Theme
q u i c k e n e d t e n d r i l s
ultradimensional flecks in the mind muck
rad

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Other inner figures appeared in Jung’s fantasies, like Ka, a kind of earth spirit. But the most important was Philemon, who became an “inner guru” for Jung. In paintings Jung did at the time, which he collected in what he called The Red Book, Philemon is depicted as a bald, white-bearded old man with bull’s horns and the wings of a kingfisher. In one of the many synchronicities that accompanied Jung’s inner journey, while working on the painting, he came upon a dead kingfisher; the birds were rare in Zürich and Jung had never before found a dead one. One also recalls the Fisher King, a character in the Grail legends that were important to Jung. Philemon was important to Jung because he showed him that “there are things in the psyche which I do not produce, but which produce themselves and have their own life.” If anyone wants a one-line summing up of Jung’s significance, this is it. Whatever you might think of the whole edifice of Jungian psychology, this discovery, and the method and process that accompanied it, ranks Jung among the most important inner explorers. It’s an example of what Jung means by the “objective psyche,” a term I find more profitable than the “collective unconscious,” which, like the archetypes, Jung himself defined in a number of different and sometimes conflicting ways.

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measures met

Dating and meeting people is fun. Different than it used to be. Easier. So far, the ones who have caught my interest, the timing wasn’t right.

A year after my last breakup, I remind myself that while going through each day without anyone to share intimately with has its difficulties, I prefer it to the nearly traumatic level of anguish I endure in the wake of a romance’s ending. Hell, I had only just felt that I was out the other side of Hell … when I suddenly got picked up, carried high … and tossed … by who knows what. To say ‘it wasn’t so bad compared to what I had been through before’ seems to help me shrug my shoulders about it but it really isn’t saying much. It was humiliating, it cut me down. For a long while, it defined my reality; it was a struggle to swim to shore.

Frustration creates this friction within that can burn up the mental and emotional faculties or be channeled consciously, creatively. But my current frustration … I’d like to believe it’s different from last summer, given my situation is so different and that I’m so happy and gracious and attuned so often … but really the rules are the same: Friction within. Conscious intent can employ it for art / coherence, and the opposite runs risks for personal health.

Day after day, my mind drifts to women I know and women I don’t know, hoping that someone, somewhere, and I, will love each other sometime soon. But if it doesn’t come, I am still just here, facing myself every moment anyway, the same way that shared love compelled me to, confronting and relating, fuming and laughing … making songs. 

Maybe I got the last kick in the ass I needed, to go on with the work I have to do without the requisite outside catalyst. I sense the muse as a sort of internal presence now, as this fact that I had only let others remind me of, that I couldn’t now shake from my own awareness if I wanted to.

My lyrics sure don’t hurt for it …

.

switch off the wasteland remirror face

remove the mechanical role trade

the measures met . fear came . we stayed

what dissipates makes way for my new name

.

wherefrom this path . what’s cleared the way

think future me had this whole trail blazed

another step and i’ll collapse the maze

its like a joke . like forever holds more of the same

.

by the time you’re bold enough to seek my trust

i’ll be years away

yet i gave it, and once given it stays

so i carry flame

so i carry flame

so i carry flame

Know thou that the darkness of the earth is ruddy, and the darkness of the air is grey, but the darkness of the soul is utter blackness.
— Aleister Crowley - The Vision and the Voice (The Cry of the 14th AEthyr)

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