Rabbit

[Christine]

Rabbit - painting by Christine

The wray eye that was always watching.

[Christine]

The secret is not great when one knows it.

But it is something to one who does it.

Turn and turn again and we will also turn,

So that we give pleasure to each of you.

And when we have turned, count our ears,

It is there, without any disguise, you will find a marvel.

[Christine]

I continue to delve into the esoteric symbols and the Rabbit has special import and message for me and all who choose to look. On one hand it is illusion, the magicians trick of pulling a rabbit out of a hat on the other it is an elusive animal that needs to run when threatened, primary food for many animals of prey. It is also a trickster as in the meaning of the word elusive:

adjective: elusive

difficult to find, catch, or achieve.
"success will become ever more elusive"
synonyms: difficult to find; More
evasive, slippery; informal always on the move

difficult to remember or recall.
"the elusive thought he had had moments before"
synonyms: indefinable, intangible, impalpable, ambiguous
"an elusive quality"



"The Magic associated with the Koschei (Slavic) is that of an ‘invisible form’ that could ‘move through different realities’. The hare (and white rabbit) symbolically speaking were said to be able to move through different worlds and become ‘timeless’.

This quote is what grabbed me the most, timeless - ability to jump through time, or jump over the moon. The thing about symbols is that they carry a fullness of meaning that words can only try to paint. In other words they carry their own living magic once seen.

[Christine]

This image said so much, not sure what yet but it made me smile inwardly.



"And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music."

~ Friedrich Nietzsche

[Christine]

"There is an aloneness that is not loneliness, and not despair, and western medicine hasn't got a clue. It is something like a profound closeness with your own being, an intimacy with the quiet passing of things, friendship with the broken and the transient within and without. While you quietly grieve over yesterday's dreams of tomorrows that never came, you hold today so close in your arms. You are the mother of today.

There is a fragility that is not weakness. An exquisite sensitivity to the sad majesty of this ordinary world, a vulnerable openness that has nothing to do with how much money you have made, how you have succeeded or failed in your quest for perfection, or how beautiful or immune to infection your body is, but something to do with the tenderness with which you are willing to touch the broken parts of the world, the depths of aloneness to which you are willing to plunge.

There is an exquisite melancholy that is not depression, contains no pathology, for it contains no self at all. It is as if the heart is broken open and cannot be closed again, ever. Like everything is made of the finest crystal and could shatter at any moment. The sun could burn up without warning, the breath could seize up, a loved one could pass away quietly in your arms. That tiny bird on the tree over there is made of finely woven thread. The neglected pool of water by the supermarket door has infinite depths but no surface, no surface. The moon takes on the quality of a reflection of a reflection in a dream, and everything is so close. You can touch the horizon, whisper to galaxies.

This melancholy, sometimes it arrives unexpectedly in the middle of the night, when you cannot sleep and the moonlight is casting tender shadows on your forearm, or it comes sometimes as you walk through the forest with your dog (you love how he waddles now that he's getting old, your little companion) and you remember what it is like to be free, or at least alive; or it comes unexpectedly at the dinner table with friends, with delight at ... the salt, yes, delight that the salt could exist at all, that there is a world with salt and food and friends, and the possibility of meeting.

Do not medicate away this melancholy. Go deeper into it. It contains information, important information, and longs to release its healing energies. No, they won't understand you, they will call you depressed, self-indulgent, mad, but you will smile, for you are like the daffodil, and you never wanted to be understood. Your being is too vast to be understood. You will take this imperfect life over no life at all, you will take this broken world blasted through with gratitude over a perfect world half-touched or half-remembered, and the judgements of others will be a small price to pay for never being able to turn away.

Running naked through the streets, throwing off the last of your clothes, you will laugh as they come to lock you up. You are free! You are free! And this beautiful melancholy will keep you from ever closing your heart!

- Jeff Foster -