the Great Unknown. This was the final straw, the anxiety-provoking Great Unknown (that is what anxiety is, a reaction to the unknown. And, guess what - the future is by its very nature unknown). Sensations disappeared from my feet and legs, and I was unable to walk properly. Instinct told me not to bother with a doctor. It wasn't multiple sclerosis, and eventually I moved to Scotland to climb mountains.

But the anxiety was still there. This April I wrote about my visit to the homeopath two years ago. During this fateful ninety minutes, the anxiety came up, through, and out. It must be something to be a practitioner like that, with a bloke you've never met before living out this total panic scenario, everything completely out of control, recounting how this image a bit like Munsch's Scream comes at him, complete helpless panic, about nothing in particular yet anything and everything.

With the help of the homeopathic sessions and some guiding words from Neil Kramer, I began to get a hold on what this anxiety stuff is: where it comes from, what it denotes. To the point where I can now more steadily begin to experience the reality that the character experiencing all these anxious feelings is a made-up fiction anyway.

The point is this, though. Anxiety has been a major way into 'developing', moving on, over recent years. It has required real, visceral situations to present it as a teaching node, be it the house flooding, my wife having early-stage tongue cancer, or other less dramatic events. The dark side can force a hard, clinical we could say, examination of the deepest, most fundamental and obstinate aspects to our being. A necessary examination, which will never be effected if we adopt as our motto 'All you need is love' (unless you clearly recognise that love from the universe may appear in vicious, cruel guises).

As I mentioned above, my years in organised Buddhism failed to bring this out. When the dark side presented itself starkly for recognition, inclusion, or whatever, I was either left to my own devices or needing to look to Lou Reed, Jim Morrison, or Carl Jung for a finger pointing the way. Key notions in Buddhist practice were 'developing', 'transforming', 'transcending'. When flailing about in the stormy waters of the night sea, these ideas don't seem to make much sense. We had a meditation, one of the primary ones in the system, which translates roughly as 'developing loving kindness'. Despite practicing this regularly for many years, I confess that this makes no sense to me at this moment in time. How do you 'develop' love, exactly? It's never happened in my life to date. Isn't love an immediate response to, for example, experiencing the interconnectedness of us all, or our essential non-difference? Or a response to the deep empathy that can arise with another being? Correct me if I'm wrong, anybody. I'm up for learning.

So, a lot of modern New-Age stuff, a lot of 'light workers', disavow this aspect to our sacred being, deny these teachings which seem to me necessary if we are to truly move on in our 'spiritual lives'. A number of friends and acquaintances have recently engaged in various 'no self', 'non-duality' techniques, normally with the aid of a guide, and readily accessed online. I have dipped into some of this material myself, and have found it useful in some ways. A question remains, though, about how deep it goes (this notion of depth may be rejected as valid by some no-self exponents. So be it.). Buddhism, I contend, needs its wrathful deities, and modern systems of no-self require similar, otherwise the 'awakenings' they assist will tend to be vapid. So I was pleased to read one of the main guides on this particular site informing one no-self hopeful that his fear was his best friend; it was through his fear, properly experienced, that he came to see, and eventually see through, the fantasies which acted as mind-made manacles around his consciousness.
          
No darkness, no light.





Sunday 5 June 2016

Costa Del Scotland

The west coast of Scotland, in particular, has recently been a sunnier place than the Spanish Costas, and without the crowds and high-rise hotel monstrosities of Benidorm. I have not made it very much over to the west, but there was one day recently.....




Psycho-Inactives Rule

On May 26th, with the minimum of fuss or noise, the much-vaunted and much-discussed-on-PGV Psychoactive Substances Bill came into force in the UK. There is little to say, really, that has not already been stated ad nauseam. That potentially dangerous substances are in existence out there is not the issue. They can be dealt with intelligently, should one wish to do so. A 'blanket ban' (Jesus, there are going to be some people getting cold this winter) completely fails to address the problem, and my suggestion has always been that it is not really intended to do so. As for a blanket ban on psychedelic substances, as Graham Hancock has been at pains to point out, it is a little strange. Laws on psychedelic substances are enacted by people who have not experienced psychedelics themselves, so have little idea what they are criminalising; and by people who, should they try psychedelics, would most likely have a very unpleasant time.

In a political world that is inhabited overwhelmingly by beings of poor quality, our UK examples are leaders in that very poverty. The balance of 'law' has been turned on its head - this is the bigger picture often unrecognised. Instead of things being legal unless expressly criminalised, new goalposts have been stuck in the mud. When you drink a cup of psychoactive tea or sip a glass of mind-altering wine, you do not do so as an unquestionable 'right'. You do so purely because the misgovernment has been kind enough to make special exemptions from the blanket ban for those few psychoactives it approves of. Nasty little totalitarians, really.