The Temple of the Constant Heart
Apr. 23rd, 2025 06:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootThere's a thing I do sometimes, when waking approaches and I'm not ready; I know it's on its way because I become aware of my own heart beat. And if, in that state, I just listen, eventually it may slow and fade out in the return to sleep. But in that time of listening images may come too. This works best if they are not forced, not even touched. The best way to describe this is that whatever comes into ones mind should rise more like bubbles from a spring than bubbles in boiling water. The latter can be just as valid but with pressure there is also the chance of forcing a vibe or a narrative. Intent pushes too hard, leave it be. Just go back to sleep.
This time I heard my heart beating and decided to follow the beat that turned into the march of many people through the gates of a temple complex. I say march, it was not rigorous, quite informal, and dissipated quickly. Someone said something about the temple having all the cosmos in it, which seemed a bit extravagant to me. I saw a door opening in stone and beyond it something like a cloister. It was for me so I went through it.
Beyond lay a short cliff top plateau facing the same opposite, though this latter was covered in trees. It had been day in the complex but this was all night-time silhouette, over a vast long gorge below, out of which lifted the vivid pinks and greens of the Northern Lights, as if they could come out of the earth. But this could not be right surely.
It seemed very strange that in the Temple of the Constant Heart (how did I know its name?) there could be this anomaly, an area that looked like a cloister but when you got there was actually a place of potential danger and wildness. There was room enough on the rocky plateau, but the edge seemed abrupt. Not so much that you were in immediate danger of tumbling down the mountain but definitely a place where accidents might beset the unlucky or unwary.
I came back in and was shown a treasure, an ancient beautifully embroidered belt, with a design of two suns. The buckle was designed like their rays interacting in the space between them. There was much gold. I can't recall if the guardian of it let me pick it up but suspect she did. She was an old nun in white. I stared at it with the idea percolating through my head that inconstancy is a failing I punish thoroughly - these were the words that came to me, but the nun didn't say anything - I don't know who said them. The next realisation was an understanding that for all my reaction to those I consider inconstant, I am not entirely devoid of that flaw myself.
But sure, in my own language, stars have a connection with constancy. I left the room of the belt and realised I could hear my own heart no more, sinking back into the quiet of sleep.
Edited to add: Oh wait, it's Shakespeare's birthday, so stars and constancy make perfect sense today.
Sonnet 116
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come.
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom:
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Or less well known Sonnet 14
Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck,
And yet methinks I have astronomy—
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons’ quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well
By oft predict that I in heaven find.
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And, constant stars, in them I read such art
As truth and beauty shall together thrive
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;
Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
Thy end is truth’s and beauty’s doom and date.
So yes, thanks Bill. Happy Birthday!
This time I heard my heart beating and decided to follow the beat that turned into the march of many people through the gates of a temple complex. I say march, it was not rigorous, quite informal, and dissipated quickly. Someone said something about the temple having all the cosmos in it, which seemed a bit extravagant to me. I saw a door opening in stone and beyond it something like a cloister. It was for me so I went through it.
Beyond lay a short cliff top plateau facing the same opposite, though this latter was covered in trees. It had been day in the complex but this was all night-time silhouette, over a vast long gorge below, out of which lifted the vivid pinks and greens of the Northern Lights, as if they could come out of the earth. But this could not be right surely.
It seemed very strange that in the Temple of the Constant Heart (how did I know its name?) there could be this anomaly, an area that looked like a cloister but when you got there was actually a place of potential danger and wildness. There was room enough on the rocky plateau, but the edge seemed abrupt. Not so much that you were in immediate danger of tumbling down the mountain but definitely a place where accidents might beset the unlucky or unwary.
I came back in and was shown a treasure, an ancient beautifully embroidered belt, with a design of two suns. The buckle was designed like their rays interacting in the space between them. There was much gold. I can't recall if the guardian of it let me pick it up but suspect she did. She was an old nun in white. I stared at it with the idea percolating through my head that inconstancy is a failing I punish thoroughly - these were the words that came to me, but the nun didn't say anything - I don't know who said them. The next realisation was an understanding that for all my reaction to those I consider inconstant, I am not entirely devoid of that flaw myself.
But sure, in my own language, stars have a connection with constancy. I left the room of the belt and realised I could hear my own heart no more, sinking back into the quiet of sleep.
Edited to add: Oh wait, it's Shakespeare's birthday, so stars and constancy make perfect sense today.
Sonnet 116
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come.
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom:
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Or less well known Sonnet 14
Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck,
And yet methinks I have astronomy—
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons’ quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well
By oft predict that I in heaven find.
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And, constant stars, in them I read such art
As truth and beauty shall together thrive
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;
Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
Thy end is truth’s and beauty’s doom and date.
So yes, thanks Bill. Happy Birthday!
