Lucky for some….

We are now in week 13 of the lockdown and restrictions are being eased and if today’s pictures of shoppers queuing to get into Primark is a sign of the times, then for many the two metres distancing rule is no longer valid. Although the number 13 is able to express itself creatively, practicality is more important to it. It tends to determine the way to accomplish something without relying on others to make its decisions. That explanation should strike a bell -the ‘bubble’ as advised by the government is in practice being liberally interpreted. The number 13 is regarded by many as an unlucky number -a number to avoid if at all possible. The meanings that we associate with 13 being unlucky generally come from the symbolic and mystical associations that have come down from the ancient world. In the Major Arcana of the Tarot, the 13th card is called Death or The Reaper depending on which deck you use, though it should be said the correct way to read the Death card in the Tarot is as a process of transformation and rebirth. Another prominent explanation for the fear of the number 13, is that it came from the biblical Last Supper, when there were 13 people at the table. And again if you add in black cats on Friday 13th for many that means don’t leave the house.
Positively (and we must be that) the numerology number 13 resonates with pragmatism and building a secure foundation. What we see in this week of the lockdown are people intent on restoring their practical work-a-day lives. How can we be guided to do this safely? The short answer is -be guided by your impressions, but that does need some explanation. As many of you know I teach BodyMind meditation -a process to awaken and develop the powers of impression. It has two levels of capability which work in harmony. The first level is a development of the chakra system with its centre on the sacral (Svadhisthana) chakra. Our energy management is rooted in this chakra -it is the gut brain. On an average, the brain (in our head) has 100 billion neurons; it is the seat of thinking. The gut or the digestive system has close to 500 million nerve cells and 100 million neurons and is almost the size of a cat’s brain. Not only does the gut ‘talk’ with the brain by releasing chemicals which are transported to the brain but also by sending electrical signals via the Vagus nerve, one of the longest nerves in the body whose purpose is to relay the information of internal organs to the brain. It starts from the head and ends near the anus. Whilst many gut neurons are used in the daily grind of digestion and work independently of the brain in your head, overall they function as a kind of radar on the one hand and as a transmitting system on the other. At a physiological level it can advise what’s good and what’s not good -and if we are as ‘switched on’ as cats are we don’t eat foods which could harm us. Even the most de-tuned of people can feel something wrong about atmospheres, though they might not do anything about it. At a mental emotional level this is where we can get impressions. when we learn to act upon them, rather than regarding them as stray thoughts, we will be able to move about in this new normal world we have in safety.

We need to get better at listening -which I hope you will agree is the message of my poem this week.

My thanks to replies I receive -and everyone I reply too. The intention to recover and make a better world is a theme most often central to emails I receive. Stay healthy and you will stay safe. As always I include a link for the self-healing recording, feel free to pass it around to whomever you wish. https://www.holistichealthuk.co.uk/guided_self_healing_cd.php

Rhyme Chapter Time

In the noising babble born brook
here in the dell of this unkempt wood
under the sky torn kingfisher blue,
I watch the water boatman swim great strides
forward and back in a mirror brown pool.
And all the insects I cannot give name
clamber across the wetted breast of curving stone
seeking warm rock under Junes’ creaming sun.

All for my eyes moist and ear muffled mind
this paradise, this pageantry, this rhyme chapter time.

The warble, deep throat, high pitch sing’un of bird
flashing from tree, fern and bracken bower’d bush,
appear from beyond the V of this hollow’s high shelf
where nettles wave their tear dropping heads
and the spring born rivulet breathing wet
rushes lemming like into a mirror faced lake.

I can just hear the moor hens chirp, more silence than sound,
a chorus no doubt to a wordless symphonic hymn.
But wait! I cannot yet understand the boatman or me.
Perhaps I should listen, look more intently, or just simply be.

All for my eyes moist and ear muffled mind
this paradise, this pageantry, this rhyme chapter time.

This post refers to week 13 in the UK lockdown, first published on email 160620