…I am part of where I think I am…
…because I surround myself…
…with the environment I want…
…in order to protect the image…
…of myself I have made.
“Sure, ’tis a terrible thing to choose one or t’other.”
The Aurally Man
Alchemy as process has a number of stages.
And nobody seems able to agree on how many!
This might not though be a disagreement of number but of measure.
An hour possesses sixty minutes and three-thousand-six-hundred seconds, after all.
If we make our focus three, we get…
A point worth considering: all the triangles are of equal size.
Individually this seems obvious but, perhaps, not quite so, relatively.
A shortcoming alluded to in the phrase, ‘vagaries of the human eye’.
Which is another point worth considering.
The human eye follows lines like a moth to flame.
This is one of the reasons why the ‘Blessed Head of Joshua’ is eyeless.
Mother-Wild has not only the experience
of her forebears and the accepted rules
of the clan to guide her,
she seeks to learn also from
ants, bees, spiders and badgers.
She studies the family life of the birds.
To her and her child the birds are real people,
who live close to the mysterium.
The murmuring trees breathe its presence.
The falling waters chant its praise.
It is possible to box almost anything.
In this way a whole life may be compartmentalised into secure, bounded segments of much more manageable proportions.
Bite sized pieces.
Or even, ‘shots’.
As everybody knows it is even possible to box one’s ears, so that only those things which compute are actually heard.
This is the way Spirit dies.
Blinkers, are boxes for the eyes…
In fact, about the only thing which it is not
possible to put into a box…
This is strange…
But only because light,
is really the gift of a turning-year.
All stands hidden
At the heart of the cavernous world.
All lies sequestered
Black but comely
In the cavernous heart of man.
The unseen green within grey rock
Wielder of Psyche’s Axe
Looser of her Emotional Block.
Our animal soul crowns the summit
Inanimate intimacies call
‘Drink deep – Drink deep’…
Don’t merely dip a doltish finger-tip
Like felt for freely-gifted gold
or spawn of devil’s bloodied-blot.
Not sentiment nor sediment
Such cavernous yawning.
Drink deep of Night
To Day’s Dawning.
All lies hidden
At the heart of a cavernous world.