Friday, October 29, 2010

Wait Wait


Language seems to circle perceived truths, or set of facts, but comes no closer. Truth may not be an objective of language at all, only material for it to examine.

What if one were to take language to a place where we don't know anything? This would be a realm that none of us can observe physically. This would not be a place open to examination by supercolliders, or space telescopes, or scanning electron microscopes. There is a realm to which all instrumentation is directly excluded, a realm that is not physical, material or energetic, but rather the realm that participates with us and makes the design of all life.

That is the world of the Psyche . . where all is abstract . . . like language.

What language is spoken there? Translation that come from that realm seem incomplete, inaccurate, misinterpreted. Yet we know whenever it speaks, as if only it, held the microphone closest to our own hearts.

In this territory, it's up to each of us to invent metaphors to make it comprehensible, to our conscious selves, or the people back home.

Has science been any use at all?

On the contrary I would argue science put on blinders about certain topics. Advanced scientific techniques have struck out in discovering the root and media for psychic phenomena.

This constitutes a sad state of affairs - modern science let its heritage rot.

Pagan beliefs, gods with names and areas of influence, spells, rituals, these are the language of the psyche. Ancient in origin, they are quite scientific in their methodology in areas where science seems somehow excluded. Why can't we measure 'life'. Why can't we identify the soul or being-ness of a human being, of a bird. . . of anything.

Carl Jung was a scientist who recognized that the ancient language of myths and dreams were the only scientific language advanced enough to decode the language of the psyche. He understood that older forms of 'science' astrology, the black arts, traditional medicine, dream analysis, comparative mythology, were only meaningful tools.

Yet despite Jung, and his teachings, modern science fears a lapse back to pagan mythos.

So, when I write of the Muse, or Quetzalcoatl, or Hermes, I do so in the absence of science, to describe and understand principles that are absolutely real. Thousands of years of human evolution knows they are real, that these are forces much larger and more powerful than human life.

So when I say Ganesh, or Kali, or speak of Mnemosyne, imagine that one day modern science becomes a trifle less arrogant, and actually begins to understand something of the subjects that these great pagan complexes embrace.

Then, only then, will the science of learning advance.

Until then our little discipline will only be able to consider abstract models of matter, and energy, or the plumbing of the body instead of the poetry of the soul. It will have to leave soul, and the unique abilities of life forms to see into the future, to influence events, and solve unsolvable problems, to dreamers.


Part II is Lost


Why are you working hard my Muse
 . . . to shy a blue canvas?
All have fateful sunstroke,
I'm for tantric teaching.

Die, decide, I reach key observations,
I see you on Crete, a sculpture instrument.
See your sins apace,
Come in. You and I will teach her!

I see an old expert . . .  and men beat, her.
This is the crazy passion about drugs,
In this I get absurd metaphor, I see questions,
Come, observe, know, influence, imagine . . .
Better I seek you, I was in pain, with our nervy abuse.
Scream Partner!
Happy angel breaks in one past, the life which she formed,
We clean our dust there.
It's alive, a vaginal pink masterpiece.

We ask: 'See me grow out of an agressive mind.'


with N____ K____, June 26, 2006, 57, 58, 59

The Muse Poems:

   1  2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9
10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36
37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45
46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54
55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63
64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72
73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81


Seek



Seek your last thought in Beauty
Notice etiquette and around it,
What I mean, you investigate with sound!
Try to understand, Demon, seizes you! Dull him, of Earth!
I must thank-you Father.
True, but full colors, in beastial emotion,
We are all language.

with M__ M__, 5960, 60-261


The Muse Poems:

   1  2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9
10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36
37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45
46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54
55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63
64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72
73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81

What Did She Mean?


When confronting this work it is important to understand there are other poems hovering nearby. The idea is to extract a 'reading' from the Muse / Oracle that makes sense for the moment.  


The ritual produces a drama.
The drama produces some sounds.
The sounds we think we understand.
We ponder them
Consider them.
She will not repeat herself.
We are outside in the light
With nothing
But memory.


Like crystals, the possible 'readings' are inexhaustible, and keep changing. The 'reading' is the sound, that arose, . . from the work. The work is the drama that led to the reading:

     Model, Play companion hard.
     So always laugh when in such worry.

[She  means you are working me very hard here, and also commenting that you laugh nervously when worried or stressed. It's a sign of inner unrest. This line implies that your laugh is your finest quality, demure, sweet, . . . releasing tension. Any such undertaking is fraught with worries, concerns. Who knows what we will find in our search? This activity then is similar to worrying . . .  because we worry, i.e. we are attentive, whilst we are engaged in any kind of new or important activity. We are 'on the edge' so to speak. . . between dreams and wakefulness, between Life and Death, between Gods and Mortals . . .  so laugh . . . what else can we do?]

     Finest Life Bothers Him
     Feeling crushed, breaks new competition.

[She is saying to you, JF,, that my fine life actually is a bother to me, that I enjoy in almost a masochistic way "feeling crushed", having to start over, or throwing myself into emotional turmoil. "It breaks new competition", that is, gives rise to new possibilities. She is commenting on me, and saying 'Don't worry about stressing me out, he likes it.']

     Why am I fashion?
     I kiss when I know I have space

[The original line here is "Kiss when neo s have space". 'neos', Gr. for 'twins', i.e. the two of us. She is saying, "I cannot account for my popularity - but don't crowd me". The Muse does not like to kiss when cornered! She also implies, 'I kiss (bestow Grace) when you know yourself, 'Γνῶθι Σεαυτό' , fr. Thales 'Know thyself.' This is a complex answer, 'know' also means 'to know carnally', meaning that she will only kiss when she knows, thus obtaining space as a result. No one can survive the carnal kisses from an Immortal. The other root, remember for the sound, not the spelling, is Greek 'neo' which means 'new', which is also the homonym of 'knows', They sound the same remember. Spelling doesn't count. Know becomes 'knew' becomes 'new' beomes 'neos' becomes twins. In this manner all language is structured. I'm saying structured, as you woud 'observe' structure, not how it was made. It was made differently. 


     If they reach behind, feel!
     Act out vintage missive like silent patience.

[She is telling me to shut up when my muses, i.e. you!,  reach into their past. Instead of interpreting verbally, I should 'act out the vintage missive' - like an old letter, patiently. She's giving direction in how I conduct the process, and how to react when certain things happen. She says I must find a way to ritually act these things out. In other words just as this poem acts out a reality, so my activities must be part of that act. Understanding is not the same as knowing.]

     Weep all! Howl! we represent the null set.
     Discover Mother Dust in beggars!

[The original line here was "We represent the anal Pal howl we said." . . . There are ways to go with this.'Weep All!' from 'We' and "Pal' . . . . 'the null set' / which sounds like  'and all is said'. It is all sound and vibration. She is saying, 'Listen Guy, I say everything'. We, in other words ('your models and I'),  represent the Null set, that is the entire set of things that are nothing in number.  . . that is the set of nothingness. Death and Absence, pure Void, able to overcome all, out of which everything comes. So weep and howl all you want! If you want to understand nothingness go and use beggars for your models! She's fiercely critical.


My later interpretation of this line takes it back to original sounds. . but reworks the order for clarity. Having done that the sense of 'We represent the anal', is discomforting. She's reminding us that 'null' and 'anal' have similar meanings. Kali is at the bottom of the world. So I'm reading it as:


     We represent the null
     Pal, Howl we said.


Remember, the Muse speaks metaphor, like crystal, and could have just as easily meant:


We represent the Interpol!


 . .  which caused me immediate concern when I read it! She does not assign any of it a single meaning. All of it has infinite meaning, but is true to itself. In this way mythos is like fire or water.]

     Confront your passions, empower!
     Your wasted selves appear many.

[This is typical of the way she addresses supplicants, particularly me, with a generous dose of disgust, even blatant derision. There's no point in trying to round the corners of what she says. Stand near fire you will get burned.


'So you aren't using beggars?' You can hear her derision, 'He prefers to work with young women!', she mocks. "Your wasted selves", appies to us both. She is saying that until we confront our passions, we waste our selves (pl.) not Self (sing.). Selves may be cast down like elves, but only the Self is the way out of Hell. (cf Bettleheim, Snow White) Ok then, use this to confront your passions! This is the essence of Tantra. There is historical precedence as well.  You have both wasted many lives, or selves by following passion, instead of understanding passion. Understanding passion means allowing it.]

     No one can question Father,
     Understand, learn inclusive dark earth.

[She flat out says the Father i.e. the principle 'of 'the Father, the male principle, cannot be questioned simply because it does not have answers. She is also saying 'don't bother asking him!' (me) because he doesn't have answers either! Again a derisive tone. Matter has strength. Energy dissolves in Matter. It is akin to saying "No one can question a stone." Only the Feminine has answers, which must be understood and learned, like dark earth.]

     What could please her?
     Sculpt her glorious smear.

[What work of mine could please the goddess? Sculpt her! Her transcendant beauty is like a smear of Mother Dust. Glorious Smear also refers to her sex, the yoni is like a smear, a touch or caress. When not filled it is not Void, but when filled it is the essence of Void.]

     Here mellifluous style's above opportunity.

[She is saying that "mellifluous style", poetry, or rather the style or art of sound, pleases her, and is above or more important than opportunity of any kind. Above all she cares about form, style, rules, and manners. Hers is the ritual path. Remember no matter what she says, the response must be in poetic form.]

     We give from love, free thought
     Come lost Infant!

[She says her gifts come from love, and are given freely. Come and take them lost child.]


This is not all that she said. In one voice, she took your voice, and mine, and your parents, and your lovers, and those different men you talk about, and she has them all talking. What do you want to hear?

Such a Wild Chant




Such a wild chant is Music,
Heal, have control over us!

To test our will,
Call me beautiful.
Impulsive trouble, romance is risking progress.

Please come, under love.
Observe suffering, dark unity.
Don't give in Brother!

with Tasha Lebron, October 16, 2006, 60, 61-1, 61-262

The Muse Poems:

   1  2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9
10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36
37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45
46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54
55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63
64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72
73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81



Many said . . .






May said, "Depression about such bitter abuse
     models my art question, through music."
Follow me through grace,
     feel us too far, have breakfast.

Lost a bag? I could storm out, laughing, Act and share.
     Anger can't always stay.
"Worry girl, I see your despair. learn, feel, cry."
      Get off my mind.

Brother, model our star of strength,
     when she confronts reality.
"Sister, investigate your wild bed,
     and have this trouble."

Drawn about which man it is, you will model.
    But a lying solution's better than money.

Imagine a beautiful husband.
     We believed in sky, in a dark chocolate howl.

He is soft, then we seem apart,
     on very blue bold harmony,
     under a milky soft sound.


with Audrey Ellis, October 14, 2006, 61, 62, 63






The Muse Poems:

   1  2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9
10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36
37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45
46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54
55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63
64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72
73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81

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