Posts tagged history

Wisdom of the Rosicrucians

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The Rosicrucians are an esoteric sect, who throughout history, have been cloaked in mystery.  A lineage of wisdom that potentially dates back to the time of the Egyptian Pharaohs, Rosicrucians draw from all pools of ancient wisdom.  Many famous philosophers, writers and scientists have been in contact with them and they are said to influenced the Masonic Lodge in Britain.

Here is an ‘echo of the ideal of wisdom that animates the world’:

‘By contemplating the Divine Self within, one broadens ones own consciousness to the extent where one finally senses and finally realises that the real part of oneself is but a part of all of the real expression in the universe, and that one is not separated from the rest of humanity and is not an individual, but an inseparable segment of the universal self or whole.’ H. Spencer Lewis

‘Though we may not be able to control what happens to us, we can control what happens inside us.’ Benjamin Franklin

‘How ignorant is he who knows all but not himself?’ Validovar

‘True knowledge is based on true tolerance, from this true tolerance comes absolute comprehension, and true comprehension brings peace, which enelightens and purifies.’ Nicolas Roerich

‘So many Gods, so many creeds,
so many paths that wind and wind,
when just the art of being kind
is all this sad world needs.’
Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Taken from this interesting little documentary on Rosicrusianism:

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‘In the brief dust and light’ – P.B. Shelley

“Man is of soul and body, formed for deeds Of high resolve;

on fancy’s boldest wings.”

“If winter comes, can spring be far behind?”

Here is a very small excerpt taken from the lyrical drama ‘Hellas’ by Shelley, which he dedicated to the Prince Alexander Mavrocordato of Wallachia. This drama is rich in historic imagery, taking influence from a fascinating period in humanities great adventure; when God kings waged wars, blood, wine and romance were thick on the ground; Greek, Persian, Arab and Oriental imagery and characters all merge and mingle on the page.

Shelley is certainly a western seer, a sage with fabulous gifts of insight into the mystic and most of all, a brilliant story teller, renegade poet, political thinker and bizarrely, devout atheist (or someone who opposed organised religion and its norms at the time). Shelley died at the tender age of 29, he led what you could call ‘a full life’ (which seems a distinct underestimation).  He was outrageously talented and fearless, a true free spirit who embraced the burgeoning ‘free love’ movement (which only seemed to influence a handful of poets and artists at the time!)  Shelley attacked monarchy, war, commercial practices and religion whilst championing republicanism, vegetarianism, free love and atheism.

“Rise like Lions after slumber

In unvanquishable number – 

Shake your chains to earth like dew

Which in sleep had fallen on you – 

Ye are many – they are few.”

Every poet of the romantic persuasion should have a bit of Shelley in them.  Its the part that wishes to stay up all night long, lamenting the open, pale moon, sipping wine with Dionysus and making love with Sirens and Faeries.  The hopeless (and ever hopeful) romantic.  We all need a little genuine, joy based debauchery, carefree expressions of exuberance, if in word and image alone.  As Shelley once said ‘the poet is both a Creator and a Destroyer’ surely insinuating that the poet rides the waves of spontaneous creation which rise and fall of their own accord.  This poet wishes only to be with that which speaks through them in formless, uninhibited and timeless love.  Poets feel an unspeakable obligation to transmit the ethereal, the otherwordly, the unimagined beauty of existence via ball point, quill or keyboard.  Like divine spokespeople, they have an essential role in any civilised society and Shelley’s words speak as vibrantly and as intensely as they did all those years ago. He creates great vistas in our minds which cannot be washed away; conjures unknown emotions, challenges and soothes with tenderness and guile.  Shelley wished to be remembered in such a way:

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe

Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!….

Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth

Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!……

Here is a flavour of Hellas, one of the choruses that inspired this post:

Worlds on worlds are rolling ever

From creation to decay,

Like the bubbles of a river,

Sparkling, bursting, borne away.

But they are still immortal

Who, thought birth’s orient 

Portal,

And death’s dark chasm hurrying to

and fro,

Clothe their unceasing flight

In the brief dust and light

Gathered around their chariots as

They go;

New shapes they still may

Weave,

New gods, new laws receive,

Bright or dim are they, as the robes

They last

On Death’s bare ribs had cast. 

This is an incredible passage and is a succinct description of what some would call a very ‘spiritual’ description or insight into our conscious state of being.  There seems some esoteric understanding being exhibited here and it is fascinating to think of what influenced Shelley or his reactions to such reflections.  A form of fertile inspiration and eloquence which is awe inspiring!  They certainly don’t make atheist like they used to!!!!

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Bardsey Island – The Island of 20,000 Saints

Yesterday we walked around the northern coasts of the Llyn Penisula (North Wales), braving the high winds and feral seagulls.  There is something quite dramatic about  the Llyn, with the trio of mountains (known as ‘The Rivals’) forming a gateway to a landscape dotted with remnants of ancient settlements and worship.  It seems that each time I visit the Llyn I am drawn deeper into its story.

At the tip of the Llyn Penisula we find Bardsey Island and there is definitely something about Bardsey.  In English its name refers to an island of bards, in Welsh (Yns Enlli) it suggests an island in the currents.  It sits like a small jewel off the tip of the jagged coast line and has been inhabited since neolithic times.  Bardsey has been a pilgrimage site for many years, three trips to Bardsey was the equal of a trip to Rome.  A hermitage has stood here since the earliest days of Christianity in Britain, although it has been knocked down a few times along the way.  Brave and devout souls floated over from France and Ireland on rudimentary rafts to preach the words they regarded to be true and lead this wild and untamed island nation away from sin, towards redemption.  These remarkable old saints, hermits and pilgrims were very wise, putting a little ocean between themselves and their rabid flock (although that didn’t help when the vikings showed up!).

The history of this isolated retreat is fascinating, its location stunning, but as usual, the myths and legends are what sets it apart and fuels the imagination to imbued a large rock with magical properties and some intangible, mystical allure.  20,000 saints are said to be buried on the island, making the soil rich and fertile.  It has even been claimed that Prince Arthur is buried in a cave there.  To get there, you still need to call a local chap in a small fishing boat to take you there and hopefully back.  If the weather flares up, you can be stranded on the island, where there is still no electricity.  It suggested that you draw up a will before visiting Bardsey, it is said that the Llyn extends into the ocean just as life extends into the unknown emptiness and once we have reached Bardsey, we are relieved of earthly cares (meaning we are now number 20,001).

What can be said about the allure of Bardsey, it seems so close from the shore, we feel that we could touch it, except it is far enough away for us to fall and perish in the fierce waves of the Irish Sea.  I see Bardsey Island as a metaphor for our spiritual journey through life, as we build a bastion from rocks and earth to hide us from the endless waves and commotion, deep inside our soul is ever drawing us deeper towards harmony, as we venture out into the raging oceans of calm and set sail into the blissful unknown.  One pilgrim wrote that Bardsey is “the land of indulgences, absolution and pardon, the road to Heaven, and the gate to Paradise” and on a day like yesterday, I can see why.

I have included some photographs and poetry that I hope captures something of these sentiments:

 

Bardsey Island in the distance

Bardsey Island in the distance

Gorse and Heather

Gorse and Heather

There is an island there is no going
to but in a small boat, the way
the saints went, travelling the gallery
of the frightened faces of
the long-drowned, munching the gravel
of its beaches. So I have gone
up the salt lane to the building
with the stone altar, and the candles
gone out, and kneeled and lifted
my eyes to the furious gargoyle
of the owl that is like a god
gone small and resentful. There
is no body in the stained window
of the sky now. Am I too late?
Were they too late also, those
first pilgrims? He is such a fast
God, always before us, and
leaving as we arrive.

There are those here
not given to prayer, whose office
is the blank sea that they say daily.
What they listen to is not
hymns, but the slow chemistry of the soil,
that turns saints’ bones into dust,
dust to an irritant of the nostril.

There is no time on this island.
The swinging pendulum of the tide
has no clock; the events
are dateless. These people are not
late or soon; they are just
here, with only the one question
to ask, which life answers
by being in them. It is I
who ask. Was the pilgrimage
I made to come to my own
self, to learn that, in times
like these, and for one like me,
God will never be plain and
out there, but dark rather, and
inexplicable, as though he were in here?

“Pilgrimages” by R. S. Thomas

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And that’s why I have to go back
to so many places in the future,
there to find myself
and constantly examine myself
with no witness but the moon
and then whistle with joy.
ambling over rocks and clods of earth,
with no task but to live,
with no family but the road.

Pablo Neruda

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We passed the ice of pain,

And came to a dark ravine,

And there we sang with the sea:

The wide, the bleak abyss

Shifted with our slow kiss.

Space struggled with time;

The gong of midnight struck

The naked absolute.

Sound, silence sang as one.

All flowed: without, within;

Body met body, we

Created what’s to be.

What else to say?

We end in joy.

The Moment – Theodore Roethke

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HIM

 

Him.

The mohawk rider,

The brave;

Alone in the great plains,

No slave.

 

Him.

The lonesome cowboy,

The lame;

Forever seeking a land,

Bringing shame.

 

Follow the buffalo

Until the winter closes in,

Then rest in houses

Made of skins.

 

From this good earth

We cannot live as strangers,

Free to walk these lands

Banish tyranny that maims us.

 

When Cortez made his first cut

We bled as one nation,

Till the last drop leaves

We shall fight for our dreams.

 

To think of history

Smouldering still like ash,

When once we shone like the sun

And will again.

Standing true in the madness man made,

Traditions vital, not to fade.

 

There is no justice without forgiveness.

The words of our ancestors

Are caught in the wind,

Speaking from the hidden valleys,

An old drum sounding from within.

 

In this great expanse of the human heart

May we as one claim only peace

And end the war of him.

 

 

 

 

 

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All that space That dark That white light that comes

All that space that fills chaos black And white light so full and seamless (dreams on the dream-filled dreamer)

And to what in all this do I cleave to?

All space that begins and ends with this pen Lights out and smoking gun pipes And the splintered nature of oaken peace floats And the castaways cower In desperation towers

All spaces filled with red In red love In love In roses In thorns and hectic resonance In shapes and numbers blank pick a spiral to fall into Pick doubts to hang from The Nile is descending and kneels before

All things that revolve and emanate a melody From the frequency of a lost souls waltz (The Sphinx) Rising and falling as one born of nothing a small ripple of delight In the heart of a seekers lost raga Faces painted for the play the colours dripping All severed

All mind returns Embrace the illusion whole And swallowed up what remains Barely seen to resonate a life in stagnant shallows

Lustful of every apple that grows in Saharan soil Enacting this material philosophy Masks of wistful junk and oceans dry

The angels rebel With no heroes for our temples And no magic left to try

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Persian Love Poetry

 

If you wish, I shall put my fingers together

And form a stirrup with my two palms

So you can put your foot in my hands

And warm yourself in my heart

Or put the soles of your feet on my shoulders

And slip down into my arms.

Softly and lightly, let me embrace you

So I can spread you like grass on the ground.

 

Iraj Mirza

 

Without you at a night of full moon, once again I walked through

that lane

I was all eyes, bedazzled I searched for you.

The joy of seeing you overflowed the jug of my existence

I became the same mad lover I was before.

 

Fereydoun Moshiri

 

I said there would always be a bench

Under a tree

In the mystic solitude of a garden.

And I did not say that without you the garden would die

And in the sunny shroud of the beach

The scent of oranges and palm trees would fade.

I said I would throw the stars at your feet.

I did not say that without you, one must doubt the sun

And without you every star is blind.

Come with me

And let us rush towards our shadows

Who are in love.

 

Laila Kasra Afshar

 

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21/12/2012 11:11am – Welcome to the party!

Dear Fellow Turtles,

The end of the world is nigh; 2012, whats going on?  What will become of us?  Our planet is aligning with the exact centre of the milky way and the sun is passing through the galactic equator, this will surely have some effect on something.  But what?

If there is nothing in your news at the moment, I’d suggest a new avenue of ‘news’.  The BBC seem to be non-plussed by the whole occasion, preferring more dissemination of wars, murders, football and the like.

Something is ending, something is beginning, although this seems always to be the case.   Regardless of how you I feel about the whole shebang, this moment, 21/12 11:11am, will be more noticed than most.  More minds will be focused on peace, love and togetherness than at anytime in my lifetime.  Millions will be getting together and hoping and praying for greater things from humanity.   Collectively, can we change?  And to what extent?

The Mayans themselves, who are a living breathing barrel of goodness, are still here and still being treat like second-class citizens in Guatemala and the South of Mexico.  Surely, we will all be hoping that a new dawn will bring changes for the Maya of all folk!  After all, it is their prophecy of sorts!  This time marks (most say) one long calendar ending for another to begin.  Humans seem ill equipped to deal with the future, certainly to make prophecies, it seems best to stay in the present and deal with what is actually going on; co-existing positively with it all.

Fear nothing, bar a huge solar flare, all is well!  We are deep within a cycle, one  of an infinite array that seem to control and form what we are and experience.  All this environmental stuff has happened before, without our defacing and polluting this beautiful earth.

So, no fear, no fear, no fear for 2012 and beyond. No fear…….  We need this mantra to get us through this and every day is this utterly mad society that we have created.  Whilst most seem afraid to live the lives they deserve, many feel that we are about to blossom, into something unimaginably beautiful.  Anyway you look at that, it can’t be bad!

Whatever you feel, enjoy the day, think of the ancient Mayans if you will (we all need a little inspiration to get the ball rolling).  I shall be up in the hills, in a cave, taking it easy…..my big question to the universe, ‘Hey universe!  What changes!?’  I feel that this moment allows us to appreciate what we have, love more and more, become peaceful and move forward with greater intentions for our lives and our world.

Here is an interesting article about 2012:

http://www.lifepositive.com/Spirit/Seeking/The_truth_about122012.asp

NOW is the change!  This will not be the last prophecy of dramatic changes, whilst the most dramatic of changes continue to happen all around us!

The ‘Golden age of light’ is coming, and if it doesn’t arrive, maybe we just need a shift in perspective.

Bring it on…….HAPPY 2012xxx

Love and Light,

Lee and the TurtleX

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