Love's Caravan: A Guided Journey into the Mystical Imagination

By Patrick James

Everyone has an imagination, but how many of us can say we use it to its full potential? Not only Ibn Arabi, the “greatest Shaykh” of Sufism, but poets and mystics in every age have developed their imagination to the point where they can apprehend a silence that speaks in symbol and a dynamic stillness that can transform the world.

This journey starts from where we are as novice meditators in a bustling, distracted world and guides us into the mystical imagination with twelve short discussions, each illustrated by accessible, memorable poems. With creative challenges in each chapter, you can chart your own exploration by writing a poem, painting a picture, or making a piece of music using the suggestions as a starting point.

Stops along the route of this armchair pilgrimage include dreams, alchemists, Sufi stories, bardo states, angels, synchronicities, prophecies, a mermaid, and a well-known crucifixion. This book is for seekers, yogis, and believers of all traditions and at all stages, as well as those who simply want to better connect with their creative imagination.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jul 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398487246

Patrick James

James Patrick followed up an honours degree from the University of Cambridge with an MA in Mysticism and Religious Experience from the University of Kent in Canterbury. His unlikely training for poetry was as a writer for BBC Radio 4 light events department and various television production companies. When he is not writing poems, he is taking historical and cultural tours around the UK and Western Europe. He is also a composer-conductor and lives in Hove.

Book preview

About the Author

James Patrick followed up an honours degree from the University of Cambridge with an MA in Mysticism and Religious Experience from the University of Kent in Canterbury. His unlikely training for poetry was as a writer for BBC Radio 4 light events department and various television production companies. When he is not writing poems, he is taking historical and cultural tours around the UK and Western Europe. He is also a composer-conductor and lives in Hove.

Dedication

To all my teachers, dead and alive.

Copyright Information ©

James Patrick 2023

The right of James Patrick and Simon Lea Wright to be identified as author and illustrator of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398487222 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398487246 (ePub e-book)

ISBN 9781398487239 (Audiobook)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

The cover illustration credit goes to Simon Lea Wright.

Preface

The imagination, just like any human faculty, can be less or more developed in any individual person. A poet or a painter can think and perceive through the medium of images and this ability will lead to an understanding of the world that is both different and greater than that of someone who can only describe it in words or mathematics. Yet, despite these few exceptions, our modern culture generally misunderstands the imagination and the imagination of the majority remains underdeveloped, even in comparison with our ancestors; powerful dreams, rather than being important messages to be shared with the community, are seen as the result of too much cheese at dinner; the imagination in its larger sense is the part of human psychology that perceives beauty, yet its role is considered to be simply to make things up; truths that can only be perceived by a highly developed imagination, including spiritual truths, are considered imaginary—and therefore unreal. The fault lies not with the falsehood or absence of these truths in the world, but with the incapacity of the organ of their perception. We are like blind people denying not only the existence of colour, but also the possibility of developing an eye which could prove us wrong.

In addressing this problem, this book needs to take into account the different levels of understanding among its readers as well as the varied approaches to engaging with new and sometimes difficult concepts. This is reflected in its structure; each of its twelve chapters leads us step by step deeper into the subject matter, and within each chapter, different sections approach the topic through a different medium. A short lecture sets out the key ideas as explicitly as possible, the question-and-answer section allows for a more personal response to individual questions, and the poems at the end of the chapter illustrate aspects of the imagination through the medium of the imagination. Some may prefer the more rational approach, and others the more imaginative, but for all, an effective way of learning is likely to be by doing; suggestions as starting points for writing a poem or painting a picture encourage the reader to take a more active approach to the development of their imagination. This important project requires time, and the division of the book into shorter sections permits the reader to dip in and out of it on an occasional basis; for some, this may prove to be a more useful strategy than reading the book cover to cover in a single sitting.

Working with our imaginations may bring up different emotions. There may be sadness or anger, as we realise the extent to which our imaginations have been polluted or damaged by the hurt done to us in the past. There may be fear, as our mental frameworks, our modi videndi or ways of seeing, are ruptured, too small to contain an empowered imagination. There may be great joy in the infinite creative potential of the imagination. There may be feelings of awe or wonder, as we learn to perceive nature on a deeper level. There may be exhilaration, as we learn to revel in the sense of liberation and freedom that is one of the gifts of a developed imagination. Whatever we may be feeling at different stages of the journey, we must continue to walk the path to become more fully human; for, as Muhammad Ali once said, A man who has no imagination has no wings.

This book is designed to afford the opportunity for readers to participate. You can do so in the following ways:

When Mo strikes the gong for meditation in the class, you can meditate for twenty to thirty minutes.

When ‘a short season passes’, you too can put the book down and allow the passing of time to give your mind and

imagination some time to reflect on any ideas from the chapter.

You can exercise your own imagination by using the suggestions for sonnets as a starting point to stimulate your own

creations, whether it be to pen a poem, paint a picture or write a song or a piece of music.

Prologue

A living room with high Georgian windows letting in early evening light. This could be Bath, Brighton or Bloomsbury.

On a cushion on the floor, sits MO; in his sixties, swarthy, friendly, smiley faced, he could be of Mediterranean descent.

Taking a sip of tea from a small, colourful, middle-Eastern cup, he starts

to talk.

MO: So—welcome all! The title of this course, Love’s Caravan, comes from a quote from Ibn Arabi, which runs ‘I follow the way of love, and where love’s caravan takes its path, there is my religion, my faith’.

Sitting near him on another cushion is RACHEL; mid-fifties, wearing a business suit, she sits awkwardly cross-legged so close to the floor.

MO: Abu Abd Allah Muhammad ibn All ibn Muhammad ibn al-Arabi al-Hatimi at-Ta’i was born in Andalusia in 1165 in our calendar—they certainly went in for long names back then, so these days, he is commonly referred to more simply as Ibn Arabi. He was a poet, philosopher and mystic and is still considered one of the greatest scholars Islam has ever produced. In fact, he is often referred to as ‘the Greatest Shaykh’.

On a chair sits GEORGE; approaching seventy, wearing a shirt and tie, a long overcoat next to him, holds a similar colourful cup in one hand and in the other, a small crucifix, as if for comfort.

MO: He taught that humankind needs to develop and integrate the faculty of the imagination, which he saw as being not only an important part of human psychology but also a fundamental part of cosmology. So we will be meeting regularly over the next year to talk about the imagination and the role it can play in our psyche, as well as working individually, internally and subjectively, each with our own imagination, to try to free it from the bonds of the faculty of reason and give it the space for full expression and perception.

On another cushion, but sitting very comfortably in half lotus posture is ALYSSA; mid-twenties, she wears a leather jacket and her motorbike helmet lies beside her. With dark eye make-up on, she could be a bit gothic.

MO: Secondly, although Ibn Arabi was a Sufi, I am certainly not going to try to convert you to Islam!

Everyone has an imagination, not only Muslims. It is important to nearly every religious tradition and indeed in some secular ones, and we will cast our nets wide to gather pearls of wisdom along our journey. In fact, I am not going to convert you to any religion at all—in this age some people consider themselves allergic to it in all its forms—although we will, unavoidably, have to talk about the mystical or spiritual, without necessarily attaching anything to a creed or orthodoxy. And if you do already have a religion or practice one regularly, so much the better! You might find that your journey into the imagination reinvigorates your faith and puts you into a new type of engagement with your current beliefs.

Suddenly bursting through the door, out of breath, is JEROME; in his forties, he wears jeans that are covered with old splashes of paint, his hair a tangled mess.

JEROME: Sorry. Sorry, sorry I’m late. It’s all a bit—er—chaotic today.

MO: Don’t worry! You need chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star. Welcome, sit down! I think that’s all of us. Now, in the blurb you were requested to bring along a poem to introduce yourselves with. Shall we start with them?

******

ALYSSA: Hi, my name is Alyssa, and I’m currently studying for a doctorate in physics, sort of related to computer science. I decided to come on this course because the imagination is something that, even with all the developments in Artificial Intelligence at the moment, computers do not share with us, so I want to learn something more about what makes us human. The poem I’ve written is called Rebel Train, and it was inspired one day when I was on the tube in rush hour. It was horribly claustrophobic, my face was stuck in some guy’s armpit and all I could do was close my eyes and imagine being somewhere more spacious.

Rebel Train

The rebel train took off and burst its tracks,

Breaking for the skies at Waterloo,

Disgorging rush-hour suits, the pin-striped crowd,

Who, falling, sprouted angel wings and flew.

Released from lives of mortgages and tax,

They played like little kids without their names,

Flitted ’round about a fluffy cloud,

And chased the birds in joyful flying games.

The next day, they returned to work the same,

Betrayed the passing freedom they’d been shown,

Held the solid bottom line again,

And patched their broken suits where wings had grown.

It’s only pain for those that now recall,

So but for me, they have forgotten all.

GEORGE: Hello, I’m George. I’m a naval officer, now retired, but I still do a lot of volunteering with my local church where I am a church warden. Since retiring, I have spent much more time trying to deepen my Christian faith and understanding, and I am hoping that coming here will help with that. My poem is about a sea shanty festival that has recently started down in Falmouth in Cornwall; sea shanties used to be working songs, which were sung not only to enliven spirits but also to help with co­ordinating actions such as hauling the ropes of the sails, a bit like beating a drum to keep rowers in older vessels pulling together. We spent a very happy couple of days walking around and listening to singers on every street corner from all over the country. It was very evocative of our history as an island nation and our deeply rooted relationship with the sea.

Sea Shanty Festival Falmouth

Tunes that bound faint heart to roughened rope

And willed new strength in failing, weathered hand,

Through the storm, these melodies of hope

Propelled the seamen’s tired bones to land.

A shanty falling from each salty lip,

A drop of Nelson’s blood in every vein—

With ‘haul away’, they tamed the packet ship

Which is no more, although the songs remain.

Today, the streets and bursting inns resound

In tribute to the salts of yesteryear.

These drunken sailors reel on solid ground,

Swapping heavy sheets for summer beer.

A toast to those whose sea-borne days are gone!

They sing with us, and in the song live on.

RACHEL: Hello everybody, my name is Rachel, and I am in publishing. As you can imagine, I do a lot of reading and a fair bit of travelling too, mostly into various places in Europe to meet with booksellers. I’m not a regular churchgoer, but my interest in the arts and music in an historically Christian culture like ours means I am familiar with most of the myths and stories. My poem is about one day when I was in Heidelberg and heard some accordionists playing; I must confess I don’t really like the accordion as an instrument, and I was reminded of the Gary Larson cartoon where the angel says, Welcome to heaven. Here is your harp.

And the devil says, Welcome to hell. Here is your accordion. So here it is, The Accordionists of Heidelberg.

The Accordionists of Heidelberg

A choir of cats when feeling quite unwell,

The wheezy squeeze of vocal chords gone wrong,

No wonder Larson’s devil porters hell

With "Welcome! Here is your accordion!"

The old cartoon resparks a smile to see

In the Innenstadt, but heaven-sent,

A sextet playing fugues by JSB,

Struggling to redeem the instrument.

In the ancient, cobbled streets they fought,

The sounds of hell, the music of the spheres;

Notes whose architecture might transport

With tones that cannot but offend the ears.

Like words of beauty from a poison pen,

Cathedrals built from crude misshapen bricks,

Communities of less than perfect men,

Is Bach expressed through six accordionists

In offering the plaything of the damned

Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam.

JEROME: Hi, I’m Jerome, and given the state of these clothes, you can probably tell I’m a painter. I paint my own ‘fine art’, as it were, pictures, but I also need to earn a crust doing painting and decorating. I do not consider myself a Christian, but I have read a bit about Buddhism and do meditation once in a while. My route into the imagination has been through wanting to understand a bit more about astrology and tarot cards, and I’m looking forward to discovering what this course might open up for me. My poem comes from when I was in New York visiting a friend, and I happened to be reading a book about Buddhism; there was quite a striking difference between the non-attachment that the book