Buddha, Prajnaparamita & Babaji in Deep Meditation – Altair Shyam

Prajnaparamita Mother Goddess of the past, present and future @ Etsy – Laura Santi Sacred Art

——

Buddha, Prajnaparamita & Babaji in Deep Meditation

ALTAIR NIRBANDH SHYAM*

*Meaning “Pillar of Light blazing in the Unbound Space of Divine Mother’s Love”

– ♥ –

Last night I was gifted with two visions of us while in deep meditation.

They were very simple.

The first, suddenly and spontaneously when I was very silent and still in meditation, was of the Buddha facing Us and in Union with the Mother of All Buddhas Prajnaparamita and in between them Babaji. The Buddha was facing Us a short distance away, then Babaji sat facing a little closer and then the Mother sat just in front with Her back to Us.

The second, overwhelmingly, as I lay down to sleep immediately following the first vision is connected to the first and somewhat more difficult to describe. The first is a Sign, that in Our meditations the Muladhara or base chakra energy is awake and connected to the crown chakra through the third eye as represented by the Union of the Mother (Prajna or Wisdom) the Buddha and Babaji. In the second vision We were ‘seated’ in the 1000 petalled crown chakra looking “down” the astral spine that runs up the center of the body (see NOTE) just in front of the physical body. As We watched, the 7 doors, which we call chakras through which the soul has descended into the body, were wide open, and We watched as the soul, through the process of silence and stillness of meditation, reascended, and each chakra like a Lotus with petals turned upwards, opened into worlds of much vaster dimensions than our own. Before Our awakened and astonished inner vision each door was transformed into strange worlds, the chakras transmuted into transcendent splendor. World upon world revealed itself in glory and magnificence. I am reminded of the Book of Revelations 1:19-20 which carefully veils this Secret in saying “the mystery of the seven stars…are the angels of the seven churches” in referring to these chakras, and also from the Book of Revelations 5:1-2 “and I saw a book written within and on the backside, sealed with seven seals…who is worthy to open the book, and to loosen the seals?” This Book of Love (the soul’s path of reascension) has seven seals (the seven chakras or doors) which when loosened (through the ‘worthiness’ of deep and consistent practice of yoga, devotion, prayer and meditation) open us all to Revelations.

Art by Eva Ruiz

🧡

NOTE :
The PHYSICAL spine (vertebrae, spinal cord, etc) is not the same as the ASTRAL (energy) spine, where the chakras are located. They are different and located in different places and dimensions!

The Astral Spine is the place through which you should be “running” prana (life-force) when you are practicing Kriya Yoga. It can be imagined as a hollow tube, about an inch and a half in diameter, running very straight up from the base of the spine (Muladhara or 1st chakra area) going through the middle (central core) of the body (which places it mostly in front of the S-curve of the physical spine).

When it reaches the Medulla Oblongata (receptive pole of the 6th chakra) it curves slightly forward to the Spiritual Eye (point between the eyebrows – the positive pole of the 6th chakra) As you are practicing Kriya Yoga, the prana goes through chakras # 1-6, from to the bottom to top of your Astral Spine, and back down again.

Blessings to you as you practice the sacred technique of Kriya Yoga.

Love and Blessings

Altair and Mother ….

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

I AM THAT I AM, אֶהְיֶה אֲשֶׁר אֶהְיֶה ’ehyeh ’ăšer ’ehyeh

I am here to do the work of Our Mother by walking the Path of the Bodhisattva, Archangel and Elder in assisting all beings to find Krishna’s Bliss, Christ’s Light and the Buddha’s Heart and Healing within.

gate gate pāragate pārasaṃgate bodhi svāhā

ག༌ཏེ༌ག༌ཏེ༌པཱ༌ར༌ག༌ཏེ༌པཱ༌ར༌སཾ༌ག༌ཏེ༌བོ༌དྷི༌སྭཱ༌ཧཱ།

“go, go, go beyond, go thoroughly beyond, and establish yourself in enlightenment” 

🌷

A teacher, healer and mystic guiding the Way of Love, Unity and Harmony for the New Gaia that we are co-creating. He teaches that We are the Way and that our freedom to be our True Self is the key to transformation. “The miracles of God lie within Us. We are the Light. We are the Temple of the One Chakra whose Awakened Infinite Light Body brings all our dreams into reality.” With deepest Love and Devotion to My Divine Mother, Lady of the Earth, Guan Yin (from the Sanskrit root Guanyin/Kuan Yin/Kwan Yin) The Divine Mother who perceives the Sounds and Cries of Mother Gaia and Her Children.

http://www.altairshyam.com/spiritual-guides-and-teachers/
Gratitude & appreciation to all artists & photographers ~ Credit given where this is known. Any queries, please contact me, Shekinah 

‘Diary of a Yogi’ Chapter 6 – Ketumati – Altair Shyam

Mira and The Dance of The Impenetrable Realm – Art by Maryam Mughal

****

Chapter 6 – Ketumati

Altair travelled overland alone from Nepal to India to visit the Krishnamurti School in Varanasi, or Benares. He sat one day in the late afternoon in the garden of Krishnamurti’s own house. The School had kindly put him up in the house, complete with his own servants, and he was chatting with Krishnamurti’s gardener Henry, who was an exceptionally wise man.

“Why do you think Babaji wanted me to meet Krishna?” said Altair although he hadn’t the faintest idea how this could possibly happen.

“Because of your knowledge of other worlds,” replied Henry.

Altair looked at Henry in surprise. “Other worlds? Like the billions of stars and planets out there with habitable life?”

Henry laughed. “No not that. You will experience those worlds directly I’m sure. In your future, rather than mine. I am too old for space travel. Not the world of ghosts and spirits either. You will be able to contact those worlds too, in time, perhaps in your homeland. No, I mean the Pure Lands like Maitreya’s Ketumati where we are now, or Amitabha’s Sukhavati or Guan Yin’s Mount Potalaka. Masters, saints and Buddhas have known of these other worlds for thousands of years. Take Shambhala for instance. The Dalai Lama says in the Kalachakra Tantra that the Pure Land of Shambhala, which is ruled over by Maitreya, can only be visited by a worthy person. So I ask myself what a worthy person is, often. Pure Lands are not really part of this universe at all. They intertwine and are woven into the fabric of this world. People like you and Krishnamurti and others who practice the portal of deep constant presence can become aware of them. And aware of the Beings that inhabit them. The Beings we call Buddhas and Christs, Gods and Goddesses, they are in all our religions as well as our myths and legends and fairy tales for a reason.”

Henry stood up for a moment and gestured around the garden.

“Take Ketumati for instance.”

Altair blinked. He could have sworn he caught a glimpse of a completely different sort of garden, one like he first experienced as Palmo Shonu in the gardens of Zahor with Princess Mandarava. It was a garden glowing with energy, vibrant green, clear energy fields surrounding every flower, plant and tree, any point could be a portal that would transport a person’s awareness into other times or places.

“We are closer than close, closer than a heartbeat, worlds that are able to be known through stillness, silence and presence and letting go of the known,” said Henry.

Altair touched the grass. His hand disappeared, immersed in energy.

Armed With Energy by Saika’s Art Etsy

“Yes, I see it too,” said Henry, “the power of presence and cosmic consciousness. We are truly made of the same stuff as the stars. So how have you come to this awareness Altair? What has helped you along the way?”

“Firstly my dreams of Samye. That made me very curious about life and what came before and after even at the tender young age of three years old. Secondly, the visions of Zahor and many other places and Masters and guides. They made me aware of worlds beyond our own. The third was meditation, the doorway to Presence which is like the Garden of Eden here on Earth. Fourth would be action, when I was at Koya-san I decided to follow my dreams, however that turned out. Fifth and last is Kriya. My connection with Babaji through Yogananda elevated me to great heights of awareness, like climbing Mt Kailash.”

“When you breathe in such an active and sacred way as in Kriya Yoga, you actually charge the particles of your inner consciousness, a cosmos of your own creation existing within the astral spine and make the matter of this world very thin, so the portals of the chakras become much more accessible and easier to use and allow you to move between worlds for whatever your destiny and mission is. Great Masters have always known this.

Shri Krishna by Vishnu 108 @ DeviantArt

That is why many institutions fear it. That is why the ignorant imprison us by feeding us limited thoughts and fueling our material desires.”

“Why?” said Altair.

“Think of the possibilities, if we realized just how powerful we were. It would revolutionize churches, temples and governments, schools and businesses. If we realized there was a way to bridge this world and all others. If we knew the power of love language and communication with presence.”

“The key is intention,” said Altair. “We only have to think it and use the power of divine imagination.”

“Yes,” said Henry. “It is in the interests of those who inspire fear and ignorance and limited thought to keep the rest of us thinking the only reality is what we see through our senses. The power that would be unleashed worldwide is beyond anything we can imagine now if we were all to be free. It is about the collective, unity. We are not supposed to do it alone. It is about going home together.”

“So those that want to keep the wealth and power have a vested interest in keeping us imprisoned in our limited thinking?”

“Yes, those who have the most fear are holding on tight to what they have, which is in actuality very little.”

“And the Masters want to open this bridge across forever?”

“Even the Masters have different perspectives on opening portals. If they open it too soon, before most people have developed awareness, they could create an imbalance in the light and dark forces at play.”

“What about nature, snakes, dolphins, hummingbirds?” said Altair with a smile.

The Krishnamurti Foundation was located on a native wildlife reserve in Varanasi. Though there were no dolphins or hummingbirds there were snakes and eagles.

Henry smiled. “Those may well serve you in time. They are unconcerned with our problems. In fact we have upset their natural balance more than in any other time in history.”

Hummingbird

“How do I connect with them?”

“The same way you are connecting to the Masters. Make a clear intention. Quiet the mind, still the heart, open up to limitless possibilities and surrender.”

“When will it happen?”

“Don’t be so impatient! Everything has its own time.”

At that very moment an eagle soared overhead and swooped down low as if feasting its eyes on the garden below.

“You see,” said Henry. “They are listening. Give it time. I imagine there are many surprises in store for you.”

In the wake of the eagle’s path a sudden brisk wind picked up, ruffling Altair’s hair.

Dark black storm clouds loomed swiftly over the horizon where there were none before.

“You’d best be getting inside,” said Henry. “There’s a storm brewing.”

“I need to buy some yoghurt!” Altair said and stood up in a hurry. “Do you think I’ll have time?”

“Maybe,” said Henry. “Better hurry!”

Altair dashed off down the path towards town. He passed by one of the fields where the boys were playing cricket.

“Six!” came a cry.

Altair turned seeking the source of the call when he received an enormous crack on the nose. He stumbled back, stunned, stars spinning in his vision.

A group of boys came running up.

“Sorry, Sir!”

“That’s alright.” Altair was still dazed. “I…I’m from New Zealand. I used to play cricket at school too.”

“Oh, Sir, do you know Richard Hadlee?”

It wasn’t long before they were all best of friends.

It was Altair’s first day at the school as a teacher. He’d arrived at the office that morning knowing they were expecting him, to find himself sitting beside an auburn-haired woman looking rather pensive, who introduced herself as Angela.

“I’m off home today,” she said, “my father is ill and they can’t find a replacement. I don’t want to leave them in the lurch.”

“What do you teach?” said Altair.

“English, drama and music.”

“I have a background in Performing Arts,” said Altair. “I might be able to help.”

Mirabai Krishna

And so he did, and half an hour later he was signing papers as a substitute teacher and getting Angela to show him around. The school put him up in Krishnamurti’s own house, complete with servants, which initially he felt most uncomfortable about until he discovered that it was their job and they were extremely proud of it having served generations of famous people including Krishnamurti before Altair.

So now as he headed into town just before the storm he thought back over the incredible sequence of events that had brought him here to the holy city of Varanasi.

After Nepal and Tibet he had stayed in New Delhi just to see the Taj Mahal. That was the comedy routine of his adventure so far.

Taj Mahal

“All aboard,” shouted the driver as they lined up for the bus in the dust and fumes of the early morning traffic outside the youth hostel. “We have to be back by 5pm. Evening curfew. Hurry up!”

That was true. Delhi was in the midst of riots and soldiers with rifles patrolled the streets and roofs looking to shoot looters.

They knew that to return after 5pm was to place their life in peril.

Everywhere they looked was a mass of dangling power cables, narrow streets, cycle rickshaws, winding old lanes leading to spice markets and traffic traffic everywhere.

Some of the stares they got were frankly unfriendly and for a woman more than that showing them places to avoid, especially after dark.

Altair wore his hair long and had massive curls so from behind looked every bit like a young woman. One of those days in Delhi he had an older man with his wife saunter up beside him in the crowd and grope at his breasts. Altair felt terribly invaded and was so incensed he turned and punched the man hard in the nose. The fellow hurried away with his wife through the madding crowd.

The bus lurched away from the hostel in a pall of smoke and careered down the highway knocking two cycle rickshaws off the road and into the ditch beside to the insults and waving fists of their drivers. The bus driver didn’t seem to care at all.

The Taj Mahal is located in Agra so they had a little way to go, some five hours or so, and a number of palaces and scenic spots to see on the way.

They came to the first stop, Agra Fort. The driver was very clear they didn’t have long as traffic had been heavy these first three hours. “We only have ten minutes so no photos,” he said.

A young German couple started grumbling immediately.

“We didn’t pay all this money for a ten minute tour. He can wait.”

They took their bags and cameras and set off for a stroll.

The rest of the group looked dubiously at the driver who seemed extremely nervous.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, on the dot, he climbed up into the driver’s cab and shouted “Time to go!” in the direction of the German couple who were the last to get back on. They were still atop the monumental Delhi Gate and waving buoyantly at the bus so when the driver put his foot on the gas pedal to resume his trip, minus the German couple, the tourists were all aghast, there was lots of shouting, and the Germans could still be heard yelling insults in German from the walls.

To no avail.

The driver would not turn back, regardless of threats and cajoling, and kept his head down for the rest of the trip to the Taj Mahal.

They stopped at several other minor attractions, losing at least one passenger at each.

By the time they got to the Taj Mahal, they were a decimated group of tourists.

“We must be hurrying!” continued the driver, scarcely pausing at this beautiful monument for long enough to take some decent pictures. “5 o’clock, 5 o’clock!”

It was beginning to sound like the rant of a madman. By any reasonable calculations the bus should make it home just in time.

So off they went, at a giddy gait, swerving around this obstacle or that car or knocking an occasional rickshaw off the road when they wouldn’t shift for the driver.

After about 2 hours they arrived at a fairly nondescript hotel, small, dingy and rather unkept. The driver met with another man out front and they shook hands gleefully. He gestured at them all to come in.

“Tea stop, souvenirs,” yelled the driver, proudly clapping the new man on the shoulder as he introduced him. “This is my uncle. My uncle’s hotel,” he waved his hands  with aplomb as if this were the most scenic attraction they had yet feasted their eyes upon.

“We have time for a stop,” he said as if to assure the group of his intentions to take good care of them finally.

Then the driver and the uncle disappeared, no doubt to discuss commissions and sales and the group were left to the extremely tardy tea service of one older gentleman, the sole waiter, server and tea pourer. Almost one hour later, the longest stop they had made anywhere, and Altair decided to go on the warpath. He found the driver laughing out the back with a group of men, smoking and drinking chai.

“The time, the time!”

The driver looked at his watch and immediately looked like he had been hit with a club. Fear filled his face and he sprung up like a jack in a box.

“Hurry up, hurry up!” He began yelling at the top of his voice.

They piled back into the bus.

“We must be taking a short cut,” said the driver.

He put his foot on the gas pedal and belted off at a gut wrenching pace, turning and scurrying down one winding narrow lane after another.

Soon he reached a long straight section which looked like it went on forever.

“Hold on!” he announced with more than a hint of trepidation in his voice.

The bus hurled past shops and doorways with barely a hair’s breadth separating them.

It was clear this short cut was going to put everyone at death’s door if the driver had anything to do with it.

The next moment they saw looming up ahead of them a very low lying bridge under which they would not pass.

“Hold on!” commanded the demon driver.

So they did and the bus hit the bridge with an enormous crash and a sound like bullets firing out of a cylinder could be heard as packs and bags which were on the roof-rack shot backwards off the top of the bus with the roof-rack and upper connections following in a tangle on the ground.

“Sorry! Sorry!” was all the mad driver could repeat over and over.

Altair got out slowly in a daze with the other passengers. The bus was still running and they gathered up their possessions and placed them back on board.

The driver said very little bar the occasional sorry on his way back to the hostel.

Needless to say Altair and the remaining passengers arrived late, past the curfew, and had to clamber secretively on the emergency escape ladders at the back of the hotel and then clutch and scrape at windowsills bruising their shins and fingers and cracking nails as they forced their way into one of the back windows of the hostel in constant fear of their life in case they were mistaken for looters by one of the soldiers positioned on nearby roofs.

Perhaps never again would Altair take a bus tour in India.

Brijrama Palace Varanasi

So it was that Altair found himself not on a bus heading to Varanasi but on a train, firstly in the lowest class carriage which was basically the baggage train filled with cattle and chickens, bad smells and cow-shit, and old men chewing betel nuts, teeth stained reddish-black from years of chewing this addictive nut, which they spat out on the floor at his feet. After a couple of hours of olfactory torture Altair upgraded to second class which was just as crowded and had some people riding the roof. A few hours of this experience and he went to first class which meant he had a seat and finally for the last segment he allowed himself the luxury of AC or air conditioning and found himself in a cabin with 4 other men, all with the same birthday as him. September 7th. This birthday had led to a number of synchronistic events. On one bus trip in Nepal he found himself riding on the roof of a bus with three other travelers all with this same birthday. And when he started university, he was walking up the hill to Albert Park when an old woman on the other side of the road pointed at him and called out.

“Hey you!”

She made her way across the road to him.

“You were born the same day as Queen Elizabeth the First.”

It wasn’t a question.

And she was right.

She proceeded to tell him many things about his life. How he would work with children in the arts, be a leader, travel to America and work as a healer.

So meetings with remarkable people in the most unlikely places never seemed out of place.

And so it was in Varanasi.

After signing up for the job Angela took him out on a boat on the Ganges for an hour just before lunch.

The sun was high over the holy river, casting a steady glow, big and imposing in the sky. The air was filled with the aroma of sandalwood and jasmine flowers. Angela found a boatman who rowed them close to the shore, bathing them in the aftermath of the morning cremation rituals. That meant an arm that had not been burned properly by the cremation ghats floated by the boat. An occasional body too.

“You may not be surprised to know that I heard you were coming,” said Angela. “I was hoping against hope that you would be able to fill my position. You know they are interested in you for other reasons. That is why they accepted you so easily. It’s usually much more difficult to get a job here. There are many volunteers waiting in line. The principal told me you would be here this morning.”

Altair had a strange feeling the school, the Principal and Krishnamurti were all somehow tied into Babaji’s prophecy of him meeting Krishna.

Meerabai by Avinash Thakur @ Art Finder

And so it was that he found himself searching the nearby markets for some yoghurt he loved just before the storm set in.

The markets were lazy, colorful and chaotic. Old men, stray dogs and bodies close to death lay strewn across his path at every turn. Men with baskets heaped with herbs tried to sell their wares and shopkeepers tried to bargain with him. He quickly found the shop he was looking for and ordered a mango lassi while he was waiting. He listened to the chatter of the customers around him and thought of the vision Babaji and Henry had brought him. A bridge across forever that he could travel over and link other worlds and Pure Lands. He wanted to take all the women and children that were caught up in wars and strife far away from here, to set them free, with stars and magic…

Blossom To The Stars by Wen Hsu

Sometime in the night he awoke to the sounds of thunder and pelting rain. The servant and his family were fast asleep and the house itself was eerily serene amidst the backdrop of the boom and bang of nature’s titanic forces clashing.

There was a soft knock at the door.

Altair waited. The storm rattled on.

The knock came softly again.

No one was going to answer it. The servants were still asleep. They were in the middle of a storm.

“Hello,” said Altair as softly as the knock. “Who’s there?” And he got up to open the door.

Standing there in the wind and rain, without an umbrella, as dry as a bone, was a woman. She was dressed in the orange cloth of a sanyasi, a wandering holy person. She had blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and was holding an ancient scroll in her hands. Behind her, in all directions, lay a tumbling sea of water that fell in ever increasing streams, pausing only now and then to catch its breath before resuming its fury, like a constant waterfall pouring straight down.

“May I come in?” Her voice was soothing, like a clear mountain stream.

Altair was at a loss for words. He gestured for her to come in and noticed that her sandals left no wet mark on the floor even though she had somehow come through the storm to get here. Now he could see her clearly for the first time. She was very young, yet wore spectacles, wore no hood or rain gear and seemed not to notice nature’s spectacle which had been crashing all around her. She had a simple red bindu between her eyebrows. She stood in the entrance like a goddess. She reminded him of Krishna himself.

“Altair?”

Altair nodded.

“I have been sent to bring you a message.”

Altair could momentarily see through the veils and perceive the bridge across forever that Henry had spoken of, the unity linking all beliefs and faiths that Babaji had guided him to. He could feel the language of love breaking through to speak to his heart, and know of the timeless awareness that awakens when you are in the presence of divinity.

The scroll had binding which the woman carefully unwrapped and then unrolled the parchment before handing it to Altair.

“This is for you. Krishna bid me give it to you.”

Altair took the scroll and held it at the top and bottom so that he could see it better.

“This is Saraswati,” said the woman, in a sweet sing-song voice, pointing to the Goddess who sat playing a sitar surrounded by peacocks. “You have been devoted to Her many times over many lives.”

“Babaji said you would come.”

She nodded and pointed to another section of the scroll, in Sanskrit.

“Chapter 12, the Bhagavad Gita. Bhagavad Shri Krishna spoke to Arjuna and said ‘Those who fix their minds on Me, who constantly glorify Me, and possess great faith, I consider them to be most perfect.’ That is the message from Lord Krishna to you.”

She took the scroll from Altair, rolled it up, bound it and handed it back to him.

“I think there are things I need to tell you,” she said. “Altair, you were a 16th century Raj in Northern India.”

Saraswati

The Sanyasi’s voice was so sweet it lifted him above the storm.

“You were married with three wives. You governed a small kingdom in what is now Rajasthan.”

Altair felt his body drifting, lifting upwards, soaring into the heavens.

“You worshipped Saraswati.”

Just like Palmo Shonu with Princess Mandarava in Zahor, thought Altair.

Below him the countryside splayed out like a balloon and ahead of him a magnificent palace was sitting in all its grandeur and splendor. He was part of it and it was all around him. Great forts with round towers rose up sprawling over hills and valley plains next to rivers. Temples, houses and markets were held within its walls.

Altair saw people running in every direction, barricading doors and windows and then he found himself in the midst of a large group of men, brave, armed and ready for fighting, standing before the last of seven massive gates.

Three women, dressed in beautiful saris stood at his side, all weeping.

The one closest to him, took his arm and spoke loudly and clearly to the throng.

“We are besieged sire, but should you got out to battle, and die, we will be lost without you, and surely we will not survive what is to follow.”

Altair simply nodded. He felt heavy and realized he was wearing armor. One of the men was helping him get up on a horse. He was eating his last betel nut together with his troops. He donned his saffron robes which his first wife, the one that had spoken to the crowd, handed him.

“The invading army outnumbers us ten to one,” said the man now in front of him brandishing a double edged scimitar.

Altair nodded again. He knew the warrior’s code. Compassion for defeated foes, generosity towards the helpless, fair play in battle, respect for women and conduct of warfare governed by elegant forms and ceremonies. His people loved him and he was renowned for his courage on the battlefield. He was part of a proud martial tradition and he had a passion for war. Everyone was waiting for his signal.

He, drew his sword, holding it aloft and cried out in a wild yell, and the gates opened on his command. The warriors on horseback circled and flew with him out the gates and onto the hills and down into the valleys, many were mounted and some were on foot.

They were met by a storm of shrieks and yells and blinding fury as the two armies collided. Horsemen, war elephants, soldiers with swords, lances, matchlocks and bows and arrows battled in the breach, many hurled into the air together, and many crushed by the falling debris caused by siege engines.

War elephants, as many as three hundred, joined the onslaught. One of them trampled a man near him, rolled him up in his trunk and crushed him. The elephant then turned on Altair, smashed its trunk down on his horse’s back breaking it in two with a terrible crack and throwing Altair in the air. When Altair hit the ground he was stunned and dazed. The battle had carried him right near the center of the fighting as he struggled to his feet, now a short distance away from the invading king. The king came down from the small rise of a hill that he stood upon and faced Altair, the two men now barely meters apart. Altair was trembling like a mighty dynamo, not from fear but from grim determination. He was a warrior and to die in battle was just as honorable as to die for love. He touched his heart as he stood, thinking of his brave wives and the fate they might face if he was vanquished. Brandishing his sword he said to himself,

“I fight for you my loves. I am a king and he is nothing.”

Raj Women

The warriors around them continued fighting but formed a protective cordon from which no one could get in or out. The bodies piling up made a wall. Here they were, two futures, two destinies, one would continue while the other would fall.

The air seemed to grow still and silent.

Then with a roar and a shaking like two mountains clashing, the two warriors crashed into each other and fell aside, and Altair sprung up first and slashed at the other man’s neck which was his most vulnerable point.

There was a clash of metal on metal as Altair’s thrust missed its mark but caught the man’s face and a scream split the air. The other king hurled himself in fury onto Altair pummeling him to the ground and the breath was squeezed out of him all at once by that crushing fall. Hands fixed themselves on his throat and hot bloody drops dripped down his helmet.

Altair threw himself backwards with all his might and ripped downwards, tearing away those vicious hands and swinging the sword which had been underneath him out and across.

He struck metal and then metal again as the two swords met and parried and thrust.

Then they stood apart struggling to regain their breath.

Both men were bleeding and both were panting heavily.

Altair knew it was going badly for his men. He was their last hope and he would not fail them. He allowed himself the luxury of a single tear. His dear brave fearless wives were going to die if he did not find victory, through love and belief, in fearlessness and valor. He thought of how Krishna assured Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita that the proper thing to do was to fight on the battle field. He thought of his friend Mirabai and her love for Krishna which had inspired his devotion. And it was at this moment, which passed as swiftly as a blink of an eye, that he was lifted out of the battle. He remembered the words Mirabai had taught him,

Mirabai & Krishna

“Be awake to the Name!

To be born in a human body is rare,

Don’t throw away the reward of your past good deeds.

Life passes in an instant— the leaf doesn’t go

back to the branch.

The ocean of rebirth sweeps up all beings hard,

Pulls them into its cold-running, fierce, implacable currents.

Giridhara, your name is the raft, the one safe-passage over.

Take me quickly.

All the awake ones travel with Mira, singing the name.

She says with them: Get up, stop sleeping—

the days of a life are short.”

A great swirl lifted Altair up as he raised his sword, and then something pulled him up above all of this, and then a more powerful surge, like a power tearing him away from the battle field and the carnage and the sadness and the loss. Then Altair saw in the air beside him the Sanyasi standing calmly looking at him.

“You will meet your three wives again. They are very dear to you and will be always. You will know them by this. One will be a dancer, one a singer and one an actress. Though you will try to hold on to them you cannot. You can only ever free them by letting them go. You can try anything you wish, marriage, children, but the law of karma is very clear. Trust in the flow of life. Go well Altair. Go well my child.”

Then she was gone into the storm.

http://www.altairshyam.com/spiritual-guides-and-teachers/

****

Gratitude & Appreciation to all artists
NOTE – RECENT EDITING
Although all posts are still accessible on my Website one cannot use an ‘Old’ Link to see them. This only applies to posts shared before the recent editing. If the old Link has been saved onto a device or Home Screen it just means re-adding this with the new Link OR finding it on my website using the Search Button.  Shekinah El Daoud 
It may be necessary to re-subscribe to posts by Email (using the FOLLOW BUTTON).
https://lakshmiamrita.wordpress.com/

🌸🌸

 

‘Diary of a Yogi’ Chapter 5 – Kailash – Altair Shyam

****

KAILASH

Chapter 5 – Kailash

When he returned to his room Altair thought about consulting the ephemeris for himself, but this had never served him well. It always triggered events but never in a way he could foresee. So it was now. Shanti’s fateful words were somehow deeply woven into the fabric of time as within a few minutes he received a call from the temple hostess to say he had a message to call the Chinese Embassy in Wellington, New Zealand. He wondered whether he should call back immediately and following a hunch he decided to wait and telephone his mother Mary a little later. Perhaps she already knew the results of the scholarship to China.

He lay on his bed pondering the fires that had ignited within him, the desire to travel across China and study the Taoist philosopher Chuang Tzu and the now very new and burning desire, a yearning to travel to Tibet and India and learn from the Siddha Masters. He felt intensely human, as if the stillness of the Shingon Temple was calling to him, and that maybe the continual grind of an academic life was not as attractive as the flow of study with a Master such as Yogananda or the Dalai Lama. It wasn’t long before he fell asleep, dreaming of a monk crossing a very different bridge, a bridge across forever that connected worlds way beyond this one.

He awoke suddenly to the voice of his mother. He had no idea what time it was.

“Altair is that you?”

Speakerphone.

“Mmm,” Altair was still half asleep.

“Altair, the Chinese Embassy rang.”

Mary hesitated.

“You didn’t get the scholarship. They gave it to an American scholar already at Beijing University. Professor Ip herself rang to confirm. You were in second place. So if it falls through…”

“Mum, I’m going to India…”

“There’s one more thing. I’m so sorry about the scholarship.”

“I’m not, because I’ve decided to go to…”

“A telegram arrived this morning…”

“India! I’m going to go to…”

“Yes! From India, the telegram is from India! How did you know?”

“What?”

“Do you remember you asked to visit that Foundation, the Krishnamurti School in Varanasi?”

“The Krishnamurti…?”

Sleep was getting the better of him. Altair was sure he was hearing things, getting the messages all muddled up.

“Yes, they’ve sent you an invitation.”

There was a faint light now in the temple room that gave the whole episode more than an edge of mystery. Altair longed to be on the plane right now. India? An invitation? It all seemed too good to be true.

He stood up and walked over to the speakerphone.

“Mum, that’s great, that’s just great.”

“I’m so happy for you darling.”

“So am I. I’ll call you back later when I’m more awake.”

Altair walked out into the corridor and headed towards the entrance to the temple. It was just before sunrise as he stepped out.

He decided to go on the long walk to Okunoin, Kukai’s mausoleum and Japan’s largest cemetery. In the early morning mists it was the perfect place to clear his head. According to Shingon Buddhism belief there are no dead there, only waiting spirits. Kukai, also known as Kobo Daishi, came out of meditation there upon the arrival of Miroku or Maitreya, the Buddha of the Future in his visions.

 

 

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

As he crossed the Ichi No Hashi Bridge, reaching the outskirts of the first headstones, it was like he was crossing a bridge between two worlds, as something strange was happening in the mists. He thought it was the early morning winds, moving and trembling but something else was stirring. Dizzying cedars dotted the graves, hiding the sky. The atmosphere was different, the air charged with the sacred.

“Kukai!”

A figure was forming in the mists, like a ghost. Altair’s surprise was so strong he had to check his feet, that they were still connected to the ground.

The vision filled the forest. It began to spill out beyond the corners as if delicate fingers of light were searching and trembling for something. Kukai was holding a dragon blossom, coming into bloom, and the mists looked like the ocean rising, both signs of the future Buddha, Maitreya. Kukai was as transparent as fragile silk and shimmered like delicately disturbed water on a calm lake. Altair felt deeply moved. It was as profound as any dream or vision he had ever experienced. The beauty of the sacred, and its holiness touched his eyes with tears. As Altair watched, the vision became a portal, just like when he read someone’s astrology chart, and he was transported beyond the confines of the cemetery and the mountain he was standing upon, into another mountain range, one with its own mists and dreams and visions, as if he was looking across a vast natural vista and into another universe.

Cherry Blossom Dragon by Chocotaku @ DeviantArt

Altair was gifted with a mystical vision of the future, seated on the top of Mt Kailash on an outspread mandala. Shiva and Parvati, turned to look at him, then blended into Saraswati and Brahma. The fusion was deep, immersed in the ecstatic bliss of creation. Then they in turn blended into the wisdom and knowledge of the Bodhisattva Manjushri and the Goddess Benzaiten Saraswati. The fierce sun, the soft snow, the blue skies, the mystic mists, made the journey of the Tibetan pilgrims circumambulating the mountain far below look even more arduous. In the light he saw himself, now at some period in the future, making his way up a mountain range with a group of people, traversing the Himalayas.

So Shanti was right after all.

It was India, not China.

Something deeper had called Altair, perhaps the wild of the Himalayas.

“Boarding for Kathmandu at Gate 22!” came the call over the loudspeakers at Bangkok Airport. Altair had been staying with a friend of his, Ting, at a monastery in Northern Thailand after flying out from Japan and Koya-san.

“You should follow your dreams,” she said.

So he did.

He decided to follow the dream of Tibet and Samye Monastery, by going overland through Nepal.

Buddhist nuns monks-Tibetan women via James Blumenthal Ph.D

He was ready to get underway to Nepal and had been itching to do so ever since landing in Thailand but he’d promised Ting a visit and it was a good opportunity to weigh up the paths ahead once he decided not to take up the scholarship in China. Some dreams weighed more heavily than others. Even in airport terminals.

“Excuse me Sir?” It was a gentleman in fine clothes with gold trim, gold-rimmed sunglasses and a very tanned bald head. “Could you lend me a hand?”

He turned around behind him to lift the largest teddy bear Altair had ever seen.

“Do you have much check in luggage? I am wondering if I could bother you to take this?”

Altair nodded dumbly. He seemed to remember somewhere his mother warning him about the Asian drugs trade and Bangkok being a kingpin in the drug triangle.

Naively he took the bear which was as large as he was and lifted it clumsily into the plane, to the wide-eyed glances of the hostesses.

Soon they were skywards and heading towards Nepal. The flight and the landing were smooth and the tender bump on the runway filled Altair’s eyes with tears although he could have never said why. It was like he was coming home.

He clambered off, hugging the bear and made his way to immigration, looking out for the bear’s owner. There was no sign.

Altair felt anxious. He could have sworn the gentleman had got off the plane with him, though he didn’t see him sitting in economy class.

Suddenly there was a tug on his shirt.

It was an officer in a military uniform.

Altair’s heart skipped a beat.

But his consternation was met with a smile.

“This way Sir, please.”

The officer opened a door he hadn’t noticed to the side of immigration.

It was semi-dark, a long smooth corridor with no distinguishing features or signs.

The next moment he emerged to a fanfare of trumpets and a crowd surging towards him as he marched with the bear down between a guard of honour, to join the bear’s owner and another man in a wheelchair with a bandage wrapped tightly around his head.

“Welcome to Nepal!” said the man with the gold-rimmed sunglasses. That bear belong’s to this man’s son.”

“What happened to him?” whispered Altair.

“This man is the King’s brother and I am his Secretary. He was shot and wounded in an assassination attempt a few months ago. We have just returned from America where he was taken for surgery. We are very grateful to you for helping us. We want to repay your kindness. Tell us anything you want or need in Nepal and we will make sure it is done.”

And so it was that Altair was given a King’s Feast, a luxurious hotel, as well as a Royal Tour of Nepal and its surrounding schools and educational foundations which is how he thought this gift would serve his mission here on earth the best.

“Namaste”

A young woman seated with a small group of hikers greeted Altair in Pokhara. He was at the start of the Annapurna Circuit which snakes through lush rice paddy valleys, roaring rivers, Tibetan Buddhist villages, Hindu temples and unassailable arid Himalayan peaks. He had taken some crazy bus rides to get here after the tours of Nepalese schools, on overloaded buses with 20 seats and 40 people to pack in like sardines. He had ridden on the rooftops of buses along insanely dangerous ravines where the slightest mistake would have meant a fatal fall of several hundred meters to their death. He had even driven into Tibet with a truckload of Chinese soldiers which left him feeling completely ill at ease even though they had been very civil and shared their Chinese superfood biscuit rations with him.

With his pack on his back and his heart beating with excitement, Altair was ready for the first ascent, which he was told would climb to giddy heights of several thousand meters and leave him breathless and with aching muscles especially around his kneecaps.

So it was with a measure of relief that he met the woman’s smile and greeting.

“Namaste”

“Monica”

“Altair”

“Climbing alone?”

Altair nodded.

“Want to join us?”

Tibetan Child by Christine Randolph @ Fine Art America

Altair smiled again. As simple as that and he was one of them. He soon discovered they were all ballet dancers from Belgium. Monica was the leader, and she had gathered her friends, Cecilia, Irene, Louise and Peter, to come on the hike with her. Together they made their way through lush hills and over swollen rivers, in and out of bamboo forests and traversing waterfalls. Sometimes they skipped across rocks and at other times the trail wove into and up hillsides, with giant blocks at some parts which went upwards for hours leaving them all with sore knees at each resting point. Each night they stayed at a different village along the trail in very basic tea house accommodation. Mattresses varied from very sparse to somewhat thicker, walls would often have cracks to encourage a view, showers ran from cold to very cold and toilets smelt bad or just plain intolerable. Food was usually Dahl, rice, lentils, potatoes and tea. As their bodies adjusted so did the path, from muddy tracks to dusty paths with valleys revealing the snowy mountain peaks from time to time.

“Tashi Delek”

Shiva Shakti – Lord Shiva

In the light of one early morning high up in the Annapurna mountain range they were met by a young Tibetan monk smiling broadly and sipping tea. His saffron robes flapped in the breeze.

“You teach us?”

Altair felt a chill up his back. He knew this young monk would help him connect to his dream as a child, that this boy would somehow link him to Samye.

“I…I’ll…” he had trouble getting his words out.

It was Monica, the lead dancer in the Belgian Ballet group who replied.

“We dance,” she said, “we love dancing!” And she turned and twirled and did a dainty pirouette right there on the spot.

The monk clapped in delight and called out something in Tibetan. Instantly doors opened all around the group and young monks and several nuns gaily skipped out to join them.

The monks were composed and free and wild all at once. Then Cecilia danced followed by Irene and Louise. The monks copied them all as Altair breakdanced and Peter showed them some jazz steps. It was a hilarious introduction. The young nuns pointed and giggled.

At the end they all bowed respectfully.

“We are happy to teach you our meditation,” said the monk with a smattering of English. “Here…”

And he brought out some ancient texts all in Sanskrit that none of the group could read.

“This here,” he said. “Breathing.” He pointed to a diagram of a Yogi sitting. “Like this.” He began to demonstrate so Altair and the dancers all sat down together to practice.

The young monk, whose name was Jampa, which means loving kindness and is the Tibetan name for the Buddha Maitreya, took great pride in showing Altair sitting posture, breathing techniques and how to visualize the various deities.

“Inside or outside?” he said pointing to their rooms which were simple dwellings built of brick.

“We’d rather stay outside,” said Altair laughing as he watched a group of four monks mimicking Peter as they danced in unison across the courtyard.

“Not cold?”

They shook their heads vigorously although it was rather brisk at this high altitude.

“You,” said Jampa pointing at Altair. “Who?”

“Altair,” said Altair. “Shyam.”

The monk nodded, gesturing wide with his arms. “Space.”

“Shyam. That’s right. It means space in Sanskrit.”

Himalayas – Abode of the Snow – Padmasambhava by Nicholas Roerich

“You monk.” He tapped his chest. It was more a statement than a question.

Altair hesitated not knowing whether to nod or shake his head so he decided to smile instead. The other monks had gathered around, listening as Jampa chatted in Tibetan, translating the staccato English conversation.

Altair stayed with them like this, exchanging culture and dance, meditation and mindfulness all day until the sun went down, when he headed to the tea houses with the group and the monks and nuns to their own lodgings.

They were all well wrapped up and ready for the cold night air when they began drinking tea just before dinner.

After a few sips Altair hesitated.

“Anyone taste anything funny?”

“It all tastes the same to me, awful,” said Monica grimacing.

“Did anyone add their iodine tablets?” said Peter.

“I did,” said Altair.

“Me too,” said Monica.

Irene, Louise, and Cecilia all shook their heads.

“Boiled water?” Altair asked the owner of the tea house in Nepalese.

The owner nodded.

“Can we look?”

He gestured towards the fire where there was a pot heating over logs.

“It has to be properly boiled to be effective,” said Monica. “And if it isn’t…”

“Then the water source could be the problem,” said Altair.

“Can we see the water?” asked Altair. “Where it comes from?”

The owner nodded and took a flashlight and walked with them outside the simple shelter to the water tank around the back. High up in the mountains some of the lodgings were infamous for polluted water supplies.

Altair stood on tiptoes and looked over the edge of the water tank.

What they saw made their stomachs churn. A dead rat, some other indescribable objects and bird shit, was floating in the water.

“I’m going to be sick,” said Monica.

Altair felt his stomach clench.

“Let’s go back to the hotel.”

The hotel was little more than a wooden shell with some rooms.

And it was to this wooden shell that they were all confined together for the next three days, much of it spent moaning or going to the toilet to throw up or emit watery substances from either end, much to the dismay of the other members of the group who were trying to keep everything down.

Altair struggled up as often as he could to meditate and do yoga, which kept the food down rather than up, and he drank enormous quantities of purified water, much to the delight and then growing consternation of his ever-groaning stomach.

It was in one of these long nights that he saw Babaji. He could never be quite sure which night it was as he was so sick but the message Babaji gave was clear and direct.

Babaji looked straight at Altair with dark sparkling eyes.

His mere presence engulfed Altair in a wave of spiritual blessing.

Altair could not stand to bow at the feet of this angelic being so he let his heart kneel in front of Babaji in humility.

Babaji was young, just like in all the pictures Altair had seen of him.

Babaji had a power allowing direct telepathy between two souls so what Altair heard was like a stream of nectar flowing between two hearts.

“What do you think of the schools you have seen here?”

“I am looking for so much more sir, the blending of yoga and science, of life and literature, of love and peace.”

“Child,” the Master said, “the forces on earth are mixed, like sand and sugar, so be wise. Look for schools blessed by men and women of God-realization.”

“Sir, the Western schools are filled with science and the Eastern with philosophy. One can benefit from the other.”

“I know you are interested in the East and the West. That is why I am here.

East and West must share the golden path of spirituality and activity.

Your dreams and visions can shake material reality when founded in yoga science and meditation and transformed through action.

Altair, very soon Krishna will visit you, and help you understand your path in the West. There are many very young Yogis waiting to be awakened. You will know by the signs I send you, the Bhagavad Gita and the Goddess Saraswati. You will write about the unity between the Christ, Krishna and the Buddha. That inspired sons and daughters of God speak with the same truth.”

“Babaji, how can I undertake such a task?”

“Why do you doubt? Whose work is all this? Who is the doer behind all your actions? Who is the meditator and who dreams the dreams?”

The vision was fading. Altair bowed humbly in farewell and Babaji smiled.

“I will visit you again.”

The others were roused and looked up from their beds.

“I saw something,” said Monica. “A light. Did you have a visitor?”

Altair laughed and told them the story of Babaji. Irene looked at Altair curiously.

“Does this sort of thing often happen to you?”

“Only when I’m not expecting it,” Altair said with a smile. “I know I have to meditate more. Then I will be able to see the Great Masters hiding behind the sunlight.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” said Irene as they all laughed.

http://www.altairshyam.com/spiritual-guides-and-teachers/****

****

Babaji – Immortal Youth @ Janaka’s Art

Gratitude & Appreciation to all artists
NOTE – RECENT EDITING
Although all posts are still accessible on my Website one cannot use an ‘Old’ Link to see them. This only applies to posts shared before the recent editing. If the old Link has been saved onto a device or Home Screen it just means re-adding this with the new Link OR finding it on my website using the Search Button.  Shekinah El Daoud ♥
It may be necessary to re-subscribe to posts by Email (using the FOLLOW BUTTON).
https://lakshmiamrita.wordpress.com/

🌸🌸

YESHUA’S INITIATIONS WITH BABAJI IN INDIA ~ Altair Shyam

art Mahavatar Babaji by Delsol at Wet Canvas

Mahavatar Babaji by Delsol @ Wet Canvas

🌹

YESHUA’S INITIATIONS WITH BABAJI IN INDIA

ALTAIR SHYAM

~

I was with My Brother Yeshua in India.

Back then, the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of God entered into me, allowing me to travel in my Light Body.

This is what I saw. I am sharing here from the soul memories of Mary, Mother of James the Lesser and Joses.

Yeshua was in India from the age of seventeen to twenty four with his brother James and other relatives and disciples, some physically traveling, some like you and me traveling in our Light Bodies.

Yeshua and our group were able to access sacred texts from the wisdoms of Atlantis and Lemuria. Many of you sharing Thoth’s Tablets for example are tapping into memories from those times and before.

Great minds from even more ancient times were gathered.

All of us could read Sanskrit. So our ability to recognize sacred vibrations like OM ॐ with its original intent also comes from that time and before.

We visited caves and great temples along the banks of the rivers Sindhu, Ganga, and Brahmaputra, much in the same way as we did for the Egyptian Initiations.

The three rivers we traveled along represented the ida, pingala and sushumna of the astral spine.

There we met many Hindu and Buddhist Masters and Ascended Masters.

The teachings were pure, simple and direct. Love and compassion. Seeing the Divine in All Forms.

As I have done in this physical incarnation we went to Varanasi, Kanauj and Patna, bathing in the Ganges and immersing ourselves in the chants of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva, visiting the temples of Divine Mother in Her many forms and comprehending the many paths leading to God.

We studied mastery of the sound current and high alchemy.

We played music with sadhus, as I have also done in this life, learning ragas that altered our consciousness.

We experienced raising consciousness with high love, the practice of connecting to our Creator Source through a partner with deep devotion. It is a direct path to the True Self when it is an expression of divine love.

In order to be a Master one must understand all great creative forces and all the soul memories connected to that.

We practiced asana (body posture) pranayama (conscious breathing) mantra (sacred sound vibration) mudra (hand gestures and touching the body to activate energy) to reach samadhi (awareness of the Absolute).

We constantly attuned ourselves to the Creator Source, I AM, realizing that the body itself, as consciousness, is a map of the entire universe, which, being within us, we can use to communicate, navigate and rebuild as “God created human beings in His/Her own image” Genesis 1:27.

It was then, after such deep realizations, that we were taken to meet with the great Master Mahavatar Babaji.

Babaji is known as the Immortal Yogi-Christ because he maintains a youthful appearance while being more than three hundred years old.

I have met him just once in this physical incarnation.

His energies are so powerful it is an effort just to remain conscious.

His golden light ignites immediate tears.

His Presence inspires the deepest stillness.

Yeshua’s inner vision was opened to receive all angels, masters and saints through the luminous Light of Babaji.

In His Presence we were taken to the very centre of the Solar Sun. Our sun is an inter dimensional portal.

We were greeted by Helios and Vesta.

It was Babaji who gave Yeshua the mantra “ I AM the LIGHT”

When Babaji touches us it is as if being struck by a lightning bolt. There is a deafening silence, and no more needs to be said. Such is the power of His Shaktipat.

I remained silent for three days, Yeshua for three weeks.

Yeshua and His followers were with Babaji for a year. Over this time his disciples and relatives, even those of us in the Light Bodies, were sent to other sacred sites to continue what would unfold there as part of our missions.

We did not need to meet physically often. Communion was on the inner planes.

Sleep was almost non-existent.

Under the full moon Babaji summoned Yeshua and those disciples that still remained to a gathering in the sacred Budhil valley and from there moved to a hidden valley under the imposing reign of Mt. Kailash in the Himalayas. Again, a journey I have done in this incarnation.

We stood at an altar with a simple chalice and a bowl.

Beside Babaji stood Lord Buddha and Lord Maitreya, who like Yeshua, Lord Krishna and Mahavatar Babaji are ONE in the Cosmic Christ.

The door of our hearts were opened wide and the immeasurable Ocean of Eternal Being revealed itself.

The subtle winds of our Light Bodies blew transformative energies throughout the gathering.

Any snow that gathered around our feet was melted from the divine heat of our shared hearts.

In its place grew the tiniest most exquisite pure-white flowers.

This was a sign.

That it was here in this valley that Yeshua would spend the last part of his journey to India. In the etheric retreat of the Ascended Masters.

Love and soul blessings

** 💜 **

I am Altair, Son Of Lord Krishna, Son Of Lady Guan Yin, conscious walk-in from the Pleiadian Dolphin Isle Daenkus.

I am here to do the work of My Mother in assisting both in Mother Gaia’s ascension and by walking the Path of the Bodhisattva in seeking Krishnahood, Christhood, Buddhahood and healing for all beings.

Love and Blessings from the Source. Stephen/Altair gate gate pāragate pārasaṃgate bodhi svāhā ག༌ཏེ༌ག༌ཏེ༌པཱ༌ར༌ག༌ཏེ༌པཱ༌ར༌སཾ༌ག༌ཏེ༌བོ༌དྷི༌སྭཱ༌ཧཱ། “go, go, go beyond, go thoroughly beyond, and establish yourself in enlightenment”

ALTAIR

Altair is a teacher, healer and mystic guiding the Way of Love, Unity and Harmony for the New Gaia that we are co-creating. He teaches that We are the Way and that our freedom to be our True Self is the key to transformation. “The miracles of God lie within Us. We are the Light. We are the Temple of the One Chakra whose Awakened Infinite Light Body brings all our dreams into reality.” With deepest Love and Devotion to My Divine Mother, Lady of the Earth, Guan Yin (from the Sanskrit root Guanyin/Kuan Yin/Kwan Yin) “The Divine Mother who perceives the Sounds and Cries of Mother Gaia and Her Children.”

☆☆☆☆

ALTAIR SHYAM – meaning:
Altair (Eagle, Pillar of Heaven) and Nirbandh Shyam (Unlimited Light of Divine Mother’s Love) when I was given them I was told I would be ‘unbound’. So I AM.

☆☆☆☆

http://www.altairshyam.com/spiritual-guides-and-teachers/

🌹

Gratitude & Appreciation to all artists & photographers ~ Credit given where this is known. Any queries, please contact me, Shekinah

Song of Solitude ~ by Freydoon Rassouli