Something you create from the pale, invisible template of imagination but which holds the entire earth in its frame: such is the World Tree. It’s important to conceive it, even as the Norsemen did – the realm of human beings in the middle, the shining palaces of the gods above, and far down below, at the very end of its roots, the shadowy kingdom of mystery you must dare to enter in your search for wisdom.

But follow your chosen root to its tip and you still won’t find life itself. Only dull earth. You have to search deeper still to reach the well of wisdom, with its rich nutrients of truth, pity and faith. Then what you bring up must remain, in a sense, invisible. Great Odin was enjoined to pluck out his own eye in order to receive wisdom. What he gained remained within him but his eye stayed sightless. The truth and power of wisdom is recreated in the spread of imagination and understanding across the world – like boughs and sprays of foliage re-imagined from the deepest source.

Yet human beings today are far removed from the vigor and power of imagining of the Norsemen. Our intellects are coated in shade. Instead of discerning the bright green foliage above we see only the shadows the leaves create. Each thought that reaches through to light makes visible again a leaf on the great Tree – and the middle branches are where human life exists. The squirrel and the harts of legend jump and play here. Does the Tree slowly become more visible again?

At last the whole World Tree stands clear, coaxed from thought, conjured from aspiration, as if from the mind of a half-blind seeker. It is no lost myth or figment from humanity’s childhood. But it is the residence of humanity, our conception of the gods, our guardianship of life and knowledge. It is not there except that we imagine it into wholeness and completion.

The World Tree

In my search for wisdom I travel

to the very tip of the deepest root

of the World Tree and wait for life.

But where does life come from that nourishes

those squirrels and harts which play in the branches?

Hand by hand in the dark I find only earth.

Rich water lies further down, suffused

with the minerals of truth, pity and faith.

I may not drink – but carry the sight alone

to the topmost branches and spread it there

like a crown of leaves, succulent and unseen.

And I journey now along the outer branches,

a paradise of long-forgotten leaves.

Why so? People have taken the shade for truth

and made it the measure of their dreams.

Each thought that lives in light returns the sight

of one green leaf until a canopy unfolds

of sprays and boughs original to mind -

and there my friends the squirrel and the deer can play.

A fine invention, this World Tree,

coaxed from thought, conjured from aspiration,

till it stands complete, the palest figment

of imagining. Can I say better than this,

that what I make from the heart’s own power of truth

supports the human ground of earth, what lies

beneath, and every countless dream that scrapes

the air? Imagine this, it’s there: the Tree.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© Landar 2012. All rights reserved

You are welcome to quote from Light on the Page on the condition that you cite the author and the source:

Author: Jay Landar

Source: www.lightonthepage.com

For other permissions please contact the author.

What a strong link there is between creation and resurrection. – Under the dead green tree I sit and sing my only song. There is nothing else left, the sap has gone. No wonder I feel the way I do, like a root which has dried out. Who or what can restore me? Can I be restored? Or resurrected, which is an entirely different thing?

I am bidden to sing, as Caedmon in the story was bidden to sing by the angel in the tree. ‘Sing the creation to me.’ This is not the song alone of how the world was formed, but the song which generates the sap in my limbs. Creativity seems too mild a word for something which saves your life, but it is that too.

Like Caedmon, I don’t know how to sing on my own, away from the choir, from the support of the thundering organ and the congeniality of company. ‘Sing,’ bids the angel. My voice is as rusty as that gate behind me, my muscles seem perished with dew. How can I raise a song? ‘Sing,’ says the angel.

There is no hint of theology here, no god of any religion whatsoever. For my sins I must sing. For all creation I must sing. Only the angel hears. I think the crow in the tree can do better. But it is enough. The choir is here now, the organ pipes are here with me, in my voice. I could write a library of wise volumes and not know what I meant. Or I can sing, and never know if the angel is pleased. But I have done what was bidden of me. ‘Sing the creation to me.’

Life itself in all its random wingbeats

comes with a sacred script and chorus too

and serves to make that wholeness clear which shines

in every impulse, pulled or free, of flight.

I am not cast like any die to roll

in abject, stumbling corners on the baize -

yet I am owner of my sins and walk

in their deep imprint, conscious of my weight.

The terrifying throng of perceptions

gathering at the gate of consciousness -

eyes, mind, heart and soul -

needs thinning, selection, peace and art.

Not everything is nourishment that grows.

Yes, there are sequences, points of order,

that lead me to you, and you, and you,

bringing truth and being told of love.

But when I ask what that angel wants,

who sits on the gatepost, I hear it say,

‘Sing, sing, sing the creation for me’.

‘Forgive me my sins,’ is all, and I

will return the earth to its orbit.

How many songs does it take to correct

the ecliptic? None, but the right one.

Is the song therefore to assuage the guilt

or to stir creation? A little

of both. Under the dead green tree I sit

and sing the resurrection, my only

song.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© Landar 2012. All rights reserved

Picture: Caedmon’s Awakening by Arthur Hughes (from the story in Bede)

You are welcome to quote from Light on the Page on the condition that you cite the author and the source:

Author: Jay Landar

Source: www.lightonthepage.com

For other permissions please contact the author.

At a certain season we grow tired of legs walking, eyes seeing, mouth eating and, yes, of ‘I being I’. We want to sleep, to dissolve, to dream of some sweet stream singing its peaceful song. As this is the season now, and the month is January, I connect this feeling strongly with the period which Christians refer to as Epiphany. We talk loosely about ‘having an epiphany’ or going through an epiphany experience. What does this mean? In essence, we’re talking about an experience of enlargement; a kind of mathematical translation whereby our normal inner form is temporarily expanded into its cosmic counterpart: an all-seeing, all-understanding eye on the world. Conversely, one could say that the cosmic ‘I’ contracts into its physical self and confers infinite release. This was the situation with regard to the baptism in the Jordan. In fact this was the exact intention of baptism by total submersion: to effect this ‘release’ of self into cosmos and cosmos into self. Therefore we can relate the experience back to the mundane desire to dream of some sweet stream singing its peaceful song.

Ah, to give up the body and this dull, repetitive life on earth! A feeling so typical of the first month of the year. Unfortunately, what the body represents is far, far deeper than we normally realize. You could say that we are ‘submerged’ in our bodily nature just as in the baptism we are submerged in water. It is far more difficult to climb out of it than dreams and wishes suppose. Through meditation and, for example, mindfulness on the passage of the seasons, you can gain a foothold, build a shelter in the world beyond the body, to which you can return through effort when you need to. But another possibility opens up. The mouth, as well as taking in food, is there for speaking; the eyes, apart from dully seeing, are there to revere – for revering; the legs, routinely walking, can also ascend; and the ‘I’, so much accustomed to simply being, can radiate outwards through its own nature. In short, the cosmic self can live, awakened, in the small being we consider to be ourself.

This is the greater meaning of the epiphany experience and one which translates our mundane normality into something of far greater significance.

Walk

One foot before another all day long

through all the pace and shuffle life can hold;

and then a sleep in lightness, peace and song,

till worlds have moved and new life can unfold.

I’m searching still for where my Maker named

the path I have to follow – set it straight;

for all my aberrations I’m not blamed:

I’ll walk once more the way He did create.

Companion

My legs will tire of walking, eyes seeing,

mouth eating and, yes, I being I too long.

I wish to quit them, sleep and dream of being

beside some stream which sings a peaceful song.

And yet my mouth can speak, my eyes revere,

my legs ascend, and I companion gods.

So with all this I’ll find that greater fear

that shapes me up to life where life applauds.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© Landar 2012. All rights reserved

You are welcome to quote from Light on the Page on the condition that you cite the author and the source:

Author: Jay Landar

Source: www.lightonthepage.com

For other permissions please contact the author.

The savor of life is very much connected with doing the right – the hidden right, not the ostentatious one which acts in order to be seen. But in reality the hidden is spread out around us all the time, like a clear and shining light – like an alternative world. Time itself runs in two dimensions: the one of nature, where events happen and pass as naturally as day passes into night; and the moral continuum where only spiritual beings may walk. This, in the end, is proof that the human being is a spiritual being: life loses its savor – the salt goes out of the salt – if as a person you fail to pay heed to the pull exerted by the hidden world. For the poet this world is the source of all true verbs and nouns. For other professions it will have its equivalent significance.

Yes, there is any amount of possibility for the ambitious to accumulate possessions and signs of success. But these all fall into the category of what passes into night. And on their own they do not constitute the savor of the salt – they simply form the body of the salt, its crystalline structure. How many a person do you see whose life may be rich, even famous, but who appears completely dried out? Of course it’s not for the idle onlooker to judge another person’s life, but in many cases you can’t help feeling that someone has abandoned the living current in favor of accumulation.  Needless to say the material world trades on this.

The point at stake is doing the right – seeing the opportunities within everything you do to serve the hidden world. You may be able to see where other people stand within that world at a particular time – it is the world of confluences, of movement and true opportunity. You might be able to play a part, to free an obstacle – in whatever way is best-suited to your abilities. Perhaps it’s just a question of being a human being at the right moment. But for the duration of that activity you are a spiritual being in a spiritual world, the salt has its savor, and you have done something which will not pass into the night.

All this might seem obvious: doing the right is not a new concept. But the world is hurtling down a passageway which leads only to darkness. It wants to obscure the inner heart and mind. To be aware of where you stand in relation to the world of light and life is to create a future and to prevent the world itself from passing into the night.

Mattered

Now here I am in muttered imitation

of everything that better sings its song -

the careless bird which knows no limitation,

the stately stars with voices clear and strong.

Yet in their silence they acknowledge me,

whose line and verse is learned outside of time,

whose song is neither mattered in degree

nor layered with earth in sequence or in rhyme.

Better

So if my salt should lose its trusted savor

and leave the taste of life distressed and flat,

I’ll search again for its more subtle flavor:

the crystalled sea and shimmering salt-flat.

So little time is left to do the right

inside a life as brief as nature’s verse;

but in a single morning chance may light

to lift the better from the sunken worse.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© Landar 2012. All rights reserved

You are welcome to quote from Light on the Page on the condition that you cite the author and the source:

Author: Jay Landar

Source: www.lightonthepage.com

For other permissions please contact the author.

A soft coat of wind, tree-lined

sun; blackbird sings my heart

across the air.

Landar

As the year grows darker – and, by analogy, life grows darker – it’s natural to look in unexpected places for meaning and hope. As I mentioned before, the low angle of the sun’s rays highlights corners and edges of things which normally remain hidden – for example, crystals in tiny caves and openings. By analogy, in life itself there are lines of force visible at this time to those who look. Passing on from the mineral to the plant world, you can’t help but feel that nature withdraws into itself to its deepest point in order to let the inner meaning of its existence shine out: the flower which is the essence of its being. What is most concealed is most radiant. And again, by analogy, you look for the truest, deepest image of life in yourself. Then – perhaps with a little trepidation – you move on from the mineral and plant worlds to that of the animals. What does the darkest time of year mean for them?  At this point we’re talking about sentient creation – awareness, consciousness which tingles with life but which is not notably self-conscious or self-aware. The senses therefore lead the way. Animals in the dark and cold will look for shelter, for warmth, for nourishment and – more importantly – they will instinctively look for the guiding wisdom of the world to provide them with what they need. Our human senses and instincts then, by analogy, form a line like the animals and move towards the source of replenishment. Our consciousness does not even play a part in this – the instincts have a wisdom of their own.

The human being will finally arrive – the fourth of the kingdoms. There is no human analogy for this kingdom – it is its own analogy. The structure of life, the flower of life, the instinct of life and – finally – the Self of life. These are the four stages which are traditionally represented in the four weeks of Advent or – in pagan terms – the month leading up to the rebirth of Light at the midwinter festival, and which play themselves out as if in a great dream.

Sanctum

All my senses rush up to the spring

where light arrives in silence of the night;

and there they quench their thirst like waiting beasts

which spent their lives in acting out their role.

Thus sight and hearing, touch and taste and smell,

with all the other senses tucked inside,

have leaped ahead, and now my sloping form

is last to reach the sanctum, tired and slow.

Animals

Perceptions wait outside, while hungry senses

race ahead to fill themselves with pure

sensation needing neither thought nor comprehension

to bask in light’s first source and know its name.

Then when the senses are done, the body -

their master and their slave – can sleep, and dream

of times when all the animals were one

in a heavenly garden where blood was never spilt.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2011. All rights reserved

It is not true for one minute that plants live for earth, for sun, for wind, for rain, or tremble before the far-off ravaging fire, lightning, storm or flood. They live only for the flower which has existed in them since birth. In vain we wait for sap to tell its truth, for life itself to divulge its secrets. Its sole aim, its only goal, is to make itself an image of the truth it was born with. To this extent earth, water, air and fire are only contributors to the purpose life has in mind; any attempt to make the four elements the cornerstone of either natural or moral philosophy will always come to nothing. They are only servants. The attempts to peer into the mysteries of nature by breaking it down into its component parts will simply yield more component parts, and still more, until we are left with a fractured mosaic of something which was once a grand image.

But even the grand image itself is nothing compared to what the plant knows when it feels the gentle wind stirring about it, the sun’s low rays enkindling it with warmth, the tiny streams of water circulating around its roots, and the cold earth preserving it for spring. It gives itself completely to the flower which is to come. It cannot tell what it knows and we cannot ask it to do so. And that is why philosophy must bow to faith. It is why all rigid truths must give way to hope. And it is the reason why all creation springs up for love alone. Faith, hope and love – but the greatest of these is love:

Through the shining patina on the stones I come,

thirsty as a pilgrim for what seeps and stills,

to where the silent sap conceals its will.

There beside a fountain of rest I wait

for sap to share its mind and heart with me.

Instead I hear tales of ancient pine,

of springing boughs of fir, and long, in God’s name,

for the flower which will winter on that tree.

Purpose

Yet all the plants say nothing for themselves

of how they rose and how they clasped the sun;

they have no thought of wind or star of far-off

dangerous fire and how these things affect them.

Their sole purpose, their only inclination,

is the flower which has lived in them since birth;

and if I could I’d be as true as them,

never to sway though life fills me to the brim.

Best wishes, today,

Landar

© landar 2011. All rights reserved

You are welcome to quote from Light on the Page on the condition that you cite the author and the source:

Author: Jay Landar

Source: www.lightonthepage.com