art appreciation: thresholds

first in a series


The Entrance Gate on the far bank of The River Tuoni according to the Kalevala and as depicted by Finnish artist Hugo Simberg

THE ENTRANCE TO TUONELA, 1898,
oil on canvas
Hugo Simberg, 1873-1917
Finland

Tuonela


In this piece, which is an interpretation of one of many universal myths which impart the water crossing and trek we all are to embark upon after death,

most of the departed climb up the steep, barren embankment and enter the tunnel individually, while a child and a dog are tenderly escorted — led by the hand or carried by chthonic monks into the tunnel leading to the

Underworld

the tunnel appears under geological strata — presumably the surface of Earth, with blue sky and forest in background above it

interestingly, the artist’s limited use of perspective also allows the sky and forest to be viewed potentially as the Great Beyond itself — as a Northern or Alpine “paradise,” a Valhalla, beyond the sojourn in and through the tunnel

a high, solid, wooden fence bisects the river, embankment and tunnel and prevents arrivals from observing the exiting monks — only one-way vision and traffic for the dead

and while the monks do not cast shadows, the human figures continue to be accompanied by their shadows; for those who subscribe to Jungian analytical psychology or gnostic texts, the physical shadow depicted may be interpreted symbolically as the anima/animus of the person — which would ultimately disappear during the tunnel upon the full reintegration of the Self/Soul/Spirit

through re-unification with one’s divine twin (which is sometimes also called the cosmic/celestial twin or daimon) after having been separated during human incarnation and birth.


author’s note: 

i often and prefer to call the underworld aka afterlife “The Great Wide Open of the All” — which in my liminal gleanings is a supremely contented blackness of universal consciousness, devoid of thought or sensation — a perfected existence in the dark cosmic fabric of nothingness,

there may be levels in the afterlife which may manifest our own personal imaginal constructs of paradise — far beyond what our limited sensory perception and experiences of life on Earth are - such as, an Alpine Paradise upon emerging from the tunnel -

i know full well the breathtaking beauty and feeling upon exiting a scary and lengthy mountain tunnel where my heart and eyes are stunned by a grand vista of forest, peaks and sky — from my many road trips in the Western U.S.

yet, i truly prefer the former — when i die, i want to rest for all eternity — although with just one desire, one sensation: warmth.

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conspiracy to kill the creator

she sips a glass
of wine
and admits, agrees
she too, doesn’t want to be

on this prison planet
under these archons,
guided and insulated by sadistic angels,
both, in servitude to the demiurge

no escaping it, Them

even in Bucolia

she’s still plagued by the 24-hour news cycle,
contemplation that often veers off into nihilism,

and, by bouts of suicidal ideation
— but to go back around, back to another false birth in this Samsara, to start over? — no thanks //

perhaps crying in the wilderness, then.

where is that, exactly?
the mountains, buttes and canyons also betray us — those ancient Watchers, the petroglyphs warned us of
— and of shapeshifters cloaked in feathers, fur and scales ///

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beach OBE

i Am revisiting the significance of this poem — first published on my former Tumblr site [kimtn.tumblr.com] in August 2012 and one of the first intentional poems i ever composed

this poem is derived from my near-drowning and out-of-body experience [OBE] when i was about three years old at a beach near Waukegan, Illinois while under the brief watch of my Finnish-American paternal grandmother, Dolores “Babe” Laine (shortened from Kumpulainen) who was often drunk

i am actually lucky that this near-drowning happened to me — and at such a tender age; my out-of-body experience imprinted on me and left me with the capacity to be open to, recognize and receive other metaphysical and liminal experiences throughout my life, and is absolutely part of the origin story for The Limineen and its previous incarnation as the “Accidental Seeker & Intentional Opiner”


beach obe

I open my eyes and ochre water’s all around

I’m underneath, but I’m not scared,

I still see golden sunlight too

I see your legs; you’ve let me go

and I think I’m down here all alone

I hear voices, but I can’t breathe

So I leave, I’m off to explore

But wait, there’s me! – that’s my face!

Do you see, that somehow now, there’s two of me?!

you finally see — the first me
you slowly raise her up

She coughs and breathes;

and the other me, She goes, She floats away

But, which one Am i?

now, i’m not sure

Am i real, or was it She?


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dream phoenix

you think: if I merely bury this bitxch
one day, she may raise up again //

and haunt not only your nightmares,
but surface in your waking dreams
and worse,
in his

so instead, you two
dismember her together
on your walks
at your coffee table
in your marital bed //
until she’s betrayed,

and dead.

you decide to cremate her in your pristine oven,
then collect her charred bones,
grind them to ash with your mortar and pestle from Sur La Table
dissolve a spoonful of her into your wine in secret, and drink it
the rest, you feed to your lilacs //

you think: she’ll never again be whole or known //

yet, her linger slowly poisons you and your home

and, she waits

like Isis

to collect her relics that you foolishly thought you could consume, transmute and possess

her essence migrating into the strands of your wiry, brittle hair

and into the fragrant beautiful blooms and heart-shaped leaves just outside your door, the ones that school children are so tempted to pluck.

then, one night, as you sleep,

she clips and carries them off — clumps and bouquet — in a pouch fashioned from your favorite silk dress — cruelly spun from the bodies of one thousand sacrificial worms — to break the curse

while his phallus pulses crimson, like a beacon, erect and dripping with life from his dreams of her //

as he sleeps,

she spits into his open, parched mouth
before she soars out

leaves him with an eternal, wet, delicious taste of her

don’t you know,

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limineen

the limineen
as imagined with
The Flammarion Engraving

Limineen : limin + een

noun: the time and space of the thresholds; attendance to or presence in, the in- betweens, the interregnum — of becoming and nonbecoming; of beingness and nothingness; of the material and ethereal; of sacredness and profanity; of love and hate; of calm and rage; of the authentic and the engineered; of inertia and energy.

limineen is both mood and State of this author, an Earthling, human, woman and entity, who finds her self present within and attendant to the thresholds of the corporeal, incorporeal and surreal.

from liminal / lim·i·nal
/ˈlimənəl/ adjective

  1. occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.
  2. relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process.

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beach obe

I open my eyes and ochre water’s all around

I’m underneath, but I’m not scared, I still see golden sunlight too

I see your legs; you’ve let me go

and I think I’m down here all alone

I hear voices, but I can’t breathe

So I leave, I’m off to explore

But wait, there’s me! – that’s my face!

Can’t you see, that somehow now, there’s two of me?!

you finally see — the first me

you slowly raise her up

She coughs and breathes;

and the other me just goes, She floats away

But, which one Am i?

now, i’m not sure

Am i the real, or was it She?

Gnostic Gospel of Transition

All light

That’s what you are

That’s what you always were

But, you’ve got to move on, now

Ready to go home, true.

They’re waiting for you.

All light,

I promise; it’s alright

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