Issue #42 May/June 2025
“All excuses are lies.”
~Jane Heap
Dear ALL
Among the pages of this newsletter you will find the poem, On Being Woven, by Jalal Uddin Rumi. It is published here in memory of Robert Davis a friend and companion in The Work, who recently died, tragically, at far too young an age. He was one of those people who few could dislike: cheerful, helpful and good company. Many will miss him.
The poem was read out at his funeral.
I was put in mind of these words from Shakespeare:
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted
The way to dusty death.
Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Take care.
RB
Climate Change?
Take a look at the graph. It shows temperature spikes over the last 400,000 years, based on data drawn from ice cores gathered in Antarctica. Quite clearly major spikes occur about every 100,000 years. It appears that the universe, or at least our corner of it, pulses with energy on a regular basis – you might say it breathes. These pulses of energy reach our solar system via Birkeland currents …
On Being Woven
The way is full of genuine sacrifice.
The thickets blocking the path
are anything that keeps you from that,
any fear that you may be broken
to bits like a glass bottle.
The road demands courage and stamina,
Who are these companions?
They are rungs in your ladder.
With company you quicken your ascent.
Transformation
Ouspensky once suggested that the Work could be called “Psycho-transformism.” It’s a logical suggestion.
“Transformation” means one thing changing into another. Chemistry shows molecular transformations like sugar to alcohol. Even radium slowly turns to lead. Alchemists dreamed of changing base metal to gold. Often, this wasn’t literal; “alchemy” was code for secret…
Genuine Being Duty
Glancing up at his grandfather somewhat sadly, Hassein replied thoughtfully, “My dear grandfather, your talk about ships has given rise to some very melancholy thoughts; it has made me think about things which never occurred to my mind before. From all your conversation I realize now that in the world of our Endlessness, nothing is really as I see and imagine it to be.