Messages from a Transcendent Dimension

One winter afternoon in New York, February 1943, at the height of the Second World War, my mother, her sister, her sister-in-law, and a close friend, met to talk about the life-and-death struggle that was tearing Europe apart. (My father was serving under General Montgomery, in North Africa). Suddenly, although the windows of the apartment were closed because of the cold, they heard a roar like thunder and the glass door onto the terrace was blown inwards by a powerful blast of air. Lightning flickered all around them although there was no storm. They cried out in terror, and went to shut the door, but suddenly felt a tremendous presence in the room and, falling on their knees, were overcome with awe. Then they heard a voice which told them to write down what they heard. I have brought together these Messages in memory and in love for my mother and love for the Higher Assembly of Beings who watch over the life of this planet. They have been the foundation and the inspiration of all my own work. May they reach those who can assimilate their teaching and take it further. Their words are witness to the fact that we do not live in a dead, insentient universe that is without consciousness, purpose or meaning. On the contrary, we live in a universe that is alive, sentient, full of wonders, peopled with countless beings in higher dimensions, as well as in other galaxies and on other planets — all directed by an evolutionary intention. 

What they transmitted to my mother and her friend in 1943, is more relevant today than it was eighty years ago since the dangers we face are far greater now. AI technology is racing ahead, urged on by the same male competitive ethos that is driving the further development of nuclear weapons, the dangerous work of gain-of-function laboratories and other technologies which harm the miraculous organism of the human body and interfere with the delicate balance of the planet’s life — all involving the participation of people who do not hold the best interests of the planet at heart. Our survival demands that we relinquish the ongoing rivalry and struggle for power between nations which could destroy the Earth and ourselves with it, and choose the alternative path of love and service of the planet and all the precious orders of life it embraces. This is a key moment in our evolutionary journey. The choices we make now will determine our future and whether there is a future. The Messages say that if we are to experience the Blessing of the Millennium, we need to end all war and killing now. Women are one half of humanity and, therefore, hold the balance at this crucial time of choice. The power of millions of women, coming together to protect this Sacred Planet, could not only eliminate war but allow us to write a New Story.

- Anne Baring, Excerpt from 'Messages from a Transcendent Dimension'

Asherah

 

In the Book of Genesis, God discusses creating humankind “…in our image, after our likeness…” It is not the only instance in which the deity appears to refer to another being present by using the plural term. It is more than a passing use of language. What we know from earlier writings is that there actually was more than one, because God, or ‘El’ in the texts, had a consort, whose name was Asherah. While the Hebrew Bible does not explicitly state that Yahweh had a wife, there are references to Asherah in the context of worship and religious practices in ancient Israel and Judah.

What happened? The goddess who was God’s equal partner was quietly edited out of the texts so that the masculine deity could take the credit for creating everything. But it did not end there. Asherah was turned into a wooden idol that had to be destroyed, and her destruction marked the definitive end of any female deity in the whole of scripture. And so we speak only of “God the Father” and “God the Son”.

But in other beliefs we know that Osiris had his Isis, Odin had his Freya, Jupiter had his Juno, Zeus had his Hera, and Shiva has his Shakti. And yet Asherah was depicted as the very Tree of Life, nurturing her creatures who sought sustenance from her branches, for what she fed them from her leaves would always grow back in abundance.

Asherah, then, was seen as the provider and the sustainer of life, and not just as its co-creator. How much have we lost in what is now the world’s most widespread religion by banishing this vital sustaining female life force from scripture?

Art: 'Asherah' by David Bergen

Where my Books Go

 

WHERE MY BOOKS GO

All the words that I gather,

And all the words that I write,

Must spread out their Wings untiring,

And never rest in their flight,

Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,

And sing to you in the night,

Beyond where the waters are moving,

Storm darkened or starry bright.

- William Butler Yeats

Artist: Kristin Vestgard

The Beginning

"Where have I come from, where did you pick me up?" 

the baby asked its mother.

She answered half crying, half laughing, 
and clasping the baby to her breast, -- 
"You were hidden in my heart as its desire, my darling.

You were in the dolls of my childhood's games; 
and when with clay I made the image of my god every morning, 
I made and unmade you then.

You were enshrined with our household deity, 
in his worship I worshipped you.

In all my hopes and my loves, in my life, 
in the life of my mother you have lived.

In the lap of the deathless Spirit who rules our home
you have been nursed for ages.

When in girlhood my heart was opening its petals, 
you hovered as a fragrance about it.

Your tender softness bloomed in my youthful limbs, 
like a glow in the sky before the sunrise.

Heaven's first darling, twin-born with the morning light,
you have floated down the stream of the world's life, 
and at last you have stranded on my heart.

As I gaze on your face, mystery overwhelms me;
you who belong to all have become mine.

For fear of losing you I hold you tight to my breast. 
What magic has snared the world's treasure 
in these slender arms of mine?" 

- Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941)

WOMAN

 

In search of the desert witch, the shaman-woman,

Forget the archetypes, forget the dark and petrified profile,

Do not examine the clouds

Packed on the horizon, violet and green,

For her image, do not chase

The ready-made abstraction, do not gaze at symbols,

As long as you want her without a face, without a scent

Or voice, as long as she does not squat

To piss or scratch herself, as long

As long as she does not snore under her blanket

Or grin when she early in the morning

Grabs the stone-cold millstone,

As long as she does not have her own peculiar face,

With light bags under her eyes or with a stripe

Topaz shining in the black

Of an eye, as long as she does not limp

As long as you try to simplify her meaning

As long as she only symbolizes power

She is kept helpless and conventional

Her true power fled back, further into the past in,

We cannot touch or name her

And silenced by those who need her

She suffocates in unspeakable loneliness.

Art: Cailleach Bheur by Victoria Ni Keltica

The Unruined Heart

 

The Use of the Seven Swords through the Heart.

The swords through your heart

are not the ones which caused your wounds,

but rather, these mighty swords of Strength,

were earned by your struggles through hard times.

Sword of Surrender: to withstand this time of learning.

Sword of Veils: to pierce the hidden meanings of this time.

Sword of Healing: to lance one's own agony, bitterness.

Sword of New Life: to cut through, cut loose, plant anew.

Sword of Courage: to speak up, row on, touch others.

Sword of Life Force: to draw from, lean on, purify.

Sword of Love: often heaviest to lift consistently;

turns one away from war, to instead,

fall into the arms of the Immaculate Strength.

O Immaculate Heart of My Mother,

give me shelter in the beautiful chambers of your heart.

Keep me strong, fierce, loving, and able in this world.

Remind me daily, that despite my imperfections,

my heart remains,

completely unruined.

- Clarissa Pinkola Estes (2011), Untie the Strong Woman, p.79.

Art: "Closed Eyes" by Odilon Redon

Michaelmas

 

The Feast of Saint Michaël is the symbol for the human being to be aware in consciousness to recognize evil in the world and to fight it.

According to John's Book of Revelation this fight takes place in the heavens. Michaël and his angels fought against the dragon and his helpers. "And the great dragon, the old snake, ...was conquered and thrown out of heaven into the deep." Hereby Michaël emerged as victor of the battle against the powers of darkness.

The celebration time of Saint Michaël is a calling to us to recognize and acknowledge these powers and call them to a halt.

There are countless legends from earlier ages which tell about Saint Michaël's deeds. And in art many images can be found of Michaël with his sword, personified as an angel or a knight.

Since medieval times, when knights occupied themselves with spreading Christianity, the legend of George and the dragon started to become known. Without fear he set off to fight the dragon. He overwon the monster with his lance and by doing so he freed the king's daughter, who would otherwise have been sacrificed to the dragon. With this deed George accomplished on earth, what Michaël accomplished in the heavens.

The Tales of the Sands

A stream, from its source in far-off mountains, passing through every kind and description of countryside, at last reached the sands of the desert. Just as it had crossed every other barrier, the stream tried to cross this one, but it found that as fast as it ran into the sand, its waters disappeared.

It was convinced, however, that its destiny was to cross this desert, and yet there was no way. Now a hidden voice, coming from the desert itself, whispered: "The Wind crosses the desert, and so can the stream."

The stream objected that it was dashing itself against the sand, and only getting absorbed: that the wind could fly, and this was why it could cross a desert.

"By hurtling in your own accustomed way you cannot get across. You will either disappear or become a marsh. You must allow the wind to carry you over, to your destination."

"But how could this happen?"

"By allowing yourself to be absorbed in the wind."

This idea was not acceptable to the stream. After all, it had never been absorbed before. It did not want to lose its individuality. And, once having lost it, how was one to know that it could ever be regained?

"The wind," said the sand, "performs this function. It takes up water, carries it over the desert, and then lets it fall again. Falling as rain, the water again becomes a river."

"How can I know that this is true?"

"It is so, and if you do not believe it, you cannot become more than a quagmire, and even that could take many, many years; and it certainly is not the same as a stream."

"But can I not remain the same stream that I am today?"

"You cannot in either case remain so," the whisper said. "Your essential part is carried away and forms a stream again. You are called what you are even today because you do not know which part of you is the essential one."

A Sufi Story by Idries Shah

SWAN GRACE

Little Swan flew through the Dreamtime, looking for the future. She rested for a moment in the coolness of the pond, looking for a way to find the entry point to the future. This was a moment of confusion for Swan, as she knew that she had happened into the Dreamtime by accident. This was her first flight alone and she was a bit concerned by the Dreamtime landscape. 🦢 As Swan looked high above Sacred Mountain, she saw the biggest swirling black hole she had ever seen. Dragonfly came flying by, and Swan stopped him to ask about the black hole. Dragonfly said, "Swan, that is the doorway to the other planes of imagination. I have been guardian of the illusion for many, many moons. If you want to enter there, you would have to ask permission and earn the right." 🦢 Swan was not so sure that she wanted to enter the black hole. She asked Dragonfly what was necessary for her to earn entry. Dragonfly replied, "You must be willing to accept whatever the future holds as it is presented, without trying to change Great Spirit's plan." Swan looked at her ugly little duckling body and then answered, "I will be happy to abide by Great Spirit's plan. I won't fight the currents of the black hole. I will surrender to the flow of the spiral and trust what I am shown." Dragonfly was very happy with Swan's answer and began to spin the magic to break the pond's illusion. Suddenly Swan was engulfed by a whirlpool in the center of the pond. 🦢 Swan reappeared many days later, but now she was graceful and white and long-necked. Dragonfly was stunned! "Swan, what happened to you!" he exclaimed. Swan smiled and said, "Dragonfly, I learned to surrender my body to the power of Great Spirit and was taken to where the future lives. I saw many wonders high on Sacred Mountain and because of my faith and my acceptance I have been changed. I have learned to accept the state of grace."

                                                                         

Drawn from "Medicine Cards" by Jamie Sams

WIND-CHILD

WIND-CHILD

I believed that you always would be there -

a faery child, awaiting the storm.

I watched over you as best I could

to allay my fears, as well as your own.

Then one day

I heard the rush and whistling

of the approaching wind.

But even though he was strong

when he came, he did not roar like a beast

but instead blew slowly, so very slowly

and piece by hurtful piece,

like an evil wizard

with a magic wand

he stole your youth

and your beauty

and finally your life

secretly, before I knew it.

Art by Terri Windling 

I Never Saw Another Butterfly

May 4 
Commemoration Day in the Netherlands

🦋

I  Never Saw Another Butterfly

The last, the very last,

So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow

Perhaps if the sun’s tears would sing 

against a white stone....

 

Such, such a yellow

Is carried lightly ’way up high.

It went away I’m sure 

because it wished 

to kiss the world good-bye.

For seven weeks I’ve lived in here

Penned up inside this ghetto.

But I have found what I love here.

The dandelions call to me

And the white chestnut branches in the court.

Only I never saw another butterfly. 

That butterfly was the last one.

Butterflies don’t live in here, in the ghetto. 

🦋

Written  by Pavel Friedman, June 4, 1942 

Born in Prague on Jan. 7, 1921.

Deported to the Terezin Concentration Camp on April 26, 1942. 

Died in Auschwitz on Sept. 29, 1944.