Sunday, 22 April 2018

(Story) THE WELL OF ETERNAL YOUTH . . . The Map Beneath the Map . . .



 from:  A Circle of Swift Songs

         
BEFORE ME WAS LAID OUT a map of the World. An ancient and beautiful map. As I gazed at it, a deep wondering was in me: ‘Where in the World was the Well of Eternal Youth?’ Upon the instant, a faint gold line appeared from the land where I was and moved across the map. As it did so it changed colours . . . antique gold entwined with ruby red and emerald and sapphire blue . . . all the deep, rich colours of old illuminated manuscripts. A hidden line it was; but now revealed and full of light; and drawn out into a thin and serpentine line that led across the World.
   In me, in the same instant, I knew this thing: That because I followed the tracing line with the eyes of my heart more than through the eyes of my intellect, it grew stronger and deeper and penetrated through the surface map.
   It sank through to the map beneath. To the living map which is always underneath all things; which had we the eyes to see would give us the answers to all the questions asked of our own heart. For there was no hidden thing which was not known; and where in me I was known: there I could see: and there I could know the things beneath.
   I saw the tracing line go all around the World. Its colours imperceptibly changing all the time . . . as though it was seeking. As though it were questioning for me searching out all the deep things of God and the answer to my question: ‘Where in the World was the Well of Eternal Youth?’
   As I watched, I saw the beautiful line follow the full circle of the World and return to me: for it never stopped until it found me, and where it found me, it answered me: ‘In your own heart the well of eternal youth: for in you in your own ending a well of water springing up unto everlasting life through my Son; and whoever drinks of this water he shall never thirst.’
  And, all at once, I drank my fill from the Well at the World’s End! Here was the Well of Eternal Youth! Where there was an ending of the old surface World in me, it was found! For here was a beginning of the new inner World in me! So, here, life was revived in a continual renewing of it; and all the while I ‘died’ which was really living! And so here was, youth, forever! The Well was beneath! And I rejoiced, and ‘circled the World in one second.’ The answer, it was so small it had been lost and forgotten.




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  The Well’s foreshadowing ‘picture,’ its mystical symbol in the earthly realm, it was drawn upon the ancient map before me. It was where I stood in spirit on the land at the end of a world: upon the holy Isle of Iona, in the faraway isles off the West Coast of Scotland. There in my heart, I stood upon the brink of its windswept hill of Dun I: in being given the underneath meaning of its name: Done I: and now, I’m Done with I. And, yes, Dumb I: for now I know that the Well of Eternal Youth, it begins where I know I am nothing and I can let myself go and be free! Upon the Isle of Iona, ‘I own her’ within my own heart!

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                   A SILK PURSE AND A SOW’S EAR

                                        That men may not be grieved by it
                                        They leave the truth aside
                                        And move to other things
                                        More obtuse . . .
 
I HAD BEEN STANDING looking at it. Just looking at it. The beautiful antique map on my wall. And it had struck me, that out of my surface ‘anything’ I could make a lively ‘something’ beneath it, which could show me what it is I really wanted to know: the things that would change me to bring me more and more into the light; which things though are naturally uncomfortable. Change challenges my own status quo to alter my orbit. But I am not afraid.
   I had remembered this:

It is not those things we want to know
That help us the most
And reveal what we’re after
But those we don’t want to know
And turn from;
The real treasure it was where
We hadn’t looked for it before.

   This old map on my wall was made of inert paper; thick paper. ‘Thick,’ like me! But out of that, I could make a living-thing of sheer inner joy which could teach me and change me. Out of all the ordinary things I saw around me, I could make something extraordinary; because I was silly enough to see inside me, and crazy enough, not to be too fearful to go there. I realized with delight that I had discovered the opposite of that old saying: ‘…You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.’
   (I had looked this ‘proverb’ up in a concordance of the Bible; but I couldn’t find it. It wasn’t there. Apparently, it was a phrase coined by Stephen Gosson in the sixteenth century. In 1579, to be exact. And it is in the book, Ephemerides of Phialo: Deuided Into Three Bookes; p62v.)
   I had a feeling that I had so crossed a divide that now everything I looked at from inside of me had its mirror image of my inner life. It had in it, a helpful picture of the truth that went seemingly ‘against’ me, which unlovely insight could aid me in the journey of my life, and become my true and lasting treasure. Though, this reflection, of course, I could only receive, if I was happy enough with my being ‘crossed out.’
   But I could take a tough thing and make of it a delicate currency with which to ‘buy’ life . . . ‘gold tried in the fire.’ And then, an earful of un-connecting chatter from the muddied world could become a purse full of connecting gentility closeted securely beneath the usual conversation of the world.
    You see, I had become so terribly free . . . that I was glad, glad, glad that I was thick, and dumb, and stupid; and that all my treasures were only those the world discarded; those of a prodigal swineherd and a foolish son; for so was there ever accorded me an entrance into the kingdom of heaven and a fatted calf.

      

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The two quotes on page 75 are from my book IN THE PATHS OF MYRDDIN WYLLT; A Welsh Legend of Merlin; (spiritual revelation in lyrical literary fiction.)







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