The heart of Lucy


Yesterday I went out for dinner and a movie, with an old friend who is lonely.

He is a father. And a divorcee. His own father passed recently.

The movie was called Lucy.

I found it thought provoking. And on further reflection, disturbing.

In a penultimate scene, Lucy has just disappeared, at the very instant of reaching “100%”, and, just as the bad guy protagonist empties a pistol into her head. A policeman asks, “Where is she?”

A text message immediately appears on his mobile phone.


This movie presents a message.

An aspiration.

An ideal.

That if only we could access 20%, 30%, 40%, or 100% of the capacity of our brains, we could become as gods.

All knowledgeable.

All powerful.


But in becoming as gods*, we lose our humanity.

When I consider the violence, oppression, pain, suffering, destruction, torment, devastation, deceit, and mass murder we have wrought in the world over the past century — throughout our much-lauded, Panglossian age of scientific discovery, of technology, of Information, and of ever-growing Knowledge … but not, it seems, of Wisdom — I wonder.

Why do we not make movies that present a very different message.

Imagine a world where we all would access 100% of the capacity of our hearts.


* Johansson’s character becomes cold, violent, murderous, inconsiderate, demanding, manipulative, self-obsessed. Heartless. One wonders what kind of “god” it is the film writers are presenting as an aspirational ideal.


When thou comest by thyself,
think not before what thou shalt do after,
but forsake as well good thoughts as evil thoughts,
and pray not with thy mouth
but list[en] thee right well.


And then if thou aught shalt say,
look not how much nor how little that it be,
nor weigh not what it is nor what it bemeaneth …
and look that nothing live in thy working mind
but a naked intent stretching into God,
not clothed in any special thought of God in Himself … .


This naked intent freely fastened and grounded in very belief
shall be nought else to thy thought and to thy feeling
but a naked thought and a blind feeling of thine own being:
as if thou saidest thus unto God, within in thy meaning,
“That what I am, Lord, I offer unto Thee,
without any looking to any quality of Thy Being,
but only that Thou art as Thou art, without any more.”


That meek darkness be thy mirror, and thy whole remembrance.
Think no further of thyself than I bid thee do of thy God,
so that thou be one with Him in spirit,
as thus without departing and scattering,
for He is thy being, and in Him thou art that thou art;
not only by cause and by being, but also,
He is in thee both thy cause and thy being.

— Anonymous, Epistle of Privy Counsel.


For silence is not God, nor speaking is not God;
fasting is not God, nor eating is not God;
loneliness is not God, nor company is not God;
nor yet any of all the other two such contraries.
He is hid between them, and may not be found
by any work of thy soul,
but all only by love of thine heart.

He may not be known by reason,
He may not be gotten by thought,
nor concluded by understanding;
but He may be loved and chosen
with the true lovely will of thine heart … .

— Anonymous, Epistle of Discretion.


On the art of contemplative prayer; that is, of love meeting love.

Motorcycles, Mysticism

Naked stretching


From where comes that light


My soul weeps with longing,
For the eye of my soul it sees,
Flashes, fleeting moments,
Emanations of that which is Best,
Pure, Virtuous, and wholly Divine.

I see Goodness, Truth, Mercy, Justice,
Twinkling in imperfect man,
How little faith is needed,
The existence of the Perfect implied,
By that which is imperfect.

Oh how I love,
And long to be forever lost in,
What is on other side,
The darkness,
Pierced through with darts of Light.

But a kiss from the lips of God,
Once tasted,
My soul cannot be sated,
By this promise of His Essence,
For I long that all might share in Perfect Bliss.

Come, darkness, draw near, gather all about,
For so much the sooner your time will end,
I pray not that I should pass over into that Light,
But that the Light will move you on,
And dawn over us all.


I give you

“She was here on earth to grasp the meaning of its wild enchantment and to call each thing by its right name, or,
if this were not within her power, to give birth out of love for life to successors who would do it in her place.”

— Boris Pasternak, Dr Zhivago

Can you imagine how our world might change.

If we called each thing by its right name.

Imagine if we ceased to say,

“I love you”.

And called this thing by its right name.


Look your beloved in the eye.

Do not say,

“I love you”.

Say instead,

“I give you”.

“I yield you”.

Would those words be true for you?

When. What. Why.

Do you give?

Why. What. When.

Do you yield?

Would it be more honest of you to say,

“I take you”.

“I resist you”.

Be sure.

To call each thing by its right name.


The physics of True Love

Everything moved is moved not in something moved, but in something at rest.

— Hermes Trismegistus, Corpus Hermeticum, 2.6


Love, or giving, is the principal ordering principle of the universe.

How so?

All physical matter — the atoms and molecules, the building blocks of the universe — is “constructed” of waves.

All known waves, are simple motion. Motion that is described as being in, of, or through, a medium.

The medium, when at rest — which is rest — represents potentiality.

Potentiality becomes actuality, only when the potential yields. Or gives. Of its-self. Of its essence.

It is evident then, that the Principal principle of the universe, is Perfect Love.

Perfect Giving.

Giving out.

Giving in.

Giving up.

Of one’s self.

The one who truly loves, gives.

The one who truly loves — in the moment, in the actualisation of True Love — neither needs, nor desires, to take.

For in being Oned with that Infinite Potentiality, (s)he senses, becomes aware, of a great truth.

That (s)he has no needs, and no desires.

For (s)he already possesses — in oneness, with Infinite Potential — every thing.

(S)he is content.

It is from real-eyes-ation of this True Contentment — an Infinite Content-ment — that the potential for Infinite Giving is made actual.


If you consider the matter carefully:
rest is oneness which enfolds motion,
and motion is rest ordered serially.
Hence, motion is the unfolding of rest.

— Nicholas of Cusa, De Docta Ignorantia, 1440


Afraid of nothing

Why are we so afraid of nothing?

Is it because we conflate the idea of nothing, with death?

Is it because we equate the idea of nothing, with absence of activity — of movement — of life?

Nothing is the most wonderful, inexpressibly wonder full … thing … that I know.

Nothing is silence.

Nothing is stillness.

Nothing is peace.

The nearer to absolute nothing, the nearer to perfect peace.

The more the heart holds on to no-thing, the more the heart is stilled with peace.


If they ask you:
What is the sign of the Father in you?
Say to them:
It is movement with rest.

— Jesus of Nazareth, Gospel of Thomas, Logion 50


Learning to fly

Presently, I am reading two tomes. Both new to me. The which, on any particular day, depends on what I feel is most in need.

If balm for the heart, Theologia Germanica.

If manna for the mind, Symbols of Sacred Science.

I have been vividly reminded of a poem that I wrote some four years ago. Its inspiration arose out of care for a friend, who had declared that their choices in life were determined by a single criterion.

To follow the passions.

Thanks to the authors of my present reading, I am humbly coming to see that this, my first attempt at poetry, bespeaks an infinitely greater — profundity — than I had realised originally.



On edge of home I looked beyond,
And felt the winds of Passion strong,
Spread my wings to heed the call,
I did not know how to fly at all.

Watched mother and father timorously,
Examples to show me how it should be,
I never knew while in their thrall,
They did not know how to fly at all.

When blew no winds of Passion fair,
I spread my wings and beat the air,
Created feelings, passions small,
Still I knew not how to fly at all.

My wings grew strong, desires too,
For things beyond the things I knew,
Pleasures waiting on yonder shore,
But I knew not how to fly at all.

Growing restless to leave home,
Family near, yet on my own,
And though the nest began to pall,
I did not know how to fly at all.

On frantic wings one day, ascent!
A little rise brought confidence,
Self-made feelings of power, control,
Still I knew not how to fly at all.

When Passion said to say goodbye,
To spread my fledgling wings and fly,
I left the nest with rending squall,
Still knowing not how to fly at all.

O what adventure! Look out below!
Here I come on Passion’s flow,
Gliding on high, though ever in fall,
For I knew not how to fly at all.

Soon I discovered what power is mine,
Wings filled with Passion can surely rise,
Yet this power was without control,
I did not know how to fly at all.

Passion and Reason, Conscience and Will,
Balance of forces I needed still,
Impassioned wings can rise and fall,
I did not know how to fly at all.

On force of Will I first took flight,
Beating the air with all my might,
Thought in my wings true Passion hold,
But I knew not how to fly at all.

With youthful vigour, strength of heart,
Flailing wings the beginner’s art,
Flights of fancy, Self-effort called,
I did not know how to fly at all.

Rising boldly, fading fast,
Self-Willed passions do not last,
And so my wings would finally stall,
I did not know how to fly at all.

Exhausted, grounded, my limits shown,
Yearning for place of rest called ‘Home’,
Strength of Will now broken, for
I did not know how to fly at all.

Selfish Will a mysterious thing,
Though humbled briefly, up it springs,
Trapped in this cycle of rise then fall,
I did not know how to fly at all.

Eventually I, too tired to fight,
Eyes freed from Self, received insight,
Of Passion to replace my toil,
When I had no strength to fly at all.

I saw again the wind that blows,
From source not me, but heaven knows,
My childhood days that wind recalled,
When I knew not how to fly at all.

And so I learned an easier way,
To wait and watch for trees to sway,
Then glide away on Passion’s call,
Still I knew not how to fly at all.

Force of Passion, not of mine,
No need of beating wings to fly,
Force of Will not needed more,
Still I knew not how to fly at all.

For winds to their direction be,
So how could I be truly free?
Power of Passion, without control,
I did not know how to fly at all.

Swept along by Passion one day,
I Willed to go a different way,
Turned by force of Reason sure,
Still I knew not how to fly at all.

Reason comes after Passion you see,
As eagle’s tail rests in the lee,
As rudder steers from aft the fore,
But I did not know how to fly at all.

O what joy! How I adored,
This power to go with Passion, or
To go where Reason should implore,
Still I knew not how to fly at all.

Force of Reason, for good or ill,
Wings filled with Passion, turned at Will,
Feelings of power and control,
I did not know that I have none at all.

Though at last some balance found,
Passion held to Reason’s sound,
Choice of direction at Will’s call,
Still I knew not how to fly at all.

For winds blow flush, not up and down,
So how to rise up from the ground?
How to transcend these Passions’ thrall?
I did not know how to fly at all.

So I studied the way of flight,
By force of Reason’s pilot light,
These unseen forces I explored,
When I knew not how to fly at all.

Wind over wing, it faster flows,
And there it forms a pressure Low,
While under wing a pressure High,
That lifts my wing into the sky.

So when I turned with wings inclined,
To face the winds of Passion, I
Brought Passion under, Self controlled,
Still I knew not how to fly at all.

The more my wings to heaven inclined,
The more I rose into the sky,
Until a point at which I stalled,
I did not know how to fly at all.

For Passion only goes so high,
Like wall of wind in bluest sky,
At unseen height there is no more,
So I could no longer rise at all.

And now what’s more I knew again,
With rising height, my oldest friend,
Selfish Will so natural,
I did not know how to fly at all.

With rising up a higher view,
A looking down on others who,
Shrank from my sight as Pride grew tall,
I did not know how to fly at all.

Passion sees no consequence,
Is prone to overconfidence,
Caught up in Pride of Passion’s thrall,
I did not know how to fly at all.

In time I learned sunrise to noon,
Tells of Passions warm, but soon,
Cooler winds as evening falls,
Still I knew not how to fly at all.

In summer Passion’s winds run hot,
And winter’s chill is soon forgot,
Then seasons change, warm feelings cold,
And I knew not how to fly at all.

For Passion’s heat will always fade,
Chill to the bone, and feelings jade,
Cold, exhausted, insecure,
I did not know how to fly at all.

Longed for warmth, looked for a mate,
Thinking to share a happy Fate,
Bonds of Passion I explored,
And found they do not fly at all.

For how can two together fly,
When in the spell of lovers’ guise,
Unbalanced forces are ignored,
And neither half can fly at all.

Two Selfish Passions bound will rise,
Until the weaker falls behind,
Or stronger leaves for different score,
And broken wings don’t fly at all.

That’s why they say we fall in love,
It’s not Love True they’re speaking of,
But Passions bound in Selfish thrall,
They do not know how to fly at all.

This is how for years I roamed,
Adrift on Passions, far from home,
False comfort said, “I’m in control”,
But I did not know how to fly at all.

Then I began to wonder why,
Mighty eagles soar so high,
While others near to earth endure,
I did not know how to fly at all.

And so I watched the eagles’ flight,
Turning ever inward, out of sight,
Serene departing earthly ball,
I did not know how they fly at all.

If winds do not blow up and down,
Then what lifts eagles from the ground?
What force or power rising tall?
I did not know how they fly at all.

Thermals rising I could not see,
Unlike the wind seen in the trees,
Force of Conscience my chief sensor,
God’s altimeter set inside us all.

Warm currents rise, cold currents fall,
Love to God in warmth enfolds,
Love to Self is comfort cold,
And can not really fly at all.

When Passion bound I Willed to be,
Love towards Heaven I could not see,
Only Conscience free from Selfish pall,
Can sense each moment’s rise or fall.

I began to practice turning in,
But there I found the weight of sin,
Heavy Conscience I’d ignored,
The reason I could not fly at all.

For every Selfish act it lays,
On Conscience a little debt to pay,
Passion blind to how it grows,
And weighs us down to earth below.

This, the heaviest weight to bear,
More of Self doomed to despair,
To be set free this chain and ball,
Less of Self comes first of all.

But where the power to set free,
When love of Self comes naturally?
Till death of Self, and God adored,
I did not know how to fly at all.

A humbled Self was necessary,
Before I could be truly free,
We’re flying on power of Self so-called,
If ever we should feel tired at all.

Humility needed, Patience too,
To rise up with wings as eagles do,
Strength renewed by power of Love,
In waiting on the Lord above.

The words of God, Isaiah’s creed,
“In returning and rest you shall be freed”,
Turn toward heaven, resting on Love,
Source of Strength to rise above.

Movement with rest”, the Master intoned,
To doubting Thomas and he alone,
“The Sign of the Father in your soul”,
Showing The Way to fly to all.

Pillar of cloud, day guide will be,
Pillar of fire, by night to see,
Spiralling up to the heavens tall,
Showing the Path of flight to all.

Turning left or turning right,
Matters not for upward flight,
Carried to heaven, looking to the All,
Only turning from Self will fly at all.

Serpent coiled around a tree,
Ancient symbol of healing be,
Of Resurrection, this foretold,
The only Way to fly at all.

DNA, twin helix of life,
Jacob’s Ladder, from earth to Light.
Turning, returning, spiralling tall,
A stairway to heaven inside us all.

Spiralling up to Heaven’s Gate,
This my Passion, Will, and Fate,
Death of Self, only God adored,
Now I Know how to fly with All.

© The Blissful Ignoramus – 2010


How to love

In the past, I have not really understood how, exactly, it is possible to “love God”.

In simple terms.

How can you “love” some thing that is — by popular assent — beyond the reach of our five senses? Is infinite, eternal, ineffable, and unknowable? How can you truly love some thing, some One, that you do not “know”, cannot see, or touch?

Now, I believe that I do understand this.

From first understanding exactly what “God” is.

And, what “True Love” is.

True Love is God.

God is True Love.

Ok, so that’s fine, as far as it goes.

In a circle.

But how exactly do you “love” Love?

How does that help us understand how to manifest True Love? Whether to God, or, to our neighbour?

What, exactly, does God / True Love actually do?


yield  (yēld)

v. yield·ed, yield·ing, yields


a. To give forth by or as if by a natural process, especially by cultivation: a field that yields many bushels of corn.
b. To furnish as return for effort or investment; be productive of: an investment that yields high percentages.


a. To give over possession of, as in deference or defeat; surrender.
b. To give up (an advantage, for example) to another; concede.



a. To give forth a natural product; be productive.
b. To produce a return for effort or investment: bonds that yield well.


a. To give up, as in defeat; surrender or submit.
b. To give way to pressure or force: The door yielded to a gentle push.
c. To give way to argument, persuasion, influence, or entreaty.
d. To give up one’s place, as to one that is superior: yielded to the chairperson.


To love God, is to yield.

To give up.

To give way.

To love some one in this world — to manifest the True Love that is God to them — means to yield to them.

To give up.

To give way.

Like the ocean. Giving way, yield-ing, to the movement of a wave.

It is that simple.

And that difficult.

Because Self does not like to yield.

Self is a force opposite to Love.

Self resists giving in.

It is clear then, why “Self” must “die”.

So that True Love can be seen.


Love is

In my first poem titled Returning, I described the Passions as being like heat and cold. The changing of the seasons. The rising and falling heat of the day. And then, the consequence:

For Passion’s heat will always fade,
Chill to the bone, and feelings jade,
Cold, exhausted, insecure,
I did not know how to fly at all.

Longed for warmth, looked for a mate,
Thinking to share a happy Fate,
Bonds of Passion I explored,
And found they do not fly at all.

For how can two together fly,
When in the spell of lovers’ guise,
Unbalanced forces are ignored,
And neither half can fly at all.

Two Selfish Passions bound will rise,
Until the weaker falls behind,
Or stronger leaves for different score,
And broken wings don’t fly at all.

That’s why they say we fall in love,
It’s not Love True they’re speaking of,
But Passions bound in Selfish thrall,
They do not know how to fly at all.

I submit to you my view, that our most common conceptions of love, are all mis-taken. That all the many influences that teach us what love is, have taught us a-miss.

True Love is not complicated. It is not confusing, or frustrating. It is not hard to find. It can not, ever, be lost.

True Love is, simply, not what we think it is.

Consider our experiences of “love”. From the very beginning.

I see some one. In the seeing, I find that one “attract-ive”.

But what does that mean?

My eyes only “see” Form. Or, more correctly to say, my eyes receive light. The visible light waves that are reflected from the surface. My mind interprets the signals sent from my eyes as Form (including Colour).

What my mind then “sees” — or, more correctly to say, conceives — is an image. In the imagin-ation. A re-presentation, of the meaning that one’s Form has to me.

Beauty. Strength. Youth. Experience. Softness. Virility. Fertility. Power. Warmth. Excitement. Laughter. Comfort. Togetherness. Security. Fulfillment. Success. Status. Completeness. Acceptance. Honour. Respect. Approval. Et cetera.

How does my mind do this? By comparing the Form I “see” — in all its many splendoured details — with memory. With stored information. Stored understandings. Stored experiences. Stored inferences. Stored “knowledge”. Stored beliefs. Beliefs about what certain Forms represent.

When I “see” some one, and in the seeing, experience a strong feeling of attraction within me, the Falling has nearly begun.

What I am really attracted to, is not the Person, the Being with-in the Form. What I am really attracted to, at the first, is what their outward Form, and, their Form of actions, appear to represent, in relation to my beliefs. And because I already hold the belief that some thing like this image, this re-presentation of meaning, is desirable, the inevitable follows.

I desire to have what I “see”.

I begin to fall in “love” … in my imagin-ation … not with what I have actually seen; a mere physical Form, with all its accoutrements. I begin to fall in “love” with what my mind imagines that I have seen; a physical manifestation, an embodiment, of preferred beliefs.

Some of these preferred beliefs are, of course, all very good and well and, it may even appear to be, timeless. Alas, many more are fickle, only lasting as long as the most recent preferences in what others may have, temporarily, declared to be fashionable clothing.

It is in the fertile ground of our desire to have — that is, to possess, to own — a physical embodiment of an image, a representation, of those ideas that we have come to believe to be desirable, that all the temporary joys and unnecessary sufferings of illusory “love” are nourished and bear fruit.

I understand that you may not like to read this truth. You may feel a certain discomfort. A resistance. A desire to defend. But what is it really, that you are defending?

You may prefer to romanticise the common perception of “love”. You may prefer to say, to believe, that this desiring is not a desire to have, to possess, or to own. That it … yours … is a pure and true and good desire, to be “one” with the object of your “love”.

I say to you, that this “love” of which you speak, this desire, to be oned with the object of your attraction, is a desire born not of True Love, but of selfishness.

It is a desire to be oned so that, in becoming one, “I” may gain, and never lose, the embodiment of meaning that “I” desire to have.

This is not True Love.

Let us consider what True Love is. By going back to the beginning, of All Things.

By most accounts philosophical, scientific, and religious, in the beginning there was NoThing.

The “void”. The “singularity”. The “One”.


In other words … by most accounts … “No Thing”.

Out of this “No Thing”, all things came in-to Being.

That is to say, the “No Thing” gave up, or yield-ed, of Its-Self; and so, All Things came to be.

All “things” are, therefore, a result of movement.

A giving, a yielding movement.

A movement in, and of, the Rest.

A movement of, and with-in, the Infinite “No Thing”.

Like the giving, yielding movement of, and with-in, a Great Ocean.

Movement that we may “see” as waves, but yet, remain still a movement in, and of, that Great Ocean:

This, then, from the Beginning, is True Love.

It is how we can know, understand, and recognise True Love.

True Love is a capacity. A potentiality.

It is a Rest.

It is an Infinite Capacity, that is Willing to give.

To yield.

True Love is Passibility. A capacity to “suffer”.

It is a capacity to be moved, in one’s self, and away from one’s self. That is, to be moved away from one’s own centre of being. A capacity for giving, for yielding movement, in sympathy with and for the existence, the movement, the life, of an Other.

True Love is a capacity to be a ground, a source, a potential, of and to and for All Other Things. Without distinction. Without prejudice.

True Love must be, therefore, humble, and meek.

It does not desire to have. To possess. Or to gain.

For it already has, and possesses, and has gained, All Things.

It is the Infinite, Eternal NoThing from which All Things are born.

True Love, then, being the NoThing, can most easily be seen in this world of things, through our embodiment, our manifestation of It.

That is to say, through our willingness to allow our Self to become, as it were, NoThing.

For why?

So that the NoThing that was from the beginning, might again be seen, by others — in and through and to you — as Being the All (or NoThing) that is in All.

This is how we know that True Love is not hard to find, and can not, ever, be lost.

Because “It” is the Source, the Beginning, the Essence of All Things.

It is Infinite, Eternal, and everywhere waiting.

It is with-in you.