Thursday, September 29, 2011

Chronicles of Scotland No. 2

Misty, Mythic and Mystic

I named this journey to Scotland, “The Parting of the Mist.” I’ve always seen the mist as a visible form of “the veil” for it clears when one can “see.” It is written that the passage to Avalon was through the mist or through the veil that is merely a portal to another dimension. Meditation is also a clearing of the incoherent mist between the right and left hemispheres of the brain to create coherence or super clarity. (another quality of superbeings which I am writing about elsewhere) And nowhere is the mist more beautiful and surreal than in this part of the world.

On this trip, I also see the parting of the mist to reveal the myth; myth as the portal to seeing clearly. In Scotland, this handsome corner of the world, myth is what you eat for breakfast. William Wallace, the endless brutal wars, the sacred sites, the druids, the royal successions, the castles, the crown jewels, the curious coat of arms which is a lion and a unicorn, further proof to me that unicorns are real, and on and on. There is high regard for tradition which I now see more as respect for the myths that are still living.

So what is the difference between a myth and reality? Could it be that reality became myth? My theory is that some of these so-called myths actually existed such as the unicorn and other magical creatures but died off as our consciousness of them died off.

And this suggests to me that they can be re-activated with consciousness as well.

Scotland is drenched in a history of mystics. It is suggested that Jesus himself traveled to Scotland to study at the feet of Scottish mystics. And then there is Iona, who, according to the Akashic records, lived in a mystic community who moved there after Atlantis disappeared. These Atlantean Priestesses, when threatened, were protected by ordinary druids. Oh, and by the way, if you wanted to visit Iona you didn’t need to get on a boat, you came on the astral plane. Once again, more mist to clear in order to clearly see.

There is also a small hill, that looks more like a bump, close to Bathgate, known as a major ritual site. There are henges, graves, stones and circles –back to the Neolithic period. Cairnpapple, as it is called, was most likely used for moon-worship, sun-worship, rites, calendars; similar to Stonehenge. It is said that King Arthur used to live nearby. The Knights Templar owned the land and used it for, shocker, secret things.

But alas, true mystery is still alive. It is the fertile mystery that IS the divine feminine. The energy that eternally bows to the natural way, the rhythmic cycle, the cataclysmic destruction, the tender new growth, the soft yielding, the fierce look, and the omniscience. You can see it in her eyes.

And you can see the mythic and the mystic in every face, once the mist clears.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Chronicles of Scotland No. 1

A Visit to Rosslyn Chapel, UK

What does ancient smell like?

I am first hit with a wall of smell throwing me back in time upon entering the Rosslyn Chapel. This smell has a message and the message is O L D. The chapel was built before Columbus sailed for the New World in 1492, for goddess sake.

Layer upon layer of ancientness floats between notes of stale lavender, blue-blooded mildew, tree sap related to frankincense, medieval apothecary formulas, alchemical experiments and the smell of sacredness: all without too much tampering over the centuries. It is a Temple of Non-Tampering which gives it a top note of secrecy still taking place, right under my nose.

In the crypt at the bottom of the descending stairwell the smell crescendos into a “we just opened up someone’s tomb and thank god they were well preserved” smell. However, the bodies are long gone, unfortunately tampered with.

Rumored to be buried below the crypt and sealed shut is the mummified head of Jesus Christ, the Holy Grail which is the treasure of the Templars and the original crown jewels of Scotland.

To get here, I took a bus (double-decker!) 30 minutes outside of Edinburgh through Scottish postcard farmland and then walked up a quaint village lane. I spoke with the little old ladies of the chapel running the tiny gift shop before approaching the dark chambers of the chapel.

Once inside I realize I am in a very dense, symbolically-laden, aesthetically pleasing and puzzling monument: an epic poem in stone. It is strangely intimate, cozy and grand at the same time; the scale and siting of the chapel being ridiculously perfect. It must have been designed on the golden mean in every possible iteration.

It is Pagan, Christian, Medievil, Masonic and Mysterious all at once.

There are ears of corn carved into an arch even though corn was not yet discovered, because like I mentioned, Columbus had not yet sailed. Did the Earl of Orkney travel to the Americas before Columbus? Were these people secret masters ?

There are music boxes carved into the ribs of the two groin vaults near the front alter. The most recent research claims that the music boxes are actually cymatic patterns and that altogether they make a piece of celestial music. As a side note, I was later that evening going to have dinner with a physicist who has recently done extensive research in the field of cymatics.

Other marvels include a life sized Templar Knight with a greyhound curled at his feet carved into a floor stone and 110 carvings of Green Man, the pagan symbol of renewal and fertility throughout the Chapel. It is exhausting to list all the marvels, so I leave that to the scholars.

But I will say that this Chapel is now a part of me. It has left a personal, sensual and intimate imprint on my relationship to the existence/non-existence of time: a physical portal accessed through the sense of smell. As another side note, supersmell is a supersense which is a quality of a superbeing which I am writing about elsewhere.

I could have been a Knight, bent down on one knee, conducting a Templar meeting and designing hidden vaults with masons, one of the reasons for the chapels’s existence, or gathering the masters, thinkers, saints, alchemists, wizards, wisemen, and powerful sages of the time for secret meetings to exchange secrets of the universe which we could have been killed for knowing.

After leaving the Chapel at sunset, I walk to an Inn with a picnic table under a tree to wait for my dinner companion. Across the street I notice a man drinking a beer at a cafĂ© table. We wave and he eventually saunters across the street to join me. We begin a conversation discussing the mysteries of the universe as if we were picking up an old conversation from centuries ago. Apparently the Templars are still gathering….

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Burning Violet

I sit this morning, watching the U-stream from Burning Man; a desert vision of a timeless civilization stirring alive around the Temple as my thoughts and feelings stir about the entire meaning of the experience.

I didn’t go this year for many reasons. The part that felt relieved from the enormous effort and discomfort involved has been pacifying the part that yearns to be on the playa this morning, victorious in riding the week long wave from start to finish with it’s indescribable adventures.

I watch the scene of the sunrise over the Temple, ready to be burned tonight, igniting the prayers of all men, while the poetry of Rumi floats over the vision of a mystic cloud that is Burning Man.

There are loves there. Loves who have grown and been forever transformed, having made this journey. There are loves I have never met there, transformed, having made this journey. There is heartsick in the watching, having not made this journey this year, but instead letting the fire burn inside me, an internal transformation.

So to all fires, internal and external, I offer my highest yearnings, for the transformation of all beings, into our magnificence.

I am the violet flame in me, burning all impurities. ~ from the Holy I Am