“The best day, ever” in Eden

They were watching me from the side of a steep bank that frames the inner edge of a huge surface of concrete which will soon be Eden North, replicating – but with differences – the internationally famous Eden Project in Cornwall.

The space used to be Bubbles swimming pool and, before that, was the renowned Super Swimming Stadium, the centre of so many children’s holidays before their parents discovered you could get more reliable sunshine than Morecambe’s on a suddenly affordable Spanish Costa Brava.

They all died a kind of death, then, the Victorian seaside towns… But some of us keep the faith, if only for that steaming mug of a ‘milky coffee’ in the depths of freezing winter, when we’ve finished the dog-walk.

The two young girls. I had seen them arrive a few minutes, before – with their mother. She looked the very picture of care-worn but caring. It’s a look you see a lot in poor seaside towns… Morecambe has been a long time in the doldrums, but there is a light on the horizon; one begun by Urban Splash’s refurbishment of the Midland Hotel – a surviving Art Deco masterpiece.

We had the first night of our honeymoon there, in 2010, a year after its opening. Bernie is from Morecambe… well, actually, Heysham, its sister town a few miles to the south. It’s pronounced Hee-sham, not Hay-sham. She’s very particular about that, so I thought I’d better include it! We both love Art Deco, and had followed the hotel’s rebirth with a great deal of pleasure.

The new Eden North promises to make a great difference to this once-proud resort. It can’t happen soon, enough. The Eden people know what we have never forgotten; that across the vastness of Morecambe Bay lies the whole vista of the Lake District…

It takes a seed of something to bring true life back to a place or a person who has become sad… in body, spirit, career, in their home, in their life… Sometimes, you don’t know you have the power to do this until you find yourself equipped – often in the most unexpected way.

I looked at the frustrated collie and I threw the cheap frisbee again. The wind was behind me and defeated what little aerodynamic soundness it had. You don’t get much from the seafront beach stop for three quid. It had been two, but I decided to add another two ‘tennis’ balls to the bag so that we had a spare in case Tess (the collie) lost one. Her frustration with Dad had begun when we got to North Beach for her usual ball or frisbee session of sandy madness and discovered that the ball and chucker were still in the back of the departing Toyota, now too far away towards Sainsbury’s and shopping to call back. “Perhaps a stone or two?” I had said, weakly, into the betrayed hazel eyes, knowing the result…

Now, twenty minutes and five hundred yards further south, the cheap frisbee was suddenly seized by the wind and carried along the vast concrete expanse in a motion that I can only describe as ‘skittering’. Round and round it turned, whilst travelling at increasing speed towards the grassy boundary – within sight of the Midland Hotel.

The collie’s interest was renewed by this magical motion and, howling, she sped after it, only to snap her strong jaws over its momentarily upended motion and break it in two.

You don’t get much from the beach shop for two quid.

The two young girls were now only yards away from me – and squealing with delight at Tess’s antics. I turned to look at their joyous faces – full of simple happiness – and asked if they’d like to have a go… but I could see the disappointment as they gazed on the distant plastic ruin, now in two bits and still being blown onto the distant grass.

The tennis balls! I had forgotten those…

“Would you like a go with Tess and a tennis ball?” I asked, looking up at an anxious Mum still on the promenade. I smiled and waved, showing her that her lovely kids were in safe hands.

“Could we?” asked the eldest girl.

“Of course,” I said, delving into the bag and extracting a new tennis ball. It was offered and taken.

“We’re on holiday,” said the eldest girl.

“I’m on holiday, too,” added her younger sister, looking very proud of the fact that they were in this adventure together.

“How about you take turns,” I said, gently.

The eldest bobbed her head. The youngest almost bowed hers. Tess trotted up to her new friends, tail wagging, mightily. Things were looking up… The girls stared adoringly at the collie.

When both girls had taken a turn, the eldest offered me back the ball.

“You can have a few more goes if you like?” I said.

And that’s when it happened… The elder sister looked across at her mum and turned back to me, saying, as she danced a step, “This is the best day ever…”

I can only say that I was broken at that moment; and fought to suppress the tears that formed, not wanting to spoil their fun. That such a simple act of kindness could have brought them so much joy was so very… unexpected.

I pretended to fumble with the ball and composed myself.

“How about we have one go each and three rounds of it all?” I asked.

“That would be nine chucks!” said the elder girl, laughing at the chance to show off her arithmetic.

Nine chucks later they looked up at their mother, who was moving slowly along the prom and waving at them. She looked happy with the turn of events, though she had kept her distance.

The youngest gave me back our ball. “Thank you!’ she beamed. “We’re off to the beach, now.”

I could see the excitement on their faces at this further delight. And then I remembered the small carrier bag by my ankles.

“Do you have your beach tennis balls?” I asked, conspiratorially.

Two earnest little heads shook, negatively.

“Better take these, then,” I winked, passing them the little white bag, with its two new balls. “Go now! Your mum is waiting!”

They danced off, but the eldest turned to wave, one final time, before they took their mother’s hands.

My own young grandchildren – two girls – live in Australia. One day when they visit, I hope to bring them to see the new Eden North Project; and point down to where the barren concrete was; on the best day, ever…

©Stephen Tanham

Stephen Tanham is a director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, a not-for-profit teaching school of modern mysticism that helps people find a personal path to a deeper place within their internal and external lives.

The Silent Eye provides home-based, practical courses which are low-cost and personally supervised. The course materials and corresponding supervision are provided month by month without further commitment.

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Stagshaw Garden

The view of Lake Windermere from part way up the fellside

Stagshaw Garden is a sloping woodland garden of approximately eight acres. It is located on a steep slope named Skelghyll Fell on the north-eastern shores of Windermere, England’s largest lake. The area around Windermere is considered the centre of the Lake District. The word ‘Lakeland’ has become a normal way of referring, locally, to the Lake District.

Most of the Lake District is protected by the National Trust – a preservation organisation which was founded in 1897 and empowered by an Act of Parliament in the early years of the twentieth century. Beatrice Potter, the children’s author, was one of the founders of the National Trust. She lived in Lakeland and bequeathed her substantial local landholdings to the Trust at its formation.

Stagshaw Garden was created for the National Trust by Cubby Acland. The project was begun in 1959 and continued to his death in 1979.

Cubby Acland’s book ‘The Lake District’, one of his popular series in the 1950s

Acland was a local travel author and a Land Agent for the National Trust. He lived in one of the country houses on the edge of what became Stagshaw Garden and was intimately familiar with the layout of Skelghyll Fell – within which the present garden was created and landscaped. The entire Wansfell Estate passed into the hands of the National Trust in 1957.

We are lucky to live in Kendal; a half-hour’s drive from the shores of Lake Windermere. Many of our relatives like to visit… Easter is popular, as the ‘coming alive’ of the local landscape is very tangible at that time.

For this Easter weekend, we had my mother and Bernie’s sister staying with us. My mother is eighty-nine and has vascular dementia. Although she has a full life – and is still independent – her attention span is short, so we try to construct days out which compensate for this and give her the happiest family memories for as long as she can retain them…

We have learned from experience that getting out early in the day is the key to a successful trip; as is filling it with a number of relatively short activities. This gives her time to relax in the afternoons, back at our house, and not get too tired by the day.

Stagshaw Garden is an easy walk (following an initial short climb) and so was an ideal choice for our morning, which called for a first visit of about an hour. Having decided this, we wrestled everyone out early and arrived just after nine-thirty, enjoying the unusually light traffic for such a popular weekend…

The garden is steep, but accessible. It follows the ravine created over millennia by the descending stream.  It is famous for its shrubs, especially rhododendrons, azaleas and camellias.

From the rustic wooden gate, the path winds up to the right and begins to follow the stream valley that climbs the hill. This forms the core of the garden.

It was still before ten in the morning and the light had that special spring-like quality to it. Everything seemed extra bright, and the colours – particularly the greens – were vivid and sumptuous.

When Bernie and I retired from our former life in IT, she went back to college to qualify in horticulture – something she had always wanted to do – and now volunteers with Cumbria in Bloom, part of the RHS’ work of promoting gardens.

Neither of us had ever visited Stagshaw Garden, but it was on our list, largely because Bernie is fascinated by the kind of landscape design that moulds itself into a difficult landscape – such as a long gulley on the side of a Lakeland fell…

The trick, she explained, was to make it look completely natural; to take the visitor on a journey that looked as though its path has always been there, winding and climbing through the changing forest.

We were delighted to find a section of bluebells at the highest point of our climb. A deer also made an appearance but ran off too quickly to photograph. We had reached the limit of what Mum could cope with – but we had promised her bluebells… Their sudden appearance at this high-point made her morning.

From our partial ‘summit’, two paths led back down through the garden. The first was the way we had come. The second offered us an alternative descent which gave us an unexpected view of Cubby Acland’s former home.

Ahead lay a visit to Waterhead, a coffee and an unexpected scone with local jam and cream; followed by the ruin of a Roman Fort and a dog chasing a frisbee… but that’s probably enough for one post! A very happy but tired mother returned home by the early afternoon for her nap…

Lake Windermere and coffee… perhaps a scone with jam and cream!

©Stephen Tanham

Stephen Tanham is a director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, a not-for-profit teaching school of modern mysticism that helps people find a personal path to a deeper place within their internal and external lives.

The Silent Eye provides home-based, practical courses which are low-cost and personally supervised. The course materials and corresponding supervision are provided month by month without further commitment.

Steve’s personal blog, Sun in Gemini, is at stevetanham.wordpress.com.

The Ship

This morning, I will drive to the family home town of Bolton, in Lancashire to collect my mother who is coming to spend Easter with us here in Cumbria.

The journey is straightforward: fifteen minutes will take me from the outskirts of Kendal to the M6 motorway, southbound. After that, at least conceptually, it’s a straight line to the intersection with the M61, which will take me south-east to within a few miles of my destination.

Yesterday, I was musing about a conversation I had with a friend where we related our lives to the voyage of a ship. For mankind, there has always been something romantic – potentially grand – about the notion of a sea voyage. My car journey this morning will be very tame compared with what the ‘ancient mariners’ faced. My car may be wobbled by high winds, but is unlikely to be blown off course. The road completely maps to the journey; I will not find myself having to navigate across strange hills and fields as I struggle to hold a course.

My ship – the vessel of the car – is designed to protect me in the event of a crash; in a way that few such vessels of the past did. And yet, at any time, the several tons of hurtling steel, glass and explosive liquid could do untold damage to others on the road. I may be safer, but the exposure to my own errors or lack of concentration is significant.

Can we compare the journey of our lives to the voyage of a ship? Is life in modern society making us more of a car than a free-sailing ship? Does that mean that where we go is completely pre-ordained by the equivalent of ‘roads’?

It’s a good question… And, often it helps to think in these stark terms…

The first question we might ask is: do we have a ship at all? Are we not simply a point of consciousness moving from a past, through a present, to a future? That is certainly how physics would describe it.

Do we really have any free will in that journey? Or does having to fit in with our world, our society, make us as conditioned as my car will be on its fixed road? Subject only to the weather, the fuel in the car, the attention I must place on the road and the behaviour of others on its length…

From a mystical perspective, we may say that we need to learn to have a ship in the first place. We have body, but that may not wholly equate to a ship. The captain of a sailing ship truly had the skills to take that vessel anywhere on the seas. He may have been under orders to adopt a certain route, but his freedom of choice was absolute.

Beneath the captain and the wood of his vessel was the ocean, a constantly changing surface beneath which he did not wish to go… Staying afloat meant playing by some hidden but very special rules learned over many centuries, if not millennia. Can we compare this to our lives?

The road of ordinary life is there to protect us. It serves us well. But we may choose a seemingly riskier path, one that leaves the road in a seemingly tiny vessel called the Self; one that has no fear of the sea and its ever-changing faces…

©Stephen Tanham

Stephen Tanham is a director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, a not-for-profit teaching school of modern mysticism that helps people find a personal path to a deeper place within their internal and external lives.

The Silent Eye provides home-based, practical courses which are low-cost and personally supervised. The course materials and corresponding supervision are provided month by month without further commitment.

Steve’s personal blog, Sun in Gemini, is at stevetanham.wordpress.com.

Pen of the oyster-catcher

Portmahomack, a fishing village on the north shore of one of the fingers of land that jut out into the North Sea, thirty or so miles north of Inverness.

There is something perfect about it.

Somewhere close, our collie dog, Tess, is barking, playing with the waves. I follow the waterline, ensuring that only the thick soles of my boots get wet. It is March and that green-grey sea is icy, here on the Sutherland coast. We’re an hour’s drive from John o’ Groats, the most northerly point on the British mainland. Had it been May, I might have paddled…

I am here to write, not play on the beach; though the early mornings and evenings will be devoted to making sure that the collie has lots of exercise and that I don’t become dull by sitting too long at that old wooden desk in the hotel room; the one that smells deliciously of ancient wood and generations of preserving polish. It even has a hole where the inkwell used to be.

The Oyster Catcher will do nicely for the evening meal. A latté, by itself, for breakfast – the mild hunger helps me think – and, at this time of year there’s nothing better for lunch than a steaming bowl of fish chowder with a chunk of locally-baked bread. I’ll see if I can persuade the hotel to do it; perhaps swap them a glowing review on Trip Advisor… It’s worth a try.

But food is for later. For now, I just want to drink in where I am, a writing castaway in this quiet and relatively unvisited place – at least I judge it so, as we are, as far as I can see, practically alone in Portmahomack.

We each have our own writing triggers. For me it’s a combination of sky, landscape, beaches.. and some inspirational music. Sometimes, I find a place that combines them all… This is one such. I’m looking forward to meeting a few of its residents, but not too many. Maybe a couple of beers, or a glass or two of wine after the evening meal, then an early night with one of my current books – I’m studying how William Boyd writes such apparently simple novels, yet hooks you into the plot early in the first chapter. Try ‘Any Human Heart‘ if you want to sample his best.

It helps to fall to asleep reflecting on how great writers do it… and wake refreshed and determined to have a go…

I’ll set the alarm so that I wake about six. I will open the curtains and look out at that vista, listen to the sea and drink in the the sheer wonder of being here. The start of the day will see me making a rubbish cup of tea from the contents of the wooden tray in the wardrobe, before taking Tess onto the beach across the road. Then I’ll sit down to begin the writing, knowing, at the end of the first couple of hours’ creativity, that a delicious coffee awaits at the tiny cafe along the quay. Later on, someone might be making chowder with home-made bread in the Oyster Catcher.

Sky, landscape and beaches… You can see from the photos how lovely this part of Scotland is, but none of them convey the sheer size of the Scottish sky. We’re less than an hour north of Inverness on the east coast of Scotland, yet we could be in a different world and in a different time. Most of our previous trips have been to the western highlands, which are glorious; but this part of the highlands has been a revelation. We are told that there are far fewer midges here in the north-east of the country. Depending on the time of year, this can be a life-saver.

Across the waters lie the mountains of South Sutherland – which don’t appear to have a generic name – but that may just be my lack of knowledge. We are well north of the famous skiing region of the Cairngorms and the landscape is very different. Golden beaches seem to be everywhere; most of them empty. Good to walk on and Collie heaven…

It’s not so much a question of writing a book as finishing one. Several years ago, we ran a Silent Eye weekend workshop called ‘River of the Sun‘, a modern mystery play, told in five acts, and set against the backdrop of the 19th Dynasty in ancient Egypt. The man who would become Pharaoh Ramases II is sailing back up the Nile to be at the bedside of his dying father – the, arguably, greater Seti I.

Ramases knows his father has little time left, yet he seems in no hurry to return to the royal palace. Instead, he mounts a night-raid on one his father’s favourite temples on an island in the Nile, run by a high-priestess the son suspects of heresy… The audacity and spiritual violence has far-reaching consequences…

The workshop was a success. Several people commented that the plot would make a good novel. As a test I serialised the first part of the book as a series of blogs (see list at the end of this post), but time has passed and I have yet – and inexcusably – to complete it. Hence being here…

We have reached the quayside. It’s quite windy and the farther out along its length we go the more we get blown. We do not linger… but return to the shelter of the village streets. Other days will dawn and the wind will have abated.

From along the beach, my wife, Bernie, calls… Tess barks for our reunion. My wandering reverie is broken. With a sigh I turn the corner of the quay and begin my walk back to where she and the Collie are waiting by the car for us all to depart. In a second, my fantasy of a creative break in this newly-discovered haven vanishes. It is not that it is impossible, just that it will have to be another time, as we are staying in a cottage forty minutes south of Portmahomack, not here.

I take one last look at this idyllic fishing village and get into the car. Tess licks my face and Bernie smiles at my wistful expression.

“A writers’ paradise?” she asks.

How well she knows me… But I will be back, though some other writing room may witness the creative conclusion of The River of the Sun.

For now, there are other places to visit on this lovely winter tour of north-east Scotland. Who knows what other writer’s dens I may encounter in this magical land.

©Stephen Tanham

Stephen Tanham is a director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, a not-for-profit teaching school that helps people find a personal path to a deeper place within their internal and external lives.

The Silent Eye provides home-based, practical courses which are low-cost and personally supervised. The course materials and corresponding supervision are provided month by month without further commitment.

Steve’s personal blog, Sun in Gemini, is at stevetanham.wordpress.com.

Index to opening chapters of River of the Sun:

Chapter One – Gifts From the River

Chapter Two – An Agony of Sunset

Chapter Three – The Dark Waters

Chapter Four – Touching the Sky

Chapter Five – The Fire Within

Reality TV?

 

It’s full of trivia and artificial things; things which have arisen in the name of entertainment. Everywhere you look there is a stream of mindless celebrities willing – some would say desperate –  to eat tropical bugs to give themselves a chance of being famous, again. It reminds me of a sad film I once saw called “They Shoot Horses, Don’t They”.

There are also some of the best and most informative documentary programmes we have ever seen. Such a mixture, and, as usual, it’s a matter of personal choice – and a bit of effort…

Television. It’s changed a lot since I was a boy… Perhaps not all for the better. But it’s not the purpose of this blog to complain about the ‘box’. We are all entitled to our leisure time and to choose how we spend it. To me, there is a sense here of a ‘race to the bottom’ about a whole layer of modern entertainment. This seems to go hand in hand with a view of life as a comic strip, where there must be good guys and bad guys and violent resolutions. Superhero movies don’t help. The truth is complex. Resolution of problems always involves compromise. There is no black and white.

How about considering the humble TV in a different way: as a reflection of the mind and human consciousness, it’s an experiment that opens up a set of parallels that are fascinating.

The TV shows us a flat screen that our minds have learned to convert back into our native 3D. With a well made drama programme that we can be ‘lost’ in, the experience is a good approximation of being there. Children can be traumatised by scary TV programmes. Adults sometimes forget the degree to which they cannot separate it from reality. Only later in life do we see that the ‘scare’ can be switched off inside ourselves, but only if we ‘pull back’ from the flat screen experience and deny it its imaginative power. My wife still can’t and hides her face behind a cushion with really scary films…

In ‘switching off’ what appears to be present lies a mystical parallel. Can the television teach us to do the same thing with life, itself?

I’m watching a bunch of gym-obsessed twenty-somethings flaunt themselves on an island in the sun. The women are blonde and beautiful; the men shaped like Greek gods… But their conversation could be from a junior school. The whole thing is entirely artificial. I mutter under my breath and switch it over. It’s a documentary about plastic waste and what we are doing to our oceans. I care about this, so I sit down and watch, clutching my cup of tea. This is real… and painful. I wish the perfect sun worshippers were watching this, too. We could us their energies…

Can we, in life, switch over channels? To do this we have to find the equivalent of us being on our comfy chair and watching the TV. This is entirely possible and is one of the basic techniques that we teach in the Silent Eye School of Consciousness.

We need to, literally, push the world away from our eyeballs. Sound crazy? Well, the reason the world is painted on our eyeballs is that we identify with what we see. Like the child with the television, we can’t see the screen and ourselves at the same time. By developing this dual consciousness – which is the work of only a few months – we  can begin to watch our own life as though it were a screen. In fact it is a kind of screen, one on which we project much of our existence. We see this as happening to us, but, really, we are happening to ourselves. At least at the mundane levels of life.

Once we begin to penetrate the understand of the ‘world as television’ we can start to look for the truly real…. and that is a very different journey.

©️Stephen Tanham

Stephen Tanham is a director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, a not-for-profit organisation that helps people find a personal path to a deeper place within their internal and external lives.

The Silent Eye provides home-based, practical courses which are low-cost and personally supervised. The course materials and corresponding supervision are provided month by month without further commitment.

Steve’s personal blog, Sun in Gemini, is at stevetanham.wordpress.com.

 

 

 

The rotating blade of meaning (8) – final part

helicopter-meaning blog - 1

In the preceding parts of this series (see below for full list) we have seen how Arthur M. Young, inventor and chief engineer of Bell’s early helicopter design, was convinced that it was possible to construct a ‘map of human meaning’, a graphic figure that would show the relationships between the laws of physics and the observer in a new way.

In its experiments, science had always tried get rid of the observer; and yet it was the observer’s mind that constructed the experiment in the first place…. How odd, thought Young, to try to get rid of the core animating principle behind the whole thing!

His early confirmation of this came with a new analysis of the common forms of motion, starting with the idea of distance from a point, then examining the relationship between distance travelled and the time taken (velocity); then considering the rate of change of such velocity when more force (pressing the accelerator in a car) was applied to create acceleration.

Each of these could be laid out on a circle, with distance being at the right, horizontal point. Each of the others came into existence at a right angle – ninety degrees – to the previous. In parts two and three, we saw how velocity was distance (a straight line) divided by time; acceleration was distance divided by time squared (an area); and that there was something missing at the final point (the upper vertical), which would equate to distance divided by time cubed – a 3D cube – the foundation of our physical world.

As an engineer, Arthur M. Young knew that he had used formula that divided by things cubed in his control systems for the helicopters he designed. He realised that this was the point at which the observer interacted with the system, in the form of control.

His task was now to extend this circular mapping to integrate all the other equations of ‘motion’ in the greater sense. These included all the remaining formula used by physics to describe aspects of motion.

First, he had to reconcile the properties of ‘fourness’ that had led to the mapping of general meaning with the key mystical concepts of ‘threeness’

The diagram above shows the process whereby something of a ‘higher nature’, spiritually, divides itself into two ‘children’ in order to come into manifestation at a ‘lower’ level. This is a deeply mystical idea and is the basis of most of the world’s metaphysical thought.

The key to understanding this is the realisation that the ‘above’ does not entirely remain there, it ‘enters into’ its creation – the lower. Nothing is lost… in fact much is gained. The whole, the One, becomes Two, but does not lose its oneness, when seen at the original level. The result is Three… represented by the triangle, which can direct itself up or down. If down, it is in the ‘God-descending’ process of involution. If upwards, it is the planetary process of evolution.

The One undertakes this transformation only because it can extend itself in the process. The potential role for mankind is to bring this intent to fruition; matching the microcosm (us) to the macrocosm (the creator). To ‘God’, there is an involvement with the creation. Mankind has to learn first to ‘see’ God in the multiplicity of the world. To do this requires the undoing of much of our ordinary learning, based upon the desire be a living part of unity.

Sadly, it is beyond the scope of these few blogs to provide more of the mathematical and logical mapping that Arthur M. Young carried out. Many of the techniques were invented by him. He was seeking what he called his ‘Rosetta Stone of Meaning‘. We can, therefore, cut to the chase and show the finished thing:

The figure comprises the original square cross of our original process of human meaning overlaid with four triangles. The result is twelve points on the circumference of the circle – exactly the number that astrology uses in its map of the year and the signs.

What had Arthur M. Young achieved with this reconciliation of physics, metaphysics and the place of the observer within both?

First and foremost, he had shown that our state as observer of ‘the’ world was not a single state, that there were incremental stages of consciousness corresponding to his maps of meaning. He showed that raw experience was the first product of our perception and that it occurred before our consciousness of anything. Whatever is ‘out-there’ has to register before our mind can begin to process it. After that, as the Rosicrucians often said,  ‘mind assigns it dimension’. This produces a literal depth of perception that a different part of the mind can then categorise.

It does this so it can group like things, giving related sets of experience. As an infant (as discussed in Part 7) the most important of these is what will hurt us. The organism has to endure, and there are many things in the out-there that can hurt or kill it.

Over time, we confuse the two organic fear of survival with what we like and dislike. In this way our registered experience become confused with what is being ‘valued’ as good and bad – in the Genesis story this is the fruit of the tree of good and evil. Ultimately, there is no good and evil, only what is. But our personal growth demands we take the long learning curve to real knowledge of our place in existence: gnosis, as the ancient teachers named it.

Arthur M. Young showed us that our consciousness – that jewel at the centre of our organism, needs threeness and fourness to divide its ‘circle’ of meaning into twelve parallel aspects. Once these are known, there is nothing that can fall outside their realm. The totality of our existence is mapped into this glyph – and it is of great significance that this corresponds with the twelve-fold divisions of the wheel of astrology – the most ancient of the ‘power-glyphs’.

What is humanity in this picture?  As organic beings, we are wholly of this planet. The good Earth lends us her bright materials, and the seed from afar takes root and grows. It’s highest function is to be fully conscious, and, within that, to use the inbuilt gradients to set a course for ‘heaven’. Many storms await, but captains are made of storms, not books on navigation – though the latter are vital if this life-layer of humanity is to learn to give its fullest love back to the globe that nurtured it.

Information about Arthur M. Young, 1905-1995

This series of blogs are based upon the book: The Geometry of Meaning, by Arthur M. Young.  ISBN 1-892160-01-3.

Many of his talks are available on YouTube.

Previous posts in this series:

Part One,   Part Two,   Part ThreePart Four

Part Five   Part Six

Part Seven

©️Stephen Tanham

Stephen Tanham is a director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, a not-for-profit organisation that helps people find a personal path to a deeper place within their internal and external lives.

The Silent Eye provides home-based, practical courses which are low-cost and personally supervised. The course materials and corresponding supervision are provided month by month without further commitment.

Steve’s personal blog, Sun in Gemini, is at stevetanham.wordpress.com.

You’ll find friends, poetry, literature and photography there…and some great guest posts on related topics.

The Keys of Heaven

Whitby Montage2AAA

The Keys of Heaven – The last journey of St Cedd

It is the year AD 664. The coastal town of Whitby and its Abbey, under the control of the abbess who became St Hilda, are the setting for a Christian Synod – a court of doctrine established, on the face of it, to unify how priests cut their religious tonsure (gap in the hair) and what should be the correct basis of the calculation of Easter.

Trivial things? Perhaps to our distant eyes; but the Synod of 664 had a brutal undertone: its decision would determine a single Christianity for Britain – and would condemn the alternative to a slow but inevitable death.

King Oswiu was the host. His family typified the multiplicity of ‘faiths’ that predominated in those times. The Kingdom of Northumbria was the most powerful of the Saxon lands. Oswiu followed the Celtic Christian faith, whose evolution had seen it travel from Wales, to Ireland, to re-establish itself at Iona, in the Scottish islands, and thence to Lindisfarne in Northumbria. Celtic Christianity appealed to a population that had retained its pagan roots. The harmonic and nature-worshipping pagan faith was a strong Northumbrian weave over which Celtic Christianity added its intelligent, yet sympathetic monotheistic religion.

Under Pope Gregory I, (Gregory the Great) Kent had become the centre of an expansion in Roman Christianity. The Synod at Whitby drew scholars from Lindisfarne and Canterbury – and further afield. Rome was represented by the Abbot of Ripon – who became St Wilfrid; afterwards respected and hated in equal measure. The Celtic Christian case was made by Bishop Colman of Lindisfarne. Each had a team of scholars. Colman drew on the tradition of St John the Evangelist; Wilfrid, politically astute and a brilliant academic, drew on the teachings of St Peter.

One man present, equally accomplished, was what we would now call the ‘facilitator’. An outstanding scholar, Bishop Cedd, later St Cedd, had been raised and trained on Lindisfarne, yet his role could not afford to display bias. Torn in mind, faith and kin, the man who became St Cedd walked a treacherous path within the Synod that was to change everyone’s lives.

It is a story reminiscent of one of Shakespeare’s play, full of character, mystery and treachery; one in which the cleverness of argument came to supplant the lore of the land and the local history of the interwoven Christ.

In ritual and in readings, over the wild and wonderful landscape of what is now North Yorkshire, we will follow the last mental and emotional journey of St Cedd; from the pivotal events at Whitby to his premature death shortly after. The hills and beaches of Whitby will see us bring to life key events from the period, using an evolving (informal) ritual that will grow in energy and companionship until we approach our final segment on Sunday morning as guests in the Abbey of Ampleforth, where those wishing may take part in the Sunday morning service, run by the Benedictine monks, who offer a non-sectarian outreach programme in spirituality. Nearby is the mysterious crypt of Lastingham, the final resting place of St Cedd and the village that will host our last meal together on the Sunday lunchtime – prior to departure.

We may journey to our distant homes in reflection and marvel at the pivotal events we have considered.

The dates are the weekend of December 6th- 8th, 2019. The base for the event will be the North Yorkshire town of Whitby.

The cost of the event will be £100. This is an administrative cost, only, and will include a detailed and historic handbook for the weekend, sent as a PDF file. Those joining us are responsible for their own accommodation and food, though meals are generally shared in local pubs – and the bill apportioned among those present. You are assured of a warm and friendly welcome from a team that has built up a fine reputation for quality interactive weekends and workshops. We look forward to welcoming old and new friends, alike.

Demand is likely to be high, so please make your booking early. An email to:

Rivingtide@gmail.com is sufficient at this stage.

Images: The images of St Hilda’s Abbey, and St Cedd are from Wikipedia under CC0 licence. The other images are by the author.

©️Stephen Tanham

Stephen Tanham is a director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, a not-for-profit organisation that helps people find a personal path to a deeper place within their internal and external lives.

The Silent Eye provides home-based, practical courses which are low-cost and personally supervised. The course materials and corresponding supervision are provided month by month without further commitment.

Steve’s personal blog, Sun in Gemini, is at stevetanham.wordpress.com.

You’ll find friends, poetry, literature and photography there…and some great guest posts on related topics.

The rotating blade of meaning (7)

Now we have finished with our incursion into maths, and I know that will be welcome…

Why have we been talking about such non-spiritual things as acceleration, velocity (speed) and distance? The answer is that these aspects of motion are at the heart of how we learn about the world, and how we interact with it. In learning, we forget how we learned and become absorbed in the results.

When the infant reaches out to get the hot cup she shouldn’t touch, and her fingers fail to grasp it, but push it away, she is using acceleration in the force she is trying to exert with her fingers. The small training cup may move but a larger and hotter teapot wouldn’t. The difference is not in the child’s fingers but in the mass (heaviness) of the teapot. A burn may be the result. It’s important to be able to gauge the mass of things – cycling into a tree or a wall is more painful than a hedge.

When the young boy, against his parents’ wishes, finds himself following his friends across that busy road, his life depends upon his ability to gauge the distance and how fast (velocity) he can run before the approaching vehicle kills him. If he’s successful, his parents will never know – and he is free to carry on learning.

If, halfway across that road, he sees that he has misjudged the speed of the approaching car, then he still has one chance of survival left to him: he can begin to run faster, in other words, accelerate. By generating more power (force = acceleration) in his leg muscles, he can propel his body forward, faster than before, and then faster, again, until the limit of his straining organism is reached. The swerving car passes him, its wing mirror rips the back of his coat, its horn is blaring, the driver frantic… but the boy is alive, and has learned something that will affect the rest of his life. In accelerating by choice, he has exercised something not present in position, distance, velocity or acceleration: he has developed control using his desire and free will to survive – using his mind and the mechanical capabilities of his body.

These are vital things, and they are key to how we learn and continue to learn. They give us our basic capabilities; and they help us to make sense of the world – our individual world – for we can know no other. Can we relate them to Arthur M. Young’s core diagram of how we learn the meaning of anything?

 

Let’s take a journey into ‘micro-time’. We enter a new house. In the corner of the first room there is a shape. It looks like a triangle, but so do many things. This is our first ‘taste’ of the previously unseen object. We examine it in more detail, believing that knowledge of its construction and function is important. We are at the stage of the Objective General in the above diagram.

We notice that triangle is actually three dimensional and has little ‘dimples’ in its material, We have good evidence that this object is made from a compressed paper derivative. We are now at the level of the Objective Specific.

Further study shows that there is light escaping from the edges of the object, and that its colour is a vivid orange. This is the Subjective General – because we are now imposing on it values (colour etc) that are actually part of our own minds – none of us sees exactly the same shade of orange, for example.

In a flash of recognition, we know its purpose: it is a lampshade, and it has been switched on.

This example shows how we perceive, though we do this in ‘micro-time’ and automatically. If we encountered an object whose like we had never seen, our minds would have to evaluate it in this way, step by step – but that process, too, would be automatic.

The  ‘automation’ in our consciousness is necessary. Without it, we would be exhausted with all the routine ‘processing’ our brains would have to do. Its negative cost is that our world very quickly loses its magic unless we deliberately ‘look-again’ at things.

This science of perception was already well known to scientists, psychologists and mystics. Arthur M. Young’s interest was in the fact that it could be viewed as a diagram of meaning, as above.

He superimposed the attributes of motion that we have discussed in the last three posts onto the circle in the same way. Remember that each of the sequence: distance, velocity, acceleration, and now, control, had been seen to emerge from a 90 degree shift from the previous state – a ‘right-angle’, as the ancient builders described it. This followed the way the line (a number) became a square (the number squared), and then a cube (the number cubed).

What resulted was this:

 

We move clockwise from Distance to Velocity to Acceleration. This is the point where classical physics ends. But Arthur M. Young was an engineer and knew that you had to add control (and thus the Observer) to have the whole system work – as in the creation of the helicopter. Control needed to be at the top of the circle, with another 90 degree shift from Acceleration.

With this discovery, Arthur Young knew that the circle had to be capable of holding all the relationships to not only how we know objects, but how we interact with objects. More importantly, these relationship would each have their own angle in the circle. The above diagram shows how the fundamental quality of time had a 90 degree relationship with this master-symbol, and could map itself four times around the circle before returning to its original state.

Young had been fascinated by the history of how Egypt’s treasures had been discovered. He remembered that an artefact named the ‘Rosetta Stone’ had enabled the same description to be mapped between the ancient Greek and Egyptian languages, opening up the written story of that mighty civilisation.

He decided that his search was of a similar nature. Could he extend how Time was mapped into the circle to the other fundamental qualities of physics, such as mass and length?

In the next and final post of this series we will summarise the conclusions he came to, and show his Rosetta Stone of universal meaning.

Previous posts in this series:

Part One,   Part Two,   Part ThreePart Four

Part Five   Part Six

©️Stephen Tanham

Stephen Tanham is a director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, a not-for-profit organisation that helps people find a personal path to a deeper place within their internal and external lives.

The Silent Eye provides home-based, practical courses which are low-cost and personally supervised. The course materials and corresponding supervision are provided month by month without further commitment.

Steve’s personal blog, Sun in Gemini, is at stevetanham.wordpress.com.

You’ll find friends, poetry, literature and photography there…and some great guest posts on related topics.

Long Meg

 

Lady of the northern light

Your stone too old to reach

Offset with spirals on your flanks

With children circled round your banks

Give us the grace to see you teach

And under stars approach your sight

© Stephen Tanham

Stephen Tanham is a director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, a not-for-profit organisation that helps people find a personal path to a deeper place within their internal and external lives.

The Silent Eye provides home-based, practical courses which are low-cost and personally supervised. The course materials and corresponding supervision are provided month by month without further commitment.

Steve’s personal blog, Sun in Gemini, is at stevetanham.wordpress.com.

You’ll find friends, poetry, literature and photography there…and some great guest posts on related topics.