People said ‘more!’ after #2 – (the china cup and silver spoon), so here’s another…
Now updated with the answer, see below…
Good luck!
Please write your entries in the blog’s comments.
The blog will be updated with the answer by 11 pm on the day of the post.
The placeholder, below will be replaced by another photo showing the context of the opening image.
It is a photo of a light-effect cast upon the marble tile floor of an en-suite bathroom. Congratulations to Pensitivity and Caroline for guessing correctly – not an easy image to decipher!
Virtual bottles of this week’s fave tipple both of them…
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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The ejector-seat of self…(1)
by Steve Tanham
Do we really understand mindfulness? It’s become one of those ‘must do more of that’ sentiments, as though we could press a button on the side of the head.
Perhaps the reason for our chagrin is not that we lack diligence, but that we think it’s a chore… Possibly that we don’t feel pulled or compelled from within to practice it? After all, we don’t need telling to breathe. It just happens because we need it.
Could we build an internal process that mirrors that life-affirming need for air? Could every thought be automatically checked for its origin and purpose, so that our real existence wasn’t diluted in an exhausting maze of events?
The world practice is key. Like (say) piano practice, we know we need self-discipline to reach the results we want – in the piano’s case the ability to make beautiful music. This generally gets agreement, but the word ‘reach’ is telling. Reach suggests that this mindfulness is not a native state to us; is not part of our intrinsic self… It has to be added with effort.
This expectation of effort may be entirely incorrect, and may provide the key to a more intelligent attention beyond ‘duty or practice’.
We don’t need a formal method to investigate mindfulness. We simply need to let our ‘self’ be the teacher. We are learning about that self every time we turn out attention inwards to watch how we work, how we think, why we wander in our thoughts and end up being frustrated and annoyed.
We could wipe clean our mental idea of the mind and investigate it – right now, reading this! The dialogue you are having, reading these lines on a screen, is the mind. It’s not the act of perception – that operates at a lower, unconscious level. It’s the act of interpretation that is the first part of how the mind (me) reacts to the continuous stream of events.
We can listen to this process of registration by seeing how we turn practically everything we experience into language. Reading this – if you are engaged with it – you will be forming the letters into words spoken by your own voice. Did you hear it, then? It’s quiet, but it’s definitely you.
One interesting technique to make this startlingly conscious is to change that voice – literally change it to another person: say, your wife, or your sister, brother, boss, or even your mother… as though they were reading you a story. It’s not difficult but can be shocking when it reveals how adept this language-based part of the mind is at narrating our everyday experience.
Try changing between two or three voices as though you are all taking turns to read aloud…
Now lets make it different. Drive your car, or take a short walk. Note how the inner narrative is created in language as the external events arrive. We may think that there’s just ‘silent me’ in here, but that’s not the case. The ‘me’ is anything but silent and constantly verbalises your experience, based upon the information of the senses and the automation of the pleasure-pain complexes of the past.
Walk this verbalisation carefully and you will notice that it is all based on what’s happening to you. You may think of others, as in a driver saying, “That young fool is driving like an idiot!”. But the observation is based upon a relationship of ‘I’ and ‘he-she’it’, and neither can exist without the other. To have an external ‘it’ we have to have an ‘I’ to which the ‘it’ is external. In a very short time, this gives vast power to the sense of ‘I’ within. Yet, in reality, it may not be there at all… just a very clever nexus of thoughts.
In other words, our mind – our consciousness of our experience – is based upon a subject-object relationship that divides our entire existence into the ‘me’ at the centre of things and the encircling world experienced as flavours of ‘it’.
From this, we can work backwards… and this is where it gets really interesting.
The Hindu philosopher and teacher Sr Ramana Mahararj made this the nucleus of a lifetime’s teachings.
He taught that the beginning of our physical, brain-led lives was the establishment of an ‘I-thought’. As infants, we move from a state of pure consciousness which has no sense of ‘I and it’, to an awareness of and apparent duality of ‘me and that’. This duality gradually separates us, in large part due to our subject-object language, from the vivid purity of our experience, Gradually, but necessarily, we get pushed away from ‘home’ in order that we survive and mature in the world.
In the next part of the story, we will examine how we can build a new state of consciousness simply by asking two questions of the world as its events flows ‘at us’.
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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The station at Przemsul was frantic. The kind of dirty, smelly and noisy frantic that signals a refugee crisis… I’ve seen a few. My grandfather lived through many and made sure I knew their signature.. and what the reality was beneath the headlines.
They were streaming into the central concourse of the station in their hundreds, eyes wide in terror of the unknown – safe, yes, but not home, not warm, not even together with friends. With fathers left behind to face the tanks in this so-called battle, never complete families…
Like a football crowd, the refugee women emerged from the dark tunnel that bled them from the platforms, off the latest surviving train from Ukraine.
Children…many of them had children. One woman, eyes red with tears and lack of sleep, clutched a small baby inside her quilted coat, only the top of its wool-covered head visible; a thin wisp of steam the only sign of its life. She hurried up the steps as best she could, clutching the left hand of a toddler as she half-urged, half dragged him along the space.
I felt something heavy collide with the heel of my boot, and whirled to get out of the way. A young, smartly-dressed couple hurriedly apologised and edged past me, the woman’s blond hair bouncing with the intensity of her approach. She was pushing what looked like a new pram along the concrete towards the line of emerging refugees.
The pram was packed full of clothes and food supplies; the bright edges visible over the dark sides of the buggy.
Designed in Syria, perfected in Ukraine…
Designed in Syria, perfected in Ukraine… I thought. The quote kept coming back. Filled with the bile it deserved to carry. Images of the many destroyed cities we had seen from the train filled my mind.
The young couple stopped when they saw the refugee clutching her children. The eyes of the women locked on to each other. I could see tears cascading from the blond’s elegantly made-up eyes, over her cheeks, turning to steam in the icy cold.
They continued to approach each other, but more slowly. The refugee began shaking her head… “No. no… not know you,” she said. It was a wail, the sound of last hope dashed.
“You do know me, you know kindness…as you would do for another!” said the blonde, taking the other’s hand and placing it on the frame of the pram.
“This is for you… I’m sorry it is so little, but in here is warmth, and food and a little money. It will help with the children.”
Against my better judgement, and bad for my smart uniform, my own eyes were streaming.
I could taste the agony in the air, as the well-dressed couple pulled away, leaving the loaded pram with the woman and her two children. The toddler had tried to climb into the buggy, but his mother had to restrain him. They were all so very tired. The moment racked my soul. I was glad it did so… it showed I was still alive.
‘You have to do something…his words said, softly in my head. To truly live is to care…’
By rights, I should never have been here to witness this – an Englishman in Poland. But my grandfather’s tales of devastation at the hands of madmen were deeply etched into my consciousness. Having fled to a welcoming England, he had spent the rest of his modest life helping others. He had been so proud of his former skills, that he had paid for my training as an engine driver.
Years later, with a sadly failed marriage behind me, I moved myself back to his former country in search of something real. Now – here – I should have smiled… but didn’t.
The refugee family, along with hundreds of others, had just got off my train… I had to check myself for being so parochial; the train for which I was the driver. The end of a long shift being chased by Putin’s tanks in this ‘battle’ for the soul of a nation had placed me here… Witness. – after the horror – to the most profound kindness. I looked around the station. There were hundreds of prams. All of them filled with simple but life-supporting things. The refugees with children were being guided to them by the station staff.
My grandfather arrived in England with nothing. He had been helped by kind people. The refugee woman before me had nothing but their three lives and the new pram in front of them. I strode the few feet and stood before her. She tensed in alarm at my uniform.
“It’s okay,” I said softly. “I am a kind man, too. I drove your train.” I watched her relax, slightly.
I took a breath and could swear I felt his presence.
“I have a small house here,” I said. Would you like to come home with me and spend a few days while we work out what can be done?”
I reached out my hand… she looked down, then at her children. Then she took it. Her fingernails dirty on my palms. I closed my skin over them to share the warmth. It’s such a simple gesture, but it means the world.
Authors note: This fictional story is based on true events currently happening in Poland, on the Ukrainian border.
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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#1 was quite popular, so here’s another…
Update is below…
This will answer the puzzle:
The image was the handle of a coffee cup, with a silver spoon reflecting the border of the cafe in which we were taking a break from our walk In Maspalomas, Gran Canaria – hence the bright sunlight.
Thanks to all who took place. Virtual bottles of Cognac, as below, go to Jaye at Books and Bonsai and Audrey at Audrey Driscoll’s Blog .
More next Sunday!
Virtual bottles of best cognac for the two closest answers.
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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It’s looking quite forlorn now
The larder shelves are bare
There’s a rocket in my kitchen
And my kitchen isn’t there
-:-
He doesn’t want the kitchen
That father carved in wood
He only wants its ruin
And the land on which it stood
-:-
My children went outside to play
And found his cluster bombs
All brightly decked with spirals
To reckon all our wrongs
-:-
He speaks another language
Not Russian – that we share
But one that more than has enough
Yet steals my very air
-:-
I was a pin upon his map
A million of us were
But now the dust above the ground
Is all the wind can bear
-:-
There’s a rocket in my kitchen
And my kitchen isn’t there
Nor my children nor my father
There’s just remembering air
-:-
So breathe me and absorb these words
Remember what we were
And hold our home and family
Within a heart not scared to care.
-:-
©Copyright Stephen Tanham, 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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Devoid of real feeling, the Dictator treads his lonely way along his chosen, barren path.
All around him is life, in its shared love and simplicity, but he stays true to the vastness of his egoic channel, long baked by hate into clay that will not sustain growing things.
Behind him, the mountains of ambition keep him focussed on the goal, which he thinks is glory… but really is the ocean, where the parts of his body and brain will be rolled, crushed and broken, before Nature recycles him into dusty history to which we may point, but from which few learn…
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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An exceptionally lucky moment…
I was walking mum along the promenade, back to the care home in Morecambe. When we got close to the steps down to the road. I asked her to stop so I could take her photo against the stormy sea.
As I was framing the shot, I noticed that the curved railings were casting their shadows immediately below us, onto the sand. Having taken mum’s photo, I walked a a few metres backwards to get a good perspective that combined the beach and railings.
I’ve upped the contrast and slightly darkened the sky, but the result was exactly how it looked…
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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An Artist named Giselle
by Steve Tanham
Geographically, it’s an unlikely partnership… One person in Victoria, Australia, the other in Cumbria…
Giselle Bolotin is an Australian artist, but was born in Europe. She and I have never met, face to face, but have established a good working relationship via the virtual world of the internet. We are collaborating on a set of images to illustrate the Silent Eye’s new ‘Oracle’ deck of cards.
When I say ‘we’, I mean Giselle paints what will become the oracle images, while I do my best to define to her the physical, intellectual and emotional nature of each of the characters to which she is giving form.
Giselle is joining us for the May 2022 workshop based in and around the Lakeland town of Keswick, so we will finally get to meet.
The words oracle and tarot are often confused. Both pertain to a set of cards representing the position and meaning of the image in a symbolic diagram.
In the case of the Tarot cards, the images are pictorial representations of states of consciousness and experiences within the Tree of Life: a map of personal exploration. Those exploring the Tree can use the cards as a basis for meditations about where they feel themselves to be on the journey that the glyph encapsulates.
In the case of the Silent Eye’s Oracle, the cards will represent the journey of nine characters (each person’s different primary mix of characteristics) interacting and moving over three inner landscapes, taken in sequence as the journey from ‘self to Self’ deepens. The three landscapes are:
1. The Land of the Exiles – a desert kingdom representing the experiences of the egoic self.
2. The Shallow Sea – an emotional and watery landscape in which personal transformation gathers speed.
3. Nine Gates of the Sun – a place of mysterious laws where the Egyptian Gods assume the forms of living beings who teach…
The Silent Eye’s work does not use the Tree of Life, though the founders of the School have experience of both systems. Instead, a figure called the Enneagram is the visual basis of the system.
Brought to the west by G I Gurdjieff, an Armenian philosopher from the early 20th century, the Enneagram has evolved in the hands of a fusion of developmental psychologists and modern mystics to describe the dominant characteristics of mankind’s ‘interior makeup’ – its personality, and the accelerated evolution that is available to us all.
In the Silent Eye’s system, the companion’s journey is taken through what we call the stations (1-9 in the image) of the outer personality. These develop inwards, eventually revealing the faces of the soul whose early loss – in childhood – gave rise to the shape of our personality. Each of the outer stations is reflected at two deeper levels, each involving deeper levels of our Self.
It’s a journey to the inner Self, by – as the Sufi poet Rumi wrote – ‘removing the barriers to love.’
Giselle’s opening image is of a character known as the Arbiter-Queen within the landscape of the Shallow Sea. It illustrates the psycho-spiritual transformation of this formerly self-important and judgemental figure.
The Silent Eye Oracle is a work in progress. We hope to release the full deck, with accompanying guide-book, before the end of the year.
You can find samples of Giselle’s work on Instagram. Just enter her name in the search box.
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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Heavy metal, thinly sailed, is cast
Like toy, and dropped onto the stone.
Hedges bend, bow and form
New writhing shapes – grotesques –
Their twisted tongues malforming names
Of foolish men who thought to tame
The wild and winds of Cumbria…
——–
And yet, from this we do emerge
In harsh, unruly tufts of grass
And mud that drains off torrents passed.
Bleached and battered, humbled, mute
To greet, at root, the rites of Spring
With eyes washed clean of Winter.
——–
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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It’s a large rendering of the Green Man. I have no idea whether it’s new or whether it has been on that wall for five years – back to the time when the ‘new’ stumpery was added to the promenade at Grange-over-Sands.
The Green Man is hidden from general view, which, I suspect may be deliberate, and in tune with the wisdom it represents. You have to find it, and then decode what it is trying to teach you…
It has prompted me to think about a post on this subject. Coming soon.
We visit Grange often; in fact it’s our main place of shopping – being full of quality local shops and old-fashioned service. We divide our efforts: I take Tess the collie for her walk through one of the parks, a vigorous frisbee chuck, then back along the promenade to meet up with my wife. The whole thing takes about an hour. We then have coffee in the car and set off home.
On the last trip, Tess dragged me into the stumpery. It comes into its own in the winter, when there is so little to see on the other flower beds. There on the far wall, hidden from general passing view by a tree, was the Green Man face. I suspect it’s new, and mounted on the only place that would be solid – the side wall of the public toilet…in itself amusing, and somewhat in tune with the be what you are theme of the whole myth.
I do detect some dry humour, here. Grange is not short of retired minds and wits…
The figure of the ‘Green Man’ is a rich symbol in the cultural and religious history of these islands. Most famously featured in the Arthurian tale of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the enigmatic figure is of a human face from which abundant natural growth is emerging from all the openings in his startled head.
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
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The mystery of the soul-child
by Steve Tanham
One of the most enigmatic mysteries in spirituality is the idea of a ‘soul-child’ – the finding within us of a spiritual figure whose characteristics are those of purity and youthfulness; untainted by the world, yet somehow immature within it…
To approach a deeper understanding of this – one beyond the fanciful – we need to consider the words ‘soul’ and ‘child’, and set them within a context of both spiritual growth and modern psychology.
The word ‘soul’ may have started its long life in our learning as a word of precise meaning, but having passed through the fluffy ‘new age’ of spirituality, its definition is anything but exact.
Ask a person from a hundred years ago, and they would have said it was simple: a person has a body and a soul. When we die, if we’ve been a good person, we go to heaven – a place where the soul has a natural home, free from the harshness and temptations of the everyday world, rewarded for its goodness.
Psychology, more than anything else, taught us to use look beyond limitations of formal religion to use our minds to explore how we were made, not from a physical point of view, but from how we feel inside; how we think of our-selves as we grow and develop into a useful human. In short, to become our own priests.
The word ‘self’ is pointed to, here. Somewhere around the age of seven, we typically find ourselves in a moment within which we know we have suddenly gained a strong sense of identity with some state within us that we know to be ‘me’. Once won, it is never lost… and its emergence gives us an apparent centre of awareness and, eventually, power in our lives. It emerges as the personality.
This sense of ‘me’ is the product of the massively sophisticated machine in our head – the brain. But we don’t like to attribute our aspiring ‘spiritual self’ to the brain, instead reserving another invisible space, usually co-existent with our bodies, that we view as the actual or potential soul.
Our self or personality becomes the garment on which we paint the attributes of like and dislike; on which we pin the badges of achievement… and the fears of rejection. The self becomes an increasingly specific entity, until, with success in the face of effort, we become an adult – brave, powerful and capable… at least in our own minds, if not always recognised in the world.
The primary measure of this is how others view us; how much influence we have in the small world of our lives.
Sigmund Freud was the first popular psychologist to blaze the trail of understanding that this ‘self’ had at least three elements:
The Ego (Das Ich ‘I’ ); our centre of identity and consolidated awareness – what everything else affects.
the Uber Ich; Superego, ‘Over-I’ – an idealised and authoritative figure that is a composite of all the ‘should-dos’ of our life; constantly chiding us to do better and live up to our moral potential… the personal ‘road to Saint Me’. A road on which we are always destined to be disappointing.
The Id: a monster lurking in the basement. A collective of all the unhealthy, yet somehow natural traits and appetites of our nature. The ‘animal within us’, the beast…the wolf.
Freud was deeply engaged with the idea that the sexual force lay at the source of mankind’s motivations, and was an escape of energy from all this structure of societal expectations that frames our outward lives. The ego spends much of its life resisting the Id, thereby forcing the personality to life a divided life. Other psychologist, such as Carl Jung saw a spectrum of motivations, rather than just sex.
We can see in this an echo of the more lurid fairy tales that have been with us for hundreds of years. Of course the bad lone wolf wants to eat the desirable maiden! And which maiden has not wanted to run through the forest, chased by the (right) wolf! Only grandma, that usually dependable friend, spoils the action… But as crone – wise woman, she has another role harvested over a much longer time frame than the lovers.
Our emerging ‘self’ – the ego – wants, above anything else, wholeness; yet it knows it must divide its world and create a threefold castle in order to protect itself. Within this structure, it cannot be seen, but its presence will define ‘me’ for the rest of that life, and more importantly, it will determine how we act, how we behave… how we are. I may never know that it is a machine and not really me.
But for all that, it is a reflection of something very powerful and utterly real. Something that redefines the word ‘identity’.
But we did not choose to have this body, this wolf, this red-riding hood, this devil and angel. Worse, it is made up from the very substance of this earthy, beautiful and growth-driven planet…as though the very material of its ‘stuff’ wanted a vehicle to get back to the wholeness of which it had a primal memory…
Real spirituality is about – and only about – the relationship of this stressed ego with something found in the very heart of it-self. Eventually tired of the societal ‘joys and pastimes’ it notices that its greatest delight actually lies within and not without. With a shock, it begins to have a conversation, then a relationship with something within the self that is more ‘me’ than the personality. At this point we should swap the me for I, and begin adding a capital letter to the word Self.
The Self of the self is not fantasy, nor is it a product of the mind- much to the mind’s astonishment. Whether the personality is strong enough to take on itself will determine whether it can enter the forest and find the soul-child within. If it does it may find itself being taught by a loving symbolic child-mother-crone that seems to know everything about it…
Coming?
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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I thought you might like a walk through Bowness-on-Windermere. It’s the place that most people think of as ‘Windermere’, but the actual town of Windermere is a 45 min walk up the hill from the lake: the final station on the rail line from Kendal, and as close as the Victorian engineers could get to the lake from the surrounding hills.
Holidaymakers arrive in droves from Easter onwards, so it’s nice for us ‘locals’ to make the most of the Winter quietness. We’re driving to the outskirts of Bowness so that our stroll into the town can incorporate a dog walk and ‘frisbee chuck’ on the hilly pitch-and-put course that wends its way to the ferry point.
We were expecting it to rain the whole day – as it has for the previous two; but the skies are brightening. My trusty iPhone 12 is in hand and I’ll be making this a very visual walk, so you can ‘feel’ the atmosphere of this beautiful place.
After much barking and running – and that’s just me – we cross to the other side of the pitch-and-put course and arrive at the far hillock that overlooks the town of Bowness-on-Windermere (Bowness) and its busy ferry point.
The local council allows dogs on the mini-golf course, which is deeply appreciated. Being a former (but not very good) golfer, I stay off the greens of course!
It’s at this point that we realise that it’s a lot busier down there than it should be on a winter Monday… We share this view with a passing fellow dog-owner who laughs, and reminds us it is both half-term and Valentine’s Day. We remember exchanging cards, and tea in bed, but the school holidays have somehow eluded our radar…
Crestfallen, we descend towards the crowded ferry wharf…and don our Covid masks…
As we near the bottom of the hill, a graceful shape slides through the trees. One of the large passenger ferries is about to dock. You’d think it was summer…
You can take ferries along the whole ten miles of Lake Windermere; from Lakeside, in the south; via Bowness; and on to the northern tip near Ambleside, whose ferry point is Waterhead.
The boat – now seen to be the M.V. Swan – the largest of the passenger boats on the lake – beats us to the dock as we watch its graceful entrance to Bowness. There’s something deeply moving about seeing a large craft like this dock, elegantly.
Ahead of us, the Swan dominates the space, its sheer, white presence lighting up the winter water.
Bernie notices a panel on the side of the ticket office which shows the height of the terrible floods caused by Storm Desmond in 2015. She has me pose with extended elbow to show the water level at the time… The ferry harbour was closed for weeks.
The picture below shows the same place after the floods … Devastating.
It’s time Tess had a drink of water, and we’re due a coffee, so we head along the shore and into the town. We’re about to turn off the road into a Costa Coffee shop (with outside seating for dog owners – we know how to live!) when I notice that the intensity of the ‘holiday’ traffic on this main road has diminished…to nothing.
I turn to view a road empty of traffic and there’s one of the largest articulated lorries I’ve ever seen. It’s slowly climbing up from the ferry point, flanked by an escort car that is racing ahead to halt and disperse all other vehicles.
Tess has been in the adjacent ‘coffee garden’ many times. Terrified of the behemoth roaring up the gradient, she drags me towards the gate…
I manage to grab a final shot of the monster as it rages past, then turn to console the Collie… Large coffees, we think… are they licensed? She nods… we’re a complete synthesis of human and dog. Inseparable.
And that’s about it, really. We amble around the shops, loving Bowness’ artisan back streets and alleyways…
There are even some period arcades, their original woodwork intact…
I always look for some humour on these occasions; something to end the piece with a smile… Here’s today’s offering. The new owner of a shop that’s been there ‘forever’ has repurposed its space.
I’ve expanded their wonderful (and I’m sure tongue-in-cheek) tag line in the image below…
Next time you need that unique sterling silver statement jewellery with repurposed attitude, you know it’s time you visited Bowness-on-Windermere… love it!
It’s never dull in Bowness. Come and join us…
©Stephen Tanham 2022
Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the dawn of Being.
http://www.thesilenteye.co.uk and http://www.suningemini.blog
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