For those interested in the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, we have recently (July 2015) re-written our eleven-page overview about our Work. The images and text below are extracted from the downloadable PDF document, which is also indexed to provide fast links directly from your browser. You can download the full version of this by clicking below:
Silent Eye 2015 Gen BrochureV1AA
The Call of the Soul (Cover Page) – An introduction to the work of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness
“Have you wanted to wake up to a world in which you feel you really belong? A world where your experience of life makes perfect sense and you greet each day with both fulfilment and purpose? A world that recognises your unique beauty…. and offers you its own?”
A Modern Mystery School (Page 2)
‘A Modern Mystery School’ – It’s a simple statement, but it carries a powerful intent and a history of delivery with it . . .
“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” Rumi
In 2013 three people, Steve Tanham, Sue Vincent and Stuart France came together after decades of service to other mystical and magical organisations to create the Silent Eye School of Consciousness – choosing to establish it as a not-for-profit organisation . . . They believed it was time to create a new path – a synthesis of modern and traditional spiritual development that would speak . . .
Life seen as a river of consciousness (Page 3)
When we stop to think about ourselves, we can compare our lives to a river, flowing through time and events, from which we collect, and come to identify with, the memories of good and bad things. This collection of mental and emotional self-portraits becomes . . .
Three journeys around the enneagram (Page 4)
The real and transformative journey does not take place within a symbol – no matter how potent; it takes place within that invisible collection of thoughts and feelings that we call our Self. But the right symbol can . . .
The desert of self-honesty (Page 5)
Schools of the Mysteries will often begin their introductions with what they need from their students. These attributes might include diligence and hard work. These are, of course, important to any such endeavour, but, for us, the most important characteristic is something else . . .
The three-year journey of the Soul (Page 6)
The primary offering of the Silent Eye School is the three-year ‘Call of the Soul’ correspondence course . . .
The Land of the Exiles (Page 7)
The Land of the Exiles comprises the first twelve lessons of the Silent Eye’s three year programme – the First Degree. We can only begin a journey from where we are, now . . . This sounds trite, but is an essential consideration if . . .
The Exiles . . . and you? (Page 8)
A constellation of players, all arranged to bring you face to face with the outer aspects of your psyche. They will reveal to you the emotional, physical and intellectual parts of your being – and let you explore what should be happening inside your life . . .
Years Two and Three? (Page 9)
We can only say a little about the second and third years of the Silent Eye’s correspondence course. The further journeys follow the same learning process, moving deeper into the . . .
From Learning to Being (Page 10)
The intent of the Silent Eye is to provide learning through experience. Four times a year, as close to the Solstice and Equinox points as we can practically make them, we host a cycle of gatherings . . .
Reaching out – across geographies (Page 11 – final page)
We know the spiritual journey can be isolating. Only a few people share the dedication that the path requires. The School has students from across the world, some of whom live far away from the support and friendship of like-minded people. This is why we took a decision to use social media to create a feeling of community where fellow Companions can meet . . .
Download the full, internet tagged document by clicking the link below.
Silent Eye 2015 Gen BrochureV1AA
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Some beautiful Derbyshire thoughts and pictures from Sue Vincent
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Sedburgh is only half an hour away from us, here is a lovley photo tribute from smackedpentax
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Alexandra was picking her way along the shoreline at the edge of the bay, probably cursing me. She was clutching a printed copy of the email I had sent her, asking that she bring sensible footwear – for which, these days, she read ‘boots’ – and allow a little extra time. The note closed with my offer of bringing the coffee.
I had a short time remaining before she would find me. I closed my eyes and summoned up ‘Rocky’ – my short name for the Silent Eye’s archetype of point five of the ‘outer rim’ of the enneagram. Along with Sue and Stuart, I had developed these figures of the mind to illustrate the dominant principles of the outward-facing aspects of the nine-pointed ‘truth machine’.
Not that everyone wanted to know the truth . . . you had to learn to love it for its own sake; for the stony path could be sharp and painful to tender feet shorn of their usual worldly footwear. But the School wasn’t about comfort, though we didn’t seek, deliberately, to be without it; it was focussed on those determined souls who wanted to dig into the fertile soil of their own lives . . . and see what else might be capable of growing there.
Alexandra was in an unusual position: we had been friends for many years, so, although she could have simply enrolled as a student and studied via the Silent Eye’s correspondence course, my partners in the School judged circumstance to have brought her and (collectively) us together – and that allowed direct teaching, via our brief meetings, in addition.
I looked back along the beach trail to where she was rapidly narrowing the gap between us. She still couldn’t see me, which was part of the setup; though I could view every step of her progress. Soon, she stood below my rocky perch at the end of the path, staring out at the retreating tide and looking bewildered.
“Ahem!” I coughed from above, in what I hoped was a friendly fashion.
She smiled and looked up, “Oh you’re there – being a Type Five, no doubt!” She gazed up at me, watching me admire her intellect.
“Well, yes, actually . . . so, since you seemed to have grasped my methods, tell me, from what you see, something about fives . . .”
She looked up. “I’m looking up at you,” she said. “So there’s got to be something about position in this? – I know, you’ve placed yourself above me, using your knowledge of this place.”
“And why would I do that?” I asked. “Am I preventing you from coming up here, too?”
Alexandra examined the short and steep path that would reunite us, but then noticed that I occupied the only natural seat at the top of the scramble.
“Hmm,” she said. “No, but the path is. Not much chance of sharing a coffee up there!”
“So, I’ve located myself above your world, in a singular position, is that it?”
She scanned the rock, again, looking for clues in the rucksack I had set down on a ledge in the dark rock, just to the side of me. She found none.
“Are we having coffee at all?” she asked, reasonably, still digesting the tableau.
“You not only covet my high and secure place, you want to have some of my coffee, as well?” I made it sound as accusatory as possible, though I was starting to grin by the time the words were out.
I pressed home the point, knowing it would leave me bordering on ‘Mr Nasty’, again, “Why should I share some of my hot coffee with you?”
The dual assault of isolation and meanness looked like it had begun to irritate her.
Rejecting that road–so recently endured, she took a breath and triumphed by laughing at the situation. “Okay,” Another deep breath. “So you’re frightened of me,” she said. “So frightened that you don’t even want to open that flask and share some coffee – something that would bring us closer together and make you share more than just the coffee.”
“Ouch . . .” I said, softly, feeling Rocky’s control of the moment slipping away . . .
She smiled up at my crumpled face, taking fuel from her growing triumph. “You want to be separate from the world. You want to keep everything you’ve got!” I smiled and her face burned with the truth of that revelation. “You’re a Fear Type, and your reaction to fear is to shore up your massive mistrust of the world – your world – by locking yourself away in a clever place from which you can engage with the world just as little as you want to . . .”
She was breathless. I looked proudly down on her flushed and breathless face. Then, she did something uncharacteristic – she crouched, cat like and scanned the rock face, looking for footholds and talking to me in an hypnotic way, as though fixing her prey with the words.
“In doing this, you keep the world from doing what it does best . . . evolving you!” She sprang at the rock face. I had started to slide off my rocky seat, to rejoin her below, but now, she was coming at me like a tigress. It was my turn to freeze, as, like a professional climber, she scaled the vertical distance between us and forced herself into the space that was only secure for one.
“My turn,” she said, triumphantly. “My turn to play the force of Life . . .” She reached for the flask, then she held onto my arm to pour the coffee, forcing me to brace us both against the stone to avoid a painful tumble.
For the next few minutes, we stayed like that, until the small coffee cups were drained, and my cramping muscles could take no more.
Some time later, we walked back along the edge of the sand. I didn’t need to say anything at all. She had risen above the world of reaction and found a jewel of real action in the moment; and she and I both knew that the world had changed. . .
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Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee is usually published on Thursdays.
All images and text ©International copyright, The Silent Eye School of Consciousness, 2015.
Steve Tanham is a founding director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness; a place of companionship, sharing and the search for the real in life, using the loving techniques and insights of esoteric psychology. He retired from a life as an IT entrepreneur to establish the School in 2102, and, having persuaded Sue Vincent to
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A beautiful early morning shot of the Fells from smackedpentax
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For those kind souls who follow me on this blog.
Many of you know that I am one of the three directors of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness. This site is for my own personal thoughts and comments, but also needs to provide good links to the Silent Eye, with thumbnail descriptions of what the School does.
To add this continuity, I’ve made a few changes to the WordPress layout, added a new banner image entitled “Deeper Meanings” and created a few pages with navigational menus just beneath the banner image, including a bit of a bio about myself.
Your review and feedback would be deeply appreciated.
And, as a small thank you for being here, I’ve attached a sunset photo of the lovely Lowther Castle, near Penrith; very much a frontier in the days of the border ‘reavers’, and the site of a wedding we attended at the weekend.
Many thanks
Steve
Steve Tanham is a founding director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness; a place of companionship, sharing and the search for the real in life, using the loving techniques and insight of esoteric psychology. He retired from a life as an IT entrepreneur to establish the School in 2102, and, having persuaded Sue Vincent to join him . . .
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The haunting beauty of Nidderdale – from smackedpentax
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Alexandra joined me at exactly half past eight, smiling. She took a thin and exotic-looking notes folder, bound in black leather, from her large travel bag. From the folder, which she opened and laid out on our coffee table, she took a shiny, black and gold Mont Blanc pen.
“Nice . . .” I said.
“Morning” she responded.
“Still nice . . .”
“It’s kind of expected in the echelons of the legal profession,” she said, leaning forward to emphasise the point. “to operate with a good-looking set of tools.”
“That’s it?” I asked.
“What?”
“That’s all you have to say about having the best pen I can think of, and an exotic leather folder to match?”
She sat back, stretching her arm out to take her coffee from beyond the black leather object in question, never taking her eyes from my grim face.
“Did we have a bad weekend?” she asked, quite reasonably.
“I can’t speak for ‘we’ but my wife and I had a lovely weekend.” I responded, flatly. “Did ‘we’ have a good weekend?”
She refused to rise to the bait. “Derek and I had a great time, largely prompted by my being in a wonderful mood that continued all week from the last time we did this!” She folded her crossed legs, sideways, and retreated. “Well, not quite this . . .”
“Derek?” I said. “Did I know about Derek? Some young and clever sod from another law firm, I take it?”
There was anger, now. “Well, now you come to mention it – double first from Oxford, rich parents, but despite all that . . . a lovely man.”
“You forgot young . . .” I said.
Ice. “And young . . . about half your age, if you must know.”
I let the silence build to an intolerable level, watching as she pretended to lose herself in drinking coffee, writing the time, date and what was probably the word ‘bastard’ in shorthand on the top of the blank page.
“I never could master shorthand.” I said.
“Would you like me to return some of the time you’re spending on me with some lessons?” she said, looking for a way back. “I could teach you one of the simpler forms of speedwriting if you’d like something simpler.”
“I’d just mess it up,” I said. “But it’s lovely to watch you doing it so well.” I held her eyes as I said it, letting the slightest flicker of a smile play around the edges of my mouth. “Would you write something else for me so that I can see the grace of the movements, again?”
She was wary. “If you like; what?”
“Write: ‘this is how’,” I watched the words emerge from the fluidity of her actions. “The Type Four moves from admiration, to the melancholic consideration of what he knows he will never be able to achieve, despite it being the ideal for him . . . to the generation of hatred at the object of his jealousy in a contest that he knows is lost from the start’.” Half way through, she got it, and began to swear, sub-vocally; but, disciplined soul that she was, she carried on, until every word lay on the page, written in time, space and consciousness.
At the end, we both said nothing. There was a tear in her left eye.
“Didn’t think you’d be able to do that, again,” she said.
“What?” I had an idea what she meant, but wanted her to say it.
“Catch me off-guard like that – generate so much bloody emotion on a coffee table!”
“I didn’t, not really.”
“Then how–?”
“I don’t plan these. I just turn up and open us to what is present . . .”
“To the–” she looked around, at the pen, the folder, the expensive pad . . . and the coffee cup, now nearly empty. “– to these things?”
“No,” I said, gently. “To the arranger . . .”
“The arranger?“
“Yes,” I said. “The arranger of these things in our experience and in a way that lets something flow though them.”
She shook her head, letting the last of her anger dissipate. “Type Fours?” she said.
“Need a lot of help, especially from Type Threes, who can understand them really well – and Type Ones, on whom they dote.”
She took the cue, “The Type Two, Three and Four all sharing the same corner of the enneagram?”
Right on the nose.
“Yes,” I said. Each of them concerned with the image of themselves in the world. The Four being full of pride and ego-inflation; the Three being the master of the get-it-done self-centric; and the Four being the ‘green with envy ‘I’ll never be good enough’ creature of doom.”
I drained the last of my coffee and stood to go. “Coming?” I said, looking at my watch.
“When I’ve written this up,” she said, curtly. Repaying me, handsomely. “You go . . .”
I turned to leave. She caught me with the words, just before I reached the door, “Buy you one for your birthday?”
“A Mont Blanc?” I asked, turning back and grinning at her.
“Yes,” she softened. “If you really want one – if you promise you’ll use it?”
“Two,” I said, catching a final surge of the moment, almost a sigh on the wind, like the slow motion image of a tennis ball hitting the sweet spot on a racket for that winning point.
“You don’t need two,” she said. “That’s greedy.”
“Not for me – the second one.”
“Then who?” she asked, puzzled.
“For Derek, of course . . . from you, but with my apologies for abusing his persona.”
She was laughing, the tension sliding from her with the relaxed movements of her shoulders. “It’s his birthday next week – you couldn’t possibly have known that.”
“I didn’t . . . that wasn’t the important thing.”
As the glass door swung shut, I could still see her at the table, chuckling; fingers clutching black and gold; and flashing with speed as she wrote. At the limit of my vision, they waved.
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Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee is usually published on Thursdays.
All images and text ©International copyright, The Silent Eye School of Consciousness, 2015.
Steve Tanham is a founding director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness; a place of companionship, sharing and the search for the real in life, using the loving techniques and insight of esoteric psychology. He retired from a life as an IT entrepreneur to establish the School in 2102, and, having persuaded Sue Vincent to
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Sorry, I just had to reblog this . . . and I’m only a bit old!
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Another ‘roof of the (Yorkshire) world’ shot from smackedpentax.
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I waited while she brought the coffee; waited and moved my feet around in the sodden boots, enjoying the effect the squelching noise had on those on the next table. Eventually, she returned, smiling at my continued noise-making.
“Stop it – you’re just being bad for the sake of it!” she scolded.
“I’m only human.” I said, wetly.
“Thank you . . . “
I looked up into those now-gentle eyes. “Thank you?”
She sat down and sipped her coffee, assembling what she wanted to say.
“Thank you for being the person who shocked me awake on the beach;” she glanced at the shoreline across the road. “Who stalked me like an idiot, in front of the watching world, to make a wonderful and illustrative point.” More coffee, then, “Who waded into a cold sea and made me see that these numbers on a circle are really vivid and imprisoning ways of seeing the world.”
“Well, yes,” I said, amazed and mollified at the strength of feeling. “That’s a very good description.”
“And they all have this, the numbers – the Types?”
“They all have their own flavours of this – though the original anticlockwise wave of the outgoing three are the anchors for the rest.”
“The Nine, where it begins, the Six and this–” she looked wistfully at the beach, again. “The Three.”
“Yes,” I said, smiling at her infectious good spirits. “I used the Three for this increase in ‘volume’ of your experiences for a very good reason.” I watched as she cocked her head to one side, studying me.
“You’re a three?” she asked, smiling.
“Yes, I’m a Type Three.” I replied.
“But you’re not just a Type Three?” she asked.
“No-one is just any single type. We all have them all, so to speak, they are the story of the unfolding human . . .”
“Just in differing proportions?”
“Exactly so, according to our formative reactions – and we are all unique, though we all share some characteristics we’d rather not confess to – notably the ‘sins’ we began these conversations with!”
Alexandra chuckled. “Oh, yes.” she whispered into the foam on her latte. “I can see that now.” She drank from the mug, then asked, “So, where next?”
“Next, at least clockwise, would be the Four . . .”
“Given that I have to catch one of the London trains today, can you give me a few gems to consider in the week ahead?”
I drew in a breath and opened the moment to the right words. “You must go forward from here with what you know. You know that each of what we might call the ‘Outcast Triad’ – the Nine, the Six and the Three – all the same child of the divine – were stages in the One Life, the One Consciousness, the result of a turning away from our original, spiritual nature – which, in one sense, leaves it self-important, an island of safe isolation, where it can make its own rules; and . . . colourless.”
I watched and drank coffee while she considered this. She took her time. Eventually, she said, “And the Three, in a sense, is where we end up – unless we carry on back to the Nine?”
“Very much like that,” I agreed. “So tell me, in your own words, what that process of becoming an outcast, an exile, is . . .”
She thought for a while, then drew in a breath to speak. I leaned across the table and placed a gentle hand on her wrist, shaking my head.
“My train?” she asked, smiling.
“No, my wet feet – but you have some thinking to do for next time.” I drained my coffee.
There was the happiest of silences as she walked, and I squelched, back to the car park by the sands. My boots were unlikely ever to be the same, again – but it had been worth it.
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Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee is usually published on Thursdays.
All images and text ©International copyright, The Silent Eye School of Consciousness, 2015.
Sun in Gemini 
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