*
*
“Somewhere in all that cloud stands a Druid at the head of a circle.”
“Let’s go see if we can find him.” …
*
The Pillars: Penmaenmawr.
*
Tee minus Six hours and counting…
“It’s odd, I had no recollection of these pillars, yet now that I see them I do remember and it seems like only yesterday. We went that way, which is, I believe, the long way round, so we’re going to go in the opposite direction.”
“Not before we’ve taken a reading we’re not.”
“It is working isn’t it?”
“It seems to be. One-Five-Eight, so that’s Five, or One-Five Nine, or Six?”
“Five.”
*
No 5 (Light)
‘The Logos of creation in whom all things were created can be nothing other than divine wisdom. Thus it is that wisdom is eternal, for it precedes every beginning and all created reality.’
– Nicolas of Cusa
*
View original post 481 more words
Share this:
It takes only a few minutes to descend into the village from the entrance archway, beneath which is the McGoohan bronze, but in that time the temperature soars, and the rare and pure blue of the June sky, only a week away from the fullness of the summer solstice, becomes flecked with gold whenever I raise my head to stare at its beauty. But it’s a beauty that comes at a price. The harshness of that sun requires a determination to study it; the heat requires a loosening of clothing and a different rhythm of breathing. I smile… We’ve added Frank Herbert’s Dune to The Prisoner in the mix of this wonderful place; we’ve also bordered on McGoohan’s inclusion of the sinister – in the sense that June is seldom this lovely or this threatening to the unwary. I smile, wordlessly at this, and my companion and co-creator of the weekend, Barbara, notices, looking quizzically at me. I’m up to something. She can tell…
The mixture of two of my favourite things from that time in life is rich and pleasing – and who knows what part they played in turning me into a student of the deeply mystical? Herbert was heavily influenced by the Sufi style of spirituality – an immediate and world-relevant discipline that significantly moulded what became known as the Fourth Way, nurtured by Gurdjieff in the early years of the last century. I can’t speak for McGoohan’s spirituality, other than to know that it was Catholic, strongly held and influenced where he placed his creativity; to the extent, as we discussed in Part Two, of him turning down the role of James Bond, twice.
McGoohan’s penetrating and intense gaze stays with us…
The inclusion of the harsh, desert world of Herbert’s Dune makes me stop. Is this just my mind wandering or did that knocking on the door a few minutes ago produce an answer? Question: what did you really mean by the Prisoner? Did it take partial shape, refinement even, in this exotic and unique landscape? The answers begin to come thick and fast, as often happens when one listens within…
“Village!” comes the hard edge of McGoohan’s voice in my head. “In the Prisoner, it’s called The Village, isn’t it? There’s a clue for you!”
I think about the last photo I took of his bronze, the head turned slightly away to reveal part of his profile; those haunted eyes perhaps conveying the inner struggle he had trying to describe ‘the greatest enemy’ that he spoke of in interviews given in later years. Did the strangeness of the beauty he found here provide the polarity he needed to create a brutally strong story from the bare bones of the truth he found in life? I had never considered it this way, before. But it is unlikely that he arrived at Portmeirion with The Prisoner fully formed… The Village may well have coalesced, within its own unlikely menace, from the reality of Clough Williams-Ellis’ creation.
The Port of Portmeirion – complete with concrete ship. As Stuart said, “This was an architect with a sense of both humour and mischief.”
My companion follows me as the muse takes me a few steps sideways, away from the little train that takes you around the forest trails, and towards what I call the Port of Portmeirion, fake concrete ship and all… but I’m lost, now, in speculation, because I can see the sands of the estuary in the distance…
‘The lone and level sands stretch far away‘ to quote a poem that John will share with us on the final day, reciting Shelley’s masterpiece, Ozymandias, from memory. He will use it to illustrate our final theme, Escape; but that is far away in time, yet.
Fifty years on, two figures stride along a vast and beautiful beach. They don’t know that, just beyond the line of their sight, a giant ballon, nicknamed Rover by the fans, has them in its sights, lest they try to escape. Did you stand here, McGoohan? I think to myself. ‘Rover’ was conceived only after a more conventional robot failed. Clever filming make it into one of the most terrifying instruments of control any of us children had ever seen – back in 1967. I look again at the sands and realise how much this is confirmation that Portmeirion shaped The Prisoner. You arrived here with just an idea, didn’t you, Patrick?
My imagination may have wandered down to the ‘Port’, but, in reality, I’m still watching the arrival of the famous train.
“You can go anywhere you like in the Village as long as you stay in the Village,” says McGoohan’s voice in my head. What is the subtext of that? In Episode One – Arrival, No 6 tries to buy a map. The first one he is offered is black and white and covers only the area of the Village. He asks for a larger one and, when the helpful but banal shopkeeper provides the ‘larger, better and more colourful version’ No 6 finds it’s identical… again showing only the area of the Village. The moral is clear: this is all you have and you stay here, or rover comes for you. Settle in, get used to it, it’s not so bad…”
Is that ordinary life? Patrick, I ask, using his first name to provoke him. Was it all about waking up to the artificiality of life and remembering where you/we really came from – in this case, the vivid world of espionage, true life and death to No 6?
If that were the case, then what did the changing figures of No 2 represent? Those controllers and watchers of his every move, whose failure and removal No 6 took great delight in. He was definitely a fighter, our No 6; no passive acceptance, there.
Resistance! McGoohan would have selected resistance from our second set of seed-thoughts: Resistance vs Acceptance of a changed world. Later in our walk, up in the forest shared with a friendly and inquisitive robin, Sue and Stuart will get each of us to select a page from a book on Christian Mysticism. Another person will choose, at random, from the quotations on that page. The results are a wonderful example of what drops into the moment, the now, from the outside, an outside as potent as the world of the man saving the bee. They have promised to share the selected quotations in their own blogs.
——- to be continued ——-
Other parts in this series:
©Stephen Tanham
Share this:
It’s a station on the North-West main line – ‘Oxenholme’ is how it is really written. If you set quiz questions, it’s a good one: what’s the only main line station in Britain to be found in a village?
Oxenholme is really on the outskirts of Kendal – as close as the main north-south line to Glasgow gets, but there’s another station in central Kendal so they had to call it something else.
If you’re going to Edinburgh, the line bifurcates somewhere around Carstairs and trundles off at a slower pace, cross-country to Scotland’s capital. Glasgow is more fun – and a lot faster.
It gets you to London, too, via The venerable stations of Lancaster, Preston, Wigan, and sometimes, Warrington and Crewe, before thundering south to Euston. But my working life contained a lot of that, as most of our large customers were in the City, and living on such trains, via Preston or Manchester, was a way of life I’m happy to have left behind, though it served me well.
Apart from happy visits like the Bloggers Bash, I’d rather face the other way and visit romantic Scotland – a place that Bernie and I love.
My happiest London moment was always the sight of Euston’s platforms sliding into the darkness as the train left for the North-West. This does not reflect a dislike of our capital – it’s a wonderful place; just a desire to ‘breathe’ again after the crush of the city and the necessary compression of the Tube.
When we bought our ‘old’ 1960s bungalow in 2010, and set about converting it so that we could ‘ part-retire’ to the Lakes, the prospect of having a main-line station on our doorstep was very appealing. If we wish, we can walk from our tiny village of Sedgwick (one horse, no shops, nearest pub 30 mins on foot) to Oxenholme station in 45 mins. If we want to amble and arrive less sweaty, an hour. There’s a top-class coffee shop just outside the station’s rear approach which is part of a local bakery.
Sometimes, I walk Tess there, we have coffee and Danish, and then we walk home with the bread. It’s different from London, though the latter has closer shops!
I love trains, and opt for them whenever possible. Bernie is very adept in scouring Virgin Rail’s online offers to get me or is two first-class singles for the price of a standard-class return… heaven.
And the lovely, historic station at Oxenholme makes all this possible for us Lake District dwellers…
We shall shortly be leaving for Scotland, to spend the weekend with friends who have treated us to a joint birthday present – a day’s cycling around the Scottish Isle of Tiree. We will train from Oxenholme to Glasgow, meeting up for dinner; then fly to Tiree in the morning for our day’s cycling.
I’ll bring back pictures, I promise…
Share this:
The ‘bibliomatic’ process (as used during the Portmeirion weekend) explained.
*
*
“Curses,” said Butch, tugging at his collar in the sticky heat.
“Now, what?” sighed Serafina.
“It’s another of those Silent Eye thing-a-me-jigs.”
“A Walk and Talk Weekend?”
“That’s the one.”
“And what’s so bad about that?”
“Well, nothing, ‘cept we’ll have to give some readings.”
“Not necessarily,” chimed Brown Rabbit, slipping his watch back into a jacket pocket, “you could always take some readings instead.”
“I’m not sure I understand the difference between taking a reading and giving one,” grumbled Butch.
“It’s quite straightforward,” smiled Brown Rabbit producing a small book from his other jacket pocket.
*
*
“I had a feeling it might be,” laughed Serafina.
“Then you shall go first,” said Brown Rabbit, bowing and offering her the book, “open it up!”
“What, anywhere?” said Serafina taking the book from Brown Rabbit.
“Anywhere you like.”
Serafina’s eyes closed and a moment later the book fell open…
View original post 60 more words
Share this:
Meanwhile, somewhere in North Wales…
We took our time getting organised, intending to take a leisurely drive cross-country… perhaps stopping along the way, wherever the spirit moved us. In the spirit of the planned walk-and-talk weekend, the prisoners had escaped and were heading for the border. Anyone would think we were on holiday. We did ourselves. We should know better by now.
We may not have been heading for our respective places of work, but the Work that we do when we are not at work…and even when we are… is not something that can be switched on and off. It cannot be neatly compartmentalised or assigned a designated slot on the timetable, to be dipped into when the fancy takes you; it is a state of being, not doing. Once a pinhole has been opened in consciousness, the pressure of life floods through in an unceasing current.
The problem is that the conscious mind…
View original post 604 more words
Share this:
There is so much going on that you can miss him on the downward leg of the guided introduction to Portmeirion. In a world of the strangely beautiful, one in which the normal laws of constructing a ‘village’ have been changed, there is simply too much to see to notice the quiet, deeply bronze head of Patrick McGoohan.
We stop to consider this dramatic bust – strangely overlooked when we made our rekkie trip a month prior. Then, our attention is drawn to a bee, exhausted from its work, standing in the middle of the tarmac of the roadway along which the group is walking. I stop to pick it up, using a leaf as stretcher, and relocate it beneath a laurel hedge. Later, I wonder at the world of that bee; at the intervention of a ‘higher power’ to create an alternate reality in which the little creature can have no notion of what just happened – even the fact that its life was probably saved. It is a metaphor that will return to my mind may times as this Silent Eye weekend unfolds.
And then, somewhat behind the rest of the group, we turn, again to study the bust of Patrick McGoohan, previously unseen. Amidst the splendour of Portmeirion – especially on a blazingly blue and golden summer day like this – you could be forgiven for thinking that it was just another wonderful art treasure, like so many others to be found in the village.
But it’s not…
Its a very good rendering of a man who had nothing to do with the creation of this gem of a village, just east of Porthmadog and sixteen miles south of Snowdon, the highest mountain in Wales. It’s the head of a man–a British actor– who had a passion so strong that he turned down two separate offers to play James Bond in the early films, a role that would have brought him worldwide fame and fortune, rather than the lesser pickings from his (till then), most famous role as Danger Man in the hit British TV series.
Most of the tourists passing through the gate miss the bronze completely. And rightly so… They are here to see the architectural masterpiece created over a forty year period by Clough Williams-Ellis, whose own lifelong passion was the real village of Portmeirion. Even the official guide, leading our group, does not pause at the McGoohan statue, yet someone in power, here, viewed him important enough to justify the creation of it by Tiziano, and its donation to the village. Like the man and the bee, it occupies another, parallel realm, with a modern mythology so strong that a good proportion of Portmeirion’s visitors every year still arrive in search of its ‘McGoohan secrets’…
The two worlds co-exist very nicely. There is harmony in Portmeirion’s coffers, and who can blame them? The estate did give its permission for the filming of the famous TV series of The Prisoner in 1967 – a decision that greatly enhanced their own fortunes. Even today, fifty years after The Prisoner’s creation, people come in droves to see if they can further decode the enigmatic story of No 6, the British spy who resigned and then woke to find himself in the surreal landscape of a sugar-coated but deadly ‘Village’ – Portmeirion as it was and is, but viewed from a different consciousness.
Patrick McGoohan was close to Lew Grade, the head of ITV in that heady era of the late 1960s. McGoohan was a deeply religious man – and deplored any glorification of violence – which was why he had twice refused the Bond role. Later, he spoke in interviews of the ‘greatest enemy’ that mankind faced – himself. He had been determined to create a ground-breaking series in which this deadly relationship between worldly success and inner insanity was broken open. The result was The Prisoner, which ran for seventeen episodes before Lew Grade, fearing that McGoohan was so involved he would be unable to bring it to an end, pulled the plug and forced McGoohan to curtail it, prematurely, with a single anarchic episode.
McGoohan’s adoring public, unable to understand it, jammed ITV’s switchboard for hours. McGoohan and his family fled to a rented cottage in Wales where they locked themselves in and rode out the storm. McGoohan emigrated to the USA shortly after.
One of the mysterious landscapes in the Village – the giant chess board. The chess pieces appeared only at the end of the Prisoner series, though the board was a feature from the start…
Our Friday night had begun gently at the Moorings Restaurant in Borth-y-Gest. During that evening, we had begun our consideration of the modern mythology of the Prisoner by discussion the idea of Resignation – what got No 6 in trouble, in the first place. We discussed whether it was ever valid to ‘resign’ from something or whether we were simply ducking what was before us, thereby judging ourselves ‘above it’. It’s a very complex issue – as McGoohan knew it would be for generations of people attempting to understand his creation.
The No 6 cafe. We were inside, watching the opening episode of The Prisoner
Our Saturday morning had seen us taking coffee and, for some, breakfast, at the famous No 6 cafe, where, with the permission of the staff we got out a laptop and watched the opening minutes of the Prisoner series. This was a treat for the few who had never seen the original. Soon, though, the Guide was calling for those on the first tour to gather outside.
Now, only a few minutes later, but in another world, we turned, reluctantly away from the bronze. The Guide was getting ahead of us, and I could feel that strange sensation that signals the entry of something deeper into the moment. At the base of the hill, where Portmeirion meets the estuary, we were due to consider the next ‘seed-thought’: when your world changes, completely, do you accept it or take up resistance against it?
——- to be continued ——-
Other parts in this series:
©Stephen Tanham
Share this:
The idea is a simple one: to pick a location and invite a group of friends – some of them Companions of the Silent Eye School, some simply friends, some new to the whole thing – to experience it in a different way…
It does require a degree of preparation. For these ‘shared discovery’ events to work they have to flow, smoothly, from one ‘scene’ to another. And those scenes are real events in real places with the usual potential for things to go awry… and that’s where the magic comes in, because there’s a balance to be struck, here: a balance between trying to control everything and reduce the ‘errors’ in the situation to zero; and letting events simply unfold by themselves – truly being in the moment, but as a conscious group…
It’s a balance carefully learned over many years. Without confidence that it will ‘come good’ it may not, and an overall ‘structure’ in which it can happen it may not, but if over-controlled, then it has no freedom to, shall we say, improvise.
What improvises is what mystics call ‘the Spirit’. It’s a word used a lot in religion, (which the Silent Eye is not) and it is often placed out of reach of untrained experiencers by the dogma that can go with such religion. In the Silent Eye, we simply say that the powerful and world-changing presence of the Spirit belongs to everyone, and that we all experience it many times each day.
The key to whether or not this ‘supercharges’ our lives is whether we are conscious of its active presence or take it to be simply accidental or ‘random’.
We do not need to invoke a concept of, or a belief in a God to realise this experience. It is a property of the twinning of consciousness and our ‘world’, and has always belonged to mankind.
In a world, and its resulting minds, which invokes a conditioning belief that everything is a predetermined chain of fixed events, from the Big Bang onwards, there is no room for the Spirit to be seen because we are not looking for it with any conviction…
Ancient ‘priests’ from many traditions saw and experienced things very differently, and so can we… And we do not need to dress up in, say, Pagan, Christian or Buddhist robes to do so, though they can act as amplifiers, should we wish.
The summer solstice is a very special and poignant time of year. In the few weeks prior – which is the period during which we have our summer weekend (one of four through the year), you can feel the swelling and the ripeness of nature as she nurtures her manifold forms of life to their state of fullness, an idea and a feeling that mystics of all ages have viewed as one side of the concept of polarity; the opposite being the bareness and seemingly forlorn character of the depths of winter, which we might call spiritually negative – at least as far as the outer world of manifestation is concerned.
Ancient Christian mystics named the Summer Solstice after St John; and the dark winter one after St Stephen.
Thus, last Friday, a group of us in normal, casual dress, arrived at the tiny cove of Borth-y-Gest, a mile south of Porthmadog, North Wales, to begin the 2017 summer workshop by walking, talking, and, above all, listening as our event began with a simple but lovely meal at The Moorings restaurant.
——- to be continued ——-
©Stephen Tanham
Share this:
Mary’s gentle and lovely review of the Blogger’s Bash.
This is rather a self-indulgent post as I re-live the Bloggers Bash. I can’t believe it’s already a week since I was in London meeting up with bloggers, some of whom I met last year, some of whom I only knew online and others whose blogs were new to me.
Here I am with two of the organisers, Geoff le Pard and Ali Isaac
The Bash, now in its third year, is organised by Sacha Black and her minions, Geoff le Pard, Hugh Roberts and Ali Isaac. This year, as well as the presentation of blogging awards in a wide range of categories, the day included presentations and a panel debate – as well as much hugging, socialising, eating cake and a huge amount of chatter and laughter.
Sally Cronin and I have shared many virtual hugs so it was lovely to meet her and enjoy a real…
View original post 883 more words
Share this:
Share this:
+ enneagram types, esoteric psychology, Jewel in the Claw, Mystery Schools, Silent Eye School, Spirituality
An Encounter with Death
by Steve Tanham
It is 1616. King James VI of Scotland has been on the throne of England and Ireland for thirteen years, having inherited the kingdom as the closest surviving relative of the beloved and sadly deceased Queen Elizabeth I. England continues to go through a time of both upheaval and opportunity, though the crowning glory of Elizabeth’s reign, the destruction of the Spanish Armada, has restored hope and stability to this once-isolated isle.
William Shakespeare is at the end of his life. More than any other figure, he knows and has documented the nature of mankind: its ambitions, its loves, its greed, jealously, spiritual aspirations and passing triumphs. In our five-act ritual drama we will revisit this knowledge within the mind of the Bard; a learning that would, one day, become known as psychology–and see it as a microcosm of the Elizabethan age with striking parallels to today…
Our play begins with the elderly Shakespeare on his deathbed. Three lit candles stand above the chair beside which lie the unused quill and paper on which the poet can no longer write. A friendly figure of Death approaches and asks, “Master Shakespeare, are you content?” The playwright raises a weary head and gestures, without words, to the archetypal being that has come for him.
Death begins to snuff out the candles.
The Reaper praises the life Shakespeare has led and summons images of some of this most famous characters. In a failing voice, Shakespeare speaks of his belief that mankind has a common interior nature, clouded over by the characteristics that the events of life produce.
Death reaches for the final candle and says, “They were good stories, Master Shakespeare, and will live on in the hearts of those who will come to love you… long after your body is but dust…”
Death begins to snuff out the last light, but Shakespeare raises a frail hand to halt his progress.
“Yes?” asks Death, gently.
“There was one story untold,” says the Bard. “One story that could not be told or it would have hurt her soul and her life… a story of the beloved Queen’s darkest hour.”
Death leans in and listens. “Tell it now,” he whispers.
The Silent Eye’s Spring 2018 Workshop will tell this story, a tale which, in the mind of the dying Shakespeare, consolidates his experiences with his beloved Queen – and recounts the fine line that all such playwrights had to tread in those uncertain times–times which, nevertheless, forged the Britain we know today…
The Silent Eye’s 2018 Spring workshop: Jewel in the Claw, weekend of 20-22 April is open for bookings.
Acting parts are available for everyone; from the most experienced to the enthusiastic newcomer. Come and join us! Each year, people new to the whole idea of group learning within mystical drama come to be part of it, and, every time, no-one wants to leave come the Sunday afternoon.
The booking form is shown below. You can download a copy here SE18 Booking form aloneAA
For updates, visit our website.
You can contact us to discuss the workshop at Rivingide@gmail.com
©Stephen Tanham
Share this:
To drop, with aching feet, into the chair
Though aluminium’s shine is bright
To sigh as muscles ease and tea is poured
And think of winter’s distant, endless night
Then seal sweet moment into memory fair
©Stephen Tanham
Share this:
The Bloggers Bash 2017
by Steve Tanham
I had a fantastic time at this year’s Blogger’s Bash. It was such a wonderful experience to meet so many amazing people, who, over five years of me blogging have become a second family to me. Getting to talk to these supportive and all very interesting people in the real world was truly a delight.
We had plenty of time to mingle and exchange ideas, then applaud the worthy winners and listen to some insightful presentations.
I can only urge you to check out the following blogs to see which ones inspire you. There s so much talent, entertainment and information around.
And I would like to thank the organisers for all their hard work. I hope to see you there next year!
View original post 103 more words
You must be logged in to post a comment.