ARKIAHH DREAMING

The Ragged Writings of Everland could be compared with paintings.  Just as the forms and colours of a picture produce a certain emotional effect in us, in its communicating without words, so a piece of writing communicating in seemingly unintelligible words, in words within words, can have a similar pleasurable effect on us, also. Beauty can be as much in the sound of a run of words, as in the sight of a play of colours in an abstract painting. But like everything else which affects our consciousness, we need to learn to become conscious of such a thing, lest it pass us by.  

  Light comes in nuances.  As in a certain style of impressionistic painting, the artist is finding it not important to reproduce what he sees according to its outer context — he instinctively knows the inner context is the thing to grasp — he sacrifices the outer natural form for the abstraction; for a diffusing of the beauty he sees within it. It all flows together for him. But it is revealed to him only little by little. He instinctively dissolves the forms in his painting so that they cannot be too easily perceived by the outer self, which all too quickly judges and discards; he would be known only in that most holy place within where was no judgment, only wonder. But for a long time he was misunderstood.

 Like the painter, the inner–writer finds another language. Inadvertently he stumbles on another way of communicating truth. Another place where, the emotions, which were renewed by surrender, could ‘read’ words they could not understand, but which would stir the spirit deep within, and in this way bring to the mind that vital revelatory flash of insight which was the mind’s true food.

 And if spiritual ideas were the consonants of this new language, then the kernels of truth hidden within those ideas were the vowels. They gave the pronunciation. The life of it. The sound of life. The ‘sound’ in one phrase flowing in with that of another, in the spirit, made another language, another sense altogether other than the surface look of the first sense which seemed as nonsense—but which wasn’t nonsense, at all. It had come of itself, so it spoke. It came of the Spirit. And the strange writer, a babbling baby, understood and marvelled: seeing evidence that language as a whole was a living entity, and a divine gift: it was not of us: so that if in the flow it was surrendered back to the Source from which it came, it could say more, going beyond the natural mind, being greater than the pen that wrote or the fingers that touched the keys.

 Being greater than the pen which wrote or the fingers that touched the keys: going beyond the natural mind: it could say more: surrendered back to the Source from which it came: in the flow: it was not of us. Life—it was backwards and forwards: and there was inspiration: wherever the kernel was: language could go backwards or forwards.

 But it was all and only through the artist and writer being as nothing: only through weakness growing in strength: only through brokenness finding love, deep and unfathomable. And there the ever increasing passion to communicate what was seen in the mirror lake of tears; through the tunnel of the telescope and the reflecting back of the light—all upside down and inside out. No wonder the light was as darkness to us: for written down—it was incomprehensible—it was opposite!  It is opposite to us and our earthly way of thinking, just as light and dark are opposites. To every force there is a counterforce; both are inevitable: both are opposite. But in all this back-to-front living—the losing to find—we are helped! Behind the scenes deep in our innermost being things are happening there opening us up, which if we are courageous enough, will eventually emerge, bringing the reward of an extraordinary, and entirely individual, unimagined joy.

  ‘All really new ideas have a certain aspect of foolishness when they are first proposed.’                                                                   Alfred North Whitehead

  ‘People are open to new ideas . . . as long as they are identical to the old ones.’