Samuel Bendeck Sotillos reflects on the modern epidemic of homelessness and its spiritual causes.

“Peace be both to thee, and peace be to thine house, and peace be unto all that thou hast.”
—1 Samuel 25:6

“And Allāh had made your homes a place of rest for you.”
—Qur’ān 16:80

“Our age is seen as the most homeless of all.” 
—Maurice Friedman

“Uprootedness is by far the most dangerous malady to which human societies are exposed.”
—Simone Weil

Throughout the modern world, we come across deeply disturbing images of millions of unhoused people in every major city. We see tents lined up along concrete sidewalks against towering soulless buildings, bodies lying on flimsy pieces of cardboard ruthlessly exposed to the elements, with some encampments extending up to fifty city blocks. We observe involuntary migration or displacement on a staggering scale, as a result of regional conflict, violence, genocide, or natural disasters. In many ways, we have become anesthetized to seeing such images and hearing about the devastating plight, if not sheer dehumanization, of people in these circumstances. What are we to make of this dire situation, and what are its implications for humanity?

In this essay we revisit what it means to have a “home” to gain insight into the growing epidemic of homelessness. Home is more than just a physical dwelling. For many spiritual traditions, it is an extension of our places of worship—sacred abodes for prayer and contemplation. In our itinerant world, staying in motels, shelters, makeshift encampments, or automobiles or on couches for long durations has forced us to rethink conventional notions of home: yet another sign of our present-day uprootedness, which is inseparable from the spiritual crisis that plagues the modern world.

…if we do not grasp the spiritual roots of the problem, it can never be solved.

Physical homelessness is both a symbol and an effect of the spiritual homelessness from which the postmodern world is suffering. This is not to minimize the grave nature of physical homelessness that is so prevalent today. But if we do not grasp the spiritual roots of the problem, it can never be solved. The loss of a sense of the sacred has unleashed a pernicious nihilism, accompanied by a corresponding degradation of dignity resulting from a spiritual abyss that can never be filled by the profane world. This disorder has inflicted an unhealable wound on the contemporary psyche.

A key element of our collective psyche today is the phenomenon of alienation and its corollary, displacement, both literally and in terms of our isolated identities. Mental health professionals attempt to assess, diagnose, and treat illnesses of the mind without acknowledging the suffering caused by the ubiquitous secularism of our desacralized world. Without understanding the historical developments that led to the rise of modernity—the Renaissance, along with the Scientific Revolution that gave rise to the Age of Enlightenment—it is difficult to understand how this trajectory radically undermined traditional notions of a healthy and integrated self. Mental health treatments in our day are still based on the fragmented and scientistic foundations of the Enlightenment project, and thus they fail to address—at their root—the multifarious calamities facing humanity during our current age of acute existential crisis.

Chronic homelessness is, arguably, the result of the social experiment of deinstitutionalization. The removal of people with severe mental illness from asylums and the closing down of many mental hospitals (which began in 1955) is known as deinstitutionalization. The paradox of this policy is that many of the mentally ill, who had been confined—against their will—in wretched conditions were later sent to prisons. The incarceration statistics clearly show the over-representation of such individuals in the penitentiary system. The transition of mental health treatment from psychiatric hospitals to community-based centers has been disastrous owing to poor infrastructure and inadequate funding. While deinstitutionalization appeared to be liberating people from the unjust practice of inhumane confinement, it effectively abandoned the mentally ill to a dismal and uncertain future.

Spirituality—as informed by the world’s religions—must be seriously considered as a means of recovery from mental health problems, such as trauma, alcoholism, and substance abuse, and it can serve as a protective factor against the adversities experienced with homelessness. 

Prior to modernism, the world’s traditional cultures viewed human beings as both geomorphic (of the earth) and theomorphic (of the Spirit). There is a transcendent and immanent reality that connects us to the whole of existence. Sacred psychology is able to discern the tripartite constitution of human beings and that of the cosmos—of which we are but a mirror—consisting of Spirit, soul, and body; or the spiritual, psychic, and corporeal states. In the same way that the human heart is a habitation for the Divine presence, the physical home is a mirror of our metaphysical home. This is to say that human beings have both a temporal residence in this world and an eternal abode. There is a powerful connection between the created order and the Divine. It is worth recalling that the word ecology derives from the Greek word oikos (meaning “home” or “dwelling”).  The ecological ethic requires us to appreciate our home. It entails stewardship and tending, based on our interconnectedness and concomitant responsibilities towards creation as a whole. Our true home, in other words, is the Sacred.

A metaphysical outlook distinguishes a horizontal from a vertical dimension of both our identity and the whole of reality. Horizontal homelessness is a displacement from our humanity, from our rootedness in geography and community, while vertical homelessness is a displacement of the soul from the Spirit. Without a sense of the sacred roots of existence, we find ourselves in a decentered cosmos, adrift in a sea of not only spiritual disorientation but actual homelessness. Having lost connection with the Transcendent, we become disconnected from our ontological foundations, with an unsettling malaise, without necessarily being aware of its true cause.

It is by blinding ourselves to our sacred place in the cosmos that we become spiritually homeless. In a very general sense, the following events of our modern intellectual history have led to our spiritual sense of homelessness.

The first is the cosmological blow, more commonly known as the “Copernican revolution” attributed to Nicolaus Copernicus (1473–1543), which unmoored the human being from traditional understandings of reality, from his traditional Center: in particular, from a conception of the person as a microcosm; as the Sufi adage says, “Man is a little cosmos, and the cosmos is like a big man.” Historian of science Alexandre Koyré (1892–1964) regarded this event as the “scientific and philosophical…destruction of the Cosmos.” 

The second is the biological blow, or what has been dubbed the “Darwinian revolution” attributed to Charles Darwin (1809–1882), which reduced humanity to mere animality. It cut Man off from his traditional Origin: as Imago Dei. The following statement situates the theoretical ground from which behavioristic psychology, not unlike psychoanalysis, was able to solidify the worldview of modernity: “Darwin challenged a practice of segregation in which man set himself firmly apart from the animals, and the bitter struggle which arose is not yet ended. But … Darwin put man in his biological place…” 

The third is the psychological blow—the “psychoanalytic revolution” attributed to Sigmund Freud (1856–1939), who attacked pre-modern modes of knowing. He undermined the traditional distinction between reason (ratio) and the Intellect (Intellectus), thus proclaiming that human beings are governed by unconscious or instinctual forces that exist beyond the normal reaches of our awareness. This cut Man off from the Logos. Freud writes: “Man’s intellect is powerless in comparison with his instinctual life.”  This subverts the notion of the Intellect or “eye of the heart” as a transcendent faculty that directly apprehends that “the Ego is not master in its own house.”  This served to further undermine the metaphysical symbolism of our kinship with the cosmos.

Cut off reductively from Transcendence, the sensory domain becomes one-dimensional, without substance, and disorienting. American philosopher E.A. Burtt (1892–1989) describes the problem:

The world that people had thought themselves living in—a world rich with colour and sound, redolent with fragrance, filled with gladness, love and beauty, speaking everywhere of purposive harmony and creative ideals—was crowded now into minute corners in the brains of scattered organic beings. The really important world outside was a world hard, cold, colourless, silent, and dead. 

“To be rooted is perhaps the most important and least recognized need of the human soul.”
(Simone Weil)

In the traditional view, Man is both of the earth and the Spirit. This interconnection complements and harmonizes our sense of unity within ourselves and with each other, and with the created order. It is vital for us to have an awareness of spiritual rootedness. Simone Weil (1909–1943) addresses the need for the person to have roots:

A human being has roots by virtue of his real, active and natural participation in the life of a community…. This participation is a natural one, in the sense that it is automatically brought about by place, conditions of birth, profession and social surroundings. Every human being needs to have multiple roots. It is necessary for him to draw wellnigh the whole of his moral, intellectual and spiritual life by way of the environment of which he forms a natural part. 

She adds, “To be rooted is perhaps the most important and least recognized need of the human soul.”  Swiss physician Paul Tournier (1898–1986) referred to the pathology of this condition as being “spiritually uprooted.”  Homelessness on the physical plane is a manifestation of what one might call “transcendental homelessness.” 

Traditionally, human beings felt at home in the cosmos, yet intuitively they knew that their ultimate abode was in the Spiritual Realm. The home is a microcosm of the macrocosm. Mircea Eliade (1907–1986), the Romanian historian of religion, writes: “The house is an imago mundi [image of the world].”  Across all spiritual traditions, René Guénon (1886–1951) observes that “The house was … an image of the Cosmos, that is, a ‘little world’, closed and complete in itself.”  Frithjof Schuon (1907–1998) also speaks to the metaphysical significance of our true abode, noting that it is known by the First Peoples, for example, as the “primordial Home that everywhere manifests the Great Spirit.”  Within the final revelation of this temporal cycle, the Islamic tradition views the home as an extension of the place of worship. The longing for the Absolute, as Seyyed Hossein Nasr explains, is what allows us to connect our terrestrial with our spiritual home: “It is through reminiscence of his original abode that man begins to have a nostalgia for his veritable home, and with the help of illuminative knowledge he is able to reach that abode.” 

The view of modernity differs radically from this realization; for example, Le Corbusier (Charles-Édouard Jeanneret, 1887–1965) famously remarked that “A house is a machine for living in.”  Art historian and metaphysician Ananda Coomaraswamy (1877–1947) made the following observation about the rift between the modern and the traditional perspectives: “Those who think of their house as only a ‘machine to live in’ should judge their point of view by that of Neolithic man, who also lived in a house, but a house that embodied a cosmology.” 

By divesting a home of its sacred cosmology, we become rendered estranged from ourselves, others, and the natural world. American cultural historian William Barrett (1913–1992) has noted that “the worst and final form of alienation … is man’s alienation from his own self.”  He discusses the connection between the collective state of estrangement and the rise of homelessness:

[M]an’s feeling of homelessness, of alienation has been intensified in the midst of a bureaucratized, impersonal mass society. He has come to feel himself an outsider even within his own human society. He is trebly alienated: a stranger to God, to nature, and to the gigantic social apparatus that supplies his material wants.

We recall here the wisdom of the following African proverb: “When a nation is about to come to ruin, the cause begins in the homes”  of its people. As the broader culture begins to weaken, it inevitably affects life in the home, and the degradation of home life undermines the whole of society. Simone Weil has remarked on the profound cultural implications of rootlessness: “Amidst all the present forms of the uprooting malady, the uprooting of culture is not the least alarming … relations being cut, each thing is looked upon as an end in itself.” 

In such a state of spiritual disorientation, even if we seek security everywhere in the horizontal domain, we will never find it, and are doomed to restlessness. It is in the vertical dimension alone that we can find our true sanctuary and refuge.

Spiritual poverty is not a deprivation, but a profound submission to the Divine: “Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:3); and likewise, “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me” (Matthew 25:35). The goal of the spiritual traditions was never to establish a utopia on earth, for Christ said: “My kingdom is not of this world” (John 18:36). It is not that the unhoused are without faith or belief in the Divine; rather, they are facing the consequences of what happens when humanity becomes uprooted. It is a corrosive condition that gradually subverts and, as we are noting, overwhelms humanity.

Notions of homelessness existed within all the world’s faith traditions, yet they represented a form of detachment from worldliness, entailing sacrifice and asceticism whereby life is devoted to the sacred. For example, there is the practice of renouncing possessions and abandoning all social ties known as “entering into homelessness” (Sanskrit: pravrajyā; Pāli: pabbajjā). There is also the “homeless one” (Sanskrit/Pāli: anagārika), which is contrasted with the “householder” (Japanese: zaike) or a person who lives as a layperson within a spiritual tradition. However, the vocation of a monk was only meant for those who were especially qualified to follow an austere life devoted to such a calling; it was never meant for the common person. Then again, there are those within other spiritual traditions who practice similar austerities; for example, the Christian tradition has the “Fools for Christ” and, in Islam, there are the Malāmatiyya (“those who invite reproach”), along with the Avadhūta (“those who have shaken off the world”) in the Hindu tradition.

Owing to the stigma associated with “homelessness,” the terminology has recently changed to “unhoused.” Being homeless implies that a person does not have a physical residence, which suggests personal failure, whereas “unhoused” highlights a structural issue about the shortcomings of society at large. Whatever words are used, this problem remains complex and intractable without a spiritually-rooted solution.

In a broader historical context, what does it mean when a people’s territory has been confiscated in an attempt to displace them, if not eradicate them—how do we understand this notion of homelessness when, prior to this theft, aboriginal communities were rooted in their traditional lands since time immemorial? While there were always exceptions, such as we find with nomadic peoples, home is recognized as a place of permanence even though the location may be constantly shifting. As the Japanese poet Matsuo Bashō (1644–1694) writes: “[E]very day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.”  To be sure, nomads experience stability by being anchored in the sacred conditions of their natural surroundings, and thus do not consider themselves homeless. Indeed, the nomadic way of life abides in “a state of remembrance” concerning one’s true domicile, which is located beyond the temporal order, even while fully immersed in it. However, urban life with its fixed sedentary structures, when devoid of sacred tradition, can make it easier to forget our celestial origins.

For the ancients—continuing up to the traditional peoples of the present day—home is understood as having both a transcendent and immanent aspect. This is conveyed in the Hermetic maxim “God is an infinite sphere whose center is everywhere, whose circumference is nowhere.”  At the core of a human being lies the indwelling Spirit. Because our spiritual homeland can be found within us, wherever we find ourselves and under whatever conditions we may exist, our Center abiding in this reality is always accessible. This is illuminated here: “The kingdom of God is withinyou” (Luke 17:21),“I am the Self … seated in the heart of all beings”  (Bhagavad Gītā 10:20), or “Heaven and earth cannot contain Me, but the heart of My faithful servant containeth Me” (hadīth qudsī). Thus, the human vocation lies in finding our way back from the periphery of phenomenal life to the abiding reality at the heart of all things.

We are witness today to the widespread dissolution of all traditional structures. Homelessness is a societal cancer as it spreads its dystopic tentacles throughout the world. Whatever we may think of people struggling to cope with this situation, we cannot make this epidemic invisible or turn a blind eye to it. What is missing from a worldly understanding of this phenomenon is that one of the manifestations of ontological alienation is indeed physical homelessness. A profound severance from ourselves, each other, and the cosmos has caused a tumultuous disorientation. When we fail to be socially integrated, we collapse into disorder. The homelessness crisis is not solely the problem of the person experiencing this affliction, but reflects, at a deeper level, the tragic fracturing of our culture and our link to a sacred web that connects us all.

To understand this, we need to realize that our true “home” is much more than having four walls, a foundation, and a roof over our heads. It is the same sky that we share as a canopy. It is the same Sun that sustains us. To restore what has been lost, we need to be aware of the spiritual crisis in our midst and its broader ramifications for humanity. In as much as we are living our lives in a world that chooses to degrade the Sacred, we are inevitably suffering the consequences of being homeless in a quintessential sense. To be human is to be called to the Transcendent, and the soul cannot rest until it returns to its abiding home in the Spirit, a journey that must be supported through our adherence to one of humanity’s divinely revealed sapiential traditions. This is why, time and time again, we continually hear the following call in the midst of our forgetfulness: “Return to your original home!” 

Romania’s long-standing tradition of wood carving, particularly in darker hardwoods, is one of the country’s most visually striking and spiritually rich cultural achievements. From the hills of Maramureș to the monasteries of Bucovina, this tradition reflects not only craftsmanship but the deeper soul of a Christian rural people. These carvings are not whimsical folk decorations but solemn expressions of faith, memory, and hierarchy. They carry symbols of eternal truths, often placed at the thresholds of homes and churches where heaven and earth are believed to meet.

The visual language of carved wood in Romania is steeped in Christian theology, ancestral reverence, and cosmic symbolism. These are not anonymous peasant items for tourist admiration, but sacred artifacts shaped by centuries of continuity. Men carved gates for their family homes with the same intention with which they built altars in churches. The care, time, and attention given to each design points toward a culture that values moral order, beauty, and permanence.

The prevalence of darker tones in Romanian wood carving is partially due to the natural aging of walnut, oak, and beech, but also a deliberate choice to create contrast and depth. Smoke from candles and hearths, linseed oil, and hand-rubbing methods over generations darkened the surfaces even further. The result is an aesthetic that is solemn and grave yet full of warmth and light when struck by sunlight or candle flame.

These carved forms continue to shape Romania’s cultural identity. Whether viewed in a village church or preserved in a national museum, they offer a rare continuity with a past where Christianity was not merely professed but carved into the very walls of daily life. The dark wood of Romania holds memory and meaning as surely as any illuminated manuscript or fresco.

Maramureș: The Heart of Wooden Romania

The region of Maramureș, located in northern Romania, remains the beating heart of the country’s wooden tradition. In its villages, wooden architecture is not merely functional but spiritual. Church towers rise like needles above thick forests, their forms echoing both steeples and watchtowers. Here, wood is not an alternative to stone, but a preferred material infused with meaning, humility, and ancestral significance.

The wooden churches of Maramureș are renowned for their harmonious proportions, towering spires, and steep roofs. Constructed between the 17th and 18th centuries, many are now UNESCO World Heritage Sites, including the churches of Bărsana (1720), Ieud Deal (1364 but rebuilt in later centuries), and Poienile Izei (1604). Built without nails, these churches use local oak and fir to create a sacred space that unites heaven and earth in verticality and symbol. The darkened interiors, aged by incense and smoke, preserve Biblical frescoes and intricate carvings.

The Wooden Churches of Maramureș

Each church in Maramureș features a carefully carved portal that leads into a sacred enclosure. Designs include rosettes, twisted ropes, and crosses carved in relief, symbolizing life, eternity, and the Holy Trinity. The doors themselves often tell stories from the Gospels or Old Testament, rendered in stylized forms passed down through local traditions. Walls and ceilings contain wooden beams marked with initials, blessings, or protective symbols.

These churches are not relics of a dead past. They continue to host baptisms, weddings, and liturgies. Local priests and laypeople maintain the wooden structures, understanding them not only as architectural heritage but as living altars. In many cases, the original master carver’s name has been forgotten, in keeping with the Orthodox principle that sacred work should point toward God, not man.

Gates as Guardians of Tradition

Maramureș is equally famous for its massive carved gates, which often stand taller than the homes they guard. These gates, typically built from oak, are adorned with interlaced patterns, symbols of eternity, sun wheels, and depictions of the tree of life. The rope motif, carved in twisted relief, signifies continuity between generations and the unbroken chain of Christian family lineage.

A typical Maramureș gate includes a small covered shelter, under which visitors stand before knocking. This space is symbolically important; it marks a threshold between the outer world and the sanctity of the home. The craftsmanship of these gates was historically a point of pride, often prepared by a groom before his wedding as a demonstration of readiness and virtue. Today, such gates remain in use, cherished by those who still live close to the soil and the old rhythms of life.

Notable Wooden Churches in Maramureș:

• Church of Bărsana (1720) – famous for its high spire and floral motifs

• Church of Poienile Izei (1604) – known for interior Biblical frescoes

• Church of Ieud Deal (originally 1364) – one of the oldest and most revered

• Church of Rogoz (1663) – unique architectural plan and symbolic beams

• Church of Săpânța (1766) – features rare painted elements on exterior walls

Symbolism in the Grain: Carved Theology

Romanian wood carving is rooted in a symbolic vocabulary that pre-dates modern notions of “decorative” art. Each motif holds spiritual meaning, whether derived from Christian theology or older cosmological symbols adapted to sacred use. The designs are often abstract, geometric, and stylized, allowing them to be deeply meditative while remaining culturally recognizable.

The carved tree of life is perhaps the most frequent and powerful symbol found on Romanian gates, beds, and doors. Representing the axis mundi, it connects the heavens, earth, and underworld. In Christian interpretation, the tree also calls to mind both the Tree in the Garden of Eden and the Cross of Christ. The vertical alignment of these carvings mirrors the layout of a church—with heaven above, the earth in the middle, and the foundation of tradition and law below.

The Tree of Life and the Axis Mundi

This carved motif often features a central trunk with symmetrical branches rising upward. It may be flanked by birds, sun wheels, or geometric spirals. In Orthodox Christianity, this image evokes both the continuity of divine providence and the singular sacrifice of the Crucifixion. Found on both churches and household items, it reminds the viewer of the link between everyday life and spiritual ascent.

In rural belief, the tree also protected the household from misfortune. A tree carved into the gate or bed frame functioned not just as art but as a prayer. Carvers selected their designs with care, balancing aesthetic harmony with theological significance. The unity of symbol and material remains a distinctive feature of Romanian Christian craft.

The Rope of Eternity and the Wheel of the Sun

Another enduring motif is the twisted rope, usually carved in spiral relief. This “infinite knot” symbolizes eternity, the unbroken succession of days and generations under God’s rule. Often, it encircles doorways, candle holders, or even wooden columns. It serves both as a frame and as a visual expression of the continuity of time.

The rope is often carved on the supporting poles of the front porch, pridvor, a symbol of infinity meant to protected the household and connected the earth to the infinite and blessed Heavens above.

The sun wheel, often rendered as a cross within a circle, represents light, resurrection, and the divine order. Though similar to symbols found in pre-Christian Europe, in Romanian carving these wheels are interpreted through a Christian lens. They often appear near altar areas, on gates, or incorporated into icons. Their message is one of hope and divine clarity amid the darkness of the fallen world.

Wood and Worship: The Orthodox Legacy

Wood has long held a sacred role in the Orthodox Christian tradition in Romania. Unlike the grand marble cathedrals of Western Europe, Romanian churches—especially in the countryside—embrace the warmth and humility of wood. This choice is not simply practical; it reflects theological priorities. Wood is organic, tied to the Incarnation of Christ, and speaks to a God who entered the created world, not as a king in a palace, but as a carpenter in a humble village.

Romania’s Orthodox churches incorporate carved wood in nearly every sacred object: iconostases, bishop’s thrones, lecterns, choir stalls, and candle holders. These elements are not ornamental extras but integral to the worship experience. They surround the faithful with visual theology. In some monasteries, such as the 15th-century Putna Monastery founded by Stephen the Great in 1466, carved wooden interiors enhance the solemnity of monastic life while reinforcing hierarchy and order.

The Iconostasis as a Lattice of Heaven

At the heart of every Orthodox church stands the iconostasis—a screen of icons and carvings that separates the nave from the altar. In Romania, these screens are often made of dark walnut or oak, intricately carved with vines, flowers, angels, and interlacing patterns. The purpose is not concealment but revelation—this carved wall becomes a spiritual veil through which glimpses of heaven are offered. The doors in the iconostasis, known as the Royal Doors, are particularly ornate and often include scenes of the Annunciation or the Four Evangelists.

Monasteries such as Voroneț, Humor, and Moldovița, while known for their exterior frescoes, also preserve carved wooden iconostases inside. In parish churches, these icon screens are typically the work of local artisans rather than urban guilds. Passed down through generations, the carving techniques used remain consistent with Orthodox canons, ensuring the sacredness of space is preserved across time.

Choir Stalls, Lecterns, and Thrones

Beyond the iconostasis, carved wood appears in many other sacred furnishings. Choir stalls, where the faithful or clergy stand during long services, are often engraved with protective motifs and scriptural inscriptions. Their high backs and armrests offer physical support but also represent the dignity of worship.

Lecterns used for Gospel readings and bishop’s thrones at the sides of the altar are similarly adorned. Even candle stands are carefully carved, often featuring grapevine motifs to evoke the Eucharist. In many churches, these objects were crafted as acts of devotion, donated by families or brotherhoods who saved for years to commission them. The act of carving was thus both spiritual and communal—a gift to the Church and to God.

Folk Carving in the Romanian Home

Romanian wood carving was never confined to ecclesiastical settings. The same symbols and skills found in village churches reappear in household items that mark the seasons of life—birth, marriage, labor, and death. In rural homes, almost every wooden object bore a mark of craftsmanship: cradles, chairs, beds, spoons, and cupboards were carved with motifs that blended beauty with blessing.

These folk carvings were not kitsch or idle decoration; they functioned as moral and spiritual signposts. The presence of Christian symbols in the home reinforced the faith lived out daily. A cradle might bear carvings of doves and crosses, offering both protection and beauty to a newborn. A chest for storing dowry linens would feature interlaced patterns and prayers carved along the lid.

Dowry Chests andWedding pillars

One of the most cherished items in a Romanian household was the dowry chest, given to a bride by her family and often carved by her father or groom. These chests, known as “lada de zestre,” were made of walnut or fir and served as storage for linens, clothing, and sacred items like icons. Carvings on the chest often included the rope of eternity, the tree of life, or prayers in Old Romanian script.

Wedding pillars or carved marriage beams were another traditional feature, sometimes installed at the entryway of the couple’s new home. These would be dated, inscribed with the couple’s names, and feature blessings for fertility, unity, and the protection of saints. Such objects grounded marriage in both tradition and transcendence, marking it as a sacred union under God’s watch.

Tools, Furniture, and Daily Life

Even the most utilitarian objects in Romanian homes carried carved meaning. Wooden spoons were often shaped with care and gifted at significant moments, such as baptisms or the completion of a house. Spinning wheels used by women to prepare wool included floral and vine motifs, tying labor to beauty and symbol.

Stools and beds were made with sturdy joints and adorned with Christian symbols or repeating geometrical patterns. Even the hearth, the center of the home, might have carved beams featuring crosses or phrases of blessing. In this world, nothing was purely functional—everything had a place in the moral and spiritual life of the household.

Traditional Carved Household Items and Their Meanings:

• Cradle – Carved with birds or vines to symbolize life and divine protection

• Dowry Chest – Rope of eternity and Christian symbols representing permanence

• Wooden Spoon – Gifted at baptisms; symbolic of nourishment and care

• Spinning Wheel – Decorated with vines and stars, linking labor with beauty

• Marriage Beam – Inscriptions marking marriage as sacred and lasting

Materials and Methods: The Craft Itself

Romanian wood carving is distinguished not only by its symbolism but also by its precise techniques and choice of materials. Artisans traditionally used native hardwoods such as walnut, oak, and beech—woods that are strong, dense, and capable of holding fine detail. These trees were readily available in the Carpathian forests and harvested with reverence, often in accordance with seasonal and religious calendars. Each species lent its own character: walnut offered dark richness, oak provided structure, and beech was favored for its smooth grain.

Tools were simple yet effective. Traditional carvers relied on chisels, gouges, adzes, and knives—usually hand-forged by local blacksmiths. Without the use of modern electric tools, every line was the result of deliberate human effort. The slowness of the process was seen as a virtue; it allowed for contemplation and prayer. In village communities, carving was not an isolated profession but a seasonal activity performed by farmers, shepherds, and priests in their quieter months.

Staining and Preservation

The dark coloration that characterizes Romanian wood carving is often the result of both time and technique. In many cases, the wood darkens naturally through aging, exposure to smoke, and the absorption of oils from human touch. Smoke from candles and hearth fires would cling to iconostases and ceilings, lending a natural patina over generations. Some families also applied linseed oil or beeswax to preserve the carvings, deepening the contrast between carved recesses and raised surfaces.

In some regions, certain stains or iron oxide compounds were used to achieve a deeper tone deliberately, though the aesthetic remained rooted in subtlety and restraint. The goal was never artificial enhancement but reverent preservation. Even today, when restorers treat old pieces, they take care not to over-clean or strip away the accumulated history that gives Romanian woodwork its spiritual gravity.

Transmission of the Craft

The knowledge of wood carving was passed down through generations, often within families or small religious communities. Boys learned by watching their fathers and grandfathers, first handling scrap wood and eventually taking on sacred commissions. In monastic settings, younger monks were taught the discipline as part of their spiritual formation. Carving was not merely manual labor—it was regarded as a sacred offering, a way to glorify God through the work of human hands.

The names of the greatest village carvers are rarely known, and that anonymity was intentional. Pride was considered a spiritual danger. In some cases, however, a master carver’s style became so distinctive that his work could be recognized by fellow craftsmen. This silent tradition, passed on with humility, helped preserve stylistic integrity and theological depth long before the arrival of formal art academies or folklore institutes.

Survival Under Hard Times

The tradition of Romanian wood carving faced one of its greatest trials during the communist era, which began in 1947 and lasted until the fall of the regime in December 1989. The official atheist ideology promoted by the state sought to erase religious expression from public life. Churches were demolished or closed, clergy imprisoned or surveilled, and sacred symbols suppressed. Yet, wood carving endured — quietly, steadfastly, and with moral purpose.

In villages where traditions ran deep, artisans continued to carve religious motifs, often under the pretense of making “folk art” or “decorative furniture.” These works retained their sacred meaning to those who carved and received them, even if the authorities demanded secular explanations. Homes still bore carved crosses above doorways, and dowry chests continued to include symbols of faith passed off as mere tradition. Under the guise of rural heritage, the truth of Christian belief lived on in wood.

Silent Resistance Through Wood

For many carvers, their work became a form of silent resistance. When church commissions dried up or became dangerous, they turned to carving for the home and for trusted members of their community. Gates, cradles, and candle stands carried Christian symbols that required no explanation for those who understood their meanings. These artisans were not loud dissidents; they were guardians of sacred order.

In some regions, small chapels were secretly maintained or built on private land using traditional materials. Carvings were hidden from public view but revealed during family rites of passage. These acts of spiritual perseverance helped preserve a sense of Christian identity that outlasted the regime’s efforts to erase it. Through wood, a memory of holiness was handed down even when churches were padlocked and hymnals banned.

Hidden Messages in Design

The language of symbols allowed carvers to embed Christian meanings without drawing the attention of the state. A rope of eternity on a gate could be explained as a folk motif, but for the faithful, it remained a reminder of eternal life. The wheel of the sun, while officially interpreted as a peasant design, continued to represent Christ as the Light of the World. Through abstraction and stylization, Romanian craftsmen protected the sacred from desecration.

These coded messages were not invented during communism, but they took on new importance under it. They allowed faith to remain embedded in daily life without provoking retaliation. In this way, wood carving served as both cultural memory and spiritual lifeline — a testimony to truth endured, not merely told.

Romanian Wood Carving Today

Since the fall of communism in 1989, Romania has experienced a revival of interest in its traditional crafts, with dark wood carving regaining its rightful place as a living art form rather than a relic of the past. The re-opening of churches, monasteries, and rural festivals has created a renewed demand for carved gates, altars, and sacred furnishings. Young artisans, often the children or grandchildren of village carvers, are now continuing the tradition, blending historical reverence with practical adaptations for the modern age.

This renewal is visible in both sacred and secular settings. New churches, especially in northern Romania, are often constructed entirely from wood in the old Maramureș style, complete with carved steeples, iconostases, and altar screens. In towns and cities, carved gates and wooden balconies are making a return in residential architecture, not out of nostalgia, but as a declaration of rootedness. Museums such as the Village Museum in Bucharest and the Wood Art Museum in Câmpulung Moldovenesc preserve masterworks while also supporting living artisans through exhibitions and workshops.

Preserving the Sacred Tradition

Several Romanian monasteries have reestablished carving workshops, where novices are trained in traditional woodwork alongside their spiritual formation. These monastic craftsmen often receive commissions from parishes across the country and even from abroad. Their work maintains the same humility and theological depth that marked their forebears, ensuring continuity in both style and spirit.

Government and church institutions have begun to recognize the importance of this sacred art. Grants and competitions for young carvers, though modest, have supported the preservation of tools, techniques, and religious meaning. More importantly, there is growing cultural respect for the idea that Romania’s identity is tied not just to language or land, but to the visual theology etched into wood.

Artisan Families and Modern Workshops

Beyond monasteries, artisan families in villages across Maramureș, Bucovina, and Transylvania are again carving for a wide range of patrons. Some produce custom gates for homes, while others craft large-scale iconostases for diaspora churches in Western Europe and North America. These families operate modest workshops, often attached to their homes, where they use traditional tools alongside modern equipment when necessary.

What unites these contemporary carvers is a shared commitment to continuity. They see themselves not as innovators, but as stewards of a sacred trust. Their adaptations—whether for export, tourism, or urban settings—remain faithful to the original purpose of the craft: to elevate the everyday through moral beauty and order. Through their hands, the legacy of Romania’s carved wood continues to live and speak.

Comparing with Other European Traditions

Within the broader context of European sacred art, Romanian wood carving stands apart in both material and spirit. While much of Western Europe turned to marble, limestone, and gold leaf to express religious grandeur, Romania retained its devotion to wood—humble, local, and alive. This choice was not a mark of poverty but of theological distinction. It reflected a culture that prized inward reverence over outward splendor.

The Gothic and Baroque churches of France, Italy, and Germany were monumental in scale and rich in ornament, often designed to overwhelm the senses. Romanian wooden churches, by contrast, invite intimacy. They are smaller in size, but no less elevated in meaning. Their spires stretch to the heavens not in conquest, but in devotion. Their carvings teach not through grandeur, but through parable.

The Contrast with Western Ornamentation

Western ornamentation often emphasized naturalism, dramatic movement, and illusionistic space. Romanian carving, by contrast, remained symbolic and stylized. A flower might not look botanically accurate, but its meaning—life, fertility, resurrection—was unmistakable to the viewer. Romanian art chose mystery over spectacle, order over novelty.

Moreover, where Western sacred spaces often relied on imported materials and professional guilds, Romanian churches were built by local hands using local wood. This gave rise to a deep unity between builder, place, and faith. The result is an art that feels neither elitist nor primitive, but morally centered—an expression of sacred order rooted in soil and Scripture.

Moldavita Monastery

In Moldavia there is a merging of Eastern and Western architectural traditions. Significant development of religious architecture in the Principality of Moldavia mainly occurred in the 15th and 16th centuries see Moldavian vault

Kinship with Nordic and Slavic Traditions

While distinct, Romanian wood carving shares some kinship with traditions found in Norway’s stave churches and Russia’s rural Orthodox architecture. All three cultures developed woodwork in colder climates, under Christian Orthodoxy (or early Christianity in Norway), and favored symbolism over realism. In each, the carved structure becomes part of the liturgical experience, drawing the viewer toward contemplation rather than distraction.

That said, Romanian wood carving possesses a unique balance between rustic strength and theological depth. Where Russian carving often becomes elaborate and Norwegian work emphasizes structure, Romanian carving thrives on rhythm, repetition, and encoded Christian symbols that link family, nature, and God. It is not simply folk art—it is spiritual architecture, carved in covenant rather than concept.

See also: The wisdom of Frisian Craftmanship

Conclusion: What the Carvings Still Teach

Romania’s dark wood carvings are more than national heritage—they are living theology, carved into gates, beds, churches, and memory. They remind us that beauty need not be loud, that sacredness can dwell in small villages, and that craftsmanship can be an act of worship. They teach us that true tradition is not static—it is alive, handed down from father to son, from altar to threshold.

In a world that prizes speed, novelty, and mass production, the patience and discipline of Romanian wood carvers offer a rebuke and a lesson. Their carvings call us back to a slower, more meaningful rhythm, where the hand follows the heart, and the pattern follows the eternal. These wooden forms, darkened by time and faith, are sermons carved without words.

They still stand: at the entrance to homes, at the gates of monasteries, and in the hearts of churches. They endure because they were made not just with tools, but with truth. And as long as Romanian wood carving is passed on, it will continue to proclaim—quietly, beautifully—that the sacred still matters.

• Man in Sapphire Blue or The Trinity: A Study in Compassion.

The Man in Sapphire Blue is from the book Scivias (1151)
Hildegard was 42 years old in 1142, when this, her first book of illuminations, was started.

Hildegard describes: “A most quiet light and in it burning with flashing fire the form of a man in sapphire blue.”  The blue colors and the manner in which the man holds out his hands, extended toward the world, denote compassion and healing. Hildegard describes the Trinity as “One light, three persons, One God. The Father is brightness and the brightness has a flashing forth and in the flashing forth is fire and these three are one.” The Father is a living light, the Son, a flash of light and the Spirit is fire.. The fire of the Holy spirit binds all things together, illustrated as an energy field surrounding the man. Symbolized as the golden cord of the universe, the Holy Spirit streams through eternity creating a web of interconnectivity of all being and of divinity with creation and humanity (reminiscent of an East Indian cosmology using cord and thread imagery).

Hildegard’s theology of Trinity is about divine compassion entering the world. Jesus the Christ is the revelation of the compassion of God, the incarnation of divine compassion. The Hebrew word for Womb is compassion. But we do not merely look at a mandala (ancient circular image of the universe) – we are transformed by it. This mandala draws us into the energy of divine compassion, it connects us with the Christ, the Blue Man, such that we realize our own identity in Him who is the compassion for the universe.  If we don’t hold our healing capacity in unity, the entire rope (universe) unravels.

May the words and visions of Hildegard speak to your sense of divine receptivity. And may you wonder with reverence at the precious gift of this amazing, sacred cosmos and our Oneness with all of Life. Read more here

– King Charles speaks about Romania-Why Pure?

Pure Romania – Romania offers a rich experience with its 4000 years of history, ancient fortress cities, well-preserved villages, people immersed in ancient traditions, diverse nature, and a blend of contrasts and equilibrium. Visiting Romania feels like stepping into a realm where time moves slowly, nature is generous, the sky feels within reach, and those residing away from bustling cities wear constant smiles.

Interview with King Charles III by BBC (Wild Carpathia) from when he was still a prince

King Charles III speaks about Romania

Charlie Ottley BBC: So what do you love most about Romania?

King Charles: It’s the timelessness of it which is so remarkable, almost out of some of those stories one used to read as a child. It’s quite remarkable. People are yearning for that sense of belonging and identity and meaning!

And we have to find, we have to rediscover some of these aspects of the way we produce food and live and maintain and give back to nature, if we are going to make sure this whole system continues; and that’s why human cultural systems matter because they are intimately linked to that aspect of nature. It’s in us, but we’ve somehow denied it and thrown it away and said it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t exist, it’s irrelevant. It isn’t irrelevant!

Charlie Ottley BBC: It nourishes the soul and the heart.

Prince Charles:  That’s what Romania does for you!

Nature, Tradition & Privacy

The former Prince of Wales’s, King Charles’s private nature retreat lies nestled amongst the meadows and hills of Zalán Valley (Zalánpatak, Valea Zălanului) in Transylvania, Romania. The property has kept its Transylvanian authenticity by having been carefully restored with traditional methods and materials. It is now open to accommodate and entertain individual travellers from around the world. Holidays in Transylvania, Romania. Nature holidays in the wild flower meadows of Prince Charles. Accommodation in heritage guesthouses of The Prince of Wales.See Here

– Note : Craft and Tradition: The Sacred Art of Making

In the modern world, craftsmanship is often reduced to technique, productivity, or personal expression. But in the eyes of Traditionalist thinkers like René Guénon, Ananda Coomaraswamy, and Frithjof Schuon, craft is something far more profound—it is a sacred act rooted in metaphysical principles and spiritual symbolism.

Craft as Sacred Knowledge

René Guénon viewed traditional craft not as utilitarian labor but as a means of cosmic participation. The traditional craftsman, for Guénon, was engaged in work that reflected the divine order:

“A craft is not merely a technique, but a transmission of a traditional knowledge, the application of principles that are ultimately metaphysical.”

In traditional civilizations, there was no division between the sacred and the secular in labor. Every craft, from carpentry to stonemasonry, was infused with symbolic meaning. The tools themselves—like the compass, the square, or the chisel—served as metaphors for universal truths. The craftsman, through repeated and intentional action, participated in the divine act of creation.

Work and contemplation were not separate in traditional societies. A craftsman worked not just with his hands but also with an awareness of the symbolic and spiritual meaning of his work.

The tool, the material, and the process had symbolic dimensions. For instance, in masonry or metalwork, the transformation of raw material symbolized the transformation of the soul.

Initiation and Guilds

Guénon emphasized the role of initiatic craft guilds—especially in the West, such as medieval masonry guilds—which preserved esoteric teachings and transmitted initiatic knowledge through symbols, rituals, and oral transmission.

These guilds were structured hierarchically and transmitted cosmological knowledge embedded in tools, geometry, architecture, and ritual.

The compass and square, for example, symbolized heaven and earth or spirit and matter.

The architecture of temples or cathedrals followed sacred geometry, aligning physical structures with cosmic principles.

Degeneration in Modernity

Guénon argued that in modern times, the loss of sacred and symbolic understanding has led to the degeneration of crafts into mere technical skills, disconnected from their metaphysical roots.

This reflects his larger thesis: modernity is a descent into materialism, fragmentation, and loss of spiritual orientation””. The disappearance of guilds, desacralization of labor, and mass industrialization exemplify this decline.

Read Here: The Arts and their Traditional Conception

Art That Expresses Truth

Ananda Coomaraswamy, deeply rooted in both Eastern and Western traditions, emphasized that the traditional artist or craftsman was not creating to express individuality, but to reveal the timeless:

“The traditional craftsman did not ‘express himself,’ he expressed truths.”

Coomaraswamy rejected the modern cult of originality and innovation. For him, traditional art and craft were “vehicles for eternal wisdom“. The form was not arbitrary—it was a symbolic expression of metaphysical principles, passed down through sacred traditions. Every detail, from proportions to ornamentation, had a purpose that reached beyond aesthetics.

“Work is for the sake of the work done, and not for the profit therefrom.”

In this sense, “work was prayer “—a form of contemplation, a discipline of the soul.

Read here: Primitive Mentality: The myth is not my own, I had it from my mother.

Beauty as a Path to the Divine

Frithjof Schuo* extended these insights by focusing on the spiritual essence of traditional art. For Schuon, beauty itself was a reflection of the Divine:

“The beauty of a traditional object reflects the eternal archetypes; it speaks in silence to the soul.”

Craftsmanship, when aligned with traditional forms, becomes a contemplative path. Whether it’s a sacred icon, a hand-carved door, or a woven textile, its power lies in its “participation in the eternal “. For Schuon, even in a world that has largely lost its traditional frameworks, the sacred can still be accessed through ” form, beauty, and right intention:

“A sacred form, however simple, is a vessel of grace.”

A Living Tradition

What unites Guénon, Coomaraswamy, and Schuon is the belief that “”true craft is never arbitrary”. It arises within a living tradition, where every gesture, pattern, and proportion reflects a metaphysical reality. In contrast, modern craftsmanship—stripped of symbolism and spiritual orientation—becomes hollow, reduced to commerce or self-expression.

Their critique is not simply nostalgic. It is a call to recover the sacred dimension of human making—to reintegrate craft into a vision of life that is oriented toward the transcendent.

To make with the hands, in the traditional sense, is to align oneself with the cosmos. Craft, then, becomes more than labor—it becomes liturgy. The Traditionalist vision invites us to see again with sacred eyes: to recognize that a pot, a wall, a song, or a loom, when shaped by truth and beauty, can become a path toward the eternal.

Made for use versus made for sale, creation versus production. Human being valued versus machine being valued.. When the human being is valued, there is integrity in the work. There is dignity in the freedom to work for purpose, and satisfaction knowing the effort is respected. When the human being is removed from the actual creation or building of the thing itself, the spirit of the work, whatever it is, is disconnected if not all together removed making the being servile to the method of production.
The ‘maker’ thus becomes a salesperson for something they have had manufactured for them to sell as their own to make an individual profit. The purpose is then not the benefit or betterment of humanity, but the betterment and advancement of oneself. And this
form applies now to almost all forms of artistic creation be it painting, dance, music, fashion,
design, architecture, interior design and so on; they all have become templated ideas easily
reproduced without much prerequisite of fundamental knowledge or originality.

Read here: Why Exhibit Works of Art?

For more info about Craft and Sacred Architecture read:

An Hermeneutic Exploration of René Guénon’s Symbolism of the Cross Applied to Sacred Architecture.

The Thread-Spirit Doctrine:An Ancient Metaphor in Religion and Metaphysics with
Prehistoric Roots

Cosmology_and_architecture_in_premodern Islam

Symbolism-of-the-stupa

Buildings Without Architects:

Buildings Without Architects is a wonderfully informative reference on vernacular styles, from adobe pueblos and Pennsylvania barns to Mongolian gers and European wooden churches. This small but comprehensive book documents the rich cultural past of vernacular building styles. It offers inspiration for home woodworking enthusiasts as well as architects, conservationists, and anyone interested in energy-efficient building and sustainability.
The variety and ingenuity of the world’s vernacular building traditions are richly illustrated, and the materials and techniques are explored. With examples from every continent, the book documents the diverse methods people have used to create shelter from locally available natural materials, and shows the impressively handmade finished products through diagrams, cross-sections, and photographs. Unlike modern buildings that rely on industrially produced materials and specialized tools and techniques, the everyday architecture featured here represents a rapidly disappearing genre of handcrafted and beautifully composed structures that are irretrievably “of their place.” These structures are the work of unsung and often anonymous  builders that combine artistic beauty, practical form, and necessity. Read Here

For J.D.P.

Frisian craft refers to the traditional arts and craftsmanship originating from Friesland, a region in the northern Netherlands and parts of northwestern Germany. Frisian craftsmanship is known for its rich cultural heritage, which includes a variety of artisanal skills such as weaving, wood carving, pottery, metalworking, and textile arts. Here are a few key aspects of Frisian craft:

1. Frisian Weaving

Weaving is an important part of Frisian craft, especially in the creation of traditional textiles such as carpets, bedspreads, and decorative fabrics. The Frisian weaving techniques often reflect the natural environment and local customs. They might feature patterns inspired by the sea, wind, and local flora.

2. Frisian Woodworking

Wood has been a central material in Frisian culture due to the abundance of forests in the region. Artisans often create functional objects like furniture, as well as decorative pieces. The most notable wood crafts include carved wooden toys, chests, and farm implements.

3. Pottery and Ceramics

Traditional Frisian pottery, especially from the 18th and 19th centuries, often reflects both practical and decorative qualities. Pottery from this region was typically made by hand and adorned with naturalistic patterns and earthy colors.

4. Metalworking

Metal craftsmanship, especially in the form of wrought ironwork and small tools, was common in Friesland. Historically, metalworkers produced items for daily life, such as nails, locks, and tools, but they also created decorative ironworks for gates and windows.

5. Textile Arts

The Frisian people have a long tradition of spinning and knitting. Wool was spun into yarn and made into blankets, clothes, and other practical items. Folk costumes often featured intricate needlework and lace.

6. Frisian Shipbuilding

Given Friesland’s historical proximity to the water, shipbuilding was also an important craft. The Frisians were known for constructing sturdy, flat-bottomed boats suited to navigating the shallow waters of their region.

Frisian craft is deeply tied to the region’s history and identity. Many of these traditional crafts are still practiced today, often revived or celebrated through folk festivals and artisan markets.

7- Frisian Horse

The Friesian horse, nicknamed “the black pearl”, also known as the Friesian horseIs a purebred originating from Friesland, a province of the Netherlands (Holland). Its morphology is distinguished by its black dress brilliant, its long mane on its large neckline and long back. The Friesian is a horse which perfectly embodies the harmony between power and grace. He is recognized as saddle horse (trotting race) as like draft horse. Its temperament calm, cooperative makes it an ideal partner, whether in dressage, in coupling or showThe Friesian is also sought after for its baroque appearance, a characteristic inherited from ancient Iberian breed crosses. A show horse, the Friesian is a beautiful horse capable of endurance and work. 

8- Frisian Clocks

Frisian clocks, often known as Friese klokken, are traditional pendulum clocks originating from Friesland, a province in the Netherlands. These clocks are renowned not only for their craftsmanship but also for the rich symbolism embedded in their design, particularly in the decorations adorning the clock’s hood, face, and weights.

Key Symbolism in Frisian Clocks:

Symbol	Meaning
Atlas (with the globe)	Strength, endurance, and the burden of responsibility — often represents time bearing the world.
Angels or Cherubs	Protection, divine guidance, and the fleeting nature of time — often depicted with trumpets or hourglasses.
Sun and Moon (Lunar phases)	The passage of time, cycles of life, cosmic order — seen in the moon phase indicators.
Ships or Galleons	Friesland’s maritime heritage, adventure, and trade — common in seafaring communities.
Foliage, Flowers, and Fruit	Fertility, growth, prosperity — often seen in hand-painted details around the dial or case.
Crowned Lions or Eagles	Power, vigilance, and nobility — sometimes incorporated in crest-like designs.
Religious Figures (Saints or Biblical scenes)	Faith, moral values, and spiritual reflection — particularly on older or more ornate clocks.

Additional Symbolic Elements:

• Weights shaped like Pine Cones or Pears: Symbolize nature’s cycles and fruitfulness.
• Decorative Spindles or Finials: Represent upward movement, aspiration, and status.
• Painted Dials with Local Scenes: Emphasize pride in place, heritage, and community identity.

By using a certain figure or image that has a special meaning the creator can express an idea or convey understanding. The representation can reveal a hidden and have a deeper meaning that may be unraveled, which sometimes difficult because the symbol appears in different ways can be interpreted. Sometimes the meaning of a symbol is no longer easy to trace.

Transience of life

In the 17th and 18th centuries, people liked to use symbols portraying the transience of life, tto remind the viewer that everything in life is fleeting and empty. Flower still lifes in paintings were already since the 16th century a way to express the transience of life. Because flowers are only beautiful for a short time , they symbolized the temporality of the existance.

On this well-known pendulum piece you can see an urn (vase), from which an eternal flame rises. This representation, the fire of life, symbolizes time. Next to the urn you see a sun (day) and a moon (night) depicted and below that a rooster (morning) and an owl (evening). The eagle lifts a drapery to unveil transience.

The image of Father Time (Saturn) is one of the most common pendulum pieces. Father Time is of course recognizable by his scythe (= symbol for death/ transience) and hourglass (= time). The rooster (morning/ dawn) is on top of the pendulum piece and an owl (evening-night or wisdom) can be found at the bottom.

Cultural and Historical Context:

Frisian clocks became popular between the 17th and 19th centuries, especially in affluent households in Friesland and the broader Netherlands. The rich symbolism reflected both personal values and regional pride, often blending Christian themes, nautical motifs, and folklore. Many were passed down as family heirlooms, seen as symbols of continuity and stability across generations.

• Frieseland

On the Dutch Wadden Islands: Texel, Vlieland, Terschelling, Ameland and Schiermonnikoog, many ancient customs can still be found, corresponding to those of the Scandinavian countries, belonging to the ancient cultural heritage of the North Sea peoples.

This film shows beautiful scenes in the province of Friesland in the Netherlands a century ago. Friesland is one of the 12 Dutch provinces in the North of the country, bordering to the Waddenzee. It is famous for its 11 cities skating race that is occasionally held during extremely cold winters. The original B&W film is of mediocre quality, so we used all the software tools possible to try to enhance and colorize it. The result is quite good, but with slightly less detail than many of our other films about old The Netherlands. The film begins with a shot of the town of Leeuwarden followed by footage of Friesland’s beautiful nature with its many lakes and flora and fauna. Sailing on the lakes in so called “skutjes” is a popular Dutch pass time. The end of the film is quite emotional and endearing as it shows an old couple who try to make a living in their extremely old and dilapidated farm house.

• The Frisian wisdom

Frisian wisdom, like much of the wisdom found in different cultures, often emphasizes simplicity, connection to nature, and the importance of community. The Frisians, an ethnic group indigenous to the coastal regions of the Netherlands and Germany, have a rich history that stretches back over a thousand years. Their proverbs and sayings reflect their strong ties to the land, sea, and people around them.

Here are a few examples of Frisian wisdom:

“Wie net yn de wyn is, is net genôch.”

Translation: “He who is not in the wind is not enough.”

Meaning: This suggests that only those who endure hardship or challenges (the wind) can truly grow or be considered complete.

“Bliid wêze mei watst hast, is mear as it sykjen nei watst net hast.”

Translation: “Being happy with what you have is more than searching for what you don’t have.”

Meaning: A reminder to appreciate what you already possess rather than always seeking more or different.

“De geast is sterker as it lichem.“

Translation: “The spirit is stronger than the body.”

Meaning: This reflects the belief that mental strength, willpower, and determination often matter more than physical ability.

“De oseaan kin ek wiete fuotten krije.”

Translation: “The ocean can also get wet feet.”

Meaning: Even the strongest can have their weaknesses or experience failure.

“Ien fûgel yn de hân is better as tsien yn de loft.”

Translation: “One bird in the hand is better than ten in the air.”

Meaning: This is similar to the English saying “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush” — emphasizing the value of appreciating what you already have, rather than chasing something uncertain.

Frisian wisdom is often deeply connected to the idea of living in harmony with the natural world, being grounded in one’s community, and having a strong sense of identity and resilience.

• Craft and Tradition: The Sacred Art of Making

In the modern world, craftsmanship is often reduced to technique, productivity, or personal expression. But in the eyes of Traditionalist thinkers like René Guénon, Ananda Coomaraswamy, and Frithjof Schuon, craft is something far more profound—it is a sacred act rooted in metaphysical principles and spiritual symbolism.

Craft as Sacred Knowledge

René Guénon viewed traditional craft not as utilitarian labor but as a means of cosmic participation. The traditional craftsman, for Guénon, was engaged in work that reflected the divine order:

“A craft is not merely a technique, but a transmission of a traditional knowledge, the application of principles that are ultimately metaphysical.”

In traditional civilizations, there was no division between the sacred and the secular in labor. Every craft, from carpentry to stonemasonry, was infused with symbolic meaning. The tools themselves—like the compass, the square, or the chisel—served as metaphors for universal truths. The craftsman, through repeated and intentional action, participated in the divine act of creation.

Work and contemplation were not separate in traditional societies. A craftsman worked not just with his hands but also with an awareness of the symbolic and spiritual meaning of his work.

The tool, the material, and the process had symbolic dimensions. For instance, in masonry or metalwork, the transformation of raw material symbolized the transformation of the soul.

Initiation and Guilds

Guénon emphasized the role of initiatic craft guilds—especially in the West, such as medieval masonry guilds—which preserved esoteric teachings and transmitted initiatic knowledge through symbols, rituals, and oral transmission.

These guilds were structured hierarchically and transmitted cosmological knowledge embedded in tools, geometry, architecture, and ritual.

The compass and square, for example, symbolized heaven and earth or spirit and matter.

The architecture of temples or cathedrals followed sacred geometry, aligning physical structures with cosmic principles.

Degeneration in Modernity

Guénon argued that in modern times, the loss of sacred and symbolic understanding has led to the degeneration of crafts into mere technical skills, disconnected from their metaphysical roots.

This reflects his larger thesis: modernity is a descent into materialism, fragmentation, and loss of spiritual orientation””. The disappearance of guilds, desacralization of labor, and mass industrialization exemplify this decline.

Read Here: The Arts and their Traditional Conception

Art That Expresses Truth

Ananda Coomaraswamy, deeply rooted in both Eastern and Western traditions, emphasized that the traditional artist or craftsman was not creating to express individuality, but to reveal the timeless:

“The traditional craftsman did not ‘express himself,’ he expressed truths.”

Coomaraswamy rejected the modern cult of originality and innovation. For him, traditional art and craft were “vehicles for eternal wisdom“. The form was not arbitrary—it was a symbolic expression of metaphysical principles, passed down through sacred traditions. Every detail, from proportions to ornamentation, had a purpose that reached beyond aesthetics.

“Work is for the sake of the work done, and not for the profit therefrom.”

In this sense, “work was prayer “—a form of contemplation, a discipline of the soul.

Read here: Primitive Mentality: The myth is not my own, I had it from my mother.

Beauty as a Path to the Divine

Frithjof Schuo* extended these insights by focusing on the spiritual essence of traditional art. For Schuon, beauty itself was a reflection of the Divine:

“The beauty of a traditional object reflects the eternal archetypes; it speaks in silence to the soul.”

Craftsmanship, when aligned with traditional forms, becomes a contemplative path. Whether it’s a sacred icon, a hand-carved door, or a woven textile, its power lies in its “participation in the eternal “. For Schuon, even in a world that has largely lost its traditional frameworks, the sacred can still be accessed through ” form, beauty, and right intention:

“A sacred form, however simple, is a vessel of grace.”

A Living Tradition

What unites Guénon, Coomaraswamy, and Schuon is the belief that “”true craft is never arbitrary”. It arises within a living tradition, where every gesture, pattern, and proportion reflects a metaphysical reality. In contrast, modern craftsmanship—stripped of symbolism and spiritual orientation—becomes hollow, reduced to commerce or self-expression.

Their critique is not simply nostalgic. It is a call to recover the sacred dimension of human making—to reintegrate craft into a vision of life that is oriented toward the transcendent.

To make with the hands, in the traditional sense, is to align oneself with the cosmos. Craft, then, becomes more than labor—it becomes liturgy. The Traditionalist vision invites us to see again with sacred eyes: to recognize that a pot, a wall, a song, or a loom, when shaped by truth and beauty, can become a path toward the eternal.

Made for use versus made for sale, creation versus production. Human being valued versus machine being valued.. When the human being is valued, there is integrity in the work. There is dignity in the freedom to work for purpose, and satisfaction knowing the effort is respected. When the human being is removed from the actual creation or building of the thing itself, the spirit of the work, whatever it is, is disconnected if not all together removed making the being servile to the method of production.
The ‘maker’ thus becomes a salesperson for something they have had manufactured for them to sell as their own to make an individual profit. The purpose is then not the benefit or betterment of humanity, but the betterment and advancement of oneself. And this
form applies now to almost all forms of artistic creation be it painting, dance, music, fashion,
design, architecture, interior design and so on; they all have become templated ideas easily
reproduced without much prerequisite of fundamental knowledge or originality.

Read here: Why Exhibit Works of Art?

For more info about Craft and Sacred Architecture read:

An Hermeneutic Exploration of René Guénon’s Symbolism of the Cross Applied to Sacred Architecture.

The Thread-Spirit Doctrine:An Ancient Metaphor in Religion and Metaphysics with
Prehistoric Roots

The Essential Titus Burckhardt: Reflections on Sacred Art, Faiths, and Civilizations

Cosmology_and_architecture_in_premodern Islam

Symbolism-of-the-stupa

Buildings Without Architects:

Buildings Without Architects is a wonderfully informative reference on vernacular styles, from adobe pueblos and Pennsylvania barns to Mongolian gers and European wooden churches. This small but comprehensive book documents the rich cultural past of vernacular building styles. It offers inspiration for home woodworking enthusiasts as well as architects, conservationists, and anyone interested in energy-efficient building and sustainability.
The variety and ingenuity of the world’s vernacular building traditions are richly illustrated, and the materials and techniques are explored. With examples from every continent, the book documents the diverse methods people have used to create shelter from locally available natural materials, and shows the impressively handmade finished products through diagrams, cross-sections, and photographs. Unlike modern buildings that rely on industrially produced materials and specialized tools and techniques, the everyday architecture featured here represents a rapidly disappearing genre of handcrafted and beautifully composed structures that are irretrievably “of their place.” These structures are the work of unsung and often anonymous builders that combine artistic beauty, practical form, and necessity. Read Here

• Frisian Mythology:

1. Origins and Creation Myths

Frisian mythology contains stories that link the Frisians to ancient, often semi-legendary origins:

• The Legend of Friso
  According to medieval chronicles (e.g., The Chronicle of Wittewierum), the Frisians trace their lineage to a leader named Friso, a supposed descendant of Trojans or companions of Alexander the Great, who settled along the North Sea coast. Though considered more mytho-historical, this legend symbolically ties the Frisians to a noble, ancient past.
• Oera Linda Book (Controversial)
  This 19th-century manuscript, presented as ancient Frisian history and mythology, tells of the lost land of Atland (similar to Atlantis) and a matriarchal society led by priestesses called Fryas. Although modern scholars regard the Oera Linda Book as a hoax, it reflects mythological themes popular in Frisian nationalist movements.

2. Deities and Supernatural Beings

Frisian mythology shares gods and spirits with wider Germanic tradition but sometimes with local flavors:

• Frya (Frya’s People)
  In the Oera Linda tradition, Frya is the mythic mother of the Frisian people, associated with wisdom, purity, and a free society.
• Wêdum (Sea Spirits)
  Given the Frisian coastal lifestyle, myths often focus on sea spirits, mermaids, and protective beings linked to water.
• Wodan (Odin) and Thuner (Thor)
  Germanic gods like Wodan and Thuner were likely worshipped in ancient Frisia, though specific Frisian rituals and stories are fragmentary.
• White Women (Witte Wieven)
  Misty female spirits or wise women associated with burial mounds, fog, and forest clearings. These figures exist in Frisian, Dutch, and Lower Saxon folklore.

3. Folktales and Legends

• The Legend of Magnus Forteman
  Magnus Forteman is a legendary Frisian hero who supposedly led the Frisians to conquer Rome, earning the Frisian Freedom—an ideal of independence symbolized by the phrase:
  “Eala Frya Fresena!” (“Hail, Free Frisians!”)
• The Legend of the Red Cliff (Rote Kliff)
  A Frisian coastal cliff tied to legendary sea battles and heroic last stands against invaders.
• Mermaids and Sea Spirits
  Common in Frisian folklore, where fishermen report encounters with mermaids or sea spirits that either bless or doom their voyages.

4. Frisian Freedom

Though more historical, the concept of Frisian Freedom—the idea that Frisians were free from feudal overlords and ruled themselves—is tied to semi-mythical origins, symbolizing an independent spirit often mythologized in regional storytelling.

5. Cultural InfluenceFrisian mythology, though not as extensively documented as Norse mythology, influenced:

• Regional festivals and customs
• Folk songs and poetry
• Nationalist movements emphasizing Frisian identity and heritage

6. Relation to Other Mythologies

Frisian mythology sits at a crossroads between:

 Norse Mythology (due to proximity and shared Germanic roots) Dutch Folklore
 Saxon and Anglo-Saxon Traditions, especially given migrations from Frisia to Britain in the early medieval period

Frisian and Norse Mythology: Deep Connections

1. Shared Germanic Roots

Both Frisians and Norse peoples descend from Proto-Germanic tribes:

• Their mythologies, languages, and cultures stem from the same Indo-European and Germanic traditions, with regional variations developing over time.
• Deities like Wodan/Odin, Thunar/Thor, and supernatural beings like elves, giants, and dwarves appear across both traditions, albeit under slightly different names or attributes.

Example:

Norse Name	Frisian/Dutch Equivalent	Role
Odin (Wodan)	Weda / Wodan	God of wisdom, war, magic
Thor (Thunar)	Thuner / Donar	God of thunder, protector
Frigg	Frigga / Frika	Goddess of marriage, motherhood

Frisian versions tend to be more faintly preserved, often through folk tales rather than structured myth.

2. Maritime and Coastal Culture

Both cultures:

• Thrived as seafaring peoples, crucial in trade, exploration, and raids during the early medieval period.
• Developed myths tied to the sea, including:
  • Sea spirits or gods
  • Storm legends
  • Explanations for tides, salt water, and shipwrecks

The Norse myth of Frodi’s Mill, where the sea becomes salty from the endlessly grinding magic mill, aligns conceptually with similar Frisian maritime legends explaining natural phenomena.

Frisian folklore includes tales of:

• Mermaids (Meerminnen) granting or cursing sailors.
• Enchanted objects or sunken cities beneath the sea (similar to Norse sunken realms like Aegir’s hall or Rán’s net).

3. Historical Contact Zones

From the 5th to 11th centuries, Frisia and Scandinavia were closely connected:

• Viking raids and settlements along the Frisian coast
• Trade routes through the Frisian maritime network, linking Scandinavia, Britain, and mainland Europe
• Shared material culture, shipbuilding techniques, and possibly oral storytelling

Norse sagas reference Frisian locations and people:

• The Ynglinga Saga and other texts mention trade and encounters with the Frisians.
• Some sagas include scenes along the Frisian coast, reflecting both historical interactions and mythologized storytelling.

4. Mythic Parallels and Syncretism

Frodi and Frisian Freedom

• Frodi’s Mill: Exploitation leading to downfall (Norse myth)
• Frisian Freedom: Legends of Frisians resisting kings, emperors, or oppressive rulers (historical + mythic fusion)

Both traditions idealize:

• Autonomy
• Resistance to tyranny
• The moral consequences of greed and oppression

Supernatural Women

• Norse Valkyries, Norns, and Giantesses parallel:
• Frisian Witte Wieven (White Women), ghostly wise women tied to fate, burial sites, and sometimes prophecy.

5. The Oera Linda Book and Norse Echoes

Though considered a 19th-century literary forgery, the Oera Linda Book reflects:

• Romanticized, pseudo-ancient Frisian myths
• References to sea-faring origins, ancient priestesses (Frya, a possible echo of Freyja)
• Similar structural myth-making seen in Norse sources like the Eddas

This shows how Norse myth influenced later attempts to construct or imagine Frisian mythic history.

Summary: Deep, Interwoven Traditions

Frisian and Norse mythologies: Share common Germanic ancestry– Reflect parallel seafaring worldviews – Include overlapping deities and spirits – Show cultural exchange via trade, raids, and migration Emphasize themes of freedom, fate, and nature’s power

• The Millstone in Mythology: A Symbol of Cosmic Order, Justice, and Transformation

In the mythologies of diverse cultures, the millstone appears not merely as a tool of agrarian labor but as a symbol imbued with immense metaphysical weight. Whether functioning as a source of abundance, an agent of justice, or a mechanism of fate, the millstone represents the cyclical and transformative forces that underpin both the human and the cosmic condition. From Norse sagas to African oral traditions and biblical parables, this humble object becomes a metaphor for the profound **interplay between creation, destruction, and moral consequence.

*Grotti’s Mill: Cosmic Power and the Consequences of Exploitation

One of the most striking mythological representations of the millstone occurs in Norse mythology with the tale of Grotti’s Mill, found in the Grottasöngr. This enchanted mill is capable of grinding anything the owner desires—peace, gold, or destruction. When King Frodi acquires the mill and forces two giantesses, Fenja and Menja, to labor ceaselessly, their grinding shifts from prosperity to vengeance. Ultimately, they bring about Frodi’s ruin by unleashing chaos through the mill.

Here, the millstone symbolizes the fragile balance of cosmic order. When treated with respect, it generates peace and wealth; when abused, it yields destruction. The myth functions as a cautionary tale about hubris, greed, and the exploitation of natural or divine forces, reflecting an early understanding of what we might now call ecological or spiritual backlash.

The Sampo: Mythical Mill of Prosperity in the Kalevala

A parallel motif exists in Finnish mythology in the form of the Sampo, a magical artifact described in the *Kalevala*, Finland’s national epic. Often interpreted as a millstone or cosmic mill, the Sampo endlessly produces grain, salt, and gold. Forged by the smith Ilmarinen, it is later stolen and lost at sea, bringing misfortune to the land and its people.

The Sampo, like Grotti’s Mill, symbolizes the source of life and abundance, but also its fragility. Its disappearance suggests that prosperity is not a permanent condition—it must be protected, cultivated, and used wisely. The Sampo functions mythologically as a cosmic center, a generative force whose disruption signals the dissolution of harmony.

Biblical Imagery: Judgment and the Weight of Moral Responsibility

In Christian scripture, the millstone takes on a different, though equally profound, symbolism. In the Gospel of Matthew (18:6), Jesus states,*”If anyone causes one of these little ones…to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea. Here, the millstone is a metaphor for divine justice—an inescapable consequence for those who harm the innocent.

The weight and permanence of a millstone suggest the inescapable burden of guilt and the absolute nature of moral law. Unlike the Norse and Finnish mills, which produce external conditions (peace, gold, war), the biblical millstone is internalized—a representation of conscience, consequence, and ultimate accountability.

The Millstone in African and Ancient Mesopotamian Cosmologies

In West African oral traditions, the act of grinding grain—often done by women—carries sacred meaning. The millstone becomes a symbol of female power, ancestral continuity and **transformation**. It is both a domestic object and a spiritual one, representing the conversion of raw nature into nourishing culture. Similar motifs appear in Mesopotamian religion, where goddesses like Nisaba, associated with grain and wisdom, were linked to the act of milling as a divine function.

These traditions emphasize the millstone as a transformative force—a symbol not only of sustenance but of cultural identity, spiritual labor, and the cyclical regeneration of life through the feminine.

Universal Themes: Turning Wheels and Eternal Cycles

Across all these myths, the millstone serves as more than an instrument—it is a rotating axis, evoking imagery of the wheel of time, the cycle of karma, or the eternal return. The turning motion of the mill mirrors the revolutions of the stars, the seasons, and the soul’s journey through time. Whether used to produce food, treasure, or doom, the millstone becomes an agent of cosmic repetition and renewal.

Conclusion: The Millstone as a Symbolic Nexus*

The recurrence of the millstone across global mythologies suggests its function as a symbolic nexus—a point where material labor, metaphysical power, and moral consequence converge. It represents the processes that **grind down, refine, and reveal**: grain into flour, effort into sustenance, action into destiny. Whether in the hands of gods, giants, or mortals, the millstone reflects a core philosophical truth: that all creation involves a turning, a grinding, a cost—and ultimately, a transformation.

• Spinning Symbolism in Mythology:

The Fates (Greek Mythology)

Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos: The three Moirai (Fates) spin, measure, and cut the thread of life.

Clotho spins the thread (beginning of life). Lachesis measures its length (the life span). Atropos cuts it (death).

Symbolism: Spinning here represents the control over life’s journey — creation, destiny, and inevitable fate.

Spider Goddess Neith (Egyptian Mythology) Neith is a primordial deity associated with weaving the world into existence. Sometimes depicted as weaving reality itself. Symbolism: The act of spinning/weaving equates to cosmic creation — crafting order from chaos.

The Norns (Norse Mythology)

Similar to the Fates, they spin the threads of destiny by Yggdrasil, the World Tree. Represent Urd (Past), Verdandi (Present), Skuld (Future). Symbolism: Spinning reflects how past, present, and future are interwoven, shaping all existence.

Arachne (Greek Mythology)

A mortal woman skilled in weaving who challenges the goddess Athena. Transformed into a spider as punishment for her hubris. Symbolism: Spinning/weaving reflects skill, creation, artistry — but also pride, defiance, and transformation.

Spinning as Broader Symbolism:

Creation — Spinning fibers into thread mirrors crafting reality from raw chaos.

Time & Continuity — Threads represent the continuous flow of life and history.

Fate & Control — The spinner holds power over destinies.

Transformation — Spinning materials into new forms symbolizes metamorphosis.

The spinning wheel and the millstone each carry rich symbolism, both individually and when compared. Here’s a breakdown of what they symbolize and how their meanings contrast or complement one another:

Spinning Wheel – Symbolism

Creation: The act of spinning raw fibers into thread symbolizes creativity and birth

Feminine Energy: Traditionally associated with women’s domestic labor and maternal roles.

Fate and Destiny: In mythology (e.g., the Fates in Greek myth), spinning controls the thread of life.

Time and Continuity: The constant spinning motion mirrors the cycle of time and life’s continuity.

Peace and Patience: Especially in Gandhi’s use, the spinning wheel (charkha) represents nonviolence, self-reliance, and simplicity.

Millstone – Symbolism

Burden or Weight: “A millstone around one’s neck” suggests*a heavy responsibility or punishment. |

Labor and Industry | Symbol of grinding work, sustenance, and survival—essential yet relentless.|

Judgment: In the Bible and other traditions, the millstone can symbolize divine justice.|

Transformation: Represents the breaking down of the raw into the refined (grain into flour).

Foundation: As a fixed element in work, it symbolizes stability and reliability. |

Spinning Wheel vs. Millstone – Symbolic Contrast

Light vs. Heavy: Light, delicate motion | Heavy, grinding force |

Creative vs. Destructive :Constructs thread from chaos | Destroys grain to create nourishment |

Feminine Creation: Womb-like symbolism (thread = life) | Earthy, grounding labor (grain = body/sustenance)|

Destiny vs. Duty:Tied to fate, myth, and spiritual identity | Tied to survival, labor, and physical need |

Together as Symbolic Pair

The spinning wheel and the millstone, when viewed together, can represent two fundamental aspects of human life:

Spinning Wheel = the soul’s journey, creativity, destiny, ideals

Millstone = the body’s needs, labor, sustenance, consequences

They also contrast idealism and practicality, or the lightness of creation with the weight of responsibility.

• Frisians and Their Connection to Frodi’s Mill

1. Shared Germanic Heritage

The Frisians are part of the wider Germanic cultural and linguistic group, closely related to: The Saxons,The Angles,The Jutes,The Norse (Scandinavians)

This shared heritage means:

• Many myths and themes—such as magical objects, fate, and heroic cycles—echo across Frisian and Norse traditions.
• Elements like grinding mills, sea-based legends, and the tension between prosperity and downfall appear in both.

2. The Frisian Sea and Salt Connection

• A prominent sea-faring people, the Frisians share with the Norse a deep mythology tied to the ocean.
• The “Why the Sea is Salty” folk motif, which evolved from the Frodi’s Mill myth in Norse culture, also appears in various Germanic and North Sea coastal traditions, including Frisian folktales.
• Some Frisian legends explain natural phenomena like tides, storms, and saltwater through lost magical objects or ancient curses—conceptually similar to the Grotti mill at the bottom of the sea.

3. Frisian Freedom and Frodi’s Tyranny

• In Frisian identity, the concept of Frisian Freedom (the belief in self-rule and resistance to tyranny) is central.
• Frodi’s legend is a cautionary tale about greedy, oppressive rulers leading to inevitable downfall—this moral aligns with Frisian traditions that emphasize freedom, justice, and resistance to foreign or unjust rule.
• Some medieval sources tie Frisians mythologically to heroic, semi-legendary figures like Friso, who stands for liberation and seafaring prowess—traits that mirror opposition to rulers like Frodi in myth.

4. Possible Migration Myths

• Some medieval chronicles suggest legendary migrations from Troy or the East, connecting Frisians and Danes. Though these are more legendary than historical, they reflect shared myth-making patterns.
• This link offers a mythological space where Frisian sailors, Norse kings, and magical objects like Grotti could coexist in oral storytelling.

Summary: Is Frodi’s Mill Part of Frisian Myth?

Directly? — No confirmed, native Frisian version of Frodi’s Mill survives in historical records.
 Indirectly? — Yes, through shared mythology, coastal folklore, and cultural exchanges across the North Sea during the Viking Age.

Themes of: Sea legends (salt, sunken treasures)- Resistance to oppression (Frodi’s downfall vs. Frisian Freedom) – Shared Germanic cosmology : All create strong parallels.

• Hamlet’s Mill:

Hamlet’s Mill: An Essay on Myth & theFrame of Time (first published by Gambit Inc.,
Boston, 1969), later Hamlet’s Mill: An Essay Investigating the Origins of Human
Knowledge and Its Transmission Through Myth, by Giorgio de Santillana, a professor of the
history of science at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Cambridge, MA, US, and Hertha von Dechend, a professor of the history of science at Johann Wolfgang Goethe-Universität in Frankfurt, Germany, is a nonfiction work of history of science and comparative mythology, particularly in the subfield of archaeoastronomy. It is primarily about the possibility of a Neolithic era or earlier discovery of axial precession and the transmission of that knowledge in mythology.

The main theses of the book include (1) a late Neolithic or earlier discovery of the precession of the equinoxes,2 an associated long-lived megalith building late Neolithic civilization that made astronomical observations sufficient for that discovery in the Near East,[2] and (3) that the knowledge of this civilization about precession and the associated astrological ages was encoded in mythology, typically in the form of a story relating to a millstone and a young protagonist.

This last thesis gives the book its title, “Hamlet’s Mill”, by reference to the kenning Amlóða kvern recorded in the Old Icelandic Skáldskaparmál.

The authors claim that this mythology is primarily to be interpreted as in terms of archaeoastronomy and they reject, and in fact mock, alternative interpretations in terms of fertility or agriculture.

The book’s project is an examination of the “relics, fragments and allusions that have survived the steep attrition of the ages”. In particular, the book centers on the mytheme of a heavenly mill which rotates around the celestial pole and is associated with the maelstrom and the Milky Way.

The authors argue for the pervasiveness of their hypothetical civilization’s astronomical ideas by selecting and comparing elements of global mythology in light of hypothetical shared astronomical symbolism, especially among heavenly mill myths, heavenly milk-churn myths, celestial succession myths, and flood myths.

Their sources include African myths collected by Marcel Griaule, the Persian epic Shahnameh, the Classical mythology of Plato, Pindar, and Plutarch, the Finnish epic Kalevala, the eddas of Norse mythology,] the Hindu Mahabharata,[ Vedas,] and Upanishads,] Babylonian astrology, and the Sumerian Gilgamesh and King List. Read here

• WHY THE SEA IS SALTY.
  FROTHI, king of the Northland, owned some magic millstones. Other millstones grind corn, but these would grind out whatever the owner wished, if he knew how to move them. Frothi tried and tried, but they wouldm not stir.
  “Oh, if I could only move the millstones,” he cried, “I would grind out so many good things for my people. They should all be happy and rich.”
  One day King Frothi was told that two strange women were begging at the gate to see him.
  “Let them come in,” he said, and the women were brought before him.
  “We have come from a land that is far away,” they said. “What can I do for you?” asked the king. “We have come to do something for you,” answered the women. “There is only one thing that I wish for,” said the king, “and that is to make the magic millstones grind, but
  you cannot do that.” “Why not?” asked the women. “That is just what we have come to do. That is why we stood at your gate and begged to speak to you.”
  Then the king was a happy man indeed. “Bring in the millstones,” he called. “Quick, quick! Do not wait.” The millstones were brought in, and the women asked, “What shall we grind for you?” “Grind gold and happiness and rest for my people,” cried the king gladly.
  The women touched the magic millstones, and how they did grind! “Gold and happiness and rest for the people,” said the women to one another. Those are good wishes.”
  The gold was so bright and yellow that King Frothi could not bear to let it go out of his sight. “Grind more,” he said to the women. “Grind faster. Why did you come to my gate if you did not wish to grind?” “We are so weary,” said the women. Will you not let us rest?” “You may rest for as long a time as it needs to say ‘Frothi,'” cried the king, “and no longer. Now you have rested. Grind away. No one should be weary who is grinding out yellow gold.” “He is a wicked king,” said the women. “We will grind for him no more. Mill, grind out hundreds and hundreds of strong warriors to fight Frothi and punish him for his cruel words.” The millstones ground faster and faster. Hundreds of warriors sprang out, and they killed Frothi and all his men.
  “Now I shall be king,” cried the strongest of the warriors. He put the two women and the magic millstones on a ship to go to a far-away land. “Grind, grind,” he called to the women.
  “But we are so weary. Please let us rest,” they begged.
  “Rest? No. Grind on, grind on. Grind salt, if you can grind nothing else.”
  Night came and the weary women were still grinding. “Will you not let us rest?” they asked.
  “No,” cried the cruel warrior. Keep grinding, even if the ship goes to the bottom of the sea.” The women ground, and it was not long before the ship really did go to the bottom, and carried the cruel warrior with it. There at the bottom of the sea are the two millstones still grinding salt, for there is no one to say that they must grind no longer. That is why the sea is salty.

Salt in the ocean comes from two sources: runoff from the land and openings in the seafloor.
Rocks on land are the major source of salts dissolved in seawater. Rainwater that falls on land is slightly acidic, so it erodes rocks. This releases ions that are carried away to streams and rivers that eventually feed into the ocean. Many of the dissolved ions are used by organisms in the ocean and are removed from the water. Others are not removed, so their concentrations increase over time.
Another source of salts in the ocean is hydrothermal fluids, which come from vents in the seafloor. Ocean water seeps into cracks in the seafloor and is heated by magma from the Earthʼs core. The heat causes a series of chemical reactions. The water tends to lose oxygen, magnesium, and sulfates, and pick up metals such as iron, zinc, and copper from surrounding rocks. The heated water is released through vents in the seafloor, carrying the metals with it. Some ocean salts come from underwater volcanic eruptions, which directly release minerals into the ocean.
Salt domes also contribute to the ocean’s saltiness. These domes, vast deposits of salt that form over geological timescales, are found underground and undersea around the world. They are common across the continental shelf of the northwestern Gulf of America.
Two of the most prevalent ions in seawater are chloride and sodium. Together, they make up around 85 percent of all dissolved ions in the ocean. Magnesium and sulfate make up another 10 percent of the total. Other ions are found in very small concentrations. The concentration of salt in seawater (salinity) varies with temperature, evaporation, and precipitation. Salinity is generally low at the equator and at the poles, and high at
mid-latitudes. The average salinity is about 35 parts per thousand. Stated in another way, about 3.5 percent of the weight of seawater comes from the dissolved salts.

This model shows some of the cause and effect relationships among components of the
Earth system related to ocean circulation. While this model does not depict the ocean
circulation patterns that results from atmospheric wind and density differences in water
masses, it summarizes the key concepts involved in explaining this process

• Frisian Myths and Legends and folktales

JJ Wiersma (early 20th century) published works in which he collected Frisian sagas, legends and mythical stories from Friesland. Like other folkloric writers, he contributed to the recording of the Frisian oral storytelling tradition, which was passed on orally from generation to generation for centuries.

Important work by Wiersma:

• Friesche Sagen en Vertellingen
  This collection contains a wide selection of old Frisian folktales, which are partly mythical, partly historical and sometimes downright magical. They are often about:
  • Extraordinary Heroes
  • Superhuman beings (such as elves, white ladies , witches)
  • Forces of nature and the battle against water
  • Historical events dressed up with fantasy

Themes from Frisian Myths and Legends according to Wiersma

Theme	Explanation
Giants and Creation Stories	How Frisian landscapes were shaped by giants or divine powers.
The battle against the sea	Stories about sunken villages, dikes, storm surges and courageous dike reeves.
White Ladies and Ghosts	Supernatural apparitions in swamps or old forests.
Grutte Pier and Freedom Fighters	Legendary Frisian figures who defended their country against oppressors.
Magical Places	Legends about places that are said to have a special power or curse.

Example of a Frisian Saga from Wiersma’s Collections

The Drowned Monastery of Ezonstad

According to tradition, there was once a monastery near the Frisian Ezonstad . Because of the sins of the inhabitants and the greed of the monks, the gods punished them: during a stormy night, the entire area was swallowed by the sea. To this day, fishermen are said to be able to hear the bells of the monastery ringing underwater in calm weather…

---

Why are these stories important?

They are a source of inspiration for art, literature and music in Friesland. They are part of Friesland’s cultural heritage. They keep the Frisian language and identity alive. They reflect age-old fears and hopes, especially surrounding water, nature and supernatural forces.

Frisian folk life

“Uit Friesland’s volksleven” is a book by Waling Dykstra, in which Frisian folk life, traditions and lore are described. It contains, among other things, folk traditions, folk customs, folk tales and folk concepts. It is a source for Frisian folk life from both the past and later.

The book is a general anthology and collection on folklore and Frisian culture. You can probably borrow it from your local library.

It is important to emphasize that IJje Wijkstra is a person known from a dramatic story, but he is not directly related to the book “Uit Friesland’s volksleven” by Waling Dykstra. IJje Wijkstra is known for an incident in 1929 in which he killed four police officers.

Frisian Folk tales

For several years, Ype Poortinga has recorded folk tales, legends and fairy tales from Friesland, as they were told for centuries by the fire, at the bar or in the privacy of the living room. When writing them down, the captivating presentation was kept intact as much as possible.

The stories were told in Frisian and when this book appeared in the original language, the surprise was great: it turned out that many more stories were alive and well among the Frisian population than was thought possible.

Theun de Vries provided the Dutch translation for this edition, so that the rest of the Netherlands and Flanders can now take note of these lively, amusing and sometimes exciting folk tales.

More than four others – Frisian Folkstale

 

At that time there lived in the Grinzer Pein (Friesland) a young man who was called out  that he was not afraid of anything. When a ferry had to be dug, he got a job there. He joined the team with twenty westerners. Those twenty westerners were as lazy as duckweed. They wanted him to do the work, so he got into trouble with them. Then they said, “If you don’t work, we’ll cut you in pieces.” But the young man laughed and said, “You should try that first.” And then those twenty westerners came up to him with open knives , but he knocked them down one by one, for he was not afraid. And that same evening, near the new ferry, one of the Westerners was found cut into strips. But that joung man had not done that, his own comrades wanted to get rid of that westerner. And because the young servant  had fought with him, they thought, he will be blamed.

That turned out to be the case, because the nineteen westerners testified that he must have been the murderer of their comrade. He went to court, and because he would not confess, he was put on the rack, but he maintained his innocence, for he was not afraid of anything, not even the pain. Desesperate, they called a wizard, a real wizard. He had to scare him so he confessed. The wizard had him tied on a chair; then he was powerless. But they had tortured him so much that he could hardly speak.

And then he was given a cup of warm milk to drink. The magician looked straight at him and said, ‘Look at the ground in front of you!’ And then the young man noticed that his ten toes had turned into ten snakes. They grew out of his toes, they grew bigger and bigger and came closer and closer to his head. But he made those snakes drink one by one from the hot milk from the cup he had in his hands. The snakes writhed together again and fell asleep at his feet.

The wizard asked, “Aren’t you scared yet?” But he replied, “You haven’t got any of those beasts yet, because my cup isn’t empty yet.” Then the wizard turned the boy’s hair into flames and said that he would be consumed by these flames. But the young man asked: ‘Do you have tobacco in your pocket? I don’t have any tobacco with me, but my pipe does. Stop it in front of me for a moment, so I can at least light it on the flames and don’t have to use a match’.

And the third was that the sorcerer sat before him and said: If you will not confess, you will be sent to hell. ‘But the young servant laughed, for he was not afraid. The wizard looked straight at him and then the young man noticed that his body was turning into a skeleton. The magician said:

“Aren’t you scared yet? Remember – this is how you go to hell and stay there!” “Oh,” he said, “why should I be afraid? Such an old charnel house as I am now – there is no one in hell who knows me.” And he did not bow the neck.

However, he was sentenced to death. The executioner appeared and he was to be cut into four. He was already on the block to be chopped in four, then they asked him if he wasn’t scared yet. “No,” he said, “why should I be afraid? Our father always said I was worth more than four others. And if you cut me in four here, you’ll be dealing with not one, but four men in a minute.’ And he was not quartered, but they took him back to the cell.

That same night the devil came to him and left nothing to frighten him. He told him the most horrible stories and transformed himself into the most horrible forms. The devil became an old woman, with teeth as large and as sharp as razors, and threatened to bite his throat. The devil became a dragon with seven heads that spewed fire at him. He became a very large snake, with a mouth so wide that it could eat it in one sitting. But the young servant was not afraid. Only when the devil finally asked him if he felt any fear at all did he say, “No, I don’t, but you do!

And he began to tease him so furiously, he made such hideous noises, and he drew such crooked faces, that even the devil became frightened and threw himself to the ground and blew the retreat.

The judges came to the conclusion that a person that even the devil fears can never be a murderer. And he was acquitted…

• The wisdom of Frisian Craftmanship

Meaning of the Eternal Knot with the Number 7

The Eternal Knot itself symbolizes: Infinity , the cycle of life and death,The connectedness of everything in the universeThe intertwining of time , space , and consciousness

When you combine this with the sacred number 7 , you get a powerful spiritual deepening.

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Symbolism of the Number 7

The number 7 is found in almost every spiritual tradition as a number of holiness , mysticism , and completion . Some examples:

Tradition / Culture	Symbolism of 7
Buddhism	Seven Steps of the Buddha after His Birth
Hinduism	Seven chakras (energy points)
Christianity	Seven days of creation
Judaism	Seven-branched candelabra ( Menorah )
Islam	Seven heavens, seven rounds around the Kaaba
Nature & Cosmos	Seven celestial bodies visible to the naked eye

What does an Eternal Knot of 7 mean?

An Eternal Knot with 7 loops or connections represents:

Perfect connection of body, mind and soul
The eternal cycle of transformation and spiritual growth in 7 phases
The coming together of timelessness (knot) and completeness (7)
A balance between the material (the knot is tangible) and the spiritual (the symbolism of 7)

The Eternal Knot , also known as the Infinity Knot , is a powerful symbol found in several spiritual traditions, most notably within Buddhism , Hinduism , and Celtic culture . Here is some background information on this fascinating symbol:

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Meaning of the Eternal Knot

 General Symbolism :

• The Eternal Knot consists of an endless loop of lines that have no beginning or end.
• It symbolizes infinity , the eternal cycle of life , and the interconnectedness of all things .

In Buddhism

• Known as the Shrivatsa or Endless Knot .
• One of the Eight Lucky Symbols ( Ashtamangala ) in Tibetan Buddhism.
• Stands for:
  • The Buddha’s infinite wisdom and compassion .
  • The connection between cause and effect (karma).
  • The idea that everything in the universe is interconnected.

In Hinduism

• The knot is sometimes associated with eternal love , life cycles , and immortality .
• Also a reference to the cyclical nature of existence : birth, death and rebirth.

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Celtic Culture

• Similar knots, such as the Celtic knot , are common in ancient Celtic art.
• Often represent eternal connectedness , life paths , and spiritual growth

• Frisian Eternal Knot

• The Flower of Life and Overlapping circles grid

The Flower of Life is one of the most iconic symbols in sacred geometry, representing the interconnectedness of all life and the fundamental patterns of creation.

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What is the Flower of Life?

The Flower of Life is a geometric figure made up of multiple evenly-spaced, overlapping circles arranged in a hexagonal pattern, resembling a flower. The pattern can expand infinitely, symbolizing endless creation and unity.

Basic Structure:

• Composed of 19 overlapping circles within a larger circle (though the pattern can extend beyond).
• Forms interlocking petals resembling flowers.
• The central design often contains the Seed of Life, which is a smaller version made of 7 circles.

Meaning and Symbolism

The Flower of Life is considered a visual expression of:  Unity of all living things, Interconnectedness of the universe, Blueprint for life and creation, Sacred structure behind nature and reality

Flower of Life in NatureThe pattern reflects: See Geometry of Life – Geometry of Plants – Geometry of Human Life

• Honeycombs (hexagonal structures)
• Snowflakes
• Flower petal arrangements
• The structure of molecules and atoms

An overlapping circles grid is a geometric pattern of repeating, overlapping circles of an equal radius in two-dimensional space. Commonly, designs are based on circles centered on triangles (with the simple, two circle form named vesica piscis) or on the square lattice pattern of points.

Patterns of seven overlapping circles appear in historical artefacts from the 7th century BC onward; they become a frequently used ornament in the Roman Empire period, and survive into medieval artistic traditions both in Islamic art (girih decorations) and in Gothic art. The name “Flower of Life” is given to the overlapping circles pattern in New Age publications.

Of special interest is the hexafoil or six-petal rosette derived from the “seven overlapping circles” pattern, also known as “Sun of the Alps” from its frequent use in alpine folk art in the 17th and 18th century.

Triangular grid of overlapping circles

The triangular lattice form, with circle radii equal to their separation is called a seven overlapping circles grid.^[1] It contains 6 circles intersecting at a point, with a 7th circle centered on that intersection.

Overlapping circles with similar geometrical constructions have been used infrequently in various of the decorative arts since ancient times.

Cultural significance

Near East

The oldest known occurrence of the “overlapping circles” pattern is dated to the 7th or 6th century BCE, found on the threshold of the palace of Assyrian king Aššur-bāni-apli in Dur Šarrukin (now in the Louvre).^[2]

The design becomes more widespread in the early centuries of the Common Era. One early example are five patterns of 19 overlapping circles drawn on the granite columns at the Temple of Osiris in Abydos, Egypt,^[3] and a further five on column opposite the building. They are drawn in red ochre and some are very faint and difficult to distinguish.^[4] The patterns are graffiti, and not found in natively Egyptian ornaments. They are mostly dated to the early centuries of the Christian Era^[5] although medieval or even modern (early 20th century) origin cannot be ruled out with certainty, as the drawings are not mentioned in the extensive listings of graffiti at the temple compiled by Margaret Murray in 1904.^[6]

Similar patterns were sometimes used in England as apotropaic marks to keep witches from entering buildings.^[7] Consecration crosses indicating points in churches anointed with holy water during a church’s dedication also take the form of overlapping circles.

A girih pattern that can be drawn with straightedge and compass

Window cage at Topkapı Palace, using pattern

In Islamic art, the pattern is one of several arrangements of circles (others being used for fourfold or fivefold designs) used to construct grids for Islamic geometric patterns. It is used to design patterns with 6- and 12-pointed stars as well as hexagons in the style called girih. The resulting patterns however characteristically conceal the construction grid, presenting instead a design of interlaced strapwork.^[8]

Europe

Patterns of seven overlapping circles are found on Roman mosaics, for example at Herod’s palace in the 1st century BC.

The design is found on one of the silver plaques of the Late Roman hoard of Kaiseraugst (discovered 1961).^] It is later found as an ornament in Gothic architecture, and still later in European folk art of the early modern period.

High medieval examples include the Cosmati pavements in Westminster Abbey (13th century).^[11] Leonardo da Vinci explicitly discussed the mathematical proportions of the design

See also:The Soul Carved in Wood: Romania’s Sacred Craft

Frisian Craftmanship

Frisian patterns are very comparable to Islamic Patterns. They express the same Thruth “Haqq” in Arabic and these patterns lead to the Truth. All Frisian would agree with Goethe who says:

“Stupid that everyone in his case

Is praising his particular opinion!

If Islam means submission to God,

We all live and die in Islam.”

(West-East Divan)

See:Goethe, the “refugee” and his Message for our times

see also Research Goethe Message for the 21st century

 The classic study of the cosmological principles found in the patterns of Islamic art and how they relate to sacred geometry and the perennial philosophy: Is the book Islamic Patterns: An Analytical and Cosmological Approach by Keith Critchlow

For centuries the nature and meaning of Islamic art has been wrongly regarded in the West as mere decoration. In truth, because the portrayal of human and animal forms has always been discouraged on Islamic religious principles that forbid idolatry, the abstract art of Islam represents the sophisticated development of a nonnaturalistic tradition. Through this tradition, Islamic art has maintained its chief aim: the affirmation of unity as expressed in diversity.

In this fascinating study the author explores the idea that unlike medieval Christian art, in which the polarization of such forms and patterns was relegated to a background against which to set sacred images, the geometrical patterns of Islamic art can reveal the intrinsic cosmological laws affecting all creation. Their primary function is to guide the mind from the mundane world of appearances toward its underlying reality.

Numerous drawings connect the art of Islam to the Pythagorean science of mathematics, and through these images we can see how an Earth-centered view of the cosmos provides renewed significance to those number patterns produced by the orbits of the planets.

The author shows the essential philosophical and practical basis of every art creation–whether a tile, carpet, or wall–and how this use of mathematical tessellations affirms the essential unity of all things. An invaluable study for all those interested in sacred art, Islamic Patterns is also a rich source of inspiration for artists and designers. Read here the book

Millstone , maelstroms and Frisian craft patterns

A whirlpool is a body of rotating water produced by opposing currents or a current running into an obstacle. Small whirlpools form when a bath or a sink is draining. More powerful ones formed in seas or oceans may be called maelstroms (/ˈmeɪlstrɒm, -rəm/ MAYL-strom, – strəm).One of the earliest uses in English of the Allan Poe in his short story ” Scandinavian word malström or malstrøm was by Edgar A Descent into the Maelström” (1841). The Nordic word itself is derived from the Dutch word maelstrom (pronounced [ˈmaːlstroːm]
ⓘ ; modern spelling maalstroom), from malen (‘to mill’ or ‘to grind’) and stroom (‘stream’), to form the meaning ‘grinding current’ or literally ‘mill-stream’, in the sense of milling (grinding) grain.

Vortex is the proper term for a whirlpool that has a downdraft. In narrow ocean straits with fast flowing water, whirlpools are often caused by tides. Many stories tell of ships being sucked into a maelstrom, although only smaller craft are actually in danger.] Smaller whirlpools appear at river rapids[] and can be observed downstream of artificial structures such as weirs and dams. Large cataracts, such as Niagara Falls, produce strong whirlpools.

• Spinning , Distaff and Frisian Craft

 distaff (/ˈdɪstɑːf/, /ˈdɪstæf/, also called a rock^[is a tool used in spinning. It is designed to hold the unspun fibers, keeping them untangled and thus easing the spinning process. It is most commonly used to hold flax and sometimes wool, but can be used for any type of fibre. Fiber is wrapped around the distaff and tied in place with a piece of ribbon or string. The word comes from Low German dis, meaning a bunch of flax, connected with staff.

As an adjective, the term distaff  is used to describe the female side of a family. The corresponding term for the male side of a family is the “spear” side.

Form

In Western Europe, there were two common forms of distaves, depending on the spinning method. The traditional form is a staff held under one’s arm while using a spindle – see the figure illustration. It is about 3 feet (0.9 m) long, held under the left arm, with the right hand used in drawing the fibres from it.^[2] This version is the older of the two, as spindle spinning predates spinning on a wheel.

A distaff can also be mounted as an attachment to a spinning wheel. On a wheel, it is placed next to the bobbin, where it is in easy reach of the spinner. This version is shorter, but otherwise does not differ from the spindle version.

By contrast, the traditional Russian distaff, used both with spinning wheels and with spindles, is L-shaped and consists of a horizontal board, known as the dontse (Russian: донце), and a flat vertical piece, frequently oar-shaped, to the inner side of which the bundle of fibers was tied or pinned. The spinner sat on the dontse, with the vertical piece of the distaff to her left, and drew the fibers out with her left hand. The distaff was often richly carved and painted and was an important element of Russian folk art.^[3]

Recently,^[when?] handspinners have begun using wrist distaves to hold their fiber; these are made of flexible material, such as braided yarn, and can swing freely from the wrist. A wrist distaff generally consists of a loop with a tail, at the end of which is a tassel, often with beads on each strand. The spinner wraps the roving or tow around the tail and through the loop to keep it out of the way, and to keep it from getting snagged.

Dressing

Dressing a distaff is the act of wrapping the fiber around the distaff. With flax, the wrapping is done by laying the flax fibers down, approximately parallel to each other and the distaff, then carefully rolling the fibers onto the distaff. A ribbon or string is then tied at the top and loosely wrapped around the fibers to keep them in place.

Read here: Myths of northern lands, narrated with special reference to literature and art by Guerber, Hélène Adeline.

• The millstone and sacred Geometry

• The cosmogenesis of dwelling: ancient (eco)logical practices of divining the constructed world

The disenchantment with scientific progress has awakened a new environmental awareness in our culture so that today we are reconsidering the constructed world with respect to the position of the sun to create sustainable environments. This “new” approach to the design of the constructed world is based on ancient traditions that have been lost due to new technologies that have allowed us to defy nature. These ancient traditions were (eco)logical—the forces of nature were used to shape the constructed world to create comfortable dwellings that responded to prevailing environmental conditions. The built world was auspicious because it was oriented towards the cosmos: the positions of the sun, the stars and the planets. Human dwelling was considered to be a microcosm of the universe and was associated with spirituality. The act of building itself was a religious rite. Divining the constructed world was a talismanic operation that the ancients used to orient their earthly creations to be “square with the world” and began with the human body at its center and origin. The cosmological origins of building will be demonstrated by considering the ancient practices of Vāstu Śāstra and Feng Shui as a way of reconsidering present-day body-centered (eco)logical approaches to design.

Divining the Constructed World

From the trunk of a gum tree Numbakula fashioned the sacred pole (kauwa-auwa) and, after anointing it with blood, climbed it and disappeared into the sky. This pole represents a cosmic axis (axis mundi), for it is around the sacred pole that territory becomes habitable, hence is transformed into a world.

Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane¹

Divining the constructed world was a talismanic operation that the Ancients used to orient their earthly creations to be “square with the world.” The Ancients constructed according to divine co-ördinating principles to align their built works with the cardinal directions of the earth with respect to the cosmos. This was an (eco)logical operation that intended to embody the divine in an earthly construction that began with the human body at its center and origin. The body marked the beginning and the first point of contact with the heavens through its axis mundi, which in the body is the line of the spine in the erect human figure. In this way, the earthly microcosm could be brought into alignment with the macrocosm of the universe.

Divination is a geomantic procedure. The word geomancy is derived from the Greek geo, literally meaning the earth, and manteia, meaning divination or coming from above. Geomancy is the act of projecting lines onto the earth from the cosmos above through marking the ground and encircling.  This talismanic operation projects regulating lines upon the ground to provide auspicious conditions for the construction of the built environment and to protect the constructed world. This is a “divine” act with heavenly origins.

The divine resources for ancient geomantic procedures included the positions and the paths of the sun, the moon, the stars and the planets. The instrument the Ancients used to take their measurements was the gnomon, literally, interpreter. It was a stick, often in the form of a human figure , which was used to help them interpret their position on earth with respect to the greater universe of the cosmos by being encircled: the intersection of the gnomon’s cast shadow and the circle in the morning and the evening at the summer solstice located solar east and west from which north and south could be determined .  This (eco)logical procedure resulted in built works that considered the environment through solar and stellar orientation.

• Millstone: The Creation of a New Coalescence Consciousness of Opposites

This study is about the symbolism of Millstone appeared in psychotherapy like sand play therapy with symbol work. Symbols not only deliver meanings but also have numinous power, which produces transformation through powerful energy from emotional experience. Symbols help human’s mentality develop by compromising opposites which cause conflict. This study is to examine the characteristic of Millstone in human history and the symbolic
meaning which appears in mythology and tales and alchemy, and to explain universal and cultural meaning of millstone connected to psychological symbolism. Millstone represents pain through sacrifice of grain, death and the creation of new consciousness as a symbol of the rebirth. Also, it explains the circulation of original nature as a symbol of destiny to overcome by the integration of anima and animus. The millstone described as the symbol of Self in the marriage of mythology represents the coniunctio oppositorum between men and women, a combination of yin and yang. It is the symbol of wholeness integrating conscious and unconscious. Through this study, we consider that millstone is the psychic center of the ego- Self axis and the individuation in the psychotherapy is the process of unceasing transformation of one’s whole personality which experiences the process of balancing, regulating and unifying. Consequently, millstone functions as symbolic intermediation that leads to the center of one’s whole psyche.
Read here

• The Norns and the “Flap aan de wand” table

The Norns, similar to the Fates, they spin the threads of destiny by Yggdrasil, the World Tree. Represent Urd (Past), Verdandi (Present), Skuld (Future). Symbolism: Spinning reflects how past, present, and future are interwoven, shaping all existence

The three Norns or three Fates are maybe forgotten but you can find some presence in Wales in the Castel Coch:

We find back the 3 faces of the three Norns on the back “flap on the wall” table and also their distaffs with the 3 legs of the table:

Distaff Shape: A distaff often has a long, slender, spindle-like appearance with a widened or carved top for holding fibers.

Table Legs Resembling Distaff: Many fold-down or wall-mounted flap tables, especially antique or rustic ones, have legs that are turned (wood-turned on a lathe) into spindle shapes:

The faces of the 3 Norns disappear and became knots but the connection piece is always the same in a wave form of a thread:

• The table legs resemble a distaff, intentionally , it can evoke Aa aesthetic tied to old-world craftsmanship: This resemblance is a practical design choice from woodworking traditions, and it might carry symbolic echoes, especially in cultures where the distaff was a significant household tool.

The Diftaff was very special in the Middelages : “Quenouille” is French for distaff, the tool used in spinning to hold fibers, historically associated with women’s domestic work. It was so uimportant that yopu can find an“Évangiles des Quenouilles”, or The Distaff Gospels, it is a 15th-century French collection of popular beliefs, superstitions, and proverbial wisdom, supposedly gathered from women spinning at their distaffs.

Furniture design echoing the distaff can intentionally reference the domestic, female-centered spaces where knowledge, stories, and traditions were passed down — much like the Distaff Gospels themselves. The work presents itself humorously as “gospels” — not religious scripture, but rather the collected “truths” women exchanged while working, often reflecting folk beliefs, moral lessons, and practical advice.

Why “Distaff Gospels“?

In medieval Europe, spinning at the distaff was a communal and domestic female space, where women exchanged stories, advice, and gossip. The title plays on the contrast between sacred religious texts (gospels) and everyday, earthy wisdom passed between women — elevating domestic knowledge in a playful way.

But the most important pice was the front of the table: the Frisian Eternal Knot or Flower of Life. ( see above)

We can call the tables and another crafts a kind of Frisian Folk Mandalas for the daily use of the Family:

• Conclusion

The wisdom of Frisian craft, particularly in clockmaking and other traditional arts from Friesland, reflects deep-rooted values of precision, resilience, respect for tradition, and harmony with nature. Here’s a breakdown of the underlying wisdom embedded in Frisian craftsmanship: Wisdom Reflected in Frisian Craft:

Patience and Precision

Frisian clockmakers were known for their meticulous attention to detail. The delicate mechanisms and ornate decorations took months of steady, focused work, teaching the value of:

Endurance over instant results, Craftsmanship over mass production, Pride in perfecting one’s skill,,Good work cannot be rushed — time is both the master and the measure.

Respect for Time

Frisian clocks, in particular, embody the philosophical relationship with time: Time is cyclical (reflected in moon phases and astronomical elements) – Time governs life, work, and nature’s rhythms – The passing of time demands mindfulness, not haste – The clock reminds owners: Master time, don’t be mastered by it — a reflection of both humility and responsibility.

Connection to Nature

Frisian crafts often incorporate natural elements — woodcarvings, floral designs, or ship motifs — symbolizing: The interconnectedness of humanity and the environment – The rhythm of tides, seasons, and life cycles – Sustainability, using local materials like oak or pine for lasting beauty

Cultural Identity and Storytelling

Frisian craft preserves oral history and regional pride, telling stories through: *Family crests or local symbols on clocks (Scenes of Friesland’s landscapes) in carvings or paintings -* Passing down objects as heirlooms, keeping stories alive across generations – A well-made object carries the soul of its maker and the spirit of its land

Simplicity Meets Elegance

True to Dutch design sensibilities, Frisian craft reflects functional beauty, blending:

Practical engineering (precise clockworks, sturdy furniture) -* Subtle artistry (hand-painted details, symbolic carvings) – Minimal excess, maximum meaning

Legacy of Frisian Wisdom

Even today, the wisdom of Frisian craft is visible in: -Dedication to high standards – Interweaving function with beauty – Honoring tradition while embracing innovation – Living life in harmony with time and nature

Art That Expresses Truth

Ananda Coomaraswamy, deeply rooted in both Eastern and Western traditions, emphasized that the traditional artist or craftsman was not creating to express individuality, but to reveal the timeless:

“The traditional craftsman did not ‘express himself,’ he expressed truths.”

Coomaraswamy rejected the modern cult of originality and innovation. For him, traditional art and craft were “vehicles for eternal wisdom“. The form was not arbitrary—it was a symbolic expression of metaphysical principles, passed down through sacred traditions. Every detail, from proportions to ornamentation, had a purpose that reached beyond aesthetics.

“Work is for the sake of the work done, and not for the profit therefrom.”

In this sense, “work was prayer “—a form of contemplation, a discipline of the soul.

The eternal wisdom formed with Sacred Geometry is universal and is based on the One Truth , “Haqq “in arabic.

• Craft and Tradition: The Sacred Art of Making

In the modern world, craftsmanship is often reduced to technique, productivity, or personal expression. But in the eyes of Traditionalist thinkers like René Guénon, Ananda Coomaraswamy, and Frithjof Schuon, craft is something far more profound—it is a sacred act rooted in metaphysical principles and spiritual symbolism.

Craft as Sacred Knowledge

René Guénon viewed traditional craft not as utilitarian labor but as a means of cosmic participation. The traditional craftsman, for Guénon, was engaged in work that reflected the divine order:

“A craft is not merely a technique, but a transmission of a traditional knowledge, the application of principles that are ultimately metaphysical.”

In traditional civilizations, there was no division between the sacred and the secular in labor. Every craft, from carpentry to stonemasonry, was infused with symbolic meaning. The tools themselves—like the compass, the square, or the chisel—served as metaphors for universal truths. The craftsman, through repeated and intentional action, participated in the divine act of creation.

Work and contemplation were not separate in traditional societies. A craftsman worked not just with his hands but also with an awareness of the symbolic and spiritual meaning of his work.

The tool, the material, and the process had symbolic dimensions. For instance, in masonry or metalwork, the transformation of raw material symbolized the transformation of the soul.

Initiation and Guilds

Guénon emphasized the role of initiatic craft guilds—especially in the West, such as medieval masonry guilds—which preserved esoteric teachings and transmitted initiatic knowledge through symbols, rituals, and oral transmission.

These guilds were structured hierarchically and transmitted cosmological knowledge embedded in tools, geometry, architecture, and ritual.

The compass and square, for example, symbolized heaven and earth or spirit and matter.

The architecture of temples or cathedrals followed sacred geometry, aligning physical structures with cosmic principles.

Degeneration in Modernity

Guénon argued that in modern times, the loss of sacred and symbolic understanding has led to the degeneration of crafts into mere technical skills, disconnected from their metaphysical roots.

This reflects his larger thesis: modernity is a descent into materialism, fragmentation, and loss of spiritual orientation””. The disappearance of guilds, desacralization of labor, and mass industrialization exemplify this decline.

see:Wisdom of Craftmanship Versus Modernity

• Macrocosmos- Microcosmos

Amleth (Old Norse: Amlóði; Latinized as Amlethus) is a figure in a medieval Scandinavian legend, the direct inspiration of the character of Prince Hamlet, the hero of William Shakespeare’s tragedy Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. The chief authority for the legend of Amleth is Saxo Grammaticus, who devotes to it parts of the third and fourth books of his Gesta Danorum, completed at the beginning of the 13th century.^[1] Saxo’s version is supplemented by Latin and vernacular compilations from a much later date. In all versions, prince Amleth (Amblothæ) is the son of Horvendill (Orwendel), king of the Jutes. It has often been assumed that the story is ultimately derived from an Old Icelandic poem, but no such poem has been found; the extant Icelandic versions, known as the Ambales-saga or Amloda-saga, are considerably later than Saxo.^2] Amleth’s name is not mentioned in Old-Icelandic regnal lists before Saxo. Only the 15th-century Sagnkrønike from Stockholm may contain some older elements.

Name

The Old Icelandic form Amlóði is recorded twice in Snorri Sturluson‘s Prose Edda. According to the section Skaldskaparmal,

the expression Amlóða mólu (‘Amlóði’s quern-stone‘) is a kenning for the sea, grinding the skerries to sand.^] In a poem by the 10th-century skald Snæbjörn the name of the legendary hero Amlóði is intrinsically connected to the word líðmeldr (‘ale-flower’), leading to the conclusion that the nine mermaids, who operated the “hand-mill of the sea”, “long ago ground the ale-flour of Amlóði”.The association with flour milling and beer brewing, the gold carried around, the net used to catch people and the association with the nine female waves place Amleth on a par with the deity Aegir and his wife Rán.

The late 12th-century Amlethus, Amblothæ may easily be latinizations of the Old Norse name. The etymology of the name is unknown, but there are various suggestions.

Icelandic Amlóði is recorded as a term for a fool or simpleton in reference to the character of the early modern Icelandic romance or folk tale.^[9] One suggestion^[10] is based on the “fool” or “trickster” interpretation of the name, composing the name from Old Norse ama “to vex, annoy, molest” and óðr “fierceness, madness” (also in the theonym Odin). The Irish and Scottish word amhlair, which in contemporary vernacular denotes a dull, stupid person, is handed down from the ancient name for a court jester or fool, who entertained the king but also surreptitiously advised him through riddles and antics.

A more recent suggestion is based on the Eddaic kenning associating Amlóði with the mythological mill grótti, and derives it from the Old Irish name Admlithi “great-grinding”, attested in Togail Bruidne Dá Derga.^[11]

Attention has also been drawn to the similarity of Amleth to the Irish name Amhladh (variously Amhlaidh, Amhlaigh, Amhlaide), itself a Gaelic adaptation of the Norse name Olaf.^[12]

In a controversial suggestion going back to 1937, the sequence æmluþ contained in the 8th-century Old Frisian runic inscription on the Westeremden yew-stick has been interpreted as a reference to “Amleth”.

Ameland

Ameland is a young island. It is risen from the sea only in the youngest era of geological history of the earth, the Holocene (the  geological epoch from 11,700 years ago to the present). The early signs of the origins of the wadden island Ameland came into being after the last ice age. The temperature  rose, the icecaps melted, the sea level rose and for our surroundings that meant the North Sea advanced towards the  land.

The exact etymology of Ameland is debated, but it likely derives from older Germanic or Frisian roots: “Ame” may come from an old word for water, river, or wetland. “Land” clearly means “land” or “territory” in Dutch and Germanic languages. So, Ameland  likely means “land by the water”, river land”, or “wetland area”, which fits geographically since it’s an island surrounded by sea and tidal flats.”

But  it is more realistic to say  that Ameland   come  fom Amlodi ,the Old Icelandic form Amlóði is recorded twice in Snorri Sturluson‘s Prose Edda. According to the section Skaldskaparmal, the expression Amlóða mólu (‘Amlóði’s quern-stone‘) is a kenning for the sea, grinding the skerries to sand

Powerful Jungian symbols: the mill and the bread

In Jungian psychology, symbols hold powerful and often universal significance in the human psyche. The mill, as a symbol, can be interpreted in various ways within this framework. Here are a few potential Jungian interpretations of the symbol of the mill:

The mill can be seen as a symbol of transformation and renewal. Just as a mill grinds grains into flour, it signifies the process of transforming raw or unconscious material into something refined and useful. In Jungian terms, this can represent the journey of individuation, where one moves from a state of unconsciousness to self-awareness and self-realization.

Jung often emphasized the importance of the mandala as a symbol of wholeness and the integration of the self. The circular shape of a millstone or the circular motion of a mill wheel can be likened to a mandala. The mill can represent the journey toward psychological integration and balance.

In Jungian psychology, the anima (the inner feminine aspect in men) and the animus (the inner masculine aspect in women) play significant roles in the individuation process. The mill can symbolize the anima or animus as a guiding force in the process of inner transformation and self-discovery.

The mill could be seen as one such archetype, representing the idea of work, productivity, and the cyclical nature of life — themes that resonate with people across cultures and time periods.The turning of the mill wheel can symbolize the cyclical nature of life, death, and rebirth. Just as the wheel of the mill never stops turning, life also follows a continuous cycle of birth, growth, decay, and renewal.

The process of alchemy, which involves transforming base metals into gold, is a metaphor for spiritual and psychological transformation. The mill, with its grinding and refining process, can symbolize the alchemical journey of turning the “base” aspects of the psyche into something more valuable and enlightened.

The mill as symbol of industriousness

The mill, with its continuous grinding and processing of grain, represents the idea of hard work and diligence. Just as the millstone tirelessly grinds grains into flour, individuals who embrace the symbol of the mill in their psyche may be inclined to value and embody qualities such as persistence, dedication, and a strong work ethic.

In a Jungian sense, the concept of industriousness can extend beyond external work to include inner work and self-improvement. The process of self-discovery and self-realization often requires significant effort and dedication. The mill can symbolize the inner “grinding” and transformation that occurs when one engages in the exploration of the self and works to integrate various aspects of the psyche.

Industriousness is not limited to physical labor but can also encompass creative and intellectual pursuits. The mill’s grinding motion can symbolize the process of generating ideas, creating art, or producing meaningful work. This interpretation emphasizes the idea that industriousness isn’t just about labor but also about the generation of valuable output.

The mill’s cyclical motion, as it continually turns the wheel, can represent the cyclical nature of industriousness and productivity. It highlights the idea that effort and hard work are ongoing processes, much like the seasons or the passage of time. This cyclical nature can also symbolize the need for balance between work and rest.

The act of grinding grains to make flour carries rich symbolic significance, often associated with themes beyond its literal meaning. Here are some interpretations of the symbol of grinding for making flour:

Grinding grains into flour is a transformative process. The symbol can represent the idea of transformation in general, where something raw or unrefined is processed and refined into a more valuable and useful form. This can be applied to personal growth and development, where individuals work on themselves to become better versions of themselves.

Just as grains are ground to make flour, individuals may go through difficult experiences that shape and refine their character. This symbol can be a reminder that personal growth often involves facing and overcoming challenges.

The act of grinding can be physically demanding and may involve suffering. In a symbolic context, it can represent the idea of enduring suffering or hardship for a greater purpose. This connects to the idea that meaningful achievements often come with sacrifices and challenges.It can also represent the qualities of patience and persistence. Just as the millstone keeps turning, individuals may need to persevere through long and arduous journeys in life to achieve their goals.

The process of grinding can also symbolize the importance of balance and moderation. Too much grinding can reduce grains to dust, while too little can leave them unprocessed. This can be a reminder to find a balance in life’s endeavors and not to overexert or neglect important aspects of one’s life.

Incorporating the symbol of grinding for making flour into storytelling or personal reflection can add depth to the narrative and offer insights into themes of transformation, personal growth, endurance, and balance. It serves as a reminder that even mundane tasks can hold profound symbolic meaning.

The symbols of the flour and the bread

Bread is a rich and universal symbol that holds various meanings across cultures and throughout history. Here are some common symbolic interpretations of bread:

Bread is often seen as a symbol of basic sustenance and nourishment. It represents the fundamental sustenance needed for physical survival. In a broader sense, it can also symbolize the emotional and spiritual nourishment required for a fulfilling life.

In many cultures Bread has historically been a staple food shared among people, symbolizing communal bonds, sharing, and hospitality. Breaking bread with others often signifies unity and the sharing of resources, both material and emotional. Also, in some cultures and religious traditions, bread is used as an offering or sacrifice to deities or spirits. It represents a gesture of devotion and giving back.

Bread’s association with grains and the cycle of planting, harvesting, and grinding gives it a connection to the cycles of life and fertility. It can represent the cycle of birth, growth, and renewal.

In many religions, bread plays a central role in rituals and symbolism. In Christianity, for example, the Eucharist or Holy Communion involves the consumption of bread as a representation of the body of Christ. In this context, bread symbolizes spiritual nourishment and connection with the divine.

From an alchemical perspective, bread is the result of a transformational process involving the mixing and fermentation of ingredients. This can symbolize the transformative power of time and effort in turning raw materials into something more valuable and nourishing. It can also be seen as a metaphor for inner transformation and personal growth.

As a basic food staple, bread is often associated with abundance and prosperity. It can symbolize the fulfillment of material needs and the rewards of hard work and productivity.

The process of making bread involves combining separate ingredients into a cohesive whole. This can symbolize the idea of unity and oneness, where different elements come together to create something greater than the sum of its parts.

Bread, with its simple ingredients of flour, water, and yeast, can symbolize humility and the value of simplicity in life. It reminds individuals to appreciate the simple pleasures and necessities of life.

The symbolic meanings of mills, grinding, and bread are versatile and often depend on cultural, religious, and personal contexts. They are powerful symbols that resonate with many aspects of human experience, from physical sustenance to spiritual and emotional fulfillment.

Thread-Spirit: The Symbolism of Knotting and the Fiber Arts

Written after years of studying both the textile arts and traditional symbolism, The Thread-Spirit is a compendium of the wisdom of both essential human exercises. Inasmuch as we express who we are through what we create and use, through our technologies, we are the human beings described in this book.

The technology of traditional societies is based on the application of metaphysical principles to practical ends. This is particularly clear in the case of the fiber arts— knotting, weaving, spinning, basketry, and the like—where a worldwide symbolism exists which appears to have its origins in Paleolithic times.

There is an underlying historical continuity to this symbolism that survives, but has been forced underground with the rise of rationalism. These traditions survived into the 20th century in more remote parts of the world, but they were generally no longer understood. The Thread-Spirit attempts to examine the traditions, as they existed and continue to exist, and reunite them with their ancient meanings.

The technology of traditional societies is based on the application of metaphysical principles to practical ends. This is particularly clear in the case of the fiber arts— knotting, weaving, spinning, basketry, and the like—where a worldwide symbolism exists which appears to have its origins in Paleolithic times. Dr. A. K. Coomaraswamy referred to this symbolic complex as the sutratman (thread-spirit) doctrine and it is well documented by the literary, artistic and archeological remains.

Using a consistent set of symbols, our ancient ancestors sought to explain the relations governing the social order, the workings of the cosmos, and the mysteries surrounding birth and rebirth. The eye of the needle, for example, was understood as the entrance to heaven while the thread was the Spirit that sought to return to its Source. Creation is a kind of sewing in this version of the story as God wields his solar, pneumatic needle. Man is conceived as a jointed creature similar to a marionette or puppet but held together by an invisible thread-spirit. When this thread is cut, a man dies, comes “unstrung,” and his bones separate at the joints.

It was the American art historian, Carl Schuster who first discovered the significance of body joints in this symbolism and he believed that it was based on an analogy with the plant world where regeneration is possible from a shoot or sprout. Body joints play a role in such diverse matters as labyrinths, continuous-line drawings, cat’s cradles, dismemberment and cannibalism, and various rituals meant to ensure rebirth and the continuity of the social order. Read here :The Thread-Spirit Doctrine:An Ancient Metaphor in Religion and Metaphysics with Prehistoric Roots

Lo-Shu , the labyrinth and the Tortoise

 A journey from the primordial China of the legendary rulers to the maze of the palace of Knossos to the sovereignty of Saturn, in an attempt to unravel a plot which – like a dance – turns out to be based on rules animated by a lost science of rhythm whose vestiges are manifested in diagrams cosmological information informed by the observation of the highest heaven: the circumpolar region as it must have appeared in 3000 BC, different from the current one due to the precessional cycle.

We do not know how the original concept of the labyrinth, probably Minoan, was born. In any case, it was more concrete than the Greek references cited indicate, because the definition of “remarkable (stone) structure” sounds derivative and vaguely metaphorical. It is conceivable that the name of a certain structure attributed to Daedalus became a generic designation — as happened, for example, with the proper name “Caesar,” which came to mean the epitome of sovereign power and rank, as reflected in the German word “Kaiser” and the Russian word “tsar”.[1]

Kern thinks it more likely that the primary use of the word was related to a dance, whose pattern would “crystallize” much later in permanent forms, such as graffiti, petroglyphs and – finally – built structures. However plausible it may seem, this hypothesis does not shed much light on the first meaning of this drawing and on the reasons for its established form, the one we usually refer to as Cretan o knossian. Nor does it explain why such an important “structure” as a king’s palace should have the shape of a dance path.

While it is true that a Latin given name such as Caesar has come to mean “the epitome of sovereign power and rank”, on the other hand we may find that the English word King and the German one King may share a common root with the word having the same meaning in the Turkic and Mongolian languages: Khan 

see Lo-Shu , the labyrinth and the Tortoise

And THE METAPHYSICAL SYMBOLISM OF THE CHINESE TORTOISE

• THE KUNDALINI – SERPENTS AND DRAGONS

The Kundalini refers to the dormant power or energy present in every human being, and lying like a coiled serpent in the etheric body at the base of the spine. This coiled serpent has been biding its time for ages, waiting for the day when the soul would begin to take charge of its rightful domain—the personality, or the combination of the physical, astral and mental bodies.

This ‘spiritual’ force, while still asleep, is the static form of creative energy which serves to vitalise the whole body. When awakened and beginning to ‘uncoil’, this electric, fiery force proves to be of a spiral nature, and hence the symbolic description of ‘serpent power’.

As the Kundalini force is aroused, it will steadily increase the vibratory action of the etheric centres and consequently also that of the physical, astral and mental bodies through which the vital body finds expression. This animating activity will have a dual effect, firstly by eliminating all that is coarse and unsuitable from the lower vehicles, and secondly by absorbing into its sphere of influence those lofty qualities which will serve to raise the energy content of the vital body of the evolving individual. Read more here.

See the Sacred Geometry of plants and The Geometry of Flowers

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The Mill, The Stone and The Water

by Rumi

All our desire is a grain of wheat.
Our whole personality is the milling-building.
But this mill grinds without knowing about it.

The millstone is your heavy body.
What makes the stone turn is your thought-river.
The stone says: I don’t know why we do all this,
but the river has knowledge!

If you ask the river, it says,
I don’t know why I flow.
All I know is that a human opened the gate!

And if you ask the person, he says:
All I know, oh gobbler of bread, is that if this stone
stops going around there will be no bread for your bread-soup!

All this grinding goes on, and no one has any knowledge!
So just be quiet, and one day turn
to God and say: “What is this about bread-making?”