Fire Seed of Fire: Resolve

8.24.10

The glass egg, or Alembic, is the focus, and embodied in the patience of the alchemical position, of watching and keeping the flame at just the optimum volume, yet not so much it overwhelms the glassness of fragility, that is our exquisiteness.

To resolve what needs to be solved is a commitment  of our primal flame.

Impotence is the greatest threat to the enthusiasm of fire, and it is a persistent sound in this world we live. Impotence, the threat to the innocent child of creation within us.

I have met with the anger of this sweet innocence, as it finds the tooth of repressed creation, the root of what the world of judgment cannot find worth with, the discarded voice of our sacred innocence, that creates only out of play.

When we begin to market our play, the muse, like a fairy, dies, as each viewer says I do not believe in the value of fairy play.

The market rides on the back of what can be seen now. It has no way of showing the Indians the presence of ships. The market can only muse with a muse that has stabilized centuries ago.

How long did you work and I will count the time in dollars?

I must resolve myself with this sweet innocence who creates everything I love. Where is the payment, is it in doing, imagining, sharing, selling, or is it simply being present in form in one’s life?

Many stop creating if the right payment isn’t given. Many hurt from the sharing and loss of value. Some, the value never even approaches, because the fire is turned up too high with expectation, and burned up in the furnace of disappointment, judgment, and demand to produce product.

Our eyes curve around this fragility, and the egg cracks from the disturbance of our environment, as it quenches no thirst, cools no heat, and feeds no beauty.

The innocence lays weeping in my jaw, and each night I clamp down on her swaddled feelings, till I lock out the sounds of worth and property.

I must own her as my own property and resolve my relationship with her sweet innocence.

I spoke to Robert of this and he said it is like one who has sacred seed of a sacred wheat. You plough the land, you plant the seeds, and when the wheat grows beautifully, you harvest it perfectly, you bundle it and take it to market, and no one wants to pay for a bundle of sacred wheat, and you begin to feel you had wasted your time, your seeds, your feeling of worth.

What do you do? The muse says, Well I ploughed the field, I potentized the seed, I nurtured its growth, and harvested its beauty for you. Is that not enough? Why do you market your beauty and allow beauty to become worthless through other’s blind refusal?

Is the answer that it is only for me and to share only with those who honor the sweet innocence in themselves? Is the market a tight noose for meaning?

Does the fire come and visit more gently, when you allow its worth to expand beyond the dollar? Is there earthy nurturance of food and support, for a life that frees the sacred innocence of an audience?

I don’t know how to become a creator with no audience, but I need to learn to become a blank canvas for the muse to play once again upon, always inside the work, never standing back with an audience, that has not yet been inside so deeply, and cannot fall into the rabbit hole of this kind of integrity with the Divine.

Fired seed of fire: resolve.

I think I will throw off the veil of impotence and ask. Who is truly impotent, me, or the market that cannot potentize a single sowed seed, that cannot germinate the sight of a single ship on the ocean?