A Candle Under a Jar . . .

                                                A CIRCLE OF SWIFT SONGS

                         A CANDLE UNDER A JAR

     

BEFORE ME WAS A CANVAS.  New. White. Blank. It was large. The largest they had. And there being, perhaps, a painting trapped inside me, longing to emerge, the moment I saw that canvas I knew I needed it.  So I bought it and took it home.

   It was too big for my easel, so I stood it on the floor and leaned it up against the wall in my room. It sat there for a long time. Until I forgot it. Then I didn’t know anymore why I had bought it.

   For too long I had lived in a closed circuit and I could not change without incurring ridicule: my changes were of heaven; and so, they were misunderstood of earth. And having no certainty upon which to stand in order to break out and change, heaven’s new life waiting within me was sleeping.

    Not enough confidence to overcome the fear of seeming absurd or abnormal in the sight of others, life within was being stifled and needed something to wake it up. All the light and life in being brave and different was slowly disappearing. My candle had been too long under a jar.

   A year later. One morning, early. I stood before that thing I had stopped seeing. I was watching how the light from my window threw patterns upon its dusty surface. I did not try to work out what they were; my mind was strangely still. But as the dancing shapes began to move faster, I began to understand what was there---a lacework of slender branches, filigrees of leaves, moving by the touch of an invisible hand upon my long forgotten canvas.

   As I looked, I saw. I knew the tree outside was coming in. And it was coming into me moving inside me. The canvas was my mind. And the light---the light of life. And the invisible hand that held the brush---the wind of the spirit. Slowly I sank to the floor. There I sat and watched what the wind would paint upon my canvas. That there was something for me there I knew it.  I knew too, that it would shake me. I felt the faint scary pressure which was its mark. But maybe, that was just what was needed to set me free. Change, was ever an uncomfortable fit, at first.

   After awhile, a range of mountains appeared on the canvas. Then beyond the mountains---sea. And beyond the sea---a land of great abundance, where the voice of every fiery stone is sealed and not understood by any earthly ear. But in that land---I saw a valley. And in the valley were many trees. There, the travelling stopped and I gazed upon the crowded trees.

   They grew and flourished. They spread their branches wide and high. And where they touched each other there they met the sky. Of their own selves they met and formed their own alliance; and there of themselves got, tangled. For the more they touched they hid the sky and the darker the ground in which they grew and the less they saw, only confusing themselves all the more.

   The trees of the wood were somber. But for fragments of dappled light their joy was, still. Dampened. They could not move their arms. At their feet their children stunted or stillborn. For there was not enough light for them to flourish. Shut in, the gloom had dimmed their eyes. So close together, the trees could not see beyond themselves. They had made themselves a roof. But I could feel them yearning for more sky. For, sight. For, space. For freedom where the sun was whole and where the skylarks rise and the wind runs free. Oh, there was a loveliness in the wood but it was as though it could not breathe. Or could not sing. Or, only in a minor key. Too long there and one could forget.  

   But not one spoke out, to undo their ravelled tale; and the valley was all in darkness. None of them could see their own or each other’s light---the light of trees; for the wood had engulfed them; and snuffed them out.

   By tight alliance, freedom is curbed and individuality lost. Truth becomes clouded and distorted wherever by our crowded opinions we hide the sky.

   Each ‘tree,’---each child of light, I saw as a candle. Each one had its own flame of life and light but all needed air and space overhead. A candle does not burn long in an upside down jar.

   Joyful now, my minding burning with the inward vision, I set up four piles of books on the floor, near the wall, threw a sheet over them, and carefully placed my patient canvas on top---and began to paint.  And my brushes flew like shooting stars dipped in the silken oils of the Milky Way. Fleetingly, too, into light's most fiery paints---chance’s eclectic rainbow reflections on the inner sea of dreams---and the picture formed, as though by itself---a light beyond light and a joy unto its own self.

                                            *

- from:   A CIRCLE OF SWIFT SONGS; A Circlet of Inner-Life Stories

Story: 22. ) The Pages the Wind Blew Through . . . from A Book is Like a Sacred Isle . . .

     The Pages the Wind Blew Through

During the course of the day, I found myself remembering a specific period of time in my past; and I felt that there were things there that needed greater clarity. I had settled down to write about what had happened when suddenly I had an instantaneous vision in my mind's eye. ...I was looking ahead, and before me on the ground I saw a line of books, laid out like a series of stepping stones, leading into the future. 
  Instantly I understood what it was I was seeing, in my mind’s eye. Each one of these books had helped me. They had been as 'stepping stones' in my thinking, leading me onward stage by stage and little by little, and to where I now was. 
  I realized I needed to acknowledge the part they had played in my life, and to be thankful for them. Though these books were now gone, I no longer had them, they had been as vital components creating the pathway by which I had travelled in my understanding to where I now was.

  Books are each one precious, and to be treasured. Books can take us so far, they can open up a whole new world for us, and we need to assimilate what it is they have for us, and then move on while at the same time being thankful for them, and for how they have guided us throughout our lives.

 The day was glorious. Something unique and beautiful was in this day; I sensed it as I woke up. Later, there was joy all through me, and so strong it seemed I was being lifted up on tiptoes my feet hardly touching the ground! But there was no reason for it that I could fathom; especially since this was a very difficult time in my life.

  It was about a year past the beginning of the long period of having no books but one. We were living at that time on a farm in central Northland, near Twin Bridges. As I say, my books were gone, and I was bereft of all human helpers and teachers; both live ones and written ones; and I was spiritually totally alone: I belonged nowhere, and to nothing.  

  Finding a shoulder bag to carry my one remaining volume in and a towel to sit on, I set off determined to enjoy the sunny afternoon. After leaving the homestead there would be three fences to cross before the river. I soon crossed the last fence, bordering a large wildflower filled meadow, and the river about thirty feet below it, and pushed my way through the trees and bushes till I found the track down to the river. It was very steep. Hanging on to slender trunks and coarse grasses I slithered my way down the slope, till the last part just before one had to jump down it. Here I paused on a level bit of track, and looked around.

  This particular spot by the river was very beautiful and the children and I came here often. The river widened here into a shallow pool overshadowed by dangling willow branches. The riverbank on the other side was high and steep, too; beyond it was a wattle tree plantation.

  The countryside all around was tranquil. There were no houses nearby. It was simply a private piece of paradise. In fact, the whole five hundred acres of this bull and sheep farm was a paradise for us; and the sense of being privileged to live here never left me. In my mind it resembled a park or the grounds of some English stately home: there were large spreading trees scattered here and there in the midst of the meadows; and clusters and pockets of large trees in little dells. It made me homesick for England so very far away and unobtainable.

  The whole farm was bordered by this meandering river, on one edge of it, and by dark pine forests high up on the skyline on the other. And in amongst the rolling fields, nestled in the folds of the hills was a small lake, from which a stream flowed. It ran down past the homestead, where it became its water supply.   

   I grabbed hold tighter to the trunk of a sapling where I stood, surveying the beauty, and looking down at the river. ‘A water supply…,’ I thought. This was my quandary; my pain. I felt as if I had lost an inner supply of it, with the taking away of all my books. They had been as ‘the water of life’ to me; and I did not know how I would find my way, without any more of such books. While I loved living on this stunningly beautiful farm it had recently been a place of trauma for me and fear; but although I didn’t know it yet, this was all a part of the plan and I was at the beginning of a new era in my life; one where LIFE began where I moved out beyond the things I knew.

  Letting go the sapling I jumped down the last bit of the track. After landing awkwardly I picked myself up and walked along the riverbank a few metres, through the willows to the miniature beach. I spread my towel amongst the papyrus grasses at the edge of it, and took my book out also, and put it open, on a rock beside me.

  I was sitting in an area of sunshine; enjoying the warmth of the sun on my arms and legs. A patchwork of dappled light was filtering through the branches overhead, dancing on the sandy shore and the river. Through the branches peeped the distant sky looking crystal blue; a place to see through for a squillion miles. I gazed upward awhile; my heart’s questioning, rising. Involuntary coming to the fore, as a splinter will from out of septic flesh. …One’s specific purpose and gifted work in this world, could it be understood and guided by intuition alone? Or, had I been wrong, and I needed those books? Was I foolish to have given away, all that predigested fodder, my once precious books all infused with the best of humankind’s interpretations of the best religious knowledge? Was I insane? Was I crazy to give up all this? Had I let go too much? In a sudden dip of energy I felt destitute . . . lost.

  The sunshine melted away, and I was in shade now where I sat. I looked down at the parched grass between the papyrus, and at the coarse sand and pebbles on the little beach at my feet. Though the sun no longer shone on it, it was still all alive, and full of life how could I doubt it!

  An ant crawled slowly over my hand. I shook it gently off and watched it scurry away. It, too, was intent on its business of living. First it went one way then the other; turning back on itself several times. I continued to watch it as it went to and fro through the grass. For few moments it stopped completely before a small stone. A mountain for an ant, I thought! Then it was as though it knew exactly what to do, and took off! It sped up and away over the stone; and it was gone. I blinked. I paused.

  It was guided innately, within itself, I mused; all it needed was within it; it needed nothing else. Then all of a sudden I caught what it was I was thinking! Suddenly, it all seemed so very obvious! Then all real knowing it came in the twinkling! In the touch of light, as light as a feather, and as fleet as an ant! 
  I was answered! Light burst within, and rose up in a bubble of joy. How clear it was now! Vision and purpose, so integral to every living thing was in every living thing! Life, in full measure was happening all around; Love, holding all the atoms together: so Life and Love was fully in me too . . . nothing missing!

  I looked up through the bit of blue above me, the informing sky; the realm of ‘sequined dresses;’ firsthand experiences were the ‘books’ to learn from, and all the help I needed, I realized! Wrestled with within, through surrender and love, understood there and learned from, through the ‘stepping backwards process,’ and all assayed and assimilated, by the mind of the spirit: here was the source and crucible of all the living wisdom and knowledge one needed to know!

  The small collection of books that I’d had, had been good, excellent; on that particular level of understanding that they were on they could not be faulted; they’d encouraged me greatly for many years. But, like little six-year-old Anna, I’d already ‘got’ the message, so didn’t need it regurgitated any more in the same dimension. How could you ever go any farther that way? And move beyond what you knew, to what you didn’t know? Always there was more! But, as I say, it isn't easy; nothing worth having is!

  I didn’t realize, until too late, that the more one kept on reading the same sort of thing that one was accustomed with, the more it began to undo all the good it had previously done. It subtly made one stop thinking for oneself: confining thought to one plane: crippling the stretching of our understanding and imagination, so necessary for vision and openness to go farther on in our inner-life. It had all wound me up in static convoluted way of thinking, creating a mental spiral which had got tighter and tighter, until I finally broke down and became very ill. …But, as always, LIFE begins at the point where we put ourselves out and give up our own way! Pain is not bad. Pain is good. Without it we would never grow up!

  ‘The ant…!’ I spoke aloud; I remembered the ant. First it went one way…then the other! …Turning back on itself…several times! That is the process of LIFE! That’s just how LIFE is! 

  A little bird sped by, a welcome swallow. It made me look up. Through an opening in the willow branches overhead I glimpsed a hawk, or a falcon gliding high up in the bright azure sky. Simultaneously, a picture of another bird of prey came to mind: an eagle. Suddenly I remembered something I had learned about budding new eagles on the brink of life, and smiled. 
  When it was time to leave the nest the mother eagle threw her babies out of it! They had no option but to learn to fly, or perish! It was her method of teaching her young! It was drastic, but it worked! Instantly enthused, as I took it in, realizing where I was, spiritually, a burst of joy and energy rose up inside me. I was flying! 
  All at once I felt a gust of wind. My one Book, lying open on the rock at my side, shook, and seemed to come to life. The thin pages began to flip over and over in quick succession. I held my breath! Caught in a sense of timelessness, I observed the pages turning by themselves in the wind, and I was thrilled at the sight! Then just as quickly as the wind had come it suddenly ceased. The pages stopped turning and I breathed again. But for a few moments, I was still and waiting; and then I saw what it meant!
  I had read it for so long the Book was all in me, and in all of me: its work done! Now its human interpreters and commentators were in the past; ‘turned over’ by something greater than any human power; and understood beyond any intellectual ability to do so: being surpassed by LIFE alone: alone all sufficient to teach and illumine me. Just as it had been for me in the beginning of my life, I could rely on the Wind of the Spirit to work ‘the turning of the pages;’ after all, it was his own Book! 
  But what of the darkness I was in; my path was like none other; terrible in the eyes of my acquaintances; worse still in my own eyes. Everything I could do to work out my life by myself had been taken from me. Everything about my path was incomprehensible; I could not figure it out; it made no sense. 
  I stood up. I walked to the edge of the river before me, looking out and around at all the beauty of this hidden place. I saw how the light shone into the pool shimmering over the smooth stones just a few feet below the surface, their colours enhanced by it and made more alive. I saw the willows dip in their long yellowing leaves, and how the fallen ones once freed flowed with the river on its journey to the sea. Wind and water, stones and willows: all symbols of that which was greater that had given them their being. 
  Something made me turn my head. I looked back towards the rock near where I had been sitting. And as my gaze fell upon the open Book, I suddenly wondered where it was that the pages had stopped turning? I went over and picked it up, and read. ‘…I will destroy and devour at once. I will make waste mountains and hills, and dry up all their herbs; and I will make the rivers islands, and I will dry up the pools. And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them.’ Isaiah 42: 14-16 
  I went and sat down on the towel again, the Book open on my lap. Birds were singing. The sunshine had returned. And I was warmed, all through my being. How true it all was, I thought. My knowledge ‘mountains and hills,’ that I had thought so important to understand, had been proven to be no longer of any use: the ‘herbs,’ the insightful things which had grown upon them, had now shrivelled up for me, and died! My internal ‘rivers,’ they had been cut off: they didn’t flow anywhere that was LIFE! They had become as ineffectual as ‘islands:’ islands didn’t go anywhere! All my ‘pools’ of comfort were dried up. The way I had been living it had all ‘turned to custard!' 
  I read on. …But it wasn't a disaster! It was only that my way was being turned upside down! Suddenly I understood. I was going to be led in a new way! On a new path! A path in which I ‘knew not’ but going on it I would know! A way in which one made progress not by knowing, but by not-knowing! Head knowledge surpassed by Spirit knowledge! Now, being made as though I were ‘blind,’ I would be led on a path I hadn't known existed! My ‘darkness’ would be my light: my ‘not-knowing-ness’ the vehicle to take me onwards: there being space in me to go there, because I didn’t fill it up by saying ‘I know!' 
  Oh, but being turned upside down and back-to-front, this would all seem ‘crooked’ to me! Yes, of course, so that I couldn’t judge that I was right, and get trapped in my own self-righteousness: and be truly blind! 
  What’s more, all this was meant to be!! All I had gone through, it had been ‘done unto’ me that I might not be forsaken! It had been the best possible thing that could ever have happened!! The ‘destroying’ and the ‘devouring:’ the dark jolt, and the invigorating insight: both a life-giving consuming; and they came at once, both at the same time! Our light being made dark: the dark made Light; turned around, we could see! 
  I saw it all now as universal truth; it was marvellous. The old had past, the new had come. I laughed. I was free! It was all ridiculous and just plain crazy! But in the twinkling of an eye I had been turned around one hundred and eighty degrees, and made incredibly happy. 
  I looked up and out across the shallow river. Shafts of hazy light, light made visible by the particles in the air were streaming down. Fingerlings of the sun were illumining the willows on the other riverbank. Shades of their dark and light and beauty and truth were being met and matched; kissed by love flowing through the energizing light. 
  I heard a small sound, a tiny plop, and saw a series of concentric circles on the water . . . ripples from a small brown trout as it leapt to catch an unsuspecting fly near the surface of the river. …I suddenly thought of Jonah, inside the belly of the great fish; destroyed and devoured; consumed in order to be given what he really needed! I watched the silver ripples until they faded away and the water was still again; and understood just a little bit more. 
  For all of us, the small but ever expanding circles of influence rippling through our lives could carry life! They could lift our new wisdom and understanding – free of knowledge barriers – and from there, in spirit become part of a whole new insightful generation initiating new things to raise up new BOOKS . . . living pages the Wind blows through . . . to take us even farther; and ever onwards and upwards. 
  Then it came to me! What we haven’t even thought of yet, what ‘eye has not seen, nor ear heard,’ things we have not foreseen or imagined . . . they are only ‘a turn’ away!

                                                

                                                *

Altered

The wind tears fierce

A cruel hand grasps the rose

It groans piteously turned upon its stem

It is torn away

It is cast down despised 

No more in its exalted place where it once was

The simple anger of another

A written message batters the soul

It writhes in anguish gutted to the core

It is mutilated

It is put down, rejected

No more in the lovely place where once it was

The sun shines slantwise warm

A kind hand picks up the little rose

It lies there languid aching in humiliation

It is returned

It is not the same it is altered

Not hopeless but emptied there where it once was

Turbulence and needed shame

Innocence agonizing in being misunderstood

But what gift could ever profit more

If pain should work more right than ease

And humiliation an even greater good

Why cry my heart be glad there is more room in you