Colin E Davis

Your genius will be accepted to the degree you accept your Self. Meaning, to the degree your capital S “Self” can thrive in the mind-body ecosystem you call “me”. The clarification of your mind-body ecosystem is the process of Self acceptance, which is also called alchemy to hermeticists. Alchemy is a tradition of esoteric knowledge which deals in archetypal fundamentals; a priori truths to be applied holistically (self and world). Alchemy as a tradition, as a method, as a western yoga, is up to cultural interpretation, but the Work it describes is nature’s own process of clarification, evolution or transformation. She is using it all around us. We are not inventing the alchemical science, we are deriving it from nature. The process is always bigger, more complex and more simple than we imagine, so we stay in the question eternally, listening, watching and applying the maxim “As Above. So Below”. Alchemists are artistic scientists of the mind. They balance the right and left brain, the mystery with history, the logos and the mythos, the dark and the light, masculine and feminine and on an on. We stay in the fire of contradiction, the conjunction oppositorum. Flowery descriptions of the Work protect it, but as the aspirant quickly finds, the Work is for spiritual warriors only. Warriors become lovers in time, but without the drive, persistence and strategic focus of the warrior, the aspirant will falter on the path and turn back to the comfortable lethargy of the Matrix.

Oscar Houck

The Journey

A man must dream a long time in order to act with
grandeur, and dreaming is nursed in darkness. – Jean Genet

I was a boy and earthbound
yet resolved to reach
beyond the flight of birds.
Mine was a dream migration
over the frozen North
to the warmth of a past
that asked fewer questions.

In the way of dreams, I flew,
while at the same time,
there I was below,
tiny, unnamed island
in an infinite blue-green sea.

The only possible bridge
across the vast empty spaces
were hands.
The hands of a child.
The hands of a woman
who turned away.

Who to touch?
Who to hold?

The memory of all those years
underwater, swimming upwards
toward the light.
The light kept moving
so that when I finally broke the surface
it was to darkness.

I seem to be on a road, walking.
I am walking on a road alongside a river.
Late September and the cottonwood leaves
clack and rattle in the breeze
dry as bones. The sky is clear, pale blue
under the white sun. The north wind and that pure,
clean feeling in the air, summer dying,
something else coming on.

Still alone,
locked inside myself beneath the vault of sky.

There doesn’t seem to be a way to fly above it all,
a child on the roof of the world, dreaming.
So I leave the road for the river.
Not to be lost, to go under
but to be finally carried along.

Because I can see now, I understand
that God is the river.
All this time, I thought he was on the shore, waiting.
Or that a woman was waiting.
That if God was love,
he should allow me love.

There is only the river,
the last light falling,
blue shadows gathering in the trees.

Step into it.
Let go,
trusting the currents
of mercy.

I hear voices rising from the river,
others there in the water with me.
Someone reaches for my hand.

The river, as it turns out, is not God.
But you have to step into the river
to find what being swept away feels like,
because that is what living is like.
The ocean. Back
where we all started.
Only now, you stand
in the surf
with the others,
feet planted in the sand.

Mornings, nights
the softening moon,
the pull of the tide.

There are not words
finally, not the right ones.

You are not alone
but loved in a way
you can’t begin to


All this time.
The morning light on your face,
the sweetness of it leaving.
This reciprocity,
this gift you’ve been offered.
For it is the darkness that will open you,
asking you to be the light.

The line, “I seem to be on a road, walking.” is from Annie Dillard’s Holy the Firm.
“the sweetness of the leaving” is from Jane Siberry’s Calling All Angels.

Robert Johnson

Each of us needs the sword power. There are times we need to be logical and analytical. At times we must be assertive and strong. But there are also times when neither logic nor force will avail; then we need to turn to the harp….When Tristan is wounded and the sword no longer serves him, he lays it down and takes up his harp. It is his harp that accompanies him on the waters. The harp is the lyrical, feeling side, corresponding to the inner feminine. With his harp power he shows feeling, expresses love, and makes relationship. The harp represents the power to develop a sense of values, to affirm what is good and true, to appreciate the beautiful; the harp enables a hero to put the sword in the service of a noble ideal….the harp enables us to journey on the seas of the unconscious.

To be complete, the hero must have both. Without the sword, the harp becomes ineffectual. But without the harp, the sword is reduced to egotistical brute force. People confuse these two powers more in relationship than in any other area of human life. We often hear a man and woman trying to “settle things” by arguing, criticizing each other, talking logic, poking holes in each other’s arguments, splitting hairs. Then they wonder why all the spontaneous feeling of love and warmth has gone out of their marriage or their time together. These kinds of negotiations are always “sword” activity; people are talking sword talk.

The sword can not build relationship: it can’t settle anything, it can’t bind together. It can only rip apart. If you want to heal your relationship, build relationship, then you must learn to use the language of the harp. You must affirm the other person, express your love and feeling and devotion.

From Robert Johnson’s “We”

thanks Helena Magnusson Ogburn

Mira Alfassa, 1970

The Old Disorder

Whenever I am identified with the terrestrial consciousness, I feel great waves of something so miserable, such helpless grief and despair coming over me.
It comes in waves.
In response to that, whenever I am completely quiet and motionless, the Force comes down, penetrates, and pervades everything.
That has a great action.
The atmosphere is filled with such a sense of anguish longing for an answer that sometimes it takes hours for the Force to penetrate it, but eventually it penetrates and pervades everything.
But since I still see so many people every day, I don’t always have the time to do this. Otherwise, alone at night, lying on my bed, I can do it.
This is the world’s anguish!
Although I do not always know the exact details of what’s happening, I know how awful the world situation is! Yet people themselves are so unconscious. They are so proud of going to the Moon, while they are slaughtering each other on Earth!
The transition from Unconsciousness to Consciousness has been in progress for a very long time, but how much longer will it have to go on?
Truly, it is a horrible process.
I feel there must be either Supreme Consciousness or else unconsciousness. It’s the transition between the two that’s horrible. Semi-consciousness is the worst.
The sort of artificial harmony in which the body lives is almost entirely due to its pervasive unconsciousness, and the moment a modicum of consciousness enters it, it disrupts everything. If too much consciousness were to come in, it simply could not withstand it. I clearly see it.
So what would happen on a much wider scale than one body?
Several people here have fallen suddenly and unexpectedly ill. They wrote me to say they had become conscious of “something else” – something they didn’t know – and it was through the disruption caused by their illness that they had suddenly caught hold of it.
Indeed, there is a very strong Action. Yet people always think that things must be all right in their terms, and so they are astounded: How come this divine Consciousness is at work, and yet there are so many troublesome or painful things happening?
They simply don’t understand.
But this body understands perfectly! Not a minute did it complain. Not a second did it blame anyone else. It just said to itself: My poor little fellow, you do have a lot of this old Disorder left in you.


  • The Mother (Mirra Alfassa), Mother’s Agenda