From one point of view dreams, symbols, imaginings – for example, poems or paintings – are figures, shape-shifted from our daily lives. A poem, then, might reshape a lost love affair; a painting, a phase in life. Psycho-analysis might justifiably point out the various sublimations taking place in our thoughts and images. Dreams are famous for this: not one element in a dream, down to the smallest detail, is without its transformed reference. On a larger scale a work of art might sublimate – consciously or unconsciously – a whole range of complexes. These might be individual, social, or universal human complexes, perhaps relating to a particular point of time – these are the symbols and metaphors of the national spirit or the Zeitgeist. Ultimately, a great work of art will configure divine, spiritual truths not accessible to ordinary, daily consciousness.

What does all this tell us? It tells us that we belong under particular skies, within a pattern of moon-shine, solar flares, stellar movement. We are geocentric – figures of earth, belonging to a landscape, to our own or to someone else’s portrait. In a sense we unearth our dreams from a particular position in time or space.

Is there any alternative to this? Well, we can turn the whole thing on its head and look at it from another point of view. From this perspective life itself is the dream or art-form. Our bodies, our surroundings, the earth itself are images of a higher imagination. This greater artistic power configures everything that happens to us – down to the smallest detail – according to a far wider pattern of necessity. The movements and purposes of this necessity are hidden in the formation of stars and planets not visible to our ordinary perception. This is the heliocentric position. Human life is made up of these two different frames of reference.

Our task is not merely to sublimate – although we will continue to do that as well – but to learn how to step up out of the layers of earth with free will, and consciously. No longer to be simply shaped by the silvered moonbeams and golden solar flares but – in a way – to skirt around the eye of God and to work out of our own free inner movements. I believe, then, that we can escape the two-sided necessity of dream: that in our actions we shape-shift our unconscious experiences, and that the life of our planet itself is simply the artwork in the mind of a cosmic dreamer.

It is the destiny of the human being to take a place midway between the geocentric and the heliocentric. And I find this difficult to accept because my heart hurts to leave things behind and change the shape of my dreams.

Sand

The earth embraces us, no matter what,

and guides our feet to walk upon its sands;

it leads us to the never-ending thought

that we may also tread the golden bands.

But earth must be transformed inside our stride,

with nothing left behind to fold or churn;

let every thought or feeling be my guide

to teach what feet and sand alone can learn.

Rule

Up to this body seas of spirit roar:

golden sands will turn their shoulder to it;

each grain of sand is made where waters pour:

origins they distantly intuit.

I’m born to think the thoughts that set me free

from heaven’s surge and earth’s insistent pull;

their constant echo turns me mindfully

to times and places I am meant to rule.

Design

The stars turn, the sun revolves, the moon flits

but I, an earth, remain within my layers,

and hope that given time my shapeless wits

will steer me from the silvered beams and flares.

I have my course to follow shorn of skies

and need to chart my place without their sign;

to move without their movement, skirt their eyes,

and tease out from my solitude, design.

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

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I’m afraid that at this point, in the year 2012, I see the terrible monster of our age lying, all humps and coils, across or around our beautiful earth. And yet, in the spiritual sense, I see the brightest angels spread across the sky above us. What exactly is the monster identified with? Technology? Well, from one point of view consciousness has been technologized to an untold degree. But from another we all use it and live in it and express our humanity through it, if we will. It’s not decisive. The attitude that implants mechanization in our hearts instead of humanity? We can fight it – we can breathe with love and fire and remain ourselves. The striking cold of the mind? This is the one that frightens – it depends on the warmth of the ego to prevent the mind going cold.

But there is a way. We have friends in the future: future selves, future humanity. These people are looking back at us even now. Through our effort of will, through our hope and faith, through our joining with the angels in the sky above us, we create, link by link, a golden chain which reaches into the very hands of the people of the future. And then they will say of us, ‘They stayed, they remained, they believed – and that is why we are here now.’ In a sense there is nothing else to do but endure until the end – until the monster of our age has done his worst. And to hope that God will shorten those days.

This may seem apocalyptic. We tend to forget that the beast is alive and worming his way through human consciousness – through the heart, through the hands, through the mind – and attempting to lay hold of the human ego. If those hands instead hold the golden chain then a future is assured.

Proof

Can I write to the future that I know

you will be filled with faith? – I start it here;

that I can understand how you might grow

from the pains of this past? – I’ll be sincere.

The hurt and despoilation of our age

might force a change but then again I’d choose

to sing my purest song for you: this page

is proof that what I win you’ll never lose.

Thirds

The monster of our age, all humps and coils,

flattens out our earth with its deceit;

I have no truth to combat what it spoils

nor power to spike its heart into defeat.

But like a golden chain I link my words

to reach into your hands, my future friend;

and we may chop the beast in halves and thirds

by staying honest till the bitter end.

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.

Picture: Jacob’s Ladder by William Blake

The road is long unless the way is lightened. I turned a corner from a busy road and heard a shower of birdsong. Immediately my way was brightened. A mile or two and I might reach the house of love.

Love has its own home and is there all the time. It exists at the highest point above. I look down into a deep well and see the reflected light of stars. The stars have moved on but they have left their light where it fell.

I am a traveler. Love is encased within me. On earth I am alone: a part of love which heaven once let fall.

All my roads are hard without the song. I recreate it in my heart constantly. My journey’s end is not too far. The house of love – I’ll reach it soon and touch the climbing buds around its gate.

Well

So if all hearts were one we’d share a love

and never grow apart or live estranged;

but only at the highest point above

are spirits in their unity arranged.

Yet on the earth I’d dip into that well

where heaven keeps its certainties intact;

there stars have left their light just as it fell

and love remains with love as proven fact.

Traveler (for H.)

And love, encased within me, seeks its own -

a universe where love is shared by all;

but life on earth decrees I am alone,

a part of love which heaven once let fall.

The rocks and woods, the cloudless, dreaming skies

conceal my heart, an absent passer-by;

and everywhere it travels it still tries

to paint a part of heaven for the eye.

Gate

Then turning from the busy road I hear

a shower of birdsong, lightening the way;

a mile or two and I might come quite near

to love’s own home, and choose perhaps to stay.

But all my roads are hard without the song

which in my heart I always recreate;

I’ll come to love although the way is long

and touch the climbing buds around its gate.

© 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.

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.

Too often this world can seem like a prison with no way out. Then it feels as if the days are filled with labor and night is like a lid or cover pressing down. The activities of the day pass like colors before our eyes but in night everything that is black and white in us starts to walk, preventing proper rest or release. This has a lot to do with the stress and materialistic values of our times. But there is another factor which is often over looked. The effects of stress and the struggle for worldly survival commonly include: loss of self-esteem, lack of confidence, insecurity and inferiority complex. The world contrives to inflict these things on us mainly because it does not respect basic human needs and values – its systems honor those who go out and get, those who climb on others’ shoulders and push their way higher. We often think that the answer to low self-esteem and under-achievement is to gain a footing on this worldly ladder – to match or equal the go-getters in some small way. And small achievements in this way can be valuable. But what lives with the world dies with the world; what belongs to the world’s systems perishes when those systems crash. Can self-esteem really be based on this?

The problem is not just one of self-belief but belief in total. The world offers very little to stimulate true belief. Do we really believe that the answer to feeling small and crushed is to enlarge yourself? This amounts to nothing more than a kind of body-building. No – if you feel belittled or disparaged in some way the answer – ultimately – is to have something to believe in. Something which is larger than yourself, which understands you intimately and which is truly worth believing in. In the end it’s the moral-divine universe which fits the bill – the one which is related to every single part of our existence, which understands our feelings of smallness, of disaffectedness, of disempowerment. There is something in the colossal, divine universe which is so tender and intimate it can take you by the hand and lead you on to worthiness and value. The hand of an angel, if you like. Or, rather, something which shows you how to take yourself by the hand and lead you from the prison. But the essential feature is belief because only belief can draw us out into the grandeur of existence and make our own being sufficient or adequate. ‘Body-building’ is not really an alternative.

Unless you have the kindness of an environment which offers you belief – and there are many different kinds and forms of belief – then it can be hard to come by. Example is important – the example of people who deeply believe in the value of human life and its connectedness to the divine-moral world. And, in my opinion, we urgently need to rearrange the structures of our social life so that they do not crush people and rob them of their self-esteem.

Then I see a world where the gentle colors of the day continue right on into dusk; where the rainbow pavement does not disappear; where sleep and truth reveal another land to which this world is just an empty husk.

Squirrels

A squirrel has no fear of any height -

though the tree scrapes the moon and sun and stars;

it will not let the darkness cause it fright

nor lose a minute’s sleep through winter’s powers.

But fear and darkness living in the mind

will shake your branch and show to you the drop;

they’ll let your seeing nightmares make you blind

and leave you without sleep – while squirrels hop.

Wraith

Two thirds are color, one third black and white,

and what I’m made of perjures my belief;

the colors rise like memories of light,

the black and white steals it like any thief.

My days are mostly colored in with faith

and light escorts me till the hours of sleep;

but darkness comes and whitens like a wraith,

disturbing dreams and waking up the deep.

Husk

And colored is the light of all my days,

while black occludes the stillness of the night;

now soft belief can guide me on the ways

which need a gentle footfall to be right.

Then I can lead my own self by the hand

and walk the rainbow pavement into dusk;

there sleep and truth reveal another land

to which this world is just an empty husk.

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 golden stairway is a clear and vivid image in my mind. It’s there for me. Through the practise of innumerable meditations, rather fewer good intentions carried out; hopes allowed to grow, faith un-deferred, acts of love appearing above ground like the proverbial groundhogs testing the air for spring; through all these things the golden stairway appears. Does it happen in a moment? No – a lifetime.

But at the foot of every stairway lies.. a well. A stairwell. What depths are in the well! Its inky darkness conceals so much! But first you see the image of the stairway descending in reflection; descending to places your inner being knows just as well as those at the top of the stair. We’ve been there before, in a time of innocence, before we ever gathered up the hopes, the opportunities of faith and acts of love. What lives in the inky darkness? A thousand hurts, a life of things unfair. And every one of them as real as meditations, as good intentions.

The apparent quandary in spiritual growth is how to transcend realities, how to make the higher appear out of the lower. In fact it doesn’t happen this way. I gaze into the well; I muse and fret. Then slowly I see a golden shape appear. I realize that only a being formed of gold can ascend a golden stairway. The stairway is continuous, as it reaches downwards and upwards. The golden shape is myself – the being I create out of everything I try, and dare, and do. This being can live among the hurts as well as the heights. The well is filled with tears but the golden stairway leads both ways.

Fly

A spirit being on a spiritual stair -

what words, to speak presumption, or attest

the living truth: the reader should beware

of phrases never climbed and goals just guessed.

But tested thoughts and words themselves ascend,

each one a golden step to higher mind:

I won’t presume to speak what I can’t mend,

the fallen heart whose truth I’ll fly to find.

Climber

But at the foot of any golden stair,

a well, and in its inky darkness lies

a thousand hurts, a life of things unfair -

and only he can climb whose sorrow flies.

I sit before this well to muse and fret

and sometimes in its waters I can see

a shape of gold whose light alone will let

the climber in me climb – the shape is me.

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 Fall is present in us and likewise the Ascent. If I look at birds I see – rather unscientifically – that they are kept aloft by faith and love. I see nothing else – they’ve gained and earned their wings by pure and simple acceptance of the higher power. They rest in the hand of God continually. And in their song I feel a stair that rises up to the divine again – it transports me in invisible, elemental fifths and thirds. This is at least poetically correct.

The human ‘Fall’ is a rather more complicated matter. Is it scientific? Ah! I would rather it were not true. We no longer rest in the hand of God in the same way. But the sound of the birds creeps into the heart, love paints pictures in our minds which will not be denied. Sadness and infinite longing. Infinite, infinite longing which returns to the mind and to the will and moves us to climb back again. How? With freedom and with choice, with the perspicacity to know that science and religion combine in the song of a bird. There is no truth worth having that is not lifted by love back into the realm we fell from.

Are we not there all the time? All the time we are tutored by such things as unaided flight or by the power of song which also ascends like flights of golden-carpeted stair. These things are in us, alive, as poetic truths. And love, always love, is in the hand which holds the bird aloft and in the thread of music, now light, now dark, which moves through the human heart.

Fly

Now every part of me is sent in prayer

and what remains is music of the birds;

and every note transports me on a stair

composed of elemental fifths and thirds.

Each bird has won its wings through faith and love

and sings its salutation to the sky;

am I the last to reach that god above

who gives all feathers honesty to fly?

Fount (For H.)

The moon has sometimes fallen from her sphere,

appearing wan and jaundiced, out of time;

then sorrows spill out in the now and here

and lovers empty out their love in mime.

So sicken with the season, time will count

its minutes in a metronomic beat;

the fallen will climb back up to the fount

and love with love will choose its place to meet.

Kissed

I fell from heaven once and now again,

without the love that made all heaven mine;

the first time I was pinched and like all men

plunged into form and worldly design.

And now I worship distantly the face

that once touched mine with lips as soft as mist;

I feel with fingers absently the place

which love once understood and heaven kissed.

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.