A red garnet ring. The garnets glow.
A passion for bearing ripe fruits. Feeling transported by an ongoing realization that you are in your own element, doing what you need to do and subtly fired by an inner purpose that clarifies everything. The glow of your central intent warms you through. This quality of soul is simple and direct. It makes for a primal, elemental presence. One cannot grasp complex matters in this sphere. But you know what you need to know, and you’re on the beam so palpably that nothing much matters except being there. You distinctly charge the atmosphere with a pranic renewal, a source sustenance, and the whole idea is to make way for the universal life-force to stream right in and bless with its all-forgiving radiance.
Wilting flowers form a graceful pattern in a vase.
Supreme resignation. A twilight soul mood. You adapt to the limits imposed by time and situation. Dreaming ceaselessly. Waiting forever. Not very attached, not very involved; fostering illusions, fixed notions, and habitual states. At the mercy of context. Somewhat unable to change. Prone to multiple weaknesses. Self-indulgent. Old-fashioned–remembering when. Ancestors in the blood. You have a fabulous imaginative capacity but very little active life–indwelling the phases of the moon and the recesses of the world. In a suspended soul condition, drifting with the tide. Sweet, naive, and wishful. Solitude and ever-afters. A wondrous soul underneath a pile of old stuff, wanting the best for all.
Everything begins with an inward cast, and then if you wish to get anywhere you must go there on the inside and meet yourself there when you arrive. You feel a desire to memorize the territory of all the inner ways–to remember them, to recognize them and to be able to follow them when it counts. You feel like you’ve been taught in the dream state, shown everything in dreamless sleep and through dreams. You’re subtly and pervasively closely accompanied by a protective guiding spirit. Held within the soul’s alembic. Entrusted to the angels. Living in threshold sensitivity, attuned to the edge. Led by the spirit through darkness into light. Subliminal, enchanted, anxious, and at peace. Always searching for something more. Remembering in your soul the lost Earth ways and giving over to spirits, you belong to the infinite and wander through the finite worlds. You are like a stranger, knowing something else is at stake here. Something else is going on here. Something else is completely involved.
A man talking in his sleep.
A psychic faculty is dreamt into and sustained, leaving everything wide open for passive absorption. Going so deep in there, an altered state, that you become karmically thrown into the dilemma of translation between the worlds. Being used by astral forces, and learning to adapt. Indwelling a place reserved for those who are not ready to activate. But, oh, the dreams, the vapors. Remembrance. Recapitulation. Return. Longing for connection between the worlds, you may be able to take the underworld route through if disciplined attunement is fostered. Creative powers are dammed up and filtered through into naive wistfulness. You wait, hope, and are drawn back and back until the inner worlds have been heard and respected and the balance can be restored.
Tiny porcelain figures of people.
Wandering along the forgotten places, you feel saturated with memories and reflections. Enchanted and left alone to sift through all of it in your own good time. Subtly and pervasively removed from what is going on around, you are adrift in your own inward pictures. What comes of this is highly variable. It can be a fertile cycle to melt into the moon and come out refreshed and rewoven. It can be heavily seductive and habit-forming, in which case you sink into a world apart and are really held there in subtle chains. Or it can be a secret doorway into the faery kingdoms in order to commune with those who animate the elements and the inner worlds. One way or another, it is one of those regions that you can never navigate through unless you belong there. And if you do, you may be lost there or you may be found there, with everything dependent upon your heart force and your depth of resolve to stay, faithfully, with the subtle cues.
A pink diamond.
The heart feels everything. It burns with a fever. Inside the burning something marvelous is forming. Grace permits the realization of the heart’s desires. You become a vessel to demonstrate, to share the beauty, the love, and the light. Yet all of this is implicit, is inherent, is inward. It is not seen by outer eyes. You are warming through slowly, contemplatively, those qualities of soul that are best entered upon free from reflection. The inner life is rich beyond measure with seeds which will be fertilized and are given forth in the fullness of time, with a consummate touch of having been through the fire to attain what is true and lasting.
A large ruby inscribed with a prayer.
A beautiful dream that comes true. Conceiving in your heart that a fresh life current is here to be met in the physical. Being magnetized to the spot where the New Earth arises. You feel deeply drawn to give yourself over completely to what the new life-wave asks. Sensing acutely that this is all that counts, and suffering for all of those who are shut off from the bounty. Knowing how hard it is to feel dejected and forsaken, and never forgetting the ache, the longing, the distances, and what it takes to earnestly clasp new life and realize you belong to the heavenly kingdom in the Earth and will never again be out in the cold.
A very complicated hedge maze.
Self-confounding. Fascinated, you are engrossed by the fabulous disattunement you seem to be stuck with. Suspended, enchanted, held fast by ancient errors, rendered safe or innocuous. Being held down by an old curse and not being able to find any way out of it. Nothing comes together. Meanwhile, you are entertained by myriad factors as diversions, living out secondary circuits, trying to be content. You’re good at reality adjustment, practiced in the art of making it work somehow, but deeply frustrated, profoundly alienated, and existentially doubting just about everything in sight. Waiting as patiently as you can for something to shift somewhere, anywhere. And becoming quite witty and bemused, with a biting edge that says “it is not funny.”
A talkative woman with tape over her mouth.
The creative force at odds with itself. What you would do, you would not do. Facing the truth–that everything personally generated fails to satisfy. Spirit is ached for in its absence. Something missing. Massive pride screeching to a halt. A very high vibration. Inward places calling you. But the abyss features radical self-overcoming. And there is nothing to say, everything to do, with nobody left to do it–except the forgotten one inside who knows the way.
A man exhaling clouds of iridescent smoke.
Having something to say, a lot to show for your efforts. Bringing through archetypal realizations, and giving yourself over to all that this involves. The perfect instrument for something new to be revealed. Selfless service obedient to the Gods. Played-through by visions, pictures, images, impressions that gather to form breathtaking wholes. Someone who has worked upon this faculty for a long time and now it is quintessentially ripe. You feel the tremendous surging momentum to say it, name it, evoke the spirit, what needs to be seen. When dazzling gifts are in the works, the destiny is already written in the book of life. It is simply a matter of getting out of the way, paying attention, becoming exceedingly disciplined. And then gathering a fresh synthesis for the many to recognize themselves reflected with transparent, evocative accuracy, a perfect portraiture, direct from nature’s workshop, cooked up for the occasion.
A woman with flames for hair.
Direct, full on, and unstoppable. Pushing for optimal outcomes, you are self-convinced and hard-driving. So passionate about your own desire and impulse that anything off to the side is far out of the picture, and all that counts is to have your say, to make an impact. Something long-gathering suddenly emerging as rage, self-intent, need, and craving. Personal to the Nth degree. Almost solipsistic. “Me” mattering after being counted out. You feel the surge of power of someone who recognizes that they are bearing a life-force that can no longer be put down, and you follow the brightness wherever it takes you, blindly, insensately, and beautifully.
A very old elephant.
Nostalgia and intimately familiar worlds in that each character is known very well. Living inside a hologram which contains every world you have ever known. It is slow, reflective, interior, and recedes into lunar caverns. All is moonlit and invokes philosophical reflections. There is time. There is room. There is permission to be one who brings back the country, the quiet times, the special touches, who quietly, unobtrusively keeps the fiber steady. Resourceful and unique–the very best of small town life. A trail left to follow. Nothing is ever lost. The stones do not forget.
A treatise on imaginary creatures.
Pretending to be caught up in the game, playing out the image. Everything becomes contrived and spins out ever further. You have an appetite for self-confounding, musing upon what it might be like. Stepping back from one thing to think about another thing, leading to irony and reliance upon wit. Standing away from the world. Caught in a byway of the personal self and wandering aimlessly but purposefully. The ultimate intent is to see this one through, to take it on and play it out and be through with it. But meanwhile it is beguiling and ensnaring to live so far inside with so little real outlet, and such a load of concepts and memories and desires to carry around everywhere you go, as though this were what individuality means.
An old lady selling bunches of violets on a street corner.
Caught inside a strange predicament–you no longer belong to worlds you always dreamed into before, and you have only a light connection with worlds calling you forward from here. Caught in a time warp, being neither this nor that. It is a stark and merciless dilemma. Your heart is divided between memories and visions, sentiment and knowledge. Inside this quandary, something else is going on. You are distracted from all solid allegiances in order to overhaul your way of being, even while remaining stubbornly adamant and resistant. You get around your own paranoid system by subtle and subliminal means, eroding the ego base and bringing yourself through a humiliating stage. Make yourself ready for deeper challenges ahead by stripping away your self-importance; you who have leaned back hard on self-importance for your very identity, and who now must let go despite not wanting to at all.
His best friend sings a song at his funeral.
Love penetrates all barriers. It arises the greatest wherever it most profoundly needed. And it is perpetually astonishing in its fullness, its rich sustaining power. Love is also held in a grieving and a mourning for what was and is no longer and sometimes love becomes enrapt in a twilight mood, and can no longer see through the sentiments and the attachments to touch the limitless source of love–staying attuned to that place. Love can be a rocky ride. It pulls in great lessons. It feels too much. And love is wedded to death, which it sometimes wishes to divorce itself from. Love is a limitless doorway and discovers how to navigate all the realms it is called into fluently, willingly, and gladly, stripping away all the ideas about what it should look like and how everything needs to be to gratify and appease and make secure when love needs none of these things to endure.
A young girl and boy explore a perfume counter.
Weaving polarities adroitly with alchemical awareness of what can come from the right combinations. You are fascinated and awestruck by all the various combinations, facets, and ways the life-force distributes itself and plays itself out. The rapt admirer of the wisdom and beauty of nature, transfixed by what happens around here. Coming at things always from yet another side, yet never feeling it is enough. There is more to be done, infinitely more to partake in and enhance. The world is an open book. And it magnetically, almost hypnotically draws your attention and interest to what is needed next, to what is emergent and outstanding as life matches dreams and dreams encompass fantastic variety and vivid spectrum to lose yourself in and discover everything through, from one end of the Earth to the other.
A pomegranate broken open.
The spilling out of blood and guts–arriving at the critical point where it all comes out. Huge relief and release. Something held forever, with great tension and pressure, yet destiny brings such a reckoning of all the places at once that you will postpone it as long as you can. The freeing up of karmas when all else is lost. The glory in defeat. The great turnaround is always in you, and waiting for it is the hardest thing you will ever do. It has to be so ripe to bursting–the moment that counts. Timing is the great art. Everyone freed as you are freed. Nothing held back any longer ever again.
A woman with hundreds of breasts.
The fruit of the vine. Limitless supply is the rhythmical law of the Divine Mother. There are those who are given over to the Divine Mother and her earthly counterpart, She of Earth, and who are called upon to give of something beyond them and to do so selflessly. A heavy responsibility to take on, because there are no boundaries to it. A certain rapture in being able to serve in this fashion, with multiple undertones of realization and fruition. Yet the ritual gesture, the signature, is so given over to the Mother that what dominates every breath is the explicit need that is here–to live inside that need, to be surrounded by it everywhere, to know only that there is somebody, that is everybody here who asks, who must have sustenance and inspiration. The growing into the task, the becoming worthy of the investiture and the singular dedication to complete to the Mother’s satisfaction all that is intended in perfect conscientious endowment.
A crown turns into goat horns.
A remarkable instinct for the next lesson. Finding it, learning it, and drawing everything out of it that you can. Specialized in destiny activation and interested in nothing else. Purposively driven to take up karmic lessons all the way. Wildly given over to what is taken on. Working the territory as hard as you can. Making way for something new by wearing out the old. Assigned to tough situations, yet knowing it is appropriate. Super strong, and especially tenacious and relentless. In deepest essence, sacrificing yourself so that something can happen here that is going to take a lot of doing. And inside it all, you are curiously resigned to whatever arises, not very concerned because long range results mean everything here. And a moment’s or a lifetime’s discomfort is a small price to pay when destiny is truly involved.
A fork in the road with a blank sign post.
Getting inside of things. Discovering what they are like, when you have no idea any longer what you want out of things or where anything really is going. All the riches of subtle texture can only begin to arise now, and to touch your soul. This journey has gone on forever, but now the deep Earth calls you once again and you cannot refuse. All roads lead to this same place, where it all flips over and you’re tumbled to the inside where you meet yourself for the first time. This was not who you expected to see. This other self has lost everything, but has found its way to be here at last, on the inside of the world, ready for anything, no preferences, nothing to accomplish, nowhere really to go–just here, in the fiber of existence, home free.
A statue of Hermes decked with brightly colored garlands.
Hermetic wisdom revived. Two extreme polarities: the far inside and the far outside. Expressively playful, tricky, fluent, and engaging. Inwardly contemplative, studious, brooding, and lost to the world. Guided from within to stay entirely secluded and solitary in your inner life, yet transmuting your solemnities into accessible bits and pieces in all familiar contexts. A way to render unto Caesar and still serve the highest. An arduous track. The ultimate challenge–to throw the self off and take the self on as it is appropriate. Strategic incarnation, under special assignment.
A blindfolded woman who sees the future.
Witnessing dispassionately the flow of time. Standing outside of all linear progression and knowing what is likely to happen here. Supremely disengaged from surface affairs, even lightly dismissive of all secondary considerations, but tuned right in to the thread of prophecy and inner vision. Granted a certain grace to follow the inner track. And serving a larger function as part shaman, part seer, and part commonsensical advisor. Salty wit, earthy and pithy, no nonsense. You know where the bones are buried. Penetrating insight. A throwback to simpler worlds. One who warns of dangers ahead, and is not amused by factions and fragments and phantoms of common assumption.
A salamander glowing red-orange.
Burning up with the inner flame of creative activity in the soul realms. The inner life raging with power–an insistent force. A level of attunement to the central flame of your being that will not quit. The impassioned desire to manifest perfectly what lives inside. The alchemical intention to burn away the dross and return to pristine selfhood at long last. An extremely sharply motivated path of development. Difficult to harness, yet the mastery called for is just what you seek to embody, and anything more reasonáble seems easy and lazy. One-pointed drive to strip away all but self and be true to self in a fashion which will burn a hole in the world.
A man with no mouth.
Nothing to say, everything to do. The self cannot be articulated because it is far too busily pressed out into emergency mobilization twenty-four hours a day. No personal life, no personal world, no personal self. Just fantastic availability to the call, the collective vigil, entered upon willingly and selflessly. The demands and rigors of this position and stance are punishing and extreme. You are so hardpressed, so rabidly attentive that nothing else exists. The assignment is clear, brutally so. Be on the spot at every level, maintain order, keep everything going and stay tuned to everything unusual and strange. Follow it out, keep it in your sights and make absolutely sure that you stay sober, integrity sworn and minutely diligent to hold the center and uphold the law with a steadfastness that is beyond belief, and simply true.
Bees returning to their hive.
Thematic worlds coming round again just as before, just like always. The highest and the best, maintained and sustained beautifully, impeccably, superlatively. Knowing inside that what counts, what is essential, is to abide, to be. You are a vast world unto yourself, an extraordinary network of intersecting dynamics. But the witness consciousness is blissfully sitting back in a restful perch, letting everything go by. And in the very center of this dispassion and wakeful scrutinizing, one indwells a Buddha realization attained by hard work in many lives and now being your innermost identity in an identityless way.
Grotesque rocks in a sand garden.
The inward image and the outward reflection are worlds apart. Building up inside to a state of being that carries immense challenges. You see your own personal nature as an objective universal force to be reckoned with, and persist in seeing egocentrically. Preferring massively your own company, contained within yourself, imaginatively self-enchanted. Yet also capable of radical turnabouts and rebirths. Awakenings false and true, great and small. Knowing yourself to be somebody special. Self-consciousness enshrined. A dead-end or a path, oblivious or realizing the way of things, getting out of the way or being squarely in the way. Self-importance and its overcoming.
A man sculpturing hedges into animal farms.
Making a great deal of something out of almost nothing is the mark of fantasy or uninhibited imagination. You prefer to be presented with basic, simple, and ordinary things. Inside your soul you turn these into what they originally were, releasing their primal power. When alchemy runs this close to the bone, it is astounding what it can do. Tackling longstanding knots and obstacles of every kind is sensed as nourishment and opportunity. A sacrificial incarnation can best frame itself in fantasy and imagination and thereby hug the edge between worlds perfectly. The path here is to stay under while peeking over the top, and to play it as straight as can be, while coming from an irrepressible source that can come through this peculiar form with flying colors.
A man making candles out of beeswax.
The sweetness is in the returning to those sacred places always known and now being at ease there. The natural man strips away false layers and finds somebody underneath who is poignantly familiar and resonantly true. The search, the quest, the process. The intricate, extended process. For everything depends upon entering the process and giving yourself over to the master-craftsman-hands of the Creator Beings. You are simply a seed blown by the wind, and to become this completely is blissful fruition inwardly smiled into being.
A man amuses himself by drawing strange shapes.
Crystallized imagination. The inside of the inside remembered and evoked whimsically. There is no form, no pattern, no binding reality. Dreaming the world into being from a greatly bemused stance–other. Twinkling observer-witness consciousness. Off on tangents that call, a life, a cycle, a realm set aside for inventive play without boundaries. You feel exultant in the freedom. Swept away beautifully. Answerable to nobody and nothing except the muse.
Snakes at rest on a rock in the sun.
Remembering everything. Living in retrospect. In touch and in tune with myriad pasts. You view these at leisure, lingeringly. Sometimes you go through them again in a very familiar fashion and other times all you have to do is see it. But there are so many karmas and everything feels like it has been going on forever. A certain soul mood of nostalgia laced with regrets. The backward gaze cannot quite be shaken off, for mighty things have happened. And as you ruminate upon all of it, you deeply, inwardly decide slowly and gradually your future and much about a larger future. With the keynote being whether you can come to a true affirmation of this earth process and journey, or whether instead you subtly curse or scorn what you are reviewing, simply because it is all too much, and it is so tempting to put it down or in its place, and to feel superior in a way that blights the future.