Space within for Life . . . and I wrote in Air the ragged
writings, Everland in my heart: the land of our fathers’, the internal country
in which we ever journey onward, and always
‘further up and further in.’ Her
shores are as mystical as Arthurian Avalon, and as dark as ancient Annwn in the
elusive quest for the beyond. Her interior is as timeless and real as heaven on
earth. In the dreaming back to lost worlds of beauty, the yearning eye turns to
the past to find the future.
Found in the compelling pursuit of the Holy
Grail rose her elusive perplexing songs; all springing from their inner ageless,
Celtic pool. These were the ragged ‘rosebuds’ of Everland; and their message and
the inner banner she flew from her highest towers: that beauty and truth were
not made one, and whole, without their stinging thorn; and that, flesh cannot
abide. It will endlessly reject it. And to its own demise! Not understanding
that its very piercing and seeming dying was the life of the inner path, of ‘the sword being pulled from the stone’ within
us: and the reigning as a king in this life! It was the missing piece of the
mystery; the piece we didn’t want so it was always missing. We clung to the
shadow instead of the light. We trusted to the outer form of things instead of
the inner substance.
Unless we become as believing as a little
child we won’t understand. Only the small would understand. It was the weak
that were strong. …And the process which made them so? The key to that strength
that was the thing to comprehend. Only then the possibility of the drawing of ‘a sword from a stone:’ and the evidence
and power of a heavenly life. But it was hard. Very hard. But it was worth it.
Who would not want to pull from the ‘stone’ the very ‘sword’ of kingship which
made one rich in life! It was still
there. Ever enthusing and empowering the ‘knights’ of every generation, and
throughout all time . . . it was irresistible.
And the process? Whatever was that? The key to the strength which opened impossible places, which withdrew the sting of the offence of the truth from the stone of stumbling: drawing out the sword stuck in the offending stone and so tightly, no one could pull it out, what was that?
Just as day springs from the womb of night, and the tender shoot from under the earth, so LIFE springs from the tomb of death – its beginning. So it was first the dark; then the light. First the seeming-nothing-there; then the ever-living knowing. It was a loss which came first; and a seeming-dying in it before you were lifted up, and free; from then on, out from your innermost depths the rising up of unquenchable light in unspeakable joy, in LIFE forever and ever.
It took patience. But those who dare win. For them the ease of the drawing of a sword from a stone. But they are as nothing: dressed in ‘rags,’ incomprehensible, unrecognizable, little thought of – least in the eyes of those all around about them – and certainly no ‘king’ in their own eyes; yet, strangely, fulfilling the dream of one who was and will be.
We are not foolish to believe the unbelievable: giving up the life we cannot keep to gain the life we cannot lose: alive in ancient Avalon, timeless in Everland, true in our inner world of Annwn; for caught up in the turning then you were you in the heavenlies.
Everland’s longed-for beauty it was still the prize of all them that for love of the truth were incredibly happy in their nothingness; they want for nothing and so they walk through every wall . . .
Although there is very little specific reference to the things of King Arthur in the ‘ragged writings’ in this book, the underlying secret of the mystery of his universal appeal to all nations and every generation is there, stretched out in essence in the words as in the drawings. The mysterious and invisible Sangreal emerges and passes through whatever gives it room.
Not only the world of Arthurian myth and legend contains that coveted conveyer of holy passion, provider of eternal sustenance, the source and cup of ever living life, the Holy Grail – it is everywhere! …wherever we surrender. Head knowledge alone cannot take us through the length and breadth of Everland, from the shores of our Avalon and our inner world, Annwn; it simply, is not possible!
Everland is the realm of the spirit, and as high above the realm of the mind as the heavens are above the earth! And as the two realms are totally different, one ‘solid,’ one ‘vapour,’ even so they do not ‘compute,’ they are opposite, and we cannot use the same methods of entry and passage in the one, for the other. To the earthly mind the things of the spirit are as nonsense, as nothing, as air; it will not find anything it can grip. It was made to be that way; and with ‘a flaming sword’ continually discerning and dividing between the two, to keep the way of the ‘tree of life;’ to keep out all that wasn’t of it.
There is no rain where a first a vapour wasn’t: there is no spiritual thing where first there was no faith. Faith is ‘the go-between;’ the bridge-maker, the carrier of hope between heaven and earth; only in a boat can you skim across the waves of a lake: only in a song can you sing along the path of the wind.
The Holy Grail, the Sangreal has been represented down through the ages by a variety of objects, all portraying different aspects of one truth: – namely, the fearfully wonderful delight that there is to be had in a true and living heart relationship with God.
The Holy Grail has been symbolized as: a cauldron, a cup or chalice, a dish or platter, a rock from a falling star, or a crown or circlet, or a severed head served on a platter. This last, and most misunderstood representation, symbolizing that it was freedom from our head knowledge which bound us, and liberty from our pinned down opinions which restrict us, (like John, the Baptist) that was the glorious server of unspeakable joy and endless spiritual delight. Of course, every part of us was accepted and loved, nothing was rejected; but here we were being informed of a higher state of being, greater by far than any we had previously comprehended, which was to be cherished. And this understanding was possibly available to the scribes and clerics and holy men in the days of King Arthur, and Merlin, and beyond.
There is yet a greater understanding to be had within the concept of ‘the once and future king;’ which explains why countless thousands or millions of people have long been intrigued or curiously captivated by King Arthur: his being an earthly visible picture, or flawed type or romantic forerunner of the once and coming ‘desire of all nations,’ whose spirit would establish peace on earth and completely satisfy; and for whom, all unconsciously, the human spirit has yearned time immemorial. For deep within the heart of all humankind is a wondrous capacity to witness to inner glory and unknowingly, to respond to the ineffable beauty of the crucified bittersweet.
The ethereal secret hidden within the legend of the early years of Arthur’s life, which made him a King, has survived hundreds of years. Ever drawing the brave seeker of his holy wisdom to yield to the sannt grathail: ‘the terrible desire’ and the yearning for the Siege Perilous: ‘the perilous seat;’ that highly honoured, yet fearsome place beside the King at his spiritual Round Table, in which only one who went contrary to his own base nature, could sit. For being steadfast against the indulgence of the self that one alone had the power to surpass time and entrance the heart of people throughout every age: giving the wisdom that was not of this world, and which was therefore glorious and wholly to be desired. For there the seat of real authority in life, the sign of true nobility which was the standard and banner of Arthur, and which he longed to share at his inner table, and even in the presence of his enemies. That his success in battle, was as it was in his own life – first the winning of his own battle within, in that he went ‘against himself’ – and that from there was glory. And it was no different for anyone.
Understood by the poet, Alfred Lord Tennyson, in his poem ‘Morte d’Arthur,’ mortally wounded the King was not ‘sick’ in his going against his ‘better’ judgment. On the contrary, in this truly he was well. The piercing being not only through his physical body, but through the inner pride of his spiritual heart as well: so that he knew what he did. And it cost him everything. But his inner being crucified, he lives forever . . . death to self and immortality. And it is no different for anyone.
And the process? Whatever was that? The key to the strength which opened impossible places, which withdrew the sting of the offence of the truth from the stone of stumbling: drawing out the sword stuck in the offending stone and so tightly, no one could pull it out, what was that?
Just as day springs from the womb of night, and the tender shoot from under the earth, so LIFE springs from the tomb of death – its beginning. So it was first the dark; then the light. First the seeming-nothing-there; then the ever-living knowing. It was a loss which came first; and a seeming-dying in it before you were lifted up, and free; from then on, out from your innermost depths the rising up of unquenchable light in unspeakable joy, in LIFE forever and ever.
It took patience. But those who dare win. For them the ease of the drawing of a sword from a stone. But they are as nothing: dressed in ‘rags,’ incomprehensible, unrecognizable, little thought of – least in the eyes of those all around about them – and certainly no ‘king’ in their own eyes; yet, strangely, fulfilling the dream of one who was and will be.
We are not foolish to believe the unbelievable: giving up the life we cannot keep to gain the life we cannot lose: alive in ancient Avalon, timeless in Everland, true in our inner world of Annwn; for caught up in the turning then you were you in the heavenlies.
Everland’s longed-for beauty it was still the prize of all them that for love of the truth were incredibly happy in their nothingness; they want for nothing and so they walk through every wall . . .
‘The old order changeth, yielding place to new,And God fulfills himself in many ways,Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.'
- Alfred Lord Tennyson; Morte d’Arthur
Although there is very little specific reference to the things of King Arthur in the ‘ragged writings’ in this book, the underlying secret of the mystery of his universal appeal to all nations and every generation is there, stretched out in essence in the words as in the drawings. The mysterious and invisible Sangreal emerges and passes through whatever gives it room.
Not only the world of Arthurian myth and legend contains that coveted conveyer of holy passion, provider of eternal sustenance, the source and cup of ever living life, the Holy Grail – it is everywhere! …wherever we surrender. Head knowledge alone cannot take us through the length and breadth of Everland, from the shores of our Avalon and our inner world, Annwn; it simply, is not possible!
Everland is the realm of the spirit, and as high above the realm of the mind as the heavens are above the earth! And as the two realms are totally different, one ‘solid,’ one ‘vapour,’ even so they do not ‘compute,’ they are opposite, and we cannot use the same methods of entry and passage in the one, for the other. To the earthly mind the things of the spirit are as nonsense, as nothing, as air; it will not find anything it can grip. It was made to be that way; and with ‘a flaming sword’ continually discerning and dividing between the two, to keep the way of the ‘tree of life;’ to keep out all that wasn’t of it.
There is no rain where a first a vapour wasn’t: there is no spiritual thing where first there was no faith. Faith is ‘the go-between;’ the bridge-maker, the carrier of hope between heaven and earth; only in a boat can you skim across the waves of a lake: only in a song can you sing along the path of the wind.
The Holy Grail, the Sangreal has been represented down through the ages by a variety of objects, all portraying different aspects of one truth: – namely, the fearfully wonderful delight that there is to be had in a true and living heart relationship with God.
The Holy Grail has been symbolized as: a cauldron, a cup or chalice, a dish or platter, a rock from a falling star, or a crown or circlet, or a severed head served on a platter. This last, and most misunderstood representation, symbolizing that it was freedom from our head knowledge which bound us, and liberty from our pinned down opinions which restrict us, (like John, the Baptist) that was the glorious server of unspeakable joy and endless spiritual delight. Of course, every part of us was accepted and loved, nothing was rejected; but here we were being informed of a higher state of being, greater by far than any we had previously comprehended, which was to be cherished. And this understanding was possibly available to the scribes and clerics and holy men in the days of King Arthur, and Merlin, and beyond.
There is yet a greater understanding to be had within the concept of ‘the once and future king;’ which explains why countless thousands or millions of people have long been intrigued or curiously captivated by King Arthur: his being an earthly visible picture, or flawed type or romantic forerunner of the once and coming ‘desire of all nations,’ whose spirit would establish peace on earth and completely satisfy; and for whom, all unconsciously, the human spirit has yearned time immemorial. For deep within the heart of all humankind is a wondrous capacity to witness to inner glory and unknowingly, to respond to the ineffable beauty of the crucified bittersweet.
The ethereal secret hidden within the legend of the early years of Arthur’s life, which made him a King, has survived hundreds of years. Ever drawing the brave seeker of his holy wisdom to yield to the sannt grathail: ‘the terrible desire’ and the yearning for the Siege Perilous: ‘the perilous seat;’ that highly honoured, yet fearsome place beside the King at his spiritual Round Table, in which only one who went contrary to his own base nature, could sit. For being steadfast against the indulgence of the self that one alone had the power to surpass time and entrance the heart of people throughout every age: giving the wisdom that was not of this world, and which was therefore glorious and wholly to be desired. For there the seat of real authority in life, the sign of true nobility which was the standard and banner of Arthur, and which he longed to share at his inner table, and even in the presence of his enemies. That his success in battle, was as it was in his own life – first the winning of his own battle within, in that he went ‘against himself’ – and that from there was glory. And it was no different for anyone.
Understood by the poet, Alfred Lord Tennyson, in his poem ‘Morte d’Arthur,’ mortally wounded the King was not ‘sick’ in his going against his ‘better’ judgment. On the contrary, in this truly he was well. The piercing being not only through his physical body, but through the inner pride of his spiritual heart as well: so that he knew what he did. And it cost him everything. But his inner being crucified, he lives forever . . . death to self and immortality. And it is no different for anyone.
‘Were it well to obey then, if a king demandAn act unprofitable, against himself:’ - Alfred Lord Tennyson; Morte d’Arthur
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