The Fool.

Everything has gone momentarily quiet, laughing and applause most conspicuously. Expectant hush. Can still hear a few chuckles. Can see, in retrospect I'm completely in the moment. Have no idea what proceeded this immediate on stage moment, but now it's my turn. To go on stage for the first time in my life, playing the role of the mad march hare, in the Community Theatre production of an

improvised version of Alice through the Looking Glass. The amplified sound of a clock ticking and then an alarm breaks through my here, not here, place, time, in the moment, reverie and I leap onto the stage and we are, I am ‘The Dancer to the Dance‘. The audience loves me. They laughed so much. I’m so funny. Had always thought of me, been treated as a really serious guy, and here I am, onstage, making people laugh; and then as the play progresses, when I appear the audience applauds, and finally the first night is over and I, we, rush off to the Sir Harry, and then onto the opening night party at Lyndon Liz's house. Never experienced in my life such camaraderie as I did putting together that first play of me and they. Us. Some of them already knew each other, but most didn't. Never came across so many people who were interested in me, and interesting to me, who were interested in what I was interested in. Books, music, rock 'n' roll, dancing, partying and endless conversations and discussions about ‘life, the universe and everything‘. I belonged, blossomed. Exploded. Went to India ten years later, to meditate, live on an ashram, a very modern school, which mixed psychotherapy groups with meditation, music, dancing, working and it was a life changing experience yet again. Had found renewal once more, as I had so many times, but at one level it only gave me what I got from that ‘am ‘dram, experience in my early twenties and set me, this time on the road I still travel. The fool in me was never lost, never have lost being able to jump of cliffs, leap into the unknown, make a fool of myself. Have a life. Thank god. Existence. Goddess. Fate. Good fortune. Foolishness.

Magician. Odd mix in this image; which hast to have been painted from a photograph of somebody posing. He looks like one of those American actors who spend hours in the gym. That object he's wearing appears to me an American lodge regalia. ( Makes me crawl). Probably wouldn't feel so strongly if was being worn by an indigenous; and that robe is classic American

television magician outfit. Candles so obviously are phallic ;and given they’re black and white must be saying something about the dark and light side of the male principal. Can go along with that. Generally tend to see the pack as leaning towards a feminist point of view; and have come to expect that anything to do with men from that perspective will always be negative, but this image is balanced. No question that maleness functions from one extreme of morbid violence and destructiveness to breathtaking creativity at the other. From men who are completely faithless; regularly let their families down, to men who die and damage their health looking out for kin.(Woman fit that spectrum as well) Not sure I want to get into writing about this, only because its so big; and I’ve only a half a page to go, but I started so I’ll just get on. Never really had to deal with physical male violence, apart from yobs looking for a fight, not since I was a teenager; and indeed the most violence I’ve ever been on the receiving end of has been from a woman; and indeed a woman I had no reason to deserve any violence from, let alone the degree that manifested (the ignored aspect of women.) Since my early twenties, when I came to live in the city; and regularly began to visit London; develop friendships with people there, I realise now, and it's something I've mulled over recently, the men and women I’ve been involved have been pretty evenly matched. The guys in my circles, at the widest are not; and I’ve never been given reason to think otherwise, ever violent, although I can think of one or two women bullies; and the women are not doormats. I hear of, and read of things going on that fit the stereotype, but it’s something I never come across directly, almost the contrary really, but maybe this is just something to do with mixing in largely Guardian reading postgraduate circles.

High Priestess . This image is so removed from what I've come to see as traditional High Priestess. (Waite Smith). Its the replacement of an archetypal representation with a comic book stereotype. A picture of a girl in fancy dress, always up for a laugh. (and why not?) She seems to me diametrically opposite to the long established image. First internal pictorial response was of Pocahontas, from the poem Hiawatha, although I

can barely recall details of it, apart from an overview, which then leads me to pictures of schooldays; and for some reason, of school in Ireland, Limavady. A school; I attended between the ages of nine and ten, at which I recall we had to memorise poetry. ( I wandered lonely as a cloud . That’s the lot. No. Can possibly manage a second line. Wont bother.) Sure I had to memorise at other schools, but only particular remember it occurring in Ireland. So many images of that time and place. I sometimes make mind maps, and more particularly mind maps which tie in with the Intensive Journal, which I keep regularly. Surprising how once I begin getting things down, the a rush of memory that happens. Not done one for when I lived in Ireland and may possibly consider doing so. Limavady cattle market, the entrance to which was just across the road from where we lived, in a flat over a pub. My brother, younger brother and I, during the holidays would often go hang out there for hours, not infrequently leaving the house as early as seven o'clock in the morning, not returning till one or two. Recall standing in the backyard being carefully undressed by my dear mum, and then literally hosed down, because we were so smelly and dirty. She was so down to earth, practical. Never attempted to stop us going to the market. Just took cleaning us in her stride. Thanks Peg.

The Empress. Regularly these images trigger me into looking at things in a new way, or more deeply. This one says grandmother. Straightforward. Although talking about a grandmother from a similar age vantage is rather different to the notion of same from the point of view of a child. Have actually got a very strong sense of this archetype, but realise there's a lot of uncertainty around it now, because I'm older, because it seems to me its an archetype

that would have developed from the point of view of a child . Do actually ponder about my maternal grandmother regularly, for reasons to do with things that are going on in my life, but picking up the card has led me to see that I have no actual memory of her. She died when I was about five and not long after that my paternal grandmother committed suicide. Of the latter I remember nothing. Don't even know if we ever met, but I do have information about the maternal gran and strong memories of where she lived at the time of her demise, along with other stuff from that time, up until the age of seven, by which time my mother's large family had dispersed into various places, including we.

Jung talks about Eros and Thanatos. Eros being life when we look back at being born, and this archetype plainly talks about the grandmother from that place and then Thanatos, the growing awareness of the fact that we will die. We change roles do we not? We cease to play the part of the younger generation and start to fulfil the function, with awareness or not, embraced or not, the role of old people. Grandfather, grandmother. A very different proposition from inside.

The Emperor. Henry VIII. Old man's head. Young man's body. Young man's face. Priapic. Dionysius. Bacchus. King of Pentacles from the Waite Smith pack. A centaur. King Lears Fool. Don Ward. (A guy I used to know who I vaguely see in this image. He was in his twenties, with a heavy beard, and he once said of himself 'I always looked old.’ He was very mischievous, controlling. Very domineering, but in a

playful didn't know when to stop adolescent sort of way. A good friend in his own fashion.) Sense of mischief about this one. Not kind Maybe putting it mildly. Would always expect his own way. Basically completely amoral, immoral. Can't say I've ever had any dealings with a man like this. (Although I would say I've met men and women who would be like this if they lived in a different society and could get away with it.) Can recall some from when younger. Young men, who may have grown into this. Then the three of them didn’t became Emperor's, in the sense that they aren’t public figures. (My younger brothers pretty despotic, but not in the way he might be, because he isn't in a position to be a law unto himself, much as he wants that, and believes he should be). Met a woman as amoral, but she's swimming in a small pond, a pond which it's easy for other fish to leave, so her despotic behaviour has just led to her alienating people she knows. Would I ever have seen men in this way. Not sure. My experience of men and women since the early Seventies has been of them fitting broadly within a similar framework. The women have got balls and the men some sensitivity. As far as I know none of the blokes are physically violent or despotic; and none of the women for that matter.

Know a lesbian in a relationship who reminds me of my father. She, like the father, doesn't seem to have even the most basic understanding of a viewpoint apart from her own. She's in her fifties and if challenged either gets aggressive, sulks or starts crying. So definitely not this Emperor. A would be Emperor in fact. (My father didn't cry when challenged. He just got more aggressive.)

The Hierophant. The Pope made an anti-gay pronouncement at Christmas. Picked up on it only because the media I use carried the story, which then made me aware how far away, nothing to do with me he and his tribe are these days. Do literally mean 'tribe'. Realised that when I hear about things they're getting up to its a little bit like hearing about the goings on of an Amazonian clan.

Given my age, when I was growing up, it would have been impossible for me not to have taken on board the values of those people; teachers, parents, adults; who were all Christians in one way or other. That was the prevailing background ideology of the day ;and I have a very strong memory, from around the age of seven, when a hysterical, red faced teacher, screamed at me that I was a devil child and I was going to hell. (I’d answered back. It’s interesting to me now to see that she would have been frightened of me), ‘but I looked a little cherub Miss, how could you have been afraid? Then got religion around that time and became an altar boy, apparently went round telling people off if they said they loved mum and dad more than they loved Jesus . In the years leading up to starting to meditate became increasingly anti-Christian, although still interested in 'religion’,. Buddhism specifically, but after I began to meditate ( meditation heightened my awareness of my inner world.) I became conscious that those ideas of punishment and damnation for everything were still swirling around, the ideas about going to hell for every small infraction of the encyclopaedic set of rules that is Christianity was still affecting my life; and then I came to understand that being anti-Christian wasn't so different to being a Christian. Its still dancing around the same stone; and as it were; I rode to horses, torn between being a Christian and an anti-Christian, which I have only just understood. In the early Eighties I read a book by Joseph Heller. God Knows,’ and had one of those blinding moments of understanding that virtually everything that is known as Christianity is as much mythology as the mythology of the Greeks and Romans, and as much tied up and reinforced by fear as those religions were. Thank god to be free of it.

The Lovers.

So much can be said about 'Lovers' that its really difficult to know where to begin. Is there anything more loaded than the whole notion of relationship? Suppose everything revolves around people getting into couples in our society, any society, the world, the planet, and its so encumbered with ideals and expectations. First a collective ideal about who should get

together. People should be of similar age, male and female, same race, same class. Then as individuals we come to relationships with many personal ideals, expectations of what should happen within the relationship, and that after reconnoitring the already mentioned minefield of actually getting together with someone socially acceptable; and of course, everybody crudely speaking, is aware of what the hierarchy of an acceptable mate will be, or not. Would like to add I’m not cynical about relationships, always get a buzz when people get together, wish them well and hope things work out all right, no matter how many times I see things crack. Had my share of involvement with the other and share of joy and abject misery. Bloody hell. I'm somewhat taken aback. Never took trouble to consider this so clearly before, and I'm fairly convinced my ideas aren't particularly jaundiced. So many people become pessimistic about relationship. Most people always blame the other, cast themselves in the victim role. Is there anything in life plays more of a part in turning us from happy go lucky optimists into miserable bitter pessimists. Big lesson for me about relationships, of any kind, has been that expectations screw everything. Done the 'I'm not compromising’ thing. The 'I've got standards’ thing. Trouble is that so much of the stuff which I wouldn't compromise over looks a right old load of ballocks years later (not all actually, but a lot. )and I can't see I'm that special, so it seems to me that unfullfillable expectation really play a huge part in messing up relationship. Mind you he added thoughtfully, this is a lesson that can only be learned the hard way say.

The Chariot

Because of my interest in Jung, psychology, meditation etc. it's very easy to get into the habit of looking at these cards expecting that which reflects in some ways such matters; and not see how the image's show a spectrum, reflect the range of one's life, from that which some would call the mundane to the more psychological and spiritual. The charioteer is the young guy, and

nowadays increasingly girl, with his or her wheels, standing in front of his/her car. Been there. Such a long time ago that I was into all that. It's like looking at someone else. Can that possibly have been me. Worked in management in my early twenties, which began a year or so after I left school . Was in a position of authority. Wore suits, drove cars, which got increasingly capable of greater and greater speeds and more and more expensive; more and more of a drain on my bank account. Then I dropped out and started to get involved with an arty crowd, a party crowd, in the early days of drug culture and that overlaps with the tag end of working in the commercial, hierarchical world. Thrown myself here. Have reflected on that part of life many times, but it's been a bit stuck, have seen it, saw it for years very negatively, but slowly reclaimed it, began to remember the good times and get a sense of perspective about the things that put me out, but to remember the four cars I owned and obsessed about during that time (Austin 838. A mini Cooper. A Cortina GTE., a souped up Ford Anglia), has really fleshed it out, made it more dimensional. Picturing myself dressed in suits , with my cars, behaving the way I did with those conservative values; has stopped me in my tracks. Round about the time the UK went metric I started to go off the rails, develop, completely spontaneously, liberal left-wing values. I was a manager of a store and began to feel bad that my 60 year old cashier, who I couldn't have managed without, earned less than twenty four year old me; started to spontaneously be on the side of the staff against the management, although it was short lived because I left and within three years had dropped out completely and never owned a car since.

Strength. Female principal taming the male. Wonder what Arthur Waite would have come up with if he was authoring the cards now, in light of how women and men's behaviour has changed. It's happened so gradually, and it's not easy to step back, see the movement, although even in my teens I can recall lots of girls who didn't fit the stereotype of meek, mild sugar and spice. Equally

knew lads who didn't fit the aggressive bullying male stereotype. In the first and second year at Grammar School the dominant figures in the class were girls, obviously in the early teens. Brenda was a big strapping lass of thirteen, and as I recall, looked much older. ‘Went' with Maltese men in their twenties and claimed to have had two abortions. She was completely down to earth with the other kids who were at ease with her, and we, boys and girls, hero worshipped her in return.

Then there were the officers daughters, and one petty officers daughter hanger on. They detested Brenda ( Her father wasn't an officer and she didn't know her place. Brenda made it worse by not caring.) and treated her followers, me included like dirt. Also recall that if their bullying backfired; if anyone, boy or girl stood up to them they had no hesitation in running to teachers, invoking higher authority, ( bit like all men are bastards feminists nowadays.) Brenda, the forerunner of humanist feminism and the offices daughters the forerunners of all men are bastards feminists. Bet you went on being a good egg Brenda. All the best to you if you read this and as to the others. Fuck off.

The Hermit. Such an evocative image, recognisable archetype. He turns up so often. Male. Courageous, but not violent; and kind when necessary. Good natured. Considered. Doesn't need to dominate, rule the roost. Can be alone and get on with it; and he can be in company, although most representations I've seen don’t put him in a social situation.

At one end of a spectrum he personifies introvert. Just someone who’s comfortable being alone, doesn't need or want to socialise in the way extroverts do. Maybe its an archetype in the eyes of the extrovert, most of whom can’t bear to be alone. Maybe they see the introvert as superior because he she can be. Most of what the extrovert does happens in public and most of what goes on in the life of an introvert, is of course, unseen. In this image he looks as though he’s holding the lamp up to examine something and in my imagination I make a jump and see Badger, (Wind in the Willows) when he opens the door for ratty and mole who are lost in the wild wood. In fact badgers are social creatures, but in Wind in the Willows he fits this archetype so well. The wise hermit ( Loved that book as a kid. For years and years I searched for Mole end. My ideal home) Been watching 'Merlin' on the BBC for the last 10 weeks. Terrific fun. So inverse anachronistic, but it doesn't matter. Merlin is a young guy about twenty and so far removed from the hermit. (I mean Merlin is the quintessential Hermit, coupled with Magician.) that he is actually playing the 'Fool' archetype. How interesting!

Wheel of Fortune. A most propitious morning for chance to show 'Wheel of Fortune'. Not hugely given to making much of portent, but am intrigued that it should surface on the morning of January 1st. 2009, when I’m alone, still somewhat sleepy, and getting into gear, not just for the day, but also because of that sense that the whole Christmas and New Year thing is over, again, and the weather has turned, trees are covered now

with rime, all day today, incredibly beautiful; and of course pondering on that 'nothing like it feeling' of early morning on New Year's Day. Missed New Year '08. Was in bed at 6 p.m. Had developed the first serious illness of my life at the start of November; and it was still with me; right through that whole time; and its build up. Used to enjoy New Year so much, and it's always been a time when in a completely and involuntary way I reflect back on the year; and New Year after New Year after New Year. Happening right now. Coloured pictorial memory, tumbling, shifting. Card says it all. Life is highs and lows although maybe it's just because of ideas. We label things in certain ways, put certain values on certain scenarios, which gives life to that sense of low and high which the mystics say is just a beautiful flow. I know not! Have such a strong sense of the flowing ebb and movement of my life, and I apologise for the cliche, but it work’s does it not? Ebb and flow. Movement. Like the wind, being everywhere, all the time, barely perceptible here and a tornado in another place; and clock time, all shades in between 'here there and everywhere'. Had forty seven addresses since I was born. Lived here for eleven years, this latest; and up until I came had only stayed in a place more than three, the last as it happens. The point of all this is that for me to be inhabit this place for so long is a change, and at the end of '98 I came to a major turning point. Finished a PhD, the end of a ten year series of courses; and since then been self-employed, working from home, at this address. The most stable of my life, and it’s a change; and still the change goes on. Now more writing, now less, more art, less art. Friendships that run down, new ones that begin. The city changes and so on and so on. Wheel of Fortune. Wheel of Change.

Justice.

Generally find these cards slightly twee. Such a strong emphasis on pretty colours; but it works with the Justice image. That strong featured woman is slightly softened because of the way the card is worked, which provides a sense of balance, between masculine and feminine in a way that’s right for justice.. It works really well. (No, this is not an art review. It's just I didn't feel particularly responsive to

the image, so to get myself writing I opted for being as immediate as I could. Start from the moment.) Get a good feeling, a good sense of trust. She would always do the right thing, as well as she could. It's interesting how Justice is portrayed as a woman. It's a longstanding archetype, goes back years. Its portrayed as a woman on buildings erected in London in the 18th and 19th century, so at a time when they were seen as fluffy bunnies, or demons (apparently) interesting that this should happen. Might have to do some research. Has to be a story behind it. A woman must have done something to earn the respect of men. How interesting! Justice. Can't say it's a concept I ever spent a lot of time pondering upon, although I would say it's always been important to me to act justly, and I definitely tend to get one on me when I feel I’ve been unjustly treated or I observe what seems to me injustice. (David Keirsey says that one of the defining characteristics of the idealist temperament is a desire to do what's right and; for perspective, the defining characteristic of Artisan's is to do what works. Idealists are also seen to have 'female' characteristics, so maybe it's a connection to the archetype of woman as Justice.) My personal sense of justice is also most engaged over notions of distribution of resources, opportunities. Still appals me that people starve in a world when so many have so much more than they can make use of. Is that Justice or a sense of fairness.? Are they the same thing?

The Hanged Man. School number two. Yeovilton in Somerset. Near Yeovil. Right next door to a naval land ship. (can't recall the name) It had a runway and Venom jets flew from there, mission bound, mostly practice I suppose, in the early fifties. School was part of the pretty village of Yeovilton, although I can't imagine I saw it as such. At that age, about six, one is in a permanent state of awe about everything as I recall, and we haven't got to the point of meta labelling.

Only two teachers at that school. Miss Rood taught the infants. A tall, lean, gaunt woman. Well, she is in my imagination, that’s my picture of her. She was a 'hell fire and brimstone' type. Any little thing that stepped out of line was quickly told he or she was absolutely certainly going to spend eternity burning in the flames of hell, whilst being skewered with the pitchfork held by Beelzebub. Mrs Brooks taught the rest of us, in one room, a vast space at that, with a large iron and brick coal fire for heat in the winter. She educated all ages post infant, up to eleven plus age group. Only about 30 of us as I recall. Yes! I am getting to the point. She decided we must have a climbing frame and I helped to pick it from a catalogue. It was delivered and all us kids helped Mrs Brooks unpack and set it up in the playground. (Went back to that school to take a look 20 years later and it was still there, covered in rust) That’s the connection to the hanged Man. Recall so clearly swinging on that frame. Hanging upside down with such ease. Completely fearless, over the tarmac playground. Get the impression that wouldn't be allowed now. Risky. Get the impression that many people nowadays expect kids to live completely risk free. Mrs Brooks was my friend. I fell out with her because I saw Miss Rood smack my little brother across the face and went and told her off. She got hysterical and then Mrs Brooks got involved. I told her off as well and took little brother out of class and stood at the school gate for an hour and half waiting for the bus to take us home. Mrs Brooks never forgave me. Important lesson. Put a foot wrong and you’ve had it. Rejection,. Finish.

Death.

Had an incredibly intense dream last night, about being in town after an apocalyptic event. On a very fresh day. Was extremely busy, and mostly order prevailed. Some unusual activity going on, but somehow that was in the background, at a distance. That's the second night running I've had such a dream . Well I've been watching a new BBC series 'Survivors', and so the connection is pretty obvious

really. This morning the Death card came up. Death is not just about endings; its also early stages. ‘Survivors’ is concerning the end of the world as we know it, and the commencement of a completely new situation, that nobody has any obvious experience of. The beginning of a life of trial and error, where survival is the immediate prize. (Actually that's not true. For many people, in many parts of the world, a post apocalyptic event would change nothing. They have always lived like that. It's only we here in so called civilisation that would feel it.) Read an article years ago about the proliferation, at that time, of programmes, book's and films showing a post apocalyptic world. The writer suggested they were like mass dream manifestations, said that they showed people not only fear death, loss of what they know, but also are drawn towards the renewal, the opportunity to make a fresh start, relish the idea of regeneration of life, getting away from an existence which revolves around so much they say no to. ( Meditation is often called psychological suicide. It draws us back from a reality pursuing what we want, to a life built around and appreciation of what we need and have.) To a greater or lesser degree we all know endings and renewal. Anyone who really enjoys books knows that sense of regret when a fantastic book ends. The sense of satisfaction followed by the recognition that the book will never ever be read again for the first time. Who doesn't know the pain of break up and that eventually we did get through it. Life is an endless series of endings, leaving space for something new to get going.

Temperance. Imagine flying. Sure as a kid I had loads of fantasies about it, and now recall an ongoing dream, which haven’t had in any form for ages. Would just fly. Can feel the power of it. A physical sensation. Picture myself soaring over and above. Gave me a sense of security; picture those arms going, hauling me into the air, with power, strength, freedom. Relatively recently, but not since the

illness last year. ( Something about that first time experience of protracted illness feels like it made me even more down to earth, and of course, once the three months was over, had to start again, rebuild the life, structure, almost from the ground upwards and that in itself is very grounding, that process of being forced to make choices about what really matters.) Been in a plane, on the way back from India, from Poona to Bombay. (Short sharp and breathtaking) To India, and then as a child to and from Malta, where we lived for a couple of years. On the way to India I sat in a row of seats next to a family with five children, and the children, as they do, drew me into the world and I ended up looking after two of them, or them looking after me, or something like that. It was completely spontaneous. Mum and dad were so grateful. Said the journey had been ten times easier than on the way to the UK. Good to engage in those down to earth ways. Just become aware that a something that is going on with a member of my family. Difficult. (I've been aware of it for a long time) is showing me something. Feel myself to be in a place which is the same, but different, to how I was in my twenties. Got a yes now, an acceptance of it, in a way I didn't and wouldn't have about such things in those days and that is new territory. Am connecting it to my sense of having the feet more on the ground, being more accepting, because of the illness and feeling I’ve inadvertently touched on the formal meaning of the card.

Roots and wingsRoots and wingsRoots and wingsRoots and wings Ideas create stupidity because the more the ideas Ideas create stupidity because the more the ideas Ideas create stupidity because the more the ideas Ideas create stupidity because the more the ideas are there, the more the mind is burdened. And how can a are there, the more the mind is burdened. And how can a are there, the more the mind is burdened. And how can a are there, the more the mind is burdened. And how can a burdened mind know? Tburdened mind know? Tburdened mind know? Tburdened mind know? The more ideas are there, the more he more ideas are there, the more he more ideas are there, the more he more ideas are there, the more it becomes just like dust which has gathered on a mirror. it becomes just like dust which has gathered on a mirror. it becomes just like dust which has gathered on a mirror. it becomes just like dust which has gathered on a mirror.

How can the mirror mirror? How can the mirror reflect? How can the mirror mirror? How can the mirror reflect? How can the mirror mirror? How can the mirror reflect? How can the mirror mirror? How can the mirror reflect? Your intelligence is just covered by opinions, the dust, and Your intelligence is just covered by opinions, the dust, and Your intelligence is just covered by opinions, the dust, and Your intelligence is just covered by opinions, the dust, and everyone whoeveryone whoeveryone whoeveryone who is opinionated is bound to be stupid and dull. is opinionated is bound to be stupid and dull. is opinionated is bound to be stupid and dull. is opinionated is bound to be stupid and dull. That's why professors of philosophy are almost always That's why professors of philosophy are almost always That's why professors of philosophy are almost always That's why professors of philosophy are almost always stupid. They know too muchstupid. They know too muchstupid. They know too muchstupid. They know too much to know at all. They are to know at all. They are to know at all. They are to know at all. They are burdened too much. They cannot fly in the sky, they can't burdened too much. They cannot fly in the sky, they can't burdened too much. They cannot fly in the sky, they can't burdened too much. They cannot fly in the sky, they can't have wings. And they are so much in the mindhave wings. And they are so much in the mindhave wings. And they are so much in the mindhave wings. And they are so much in the mind, they can't , they can't , they can't , they can't have roots in the earth. They are not grounded in the have roots in the earth. They are not grounded in the have roots in the earth. They are not grounded in the have roots in the earth. They are not grounded in the earth and they are not free to fly into the sky.earth and they are not free to fly into the sky.earth and they are not free to fly into the sky.earth and they are not free to fly into the sky.

Osho.Osho.Osho.Osho. A Bird on the WingA Bird on the WingA Bird on the WingA Bird on the Wing Chapter #1Chapter #1Chapter #1Chapter #1 Chapter title: Empty Your CupChapter title: Empty Your CupChapter title: Empty Your CupChapter title: Empty Your Cup

The Devil.

Had so many notions surface since I turned this up and scanned it into file; most of them gone. Such a deep image. Wonder if you really knew what you were saying or if it's a happy accident author. Ego is the Devil. Say this with humility. Still got one, although it's not as overbearing as it was, (given I don't have the perspective of not having one, that remark is probably senseless)it's still inside,

holding me back from the light I’ve heard about. (another senseless remark because of course I don't know, have only heard. Important distinction. What I know from experience. What I've heard about. Two different things.) It's a treasure chest, which is not treasure at all, to which we are attached, which is too heavy for us to drag towards the light. As I write I became aware that I no longer condemn ego in the way I once did; but have come to see it as an anchor, which we use growing up. It sets limits, both useful and not useful. First got the idea that ego was a terrible thing as a teenager, and eventually came to understand I saw it as the act of presuming to say anything positive about myself, but in fact we can, and I did, develop a colossal ego about what an especially bad guy I was. (Not going to go into all my ridiculous ideas about what constitutes being bad. Suffice to say the pettiest of things by any measurable standards.) So that was a massive step forward in understanding what ego actually was. Then, miracle of miracles, the judgement of ego started to melt. Started to see it as a ladder. We move through ego states, to more refined places, until eventually, presumption, (don't know) we are ready to transcend it altogether. Real ego problem is getting stuck in one place, not being able to let go and move on. Can now see I had in ego about having an ego, unwittingly of course, in a sea of folk who were egocentric, unwittingly, about not having egos. Pretty funny now. Can see one woman I know becoming insecure if she's reading this. Yes, you Coyne. With your huge, enormous self importance. You’re not special above all others. Everyone else in the world but you doesn't have an ego.

The Tower.

Would be hard to look at this and not recall 9/11. Even writing the numbers reveals; because I inscribe them knowing almost certainly that everyone will understand. Most folk of a certain age know exactly where they were when they heard Kennedy (The murder was, in tarot terms, a Tower event.) had been murdered and this was the same. Came home on that

day, in the afternoon, a cold grey day. Nothing unusual about that. The first thing I noticed when I came through the door was that the flat was filled with the sound of someone's television, overwhelmingly so, almost certainly from downstairs, which was unusual. The people in the flat below were a couple in their nineties, suffering from senile dementia. So much as the noise levels pissed me off, angry reactiveness was even less of an option than usual. However, without giving it much thought I did go and put the television on, which I normally wouldn't have at that time of day. A picture appeared of the planes, the Towers and the moment of impact and it just did not register it was real, partly because I couldn't hear the sound, (noise from downstairs) so I clicked on the next channel and through the channels and it was the same on all, at which point I knew something was happening and rang a friend.

Realise now I went into shock, the same place I experienced the only time I’ve been through an unexpected death, of a much loved friend, and I didn't know at the time I was in shock. Everything seemed far away, echoing. Went to the supermarket a bit later and the atmosphere was so strange, subdued. The Muzak was now classical, played very quietly. Everybody in the shop seemed palpably withdrawn and then I met a guy who was very political, very left wing and he needed no excuse to rant about America. He was as shocked as everybody else and didn't go into his usual pitch and so it went on for weeks. The beginning of the 21st century, for real, some say.

The Star .

Two notions surface, and now a third; but I won't bother with that. Night time’s generally cooler, by some degree than the day, even on a hot night; so to be wandering around naked is indicative of health, and let's face it, probably something anyone under thirty five could do and get away with it. How can anyone know at that age, that it isn’t permanent, and even then, not everybody has that physical

health, that stamina, flexibility, resistance to cold. Nothing’s permanent in this life, nothing. All is flux. Implicit also in the image is a statement about fearlessness and security. You are either fearless, to be walking around naked and alone at night, young thing, or you’re living somewhere where you’re absolutely secure. There’s no possibility of threat, or you’re naive and lucky, because you’ve never been endangered in your life. A Garden of Eden as was. Picture says something to me of ordinary things really. People pursue novelty, sensation excitement, thrill, attention, yet through it all the glue that holds everything together is the basic stuff, like living in a safe environment, being physically healthy, stuff that maybe we take for granted. I, like people do in their twenties, put together a sense of identity, which couldn’t have developed fifty years earlier, and if I’d not been so physically strong, if I’d not had such enormous stamina, that kind of energy that bursts its banks, floods and crashes everywhere. Never occurred to me that it was the basis of so much I thought I was, both positive and negative, and, as has happened in the past, taking note of it, writing it down like this, brings this home, even more clearly to me, and as the physical strengths have become more limited, the ego and identity that went with them have shrunk, freeing me from so much that no longer has value.

The Moon.

Should be called the night, and to me that its most obvious association. Dhu! The Moon is seen as a symbol of romance, but me, I get mystery. The Moon itself is a mystery, and somehow, no matter how old I get, there’s still something mysterious, a mystery about the night, a moonlit night, being out and about in the night. It's almost as if everything’s somehow more primitive; and to some I suppose that means danger. Don't experience the night as

dangerous, which might be because I live here in this city, never feel unsafe, although I know certain places I would rather not be at specific times. The hours of darkness always seemed more dangerous when I was younger, as a teenager living in South Wales. It's odd to look back, but we always, my crowd, were so wary, especially when it was dark, always wary because of the local thugs out looking for someone to assault.

The phrase from the Bible 'the sins of a mother' comes to mind. Take it to mean, take it to be a reference to behaviour passed on unconsciously, generation after generation, going back centuries. Can imagine the actions of hoodlums in small towns connects to medieval times and before. The thugs would probably have been warriors defending the town against intruders; and that behaviour goes on and on and on and now the role of defender of the town has been taken from them and so they beat people up instead. Small towns don't attract large numbers of new people with new ideas either, so theirs never a build up of enough influence to break the cycle. Cities have other layers. They’re made up of small towns with small town people, acting in small town ways but also the added layer of the 'bohemian immigrants', who pour into big cities and form communities, which are in the city and not of it, and of course 'bohemian communities' in cities, exercise enormous influence over what goes on. Bohemians have as many ego problems as small town thugs but generally speaking resort to physical violence to deal with the problems on a much lesser scale than small townees.

The Sun .

Great looking, happy chubby baby. Can't be an archetype. Babies just are as they are. Haven't come across a lot of happy chubby babies riding around on white horses, out in the open, with the sun blazing, on said baby, and said white horse, and a backdrop of fantastic sunflowers, but the sun blazing; now that's another issue. Winter’s here, and mostly we have had day after day of clear blue skies, no wind, although it's

not that cold. I like the cold, enjoy that fresh feeling. Enjoy being wrapped up. Enjoy getting back to a warm flat, settling with a coffee, a tune(Carrick Fergus by Bryan Ferry at the moment.) Enjoy British weather really. Days which are most difficult are cold and rainy, windy and I'm going to meet someone; got to sit around in wet clothes. Autumns probably favourite, and walking through dry leaves, especially in the dark, with a mate, and the leaves make that amazing rustling sound when kicked, and then when I say that I recall walking under the spring Cherry tree in Moseley, Park Road, five years running. An overhanging branch catches my body and suddenly I’m showered with pink cherry blossom. Cannon Hill Park on a cold wet day with no wind, carrying an umbrella, and I have the Park to myself and then a coffee in the arts Centre, or the international Convention Centre down in Centenary square. Dusk in summer; hot day. It's still very warm. T-shirt and shorts. No wind, still; and sound and silence have a different quality, like no other time, sitting, not moving on that dry stone wall under the Oak, just sitting and sitting, and whoever comes by, no matter how old they are, speaks. Speaks some small amiable phrase.

Judgement. Wrote an essay about the Stanley Spencer painting, 'Cookham Resurrection' when at Art school; although I've had a no for years, not to paintings connected to Christianity, but to the notion of it, because as it manifests generally, and has manifested for so long, it appears to me to be so discredited, but I know , have encountered folk who

call themselves Christians who I admire enormously, so there you go! Resurrection. Renewal. Phoenix rising from the ashes. Resurrection. Came to live here in Birmingham, in the UK, in the early Seventies, was about twenty three, and spent a splendidly glorious nine years charging here, getting into that, getting into the other, and at the end of the decade that life began to pall. Went to India then came back a year are so later, spent three years opening doors, trying to find direction, not realising that was my direction at that time. Got a bee in the bonnet about going to London ( which I resisted, because sensible me knew by then that we take ourselves with us. ‘The grass isn't greener on the other side of the fence.) Gave in. Got myself to the Metropolis and I've never looked back. Lived and worked there about two years and eventually gave into my heart and came back to Birmingham, which had become home to me, in a way that nowhere else I’d ever lived had been. Have found renewal in this city so many times. Constantly find my interests, and what’s available coincide. Obviously that's to do with a quality of mine, but round about the time I returned, the great and good of city state Birmingham set in motion a project for renewal, rejuvenation of our environment, and so as I found new things to explore, the city has gone through a concurrent renewal ; and it's been such a pleasure, such a terrific experience to observe, be a part of, to be finding my own personal revitalization, while all round me the city grows, expands and renews. The day rarely passes I don't emerge from my inner reverie and notice, step back, look at my inner overview of the city, re-explore a part, that I haven't been to for a long time and revel in it all. Yeah! Ongoing renewal.

The World. Have such strong visual memories of various parties, laid out like a mind map in my imagination. Am looking here, and then move on to the next, go close, withdraw, open a door, see the people, myself, the particular flavour of my own parties and then an odd realisation. 30th birthday. A magnificent affair. Early in January. Very cold. Huge gathering, and enormous success. Everybody turned up. No gate

crashers. Then about four o'clock in the morning I went into my bedroom, where I’d stacked everything, and found something badly damaged. Went ballistic, and indeed a month or so later discovered a favourite and very expensive jacket had been stolen. ( At a small social gathering years later a guy turned up wearing that leather jacket. He’d been at the party. Didn’t realise who I was. Wasn't hundred % certain initially and then he recognised me and went purple; but I let it go for the sake of my hosts.) What I’ve just realised is that I never ever threw a party again. Not deliberately. Just didn’t happen and didn’t realise. Moved sometime later that year, to a flat that holds a particular and loaded set of memories (It has its own file in my intensive Journal). Spent a good year or so partying, clubbing, working at the latest job and then at the end of the seventies the party life began to pall, lose, and I got into meditation. Lived the familiar life and meditation side by side for a year as I slowly moved towards a life which was much much less to do with pleasure, not in a self disciplined way, completely spontaneously. Was so identified with that way of life. ( Being intellectual, bohemian, deep, sexually active, drinking, drugs, scholarly), the people I was involved with, my role or roles, and I was bored to death and drawn to the new, but continued to be pulled back and feel aversion to the old. Suppose I could never have imagined party clubbing would pall. It did. For some it never seems to. Hey ho.