I stopped by a church so as to read and meditate in the quiet, away from distractions. I've always been appreciative of the architecture and atmosphere of churches and that I can differentiate between the building and the oppression that surrounds it. The artificial lighting overhead was switched off, suitably, and I chose to sit in the aisle which had a nice golden glow about it.
I was finishing Kundalini Tales and reflecting on what I'd read after each short chapter, enjoying the calm and the space. The book, by the way, is about the 'serpent energy' or serpent-like energy that we supposedly have in our possession - an aspect of the divine within our souls. I've had many unusual and often captivating experiences since my mid-teens, although I'd never associated them with the kundalini as it's not something I'd heard of until recently; I'm still not sure that my experiences are related to it - there are definite similarities, also inconsistencies - but it is possible.
Several times I looked up at the stained-glass window beside me without realising which biblical passage the image stood for. Then I noticed the serpent on the staff behind the man and realised it was Moses and... ah yeah.
'Even so must the Son of Man be lifted up...' (John 3:14)
One of the passages I mentioned in Afterglow and how it could be an allusion to the kundalini. A couple more snakes entangled there, almost appearing as two-headed, a dualistic quality. Unknowingly I'd taken a seat next to the window that depicts the lifting of the serpent in the wilderness, which is compared to the later story of the Son of Man being lifted up, to read from my serpent-related book. A neat coincidence, I thought.
Then I heard some fluttering sounds across the other side of the church. A butterfly had got inside through a tiny window and couldn't get back out. I watched for a moment, thinking on how its life was short and precious and that if it couldn't get out it wouldn't get to enjoy its final phase of magnificence; how people, too, are trapped by the church and religion. Prisons of the cross. The butterfly is of great importance to me, its symbolism, I'll write more on this soon; the next phase in my spiritual development is the last and I believe it to be near. As a result, inner tension and conflict is at a peak, I'll either crash and burn - or - take flight, shine on, transcend.
So, I saw this butterfly as a symbol of my current situation - trapped, unable to get out or break habitual behaviours, stagnation... As far as I'm aware the butterfly found its way out within a couple of minutes - the fluttering stopped - I hope so. If I could have gotten a photo of it against the old lattice window and azure sky, that would have been rad. Alas...
I finished reading, three chapters to go, and decided to blast out some Japanese Voyeurs and Marilyn Manson's Mechanical Animals on the church speakers. Then vicar came along and I made a dash to turn the music down and off, fumbling with the controls, obviously he heard. Seemed a friendly guy, so I asked him a question about the stained-glass window, how he would interpret the line: 'That rock was Christ'. It took him a while to answer, he had to recall what he'd been taught - fair enough, there's a lot of passages to remember - and his interpretation was textbook, recital, of course; to do with Moses and Jesus in their respective times providing water to the needy people. He didn't go into detail about what water is representative of from a spiritual perspective, but that's what I was thinking of - the living water, the Holy Spirit, Mary, Star of the Sea...
Anyway, best thing he said was, "Yes, they seemed to be obsessed with serpents back then."
Yes, yes they did. Why oh why, vicar?
I told him I'm not religious but in the middle, taking from different sources, and that's my way. I assume he took this to mean that I'm lost, as he invited me to a free autumn course for 'those who think there is more to life'. I'm considering going along in October - me, the pilgrim - just to observe the indoctrination.
Now to tie up loose ends, get this poor show over with. The magic número trois. I was tired, had to decide on the short or long route home, happened to choose the long route, and so I walked right by a dead snake. I took this as similar symbolism to the trapped butterfly - stagnation, wasted and unmet potential, shadow side; imbalance; destruction...
I hadn't seen a snake in over a decade until now. I've seen a couple of slow-worms, heh. This was a grass snake, coiled, certainly dormant, quite flattened by the wheel of a car and quite dead. I should have taken a picture for archive sake, not at all morbid. Alas, t'was not meant to be.
No such thing as coincidences, but synchronistic events. Serpent and the Butterfly. Both are symbolic of renewal or rebirth. The serpent sheds its skin and the butterfly goes through its metamorphosis to reach that glorious stage. I see these examples as like living sticky notes, reminders. They're there, on the periphery, something is definitely in motion, definitely occurring. I think they're a reminder of how fragile life is, especially in my current state of health, and that I can either embrace these days or they'll slip away. I know which I'd rather.
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