Tag: Carl Jung

Today’s I Ching Hexagram for May 25th is 30: Clinging like fire

30: Clinging Like Fire

Hexagram 30

General Meaning: Flames cling to their source of fuel in order to keep the fire burning. Likewise, in the human world, emotional attachment results from everything that radiates light or warmth is dependent upon something else. Through these dependencies we can see that all things are related, each thing to the other. Awareness of your own dependency on others is the key that unlocks the door to your true place in the world. No woman is an island.

Fire is also a symbol of liberation — sending out crackling molecules that fly away from home. Paradoxically, by clinging to what is balanced and true, we gain inner freedom.

Given perseverance on your part, this hexagram indicates success. In spite of challenges, cling to what is luminous in yourself, in others, and in life itself, never forsaking your belief in what is right. When events seem foreboding, or people seem oppressive, remember the good that has been and is yet to be. Holding to this idea is to cling to the power of the light and love within you.

A Meditation on Magick

A Meditation on Magick

by Bestia Mortale

 

I’d like to examine three levels of magick, the world, the will and the spirit, from a particular perspective I shall describe.

Like most things, magick looks different from different sides. The word “magick” normally conjures up spells, unseen forces, strange worlds and mysterious beings. This is the “supernatural” point of view. This is the vantage from which we see sorcerers pursuing arcane knowledge to gain amazing power.

Take the skeptical version of this point of view, and magick signifies self-delusion, wish-fulfillment fantasy, unconscious deception and intentional fraud.

But then stroll around to another viewpoint, where you assume knowledge rather than ignorance. Assume for a moment that you can understand everything (not that anyone can). From this perspective, much of what we think of as magick vanishes, becoming just another technology, just another way to get what you want.

When you want something, you use your understanding of the world combined with your intelligence to identify a course of action that might achieve it. Then you use your will and determination to follow that course of action. As you go, you use intermediate results to modify your course of action. Are you a sorcerer or an engineer?

Both historians of science and historians of magick are well aware that until relatively recently, the two were more or less indistinguishable. In the last several centuries, the techniques of modern science and engineering have emerged as by far the most powerful and effective means of doing magick in the world. The spells of physics almost always work reliably, and when they don’t, physicists are delighted – there are always reputations to be made in perfecting them.

The magick of getting what we want in the world is fascinating and impressive but not necessarily deeply moving. Take doing the dishes, for example. Some people still eat with their hands from food that lies in their laps. Others have pursued centuries of dogged experimentation to produce specialized eating surfaces and utensils. Some people clean such surfaces and utensils in streambeds, while others have devoted amazing ingenuity to channeling and heating water and devising special chemicals that make cleaning these surfaces and utensils easier. Some people wash their own dishes, while others have devised complex social transactions that result in “servants” of various sorts doing the cleanup. There are even electric dishwashing machines, and if that’s not supernatural, nothing is.

At the same time, who cares? We eat. If we do it right, we are nourished, we don’t get sick, and we don’t have to devote too much of our energy to doing it. Fine china, beautiful silverware, exotic spices, gourmet recipes, all these are lovely if they don’t cost us too much.

From a perspective of understanding, the magick of getting what we want tends to merge disappointingly into what we like to call “technology,” our ancillary crafts, and its appeal seems less bright, if no less useful, from this point of view.

There is also magick of the will – the art of being able to decide cleanly. Each of us is full of ambivalence. We want a thousand contradictory things, consciously, semi-consciously, entirely unconsciously. Magick of the will aligns and balances all those conflicting desires so that you can choose consistently and effectively to achieve a given end.

Will is an elusive magick that varies radically from person to person. Like music, painting or writing, it can be taught, but like any art, it is based on talent and taste. It is practiced by every successful person in the world, although few would regard it as magick. The ability to choose consistently and well, at least within a narrow focus, is essential to success in almost every undertaking.

There are easy ways to achieve will. Some of the peskiest and most disruptive of our desires are ethical and emotional. Simply by suppressing these, you can become much more effectively decisive. Fortunately, few people want to pay that price. Indeed, it may be that no one has the resources to pay that price, except by foolish borrowing.

Will is like health. Many of us are blessed with it initially, but to keep it takes luck, attention and good habits. Many of the disciplines of what we narrowly refer to these days as “magick” can be helpful, but plenty of people who have never used the word are masters of will magick.

Finally, there is magick of the spirit, the magick of listening to the quiet voices. This is a magick that is easy to lose in modern life. Plenty of atheist engineers and salesmen may be better sorcerers or better at will magick than you or I, but few of them have found a way to meet their spiritual needs.

Following Carl Jung and Joseph Campbell, many of us have come to see the roots of our spiritual yearnings sinking deep into our unconscious minds, down among primal cultural artifacts and almost universal archetypes. Whether they re-emerge on the other side of the unconscious into an astral reality is a philosophical question, not a practical one. After all, satisfying the deep yearnings of your unconscious mind is important whether or not you want to believe that the spiritual world is “real.” Lots of people know that it is, and lots of other people know it isn’t, but I don’t like the question.

I’m very clear that something really happens when I give myself over to magick of the spirit. It happens often, particularly if I make the effort to let it. It happens in loving sex just about every time. It happens at the oddest moments. It happens in meditation, speaking with a goddess or a god. But particularly, it happens when I connect to the spirits of place, of the earth.

Sitting on the ragged stones at the edge of the sea watching patterns in the water, crouched with my back to a rock high in the mountains, listening to the songs of the wind, standing among the old trees in a forest glade feeling rain on my face, I find myself lost in wonder. Minutes pass when I am far, far away. I come back changed. My yearning is answered and affirmed. These are moments of pure magick for me. I don’t know what happens, but I know it’s important. It doesn’t have to do with getting some specific thing I want or honing my will; it has to do with receiving some kind of deep sustenance.

This magick of spirit goes well beyond our wisdom.

Lessons In Tarot – Introduction To The Tarot

LESSON 1

Introduction to the Tarot

Years ago, when I told my brother I was studying the tarot, his first comment was, “How can a deck of cards possibly tell you anything about anything?” I laughed because I thought his reply summed up pretty well the common sense view of the cards. I, too, had my doubts about the tarot, but I found out that the cards can make a real difference in the way you perceive and deal with the challenges in your life. In this introduction, I’ll try to explain why.

The origin of the tarot is a mystery. We do know for sure that the cards were used in Italy in the fifteenth century as a popular card game. Wealthy patrons commissioned beautiful decks, some of which have survived. The Visconti-Sforza, created in 1450 or shortly thereafter, is one of the earliest and most complete.

Later in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the cards were discovered by a number of influential scholars of the occult. These gentleman were fascinated by the tarot and recognized that the images on the cards were more powerful than a simple game would suggest. They revealed (or created!) the “true” history of the tarot by connecting the cards to Egyptian mysteries, Hermetic philosophy, the Kabbalah, alchemy, and other mystical systems. These pursuits continued into the early part of the twentieth century when the tarot was incorporated into the practices of several secret societies, including the Order of the Golden Dawn.

Although the roots of the tarot are in the occult tradition, interest in the cards has expanded in the last few decades to include many different perspectives. New decks have been created that reflect these interests. There are Native American, herbal, dragon and Japanese decks, among others.

The tarot is most commonly viewed as a tool for divination. A traditional tarot reading involves a seeker – someone who is looking for answers to personal questions – and a reader – someone who knows how to interpret the cards. After the seeker has shuffled and cut the deck, the reader lays out the chosen cards in a pattern called a spread. Each position in the spread has a meaning, and each card has a meaning as well. The reader combines these two meanings to shed light on the seeker’s question.

A simple process, but rarely presented in a simple way. In films, we always see the tarot being used in a seedy parlor or back room. An old woman, seated in shadows, reads the cards for a nervous, young girl. The crone lifts her wrinkled finger and drops it ominously on the Death card. The girl draws back, frightened by this sign of her impending doom.

This aura of darkness clings to the tarot cards, even now. Some religions shun the cards, and the scientific establishment condemns them as symbols of unreason, a holdover from an unenlightened past. Let us set aside these shadowy images for now and consider the tarot simply for what it is – a deck of picture cards. The question becomes – what can we do with them?

The answer lies with the unconscious – that deep level of memory and awareness that resides within each of us, but outside our everyday experience. Even though we ignore the action of the unconscious most of the time, it profoundly affects everything we do. In his writings, Sigmund Freud stressed the irrational, primitive aspect of the unconscious. He thought that it was the home of our most unacceptable desires and urges. His contemporary Carl Jung emphasized the positive, creative aspect of the unconscious. He tried to show that it has a collective component that touches universal qualities.

We may never know the full range and power of the unconscious, but there are ways to explore its landscape. Many techniques have been developed for this purpose – psychotherapy, dream interpretation, visualization and meditation. The tarot is another such tool.

Consider for a moment a typical card in the tarot deck, the Five of Swords. This card shows a man holding three swords and looking at two figures in the distance. Two other swords lie on the ground. As I look at this card, I begin to create a story around the image. I see a man who seems satisfied with some battle he has won. He looks rather smug and pleased that hehas all the swords. The others look downcast and defeated.

What I have done is take an open-ended image and project a story onto it. To me, my view is the obvious one – the only possible interpretation of this scene. In fact, someone else could have imagined a totally different story. Maybe the man is trying to pick up the swords. He’s calling to the others to help him, but they refuse. Or, maybe the other two were fighting, and he convinced them to lay down their arms.

The point is that of all possible stories, I chose a certain one. Why? Because it is human nature to project unconscious material onto objects in the environment. We always see reality through a lens made up of our own inner state. Therapists have long noted this tendency and have created tools to assist in the process. The famous Rorschach inkblot test is based on such projection.

Projection is one reason why the tarot cards are valuable. Their intriguing pictures and patterns are effective in tapping the unconscious. This is the personal aspect of the tarot, but the cards also have a collective component. As humans, we all have certain common needs and experiences. The images on the tarot cards capture these universal moments and draw them out consistently. People tend to react to the cards in similar ways because they represent archetypes. Over many centuries, the tarot has evolved into a collection of the most basic patterns of human thought and emotion.

Consider the Empress. She stands for the Mother Principle – life in all its abundance. Notice how her image conjures up feelings of luxuriance. She is seated on soft, lush pillows, and her robe flows in folds around her. In the Empress, we sense the bounty and sensual richness of Nature.

The power of the tarot comes from this combination of the personal and the universal. You can see each card in your own way, but, at the same time, you are supported by understandings that others have found meaningful. The tarot is a mirror that reflects back to you the hidden aspects of your own unique awareness.

When we do a tarot reading, we select certain cards by shuffling, cutting and dealing the deck. Although this process seems random, we still assume the cards we pick are special. This is the point of a tarot reading after all – to choose the cards we are meant to see. Now, common sense tells us that cards chosen by chance can’t hold any special meaning, or can they?

To answer this question, let’s look at randomness more closely. Usually we say that an event is random when it appears to be the result of the chance interaction of mechanical forces. From a set of possible outcomes – all equally likely – one occurs, but for no particular reason.

This definition includes two key assumptions about random events: they are the result of mechanical forces, and they have no meaning. First, no tarot reading is solely the product of mechanical forces. It is the result of a long series of conscious actions. We decide to study the tarot. We buy a deck and learn how to use it. We shuffle and cut the cards in a certain way at a certain point. Finally, we use our perceptions to interpret the cards.

At every step, we are actively involved. Why then are we tempted to say a reading is “the chance interaction of mechanical forces?” Because we can’t explain just how our consciousness is involved. We know our card choices aren’t deliberate, so we call them random. In fact, could there be a deeper mechanism at work, one connected to the power of our unconscious? Could our inner states be tied to outer events in a way that we don’t yet fully understand? I hold this possibility out to you.

The other feature of a random event is that it has no inherent meaning. I roll a die and get a six, but there is no purpose to this result. I could just as easily roll a one, and the meaning would be the same – or would it? Do we really know these two outcomes are equal? Perhaps there is meaning and purpose in every event, great or small, but we don’t always recognize it.

At a party many years ago, I had the sudden urge to pick up a die sitting on the floor. I knewwith great conviction that I would use this die to roll each number individually. As I began, the laughter and noise of the party faded away. I felt a growing excitement as a different number appeared with each roll. It was only with the last successful roll that my everyday awareness returned, and I sat back, wondering what had happened.

At one level, these six rolls were unrelated, random events, but at another level, they were very meaningful. My inner experience told me this was so, even though an outside observer might not agree. What wasthe meaning? At the time, it was a lesson in the strange interaction between mind and matter. Today, I know it had another purpose – to be available to me now, some 25 years later, as an illustration for this very lesson!

Meaning is a truly mysterious quality that arises at the juncture of inner and outer realities. There is a message in everything…trees, songs, even trash…but only when we are open to perceiving it. The tarot cards convey many messages because of the richness of their images and connections. More importantly, tarot readings communicate meaning because we bring to them our sincere desire to discover deeper truths about our lives. By seeking meaning in this way, we honor its reality and give it a chance to be revealed.

If there is a meaning in a reading, where does it come from? I believe it comes from that part of ourselves that is aware of the divine source of meaning. This is an aspect of the unconscious, yet it is much more. It acts as a wise advisor who knows us well. It understands what we need and leads us in the direction we need to go. Some people call this advisor the soul, the superconscious, or the higher self. I call it the Inner Guide because that is the role it plays in connection with the tarot.

Each of us has an Inner Guide that serves as a fountain of meaning for us. Your Inner Guide is always with you because it is a part of you. You can’t destroy this connection, but you canignore it. When you reach for your tarot deck, you signal to your Inner Guide that you are open to its wisdom. This simple act of faith allows you to become aware of the guidance that was always there for you.

We are meant by nature to rely on the wisdom of our Inner Guide, but somehow we have forgotten how to access it. We trust our conscious minds instead, and forget to look deeper. Our conscious minds are clever, but unfortunately, they just don’t have the full awareness we need to make appropriate choices day by day.

When we are operating from our conscious minds, we often feel as if events are forced upon us by chance. Life seems to have little purpose, and we suffer because we do not really understand who we are and what we want. When we know how to access our Inner Guide, we experience life differently. We have the certainty and peace that comes from aligning our conscious will with our inner purpose. Our path becomes more joyous, and we see more clearly how we bring together the scattered elements of our lives to fulfill our destinies.

I use the tarot because it is one of the best tools I have found to make the whispers of my Inner Guide more available consciously. The ideas, images and feelings that emerge as I work through a reading are a message from my Inner Guide. How do I know there is a message, and it’s not just my imagination? I don’t, really. I can only trust my experience and see what happens.

You do not really need the tarot to access your Inner Guide. The cards serve the same function as Dumbo’s magic feather. In the Disney movie, Dumbo the Elephant really could fly on his own, but he didn’t believe it. He placed all his faith on the special feather he held in his trunk. He thought this feather gave him the power to fly, but he found out differently when it blew away, and he was forced to fall back on his own resources.

The tarot cards may help you fly until you can reach your Inner Guide on your own. Don’t worry for now about how this might happen. Just play with the cards, work through the lessons and exercises, and see if you don’t experience a few surprises.

My Experience: Training in Witchcraft

My Experience: Training in Witchcraft

Author: Rhys Chisnall

It was a long drive up through the dark trees of Elevdon Forest from Bury St. Edmunds to a small village in the North of Suffolk, and none of us in the car knew what to expect from our first session of Craft training; after all we were going to see the Witches. We knew that the training would be one evening a week, three weeks out of four for two years with a break between Halloween and Candlemas. We also knew that it was free of charge (though we were asked to bring biscuits) as apparently, all genuine Witchcraft training was given free of charge. We had been told though that it would be very hard work and they were not kidding, though I did not really know it then.

But as we drove through the forest in mid spring through the dark of the early evening, the leaves just starting to bud, we were not expecting the right rollicking we would get for being late.

A valuable first lesson- you don’t mess with the Craft, you treat it with respect.

It was the start of a great adventure, an adventure that has continued over many years till today, and looks set to continue for the rest of my life. It is an adventure that has taken me to places that I never imagined I would go, within this world and within myself and led to experiences that back then I could not have even conceived of in my wildest dreams. It has been an adventure that has brought me into contact with the most exceptional of people and with complete nutters, though as with any path in the Occult it is a road that had to be trodden by me alone- no one else could have walked it for me.

There is an old saying in the Craft, ‘that a Witch is not usually financially wealthy but he or she will always feel rich, rich in experience, rich in knowledge and rich in the friends that they make along the path’. For me it was the exceptional training that I received that opened up so many doors.

I had found out about the training through a contact organisation called The Green Circle. The Green Circle was a group founded by the magician Marian Green and was an organisation, which amongst other things helped practioners of the Western Mystery Tradition network and make contact with each other. I had been trying to practise by myself, and with a small group of friends for a couple of years and we were not really getting anywhere, several of them had lost interest, and so I had joined the organisation in the hope of meeting real Witches.

I suppose my interest in spirituality had recently been rekindled when I had read a book on Wicca. Even as a teenager I was always a keen reader. I had grown up in the countryside, as my father was the deputy principal of an agricultural college near Bury St. Edmunds in Suffolk. As such my two younger brothers and I had the run of the college estate that included woodlands, ponds, rivers and fields. Perhaps it was this almost idyllic childhood, entrenched in the beautiful Suffolk Countryside that had led to my abiding love of nature and led ultimately to taking up a spiritual tradition that works with nature and its tides and season as a metaphor for its mysteries.

The Training group was run by a couple of Witches called Tricia and Dave. At that time they were the High Priestess and High Priest of a long established country coven in the rural north of Suffolk, a small town tucked away amid the trees of Thetford Forest. They felt that a long period of training outside the coven was necessary, firstly because it gave the coven a good long while to get to know potential members before they could join. Secondly it tested the commitment of the potential initiate (it’s funny how two years filters out the flavour of the month brigade) .

Thirdly a coven is only as strong as it weakest link (as a working coven has the responsibility to ensure that any spell work it undertakes is done to the best of their ability) . Fourthly and most importantly it gives the potential initiate the tools to practise personal development towards self-actualisation, leading to personal transformation making it possible to experience the mysteries and mystical experience.

“It is training for a mystical experience”, Dave said. At the time I had no idea what he was on about.

During that first session we discovered ourselves sitting in a comfortable living room in a pleasant medium sized bungalow in a small rural town in the middle of the forest. We were sat on leather chairs with Dave and Tricia who I guess at that time were in their mid fifties, facing towards us, and their Siamese cat Joss curled up asleep on one of the arms of the armchairs.

Dave has a voice like Christopher Lee while Tricia sat quiet sizing us up, when she spoke everyone listened. There were pictures of birds on the wall, and a carving of the Goddess Freya hanging up between them. There was also an old fashioned besom standing up against the wall- the sort you would expect Witches to have, and a funny looking forked stick leaning up in a corner. They explained to us that attending the training would not be a guarantee of being initiated into the Coven and that we were expected to put the training into practise in our lives.

“You will change, ” we were warned, “if you don’t change then the Craft is not working. Do you want to change? What about loved ones, will they want you to change, have you the right to inflict that upon them?” Blimey they were certainly right. “You will become and activist“, he said, “not the kind of activist who demonstrates outside of Greenham Common, but an activist within your own life.” He also warned us very gravely that we would only get out what we had put in.

Dave said that he would play devil’s advocate to see if we were really thinking for ourselves. We were expected to give our own ideas and opinions; we were not being told what to believe. We were not there to parrot back what Dave and Tricia was saying but to say what we really thought, what we really felt and what we really believed. They were not at all interested in what we thought they wanted to hear or what was written in some Farrar Book. Dave challenged everything we said (even if he agreed with it) . “If something doesn’t stand up to challenge then it is not worth keeping”, he said. It was certainly tough, but then anything worthwhile is earned and is not easy, you value it more, however it was also going to be really good fun and rewarding as well.

There was a huge amount to get through in two years. It wasn’t about how to cast a circle, nor doing rituals and casting spells. These are the kind of thing that may be taught after initiation in coven. Nor was it naff thing like tables of correspondences, what tool is used for what, what colour candle to burn or how to make a magic wand. Nor were we being told about the Wheel of the Year, or myths about the Gods- we could find out all that from books on Wicca. Likewise it was not about being told what to believe or towing the party line. Rather it was learning and practising the skills required for magic, meditation, visualisation and concentration. We looked into the function of Altered States of Consciousness and how to achieve them, of the functions of myth and ritual, not just in the Craft but also in religions and spirituality in general. We were asked to write our own personal myth to help us find patterns within our own lives, and thus change it if we wished. How can you change something if you unaware of it within yourself? Also we were taught how to write our own effective rituals.

Much of the training was about our self-actualisation and personal development. In particular we looked at Maslow’s model of self-actualisation and peak experiences. Dave and Tricia suggested that Witches were self-actualisers or at least were working towards it. We also spent a lot of time examining Carl Jung’s Depth Psychology. We looked at his model of the psyche, at owning our shadow, coming to terms and accepting and integrating those parts of ourselves that we dislike and often project onto others. We looked at our contra sexual side, that part of our psyche that is feminine if we are male and masculine if we are female, but at the same time realising that these are often culturally determined.

It is the path to individuation to identifying more fully with the whole of our psyche rather than just with the ego- giving us a more balanced personality and thus picture of the world. In that way we can deal with the world more wisely and act with self-determination. It wasn’t enough just to talk about it or to learn about it; rather we had to put it into practise in our own lives. This meant that we had to be very honest with ourselves; a process that continues throughout our lives.

Dave and Tricia said that it was a life long process of personal transformation, and self-knowledge, the start of which is initiation leading to individuation, and the identifying of self with the whole- pure mysticism. This was part of a mystery tradition; after all it was written above the temple of the mysteries, ‘Know thy self’. What isn’t so well known is what is written on the inside and is only seen by initiates, ‘there is no such thing as a free lunch!’

All this was tied to the myth of the wheel of the year. During training we discovered that the Sabbats of the Wheel of the Year had little to do with Celtic festivals as is often mentioned in Pop Wicca books. Rather the Wheel of the Year was like a big onion, multi layered. On the one hand it referred to the tides and season of the year, on another they referred to the mysteries of birth, sex, life, sacrifice (i.e. as in being a parent, putting your children first) , and death. On yet another it might refer to planning, putting into action, achievement and reflection forming a virtuous cycle, and so on and so on. We were encouraged to apply it to our own lives on the inner and outer levels.

We didn’t shy away from some of the topics that are often seen as taboo in Pop Wicca and Paganism in general. We learned about sacred sexuality, a quality very hard to define in words. Dave and Tricia spoke about the anima and animus our contra sexual sides, cultural memes of masculinity and femininity and how both need to be equally valued within us. We discussed the Lady and the Dark Horned Lord, within and without as metaphors of life, fertility, death and change.

We looked at the reasons for working sky clad that is ritually naked. This is something that is guaranteed to cause upset amongst Pop Wiccan, who sadly seem to have a fear of sexuality and sharing their whole selves (warts and all) within a coven. And who can blame them? Sexuality can be a very scary thing. But if we cannot truly love ourselves how can we truly love others? Craft is also about self-actualisation and self-empowerment, and sexuality is the fuel of the Craft. However it was also mentioned many times by Dave and Tricia that Witchcraft is not for everybody.

Another potentially upsetting subject was the subject of death. We were encouraged to learn about the nature of grief and how to help others and ourselves through it. We were also asked to write our own funerals. There were some really good reasons for this. It made us confront our own inevitable mortality in a healthy way. By directly thinking about our end gives more value to the present and allows us not to put off those things we would like to do. For me, it makes me extremely grateful that I am alive and have the opportunity to experience the wonder of the World, both ‘good’ and ‘bad’. It also gives loved ones something less to worry about in what is already a difficult time for them. By planning your own funeral and letting loved ones know what your plans are, means that they can just carry them out with little stress placed on deciding on what the deceased would have wanted.

However we had to bear in mind that funerals are not for the person that has died but for the people left behind. Sadly this was put into practise as in the training group after mine, a trainee tragically died. Since he had planed his own funeral and discussed it with his wife, a lot of the stress of preparation was taken away from her. He had done a good job of planning it and had put a lot of ‘fun’ back into ‘funeral’, there were a lot of tears of sadness and laughter that day.

It was all pretty practical stuff that we were being trained in, stuff that needed to be applied to our own lives. We also looked at plant identification and their uses for herbal medicine, magic and myth, at wine making and dowsing.

As Craft is a practical spirituality that deals in real life rather than fantasy, we also had ‘Tricia’s Topics’ every week. In this part of the evening we would discuss a current event, a life problem, a coven problem etc. The idea being that Craft needs to be grounded in the everyday world of real life- ‘Feet firmly on the ground and head among the stars’. Thank goodness there was no talk of fairies or how to make a wand with a crystal on the end.

Now I have heard Crafte training criticised, usually by people who have not undertaken it. One of the arguments put forward is that surely you do not need training to join a religion, after all who has ever heard of a Christian or a Muslim being trained. If you are talking about a religion I would one hundred percent agree with you, and for many Witchcraft and Wicca is seen as a religion. However we were not being trained in a religion, but rather an occult and mystery tradition. In the same way that Hermeticism, Cabbala, Tantra or Sufism are not religions, neither was the Craft I was trained in. Like all occult traditions one of its functions was a kind of reversed engineered mysticism. By understanding the metaphor of myth and ritual, by attuning to the changing seasons and re-experiencing and celebrating the lesser mysteries as contained in the metaphor of the Wheel of the Year, and working with certain techniques, we would come in time to have mystical experience which is a life transforming event. As such the trainers need to have undergone this process and have the necessary skills to practise magic, and had mystical experiences and experienced the mysteries themselves, how else could they pass them on and facilitate them on others? In the Craft, second best is never good enough. However, I should add that many people have spontaneous mystical experiences without any training.

As I came to the end of my training Dave and Tricia put me in touch with a Gardnerian Coven in East Anglia, whom I promptly contacted and asked if I could join (you are never invited to join a genuine coven- you have to ask) . Having had recommendations form Dave and Tricia they were happy to take me on, and I was initiated into the Gardnerian Witchcraft. I stayed with that Coven for five years and learnt an awful lot from them. However it became clear within the last couple of years that they were moving in another spiritual direction to myself. Therefore I decided to go back to Dave and Tricia to do their High Priestess and High Priest awareness course, which was also two years long. At the end of the course Dave and Tricia asked me if I would be happy to take over their training course for them, as they felt that they had done their bit for king and country, and I was happy to agree. As such I left the Gardnerian Group though we are still good friends and was initiated (after asking) into Dave and Tricia’s country coven in the north of Suffolk. I have been there for ten years so far and really love it. Every meeting I learn something new, and the people in the coven are exceptional; our HPS is the best I have ever worked under- who brings the rituals alive with a magic all of her own.

So now I have come full circle, I have been training potential new Witches for nine years some of which have joined the coven. I love doing it for several reasons. The most important ones being that over the two years trainees become really good friends. I also learn so much from the trainees myself and it really helps to keep my skills and ideas fresh. One of the greatest things about it is there is nothing more rewarding or satisfying than to see people work with the Craft, to see them use it to transform their lives and themselves, starting them on their own greatest adventure of their lives.

Daily OM for February 18th – Awakening The Inner Warrior

Awakening The Inner Warrior
Stoking The Fire Within

There are certain personality archetypes that we all carry within us, such as the inner child, the lover, and the mother. Some of these archetypes present themselves strongly, while others lay fallow. For example, there is an inner warrior in each one of us, but in some of us this warrior is underdeveloped to the point that we are unable to stand up for ourselves, even when necessary. There can be many reasons for this. We may have grown up with a parent whose warrior aspect was overdeveloped, and we responded by repressing ours completely. On the other hand, we may have grown up with parents in whom this aspect was dormant, so we never learned to awaken it in ourselves.

A warrior is someone with the strength to stand up for what he or she believes; someone who perseveres in the face of challenges and obstacles; someone who speaks and acts in the service of an ideal; someone who protects those who are too weak to fight for themselves. Regardless of the reasons for an underdeveloped inner warrior, you may begin to notice the lack of its fiery, protective presence and wish to awaken it. You may need to stand up for yourself in a certain relationship or situation, or you may have a vision you want to realize, and you know you will need the courage, energy, and strength of a warrior to succeed. Similarly, if you find that you often feel scared, anxious, or powerless, rousing this sleeping ally may be just the antidote you need.

One excellent way to cultivate the presence of your inner warrior is to choose a role model who embodies the qualities of bravery, strength, and vitality. This person could be a character in a myth, movie, or book, or a historical or living person you admire. Simply close your eyes each day and contemplate the quality of energy that attracts you to this person, knowing that the same potential lives within you. Confirm for yourself that you are capable of handling this energy responsibly, and stoke the fire of your own inner courage.

The Sacred Household: Rites and Mysteries

The Sacred Household: Rites and Mysteries

Author: Ian Elliott

To Joseph Brazauskas, a true pagan

The Threshold

The sacred household in ancient and more recent indigenous cultures bears certain analogies to the human body. The front door is similar to the eyes, the hearth to the heart or solar plexus, and the central supporting pillar to the spine. Shrines or altars at these locations were guarded by spirits who were linked with internal spirits in each family resident, and the proper worship of the household guardians involved being on familiar terms with their inner analogues and tending their inner shrines.

This study of the sacred household uses the names of Roman household spirits, but it is based more broadly on a number of other cultures. We no longer live in Roman houses, so some latitude must be taken in locating household shrines; and we are not all of Roman descent, so some attention must be paid to the forms of piety practiced by our ancestors from other lands.

It is not enough to study household rites and set up modern versions of ancient shrines. Our early conditioning separates us from some pre-verbal modes of awareness, by teaching us to ignore certain readily available perceptions; these must be recovered if we are to properly install our internal shrines and so link them with those of the household. I have called practices that open up these perceptions ‘mysteries, ’ because having been forgotten they have become secret things.

The Roman god of the threshold was Janus, who has two faces, one looking outside and the other inside the home, as well as forward and backward in time. To enter a house, as H.J. Rose pointed out in Religion in Greece and Rome, is to begin something, and so household piety always began by honoring Janus at the threshold. His annual festival was on January 9th, and offerings at his shrine were made on the Calends (the day after the dark moon of the lunar calendar) , as well at the beginning of any endeavor, such as a journey; also on one’s birthday.

The Romans, even after they came under Greek influence, were by preference an aniconic people; that is, they preferred worship without images. Perhaps this was because they focused on the link between the inner and outer shrines and found external images a distraction. I keep my own threshold shrine simple, hanging a god-face about a foot and a half above a small offering shelf, the shelf set next to the front door a little above eye-level. On the shelf is a candle, a stick incense holder, toy-sized dishes for water and salted grain.

Upon crossing the threshold one always steps over it, never on it, and one should touch the doorpost as an acknowledgement of the threshold guardian and to receive his numen. We can tentatively define numen as liberating and empowering energy that is unknown or at least unfamiliar.

My prayer when offering to Janus is the same as the one I used when setting up his shrine:

Honor and thanks to you, O Janus,
for guarding the threshold of my home.
May only harmonious beings enter here,
and may the discordant depart!
Please accept these offerings of salted grain, water, light and scent,
Open this week [month, journey, etc.] for me on blessings,
and teach me to look out and in at once as you do,
so I may guard the threshold of my inner home;
for I, too, am a threshold guardian.

The god-face for Janus looks straight in, as I prefer to imagine his head imbedded in the wall, with his outer face guarding the outside of my doorway.

The Inner Threshold

This ability to look out and in at the same time holds the clue to Janus’ mysteries, to the pre-verbal mode of perception that will give us the ability to look in the same manner, outward and inward simultaneously. To do this we must ‘stand in the doorway, ’ and Douglas Harding provided the best description of this in his important little book On Having No Head. Harding was hiking in the Himalayas and one morning he suddenly saw the world differently:

“…I stopped thinking…Past and future dropped away. There existed only the Now, that present moment and all that was given in it. To look was enough. And what I found was khaki trouserlegs terminating downwards in a pair of brown shoes, khaki sleeves terminating sideways in a pair of pink hands, and a khaki shirtfront terminating upwards in – absolutely nothing whatever! Certainly not in a head.”

This nothing, however, was filled with everything: mountains, sky, valleys below, extending to the horizon. Harding felt light and liberated. He had ceased to ignore the sensations of his own headlessness, ending a habit acquired in infancy when told that ‘the baby in the mirror’ was merely his own reflection. In addition to his headlessness, he was now attending to the limits of his perceptual field. Consequently, he wasn’t tracking on this or that object, as we spend so much of our time doing, using our eyes as searchlights for our impulses and desires. Instead, he was looking at his whole visual field at once, and the lightness he felt resulted from dropping the burden of his eyes from incessant tracking, and of his mind from incessant thinking.

Indigenous peoples are aware of the difference between these two ways of looking at the world. When the psychologist C. G. Jung visited an Indian pueblo in the American Southwest years ago, he had a conversation with the local chief, Ochwiay Biano (his name means Mountain Lake) .

“The white man’s eyes are always restless, ” the chief told Jung. “He is always looking for something. We think he is mad.”
Jung asked him why they thought that.
“He says that he thinks with his head.”
“Why of course, ” answered Jung. “What do you think with?”
“We think here, ” he answered, indicating his chest.

There are two potential errors in assessing what Ochwiay Biano said. One is to take his words sentimentally, as if he were merely speaking of ‘heartfelt thinking.’ The other error would be to dismiss his words as expressions of a primitive, pre-scientific physiology. The Pueblo chief would not have been troubled to learn that Western science has determined through experiments that we think with our brains. This would have seemed to him irrelevant to what he was talking about, namely the sensation of where the thinker seems to be located in the body. We feel we are located in our heads because of certain muscular tensions around the eyes from tracking, and in our foreheads from ‘knitting our brows, ’ and performing other social cues indicative of taking thought. But these external muscular contractions, though spatially closer to the brain, are nevertheless external to it and involve muscles on the outside of the head. The feeling we get from them of being ‘in our heads, ’ therefore, is no more scientific than the feeling the Pueblo chief evidently got of being in his chest.

When we look at our headlessness, our chests come into view as the closest part of the body that is completely visible; and when mental talk quiets down as a result of tracking being replaced by restful awareness of the whole available visual field, words are employed only as and when necessary for external communication. The rest of the time one simply looks, listens and understands, and this quieter form of awareness allows feelings to come to the fore since they are no longer drowned out by incessant mental chatter. For these reasons, Ochwiay Biano felt that he thought in his chest, or solar plexus.

The Hearth

The ancients associated this part of the body, including the heart, with the hearth, and regarded it as the seat of memory. The hearth was the center of the home as well as the place of contact with ancestors. It was the place where the family gathered and traded experiences of the day, recalling in the process the words and deeds of the past. Without memory there is no family, even if the people living together are all related, as we know now that the hearth has been replaced by the television or computer as the central focus of the house, especially if meals are taken individually in the living room.

In the old days, the hearth gave heat and light to the home and was also where food was cooked. Nowadays some are fortunate enough to own a house with a fireplace, but they usually have a stove as well, so that the functions of the ancient hearth have become divided, and it is difficult to decide where to place the hearth shrine.

I have no fireplace where I live now, so my hearth shrine is near my stove. My stove is electric, but I keep a large candle in the shrine and light that, together with stick incense, when I want to awaken the hearth guardian. Additionally, I keep there somewhat larger versions of the offering dishes described above for the threshold shrine.

The hearth guardian is both a goddess and the hearth fire itself. In ancient Latium she was called Vesta. She accepts offerings for herself and also passes on some of them to the ancestors, godlings and blessed immortals. Because I cannot maintain a perpetual flame, I have a picture of her in my shrine, and close to her picture is a statuette of my family lar. The lar familiaris is an ithyphallic youth pouring wine from a wineskin into a chalice. He symbolizes the vigor and luck of my family line, and as such forms a link back to the ancestors, and onward to posterity. If I want to honor and pray to another deity, I can conveniently place his or her statue in the shrine for the occasion. This saves on shrines.

At the shrine or close by are photos of my parents and maternal grandmother. These are the ancestors who were my caregivers when I was small, and with whom I still share a bond of love. The Romans and other ancient peoples represented their ancestors by small clay figurines on the altar, as seen in some recent films.

When my offerings are laid out, I light the candle saying “Honor to fire, honor to Vesta, honor to the hearth.” Then I light the incense. Then I pray: “Holy Lady, please accept these offerings of salted grain and pure water, light and scent for thine own dear self, and pass on some to the lares and penates, the di manes, daimones and blessed gods, thanking them for their good regard for me and my family, and asking for a continuance of their favor.” To this basic prayer I add anything special for other deities.

While the fire is lit in the shrine, I call on my ancestors and talk to them. I let them know how things are going in the family with me, my sons and grandson, our concerns, blessings, problems and plans, just as I would if they were still in the flesh. If any of them has appeared recently in a dream, I thank him or her for the visit.

At the close of the rite, I bid farewell to ancestors and deities and extinguish the candle, letting the incense burn down. I say the opening prayer in reverse order, ending with “Honor to the hearth, honor to Vesta, honor to fire.” In Roman houses the hearth shrine was decorated with fresh flowers and offerings made at least three times in the lunar month: on the Calends, that is, the day after the dark moon; on the Nones, the ninth day before the full moon; and on the Ides or full moon itself. In Caesar’s solar calendar the Ides was regularized as the fifteenth of each month, which would place the Nones on the seventh.

The Inner Hearth

When we practice ‘standing in the doorway, ’ we naturally do not do so all the time, and this provides us with a contrast between the two modes of experience, so that we begin noticing things that were formerly invisible to us because they were constant. Some of these things are external to our minds, such as shadows and clouds, and some are internal. One of the internal things is the synopsis or background summary we take to experience, the mental account we refer to offhand when answering the common question “How is it going?” The synopsis is more readily observed in dreams, because it is different for each dream-story or sequence, whereas in waking life it is ongoing and only changes gradually except in moments of crisis.

When we enter a dream-story we generally enter in the middle of it, provided with a ready-made background that tells us where we are and what we are supposed to be doing. We are provided with dream-memories, sometimes selected from previous dreams (as in recurring dreams) , and unless we become aware we are dreaming, we do not question it or the actions of other dream-figures.

Similarly, in waking life we are generally absorbed by the problems and affairs of the moment, as supplied by an ongoing mental summary or synopsis. From this we derive our sense of who we are in the present and what we need to do. The synopsis is based on a selection of memories, and these change gradually unless we are in the throes of a crisis, in which case we need to revise our orientation, sometimes on the basis of earlier memories, in order to cope with the situation. At times our synopsis can become so obsessive that we throw it over in a breakdown and temporarily become disoriented.

Standing in the doorway provides a milder sort of disorientation, as the contrast between it and our usual awareness brings the operation of the synopsis to the forefront of attention. Then, as in the onset of lucid dreaming (when we suddenly realize we are dreaming) , we become free to question who we are supposed to be and what we are supposed to be doing in the present moment. The process of interpreting present experience in terms of our usual selection of memories is suspended, and earlier memories are able to surface, bringing with them earlier feelings of ourselves and of life, derived from past synopses. This is a familiar experience when we go on a trip, especially if we visit old neighborhoods we haven’t seen in many years, and perhaps explains why we like to take such trips after surmounting a difficult crisis.

Vesta’s power to call up the ancestors from old memories works in a similar way, and when our focus of awareness has moved to the chest or solar plexus, continual standing in the doorway can help her to perform the same feat for us at our inner hearth, especially if we augment our headless attention with another pre-verbal mode of awareness involving sound.

The first stage is to listen to all the sounds around us, without dividing them into ‘background’ and ‘foreground’. This comes about naturally once our visual attention rests on the limits of the visual field instead of tracking on this or that object. It is easy for the attention to waver, however, so the focus on sounds must be augmented by mentally copying sounds just heard.

Small children learn to speak by mentally copying sounds, and there is reason to believe that animals do something similar. Mentally copying sounds and associating them with specific situations would seem to have been a major part of humanity’s pre-verbal thought processes.

Once we learn to speak, and to speak to ourselves, mental mimicry of sounds is relegated to a minor role and generally limited to copying sounds for which we have words. When we begin ‘thinking with the chest, ’ like Ochwiay Biano, our minds become quieter and we become aware of feelings and images for which we have no words, not because they are ineffable, but simply because no words have yet been assigned to those experiences. Consider smells, for instance. We have many words for colors and quite a few for sounds, but our olfactory vocabulary is very limited. If a dog could be taught to speak, he would find himself at a loss to describe the many odors in his daily experience. If he invented words for the many different odors, we would find it hard to understand him, lacking referents because we are purblind in our noses.

In the same way, this particular sound I have just heard has no precise word describing it. We can say, ‘that is the sound of a car engine, ’ as we say ‘that is a tree, ’ and ignore sensory detail in either case. Our everyday minds can deal with such thumbnail descriptions without having to disturb the selection of memories forming a background to our moment-to-moment synopsis. But if we mentally repeat the precise sound of that car that just went by, our memory background is rendered more porous, as it would become in a crisis, so that feelings and images from past memories are able to emerge.

I tried mentally echoing sounds just heard as an experiment in 1972, while walking along a busy street in Encanto, California. I was also keeping my sunglass frames in view, an earlier version of ‘standing in the doorway’. I did this for an hour or more, and recorded the results in a journal:

“The result of this double exercise was three full days, not counting sleep, in silent awareness of total sensation…At one point the feeling of lightness became like a breeze flowing through my body from back to front. Everything seemed to take on a bluish tinge…By the third day, the breeze had risen to a light wind and was blowing through my memories. My personal history, the sense of who I am, was being shuffled like a deck of cards…By the end of the third day the wind set me down somewhere else in myself; that is, my store of familiar memories was completely revised and my feeling of myself permanently changed from that point on.”

After this experience, my dead grandmother began visiting me regularly in my dreams. I noticed that in many of these dreams I appeared to be younger, and to feel as I did when she was still alive, but my understanding was linked to the present. It was common to realize at the time that I was dreaming, if not at first then as the dream progressed, for I would remember that she had died. These earlier feelings of myself, and of my grandmother when she was alive, enhanced a feeling of harmony with her and allowed us to converse in close intimacy. However, as I had no unresolved issues with her, there was nothing specific to work through. I usually asked her how she was, and she said fine, but she felt tired a lot, and this probably came from memories of her as she was towards the end of her life.

My practices of the threshold and hearth continued over the next several years, and long after my father died I did have some serious issues to work through with him. This took about three years to get through, during which time I was periodically out of work (I was doing contract programming and moving around a lot) . In both dream and waking I agreed with my father to resolve certain problems for good with him in exchange for obtaining help in finding employment. On each of three occasions, I received job offers within twenty-four hours of these conversations. Skeptics may make of this what they will; but taking the view that I was in contact with the spirits of my ancestors, it makes sense that they would find it easier to relate to me after I had recovered earlier feelings of myself and of them, which I had when, they were still alive.

The Pillar

Before chimneys came into general use in the Renaissance, the old-style hearth was usually located centrally under the smoke-hole in the roof, and the central supporting pillar or pillars were set close to it. The main pillar in pagan times corresponded to the World Pillar, round which the heavens appear to revolve and which links the Underworld, Middle-Earth, and the heavenly realms of the cosmos together. It also corresponds to the human spine, and the subtle passage therein known to yogis as the sushumna. An upright person has a straight spine and thus a direct link to the vigor of the ancestors. He or she can stand before the ancestors unashamed, with a record of honorable conduct.

In the old Roman religion, every man was born with a guiding spirit called his genius, and every woman a similar spirit called her juno. These were inner spirits, with a meaning originally connected in some way with sexual vigor, but later they became mixed with the Greek notion of a personal daimon who guided one through life. The connection of the genius with sleep and dream is suggested by the lectus genialis, located in the atrium just opposite the entrance-door. Rose conjectures that in the days of one-room houses it probably served as the marriage bed, hence its sexual significance; but in later times it persisted as a sacred furnishing that was reserved for the genius of the paterfamilias and never used by the house’s human occupants. Presumably the lady of the house had a similar place in the women’s quarters dedicated to her juno.

While we must do without a pillar in modern houses, we can set aside a special area in the home for meditation, and include a shrine to a personal guiding deity, giving external form to our indwelling genius or juno in the shape of an image if we prefer. A staff can be set up in a nearby corner to represent the pillar, perhaps with alternate red and white bands spiraling clockwise around it from the top to the bottom, like a Maypole. The main thing, of course, is to sit there with an erect spine, the seat being raised by one or two cushions.

If you offer to your patron or patroness (or directly to the genius or juno) as at the other shrines, ask for guidance or wisdom in both dreams and waking life. It is also good to do this before going to sleep. If you remember your dreams on awakening, take a few moments to ponder them and try to determine what the deity was saying to you. Even seemingly trivial dreams often contain a message if we take the time to examine them.

The Inner Pillar

As the World Pillar is the link between the realms of our cosmos and thus with the ancestors, so the inner pillar is our own personal link with them through memory. As we have seen, memory contains more than the record of events: Vesta at our inner hearth can recall past versions of ourselves, our feelings and impressions, our viewpoints, joys and fears, all the way back to birth, as well as that strange kind of nostalgia, with phantom images, associated with the distant past which we call far memory. Like the rings on a tree-trunk, these vital memories represent different stages of our growth-journey from the realm of the ancestors, and each is vitally available to the present moment.

It will come as no surprise, then, to learn that each man’s genius and each woman’s juno resides in the inner pillar of memory and has the job of guiding, not just our present selves, but each of these versions of ourselves, guiding all of them together. Thus, as Vesta calls back our previous selves and integrates them with our current self, the genius or juno shows us the path linking them, the plan our life has been following, and the living form of our self through time, of which our current self is the growing tip. For whereas the ancestors are concerned to help that growing tip, our current selves, with advice and vigor, our indwelling genius and juno are concerned with the growth of the whole plant, clear down to the roots. The journey down the inner pillar of memory, taken by the silent, inward-looking self, is not like a train-journey, which leaves behind each station as it travels to the next one. It is rather a projection of awareness from the present back through the past, uniting with the whole trunk of memory as it goes. As such, it is a preparation for the fuller integration that will take place in the Underworld after the death of the body.

In the Underworld the integrated soul will undergo further integration with its selves from previous lives. Thus, the answer to the question, “What age shall I be on the Other Side?” is “All ages to which you have attained.” This is expressed beautifully in the Lakota (Sioux) myth of Falling Star. It seems long ago there were two sisters who wished to marry stars when they grew up. Then, when they were about to go to bed, two men appeared outside the flap of their tepee:

“They were men, but they were not like other men, for they made the light they lived in, and there was no shadow where they stood. This light was soft and kind, and when the two men smiled, it spread about the sisters so that they were not afraid at all. Then they saw that one man was young and one was very old. The younger one was taller than any man the girls had ever seen; but the older one was even taller. I think he stood above the other like a tree, and the light which he made was that much brighter. He was old, old; but he was young too. I think he was older than the other because he had been young so much longer.”

Journeys down the inner pillar can take place in lucid dreams or in waking moments when inner silence begins to deepen on its own, spontaneously. The latter experience feels like being in an old elevator that has suddenly slipped its cable a little. There is a feeling of being lowered into deeper silence. Present sensations continue, but new senses open up, or perhaps feelings, for which we have no descriptions. These seem to be showing through the current landscape, if we are outside, that is. Time undergoes subtle changes as well, with the mind taking in more rapid details occurring, as it were, between successive instants of time. This continues until one has had enough and decides to re-surface into the everyday present.

Standing in the doorway and mentally echoing sounds just heard help to set up lucid dreaming. Additionally, after closing your eyes at night, instead of becoming immersed in thoughts, watch your phosphenes, the lights and shapes created by the pressure of the eyelids on the optic nerve. As we fall asleep, dream images will naturally become superimposed on our phosphenes; but if we fall asleep while watching instead of thinking, we shall watch the images in our dreams afterwards and be less caught up in the words of the dream-synopsis. When dream images become superimposed on phosphenes, it is like a door opening, and when it is fully open we are asleep and immersed in a dream. If we have watched our phosphenes change into dream-images, it is only a step further to realizing we are in a dream, when the journey down the inner pillar can commence.


Footnotes:
Bibliography

BERNSTEIN, Frances, Classical Living, San Francisco, Harper Collins, 2000.
ELIADE, Mircea, Shamanism; Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy, New Jersey,
Princeton University Press, 1964.
HARDING, Douglas, On Having No Head, London and New York, Arkana , 1986.
JUNG, C. G., Memories, Dreams, Reflections, New York, Vintage Books, 1963.
NEIHARDT, John G., When the Tree Flowered, New York, Pocket Books, 1974.
OVID, Fasti, transl. by A. J. Boyle and R. D. Woodard, New York, Penguin Books,
2000.
ROSE, H. J., Religion in Greece and Rome, New York, Harper and Rowe, 1959.

What is the I Ching?

What is the I Ching?

The origin of I Ching: the world’s oldest divination system

 

The world’s oldest book and intuitive decision-making system
The I Ching, or Book of Changes, is the world’s oldest book and earliest known intuitive decision-making system. Based on the binary logic of yin/yang, it is used to derive personal strategy and insights based on natural wisdom — as pertaining to human problems that logic alone cannot handle.

The most intricate numerically-based oracle ever devised
This ancient divination system (approx. 4000 years old) is the most intricate numerically-based oracle ever devised. Most commonly experienced in the form of a book consulted by means of tossing coins or stalks, it is a system for pegging and interpreting patterns of change — based on a profound understanding of the dynamic processes of Nature that is beyond the daily consciousness of most of us.

A complete and balanced set of human situations
Essentially, the Oracle is used to produce responses to questions and problems. The system interprets which numerical patterns and which responses “like to go together” with what questions posed at a specific moment in time. The founder of depth psychology, Carl Jung, studied the embodiment and operation of the Synchronicity Principle in the Book of Changes for 30 years. He examined the arrangement of universal principles represented by the 64 main readings and their permutations and demonstrated that the system was a self-contained holism. Like Confucius, who reportedly said he wished he could devote an entire lifetime to its study, Jung’s conclusions were positive and enthusiastic. He recognized the universality of the I Ching’s 64 “archetypes” and how the entire system comprised a complete and balanced set of human situations.

Benefits of using Visionary I Ching

The use of the Visionary I Ching can help you

  • make decisions that logic can’t handle
  • reduce stress around changes and decisions
  • better manage sensitive relationships & office politics
  • develop superior timing
  • access creative insight and intuitive power

 

The Visionary I Ching Supports Success on the Highest Level
The consistent quality of our choices determines our level of success. In times of accelerating change, we have to face more and more challenging issues. When crises or emotional reactions take over, logical reasoning alone becomes inadequate, if not impossible. Yet few of us have a personal advisor — a mentor whose wisdom we respect, an experienced guide to confer with. So we must do our best to tap our own intuitive resources. The Visionary I Ching experience will give you immediate access to profound inner resources in a pleasant and easy-to-access way.

Generally, no matter what decision you make, it’s easy to be plagued by the fear that it was the wrong one. In stressful times, this is only natural, but this anxious feeling works against you. It increases stress, which makes it more difficult to be receptive to a resolution. This is a vicious cycle which skillful use of the I Ching will help you break.

The Visionary I Ching not only makes dilemmas easier to solve but also makes your final decisions easier to live with. It can transform stressful situations into confidence-building opportunities.

Mental Clarity
The I Ching consultation process begins by helping you articulate your question, problem, or dilemma — to get clear about what it means to you and what you really want from the situation. The simple act of achieving clarity about an emotionally charged issue is a significant first step in the right direction.

Skillful Detachment
The Visionary I Ching is structured to take place between a question or dilemma on one hand and your enquiring mind on the other. As a result, the process forces you to distance yourself from the problem. The more detached you are, the less threatening things appear. You are able to see things from a wider perspective, with more objectivity. Skillful detachment gives you a powerful advantage leading to more creative approaches.

Focused Relaxation Around a Problem
The Visionary I Ching’s keyboard process makes it easy to focus on an issue of personal importance without becoming distracted by the busy work of analyzing how coins land, recording the lines, etc. This slightly hypnotic exercising of the mind, both relaxed and focused at the same time, aligns the conscious and subconscious parts of your mind so that you can coordinate them for maximum effectiveness.

Stimulating Intuition
The Visionary I Ching experiences stimulates intuitive processes by means of specific feedback which is actually selected by your subconscious mind. The text derives from a a time-honored system of timeless principles and natural laws known as the Book of Changes or I Ching. Your interpretation of it is what activates your intuition — whether you take the response you get literally or not. It is NOT a question of blind faith.

Relaxation
Studies prove that a calm state of focused relaxation is best for the function of intuition and creativity. The Visionary I Ching’s art make excellent accompaniment to any meditation or personal insight break.

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