A CIRCLE OF SWIFT SONGS: a spiritual allegory

                 

     In writing THE BUTTERFLY STORY I had glimpsed that one way to enter Life! was by a sort of ‘not-doing:’ in simple surrender and rest; but that there could be another way, which was by virtually doing the opposite, and that it could be good, too, I had not been able to bear; for I had crossed over, so completely and any method of acquiring wisdom and knowledge which was by human effort I had long ago learned to abandon within me. But, after a long while of more dying to self and waiting, I was given in a waking dream the hint of a greater truth which I had not previously glimpsed. I was about to discover a deeper level to seeing and perceiving truth; and a greater, or more true dimension of love and peace in which all the sensibilities and giftings of others were fully provided for and there could be no cause for offence. 

                                                           

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A Circle of Swift Songs

  TEARS HAD FORMED A POOL. And through them it was as though I was looking from above and seeing down through the clouds. Mountains and beautiful valleys with cascading rivers and areas of dense forest were below. Then appearing in the far distance, amidst a great wooded wilderness, I saw a most beautiful lake. Around its edge were natural grassy places; flower-filled meadows, the haunt of fallow deer and forest creatures which came there to drink. But in one place the lake was bordered by the sheer rock wall of a great high cliff.

    It was very still. Not a breath of wind. The surface of the lake was smooth and clear and shining as glass. It was all was so quiet there breathed a sense of eternity.  Or as if time itself stood still, while angels watched.  

    Suddenly, a Stone is dropped, and from a great height. It plunges into the still water. From its fall, a vortex is caused in the centre of the lake, a hole greater than the size of the Stone and a huge fountain of water shoots skyward in the upheaval. The waves caused around it swell huge at first, then grow successively smaller and smaller as the ripples extend on and on; until, imperceptibly, they reach the very shores of the lake.

 So clearly did I see this all happening that it seemed to take a very long time to happen? I don’t know. It is hard to explain in words. But it seemed as though I was seeing everything in slow motion, for every detail is precise in my memory.

    It was only a dream. A fleeting waking vision. But I remembered it vividly, and I wondered what it meant. As I pondered, I saw again the fall of the Stone. It was the Central Thing: the Stone of Stumbling and the Rock of Offence. Then I recalled the circles of the waves, slowly decreasing to become ripples, until they were so small I could hardly notice them. As I weighed these things in my heart I drew closer, and after a moment I heard the following words rise from within me; they were not audible words just a silent knowing of something I did not know.

         A circle of swift songs: 

         The melody of degrees;  

         Fairly apportioned the glory

         Of the kingdom of heaven

    Then as I listened there was an opening in a once shut place, and I could see something of the meaning of the dream. I suddenly realized it spoke as an answering picture-story to the pain I was dealing with in my innermost being: the pain of being rejected for speaking the truth that no one wanted to hear. Then the picture unravelled . . .

   The ripples, they had had no meeting place! In that pattern of concentric circles, not one touched; not one wave or ripple, met!  There was no link between them. No bridge. Though they followed one after the other in perfect pattern, they never touched. They had no direct interaction with one another though they came from the same source and the same power moved them. ...For a moment I was devastated. All my longings dashed to pieces! No one would hear me who wasn't in the same ripple as me! I was separated from others! Alone! I really was…all alone! A sense of grief manifested in the centre of my being, and a sob rose up and came out of me; and for a moment I cried.

   And then Love stooped, and spoke. Love bent down, and looked upon me; and said, ‘I have made it so.’ My response a baby’s tears; and I just cried some more. But then the glint of a dawning:  ‘It was meant to be that way...?’ and I marvelled. As usual my natural, first-sight arose next, to steal away my dawn, and cloud my insight over, as my own thinking always does. ‘Oh, but why did you make it so? Surely, that can’t be! It is, too, cruel!’

    Clasped of such earthly thoughts the pain increased, and to breaking point. Yet, Love’s grip was stronger. I yielded. Trusting completely to Love’s own goodness I looked upon this given ‘picture-story,’ the second time; and wondered at the incomprehensible wisdom so black and dark as night to me. Immediately there came a greater dawning: ‘And it was made, for the extension of the glory of the kingdom of heaven; to which is no end, either way.’ Then I saw it all clear and bright as day!

   Every ripple received what he gave it. And all that he gave it was what it had. The power in the falling Stone was in each circling ripple the exact amount of power that he intended it to have. There everyone in that particular ‘ripple’ had all things in common! They had a kind of kindred fellowship one with another: ‘they talked the same language!’ Rarely did they grossly irritate or offend one another. They couldn’t. Their light, their knowledge, was equal.  So there were no micro-explosions of revelatory light by paradox by the interaction of opposites, to rattle them and embarrass them, and unnerve them, with too much light . . . too much glory, which was beyond them, and which could only make them burst, and spoil, and make them blind! ...New wine in old wine bottles; it doesn’t work! It harms. 

     It seemed this design of un-linked concentric ripples was a picture of how God chose to distribute his glory once it had entered the world; that it might be seen, and examined, and delighted in – in each degree that he gave it. ...I saw that in each was a potential for fullness, for all kinds of personal discovery, and peace: each having its own swift song: its own allotted glory to delight in, which could abundantly satisfy! 

      ‘And who are you to say which ripple is best?’

    

     My own heart smote me! To think that I had thought that I should be able to reach across the ripples, to swamp others with what I had, and put upon them my passionate desire that they should have what I had, regardless! Oh, I ran to Love’s ever present arms. There came my blessing: the loving rebuke and chastening which I ever embraced, and cherished;  for without it I could only be left behind; blind, clouded, lost in a wilderness of my own imperfect judgment, and my own stubbornly held onto opinions! Opened to the core, and out from the depths of me, my broken heart spoke and in Love’s own voice...

   ‘How do you know which ripple is best for each person? Do you know my thoughts, or my purpose in each ripple? Who are you? Don’t you know that I can give my glory, which I wish for all my children to delight in, within the faintest ripple as much as in the greatest wave of the upheaval? If I will that those who delight in the merest hint of my glory are to do so because it pleases me, does it not please you? Who are you? My glory is so great that the least touch of it upon man’s spirit is without end. And unto the smallest degree of it shall I cause it to fulfill their joy and my purpose within them unto whom I give it. If I wish to give to the least as much as I give unto the greatest, what is that to you? Follow me.’ 

    The first ripple reached the shore first; but though this first swift circle of a falling Stone is the most tumultuous and suffers the most upheaval, he gives as much to this least as to the greatest for it becomes the least, first; and so on. It was a profound paradox! And I did not think that I understood it. Then to my mind there came this: ‘There was the one which was the beloved; there was the three; there was the twelve; there was the seventy; and there was the five hundred; and there was the multitude; and the whole world.’ But I saw that all were beloved, whatever I thought; for all were given all they could hold; and all they could hold was all they desired! Enter peace; and love! And smitten, knowing I knew nothing, I fell softly. And, mercy, kissed with truth, I landed in Love’s own embrace.

   A circle of swift songs: the melody of degrees; fairly apportioned the glory of the kingdom of heaven.

                                                     

  

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THE BUTTERFLY STORY: The Shadow and the Substance: a spiritual allegory

    As I moved across the boundaries light grew and grew....and I found out more clearly that there were two distinct ways of acquiring wisdom and knowledge; and the following short story is an allegory of these two different ways that we receive it. This allegory was written at the height of a period in my life when I discovered the absolute joy of learning and receiving everything by trusting in the spirit alone.

    Later, I found out, also, that this story had a strange effect on some people; and I saw that to reduce the offence, further wisdom was needed in order to understand the legitimate place that the other way of learning had. And so after a period of dying to all I knew, another story was given to me. This second allegory – A CIRCLE OF SWIFT SONGS – follows on in the next post on this site.

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 To the Garden Returned

    WAY BACK IN TIME, BEFORE THE DAWN OF FIRST MEMORY there existed a most beautiful garden with a river of light flowing through it which watered it. The garden was planted in an unknown pleasant land, filled with all kinds of trees and herbs, shrubs and flowers. Trees whose fruit was good for food, plants whose structure and beauty was good for the illumining of the mind, and flowers so infused with visionary fragrance they would uplift the soul and fill it with joy. It was a glorious paradise of bliss and innocence, comfort and warmth, and all pervading delight. Its inhabitants lived and moved freely in the garden, drinking from its pools, and caring for its flora and fauna, and learning much from its many wonders. But upon the rise of an exceptionally beautiful morning a seemingly small choice was made by these inhabitants beside one of the pools of water. They drank from the only one which had been forbidden them which drinking from brought an end to innocence and the decline of the garden and its fall into ruins. These inhabitants were soon driven from the garden and out into the wilderness. From then on the garden could no longer exist upon the Earth; but only within the spiritual heavenly hearts of those who lived a life of love and who grieved over their just banishment.

   But, once again, in this inner garden where young ones played there were pools of water. One of which, if they should drink from would bring them blindness, aging, and banishment from the centre of the garden, and an existence of lifeless delusion in its outskirts. And, as before, this dreadful pool was exceedingly beautiful, and truly desirable to give one, wisdom and knowledge and the delight of knowing for oneself. Those children of Love which drank from this pool existed in the outer edges of the garden, blind to their exclusion from its centre, for they had no idea of their true condition, or where they were. The interaction between the youngest children in the centre of the garden and the older ones in its edges was fraught with difficulty, for they could not recognize one another: the thick curtain encircling the centre of the garden a barrier through which they could not understand each other.  

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The Butterfly Story:  the Shadow and the Substance       

   A new butterfly had appeared in the midst of the garden. It had never been seen before; although there was rumour of it having been known long ago. The sight of its silvery wings shimmering in the early morning sunlight brought gasps of delight to the children; and they danced in the middle of the garden like butterflies themselves newly escaped of their cocoon! Tender hearts overflowed with boundless joy!

   The butterfly alighted upon the shoulder of one of the smallest children then flew onto his hand. The child remained perfectly still, lying in the grass his feet dipped in the flowing stream. Rewarded for his stillness, time melted away as he gazed and gazed upon the glorious butterfly, pulsating with life and light on his hand. It swept him up and renewed his whole being and he followed the living butterfly whithersoever it flew.

   Oh, how all the children longed to share with others this wonderful new life and liberty which the butterfly had brought them!

   Then some of the older children reasoned amongst themselves as to how they should do this. They came to the conclusion, that if they could just catch the butterfly then they could pass it around to their friends, so that they might all share in this glorious new joy together. Their idea seemed good to them, so they did it.

   They caught the elusive airborne butterfly dancing and shimmering in the warm morning sunlight. They pierced it with a pin.  Then they stuck it on a piece of paper. How eagerly they anticipated the delight their friends would have when they saw the beautiful new butterfly!

   So the children laid out the pierced butterfly, decently and in order, just as the entomology textbook had taught them. Then they carefully placed it, in a box. They were thrilled with it! Here was proof! Now at last all their friends (perhaps even their enemies!) would be able to study it for themselves and learn of the glorious life of the wonderful new butterfly, and come and join them in the garden. They passed the box around expectantly!  

                            So shadows come and the glory fades.

   While some saw nothing but a decaying, common garden ‘Cabbage White,’ and thought they had quite lost their senses ~ these lived on the outskirts of the garden, others did see a beautiful butterfly and became fascinated with its exquisite markings. They spent much time, and many a happy hour, examining it with magnifying glasses, making careful notes of the detailed patterns on its wings and then comparing them with the textbook. They uncovered many amazing things about this new butterfly! They found exciting messages encoded in its lovely markings, which they were most earnest and diligent to teach to one another. Those whose interests and passions seemed similar gathered themselves together in separate groups in the garden.

   Oh, the myriads of messages as fascinating things to learn! They took great delight in these things! With them, they were fulfilled and content; although there never seemed to be quite enough, and their search for more was endless!

                          So shadows came and the glory faded.

   Then one of the smallest children, who lived in the centre of the garden, came and looked at the dead butterfly in the box. ‘What have you done?’ he cried, as he held the lifeless thing in his hand; and he threw it down to the ground and wept in brokenness of heart.

                                        

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