nights
like these
i am not breathing /of/ this air
my body is here
as my face plunges through the veil
in a welcomed [dis]integration
in both worlds,
atomic and cosmic,
protoplasmic and mystic,
my Earth footing becomes tenuous
and i could
go.
either way.
“Neither propaganda nor exhibitionist confessions are needed.
If the archetype, which is universal, i.e., identical with itself always and anywhere, is properly dealt with in one place only, it is influenced as a whole, i.e. simultaneously and everywhere.
Thus an old alchemist gave the following consolation to one of his disciples:
“No matter how isolated you are and how lonely you feel, if you do your work truly and conscientiously, unknown friends will come and seek you.”
It seems to me that nothing essential has ever been lost, because the matrix is ever present within us and from this it can and will be reproduced if needed.
But only those can recover it who have learned the art of averting their eyes from the blinding light of current opinion, and close their ears to the noise of ephemeral slogans.”
– Carl Gustav Jung: Letters, Volume II, p. 595
Continue reading “Carl Jung: if you become radically vulnerable and true to yourself — through your life’s expression, you will attract your people”collateral advantage: publicly posting or publishing while specifically aiming for the [positive] attention, feedback, or benefit of a specific person or audience — yet anyone/everyone else who encounters the post or content may receive a collateral advantage //
i began to think,
wondering,
pondering,
more than anything, hoping
that maybe the real purpose for him wading into my waters
was to open the sluiceway to her
for me to enter her streams
for her to enter mine
[man,] i want it, i need it to be,
some kind of collateral
divine design
pushed to the margins
hanging on by one stressed thread
to toxic or barren fringe-lands
when the once-verdant centres could, and did, hold
us, all/
“Surely some revelation is at hand;
while now, all about it
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.”
“reel shadows of the indignant [shore] birds”
harkening
one day soon, you too, will be residuum here
An ephemeral asphalt pond after heavy rains in the parking lot of an abandoned mall, long-infested with gulls, as testimony – not merely to the inorganic evolution of consumerism, but of the intersection of NAFTA and other free-trade agreements, American soft segregation and hard apartheid, and the inherent discriminatory and predatory migration of US and Western global capitalism.
“He said that a man had to escape to the country to see the world whole and that he wished he lived in a desolate place like this where he could see the sun go down every evening like god made it to do.”
~ Flannery O’Connor,
A Good Man Is Hard to Find
loving someone in secret
or
losing them in secret,
i am someone who can whisper in your ear
and tell you
which one hurts
more
this poem was inspired by and derived from a dream that occurred during the morning of March 2, 2023
some of us are there
to say our goodbyes/
and after all these years apart, i’m still jealous,
i always wanted to be your nearest, dearest, to be your favorite,
it’s still true.
you weigh all of 80 pounds — less, maybe/
how much do the bones of an adult human female weigh?
your hair’s gone
your long, beautiful, gleaming fountain of chestnut hair, your crowning glory
all tender scalp with patchy fuzz, now //
all the vanity’s gone from you, honey,
and you have never been more beautiful
what happened?
lungs, lungs, lungs,
you cough and vomit, several times
as if to prove it /// [to me]
i thought the treatment was working,
hindsight out of sight, 2021
Continue reading “dream[t] poetry: goodbye, hello”bluebird, let me borrow a spot of your blue
your bright blue of song, work, flight
brighten my dark blues of winter
and make me all yellow
“See how He loved [Them].”
swish, swish, knock
swish, swish, knock
a rhythm, a metronome
once a week,
usually a Sunday
you felt very near to me today, also a Sunday,
me weeping while sweeping, or vice versa
my movement conjured you, conjured the once-me and the eternal you/
me, looking down from the landing//
you, nearing the top of the narrow, 2-flat stairs
in your white v-neck t-shirt or “dago-T”
looking up over your thick glasses at me, with your big eyes
with your snaggle-toothed smirk, a gold cap on your front tooth, and mustached/
the broom in your beautiful hands / you, pure lank, pure elegance
i wish it were a saxophone.
instead of a broom or steering wheel.
had i snapped a photo of you on them stairs
with that familiar look/
“Sometimes i think people laugh as hard as they’d like to cry.”
– women talking
“… When the chips are down and for one reason or the other you begin to recognize that you are not going to be on this earth forever … your body is falling apart … you’ll be there and you’ll say: “I lived 60 years; I lived 70 years, or whatever it is; and I still don’t know anything; I don’t know where I came from, and more importantly, I don’t know where I am going; I don’t know anything mportant at all!! …
I’ve been so reasonable, I’ve been so rational, I’ve been so sober; and now I stand before the door, and I am shaking like a leaf, and I am scared and I am miserable, because I haven’t learned what is important; I haven’t learned the truth — the essence of my own being; I have not been confronted with any reality … I tried to fit into the picture so nicely.”
You know what – the picture that you tried to fit into is going away – from you… be there [at the door] and there’s no picture, no society, no family, none of the things that you thought were so important – just you and a great stupendous mystery which will remind you:
“From that time you came into this world, I was available to you to be discovered; I was available to you to be known with your gnosis, but you haven’t done it at all; you didn’t pay any attention – you went after the reasonable will–o’–the–wisp and the unreasonable will–o’–the–wisp, but you didn’t take a look at this [great mystery]!”
Dr. Stephan Hoeller,
Bishop, Ecclesia Gnostica
here am i
my eyes stigmata
overflowing saltwater
corresponding
heartache of this life, heartbreak of this world,
this cross of water, women carry
here i am
creating
fresh watersheds
from my headwaters/
my tears runoff /
flowing tributaries converge into
rivers desalinated in sediment of flesh/
creases of time and depth
weather my face/
carved canyons carry
rapids down my cheeks/
raging confluence pours into
the lake of my mouth, onto bed of my tongue/
spilling waterfall
down my throat
into ocean of my heart/
torrents cascading over my lips, chin, breasts,
Continue reading “grail”love, don’t make me a vessel
don’t make me your vessel, love/
you filled me, i filled you
we drank from each other/
you poured me out
i’m empty/
yet you ferment in me/
i know no peace, no piece
only drunken, unquenched thirst/
i need water
i search for |a| spring
