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
occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.
relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process.
“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
p.s.
this phenomenon has been affirmed for me as both the attracted and attractor
in my winter cocoon enveloped in sheets and blankets my eyes closed all day
these damned windows, seams of daylight break through fiber, try and force their way through slits and lashes, i resist pink lids, i won’t study and map your capillary streams / birds, please don’t sing / i refuse to perceive anything but my own inlands
i don’t feed i don’t drink i don’t think i don’t move i don’t feel
i only let
let let let
i am not dying though i am working from the inside autonomic, appearing halcyon while transforming all memoir of you – from idealization into unbiased slurry, and, into something, new into something, else of me
The Well at Kom Ombo AWIB-ISAW: The Well at Kom Ombo A deep well at the Ptolemaic temple at Kom Ombo, which functioned as a nilometer. The well is also thought to have been used in the ritual worship of the crocodile. by Iris Fernandez (2009) copyright: 2009 Iris Fernandez (used with permission) photographed place: Omboi (Kom Ombo) [pleiades.stoa.org/places/606346]
Get to the bottom of this.
This, means You
Get to the bottom – of Your Self
Do you have to be thrown
down the well
through loss, by the grave, or near-grave
What if
instead,
we pulled the rug out from under ourselves
to reveal the formidable trap door
What if we climbed down into the dark cellar, willingly
to enter our infinite interior
to touch the well
the ancient aquifer within
where the gods reside and respite with our Twin Selves,
our other-halves waiting for discovery
This infinite, eternal presence
be-neath our weathered houses
What if we willingly descended
Into it
Unto it
And we learned to crave the Original Dark
and its companionship
Where we delve deep into our imaginations, dreams, nightmares,
That connect us primally
to the pool of imaginations, dreams and nightmares of every one,
Of every being that ever existed
Collective Unconscious
made Self Conscious
The dark, deep well
we may all draw from
Pour out your false light
reveal the truth:
the unbearable emptiness of being
Cup your hands
Or wade into the well
Deeper and deeper
submerge, swallow
you’ve been bone dry for so long
Do you see that now?
Baptize
The only way
To rebirth yourself
Into something worth birthing
Into something worth being
is by this sacrament, anticeremonially, un-ceremonially
Knowing now the bottom is
The only place where alchemy happens
Where wine is turned into eternal water,
instead of that story first told to you, by them
And the mystery
the wet, deep, dark becomes you,
Envelops you so completely
You want to drown beautifully
But you must taste the bitters of the surface
Swallowing down your thoughts
Before you drink of the All
To finally collapse in on yourself
Into beautiful nothing
becoming nothingness
Prima materia
In coniunctio
Drenched in Mystery
quenched with Truth
imbibed with Revelation
Reborn
for an endless moment
The perpetual well
archives your eternal experience
as the deja vu
Memory though will evanesce,
even as droplets cling in the hollows of your vessel
Now that you Know
Truth and Mystery
Exist
so near, just beyond,
yet
within you,
Reascend resplendent
Reemerge humbly
the Gods send a daily postcard:
Wish you were here.
the limineen | poet & crone 