When my friend Robin Easton asked for support to save the Great Bear rainforest, I knew I had to go right to the top…..well Virtually.

Please send a “one click” message to the government of British Columbia, urging them to keep their promise to the world. There is no letter writing, only clicking and 2 minutes of your time.

The scenic route would be to go to Robin’s blog, read more about the petition and click from there: 

Robin Easton "Naked in Eden"

If you are in a hurry, then go straight to the petition site…

Democracy in Action

We owe it to the world and to our future generations.

Do you like jigsaw puzzles?

Maybe I’m wrong, but there seem to be less jigsaw puzzles in the shops than when I was a boy. I can remember going through a phase when I kept getting puzzles with more and more pieces - and then, just to make things more difficult - turning the pieces upside down and putting the whole thing together sight unseen.

Of course, there’s nothing worse than a jigsaw puzzle with a piece missing, or one that doesn’t quite seem to fit…

Piece 1. ~ The Spirit Guide

I don’t like flying. Actually I love it when the plane has taken off and I’m in the air (did you discover that you could control your flight direction in my last blog post). It’s just that I feel so out of control. I know that statistically it is the safest form of travel - but I still have a feeling of foreboding for days before a flight.

We were due to fly over to Killarney and I was starting to get my pre-flight nerves, so it came as some consolation to hear the spiritual medium at church, tell me that the spirit of a man, a "known" man was going to help me. The medium couldn’t tell me who he was, or had been when he was alive, but she did say that he looked very much like me. I thought at once about George Bernard Shaw and also James Joyce. But I wasn’t at all convinced…

Piece 2. ~ Ann and David

…Later we were all having our usual cup of tea, when Ann, a member of the congregation, asked me if I would read something at a dedication service she and the Rev. Eileen were arranging for her son David who had died at the age of nineteen, eight years previously. Ann explained that David had been beaten to death at the roadside. What a terrible thing for a mother to endure; her only son murdered, leaving her with her memories and grief. Ann explained that David had been a bit of a tearaway, but with “a heart of gold and a wonderful smile.” As Ann continued, her love for David poured out of her. She was planning the service to reassure him that he could ‘go on’ and that she wanted him to understand that she could cope with the rest of her earthly life.

“I don’t want him to worry anymore. He will have lots to do and I want him to feel that he can go and get on with his own destiny and not hang around, worrying about me.”

Piece 3. Death and Danger

I drove the Rev. Eileen home and as we approached her front door, a group of teenagers were picking on a young boy. The boy, who must have been around David’s age, looked frightened and their violence made me think that David’s fate was about to be re-enacted right in front of us. Fortunately the group dispersed -, but death can come so quickly.

Once inside, we sat down with a cup of tea, silently observed by a small group of Irish figurines on the mantelpiece. “They really live” said Eileen. Eight pairs of twinkling eyes looked back. I was due to go to Ireland in a week and I felt uneasy about the flight. “Keep me safe in Killarney” I thought.

Piece 4. The Poem

I then told Eileen about my conversation with Ann. Suddenly prompted by the sight of the Irish figurines, I realized that I would not be able to read at the service because I would be in Killarney on that day. Eileen looked disappointed. We sat in silence for a little while, and then I heard myself say “I could write a poem for her.” Eileen smiled.

Piece 5. The Vision

So the matter was settled, although I had no idea what I would write. I did however; relate to Eileen a visual hallucination that had happened to me a couple of nights previously, which in want for a better term, I could only describe as a ‘Vision’. Up to then I had always viewed the term ‘Vision’ as a rather biblical and romantic way of describing the output of a vivid imagination. This was mainly because I had not had one. I now know that a vision, once received, is unmistakable and cannot be confused with a normal visual-mental image, or a dream. This particular vision turned out to relate directly to Ann and David, although that was not clear to me then, as Eileen and I sat with her husband Ken, who had pottered downstairs to join us:

I was lying in bed, when the normal pattern of shapes, colours and stars that I (and possibly everyone else) see projected onto the back of my eyelids, slowly gained depth. I seemed to be floating in outer space and gazing at the infinity of the universe. The image was so real that I became a little frightened, but at the same time, intrigued at what might happen. I found could still wriggle my fingers and toes and therefore I assumed I was not dreaming - in any case it all seemed so real.

Then the infinity of stars dissolved and I found myself floating through a passage, toward a sunlit garden in the grounds of a beautiful mansion. The colours were unbelievable, like nothing I had seen before. Although I find it hard to believe in a heaven of gardens, flowers and mansions, I was sure that if such a heaven existed, I was indeed seeing it. At this point I was so enthralled with what I was seeing and so aware that I was not controlling the vision as in my normal imagination, that I opened my eyes and found I was simply lying on my bed in my dimly lit room. I was delighted to find that when I closed my eyes again, the vision was still there.

Then around the corner of the passage, came a black and white dog. The dog looked at me intently and then slowly the vision of the garden, the mansion, the “guardian” dog and the wonderful colours faded back into the starlit universe, which itself became again the patterns behind my eyelids.

Piece 6. ~ The Poet

The next day I woke with a favourite line from a poem by Dylan Thomas, running through my head:

“the ball I threw whilst playing in the park has not yet reached the ground” 

Dylan Thomas was the first poet I had encountered when I was around sixteen years of age, and the line that repeated again and again in my mind as I made my morning coffee came from “Should Lanterns Shine.” David had experienced such a short life and the idea that the ball was still flying through the air, seemed to underline this. Sipping my coffee, I considered that sending Dylan’s poem to Ann might be sufficient.

Piece 7. ~ A Poem for David

It was at this point that the poem I was to eventually write that day, started to form - seemingly of its own accord. We were opening at the Grand Theatre in Wolverhampton that evening and as I drove to the venue, thoughts words and phrases bounced through my head. Ann wanted something “young” to read; David had died eight years ago, so in a sense he had been re-born into the spirit realm at the moment of his death. Ann wanted David to “go on” and learn. Thoughts of my own first day at school and how I wanted to go home for tea and cuddles and how excited I was to see my mother waiting for me at the school gates replayed in my head. The thoughts and images kept coming during the sound-check and the preparatory staging for the evening’s opening night and I became more and more impatient to get the poem down on paper.

Eventually all the pre-show preparations were complete and I was able to go across the road from the stage door, to the local “Naff-Caff” a fantastic and dying English tradition, where steak-pie, lamb chops, egg chips and beans and the like, can be obtained for under a fiver, including a slice of bread and butter and a large cup of tea (so much better and cheaper than double burger “Whoppers” “Tortilla Wraps” and the rest of the new generation of fast food plastic digestive nightmares that are overtaking our simple and surprisingly nutritious – but totally un-trendy private enterprises.

After sausage egg and chips and still drinking my tea, I wrote David’s poem down in one rapid burst. The words came through me as if from somewhere else. Looking at the poem, completed in around twenty minutes, with so few corrections, I was stunned at the depth of meaning within it, even if the style was rather naïve. I had written it as if I was Ann. As I wrote, I had become Ann and David, my mother and myself.  However, even though the poem was finished, I felt compelled to add Dylan’s line at the end. I also felt it was “ok” to change it to “The ball you threw whilst playing in the park, has not yet reached the ground.” I thanked Dylan Thomas in my mind, for whatever part he had played in guiding, or at least inspiring me.

Piece 8. ~ The Dog

The following Sunday, I met Ann. She was delighted with the poem and I was starting to explain that it had seemed to come through me, as if I had been guided, when my attention was drawn to a black and white dog, sitting at the feet of Christine, a medium and a member of the congregation - it was the dog I had seen in my vision of the wonderful garden.

After the service I asked Helen, another member of our church, if she knew the name of the dog that had been sitting at Christine’s feet that afternoon. Her reply sent a shiver of excitement right through my body, “Dylan” she said

                                        “As in Dylan Thomas.”

Piece 9. ~ The Bomb Scare

Landing in Dublin a week later, on route to Killarney, there was a bomb-scare, in which I became involved and which hit the front pages of National newspapers – I remembered the Irish figurines and my feeling of impending danger.

Piece 10. ~ The Poet and the Dog

One evening in Killarney, near the end of Act 1, a title I had seen years before, “Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog” flashed through my mind. In the dressing room during the interval, Spencer the Company Manager, Russell “the Baker” and Richard “the Cowboy” helped me look up the title on the Internet. This is what we found:

"Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog" – An autobiographical collection of short stories, prose and Poetry by Dylan Thomas.

                                                           ~

More Pieces

All of the above happened around eighteen months ago and I decided last weekend to write the whole thing up as a spiritual investigation, a jigsaw puzzle if you like. All of the pieces seemed to fit well and I didn’t even consider piece 1. and the ‘known’ spirit guide - in fact my original first piece was piece 2…

…until I started to read the excellent accounts of the life of Dylan Thomas on the website of BBC Wales.

Piece 11. ~James Joyce

Dylan Thomas had called his collection of poems and short stories "Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog, after Joyce’s semi-autobiographical work, "Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" This made me think of what is now piece 1., the ‘known’ spirit who was going to help me.

But the medium had said that the spirit had looked like me, and James Joyce, apart from being rather thin, bore no resemblance. So I read on…

Piece 12. ~ Augustus John

…James Joyce had been painted by an artist called Augustus John. Joyce it seems had complained that John’s drawings of him had failed to represent accurately the lower part of his face…

…Augustus John had also sketched Dylan Thomas, as well as introducing him to (and having an affair with) Caitlin Thomas, Dylan’s wife.

So was Augustus John, the ‘known’ spirit and the final piece in the jigsaw puzzle?

When we’re born, no-one tells us how many pieces there are in the box…

Today we’re going on an expedition.  Remember to prepare yourself well - a glass of wine (or something stronger) might be a good idea. Whatever else you do, try to give yourself enough time to get into the whole journey…don’t just set off for two minutes or so. Give your treck between five and ten minutes (hence the red wine)

…when you return jot down a few words, making sure your impressions are spontaneous and genuine (and no looking at anyone’s work and cheating before you’ve done your own)

Ok…When you’re ready, click on the photograph.

(Make sure your sound is up)

Later, you might like to visit the lady below. She discovered the journey first

don’t lose your way

The theatre tour this year has been very arduous and the weekly change of venue, has found the company and myself, zig zagging up and down and across the country - Glasgow, Bournemouth, Ireland, Newcastle-upon-Tyne - of all the aspects of my profession, travelling is the part I would miss the least.

Touring requires both stamina and also a strong sense of a personal centre to cope, not only with different theatres, but also with the wanderers life-style of different "digs" and various accommodations each week.

Last year I was able to get home, at least for Sundays, but this year I am lucky if I see my home twice a month - and then only for a day or part of it.

This has also meant that my usual regular visits to Spiritualist Church have been interrupted. Perhaps oddly, I think that this may not be such a bad thing. During the first two years after Christina passed away, the church became my centre and my support, but I know in my heart that my centre should be within myself and not external, no matter how comforting that external support may be.

Neverthless, I was able to visit my friends at church, on the Sunday before we all flew to Belfast three weeks ago. The visiting medium was an elderly charismatic lady, who I immediately felt drawn towards and who, in her ‘messages’ to the congregation, turned to me and announced that there was a gentleman with her in spirit, who was here to help me.

Now I have received many messages through spiritual mediums, all encouraging me to write. The reason I have four blogs and a website, is solely through my experiences and contact from ‘beyond’. Yet I remain (and maybe always will) a sceptic when it comes to the existence and the nature of the spirit world.

The message was encouraging however, in that it seemed to be the same as all the others over the past three years. The medium described my spiritual helper as being:

’surrounded by books’

I suppose it was natural for me to assume that the ‘help’ would be with my writing…

                                                              ~

Northern Ireland and Belfast has changed enormously since my first visit in 1980. At that time, the ‘troubles’ were at a high and everyone was affected by them. I expect there was some risk in being there at the time, especially being English, but the Irish are such a warm spontaneous people, that I seldom felt in any danger.

It was in this climate of unrest, that an eccentric professor of Modern History, became a leading figure in the continuance and development of the performing arts in Belfast.

Michael Barnes cut a strange and angular figure that somehow complimented and blended with the unrest of the time.

My first impression was that I had met Fagin from Oliver Twist, in fact the character as played by Ron Moody in the film and stage musical version, could have been his twin brother, this likeness together with a total disregard for his own appearance, increased with time, until our last meeting in 1989.

Photo: Chris Hill

Last meetings grow with increasing years, but I was still a relatively young man, when Michael treated me to a banquet of a meal in the theatre restaurant. I can remember roast pork on a spit, roast potatoes covered in herbs and peas that tasted like they had just come straight from the pod. All that and a really beautiful bottle of vintage red wine. I was frankly overawed with the man; there is no other word to describe the disheveled academic other than ‘erudite’.

There is a natural gap or difference between the English and the Celts of Ireland, Wales and Scotland, that political correctness tends to avoid, but which is fascinating when traced right back to it’s origins, at the time of the Teutonic/Nordic invasions. So the unlikely success of Michael’s tenure as Artistic Director of the Grand Opera House and the affection with which he was regarded owed as much to his uncompromising aura of ‘Educated Englishman’ as it did to the natural Celtic appreciation and understanding of a man driven by the convictions of his heart.

At a time when British Actors Equity was advising theatre companies not to go to strife-torn Northern Ireland, Michael was persuading managements in England, Scotland and Europe, to send their productions over to Northern Ireland and to the Opera House. The current success and reputation of the Opera House is due in no small part to the shambling Professor Barnes.

Our current visit was the first in over three years and I noticed a painting of Michael in the ‘Green Room’ that seemed to be new - there was no indication that he had died, but I had a distinct feeling that he had passed on. The painting fascinated me and each day I spent some time, looking at the posture and expression of the man I remembered so well.

Everyone has good days and bad days and the first Thursday of our visit was one of the latter. I have a love/hate relationship with my work and on that particular day, I felt that I never wanted to see the inside of a theatre again, or choreograph, or act, or for that matter, dance again.

At one point during the dismal day, I passed through the Green Room and said firmly and loudly to the painting:

"Michael, I know you’ve passed on - What am I going to do with my life?"

Michael looked down from the wall, with an expression I remembered so well.

                                                  ~

Belfast has now been transformed from a war-torn city, full of British soldiers, barbed wire, armoured tanks and constant searches and check-points, into a bustling city with shops, stores and a shortage of cabs on a Saturday night. After unsuccessfully trying for around half an hour the following Saturday, I was eventually successful in ‘bagging’ on of the busy drivers. My driver turned out to be from the Philippines.

Cab drivers, the world over, are natural conversationalists. I have in the past (now to my regret) cut short the first expected question of "What do you do?" opting instead for silence and thinking time. Since my Stonehenge transformation however, I have turned over a new leaf and in fact started off the chatter by asking my driver, how he came to be living and working in Belfast. It turned out that his wife was a nurse in a local old-peoples home and that he had come over to join her. His ability with the English language had not improved in relation to his smooth driving however and the conversation was slow - until I told him that I was working at the Opera House.

"You know Michael Barnes then?"

How on earth did a taxi driver from the Philippines know about Michael?

"My wife nursed him just before he died. He used to get out of bed, put on his dressing gown and dance with her"

"He just loved to dance"

and then I remembered the medium at church and the message of help…

Yes Michael, I’ve got the message

"I’ll keep dancing"

                                                  ~

As Thomas is my patron saint, the doubts inevitably crept in. As I passed by the painting each day, I became less convinced that I had actually received a message from beyond - a spiritual medium, a message of help, a Phillipino cab driver’s wife who danced around hospital beds with Michael, only weeks before he died. It all made a lovely story - but maybe also a lovely illusion.

 Like Thomas, I needed more proof…

The cost of hotels and guest-house accommodation has soared in Belfast, but I had managed to find a local woman on the theatre ‘digs-list’ who was delighted to let me stay in her spare bedroom for a nominal rent   - except that, as she was having a conservatory built at the back of her house, there would be a lot of noise from the workmen - and there was!

On the final Friday, I pottered downstairs to make a cup of tea and found myself in a long conversation about Irish comedians as opposed to English ones. The whole thing developed delightfully into a Celtic-English contest, as to who could come up with the most names and the most memorable jokes. I must have done well, as one of the workmen suddenly said

"Do you work in the theatre then?"

When I affirmed that I did, his reply could have come straight from the mouth of the medium at the beginning of the story, or indeed from Michael himself:

"I worked for Michael Barnes, just before he went into the nursing home. I put up lots of bookshelves for him. He was surrounded by books you see. The whole house was full of them and he only had space for one chair in his living room because he was…

                                      …surrounded by books."

I passed by Michael’s picture the following day and I swear he smiled at me…

                           (but maybe it was just a trick of the light)

Michael Barnes, OBE, arts administrator, was born on October 31, 1932. He died on May 14, 2008, aged 75

Obituary in "The Stage"

Obituary in "The Times" 

There was a very healthy response to the previous post: People…

Thank you to 

Tamera, angel,  Anji, ravenscawl, Eric S. Liara Covert, Bird, Joseph, tashabud, Robin Easton, A.Bolaji, Susie, Janet, Chrissy,

- If you’d like to find out about the lady on the bench, please click on the photograph and all will be revealed.

soulMerlin

   Take a look at this picture, what does it  mean or say to you.  Now write down your spontaneous  feelings  as a comment.

Whatever you do, don’t try and over-rationalise your initial impressions, just get them down. Don’t read any other comments until you have entered your own

Monday 25th August ~ will explain.

best wishes

henry

ps: "class dismissed"

I will be publishing the final part of my trilogy on the Summer Solstice celebrations  at Stonehenge in a few days and I thought that  the video below might be helpful.

The terms "Paganism" and "Pagan" can strike a chill in many people and give rise to a fear that to study or follow it may in some way be a betrayal of deeply held Christian or other mainstream religious beliefs. I admit that for quite a long while, I avoided the term and used "natural" or "nature" religion in order to spare peoples feelings and also to avoid misconceptions about the path I was following.       (I have found I can silence a dinner-party by using the term a little too loudly.)  I feel that ‘Paganism’ has such a potent, often media-sensationalised loading, (especially as I am currently writing about the Solstice) that it is a good time to share the Rev. Youngers honest sermon.

I used to have a similar problem with the word ‘drug’ - when my mother had to start treatment for her heart, she returned from the doctor’s surgery one day, alarmed and angry. "He wants me to take Drugs!" ….if only the doctor had used the term ‘medicine’ it would have saved me a long explanation (which still didn’t convince her).

I must say I find the Reverend’s manner a tad aggressive, but I guess that must have been in relationship to the group to whom he was addressing his sermon.

The video is 23 min’s long, but there’s a lot of information there, and apart from a bit of a cough, Rev. Younger is on form. So I suggest you make a cup of tea (or whatever) and get comfortable.

As for me, I am a Pagan - and I’m also a ‘Jesus-fan’.

When you’ve finished watching and if you’re still interested, double-click on the screen and go through to MySpace, where you can read some of the 111 comments that have been posted since the video was first published in October 2006 - the latest comments were posted only last month. 

 Demystifying Paganism

If you want to read about my visit to Stonehenge go to Dusk ’till Dawn for the first episode and to Flowers and Scorpions for the second. I have decided to put the third and final part in "Flowers" in a few days - click  alerts/contact if you want to be notified by email when it’s published.

Finally my gratitude to Roger Stigers "He Who Walks in the Shadows" for publishing this on MySpace - He must have the credit for putting the vid’ up in the first place. - click on his name to go to his "MySpace" page, where you can contact him and read/see more of his work - and link to his blog.

I hope you find it interesting.

henry

My last Almanack entry Soul-Less Angels by the Oak  was inspired by Carl Jung’s statement

Angels are: "Soulless beings who represent nothing but the thoughts and intuitions of their Lord."

I then finished the entry with a statement of my own

"Angels are the Gateway and the prism through which we can see the full spectrum of God". 

If you look at the illustration here and imagine that the prism is an Angel, I think my statement becomes clear. An angel does not (according to Jung) have a Soul, because the Angel’s soul is in fact a gateway and a focus to the Soul of God. An Angel enables us to see, not simply white light, but the full spectrum of the Divine.

Newton experimented with prisms and discovered that the prism did not colour the light, as had previously been thought. People had been experimenting with prisms and light for many years, but thought that the prism itself coloured the light in some way. Newton proved that in fact, the prism allows us to see the colour ‘within’, or more exactly ‘that is’ the light.

Therefore, viewing an Angel as a prism is compatible with the Angel’s main function (as the name angelus implies) namely that of a messenger or transmitter of ‘The All.’ In other words, the angel interprets but does not add (his) own colour to the transmission.

Despite amazing advances in science and technology, I think that we as human beings, still only tend to believe what we can perceive through our five senses. Any sixth (and more) senses are regarded with suspicion and are usually at best palmed off as ‘instinct’ or at best ‘intuition’. There is a line of thought however, which equates ‘instinct’ or intuitive hunches  with angelic influence. Richard Webster "spirit guides guardian angels" states: "Are these (intuitive) messages from our angel guardians? I would have to say "yes."  It follows then that we perceive that part of the physical and spiritual spectrum which is visible within the limitations of our human senses - we tend to think that what we cannot perceive or register through our known senses, does not exist - despite knowing, through acquired knowledge, that the full spectrum of light ranges from infra-red to ultra-violet.

I’m sure you’re ahead of me in relating the visible spectrum to that most beautiful of natural phenomena, the rainbow.  A rainbow is comprised of seven (yes seven again) colours: Red, Orange, Yellow,Green, Blue, Indigo and Violet. The illustration here gives the British mnemonic for the colours, but since 48% of this blog’s readership comes from the United States and Canada, perhaps you have your own memory-aid (or make one up and leave it in ‘comments’ :))

There was some dismay when Newton published his findings. Many people thought that the scientist had taken away the mystery and the holiness associated with God’s Covenant, failing to appreciate the natural miracle because it took away the personified image of God as a grey-bearded craftsman/creator, making a rainbow as a direct result of Noah and the Flood. The more feminine religions of the East however had naturally woven what could be described as a spiritual science which can be found in the 7 energy centres or Chakras of the human body and it’s holistic relationship to the world and the universe.

Angel Guardians

As well as being a Gateway to the All, Angels are the filters or guardians of our perceptions and contacts beyond the Gate. The triangular shape of the prism has long been regarded as the entrance to the spiritual plane; from the pyramids to the Holy Trinity, the number three and it’s triangular construction is regarded as sacred throughout humanity.

The Need for an Angel Guardian

Part of my motivation to start this series of posts on Angels and what I will call the "Otherworld" is to show that there is actually no division between the two. The division is caused by our inability to see and experience what is all around and within us. Not all influences beyond our five senses are safe however and ‘going it alone’ on a spiritual search can lead us into great danger.

Ouja (Weegee) Board

This is usually played at university or summer school after a good night out and with a cut-out alphabet and an empty wine glass (empty because it’s usually played when the red wine has run out). So the scenario is already perilous; slightly tipsy people having ‘fun’ with ghosts. This is the reverse peril of ‘personification’ - because the old images of the Devil, Pan, Cernunnos, Fairies and other Elementals are rejected by our ‘advanced’ society, people therefore fail to see that the forces that make up the old images are very real and conscious and existing at a level beyond our ability to easily perceive them.

The Planchette

Usually this is the wine glass or tumbler, but on a manufactured board, it is likely to be triangular. Therefore the participants in a Ouija-Séance are going it alone through their own unguarded gateway, without angelic protection. My advice is to not do it. The results are real, no matter if you ‘believe’ or not. You may be lucky and meet a benign presence - or you may find that your angel guardian has been replaced by the hounds of hell. If you are serious, I cannot in all honesty dissuade you from trying - just don’t mess around with it.

Working with Angels

I thought I’d finish this overview by suggesting a way of working with your angel guardians: Go to the previous post and look at the list of the seven archangels. Choose the archangel  who you think will help you with a specific problem and invite that angel to help you. For example, if you need clarity of thought, focus on and ask Uriel for help: 

Uriel ~ {clear thinking,earth,north,summer,white,Taurus,Virgo,Capricorn}.

Try it, you may be pleasantly surprised with the results.

(the Fire It button looks a little dangerous)

Footnotes:

All images are linked to source material from wikipedia to the met office. highlighted text will take you to source documents.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote an entry in "From Dusk ’till Dawn" about the Tree of Life.

That morning was one of the most spiritual moments I have had during the past few years and since then the memory of the dawn breaking over a sea of mist and standing by ‘my’ Oak, has stayed in my mind almost constantly.

Adam and Eve

The first encounter Christians have with the tree of life, occurs in Genesis; the tree of life or indeed "knowledge" is viewed as forbidden.

The Tree of Life

Around 4-5000 years ago, there was a Jewish sect called the Essenes, who believed in a tree of life, together  with many other Pagan religions. The tree had seven branches and seven roots which represented the mornings (branches) and the evenings (roots) of the week. This can be related to the seven Archangels:

Michael ~ {love,fire,south,autumn/fall/aries leo sagittarius}

Gabriel ~ {conquering fear,water,west,winter,emerald,cancer,scorpio,pisces}

Raphael ~ {healing,air,east,spring,blue,gemini,libra,aquarius}

Uriel ~ {clear thinking,earth,north,summer,white,taurus,virgo,capricorn}

Raguel ~ {friend of god - maintaining the standards of heaven}

Sariel ~ {the teacher of moses,the maintainer of discipline}

Remiel ~ {hope - the pathfinder to heaven}

Metatron ~ {the closest to the throne,the king of the angels,the only angel that was once human. In his earthly form of ‘Enoch’ he was carried to heaven where the archangel michael anointed him with oil and he became an angel. All of the other angelic host had been created, all at once, shortly before the ‘beginning’.

Soulless Angels

Carl Jung the psychologist described angels as "soulless beings who represent nothing but the thoughts and intuitions of their Lord." An angel is a messenger of God - hence the wings, but not an opinionater. It is interesting to note that through the the Fall of Satan and the expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden, we seem to be given the blessing and protection of a Soul.

The Recurring Seven

The tree of life is recorded as having seven fruits or grains: wheat, barley, grapes, figs, pomegranates, olives and dates - not an apple anywhere to be seen. (Adam being tempted by Eve with a bowl of muslie, makes me smile). "Seven" fascinates me with a power I can tangibly feel. We are all in a way governed by seven. Seven days per week, seven Archangels, seven fruits - and then I smile again because every night, I stand on stage and listen to Joseph singing "…seven years of bumper crops are on their way". The inverted tree is a symbol, that is common to many religions, with it’s seven branches and roots representing not only the brain and nervous system of the body, but also the link between ourselves and the spiritual dimension.

The Birth of the Soul

And was the Soul born at the moment Adam succumbed to temptation? It’s a line of thought

that takes me back to the taproot of the Tree of Life…

And what about Angels being "soulless"? At first the thought seems shocking - "soulless" - but then the understanding dawns that they are the doorway to God; the prism through which we can see the full spectrum of "The All".

________________________________________________________________

Technorati Tags: angels,tree of life,oak tree,soul,god,the all

Due to two posts being corrupted, I have had to erase them. Therefore "The Hurtful Spirit and the Jigsaw Puzzle" and "Soul-Less Angels by the Oak" will be re-added later.

Sorry

henry