The birth of Kvasir from the sacred truce of the Aesir and the Vanir

image: Wikimedia commons (link).

Two of the most important repositories of surviving records of the ancient Norse myths are the Poetic Edda and the Prose Edda, with the Poetic Edda understood to be earlier (and also more mysterious) than the Prose Edda.

Great sections of the Prose Edda are devoted to the art of sacred poetry -- a very serious subject in the eyes of the Norse skalds, involving the discussion of subjects and truths using coded language.

At one point in the Prose Edda, in a section entitled Skaldskaparmal ("the language of poetry," or the "speech-way of poetry"), the text depicts the jotun Aegir (a sort of "old man of the sea," akin in Greek myth to Phorcys or Nereus or Proteus -- each of whom also had naiads or nymphs for daughters, as did Aegir) having a conversation with Bragi, the Norse god of skalds and poetry and cunning speech and metaphor.

Hearing Bragi say that the expressions of poetry are sometimes used specifically to conceal a matter in "secret language," Aegir asks Bragi:

"This seems to me a very good way to conceal it in secret language. How did this craft that you call poetry originate?"

To this the knowledgeable Bragi replies:

The origin of it was that the gods had a dispute with the people called Vanir, and they appointed a peace-conference and made a truce by this procedure, that both sides went up to a vat and spat their spittle into it. But when they dispersed, the gods kept this symbol of truce and decided not to let it be wasted, and out of it made a man. His name was Kvasir, he was so wise that no one could ask him any questions to which he did not know the answer. He travelled widely through the world teaching people knowledge, and when he arrived as a guest to some dwarfs, Fjalar and Galar, they called him to a private discussion with them and killed him. They poured his blood into two vats and a pot, and the latter was called Odrerir, but the vats were called Son and Bodn. They mixed honey with the blood and it turned into the mead whoever drinks from which becomes a poet or scholar. The dwarfs told the Aesir that Kvasir had suffocated in intelligence because there was no one there educated enough to be able to ask him questions. Prose Edda, Anthony Faulkes trans., 1987. Passage cited found on pages 61 - 62.

The murder of Kvasir leads to the episode involving the later theft of this marvelous mead of poetry by the Aesir god Odin from the jotun maiden Gunnlod, discussed previously here, in a blog post written back in 2014 (which also contains links to some online translated versions of both the Poetic Edda and the Prose Edda). The celestial aspects of that encounter between Odin and Gunnlod, and the stealing of the mead of poetry by Odin (who assumes eagle form) indicate that the origin of Kvasir from the vat likely connects to celestial analogues as well, and likely in the same or an adjacent part of the heavens.

But the aspect of the story of the wisdom-being Kvasir which I would like to focus most upon today is the fact that he is said to rise into being out of a vat into which the Aesir gods and the Vanir gods spat when they reached a truce in their great conflict -- a conflict, in fact, which occupies the first lines and stanzas of the Poetic Edda as well.

In the Poetic Edda, when Odin summons forth the spirit of the wise-woman, she explains that this conflict between Aesir and Vanir had to do with the breaking of oaths and the breaching of boundary-walls, and the treading upon the fields of the Aesir by the Vanir beyond the place where they should rightly have gone (a cosmic struggle associated with the earliest epoch of the theogony, akin to the struggle between the Olympians and the Titans in the theogony of the ancient Greek gods).

Hamlet's Mill explores the celestial origins of this worldwide mythical pattern of the "boundary-violating" Titan-like figures on page 152 and following in the first paperback edition (in the chapter entitled "The Twilight of the Gods"), saying:

But here it appears that there are forces which have worked iniquity in secret. They appear everywhere, these forces, and regularly they are denounced as "overbearing," or "iniquitous," or both. But these "forces" are not iniquitous from the beginning: they turn out to be, they become overbearing in the course of time. Time alone, turns the Titans, who once ruled the Golden Age, into "workers of iniquity" (compare Appendix #12). The idea of measure stated or implied will show the basic crime of these "sinners": it is the over-reaching, overstepping of the ordained degree, and this is meant literally. 

[. . .] 

The Angel tells Enoch:  "These stars which roll around over the fire are those who, at rising time, overstepped the orders of God: they did not rise at their appointed time. And He was wroth with them, and He bound them for 10,000 years until the time when their sin shall be fulfilled. 152 - 153.

Now, what is most interesting is that if this great schism in the cosmos, represented by the battle between the Olympians and the Titans, or the Aesir and the Vanir, connects to the "boundary violating" motion of precession -- and if precession (as with all other celestial analogues in the ancient myths) has a spiritual teaching for us, in that it embodies something about our spiritual condition here in this incarnate life, then the birth from the "reconciliation" of that split of a being who can answer all questions put to it is most significant.

I would argue that it has something to do with the reason we are down here in this "battlefield of incarnation" ourselves.

Somehow, when the Aesir and the Vanir reconcile their differences, and spit one by one into the sacred vessel to signify their treaty, a being arises out of the spit-bucket who is so wise that none can put to it a question to which Kvasir does not know the answer, a being who travels the world imparting wisdom to all.

This would suggest, on the most esoteric level, that when we come down into this incarnate life which embodies an endless struggle or "interplay" between material and spiritual realms, out of this struggle (if we can somehow reconcile or integrate the two) will arise new wisdom which can be obtained in no other way: and which is so wise that there is no question whose answer cannot be found if we can access this being born of the struggle and subsequent pact.

On a more practical level, it suggests that in the struggle and interplay between different people, new knowledge and wisdom can sometimes take shape that none of the individual participants could have seen on their own -- new insights which, like Kvasir, rise up out of the swirling "pot of spit" created by the interaction of all the different parties, but a being which is in some ways even greater than the sum of the individual "spitters."

Many of us who have been married for a long time may even recognize this to be true in the interaction between the two parties of the marriage -- two parties who may not always agree with one another on every discussion, but who (even when challenging one another) may come up with solutions and insights during the interaction which is simultaneously a product of the two very different perspectives offered by each participant, and also independent and greater than the insights either party could claim to have offered out of his or her own wisdom.

It is this aspect of the "birth of Kvasir" that I referred to when I said that new insights beyond the knowledge of any one of us would be likely to arise out of the interaction with the different personalities and perspectives of those who participate in the Graham Hancock Message Boards -- and at the conclusion of my most-recent term as Author of the Month on Graham's site (for March, 2016 -- my previous visit there having been all the way back in January of 2012) I can say for certain that new insights did indeed rise like Kvasir out of the swirl and "melee" of ideas and observations set forth in the discussions on the Board.

In this world, we face vexing questions -- often, seemingly-insurmountable or unanswerable questions.

But the Eddas containing the ancient wisdom of the Norse myths suggest that, somehow, we can have access to a wisdom which knows no question which it cannot answer.

Sometimes, we can summon this transcendent gnosis when we get together and discuss the problem with those whose perspectives are different from ours. 

But ultimately, the real "transcendent knowledge" must come from the integration of two sides even more seemingly "at odds" than any between two different people -- the integration of the two worlds whose split is represented in the great schism that caused precession, the great battle between Olympus and the Titans, or between Aesir and Vanir. 

It is, I believe, the integration and reconciliation of the realm of spirit and the realm of matter, which we are all accomplishing in our individual lives as we come down here to this incarnate life -- sparks of divine spirit-fire, encased in human-animal bodies of gross clay and plunged for a time into the realm of matter.

The ability to solve any question which faces us here in this earthly sojourn comes not only from the "swirling mix" between individual people, but also from the integration of the realm of the gods.

And that is in fact possible for us to venture even in our present state -- the myths themselves, I believe, were given to us to point us towards that very process.

Amaterasu, revisited

image: Wikimedia commons (link).

I've now completed the links for the first twenty-six "squares" on the mosaic-board of Star Myth links in the myths section of my new website, Star Myth World (dot com).

While there are still more to go (and more to be added in the future), you may enjoy perusing some of them now, and continuing to check back later.

The most recent Star Myth to be linked there is the story of Amaterasu -- and it is well worth revisiting. Here is the link to the new page discussing that myth, with illustrations and star-charts.

In addition to all that this myth can teach us regarding our sojourn through this incarnate life in the material plane, the story of Amaterasu also contains elements which I believe clearly link it with the story of Abraham and Sarah in the Hebrew Scriptures, and with the story of Loki and Skade in the Norse myths, and which thus provide us with yet more evidence that the sacred traditions and ancient wisdom preserved by all the different cultures spread across the surface of our planet earth share a common, celestial foundation.

The story of Amaterasu is discussed in even greater detail in the first volume of my multi-volume series, Star Myths of the World, and how to interpret them.

Its spiritual significance, and ways in which this story from the Kojiki of ancient Japan links to the spiritual themes at the heart of the Iliad of ancient Greece, is also discussed in Star Myths of the World, Volume Two (just recently published).

Volume One and Volume Two each have a very different "feel." 

In Volume One, we explore together a small sampling of myths and sacred stories selected from a wide variety of cultures around the world, in order to introduce some of the elements of the "language" of celestial metaphor which is operating in the Star Myths of the world, and to provide abundant evidence that this language is indeed a world-wide phenomenon.

In Volume Two, we focus primarily on the myths of ancient Greece, going into great depth (and yet only really "scratching the surface" of the depth and breadth of the incredible ancient wisdom available in that body of ancient wisdom).

In Volume Two, by virtue of the greater "depth" with which we are able to explore the myths of a single ancient tradition, we also get deeper into the spiritual message which I believe the treasure of humanity's mythologies is trying to preserve and convey for our benefit, and how the "spiritual language" of the ancient myths may work.

That system is discussed in numerous previous posts as well -- for understanding the message of the story of Amaterasu, I believe the post entitled "Here it has reached its turning point" is very pertinent.

The name of the goddess Amaterasu, 天照 , is composed of two characters which mean "heaven" and "shine" or "splendor" or "glory" in Chinese and Japanese.

Why divinities can appear in an instant: The inner connection to the Infinite

image: Wikimedia commons (link).

Why do the deities in the Mahabharata often appear instantly, upon the recitation of a mantra, the singing of a hymn, or even simply upon being remembered? 

I believe that this characteristic was included in the ancient scriptures in order to show us that we have access to the infinite at all times -- and indeed that in a very real sense we can and should avail ourselves of that access on a regular basis, in this life.

Many previous posts have explored the critically important assertion of Alvin Boyd Kuhn which is in many ways a key to our understanding of the ancient myths, scriptures and sacred stories of humanity, in which Kuhn (addressing the stories of the Bible in particular) declares:

Bible stories are in no sense a record of what happened to a man or a people as historical occurrence. As such they would have little significance for mankind. They would be the experience of a people not ourselves, and would not bear a relation to our life. But they are a record, under pictorial forms, of that which is ever occurring as a reality of the present in all lives. They mean nothing as outward events; but they mean everything as picturizations of that which is our living experience at all times. The actors are not old kings, priests and warriors; the one actor in every portrayal, in every scene, is the human soul. The Bible is the drama of our history here and now; and it is not apprehended in its full force and applicability until every reader discerns himself [or herself] to be the central figure in it! [For full quotation and source with links, see this previous post].

Now, what Kuhn asserts in the above paragraph is just as true for the world's other myths. Let's see how it applies to the specific aspect of the Mahabharata mentioned above (the ability to summon the gods and goddesses at a moment's notice). 

If we apply this paragraph directly to the Mahabharata, we can paraphrase some of these assertions as follows:

The episodes in the Mahabharata in which men or women are depicted as summoning powerful deities through the recitation of a mantra, the singing of a hymn of praise, or even by simply thinking upon that deity and wishing for him or her to appear, are in no sense a record of what happened to a man or woman long ago in a more magical (or imaginary time and place). As such, while they might be tremendously entertaining, they would have little significance for our lives today. They would be the (miraculous and extraordinary) experience of a people not ourselves, and would not bear a relation to our life. But these events are actually recorded in these myths to provide us with a vivid picture of something that is in fact a verifiable reality of a situation that is present in your life and in mine -- indeed, a reality in all lives. They mean nothing as outward events: the beautiful wives of Pandu, for instance, did not summon gods outwardly. Nor was Arjuna's invocation of the goddess Durga an outward event. These are picturizations of truths which are part of our living experience at all times. We indeed are in contact with those same mighty supernatural powers -- with Krishna and Durga and the heavenly Twins or Ashvins -- right at this present moment. The actors in these myths are not beautiful wives or powerful warriors: in every single episode, these actors are none other than the human soul possessed by each and every one of us. The Mahabharata (and all the other myths and scriptures and sacred stories) is a drama of our lives -- our lives right here, right now, in this modern life, in the city where you live, in the situations you experience -- and it is not apprehended in its full force and applicability until every reader discerns himself or herself to be the central figure, present in every single scene!

In the previous post, we discussed some of the unusual marriage activity recorded in the Mahabharat, in which the two wives of Pandu take five different divine gods to be the fathers of the five powerful sons who collectively become the heroes of the story, the Pandavas (a name which means descendants of Pandu). The summoning of the five different gods is done through the recitation of a mantra: immediately upon its recitation, the desired god appears. 

Elsewhere in the Mahabharata, as we saw, Arjuna (one of the Pandavas) recites a hymn of praise to the goddess Durga, at which the powerful goddess appears and blesses him, telling Arjuna that he will be victorious and that in fact it would be completely impossible for him to be defeated in the upcoming battle.

At other points in the epic poem, such as in Book I and section 3, the celestial Twins called the Ashvins are summoned by a disciple named Upamanyu, who has consumed some leaves of a tree that made him blind, causing him to stumble into a deep well, where he was trapped until he called upon the Ashvins for succor. 

And there is also a powerful sage or rishi named Vyasa or Vyasadeva who is the mythical author of the Mahabharata itself and who also appears as a character who weaves in and out of the various scenes, appearing when he is needed before retreating again to his contemplation and disciplines in the remote mountains. Vyasa also has the characteristic of being able to appear whenever he is thought upon: at his birth (recounted in Book I and section 63) he tells his mother "As soon as thou remembers me when occasion comes, I shall appear unto thee." 

What are we to make of these wondrous episodes in the Mahabharata, each one of which is surrounded by all kinds of memorable action and human drama? These depictions of the gods and goddesses  (and, in the case of Vyasa, this epic poet and bringer of inspired verse) appearing at an instant when a human man or woman concentrates upon them are not to be understood as outward events, in Kuhn's argument, but rather as an inward reality, as a depiction of our experience in the here and now.

If Kuhn is right, then what (oh what) could these specific episodes be depicting?

I believe the answer is hinted at in yet another earlier post exploring the powerful teaching contained in the Mahabharata -- an examination of the Bhagavad Gita, which is a section within the Mahabharata itself. There, we saw compelling evidence that the conversation between the semi-divine bowman Arjuna and his companion and divine charioteer, the Lord Krishna, relate to the "metaphor of the chariot" found in other ancient Sanskrit scriptures. 

In that metaphor, the chariot helps us understand aspects of our incarnate condition. The war-cart itself is our body, and the mighty horses which pull it are our senses and our desires (both of which can easily run completely out of control, and threaten to wreck the entire enterprise). The reins in the metaphor, we are told in another Sanskrit scripture, are our mind, through which the horses can be controlled.

But obviously, there must be someone or something else behind and above the reins in order to direct the chariot: behind and above "the mind" itself, that is. This concept of a someone or something else, standing apart from the mind and above it, was discussed in the first blog post of this series, entitled "Self, the senses, and the mind." This higher self is referred to by many names, among them the True Self, the Supreme Self, the Lord in the chariot, and (in the Sanskrit text cited for this metaphor) the Atman. In other cultures and other traditions there are many other names to refer to the same concept.

But in all cases we are dealing with a Higher Self who is in some sense and to some degree connected to the infinite and the ultimate. This is the infinite, the ultimate, the un-definable: the divine charioteer who is beyond the "chattering" and the "endless transforming" and the "labeling and defining and delineating" of the mind (and again, the mind is not a negative or bad tool, any more than the reins on the chariot are a bad tool -- it is an essential tool, but it is not the one who should be driving the chariot).

We get in contact with this infinite aspect by standing apart from our mind, our senses, and our desires (not by getting these to somehow "go away" or "stop" being what they are -- the horses on the chariot will not go away, nor will they turn into something other than horses -- but we can stand apart from and above them in order to see that we are not them and we do not have to go wherever they want to pull us, that in fact we can tell them where we want them to take us). 

Practices we have at our disposal for getting into contact with the infinite include mantras, chanting or singing of hymns, prayer, meditation, yoga, rhythmic drumming, and more.

The gods and goddesses in the stories show up quite suddenly and instantly because they are, in a very real sense, already there. We are already connected with them. This does not mean that they are simply "our imagination" or "not real" (as if our "imagination" is not connected to the very same vital flow of infinity that is completely unlimited in its potential and its power). As we see in Kuhn's quotation above, which is so valuable that we can and should return to it in analysis like this, just because the myths are depicting inner realities as outward events does not mean that they are not "real" if they do not take place in the outward space. These myths are dramatizing truths about our living experience at all times. You and I are in contact with Krishna and with Durga right now: if we do not realize it, that is only because we are allowing the chatter of our minds or the horses of our senses to keep us from connecting with the power of the unbounded, the undefined, and the infinite (unbounded aspects of which Krishna and Durga show themselves to be in the Mahabharata).

It is also noteworthy to point out that divinities who can appear at a moment's notice are also found in other esoteric mythologies and scriptures around the world. The Norse god Thor, for instance, was notable for being able to appear whenever his name was called by the other gods, in time of need (which they had to do on more than one occasion). The other gods usually had to call on him when they were being bested by a powerful jotun, and thus Thor usually appeared in a fighting rage (or, if he wasn't in a rage when he appeared, one glance at the menacing jotun usually caused Thor to go into battle mode).

image: Wikimedia commons (link).

But, it should be noted that Thor's ability to appear in an instant means that he, too, is somehow representative of that divine charioteer who is above mind and above even the physical world, and yet somehow available to us at all times, if we just learn how to direct our focus in the right direction.

It is also not inappropriate, I believe, to point out that the risen Christ in the stories of the New Testament also displays the ability to simply appear out of nowhere amongst the disciples, sometimes when they are least expecting him to do so. 

In the preceding post, which looked at the two wives of Pandu who used a mantra to call upon divine gods to appear, we also saw that the pattern of five husbands in the Mahabharata appears to have an echo in the New Testament episode of the encounter of Jesus with the Samaritan woman at the well, who likewise is said to have had five husbands. In that encounter, the previous post points out that Jesus tells the woman that she can have everlasting water, living water, springing up unto everlasting life -- and that this living water is somehow "within." 

I believe that this again is a "pictorial form" (in Kuhn's words) of something that is in fact a "present reality" in the life of each and every human soul. This "picture" is one of an unbounded, an infinite, and a life-giving stream, available for the asking because it is already "within" us. We already have access to this living water, but we need someone to tell us that it is something that we can actually get in touch with. That is what the ancient myths and scriptures are there to do.

By his demonstrated ability to simply appear out of nowhere and disappear again at will, the risen Christ in the gospels would also, under this interpretation, be pointing us towards connecting with the infinite within ourselves. And this, according to some analysts, is exactly what Paul in his epistles declares to his listeners, using the strongest language possible in some cases:

O foolish Galatians, who hath bewitched you [. . .]? Are ye so foolish? having begun in the spirit, are ye now made perfect by the flesh? (Galatians 3:1-3)

Gerald Massey (1828 - 1907) and others have argued that the writer who calls himself Paul is pointing his listeners to a spiritual truth, not an external flesh-and-blood individual. He is pointing them to what he elsewhere declares to be "Christ in you, the hope of glory" (Colossians 1:27). 

This is not to say that Paul did not believe what he was talking about to be "real" or that he did not believe it to have life-altering power: on the contrary, the tenor of his letters indicates that he knew what he spoke of to be absolutely real, and absolutely earth-shaking in its ability to transform. Nowhere in the above discussion should anything be taken to indicate that the infinite, the ultimate, the un-limitable and truly un-bounded divine power -- which the Bhagavad Gita describes as the Lord Krishna and which the Hymn to Durga addresses as Kali, as Maha-Kali, as Uma, and as "Durga, who dwelleth in accessible regions," and as "identical with Brahman" -- is in any way not real. 

But, as the quotation from Alvin Boyd Kuhn tells us, these are not stories about ancient events that happened to someone else: these are aspects of our life, right here and right now. They are telling us about a divine aspect to which we have access right here and right now, and with which we are already internally connected in some mysterious way.

As the verse in the Old Testament wisdom-book of Proverbs tells us, "There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother" (Proverbs 18:24). 

Even closer than a brother, because not external to us at all.

The Bodhi Tree

image: Wikimedia commons (link).

The Buddha is traditionally said to have attained enlightenment while sitting and meditating underneath the bo tree, or bodhi tree.

The term bodhi is one word for enlightenment, and does not mean a specific type of tree: however, the bodhi tree itself is traditionally understood to have been a ficus religiosa or "sacred fig," also known as a pipal (in Hindi) and an ashwanth (in Sanskrit). Buddhist monasteries in parts of the world in which this tree can prosper will almost invariably have one as one of their most sacred treasures. 

Additionally, in order to be designated a bodhi tree today, a tree is supposed to be descended from that original tree by direct propagation from it or one of its descendants. There are several such bodhi trees said to be descended in a direct line from the original bodhi tree under which the Buddha achieved enlightenment; one of those is pictured above.

The sacred fig or ashwanth has a distinctive heart-shaped leaf, clearly visible in the statue of the Buddha under the tree shown below (from the first century AD):

image: Wikimedia commons (link).

The shape of this leaf is so deeply associated with the achievement of this blessed state, and so imbued with meaning in Buddhist culture that this shape appears in stylized form even with no additional "explanation" necessary:

image: Wikimedia commons (link).

Now, what I find extraordinarily interesting and significant is the fact that the ashwanth or sacred fig, the very tree associated with the bodhi tree under which the Buddha achieves enlightenment, is associated in the ancient Vedic tradition of India with a specific celestial pair of stars, designated together by the name Pushya. 

You can see this ancient association between certain important Nakshatras (stars) and specific tree species attested to in various texts, for example in the scholarly publication of the Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Ethnobiology for 2002, and particularly on page 90 of that collection, shown here. 

Now, you might be asking yourself which specific star or stars are associated with the Nakshatra known as Pushya! Self . . .

Astonishingly enough, Pushya is associated with two stars: the Northern and Southern Colts, Asellus Borealis and Asellus Australis, which flank the beautiful Beehive Cluster in the zodiac constellation of Cancer, and which we have already seen to have been associated with the Manger in which the Christ is born and the Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem in the New Testament scriptures.

We have also seen that the zodiac sign of Cancer the Crab is located at the very "top of the year" on the zodiac wheel, beginning immediately following the point of summer solstice, and that it is thus associated with the upraised Djed column and all that that powerful symbol was intended to convey, including the "raising up" of the invisible and divine spirit within the individual and within all of the material-spiritual cosmos through which we sojourn in this incarnate life. 

Due to this positioning at the "top of the cycle" which the great zodiac wheel symbolizes in its entirety, the upraised arms of the Crab (visible in the constellation itself) were associated in ancient symbolic art and in ancient myth with the upraised arms of the sacred Scarab, with the upraised arms of the ancient Egyptian god of the air (Shu), with the upraised arms of Moses when signaling victory, and with the upraised arms depicted on the sacred Ankh above the vertical Djed column, such as in one famous image from the Book of the Going Forth by Day (also more commonly known as the Egyptian Book of the Dead, or in previous centuries sometimes referred to simply as the Ritual) found in the Papyrus of Ani.

Now, the association of the bodhi tree of the Buddha with the stars of the zodiac sign of Cancer the Crab thus becomes incredibly important, and powerfully resonant with all the other manifestations of this same concept in the ancient wisdom of the world -- the concept which I usually refer to as the "raising of the Djed" with all of its myriad layers of significance. 

This association means that, in addition to all else that this "vertical element" in the great cross of the year represents (all that is "vertical" or spirit-elevating in our individual journey and all that brings forth the invisible spirit world that infuses and animates everything in the universe around us), it is also directly related to the concept of enlightenment, of transcendence of the "cast down" condition we experience when we enter into incarnate form and of profound connection with the infinite.

The bodhi tree can thus also be seen to have connections to the World Tree which Odin ascends and upon which he must hang until he is suddenly granted a vision into the invisible realm of the infinite, and to the tree which the shaman ascends literally in cultures around the world as part of the ecstatic journey.

Ultimately, this is a journey undertaken not just by Odin or the Buddha but in fact by every single human soul. I believe (and have quoted Alvin Boyd Kuhn on this specific point several times in the past) no ancient myth or cycle "is apprehended in its full force and applicability until every reader discerns himself or herself to be the central figure in it!" 

One need not journey to a specific location where an external Buddha is said to have achieved his enlightenment, nor visit a specific tree reputed to be descended from the very tree under which he sat when he achieved this union with the infinite (although there is nothing wrong with doing so, and it would indeed be a beautiful experience to be in the presence of one of the sacred ficus trees revered and lovingly tended by so many generations of fellow-journeyers through this vale of tears). The bodhi tree, and enlightenment, are in fact inside us at all times (see the tremendously helpful perspective shed upon this concept by Peter Kingsley, discussed here).

We can each sit under that very tree at any time, no matter where in the universe we happen to be.

Namaste.

(Note the two "small celestials" to either side of the Buddha, each of which I have indicated by a red arrow. I believe the Buddha and the bodhi tree in this image clearly relate to the "vertical line" running up from the winter solstice through the summer solstice, while the two flanking figures represent the two equinoxes and the horizontal line between them: the line of being "cast down" into incarnation, which the Buddha and the enlightenment under the fig tree overcome with the "raising back up" of the Djed. In this interpretation, the two flanking figures thus play the same role that Isis and Nephthys play in the Papyrus of Ani image linked before, while the Buddha and the Tree play the same role as the Djed column and the Ankh with upraised arms in that Papyrus of Ani image. This role is also played by Cautes and Cautopates in the Mithraic symbology discussed here).

image: Wikimedia commons (link).

Bodhidharma, Shen Guang, and the Shaolin Temple

image: Wikimedia commons (link).

The historicity of many aspects of the famous Shaolin Temple* of China can be, and has been, a subject for study and debate.

As with many such debates, particularly those in which deep reverence or personal beliefs are involved, examination of this subject can sometimes become contentious.

Without entering directly into the "deep water" of such disputes or debates, we can at least agree that the tradition of the Shaolin Temple is itself indisputably connected with two very important traditions: Ch'an Buddhism (which is often spelled Chan Buddhism, and which is the direct predecessor of Zen Buddhism in Japan), and the martial arts.

Previous posts have explored the importance of the connection between these two, in that training in the use of force can cause us to fall into the error of "turning a person into a thing" (in the words of Simone Weil in her famous 1940 essay on The Iliad: or the Poem of Force), but meditation upon the spiritual content and value of every being we encounter and cultivation of the attitude of blessing others and wishing to see their spirit elevated has the exact opposite tendency and acts as a counterbalance, with the goal that what could be misused to "lower spiritual awareness in one's self and in others" (as engaging in the use of force in ways that violate the rights of others will inevitably do) is instead transformed into a practice which "elevates spiritual awareness in one's self and in others" (by reducing the practitioner's need to use force inappropriately, while enabling him or her to use force to protect one's self or others if necessary and thus prevent violence). 

Through this focus on spirit and blessing, the martial arts are (ideally) transformed into a spiritually uplifting discipline analogous to yoga and other practices designed to elevate spiritual awareness and bless and regenerate the world.

I would argue that the emphasis on the invisible world of spirit is coded into the traditions of Shaolin Temple through references to the celestial realm, used throughout the world to convey deep teachings regarding the spiritual component of human existence and of the universe in which we live, and their dual material and spiritual composition. 

For example, precessional numbers such as 72 and 108 are deeply embedded in numerous Chinese martial arts, and in the traditions of the Shaolin Temple. For example, Shi Yan Ming -- who grew up in the Shaolin lineage --  has written about the fact that the Shaolin Temple traditionally contained 72 rooms or chambers. Other traditions assert that in order to graduate as a Shaolin monk, a candidate had to pass through an elaborate hall containing 108 mechanical dummies which would each launch a different unexpected attack upon the candidate at a different point on the journey down the hall.

Some might argue that the incorporation of these numbers, 72 and 108, do not necessarily indicate an esoteric celestial aspect to these traditions. They might argue that, although these same numbers are found in the sacred texts and rituals of India, or in the dimensions of the pyramids at Giza in Egypt and in Egyptian myth, or in the Norse sagas, their presence in China could be attributed to mere coincidence, and that since those ancient cultures are separated by such vast distances, the use of 72 and 108 in China might be referring to something else entirely.

However, I believe there are additional very powerful reasons to believe that the very same celestial codes operating in the myths and traditions of cultures such as ancient Egypt or ancient India (or across the oceans in the dimensions of the monuments in Central and South America) can be shown to be operating in the esoteric traditions of Chan Buddhism as well, and that the conclusion that these numbers are a celestial and hence a spiritual code is well-founded.

image: Wikimedia commons (link).

The ancient connection between Chan Buddhism and the practice of martial arts as a form of spiritual elevation and blessing can be traced directly back to the texts and traditions surrounding the figure of Bodhidharma, also called Da Mo in China, who according to tradition brought both to China.

Stories of the life of Da Mo can be found in early texts, most notably in the text known as the Ching-te Chuan Teng-lu (ways of spelling this text in English vary), or the "Transmission of the Lamp," which is itself a collection of various earlier traditions regarding Da Mo. The expression "Transmission of the Lamp" refers to the passing down of dharma or the ineffable teachings of Chan, which supposedly originated with Da Mo. 

Da Mo is often said to have lived between AD 470 and AD 532 (or 528). The Chuan Teng-lu was collected later, around the year AD 1000. See for some discussion of the compilation of the Chuan Teng-lu page 155 in this text entitled Zen Canon: Understanding the Classic Texts.

In the account of Da Mo given in the text itself (for instance, beginning on page 150 of this translation), we read the famous story of the transmission of the dharma from Da Mo to his first disciple, Shen Guang, in which Da Mo knelt motionless in meditation (in some accounts for nine full years), while Shen Guang stood guard over him in hopes of being noticed:

Staying at the Shaolin Temple on Mount Song, there he sat in meditation facing a wall, a whole day in silence. People couldn't understand it so they called him 'the wall-gazing Brahmin'. At that time there was a monk named Shenguang who was deeply learned and had lived for a long time near Luoyang by the Rivers Yi and Luo. A scholar well read in many books, he could discourse eloquently on the Dark Learning. Sighing frequently, he would say, 'The teachings of Confucius and Laozi take rituals as the Practice and customs as the Rule, while in the books of Zhangzi and The Changes the wonderful principle is still inexhaustible. Now I have heard that a great master, Damo (Bodhidharma), is residing at Shaolin. I must pay a visit to this peerless sage living not so far distant.' Then he went, visiting morning and evening for instruction. Master Damo was always sitting in a dignified posture facing a wall and so Guang heard no teachings nor did he receive any encouragement. Then Guang thought to himself, 'Men of old, on searching the Way, broke their bones to extract the marrow, let their blood flow to help the starving, spread hairs on muddy roads [to allow people to pass], or jumped off cliffs to feed a tiger. In days of old it was still like this, now what kind of man am I?' 150.

Finally, after a great snow fell and Shen Guang still stood motionless guarding Da Mo, the master spoke to Shen Guang and asked what he wanted. In some versions of the story, Shen Guang hurls a large block of snow and ice into the cave or chamber in which Da Mo was meditating, in order to get his attention. In any case, Shen Guang finally pulls out his sword and cuts off his own left arm in order to demonstrate his tremendous devotion and desire to learn what Da Mo has to show him (in some versions, Da Mo says he will only teach Shen Guang when red snow begins to fall from the sky, and so Shen Guang waves his own severed arm around his head and Da Mo finally relents and decides to take on this devoted disciple, who afterwards took on the name Hui-k'o). 

You can read some of the other aspects of this story, and the other adventures attributed to Da Mo and Shen Guang, in the account here on Shi Yan Ming's website, as well as in other texts in books or on the web, such as the version given in Thomas Hoover's 1980 book The Zen Experience, available on the web here through Project Gutenberg. See pages 28 and following of that online file.

Concerned readers can be comforted by the fact that I personally believe no arms were literally severed and waved around anyone's head in order to pass on the teachings of Chan Buddhism in the time of Da Mo and Shen Guang, but believe that this story -- like so many other sacred spiritual traditions around the globe -- can be convincingly demonstrated to be based squarely upon celestial metaphor, as are many of the other incidents and episodes in the traditional account of Da Mo.

The fact that this story is probably not literal is indicated by some of the other traditions surrounding the kneeling meditation of Da Mo, such as the detail that he remained in the kneeling meditation for nine full years without moving, facing the wall of the cave, until his image was actually transferred to the wall itself. Another aspect of the tradition (cited in Thomas Hoover's book above) states that when his eyelids became heavy and he felt he might be drifting off to sleep, Da Mo ripped off his own eyelids to continue his meditation. And another aspect of the story has him kneeling there so long that his legs actually fall off. 

Clearly, these aspects of the story can probably not be taken literally, and I don't believe the severing of Shen Guang's arm should be, either.  

In fact, I believe that familiarity with the constellations who take on similar roles in other myths and stories around the world will immediately suggest the probable celestial identities of both Da Mo (who kneels, meditating, endlessly until his very image or shadow is transferred to the cave wall) and Shen Guang (who stands silently guarding Da Mo, until at last in desperation he cuts off his own arm and waves it around to make the snow red and prove his devotion).

The diagram below shows the important constellation of Bootes, whom we have met in numerous other myths (see this index of stars and constellations and blog posts which discuss them). As you can see, the outline of Bootes resembles a kneeling figure -- and in fact the tiny "leg" which is drawn in this outline based on the system suggested by H.A. Rey is very faint, and the stars themselves could alternately be envisioned as a robed, kneeling figure with a bald head, as Da Mo is often drawn in art stretching back centuries.

Above the kneeling figure stands the vigilant figure of Shen Guang, played in this case by the celestial actor of the constellation Hercules, who appears to be brandishing an enormous sword, in his right hand (which is probably why it is his left arm that he cuts off in the story):

As for the bloody arm itself, I believe a good case can be made for the constellation Coma Berenices, or Berenice's Hair, in the role of the bloody arm. It consists of a vertical line between its two brightest stars, and then a myriad of "droplets" fanning out from one end of the vertical line (this constellation is described on pages 36 and 37 of H. A. Rey's essential book on the stars and constellations, The Stars: A New Way to See Them). In this case, it appears that the bloody arm is being waved right in front of Da Mo, in order to really get his attention.

There are, in fact, many other clues in the traditions of Da Mo which indicate to me that the above interpretation is very likely the correct celestial origin of the Da Mo story. One of the most well-known and oft-depicted episodes in his life is Da Mo's famous crossing of a wide river upon a broken reed, which is given to him in most accounts by an old woman at the near side of the river before he ventures across on the unlikely reed. 

As can be seen from the diagram above, the "bloody arm" in this case probably represents the broken reed in that aspect of Da Mo's mission, and the woman who provides the reed to him for this occasion is none other than Virgo, who can be seen with her arm outstretched, giving the reed to Bodhidharma for his crossing. 

Another episode from the story of Da Mo and Shen Guang has the impertinent Shen Guang taking his  won string of Buddhist beads from around his neck and flicking them at Da Mo, knocking out some of Da Mo's teeth in the process (the imperturbable Da Mo acts as though nothing untoward has happened, and walks away). In between Hercules and Bootes is the necklace-shaped constellation known as the Corona Borealis, or the Northern Crown. We saw that it almost certainly represents the gorgeous necklace of Freya in Norse myth, as well as a necklace in a famous Japanese myth about Amaterasu the sun goddess. 

In the star chart above, the Northern Crown is outlined in purple, and marked as a "Sandal (?)." This is because there is yet another tradition about Da Mo, depicting him as carrying a staff over his shoulder with a single sandal hanging from one end of the staff. In The Zen Teaching of Bodhidharma, we read on page xiv:

In his Transmission of the Lamp, Tao-yuan says that soon after he had transmitted the patriarchship of his lineage to Hui-k'o [that is, Shen Guang], Bodhidharma died in 528 on the fifth day of the tenth month, poisoned by a jealous monk. Tao-hsuan's much earlier biography of Bodhidharma says only that he died on the banks of the Lo River and doesn't mention the date or cause of death. According to Tao-yuah, Bodhidharma's remains were interred near Loyang at Tinglin Temple on Bear Ear Mountain. Tao-yuan adds that three years later an official met Bodhidharma walking in the mountains of Central Asia. He was carrying a staff from which hung a single sandal, and he told the official he was going back to India. Reports of this meeting aroused the curiousity of other monks, who finally agreed to open Bodhidharma's tomb. But inside all they found was a single sandal, and ever since then Bodhidharma has been pictured carrying a staff from which hangs the missing sandal.

If you note from the above diagram that Bootes has a long "pipe" that he seems to be smoking, you can instead imaging this pipe as a staff, and if it continues over his shoulder, then it would be perfectly positioned to imaging that the semi-circular arc of the Northern Crown is the other shoe or sandal hanging from the staff. In fact, the depictions of Bodhidharma's staff often seem to have a "crook" or bent part at the end -- in other words, depicting the staff as shaped somewhat like the pipe of Bootes with its wide end (see here or here or here, for example, and older art depicting him often uses similar symbology). 

So, I believe that the purple arc which functions as the Buddhist beads in the episode in which Shen Guang flicks beads at Da Mo may also function as the single shoe or slipper or sandal in the episode of Da Mo walking the hills with one shoe hanging from his staff after he was supposedly dead and buried.

All of this celestial metaphor within the story of Da Mo and the founding of Chan tradition and of the Shaolin Temple, I believe, serves as an esoteric pointer to the realm of the spiritual. The realm of the stars, for reasons discussed in other posts and in the book The Undying Stars, functions in myth around the world (including the stories in the Old and New Testaments of the Bible) as a pointer to the invisible world of spirit (just as this lower world of earth and water, into which the stars plunge as they sink down in the west, represents the realm of matter and incarnation).

I believe that this clear evidence of celestial metaphor also serves to validate the assertion that the celestial numbers 72 and 108 in many Chinese martial arts originally associated with the Shaolin Temple are serving a similar function (just as they do in so many other myths and sacred traditions around the globe).

And, finally, it points to a very important truth, which the ancient keepers of the traditions of both Chan Buddhism and the martial arts wished to impart to us: that while activities such as physical training and discipline and even the effective use of force may be a very important aspect of our time here in this physical realm of incarnation, we must not forget that we and everyone else we meet are also spiritual beings, and that ultimately our actions should serve to elevate the spiritual aspect of ourselves and others, rather than to put it down. 

Ultimately, these arts are about recognizing who we are, in a world which often seems to do everything possible to keep us from remembering or recognizing the truth.

image: Wikimedia commons (link).
* The characters usually translated "Shaolin" are 少 林 and mean "small forest."
In Mandarin this is xiăo lín

and in Cantonese it is síu làhm

both of which mean "small forest" (in that order). 

You can see the characters in the image above (top), on the sign posted over the door, although they are written right to left, such that the symbol for "small" is on the right and "forest" is in the middle.
The symbol for "temple" (on the left as you look at the photo on the page) is:
寺