5. Seed

The life cycle is reflected in language; all the words connected with creation, fertility, reproduction, have aer (air) in them, the same aer that forms the basis of speech.

In order to grow and bear fruit, a seed must be planted in the earth. Yes, but how is this process reflected in language?

A seed must be planted in the ground in order to bear fruit. It must be buried. That is, it must disintegrate (not remain whole) in order to give rise to new life. This is surely a metaphor for our own resurrection.

So, a seed dies, and that is why the two words are connected in reverse if we interchange the front vowels e and i. We cannot bring forth new life except by being put in the ground (our ego, that is). We become dead to our selfish demands. And out of that deadness comes a new, unrestricted potential.

Alternatively, we can add the letter l to seed and get sleep (by rotating the letters d and p). Seeds have been known to sleep in the ground for hundreds of years before sprouting and giving forth new life. In the ancient world, early Christians referred to burial sites not as “graves”, but as “resting places”, because the people buried there were not dead, but asleep.

The seed dies and puts forth first a root and then a shoot. Do you see how these words are connected – seed with root (phonetic pair d-t, step in the alphabet r-s), root with shoot (step in the alphabet r-s, addition of h)?

A shoot appears above ground (reminding us of the seed’s existence), and as it does so, it closely resembles a tooth (step in the alphabet s-t) emerging from the gum. Language is often graphic like this.

As the root divides into two (too, addition of r), so the shoot divides into three and becomes a tree (addition of h). It cannot become a tree except by dividing, by putting out branches, as cells divide in the human body. This division, paradoxically, leads to increase.

One is three, as in the case of the Holy Trinity. The tree harnesses the power of the sun (Son) through each leaf (phonetic pair l-r, pair of letters that look alike f-t). It produces a flower, which wilts, giving way to a fruit (froot) with the seed in it. And the whole process begins anew.

So, we have: seed (dies/sleep)-root (two)-shoot (tooth)-tree (three)-leaf-fruit (root), all perfectly reproduced by language.

It is the earth that enables this, and perhaps it is time we notice the presence of air (written aer in Latin and Greek) in so many words that have to do with creation, fertility, reproduction: aer-earth-water-breath, bread, breast (all three sources of nourishment that share the same first four letters with the phonetic pair d-t, addition of h/s)-create-father.

They all have aer in them, just as language is impossible without breath (we add voice to our breath to form the vowels; we obstruct our breath, with or without voice, to form the consonants). This again provides a link between the physical world (we cannot live without breathing) and language (aer is in many words connected with creation).

And by taking a step in the alphabet, r-s, as we did with God-ego (d-e) and father-gather (f-g), we find aer in sea (imagine a sea without aer in it, it would be dead).

This brings us back to the account of creation in the Book of Genesis. On day three, the earth was created (spoken into being), together with the sea, plants yielding seed and the fruit tree.

All reflected in the words we speak.

Jonathan Dunne

Heart of Language 5/15

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Yamna

Yamna is a beautiful village located after the town of Etropole, 95 kilometres north-east of Sofia. The waterfall is called ‘Vranya Voda’, meaning ‘Crow Water’ – legend has it some monks were looking to found a monastery in the vicinity of Etropole and looked at this spot, when a crow alighted. The crow took off, however, and flew to the nearby site of the present-day monastery, but the event – and the name – stuck. It is not a particularly tall waterfall, but it more than makes up for any lack of height by its beauty and the beauty of the surrounding landscape. The waterfall is covered in green and yellow moss, and this makes it quite distinctive.

To reach Yamna, you must take the A2 motorway from Sofia in the direction of Varna. After Botevgrad, leave the motorway where it is signposted for Pravets and Etropole and follow the signs for Etropole, ignoring the signs for Pravets centre. You will pass Pravets Golf Club on your right. Keep going straight. After 3.3 kilometres, turn right for Etropole (still 16 km away). In another 3 kilometres on this road, you will see a sign for Pravets Monastery on your right. Keep going. After another 7 kilometres, again turn right for Etropole (now 3 km) and in 900 metres you will enter the town.

Having entered Etropole, continue on this road for 2 kilometres, where there is a sharp turning on the left, signposted for Etropole Monastery, Yamna and Teteven. Turn left here. The road takes you back on yourself. In 3 kilometres, you reach the village of Ribaritsa, which is where Etropole Monastery is situated. This was an important monastery during Ottoman times, an important scriptorium – many manuscripts were copied here. For now, keep going to Yamna, which is another 5 kilometres. 500 metres after you enter the village of Yamna, the road turns sharply left, and a dirt track diverges from the road on the right. This is the walk to the waterfall. There is a convenient verge just before the dirt track where you can park.

Yamna Waterfall is only half an hour’s walk. In ten minutes (470 metres), a path diverges from the track on the right. This path goes to Etropole Monastery and is said to take 1 hour and 50 minutes. Immediately after this path, there is a second path on the right, with yellow markers. This path will take you to the bottom of the waterfall. If you continue on the track and ignore the two paths, you will come to a field.

Take the second path. The path skirts the forest, which is above you on your right. In five minutes, it crosses a little stream, with views of Yamna on the left. In another ten minutes (1.12 km from the start of the walk), you come to a stream with a limestone bed. This is the stream that flows from the waterfall. The waterfall is up on your right. There is no set path that takes you there – you must walk on one or other bank of the stream, and in 5-10 minutes you will reach the base of the waterfall.

It is only a small area where you can stand, but it is really a privilege to be in front of a wonder of nature, the drops of water sparkling in a clear sky, the moss so soft and intricate. We really enjoyed it. We had lunch further down by the stream. The journey back to where you parked the car will take not much more than twenty minutes.

On the way back, it is imperative that you pay a visit to Etropole Monastery from Ribaritsa village. The diversion is 2.5 kilometres and well worth the effort. Not only does Etropole Monastery have an important history and provide an oasis of peace in the middle of nature, there is a second waterfall behind the monastery called Varovitets! Behind the nineteenth-century church, there is a small door in the wall of the monastery, through which you can gain access to the waterfall, which is only ten minutes away, by following the yellow signs (or the course of the river). It makes for an excellent day trip from Sofia. Not far away is Glozhene Monastery, which also has a waterfall nearby.

500 metres after you enter Yamna, the road veers left and a dirt track diverges on the right. Park here.
The track, which you follow for ten minutes (470 metres).
Take the second path on the right. This goes to the bottom of the waterfall. The track leads to a field.
A view of Yamna on the left.
The path as it arrives at the stream formed by the waterfall.
The waterfall is up on the right, a short climb away.
Yamna Waterfall.
The sparkling water.
The waterfall with the landscape behind.
The moss, a feature of this waterfall!
The katholikon (main church) of Etropole Monastery, built in 1858.
Varovitets Waterfall behind Etropole Monastery.

4. Earth

Our bodies mimic the physical environment – our heart is the earth, our soul the soil, where spiritual seeds can be planted.

Father also contains earth. And heart.

In Genesis 1:9-13, we read that the earth was created on day three, together with the sea, seed and tree (words with which it is connected).

We have seen that the vowels emerge from the throat, where language originates, in a different order from that in the alphabet. The back vowels are u and o, the central vowel is a, and the front vowels are e and i; u and i are close vowels, o and e are mid vowels, while a is an open vowel (this is why a doctor asks you to pronounce this vowel when she wants to look down your throat, because it is the most open vowel there is). So the vowels as they proceed from the throat form an inverted pyramid, according to where in the mouth they are produced:

u                                             i

o                      e

a

Now, vowels are fluid. I have already explained that they equate to water (water forms in the mouth when you hold one for long enough). This is why a vowel can be said to flow (phonetic pair f-v, addition of e). Languages like Arabic and Hebrew don’t even write them down, they only list the consonants. This means it is fairly easy to change a vowel in a word connection, especially if they are pronounced next to each other, such as a and e.

If we maintain the digraph th, then we can see that earth in reverse gives three, the day on which it was created. It also happens to be the third planet in order of increasing distance from the sun. And, in Christian theology, it was created by the Trinity (God in three persons) – the Father (the origin of breath, from whom the Holy Spirit proceeds), the Son (Christ the Word, begotten of the Father) and the Holy Spirit (breath or wind, pneuma in Greek, the basis of all speech). So we can understand why the number three might be so important for earth.

While a seed is planted in the earth in order for it to grow, a spiritual seed has to be planted in another kind of earth – our heart. This is why the two words are connected. It is not enough for us to hear a spiritual message, we have to take the message on board, to let it into our hearts, where the seed of an idea can grow and bear fruit.

We might then remember the layer of something that surrounds the earth like a shell or a circumference: soil. We cannot place the seed on a rock or among thorns if we want it to grow. We must place it in the soil.

Again, when it is a question of a spiritual seed, there is another kind of soil where we must plant it – our soul. This is where the spiritual seed will bear fruit.

So, earth-heart, soil-soul (containing the close vowels, u and i).

Language is drawing a comparison between the physical environment and our own bodies, in which the heart takes precedence (and where the soul is perhaps a layer around it, as soil is a layer around the earth).

Jonathan Dunne

Heart of Language 4/15

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Kamena Vourla

In the distance

is the last

broken shard

home

The tallest

mountain of all

so faint

it almost merges

with the sky

People are not

aware

it’s coming

They swim

in the sea

drink coffee

think of supper

and things

that might have been

revisit their youth

the lessons learned

and not wanted again

You must become

a man

before you can become

a god-man

Christ in reverse

You must know

what it is to hurt

and be hurt

even when it is

undeserved

You stand in the morning

and turn

from the sun’s path

to where the sun

is pointing

That is your ascent

You are not alone

You might even find yourself

in company

like the parrots

in Porphyrios’s cage

nestling up to each other

their necks shaped

for this

Loss is hard

means sleeping with a stranger

the old shape

has gone

been stripped of its punctuation

it is no longer

surrounded by words

it is now a thought

waiting to be spoken

The old text is useless

it can only be recycled

or observed

The smell has gone

the adoration

the string of syllables

proffered

like bubbles in the ocean

The breath has returned

It is being held now

by the Alchemist himself

whose memory has no limit

who only ever ascribes

good intentions

to the languages he has learned

Language is our vehicle

our rocket to the stars

which are full stops

glowing

in the darkness

of our hearts

Sunday, 5 pm

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The Alchemist – icon of Christ in Athens Metropolitan Cathedral, dating from the late 1800s.

Aegina

We sit

on white slabs of stone

There are fewer of us

now

The seagulls

horizontal apostrophes

find this funny

or at least

they guffaw momentarily

it’s not easy

keeping punctuation afloat

airborne

and at the same time

keeping up with the boat

Loss

is a small chair

in the church

meant for a child

but the adults use them

Actually

they are quite comfortable

it’s nice

being closer to the floor

the perspective is different

The saint’s eyes

follow you

wherever you go

whatever you may

have thought you were

he knows

Hours of standing in church

that willingness to be there

to stay upright

even when the ship

lurches

That act of resolution

is all we are

is everything

The time passes

seems not to exist

I have experienced this

before

Ten minutes is

two hours

two hours

a gesture

kneeling on the floor

helping someone

unhook their chain

their cross

their anchor

A cross

is all that anchors you

to this world

I look up

The passengers are

even fewer

more whiteness

confronts my eyes

People are black words

time a blank page

waiting to be filled

Saturday, 10.15 am

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St Nectarios of Aegina

Piraeus

There is a sign

A man is running

towards some steps

that go down

An arrow

emanating from his chest

points him (you and me)

in that direction

though he is too big

for the stairs

which reach

up to his left arm

he rather looks

as if

he will collide

with the back of them

If he were to stand

on the stairs

where would they take him?

In a downward direction

Back to land

There is no suggestion

that the man

should climb up

to the blue sky

with nothing to hold

onto

The boat is silent

(apart from that hum)

it doesn’t take part

in the people’s conversations

shrieks screams

loud guffaws

or the dog’s bark

It is level with the horizon

the container ships

huts on stilts

for men who fish

on a lungful of air

more shards

the mirror here

in a better condition

almost complete

the force behind it

pushing it to meet

what will come

Friday, 4.15 pm

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Prokopi

Religion

is the combination

of time and eternity

movement and stillness

We are on board a ship

Even the chairs are slanted

(or is it the floor

that is slanted

and the chairs

that follow suit?)

We are a tray of buttons

of different colours

shapes and sizes

We lift the lid

and take them out

for a time

watch how they glint

in the early sunlight

As on a ferryboat

I am still

it is the boat that moves

but when we touch land

the roles are reversed

it is I who move

the boat is still

Religion

is the combination

of time and eternity

movement and stillness

Sometimes I am there

sometimes my mind wanders

my eye flies in the rafters

enters the folds of clothes

burns in the candlelight

like a piece of fluff

stray cotton

I grow smaller

and am glad

of the change

glad of the company

the gold mask

turned towards me

the skin charred

the teeth white

and sharp

I cling to the back of the chair

in front of me

and watch

the sea pass

Friday, 11 am

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Glyfa

The boat is like

an electrical wire

It hums

There is a wire also

on the horizon

a fuzzy white line

that marks the place

where sea meets land

or nothingness

Those broken shards again

some so old

they’ve almost become sky

What is comforting

in this passage

between two points?

The hum

with its regular crescendo

(the boat’s heartbeat)

knowing you are in the hands

of something bigger

which will still be here

tomorrow

plying the same route

the movement

and stillness

all in one

the dots of light

that reflect off the surface

like static

the cast-iron shadows

so well defined

the shadow of the thing

is clearer

easier to see

than reality

but I wouldn’t try

to hold on

The being on the way

in between brackets

that place in language

away from grand statements

where life is best lived

Thursday, 2 pm

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Kulata

The hills next to Kulata

are a broken mirror

each peak a shard

that has fallen

to the ground

lost its place

abdicated responsibility

The windmills are

little hairs

stuck under the glass

How they got there

how they lodged so fast

no one knows

The mirror itself

is the sun

an actress waiting

to go on stage

Her glow precedes her

Her cheeks flush

The light from

her dressing room

streaming through

the open door

warns of her imminent coming

You have barely

settled in your seat

and she is there

You realize you never actually

saw her

enter the stage

You saw she was coming

and then she was there

Someone spilt their coffee

abdicated responsibility

Suddenly they were not there

The coffee spread

like molten lava

reflecting

the new sunlight

and the cleaning lady

whose day had just begun

was left to mop up

the molten copper

precious sunlight

carelessly spilt

to give her work

This is what happens

when a drop of wonder

falls into our world

Thursday, 7 am

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