+ Greek Myths, Hercules, Higher Mind, Journey of the hero, Labours of Hercules, Mystery Schools, myths and spirituality, Silent Eye School, Uncategorized
Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee, part 50 – Snakes Down Below
by Steve Tanham
Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee, part 50 – Snakes Down Below
.Alexandra.
“Scary stuff!” said John, smiling at my carefully planned opening. I carried on using my twisting hand and wrist to greet him, as though both were parts of a snake.
“Okay…enough,” I said, feeling my wrist muscles start to ache, “And I know I’m eight of them short…”
“Need some hydration?” he asked, with a cheeky grin, passing me my latté.
I broke into a laugh at the play on words. “Funnier that it should have been,” I chuckled.
“So…” said John, wringing his hands in mock delight. “Tell me about the Hydra and what part it played in the spiritual education of Heracles.”
“Well, then…” I sipped my hot coffee, savouring Rose’s skills with the old Italian machine which chuntered in the corner near the entrance to the kitchen. “It’s quite a simple one: Heracles has to locate a nine-headed snake monster–the Hydra–and kill it… more killing…”
“Perhaps ‘slay’ might be better?”
“Slightly different meaning?” I queried. “More righteous, perhaps, less gratuitous?”
John nodded. “I think so. Less like cold-blooded or drunken murder?”
“Yes, that’s good…” I drank some more coffee and decided that ‘slaying’ felt better.
“And there are nine heads to the beast, so you’re on home ground?”
It was obvious what he meant–the Greeks’ choice of nine ‘heads’ mapped perfectly onto the enneagrams of personality. But the enneagram hadn’t been around back then, though a nine-sided figure called the enneagon was a known form.
“Is it that simple?” I asked.
“I think we are entitled to take that short cut.” he replied. “As serious students of the nine divisions of the human personality, we get a free ride on this one… Know any more Greek nines that might help us justify that stance?”
“Just the Nine Muses,” I said. “Inspiration for most of the creative activities, from poetry to song to dance to astronomy…”
“One for a different day, then,” John said, “But it all adds up to the fact that the Greek philosophers believed that there were nine facets, over many dimensions, to the human soul…” He drank some of his coffee, looking pensive. “So, where did he find the Hydra?”
“In a swamp,” I said; then realised my mistake as I noticed his smile. “In the lowest part of the psychic anatomy of himself…”
John inclined his head in agreement, “Much better,” he said, “and did he just stumble over the creature?”
I thought about that, seeing through the myth with the help of his prompting. “No, he had to send flaming arrows into the swamp to get the Hydra to reveal itself!” The imagery was suddenly startling, “So he had to shine light–consciousness down into the depths of his being…”
“Very good. And did the Hyrdra put up a fight?”
I thought about the image of Heracles wrestling a losing battle with the Hydra. “A hell of a fight… Every time Heracles cut off one of the heads, another two grew in its place.”
“Like attacking a weed that’s ready to drop its seeds!”
“Just like that,” I smiled. “And he only won the battle when he remembered some paradoxical advice that he should ‘kneel to grow’. “
“He knelt before the Hydra?” said John, looking horrified.
“Only so that he could pull the thing up by its roots, instead of attacking its weedy blossoms,” I said, flippantly.
“So he won by taking it from its source of energy?” asked John.
“Yes, by holding it up to the light – or fire in some versions – the heads died and the creature that was the Hydra perished; or rather; became a single immortal head that Heracles buried deep in the mud, in case he ever needed it…”
“And what would he use it for?” asked John, leaning forward.
“To use its vast energy in a ‘sober’ manner.” I said, replaying the dominant image from our last week’s conversation.
He smiled at me with warmth. “I’d say we could move on to slay something else now, wouldn’t you?”
(Image – composite by author. Underlying image of water snake from Wikipedia, used under Creative Commons licence: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grass_snake#/media/File:Natrix_natrix_persa3.jpg)
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Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee is usually published on Thursdays.
©Copyright, The Silent Eye School of Consciousness, 2016.
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While I would much rather contemplate the swirling waters of a river and watch the birds take their morning bath, there is nothing much to do in an urban traffic jam except people-watch. The stream of humanity, though, offers its own gifts. From the children making their way to school, those who walk quietly and those up to obvious mischief, to the old man with the elderly collie, both hobbling arthritically in the chill morning air, or the young mother pushing the next generation in a hi-tech contraption that makes your car feel like a museum piece, there is always something to see and a train of thought to follow.
This morning, it was a young woman who caught my eye. She would, undoubtedly, have caught eyes other than my own. She was very conscious of that too… hair, make-up, dress…even the way she was walking, completely conscious of herself…
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An ancient landscape, shrouded in mystery… strewn with stones and the last of the summer heather…scattered with sites of ancient sanctity.
Stone circles… an enigmatic fortress rising from the bracken like a ship to carry mind and imagination back beyond the veiling mists.
Time becomes fluid, marked in shadows cast by standing stones. Stories carved in millstone grit by ancient hands come to life beneath the racing clouds… and all around is beauty.
Join us in September as the seasons turn once more to walk forgotten pathways across the moors to circles lost in the bracken. Learn of the dreams of a mysterious Seer, a lifetime echoed in stone and whispered through time as we explore the sacred landscape of Derbyshire. In the solitude of the moors, the voices of the past seem to reach through the land and touch your heart, finding there a continuous thread of light that…
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Still Vermin
—
I am just like you
But hungry
My stomach longs
For days of food
A taste that through
My numbing mind
I sometimes still remember
—
I am just like you
But dirty
My oily, spotted flesh
Smells rank and damp
From days afloat
With no warm breeze to sing to me
Just the icy spray from salted sea
—
I am just like you
But cold
My garments, insufficient
On the day I left, with hope,
Now cling like a thing
To which you would attach
The label of derision
—
I am just like you
But childless
From my frozen hands
The locks of young blonde hair
Were torn by those whose
Eyes could look no more
On frothing foam
—
I am just like you
But simpler
You do not know
What it is like
To live within a hungry hole
And shelter from the light
That gives the hunter sight
—
I am just like you
But weaponless
We fled from guns
From guns that in the mind
Protect and guard your kind
And bombs that split and thus divide
Their rending of the limbs by which we hide
—
And in the end
I am not enough like you.
And till my dirty words can touch your heart
As though my pain were yours
You can never be just like me
And, homeless, cold, and out there
I will forever be
Still vermin
——-
©Copyright Stephen Tanham 2016
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River of the Sun, chapter 16 – Old Friends, New Dangers
“Forgive me, high priest,” said Menascare. “Times have changed and we live in a dangerous age! Had Rameses – or anyone else here, known that we were friends of old, the situation could have moved beyond my control!”
Sitting on the curved chair in his chamber, Anzety massaged the back of his head. The blinding headache that Menascare’s carefully delivered blow had induced was still taking its toll.
“We were hardly friends, Menascare. You were my least favourite teacher in that far-away temple, I was terrified of you. We called you the ‘Eye of the Cobra’. Did you ever know that?”
“Yes,” said the elder man, smiling ruefully. “thank you for that. The name grew in the fertile soil of the royal palace and is used today when I am not listening–and increasingly, when I am… Nevertheless, you learned from my teaching, while others did not…”
Anzety shifted in his seat edgily, and not because of the pain in his head. “I have barely had time to think since the Royal assault on us! This situation is getting more complex every hour! Am I to take it that things are not well between you and the King-in-Rising?”
“I have been Rameses’ mentor for more years than I wish to remember… I thought I had passed to him some of the moderation of my years, but there is missing in him a foundation of kindness, a basic trust of the rest of his world. It is a trait that his father feared also. I worry for those in his way! His father was Seti: Man of Set – Beloved of Ptah! Imagine a life lived with the spirit of wildness dominating your soul, but shared with the God who gave the heart a tongue and a pen!”
Anzety stood and tried to stretch some of the tension from his frame. “But, my sister and I do not act against the King-in-Rising. We have merely adapted the old ways and merged them with a rebirth in the worship of the divine feminine. Our goal is to show that all such Goddesses are aspects of the One – aspects of the original Isis, mother of Horus, herself. We believe that the right new rituals will release great powers of healing into the Black Land.”
Menascare reached for his wine and drained the glass. He didn’t often resort to the grape, but this was no ordinary circumstance.
“And that is a noble goal, high priest. But Rameses fears the new. He loves it only when he is the source of it! Take care, for you are both in great danger. The Heretic King still casts a long shadow, and Rameses explodes with rage if anything brings that dark time to mind… His father may be fired from kinder clay, but his venom for the self styled ‘Son of the Sun’ is as acute as that of Rameses.”
Despite the fact that the temple was in the middle of a cycle of initiation, Anzety poured them both some more of the rich, red wine. Temple protocol had been cast aside, and not by them… “The Talatat scare me enough!” he said.
“The Talatat!” Mensacare spat the words. “Those bricks of harsh uniformity. But you heard Rameses’ words, no doubt?” Menascare looked up at the ceiling, cursing quietly.
“That you were their creator? I could not believe that. I assumed they were forged by Rameses himself?”
“No,” replied Menascare. “They were my creation. I engineered their minds to show how dangerously fanatical the pursuit of pure knowledge could be. I trained them in the inner ways of the mind so they could provide us with a living tableau of the outer parts of ourselves.”
The older man suddenly looked very sad. He hung his head and sighed, before continuing, “But Rameses became fascinated with their ‘purity of purpose’. Together with Obion, he warped them so that they emerged a fearful machine.” Menascare drank deeply from his glass. “Beware them, Anzety – they are not like others; the edges of their ruthlessness have never been found…”
The high priest registered the deep lines on the face of his former teacher and decided to move the subject on.
“What will the King do now?” he asked.
“I dread to think – but I had better go and find out – assuming he is not sharing his bedchamber with your sister!”
“I think she will have skilfully avoided that…but the price may be high. Anyway, shouldn’t you be guarding someone young with a sore neck?”
“It was time to show our King-in-Rising that there are limits to my obedience! Storming your temple was his idea and the bile still sits in my throat.” He coughed and shook his head. “In truth, your young priest lies on the temple floor getting the rest he needs. Besides, Rameses will not be checking him – he’s too busy with your sister!”
“But Obion might,” said Anzety. “From what I’ve seen, he is no friend of yours!”
“That is certainly true,” Menascare smiled. “But then, he only seeks friendship with the King – something he will never have! Besides,” he chuckled. “He sleeps the sleep of the drugged–he will need his rest, too!”
Anzety looked at the older man and wondered about the resourcefulness needed to last this long under the eyes of a tyrant like the young ruler…
Menascare looked up from studying his hands; still thinking deeply. “Your young priest-to-be is a brave soul, too. I expected him to weep under the royal pressure, but he remained calm and resolute. He will make a good priest…”
“We hope he will be more than that…” Anzety risked much in saying it, but felt the time was right. But the look the other returned him carried a warning.
“Then you walk a very dangerous path, Anzety – one I would be a fool to be party to!”
“We are not devious,” said the high priest, trying to recover lost ground.” “we simply want to protect the glory of Egypt’s soul at a time of strife.”
“Egypt thrives on strife! Did the Kingdoms not roll on through the Wheel of Neheh despite the many catastrophes in between?”
The Eye of the Cobra finished his wine and stood to go.
“Beware the price, Anzety, beware the price…”
With that, he left…
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Index to previous chapters:
Chapter One – Gifts From the River
Chapter Two – An Agony of Sunset
Chapter Three – The Dark Waters
Chapter Four – Touching the Sky
Chapter Five – The Fire Within
Chapter Seven – The Crystal Air
Chapter Eight – The Unchosen Darkness
Chapter Nine – The Priestess Calls
Chapter Ten – Darkness at the Door
Chapter Twelve – Above and Below
Chapter Thirteen – The Binding Voices
Chapter Fifteen – The Intimacy of Enemies
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Introduction to River of the Sun
In April 2015 a group of people gathered in the Derbyshire hills to enact the Silent Eye’s annual Mystery Play, entitled, The River of the Sun. The five-act mystical drama formed the backbone of that Spring weekend, and told the fictional story of a clash of ego and divinity set in an Isis-worshipping temple located on an island in the Nile, during the the fascinating period of the 19th dynasty, the time of Rameses the Great.
The 18th and 19th dynasties were a period of deep upheaval for ancient Egypt. The reign of the ‘Heretic King’, Akhenaten saw Egypt’s religious structure torn apart, as the revolutionary Pharaoh became what Wallis Budge called the ‘world’s first monotheist’; re-fashioning the power of the many Gods with one supreme entity – the visible sun disc, the Aten, for which Akhenaten, alone, was the high priest. Many have pointed to the failure of the ‘herectic’ Pharaoh’s politics, but few have doubted the sincerity of his religious vision. He will, forever, remain an enigma.
Whatever the nobility of his goal, the actions he took were ruthless, and included the shutting down of the annual deity festivals which were the sole point of ritualistic contact between the ordinary people of Egypt and their locally-worshipped gods. In addition, Akhenaten paid little attention to the domestic and military affairs of Egypt, allowing the country’s enemies to encroach on its borders, greatly weakening Egypt’s power at that critical time for the region.
After Akhenaten’s brief reign, culminating in the Pharaoh’s mysterious death, shadowy military forces took control of Egypt, instigating the 19th dynasty in the persons of Rameses I and, soon thereafter, Seti I, whose throne name derives from the god Set – often considered the ‘evil one’ because of his slaying of his brother, Osiris.
Seti I is judged by modern historians as having been one of the greatest-ever pharaohs, yet his importance in the 19th dynasty was eclipsed by the actions of his second son, the brilliant Rameses II, whose long reign of over sixty years included much self-promotion and the alteration of Egypt’s recent history. Both Seti and Rameses II (Rameses the Great) were passionate about the evisceration of the last traces of Akhenaten’s ‘chaos’, as they saw it.
But, although, by the 19th dynasty, the the ‘Son of the Sun’ was long dead and the buildings of his embryonic and doomed city of Tel-al-Armana were reduced to rubble, something of that time remained in the Egyptian consciousness. A new kind of connection between Pharaoh and God had been established, one which elevated mankind, if only in the being of the Pharaoh, to be someone who ‘talked with God’. It was, at the very least, a bold experiment and, though the world would have to wait until the 19th century to re-discover the ‘erased’ pharaoh, the philosophical waves of that period rippled out and dramatically affected the way the incoming 19th dynasty had to repair the worship of the Gods, uniting the people of Egypt under a trinity of Amun-Ra, Khonsu and Mut.
Our fictional story is a tale of politics, friendships, mind and faith. It is set against an historically accurate background, and at a time when Rameses was due to take the throne from the dying Seti .
Returning to Thebes in his swift warship, crewed by his fearsome Talatat mind-warriors, Rameses decides to mount a surprise night-time raid on the island-based Isis temple which has prospered under the sponsoring reign of his father. Rameses suspects that the inner teachings conducted by the revered High Priestess and Priest conceal views that relate to the thoughts of the heretic Pharaoh, Akhenaten. He plans to insert himself and his warriors of the mind into the islands’s Spring rites as the high priest and priestess begin a cycle of initiation for a chosen apprentice priest who has proved himself worthy of special advancement.
The resulting clash draws everyone, including the young Pharaoh-in-Rising, into a spiralling situation where each is forced to confront their own fears as well as living out the roles which life has allocated them. River of the Sun is the story of a spiritual and political encounter from which none emerge unchanged, including the man who will shortly be Pharaoh, the mighty Rameses II, whose secret name for himself is ‘the unchosen’.
Through the eyes and minds of those surrounding the chosen priest and the ‘unchosen’ Pharaoh, the River of the Sun takes us on a tense and compelling journey to the heart of power and its eternal struggle with truth.
The chapters of the book will be serialised in this blog. The finished work is planned to be available in paperback and Kindle in the Spring of 2016.
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River of the Sun, serialised here, and its associated images, are the intellectual property of Stephen Tanham and is ©Copyright material.
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+ Ancient Landscapes, Bakewell Jail, Ben's Bit, Doomsday series of books, esoteric psychology, Silent Eye School
Ben’s Bit, part twelve – Cold Governance
by Steve Tanham
Ben’s Bit, part twelve – Cold Governance
There’s something about the door that terrifies me. I suspect that it’s still unlocked. But I won’t try it to see. To try it would risk some fragile things. If it were locked and I had maintained my belief that Roger Sylvester, my new gaoler, being a good man, had left it open as a rebellious gesture against a system that had incarcerated a fellow good man, then something gentle and precious would be dashed against the old stone walls of Bakewell Gaol.
If it were not locked, then I would have doubted my picture of the new and honest man…
So, I don’t try it… I just look at it from the bed across my cell.
I must have drifted off. I am brought back to consciousness by the arrival of my new gaoler, so I can’t say whether he has unlocked the door or not. When I look up, sleepily, he is standing over me and smiling, dressed in a tracksuit, with a stopwatch on a lanyard around his neck.
“Good to rest, Ben,” he says, genuinely. “But not too much – exercise time!”
It’s said in a quasi military tone – navy induced, no doubt, and I realise that the comfort of having a fellow human being for a gaoler is to be tainted by the fact that he’s probably an exercise nut. He escorts me through the old corridors of the largely empty gaol and out into the central quadrangle which forms an exercise yard. “Can’t beat regular exercise, Ben, for lifting the spirits.” he says as we enter the yard with its lines of lichen streaked dripping red brick.
For the next forty-five minutes he ‘joins’ me in a suggested series of short sprints, push-ups, sit-ups and squat thrusts. He’s hardly breaking sweat, but I’m perspiring profusely. By the end of our exercise period, I’m wet through and gasping for breath.
“Give it time, Ben,” he laughs, “you’ll be amazed what a daily work-out like this can do for you!”
‘Daily’ my mind screams. I’ve moved from a decaying psychopath to a fitness nazi!
Grateful that it’s over, but acknowledging that I actually do feel better, I follow Roger Sylvester through the corridors, and am delighted when he turns towards the shower block. I’m glad for the opportunity, as being clean has always been very important to me. He opens the heavy painted creme door with the old, frosted glass panels, and nods me in.
“You should find everything you need in there,” he smiles. “Including a new ‘uniform'” he half snarls the word, sympathetic to the effect that such de-humanising objects can have on someone in my position. “I can only bend so many rules, Ben, you know that…But I’ll give you some privacy.”
I nod, grateful that he’s prepared to bend any rules, and enter the shower room, peeling off my sweat-streaked overalls.
The sanitised room is cold. Its Victorian black and white tiles forbidding and stark. But the hot water that follows is a refreshing delight and I have no complaints… not till the flow stops, suddenly, and I look around for the cause…
The Governor is standing by the far wall, his hands on the master stopcock. He’s smiling like a prize fighter would, who, standing over a knocked-down opponent, senses victory in the other’s disorientation.
I’m standing in a shower room and not lying on a canvas boxing ring. But it feels the same. I’m immobilised under an open bank of shower heads, naked and dripping. The cold of the cell is invading my former shroud of steam…and there’s literally nothing between my skin and the man I fear even more than Dr Grey.
He pulls over a battered wooden stool and sits, halfway between the stop-cock and me. “Thought we might need a chat, Ben.” he says casually, as though all this is quite normal for a Friday morning.
It’s a casual, black suit he’s selected for the occasion, with a matching black polo neck. “Like it, Ben?” he asks, fingering the cuffs. “Couldn’t help noticing how you admired my suit when we last met.” he smiles, cruelly. “Bet you have a few nice suits at home?” It’s a cruel reminder of a past that now seems impossibly distant, as well he knows.
“Ben,” he says, shaking his head as though he needs to clear his mind. “we need to clear up one or two bits and pieces…” I feel like covering myself with my hands, in case my bits are the ones he wants to clear up, but I don’t. I’ve learned about fear and how much of its paralysing force is in the mind, long before it’s in the body.
He looks over my body, taking his time. It’s a pale shadow of his triangular muscularity, with its well-tanned surface and perfect poise. But, grateful for small mercies, I can see there is no sexual element to his visual invasion. He’s just curious as to how fit I might be.
“I’m glad you take such a close interest in those in your care.” I drag out the word ‘care’ into a sneer.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about, Ben,” he says slapping his well-dressed thigh. “Gets us nowhere, that sort of attitude!”
Before I can think up something clever that a naked man in a shower might say as a riposte, he continues.
“Why’d you do it, Ben? The three of you–” His eyes have finished with the strip search and he’s content to bring his eagle orbs to look into mine. “Just mischief…? did you get drunk and decide it would be a wheeze?” He shakes his head. “Nope, it wasn’t like that, was it, Ben?” he stands up and strides to the raised edge of the shower platform. “There’s something deeper going on here, and we think you’re all part of something bigger – much bigger!” He raises one arm in what looks like preparation for a blow, but then diverts it to scratch the back of his neck. I decide not to ask who this ‘we’ might be.
I flinch, anyway…and then a miracle happens. Through the crook of the Governor’s elbow I see Roger Sylvester enter the shower room, carrying an extra towel. His relaxed gait and calm smile freezes as he glimpses the scene before him.
“What the hell’s going on here?” he shouts.
The Governor purses his lips and nods, realising his little exploration has come to an end. But he seems un-phased by his subordinate’s intrusion. “Just having a little chat, Roger, that’s all.”
“Little chats like this are likely to be misinterpreted,” says my gaoler, icily.
The Governor turns. “Oh, I don’t expect there’ll be any mis-interpretation between you and me, Roger. Despite any misgivings we might have once had about the past…”
I have no idea what that means. But it seems that Roger and the Governor have history, and, from the Governor’s confident stride as he leaves the chequered room, he has no doubt that he can command the gaoler’s obedience, if he needs to coerce.
But the prematurely grey-haired man walking calmly across the shower room floor does not look like he’s about to be intimidated by his superior, regardless of any history.
“Sorry, Ben,” he says, “That was way out of line…”
“No harm done,” I say, gratefully accepting a warm towel and wishing I were sure the words represented the truth.
“Trouble is,” says Roger. “The bastard still thinks he’s in sub-Saharan Africa…”
———————————————————–< to be continued-
Ben’s Bit is a continuing first-person narrative of the character created by Stuart France and Sue Vincent, which may bear some relation to the author of this story, Steve Tanham, their fellow director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness. In their book, Scions of Albion, Ben is arrested for his overly enthusiastic part in a mad escapade, and the other two are nowhere to be seen . . . For more, enjoy their Doomsday series of books, and the new series (Lands of Exile) whose first volume, But ‘n’ Ben is now available in Kindle and Paperback. Click here for details.
Index to Ben’s Bits:
Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven,
Sue Vincent describes her and Stuart’s perspective on Ben’s imprisonment: Part One, Part Two
The Doomsday Series of books by Stuart France and Sue Vincent
The Silent Eye School of Consciousness – a modern mystery school.
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Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee, part 49 – The Questions of Balance
by Steve Tanham
Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee, part 49 – The Questions of Balance
.Alexandra.
“I can see you’re brimming with ideas,” said John, looking at me slyly, over the rim of his coffee cup. “But perhaps you’ve not connected them all?”
He was right. But I sensed an uncertainty in him, too, about the myth of the boar. As though it still held much that he hadn’t been able to fathom. This made me feel better, so I launched into the well-filled, but unconnected islands of meaning I had been able to glean.
“Well, firstly, the whole myth is to do with balance.”
He nodded. “Safe ground, I think… and Libra is most definitely about balance, justice being a result of seeing things from that state…”
“An inner state – she’s blindfold..” I breathed out some of the tension. It annoyed me when I got screwed up about something so trivial… but was it? Were these things of myth not the very terrain of our inner lives?
“Heracles loses one kind of balance – he gets drunk in Pholus’ cave,” I said. “Intoxicated might be a better word, I’ve no idea why…”
“An abuse… a poisoning of the natural faculties?” John offered. “or an loosing of the ordinary consciousness, and the opening of an inner state? You could justify both but remember that the wine was a gift to the Centaurs from Dionysus…”
I nodded, “And yet certain symbols are repeated in the myths, which suggest a common, inner meaning, possibly depending on the context?”
“Yes, definitely,” he said
Growing in momentum, if not confidence, I continued, “And yet wine–and the vineyards that produce it, are revered as spiritual symbols, too?”
“They are, indeed,” he smiled. “So much so, that the red wine is directly equated with the very blood of Christ by the church…” He paused, reflecting. “…and the inner meaning of wine is a higher form of understanding–higher than stone or water which came lower in its scale, so to speak…”
“But this wine causes him to kill two of his most loyal companions – the Centaurs!”
“Who are?” asked John, leaning forward as he did when we were narrowing in on something important.
“Who are half men and half horse.”
“And we’ve met horses before, have we not?”
“Oh yes,” I said seeing a chink of light in the cave ahead… or was it an oncoming train…”The wild mares, which Heracles had to tame… symbols of uncontrolled thoughts, as I recall?”
“Yes,” said John. “So we can assume that Centaurs, who we will meet again, have a significance in their upper and lower arrangements?”
“In many ways the perfect outer form,” I whispered. “I often wish I could have the stamina of a horse to carry me around the weary streets of London…”
“And in a sense you do, with your wonderful legal mind – the product of all its training and discipline?”
I thought about that. And the Centaurs were a good force in the land of Heracles, and he had killed them because he had become intoxicated with something he craved – the lower form of wine. I continued to give voice to my thoughts, lost in an internal reverie, “And this wine was meant to be drunk only by the Centaurs, when together, in a form of communion!”
“Which, presumably, lifted them, as good communion does, to a higher place within themselves–and collectively.”
I felt a rush of love for the Centaurs, and looked forward to a future reunion with them. They seemed to be wise beings, perhaps more limited than Heracles in potential, though not in pub behaviour…”
He smiled. “They’ve always had a place in my heart, too.”
“It’s a battle for balance, then,” I said, getting enthusiastic. “fought in two arenas – the place where the wrong wine can intoxicate to the point of killing friends who are the epitome of balance; and the high ground where the only way to catch the unregenerate animal is with artifice – the right use of the mind…”
“And Heracles triumphs?” asked John.
“Well, yes…” I responded, sensing that I had the inner grasp of the thing, if not the right words to describe it. “…by humour as much as anything else. He drives the exhausted animal down the mountain and amuses all below with the spectacle.” I sipped the last of my coffee, lost in my thoughts. “Perhaps he turns it into a parody by making it human-like, while showing that it can never be so…”
“It could even be a visual apology to the Centaurs,” John said, “showing a man atop the wild beast of the boar – a lesson learned?”
He watched me cross the last few feet of my mental process.
“He triumphs by being human, within which, by the grace of something very high, all things are forgiven, once wisdom is grasped…” I fell silent.
“Sometimes, you astonish me…” said John, ordering two celebration coffees from a smiling Rose, who, strangely, was just passing our table.
(Image – composite by author. Underlying monochrome image of Libra figure: http://www.signs4half.com/libra-zodiac-sign-symbol-premium-removable-wall-decor-decal/)
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Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee is usually published on Thursdays.
©Copyright, The Silent Eye School of Consciousness, 2016.
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Sue’s beautiful rendering of the St. Valentine story…
In a plastic bucket beside the counter sat a dozen roses, each one individually wrapped, slightly faded, but with their heads held firmly erect in the stiff plastic. Each one would doubtless be bought and, given their garage location probably as an afterthought, along with the milk and petrol, and taken home to a loved one as a token. For many, that would be the extent of their expression of devotion for another year. For many recipients, it would mean the world. It was a sad sight.
On the 14th of February, across the western world, florists, jewellers and chocolatiers make a commercial killing as lovers and hopeful romantics celebrate St Valentine’s Day. Few of us are immune from interest in this date. Some pay court and show their hearts to a loved one, some stand firmly in the camp that sees the celebration simply as a money-making scam, while…
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+ Esoteric Meaning of Myth, guided mystical walks, Mystery Schools, myths and spirituality, nature, Spirituality, Uncategorized
Silent Eye Summer pre-Solstice Weekend 2016
by Steve Tanham
Shake off the Winter blues – Anticipate the Summer ahead and book now for the Silent Eye’s 2016 pre-Solstice weekend, “Whispers of the West” to take place in the ancient landscapes of Pembrokeshire, West Wales, June 17-19, 2016.
We will base ourselves in the ancient Celtic city of St David’s near to the cathedral, whose site dates back to the 6th century. St David’s will be the main focus of the Sunday morning walk and talk. The ancient city offers a good choice of hotels and well-priced guest houses as well as a choice of restaurants.
From the magical traces of the ancient Druids, through the splendour of St David’s Cathedral to the modern and unchanged landscape of Pembrokeshire, the weekend has much to offer.
We will be conducted by a local member of the Silent Eye School who knows the landscape and its history well.
Our outline itinerary is:
17-19 June, 2016
Friday Afternoon 17 June
Drive to Whitesands beach – ice cream
Walk to St David’s Head – hut circles – Coetan Arthur burial chamber
Dinner in St David’s
Saturday 18 June
Drive to Newport via Carreg Samson and Carreg Coetan Arthur burial chambers
Walk up Carn Ingli for magnificent view
Drive to Pentre Ifan – the most impressive chamber in Wales
Drive to Nevern church – Ogham stones – bleeding yews
Drive to Cwm Gwaun for a drink at Bessie’s pub
Drive to St Gwyndaf’s church at Llanwnda near Strumble Head
Dinner at The Sloop in Porthgain or St David’s
Sunday 19 June
Walk to St Non’s – new chapel – old chapel – well
Walk to Cathedral and Bishop’s palace
Lunch in the refectory
Walk along to the bridge and up Quickwell Hill
(If people want to stay into the afternoon there is a lovely boat trip round Ramsay Island)
The cost to attend the weekend is £50.00. Hotel and meals are not included in that figure and those attending need to make their own accommodation arrangements.
Register your interest via email to rivingtide@gmail.com
(Images from Wikipedia, used under Creative Commons license)
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River of the Sun, chapter 15 – The Intimacy of Enemies
“I am not always the brutal man I portray,” said Rameses, lying to one side on Neferaset’s bed and sipping his wine. “Authority must be established before a new situation is allowed to develop. The seed must be placed, not where it might fall, but where it should grow.”
From the floor rug, where she sat, cross-legged on a simply mat, the high priestess replied, “Your dying father had no qualms about how we conduct ourselves. He chose me for the role…long ago.”
There was a touch of bitterness in the Regent’s tone when he replied, “He chose many people, priestess…! My father did a good job of restoring Egypt’s borders, too; but my kingdom will be many times the size of his. After me, the world will look on my works and wonder at the mind that built them. I will take this Egypt and make it into something truly mighty!”
Someone as close as the black beetle crossing the floor of her chambers might have seen the flicker in her eyes, but Rameses did not.
“You lay great store by the mind?, Chosen of Ra” she asked, in a soft voice.
“Doesn’t everyone? You have not achieved your status without much use of the mind?”
“True, Chosen of Ra, but my status is lowly compared to yours. Also I must understand, and use, the emotions of those in my care. Emotion, used wisely, can perform miracles.”
“So can fear…” Rameses smiled. “…and you can drop the ‘Chosen of Ra’ when we are alone. ‘Majesty’ will suffice.”
“The high priestess rose to her knees and bowed. “Yes, Majesty.”
“Good,” said the King-in-Rising. “Now that we are beginning to understand each other, let me ask you a little more about this mysterious island. Why are you so revered, and why is this place so shrouded in mystery?”
“I think it is simply because we are a recently established temple, Majesty.”
Rameses uncoiled his resting body like a snake, bring his feet to the floor and towering over his prey. “You ought to know by now that I will not be satisfied by such half truths!” he snarled. “There is a core of something new, here, priestess, and it goes beyond the stones of your temple! – I am not alone in finding it so, and I mean to uncover its heart.”
There was complete calmness in her reply. Her eyes were distantly focussed, as though listening to a conversation far away in place and time. “Its heart is the right word, Majesty. We seek only to rejuvenate the spirit of the worship of Isis, as we believe this has become stale.”
“Stale!” the Regent was still angry. “More like mummified! So, yes, I can see your goal – and yet you actively revere and portray the Gods of Amun-Ra, with the twin aspects of Khonsu and Mut. Would it not have been simpler to use Isis herself?”
“Isis is there, Majesty, in the shadows. Our work is to make her a fitting mother to all the female Gods, re-uniting her with her distant origins.”
“And what of Horus then?” The royal temper was abating, soothed by the soft voice of the high priestess.
“Are you not the incarnation of Horus?” she asked, with wide eyes that emphasised her devotion to the traditions. “The most ancient of the royal Gods? And, in using Khonsu and Mut as the lower aspects of Amun-Ra himself, do we not honour and obey the direction your family has set to finally rid the world of the legacy of the Heretic King, Akhenaten–the man your forebears have erased?”
Rameses found himself distracted by the dread word. “Akhenaten – the Heretic! Do you not know that even to speak his name is punishable by death?”
Neferaset answered carefully, “If you had designs on my life, so soon, I would be dead already, Chosen of Ra…” the mistake that wasn’t slipped unnoticed into his consciousness.
A flicker of a smile crossed the tight lips as Rameses realised how artfully he had been softened. He moved his hands down his shins and leaned towards her.
“Know, then, that should I ever find that you are harbouring the slightest sympathy for the words or thoughts of the sun-drunk madman, your end will be slow, public and without the slightest mercy. Do we understand the game, Priestess?”
In answer, Neferaset slid, submissively, towards Rameses, taking and kissing his hand. The Regent pulled back with surprise; then gazed down at his hand, looking uncertain.
“Perfectly, Majesty.” said the high priestess into the silence between them.
Rameses found his heart was racing. “Isis has a worthy practitioner of her magic here . . . and you must know that I want you!” But he was less sure than his words suggested. There was a feeling that she was occupying a place in his mind that no-one had entered before.
Neferaset loosened the ties on the front of her shift. “Then take me, Majesty! I will not resist such a royal command!” Her eyes were challenging; there was a hint of a smile.
Rameses was felt both aroused and endangered. He shook his head, slowly. “You play too well, priestess. I will not take you like this–offered to authority as a temple concubine would be–and you know it!” He swept his arm towards her. “Away! But, I will have you, and willingly, before our encounter is over.”
Neferaset slid back along the floor to her mat. She picked up her goblet and drank some of the wine, never taking her eyes from the King-in-Rising. “Then, I await your guidance, Majesty…”
Rameses felt he had been caught off-guard. He drained his wine, and stared back at the woman who both intrigued and unsettled him. Returning to his military mind, he said, “So let me make our game of greater value. There are two in my company who are as clever as you and your brother. One is my old teacher, Menascare.” His face lined with the pressure of contrasting emotions. “Though nearing the end of his useful days, he is yet mighty in the ways of wisdom and coercion.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Before I groomed and promoted Obion, he was in line to be partner to my schemes until his comfortable death in the palace at Pi-Rameses, but lately…his mind is distracted by something–and Obion has seen his chance.”
“You mean to pit them against each other?” asked Neferaset, her eyes unblinking.
“Foolish woman,” Rameses lashed her with the word. “I mean to pit them against you, your brother and the Vessels of your impudent temple! But not in a simple way…I love strategy games, high priestess. I hope you do too?”
“With the price of failure being my virtue and probably my life, I have little choice, Majesty.”
Sensing victory, Rameses slid off the bed and joined the high priestess on the crumpled mat. He took her unresisting hand and returned the kiss. “I am not new to the skills of love, high priestess; I would ensure you enjoyed our lovemaking. Of course, should I find your own enjoyment insincere, your death would be suitably cruel…”
Neferaset closed her eyes to the sadistic image. “And am I the only one in the middle of this game of high consequence, Majesty? Or does my brother, Anzety, share this fate?”
“Your brother? Of course not!” Rameses smiled, happy at the confirmation of her naivety. “Why, your chosen young Priest is the centre of it all. It is far more effective to target someone else who is loved by another – ask Obion, the Talatat of Fear, how well that works! And I can see how much affection you have for the boy – and he for you…”
Rameses watched the beautiful eyes close as the priestess swallowed, hard, in the face of the picture of what was to follow. He pressed his advantage, putting as much severity into the words as possible. “You will complete his initiations before the full moon and he will emerge triumphant or broken – and this will be on your head, alone.”
Neferaset looked at him with pained eyes. “Three days! So little time, when it should take a whole year! But that is a cruel thing to do to a young man without fault!”
“No, it is not!” said Rameses, enjoying the hunt for the mind and heart of this challenging woman. “It is a suitable sport for the King-in-Rising, and an appropriate response to an intriguing woman who sets herself, however subtly, in the way of the Royal Will! When the moon is full and you have failed, then cruelty may play its part…”
Neferaset pulled herself straight and calmed her breathing, as she had done to face the onslaught in the temple. “Very well Majesty, you have your Royal hunt. But I have one condition?” Her eyes did not waver in the face of his deadly gaze.
“You would place conditions on the man who will shortly be your King?”
“Yes, just this – that you release the apprentice priest to sleep, now.”
Rameses reached out to take Neferaset’s goblet. He drained its contents, daring her even to think of objecting.
“You play like a girl, Priestess! You could have extracted so much more from me than this!” The wide grin split the cruel face. “But yes, I agree to your terms, though you sold them cheaply! Now I will leave you and sleep in the company of my soldiers…”
Rameses stood to go, straightening out his warrior’s clothes. “I will give Menascare and Obion their instructions.” he smiled. “Separately, of course–we can have our games with them, too!”
He retrieved his cloak and swung it around his wide shoulders.
“The duty soldiers will ferry me to the bank of the great river in the morning. Once there, I will take provisions and a horse from your stables. I have need of my own company. These events are portents of much to come.” He fastened his cloak at the throat. “Did you know I was building a tower not far from here in the hills beside the desert? They will speak of the stark beauty of this tower when I am long gone…”
He strode to the door, then turned to look at the high priestess one last time.
“I am here, not just to study, you, High Priestess, but to oversee my tower’s completion. It will be a monument to my father. I will return when I am ready, but you will not know when…”
Neferaset rose and bowed. “Then we will see it as a test to be ready for you this time, Majesty.”
Rameses was enjoying himself. He looked down at the woman before him, savouring the additional authority his height imparted.
“I do not see how you could be ready under these circumstances, priestess. That is the whole point of my game – to see you kept off-guard, to expose your naked reactions within your broken temple…”
The moon was bright overhead as he stepped out beneath the stars. He began to walk towards the quarters of the Talatat, but changed his mind. Instead the King-in-Rising loosened his cloak and pulled it up around his head and shoulders. He crossed between the twin pylons into the sanctity of the outer temple buildings. There was no-one on guard. The smashed doors still hung at an angle on their ruined hinges. Lights burned inside the temple, but the sacred space had only one occupant. The apprentice priest was sleeping by the punishment block on which his head should have rested. Instead his head was cushioned by a garment that Rameses recognised as belonging to Lord Mensacare. Obion’s sword was nowhere to be seen…
Rameses shook his head. The encounter with the priestess had drained him. “Sleep well, young man,” said the King-in-Rising, feeling strangely sympathetic. “There will be tests enough in the days ahead. I am not always a monster…”
He looked down at the rich purple cloth beneath the boy’s head and shook his own.
“Menascare, you old fool…” he spoke into the air of the temple. “Did you think I wouldn’t know… or didn’t you care?” He walked towards the temple door, still speaking the thoughts in his mind. “How joyous your company was in the days of my childhood; and how deadly to my ambitions it now is…”
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Index to previous chapters:
Chapter One – Gifts From the River
Chapter Two – An Agony of Sunset
Chapter Three – The Dark Waters
Chapter Four – Touching the Sky
Chapter Five – The Fire Within
Chapter Seven – The Crystal Air
Chapter Eight – The Unchosen Darkness
Chapter Nine – The Priestess Calls
Chapter Ten – Darkness at the Door
Chapter Twelve – Above and Below
Chapter Thirteen – The Binding Voices
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Introduction to River of the Sun
In April 2015 a group of people gathered in the Derbyshire hills to enact the Silent Eye’s annual Mystery Play, entitled, The River of the Sun. The five-act mystical drama formed the backbone of that Spring weekend, and told the fictional story of a clash of ego and divinity set in an Isis-worshipping temple located on an island in the Nile, during the the fascinating period of the 19th dynasty, the time of Rameses the Great.
The 18th and 19th dynasties were a time of upheaval for ancient Egypt on many levels. The reign of the ‘Heretic King’ Akhenaten saw Egypt’s religious structure torn apart, as the revolutionary Pharaoh became what Wallis Budge called the ‘world’s first monotheist’; re-fashioning the power of the many Gods with one supreme entity – the visible sun disc, the Aten, for which Akhenaten, alone, was the high priest. Many have pointed to the failure of the ‘herectic’ Pharaoh’s politics, but few have doubted the sincerity of his religious vision. He will, forever, remain an enigma.
Whatever the nobility of his goal, the actions he took were ruthless, and included the shutting down of the annual deity festivals which were the sole point of ritualistic contact between the ordinary people of Egypt and their locally-worshipped gods. In addition, Akhenaten paid little attention to the domestic and military affairs of Egypt, allowing the country’s enemies to encroach on its borders, greatly weakening Egypt’s power at that critical time for the region.
After Akhenaten’s brief reign, culminating in the Pharaoh’s mysterious death, shadowy military forces took control of Egypt, instigating the 19th dynasty in the persons of Rameses I and, soon thereafter, Seti I, whose throne name derives from the god Set – often considered the ‘evil one’ because of his slaying of his brother, Osiris.
Seti I is judged by modern historians as having been one of the greatest-ever pharaohs, yet his importance in the 19th dynasty was eclipsed by the actions of his second son, the brilliant Rameses II, whose long reign of over sixty years included much self-promotion and the alteration of Egypt’s recent history. Both Seti and Rameses II (Rameses the Great) were passionate about the evisceration of the last traces of Akhenaten’s ‘chaos’, as they saw it.
But, although, by the 19th dynasty, the the ‘Son of the Sun’ was long dead and the buildings of his embryonic and doomed city of Tel-al-Armana were reduced to rubble, something of that time remained in the Egyptian consciousness. A new kind of connection between Pharaoh and God had been established, one which elevated mankind, if only in the being of the Pharaoh, to be someone who ‘talked with God’. It was, at the very least, a bold experiment and, though the world would have to wait until the 19th century to re-discover the ‘erased’ pharaoh, the philosophical waves of that period rippled out and dramatically affected the way the incoming 19th dynasty had to repair the worship of the Gods, uniting the people of Egypt under a trinity of Amun-Ra, Khonsu and Mut.
Our fictional story is a tale of politics, friendships, mind and faith. It is set against an historically accurate background, and at a time when Rameses was due to take the throne from the dying Seti .
Returning to Thebes in his swift warship, crewed by his fearsome Talatat mind-warriors, Rameses decides to mount a surprise night-time raid on the island-based Isis temple which has prospered under the sponsoring reign of his father. Rameses suspects that the inner teachings conducted by the revered High Priestess and Priest conceal views that relate to the thoughts of the heretic Pharaoh, Akhenaten. He plans to insert himself and his warriors of the mind into the islands’s Spring rites as the high priest and priestess begin a cycle of initiation for a chosen apprentice priest who has proved himself worthy of special advancement.
The resulting clash draws everyone, including the young Pharaoh-in-Rising, into a spiralling situation where each is forced to confront their own fears as well as living out the roles which life has allocated them. River of the Sun is the story of a spiritual and political encounter from which none emerge unchanged, including the man who will shortly be Pharaoh, the mighty Rameses II, whose secret name for himself is ‘the unchosen’.
Through the eyes and minds of those surrounding the chosen priest and the ‘unchosen’ Pharaoh, the River of the Sun takes us on a tense and compelling journey to the heart of power and its eternal struggle with truth.
The chapters of the book will be serialised in this blog. The finished work is planned to be available in paperback and Kindle in the Spring of 2016.
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River of the Sun, serialised here, and its associated images, is the intellectual property of Stephen Tanham and is ©Copyright material.
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+ Greek Myths, Hercules, Higher Mind, Journey of the hero, Labours of Hercules, Mystery Schools, myths and spirituality, Silent Eye School, Uncategorized
Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee, part 48 – A Balance of Power
by Steve Tanham
Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee, part 48 – A Balance of Power
.Alexandra.
“Another confusing one to make sense of – yes, I know!” said John, looking at my slight scowl, as I sat down to the freshly brought coffees. “But, as we’ve seen, re-telling the story can help to prompt the right questions…”
I had no idea where the sudden angst had come from. He never put me under any pressure; just made suggestions that, usually, opened a door in my own thoughts. Why was this one different? I sipped some of my coffee and traced the feeling of unease… And then it was there, and easy to define…
“Killing people – Heracles is always killing people!” I said, with some vehemence. “I know he’s not a real human, but, honestly, if he was he’d be locked up as a psychopath by now!”
“Yes, ancient wisdom tales tend to be violent… but are the victims really people?” John asked, smiling. “And emotion is good, by the way–it releases energy for our use, hopefully not for violent purposes!”
He drank some more coffee, blowing over the surface to cool it, and appearing to smile, ruefully, at the memory of last week’s burnt skin. “So who dies?” he asked.
I took a slow breath, letting the unwarranted anger subside; then began, “Heracles’ task is to capture the Erymanthian Boar, which has savaged an unnamed part of the country.” I thought for a moment, because the re-telling had triggered another link. “In some myths, the boar – one down from the lion in the hierarchy of admired ‘beasts’, attacks vineyards, a pristine image of cultivation.”
John nodded, “And is that it – that’s all he has to do?”
“Not quite,” I said. “Confusingly, he is also told to ensure he takes the time to ‘eat’ as well, suggesting that this task is going to be a breeze.”
“And is he armed?” asked John.
“That’s a good point,” I replied. ” No less a person than Apollo gives him a new bow, but, in some versions, he leaves it behind because he feels it will increase the chances of him killing, again – a mistake he’s determined not to repeat…” I snorted “… as though that made a difference once the wine got into his head and he starts swinging that deadly club of his!”
“Another use of a blunt instrument, then?” John said, smiling at me before continuing with, “Wine? Who did he drink wine with?”
“With Pholos, a centaur – half man and half horse,” I replied. “But the wine was neither his nor Hercules’ to drink.”
John widened his eyes, “Whose wine was it, then?”
“It belonged to all the centaurs–a gift of the Gods– and only to be drunk when they were gathered together.”
“So why did Pholos allow it to be drunk?”
“Because Hercules was half mad with the smell of it, and Pholos didn’t want to be inhospitable with the famous warrior… perhaps?.” I replied, trying to think on my feet. “And Chiron, another famous and wise centaur joined them in the party, after pointing out that they were acting against the rules!”
“But, Heracles was there to catch the wild boar, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” I answered, “And after the brawl wherein he murdered the two friendly centaurs, who were only drinking with him, he did so, by setting a trap high on the mountain near the snow line – and proceeded to show off by walking the boar down to the town by holding its hind feet and making it descend on its front limbs…”
“Hmm,” said John.
“Oh come on, uncle John, do one of your summaries for me… throw me a few clues!”
“Wily niece…” he said, narrowing his eyes and draining his coffee. “Still…. think Libra, the month of this Labour, and also think of the related symbol of the blindfold woman set tall and apart, holding the scales. Why is she blindfold? Is it just that ‘justice is blind? Think of the two centaurs he killed under the influence of the wine, who were they? Did either of them have a prior relationship to Heracles? Think about the way Heracles captured the boar – was it his usual club led style? Also, remember that Libra is the seventh month of the zodiac.. what changes in the movement from six to seven?”
He looked at the empty cup of coffee and, clearly considering another, sighed.
“No… got to go,” he said, getting up and kissing me on the top of the head as he had since I was a child. “Most of all, remember that I don’t have all the answers… there may not be definitive answers to the myths, as their creators are long gone… but their other-worldly skill is written in the tales. Always remember that, they were meant to do something to the opening mind…”
He was just opening the door when he called back, “And did he eat?” I turned to look at him, then laughed. “No, actually, he didn’t. He got drunk, instead…”
I mused on that and watched him leave. I knew I’d miss the old curmudgeon during the coming week.
(Image – composite by author. Underlying image of Hercules the child, from Wikipedia, public domain licence)
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Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee is usually published on Thursdays.
©Copyright, The Silent Eye School of Consciousness, 2016.
Sun in Gemini 
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