IN THE THIRD STEP of waking down, the soul feels the call to widen its body-centric worldview, (as symbolized by the Taurus “Taproot” or neck) by growing “Chi Tendrils” to reach out, communicate and network with other people, places and perspectives. (Hello internet and iPhone.) This impulse to ventilate and network outward from the dense subjectivity of the body is symbolized by the Gemini arms and hands, the articulating aspect of the tongue, the larynx and trachea (“wind pipe”), and the intricately branching, finger-like tendrils of the lungs and nervous system.
In the chart pictured here, notice how the trachea, or “wind pipe,” branches in order to feed the two lungs which are, themselves, an orgy of bifurcating “chi tendrils,” or “bronchioles,” that travel the entire geography of the lungs with their oxygenating message. Clearly this somatic scripture was designed to focus our attention on the nature and purpose of duality, networking and communication.
It’s almost as if – lest the Aries dream of sovereignty turn too solid – the matter-ingesting function of the neck (esophagus) was infiltrated by a void-ingesting tube (trachea). In this sense, the neck is ingeniously nondual. How gracefully it houses the movement of both earth and sky! Indeed, the body’s survival depends on a delicate little valve (the larynx) that alternately turns the neck into feeding tube and wind pipe. It is this spontaneously adaptive Gemini valve that allows us to avoid the extremes of scientific materialism (too much solid food) and escapist fantasy (too much ethereal food).
The message of the Gemini-ventilated neck is clear: we are both bounded and unbounded beings with corresponding dietary requirements. A well-rounded diet of form and emptiness, self and no-self, doing and being is essential for our psychospiritual health. But how much of each? Consider this: which passageway is more continually active – the wind pipe or the feeding tube? Buddhists take it even further: “form is emptiness; emptiness is form.” The savoring of solids and void (personality and undivided presence) are activities that happen inside a greater divine physiology. In this sense, trachea and windpipe perform the same function: to point us at the turning wheel of breath and bowel so we might, by grace, awaken as their sublimely witnessing hub.
The H-like Structure of the brain
Traditionally, the brain is ruled by Aries. In terms of its actual inner activity, this makes sense. The brain’s lightning-fast ability to “show up” and its gutsy endowment of I AM individuality is pure Aries. In terms of its bridged hemispheric structure, however, the brain is a distinctly dualistic, Gemini symbol – an extension of the Gemini nervous system.
In the same way that Gemini ventilates the body-densifying function of the Taurus esophagus with the constant respiration of new experience and information, the sign of the Twins injects mirror-like polarity (and, therefore, the potential for objectivity) into the otherwise self-referencing I AM-ness of the Aries brain. By dividing the brain into two conversing hemispheres, Gemini “de-narcissizes” the brain, mandating that we mix with and internalize other points of view and (lest we become mentally unhorsed) wake up as the silent, reflective mirror of a myriad of differing identities and perspectives.
A good way to picture the complementary relationship between Aries and Gemini is to feel the “closed system” quality of the number one, which corresponds to Aries, the first sign of the zodiac. At its best, “one” is sovereign, whole and complete; at its worst, “one” is blindly self-absorbed. Now consider the two vertical posts of the Roman numeral “two”, the symbol of the sign of Gemini. At its best, “two” is dialectic and objective; at its worst “two” is fragmented and bi-polar. Can you see how each number is the other one’s medicine? “One” needs the self-reflective mirroring of “two”; “two” needs the synthesizing wholeness of “one.” By stirring Gemini interrelatedness into Aries individuation, the higher-octave expression of both numbers is enhanced. This challenge to integrate “one” with “two” is dramatized by the fact that we have one brain with two lobes.
But how do we get there? What is needed is a horizontal, connecting slash that unifies the two posts of the roman numeral two, forming something similar to the letter “H.” This would give the two hemispheres of the brain a cafe table across which to gab and come to some sort of integrated consensus. Anatomy calls this hemisphere-bridging bundle of 200-300 million nerve fibers the “Corpus Callosum.”
The ultimate integrated consensus, of course, would be to wake up as the primordial awareness that dances the pairs of opposites; an awareness in which inner and outer, self and other, are not just bridged but felt as phenomenon arising within a larger cosmic brain (our true nature). Is not the duality bridging H-like structure of the brain a compelling anatomical invitation to experience precisely this kind of nondual realization?
Think of it: one brain, divided into two, with a pathway provided to return us to the experience of union. Is this not an ingenious 3-D version of the entire Buddhist dharma? When we vibrate the air with Gemini words, are we are not, in effect, creating a virtual corpus callosum? Is not every self/other combination a hairdo’d reenactment of God’s two hemispheres, saying “peekaboo” to itself? How do we know which words to vibrate the air around us with? Simple: bridge the gap with logic and convention or restore the air to its true corpus callosum status by relating as the One whose dream we’re in.
The forked-ness of the Gemini tongue
The tongue is the ultimate Gemini “chi tendril.” Agile beyond comprehension and veritably feasting on the multiplicity of thought and experience, the tongue is grand central station for Gemini communication. It does not, however, bifurcate. In this sense, it appears to fail the duality test until you consider the Native American expression, “forked tongue.” (an attribute of the devil in Christianity). To speak with a forked tongue meant to display the characteristic of deceptiveness, duplicity and untruthfulness. In short, it refers to a person whose speech and action diverge and are not congruent.
Ah, but whose words and deeds perfectly match? Whether consciously intended or not (a disturbingly subjective assessment) we’re all lying to the extent that we lack in follow-through. This makes speaking with a forked tongue an inevitable part of human duality integration and, in this sense, the tongue is a constant, real-time measurement of how well we discern the difference between the me-stories that flatter ourselves (and others) vs. the me-stories that embody our naturally committed heart. No one escapes the challenges of Gemini duality-integration.
Duality grabbing at duality
Opposable thumbs allow our Gemini hands to juggle and manipulate the evidence of separation so that we might tangibly inquire into who it is that’s grabbing and releasing, gaining and losing. Here again, the hands serve as hinging dualities – opposing opposites coming together – grasping at the river of sensation to tangibly savor what is, by contrast, always here, ever-present and ungraspable. Why are the charts of so many astrologers strong in the sign of Gemini? Because higher octave Gem is hungry for uncommon amounts of social and intellectual experience from which to harvest their repeating patterns. And because it takes a nervous, bird-like nervous system and a plethora of perches to fully take in the archetypal themes that undergird the relentless change that is this world.
Chi-Tendril Klesha: Wave jumping in search of wetness
“Klesha” is a Buddhist term that means, “states that cloud the mind and manifest in unwholesome actions.” Kleshas are what happens when we claim ownership of personality instead of abiding as the loving vastness in which it arises.
What happens when the healthy curiosity that compels the Gemini Chi Tendrils to reach out for new experience and fresh vantage points becomes automated, detached from the inquiry into the one who seeks? In short, manic distraction – or, as Ken Wilbur put it – “wave-jumping in search of wetness.” The search for new experience becomes a distraction from essence – a kind of unhinged mental identity in itself. Here are some common Chi Tendril kleshas:
Restless, inconsistent, easily bored, unreliable, ungrateful, out-of-sight-out-of-mind, mentally scattered, heady, dilettantish, garrulous, fickle, commitment phobic.
Know anyone who suffers from nervous, scattered use of their Chi Tendrils? Want to help? You must first earn the right to speak by letting your heart break open at the impossibly pure intention informing their tendency to become overly enamored by “the next, the new, the different.” Here’s a few heart-openers to get you started:
Chi-Tendril Self-Inquiry Practices
1) From Oval to “Inner H.” Today, instead of talking to oval-faced craniums, feel into the “inner H” of each brain. Think of the left lobe symbolizing “wisdom,” the right lobe symbolizing “love” and the corpus callosum symbolizing the synthesizing bridge that delivers us into “One Being.” In this way, you remind yourself that every soul that stands before you signed up for far more than intimacy between self and other; they were hard-wired for ego-dissolving communion. Picture the electrical river of their corpus callosum furiously firing, passionately attempting to soften the edges of inner and outer, self and other. What color is this phantastmagorical electric stream? What subtle, chorus-like hum must this intricately layered Gemini conversation be making? Yes, most people appear to be speaking as separate somebodys, but by visualizing the actual structure of the brain’s “inner H,” perhaps you will be kind enough to remember for them the undivided experience of self they are designed to realize.
2) Breath Messages. “Owing to the wind’s ceaseless circulation, over a year’s time you have intimate relations with oxygen molecules exhaled by every person alive, as well as by everyone who ever lived.” (Guy Murchie)
Consider the implications of the above statement. All day, all night, something beneath our awareness is breathing and weaving all incarnated beings together. What appears as a sharp cut of space is actually relentless conspiracy to stir us into an intergenerational soup. What yet-to-be-measured psychophysical signatures might these oxygen molecules pick up as they travel from generation to generation, chest to chest? What if the mind’s endless, vexing search for a self-conscious sense of purpose is actually a yearning to inhabit more lucidly the moods and messages we are exhaling into society each and every moment? Sound delusional, grandiose? Perhaps. But we’ve seen where living in dead, non-conductive space has gotten us, right?
Why not become as curious about the possibility of psychic contagions as the Gemini oxygen molecules are about us? Today, I invite you to try coloring each exhale with a benevolent mood and/or message for humanity and see how differently your day unfolds. Tibetan Buddhists have a name for the kind of airy meditation practice this is inspired by. It’s called Tonglen. Here’s a Gemini-themed example in which the intention is to transmute distraction into storyless presence:
Tonglen: Distraction into Storyless Presence. Today, as we look out at the restless busyness of people’s bodies, mouths and minds, we breathe in their socially acceptable suffering as we recite the word “distraction.” Next, we offer relief by reciting, as we exhale, “storyless presence.” Over and over we do this: inhale “distraction,” exhale “storyless presence,” continually transmuting the manic distraction of the world by allowing ourselves to feel others pain and relief: the nervous grasping at the mind for identity and the glorious homecoming of storyless presence. Could engaging in generous, full-bodied transmutation practices like this be the soil from which right action in the world (purpose) spontaneously flowers?
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