Behold, Your Daimon

Where does great inspiration and expression come from?

What force drives the madman and great artist or athlete?

Now hold on here, what am I talking about.

Some cannot speak or look inside themselves.

They are storms on earth.

This is a force inside of us, but not our ego.

The Daimon/Daemon is a shapeshifter. 

Part of your mind you can’t pin down. 

You have to feel and think what it feels and thinks. 

It’s like a storm.

We have erected social hedges against it. 

It is like a volcanic eruption. 

Not rational. 

The Daimon feels what nature wants to do through you. 

It is nature in you. 

It told Socrates what not to do, not what to do. 

I listen to my daimon. 

I have seen and communicated with it in many ways.

It is will. 

Fate.

An impersonal force for some. 

Some can integrate it. 

You have to negotiate.

It can punish you and doesn’t care to keep you safe. 

You can give it too much. 

You can surrender to it. 

Hitler followed his nonstop. 

Trump follows his Daimon without question. 

There is no introspection, which is its weakness.

It is not a force of good, it is a force of nature. 

It is immoral, neutral. 

If you don’t think you have one, you are a fool and a muppet. 

A blind robot. 

The ego can negotiate with it, mediates it. 

You don’t delete your ego!

God no!

Daimon does what it does. 

It is what it is.

Your effectiveness depends on your own quality and strength around your will.

I am constantly negotiating with it. 

Don’t surrender to it. 

Don’t ignore it. 

You make yourself irrelevant to deny this force. 

You have to dance and wrestle with it. 

Use your ego’s moral discernment. 

Only you can mediate it.

Honor it. 

You have to eat and work and get along. 

It doesn’t want your best. 

It wants to move through you. 

I have listened often to my Daimon and jumped when it pushed.

It creates psychic disease and physical. 

It makes you into a ufo nutcase. 

Or a conspiracy nutcase. 

Or a trump zombie. 

That is a group consciousness.

You become mindless. 

Doing the bidding of pure will.

Pretty crazy move to go all in with it.

But I did.

It can posses you.

It is Legion.

You can reason with it but it is not reasonable.

You can create a space the Daimon sees when one is open to it. 

You have to acknowledge it and give it space. 

This is part of you, but not you. 

Nature doesn’t change if you don’t understand.

The storm will always be there. 

It has tremendous power. 

Tremendous!

It loves to be acknowledged and given space.

The trickster. 

You have to sharpen your inner hearing.

I was quite amazed to meet it. 

In every psychedelic trip, it is there.

In your dreams you are always meeting it.

You can come to feel its feelings and thoughts.

To give it voice is to sing like the stars.

I speak of forbidden things and forgotten dreams.

I write with my Daimon and make art with it.

It is life. 

It flows in everything.

Once you see it, you can never go back.

Wisdom becomes a curse in away.

We are innocent for only a whsiper of time.

It is guiding us, even into a wall.

Schopenhauer knew it well, when he said, the Will is blind. 

Guide it, focus it and you will go far.

Ignore it at your peril.

Leaving…Flying Away

F4EC8614-AC10-4045-BBCB-182E96834E01

UV Florescence 

I have been studying and playing with UV black light and florescence. 

Things are not what they always appear to be. Many things have latent properties that require different conditions and perspectives to see and experience. 

Can you see yourself under a different light with no concepts or names for the world and objects you find there?

What colors might show up in your life under this expanded view of things? 

DuoGraph Zen Meditation no. 2 – Owl and the Rabbit

Some new art inspired by Wei Wu Wei’s writing in ‘Unwordly Wise’, a story about an Owl and a Rabbit and life. His last book.

The DuoGraph is a hand made mechanical drawing device I found recently. I have been exploring with it.

The Last Pilgrimage

Raudiel Sanudo

DuoGraph Zen Meditation no. 1

Cosmic Consciousness

Spontaneous Lorenz System.

DuoGraph introduction and DuoGraph How-To

Life As Art

jesus-christ-with-shopping-bags-by-banksy
Banksy – Consumer Christ – Jesus with Shopping Bags

“Chasing after words, pursuing phrases, when will you ever be done?
You run yourself ragged amassing knowledge, becoming widely informed
Self-nature is empty and illuminating, so let things take care of themselves
There’s nothing else I have to pass on.

Clinging, craving and the like
I don’t have them on my mind
That’s why nowadays I can say
“The whole world is truly mine!””

— Zen Master Bankei

There Is Only The Dance

openhouseforbutterflies18

Sharing some inspirational things with you I have recently been enjoying. T.S. Eliot is such an amazing writer. I am lost in his words.

Burnt Norton

T.S. Eliot

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.
Other echoes
Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?
Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,
Round the corner. Through the first gate,
Into our first world, shall we follow
The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.
There they were, dignified, invisible,
Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,
In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,
And the bird called, in response to
The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,
And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses
Had the look of flowers that are looked at.
There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.
So we moved, and they, in a formal pattern,
Along the empty alley, into the box circle,
To look down into the drained pool.
Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown edged,
And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight,
And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly,
The surface glittered out of heart of light,
And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.
Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.
Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,
Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.
Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
Cannot bear very much reality.
Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.

II

Garlic and sapphires in the mud
Clot the bedded axle-tree.
The trilling wire in the blood
Sings below inveterate scars
Appeasing long forgotten wars.
The dance along the artery
The circulation of the lymph
Are figured in the drift of stars
Ascend to summer in the tree
We move above the moving tree
In light upon the figured leaf
And hear upon the sodden floor
Below, the boarhound and the boar
Pursue their pattern as before
But reconciled among the stars.

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.
And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.
The inner freedom from the practical desire,
The release from action and suffering, release from the inner
And the outer compulsion, yet surrounded
By a grace of sense, a white light still and moving,
Erhebung without motion, concentration
Without elimination, both a new world
And the old made explicit, understood
In the completion of its partial ecstasy,
The resolution of its partial horror.
Yet the enchainment of past and future
Woven in the weakness of the changing body,
Protects mankind from heaven and damnation
Which flesh cannot endure.
Time past and time future
Allow but a little consciousness.
To be conscious is not to be in time
But only in time can the moment in the rose-garden,
The moment in the arbour where the rain beat,
The moment in the draughty church at smokefall
Be remembered; involved with past and future.
Only through time time is conquered.

III

Here is a place of disaffection
Time before and time after
In a dim light: neither daylight
Investing form with lucid stillness
Turning shadow into transient beauty
Wtih slow rotation suggesting permanence
Nor darkness to purify the soul
Emptying the sensual with deprivation
Cleansing affection from the temporal.
Neither plentitude nor vacancy. Only a flicker
Over the strained time-ridden faces
Distracted from distraction by distraction
Filled with fancies and empty of meaning
Tumid apathy with no concentration
Men and bits of paper, whirled by the cold wind
That blows before and after time,
Wind in and out of unwholesome lungs
Time before and time after.
Eructation of unhealthy souls
Into the faded air, the torpid
Driven on the wind that sweeps the gloomy hills of London,
Hampstead and Clerkenwell, Campden and Putney,
Highgate, Primrose and Ludgate. Not here
Not here the darkness, in this twittering world.

Descend lower, descend only
Into the world of perpetual solitude,
World not world, but that which is not world,
Internal darkness, deprivation
And destitution of all property,
Dessication of the world of sense,
Evacuation of the world of fancy,
Inoperancy of the world of spirit;
This is the one way, and the other
Is the same, not in movement
But abstention from movememnt; while the world moves
In appetency, on its metalled ways
Of time past and time future.

IV

Time and the bell have buried the day,
the black cloud carries the sun away.
Will the sunflower turn to us, will the clematis
Stray down, bend to us; tendril and spray
Clutch and cling?
Chill
Fingers of yew be curled
Down on us? After the kingfisher’s wing
Has answered light to light, and is silent, the light is still
At the still point of the turning world.

V

Words move, music moves
Only in time; but that which is only living
Can only die. Words, after speech, reach
Into the silence. Only by the form, the pattern,
Can words or music reach
The stillness, as a Chinese jar still
Moves perpetually in its stillness.
Not the stillness of the violin, while the note lasts,
Not that only, but the co-existence,
Or say that the end precedes the beginning,
And the end and the beginning were always there
Before the beginning and after the end.
And all is always now. Words strain,
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
Will not stay still. Shrieking voices
Scolding, mocking, or merely chattering,
Always assail them. The Word in the desert
Is most attacked by voices of temptation,
The crying shadow in the funeral dance,
The loud lament of the disconsolate chimera.

The detail of the pattern is movement,
As in the figure of the ten stairs.
Desire itself is movement
Not in itself desirable;
Love is itself unmoving,
Only the cause and end of movement,
Timeless, and undesiring
Except in the aspect of time
Caught in the form of limitation
Between un-being and being.
Sudden in a shaft of sunlight
Even while the dust moves
There rises the hidden laughter
Of children in the foliage
Quick now, here, now, always —
Ridiculous the waste sad time
Stretching before and after.

Transcendent Art of Android Jones

From Android Jones. I had to share some of these images. I am lost in them.

Creed or Christ

image

Origen – Early Christian Scholar

No man loves God who hates his kind,
Who tramples on his brother’s heart and soul;
Who seeks to shackle, cloud, or fog the mind
By fears of hell has not perceived our goal.

God-sent are all religions blest;
And Christ, the Way, the Truth, the Life,
To give the heavy laden rest
And peace from sorrow, sin, and strife.

Behold the Universal Spirit came
To all the churches, not to one alone;
On Pentecostal morn a tongue of flame
Round each apostle as a halo shone.

Since then, as vultures ravenous with greed,
We oft have battled for an empty name,
And sought by dogma, edict, cult, or creed,
To send each other to the quenchless flame.

Is Christ then twain? Was Cephas, Paul,
To save the world, nailed to the tree?
Then why divisions here at all?
Christ’s love enfolds both you and me.

His pure sweet love is not confined
By creed which segregate and raise a wall.
His love enfolds, embraces human kind,
No matter what ourselves or Him we call.

Then why not take Him at His word?
Why hold to creeds which tear apart?
But one thing matters, be it heard
That brother love fill every heart.

There’s but one thing the world has need to know.
There’s but one balm for all our human woe:
There’s but one way that leads to heaven above–
That way is human sympathy and love.

– Max Heindel –  Rosicrucian Scholar
The Rosicrucian Cosmo-Conception – 1909