Author: yendorcire

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Kali Nights

Bless Christine Blasey Ford. May she speak with clarity strength. May no one stand in her way. Give her strength and confidence, courage and willpower. May her ferocity be that of Kali Ma, that none may oppose her.

 

I’m updating this post to include paintings of Kali incarnated as her traditional Goddess, replete with blue skin, lolling tongue, necklace of skulls and skirt of arms. These frightening accouterments strike fear into the hearts of those who are not familiar with her. But her devotees know that she destroys that which keep them from obtaining enlightenment.

For my series of paintings, “Kali Night,” I have chosen as my subject matter, a stormy night. My inspiration comes from driving home from work one evening and seeing the sky lit up eerily beautiful and ominous. I was reminded of the Goddess Kali, who is a paradox of beauty, compassion, violence, love and is ultimately nearly as incomprehensible as the ultimate reality she represents. She has been worshipped for longer than recorded history, which is fitting since one interpretation of her name is “beyond time.”

Kali Nights

Kali is misunderstood in the west. Really she is the perfect boogeyman for Puritan Americans; She’s naked (being infinite and unfathomable makes it hard to find something in your size, besides, Kali is indifferent to human conventions), except for the skirt of human arms! (being pure energy, Kali/Shakti is the receiver of all action, these limbs represent those who have been liberated from karma) Also she is adorned by a necklace of skulls! (one for each letter of the Sanskrit alphabet. This is a very “Alpha & Omega symbol. Alphabets contain the seeds of everything that can be expressed, thus attributing to God all that exists. Also, it is the beginning and the end of everything, thus skulls are appropriate.)

Kali is really a compassionate mother whose fearsomeness represents the way in which she destroys evil and all that stands in the way of her devotee’s liberation from the bondage of self.

I choose a stormy night to represent Kali as a metaphor for her ominous and fearsome qualities as the Goddess is everywhere and the various experiences we have in life remind us of the myriad manifestations of the Goddess.

Kali Nights II
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Blessed Muladhara root chakra mandala


The Muladhara chakra is often referred to as the root chakra because it is located at the root of your spine. It is also the root of the sacred chakra tree of Kundalini. The word chakra means “wheel”, and it is thought to be like a circuit in the spiritual wiring we possess. Just as the seven Kundalini chakra corespond with our spinal cord, there are several “lesser” chakras that occur in conjunction with our nervous system throughout our bodies. Just as the spinal chord is the most important nerve we have so are the seven chakras associated with it. Activating them is one way to achieve enlightenment.

This is because Kundalini is the name for the latent energy that lays dormant within us which corresponds with Shakti, the creative force of the universe. When we complete the circuit of Kundalini from Muladhara to Sahasrara, or crown chakra, we connect this inner energy with the outer energy of Shakti, thus becoming one with the primal creative force. This is the purpose for which we were born.

The Muladhara is where to start. It is here that the dormant Kundalini serpent is coiled waiting to be awakened. Once awakened, the sacred Kundalini uncoils and travel up through the remaining chakras. The Muladhara chakra is therefore very important, for without activating it, the remaining chakras Can do nothing for us.

To activate this sacred chakra, and thus awaken Kundalini, we must focus our attention on it as we meditate each day.

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Hildegard of Bingen

Hildegard of Bingen (German: Hildegard von Bingen; Latin: Hildegardis Bingensis; 1098 – 17 September 1179), also known as Saint Hildegard and Sibyl of the Rhine, was a German Benedictine abbess, writer, composer, philosopher, Christian mystic, visionary, and polymath. She is considered to be the founder of scientific natural history in Germany.

Hildegard was elected magistra by her fellow nuns in 1136; she founded the monasteries of Rupertsberg in 1150 and Eibingen in 1165. One of her works as a composer, the Ordo Virtutum, is an early example of liturgical drama and arguably the oldest surviving morality play. She wrote theological, botanical, and medicinal texts, as well as letters, liturgical songs, and poems, while supervising miniature illuminations in the Rupertsberg manuscript of her first work, Scivias. She is also noted for the invention of a constructed language known as Lingua Ignota.

Biography via Wikipedia

To purchase a copy of this painting, click here.

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I’ve Got a Pretty Good Teacher

My new circumstances make clear what I would have told you all along: My main purpose in life is to take care of my family and create. In the past, I have done these things via working full time like every other person who ever lived, but recently, my wife has decided to get a job, so she can get out, be social, allow me to spend more time with the children, giver her a break from being with the children, and show me how it’s done, as far as getting a good job that pays decently.

So now I’m spending time with the kids, but I haven’t had time to create. It’s difficult to do while they’re awake. Whatever daddy is doing, my son wants to do too. It’s awesome and humbling having someone look up to me so much. I honestly don’t remember ever feeling like that about my dad. I was a weird kid though. My mother said so.

Even though I would have told you my main purpose was to take care of my family, now that I’m home more, I feel weird about it. Not working full time makes me feel irresponsible. My kids are exhausting, and I don’t feel like I’m doing much more than being the adult in the room. I feel like I should be taking them to the park, but so far, it’s rained every day. I feel like I should be teaching him things, but he doesn’t pay attention in a teacher, student way; he picks things up. Sometimes he’ll mimick something I do in a way that is so uncanny, that it’s unnerving. I didn’t even realize I did that. (he likes to pretend he’s taking asprin when I do. Do I really take that much?) But he’s too young to make a turkey drawing by tracing his hand.

He loves to draw when I’m drawing, but he doesn’t want to try to actually draw anything, he’s two. I love him with all my heart like I never knew it was possible. He’s teaching me things, too, which is important. I’m learning to help him eat his meals, to make sure he has food to eat in between. I’ve learned I don’t have to have as much privacy when I’m peeing as I had previously believed. He’s learning to use a fork. So it’s a real give and take.

I’m looking forward to really learning how to be a good dad. I think I’m off to a good start. I’ve got a pretty good teacher.

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Love Is the Most Powerful Force in the Universe

We see ourselves as limited, finite beings. We’re only human. We’re fragile. While on some levels, these things are true, and we need to treat each other with care, that is only part of the story. The other part is that we spiritual, luminous beings. We are limitless energy. We are conduits of the most powerful force in the universe: love. We are, in fact comprised entirely of love. We can learn to focus this miraculous energy, and heal ourselves and each other.

You don’t have to quit your job & become a monk to harness this power. It is your birthright. There are simple steps that you already know how to do that can lead you in the right direction. Smile. This sends the people who receive your smile positive energy. They can probably use it. Everyone has a struggle they are going through, and a little encouragement can go along way. Once you feel comfortable with this, you can expand your methods. Smile at strangers. Don’t expect anything in return. If they smile back, that’s great, if not, that’s ok too. If you get caught up in whether or not you’re getting reciprocation, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment, which is the opposite of positive energy. Nobody bats 1000. That means nobody is successful 100% of the time.

Another method of conveying positive energy is the hug. However, hugs are only for people you are close enough to feel comfortable with. Forcing a hug on a stranger is not helpful and could be a crime! But that energy can be sent without physical contact. The wholesome, positive encouragement you convey in a hug can be sent psychically. You don’t have to be a jedi to transmit positive energy to people. Don’t exhaust yourself, and don’t be obsessive. Don’t feel bad if you don’t get immediate results. When you find out someone is sick, send them positive vibes. You can focus your energy by vocalizing what you’re doing. You can do it silently. Just say to yourself, “I’m sending so & so positive, healing energy.”

Don’t ever focus your energy in a negative way. Don’t send energy to hurt someone you’re mad at. If you can, send people you’re mad at a blessing. Even if you can’t do it while you’re angry, do it later. We all get angry, and we all act on anger in ways we regret. Don’t chanel your energy in a negative way. It can become a habit, and will be hard to come back from. Don’t let simple mistakes ruin this process for you. If you do something negative, just put it behind you and stick to the positive. Always take responsibility for your actions.

Also, it should go without saying that while sending healing vibes is an honorable way to learn to focus spiritual energy, always seek professional medical help for illnesses or injuries. Do not under any circumstances think that the methods described above can replace or substitute a doctor’s attention.

Fill your life with positive love & actions. Be love. That’s what you are.

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The Trail of Ghosts

The sorcorers had come for the dragons in the early days. Before Incarnate even. They came with their greed and their small minded prejudice. They judged dragons to be evil so they could point to an enemy to rally people against. Dragons were hunted and feared. They were nearly invincible, such was their power, longevity & wisdom. Their compassion was unmatched, yet man found a way to test its limits and go well beyond. The shortsighted cruelty, the unnecessary violence. The relentless pursuit of dragons to the ends of the earth, seeking their utter annihilation. All to justify their need for control.

Dragons were hard to kill. A dragon can withstand an entire army of humans in a straightforward battle. Which is probably why humans refused to engage in them. They claimed to be reasonable and compassionate; indeed, this was the definition of “humane”, but they did not behave that way. It was not in their nature at all.

Entire forests were burned to hunt them down. Their young, murdered in the shell. Starvation, dehydration, madness. Waged generation after generation. Until the few dragons left lived as ghosts, invisible, without leaving any tracks, no traces. Living in the most inhospitable climates, in the darkest secret places, almost resembling the monsters they were depicted as.

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Lost Cause

Although Yendor had been conscripted into the Armata Rebellis by force, he felt he had joined unofficially the day he met Danse. The memory of her hit him from within, a burst of pain in his chest. He could picture her; just her face: dimly lit, dirty, miserable. His fault. He didn’t even know how to go looking for her. He shook her out of his mind. Danse had taught him to fight, to engage his magical energy into the effort. The Armata had taught him battle. The brutality of it. He did not relish it, but understood its necessity. In order to defeat Incarnate’s Armata, it would take an Armata. These boys were trained, disciplined, and vicious. They would probably be crushed. But if he could get close to Incarnate, if the Armata could keep him focused on them, he might be able to get in a lucky shot; whatever that meant.

These thoughts meandered through his mind as he marched with the troops through thick, viscous fog. The men were superstitious about any natural element, whether it was in their favor or not. The fog, they mumbled was conjured by sorcerers, lurking nearby waiting to ambush the Rebellis. At times the fog was so thick Yendor could not see anyone else. He could hear them laughing disembodied nearby and then they would materialize, as if from another realm. The fog seemed to whisper with them, saying nothing in particular; just sowing fear. And then, with a sudden inhalation, it sucked itself away, into the shadows, leaving the men spooked.

They were descended upon without mercy. sorcerers and warriors, moving as one attacked from all sides. Their numbers were legion. Yendor had his sword out and cut with precision. A brute smelling of earth and shit hacked through the man on Yendor’s flank and came at him frothing at the mouth. He lofted his bloody axes at Yendor, the weapon still dripping with the blood and gristle of Dante, the man Yendor had shared breakfast with. Yendor’s fear turned to icy hatred and parried the axe with his thin blade, enchanted, glowing and with Yendor’s pain and anger surging through it. It cut the axe clean through, then took the eye, brain and life of Yendor’s attacker in one lethal thrust.

A sorcerer saw Yendor’s action and turned his attention to the wizard. The stink of the earth opened up under Yendor, and he fell, lurching to the side to escape the chasm. Before he could regain his footing, the sorcerer was on him with a mace. Incarnate’s favored weapon. The sorcerer wielded the spiked sphere with blinding speed and deadly accuracy. Yendor got his shield up barely in time, but it blocked the blow edgewise, so that the shield crushed under the blow and the mace rammed into Yendor’s left hand. Yendor didn’t feel any pain at first, and that is probably what saved him. He turned into the attack instead of away as his instincts told him, and kicked the looming sorcerer over his head. He leaped to his feet and faced the enemy. The mace began to glow with a heat summoned from pure evil. Another swing of that would be the end of him, Yendor knew. He thrust his sword without magic or thought straight at the necromancer’s heart. There was a hiss as black smoke emerged from the wound, staining the blade.

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The Song of Yendor: Chapter 2

Yendor had finished his chores, more or less, and had found himself a secluded area not far from camp. Everyone thought the life of a traveling musician was a romantic, drunken celebration that never ended, but only went from town to town. Still technically an apprentice, Yendor knew that this was a myth. There was laundry, and squabbles, food to be prepared, wagons to be repaired, and endless travel. The troupe Yendor traveled with was a large one, and Yendor’s mentor, Waters, was an elder of the troupe and expected Yendor to behave like a grown up for as long as he could remember. Now, nearly an adult, Yendor was still treated like a child. Not that he had any ill feelings toward the grizzled old man, indeed Waters had been Yendor’s only real family since birth. His parents had apprenticed Yendor to Waters as a babe, which it turns out is fairly uncommon. Aparently, his birth parents had wanted to get rid of Yendor imediately, although Waters would always chuckle, shake his head and claim it wasn’t like that; but he would never elaborate. Which wasn’t like Waters at all. Waters was a born storyteller. This was something a traveling musician needed to be. It was also something Yendor was not. He was a skillful player, and had a good voice. But Yendor struggled to write songs that connected to people.

Lately, Yendor had had to face a new problem. His instruments would not behave. They would go out of tune, sound loud or vibrate uncontrollably. It had something to do with Yendor’s emotions. His mood, his ability to control his own temperament seemed tied to his ability to control his oud, the stringed instrument Yendor was most adept at. Waters had never seen anything like it and many in the traveling band of performers, dancers, singers, mummers, fortune tellers, acrobats, actors and other miss fits thought Yendor should be left behind, because they thought his bad luck might be contagious.

Waters had finally said, “Sometimes a problem is in how you look at your problem. You got to ride this thing out. See where it takes you. If you can’t squelch it, maybe you can harness it. You can’t stop the wind, but you can make a sail and travel the seas with that wind at your back.” Waters stroked his scraggly beard, which had, like the hair on his head, gone white.

Yendor’s ouds had been breaking, so he made one more solid. The belly was just a kind of way to make the music carry, and Yendor seemed to be able to make the strings vibrate louder even without the hollow body. Slowly, Yendor had found ways to coax the music back into his oud. He could use the oddities to his favor, creating a more expressive sound than traditional musicians could do.

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The Song of Yendor: Chapter One

Azul BlueDragon

The air had chilled all night so that the dawn was crisp, brisk and broke with a clear crack of light, which had been looming just under the horizon. At the pier stood a figure, protected from the chill by his woolen cloak, kept in good repair, despite its age. The man had come to pier to fulfill his life’s purpose. He looked out onto the Tao as the tide ebbed an flowed like the breath of the world. There was a calm on the surface that belied the turmoil beneath.
That calm was broken by the frantic cries of a desperate man. Panicked and shaking, the man careened through the village searching for a solution to his problem. The midwife was delivering in the neighboring village and the man’s wife was in labor. The babe was breach and both the child and its mother were like to die without help. The cloaked man took up his staff and went to the father-to-be’s aid. This was what he had foreseen.
In the hut of wattle and daub, the wife writhed upon the bed, sweating the sheets. Leaving his staff at the door and pulling back his hood, the stranger showed his face to be lined with age, the creased shadows pulling away from the candlelight. He ripped the mother’s skirts to expose her to her swollen belly. Who have I invited into my home, thought the father. The ancient stranger placed his withered hands on her abdomen and she calmed. The glow seemed to come from inside the womb, lighting the old man’s hands orange around the edges. He moved his hands in a circular motion as if turning a wheel. The woman arched her back and the babe was born quick and simple.
As the old man took up his staff and replaced his hood, he smiled. “He will be the One.” he said, without need of further explanation. “What will you call him?”
“Yendor.” was the reply.