Tag Archives: great work

An Aye for an Eye?…

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“Sure, ’tis a terrible thing to choose one or t’other.”

The Aurally Man

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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…

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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.

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Image result for lemniscate

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La Chapelle Verte…

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All stands hidden

Out-of-sight

At the heart of the cavernous world.

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All lies sequestered

Black but comely

In the cavernous heart of man.

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The unseen green within grey rock

Wielder of Psyche’s Axe

Looser of her Emotional Block.

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Our animal soul crowns the summit

Inanimate intimacies call

‘Drink deep – Drink deep’…

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Don’t merely dip a doltish finger-tip

Like felt for freely-gifted gold

or spawn of devil’s bloodied-blot.

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Not sentiment nor sediment

Can satisfy

Such cavernous yawning.

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Drink deep of Night

And wake

To Day’s Dawning.

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All lies hidden

Out-of-sight

At the heart of a cavernous world.

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The Great Mystery…

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Approach to the mysterium

is silent, solitary

and free from all self-seeking.

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It is silent because in comparison

with the mysterium all speech

is feeble and imperfect.

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It is solitary because the mysterium

draws closer to us in solitude.

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It is free of self-seeking because

the souls of our ancestors

ascended to the mysterium

in wordless adoration.

– Ohiyesa

Turnings II…

uffington and rollright 085

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… Now she was out in space my Soul had turned astronomical on me. I decided to give her free reign, as much rope as she wanted. Enough for a thousand and one hangings…

“The Water Maiden has sacrificed her heavenly wings and impregnable habit for a dip in the river. She is naked as the morn and splashing about like a new born pup in the wending, silver white … She is carefree and happy…
…Radiant as a flying fish or a sated frog. The trees along the river bank transform their branch tips into shimmering leaves, leaves which dance about fruit ripening into bright stars… in a sigh… arching resplendently into the blazing heavens…”

She swayed up close, parted my lips, and entered my mouth…

“The eighth and final star to accost the sky is a misfit, stark and black as the cold dark space her Pilgrim has spent his whole life traversing… The birds quiver from their nests, with a croak, as the hours relinquish his body: a sheaf of dead skin shivering away in a twisting spiral of rainbow tails which surge and bubble: kiss gurgling fingers made shiny little fish, gulping protest against the air, silvering into the freedom of the current…”

I was glad to hear from her, of course I was… but she was going too fast…

“Hi – Ho – He rises… Old Nick rejuvenated, borne aloft on Neptune’s scaly shoulders… Tumbling back down to earth with a dull thud…
…As an acorn nestles firmly into the sandy bank.”

“What about memories?” I asked… confused.

“The heart of love is a dove enmeshed in memory.
Her wing-tips are sticky with life.
Your heart-beat is bodily proof of your own yearning to fly.”

Without waiting for a response she flitted off again.
I just caught sight of her tail disappearing into a cloud…

 A Cellular Life

Turnings…

Chat 012

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…First she was a speck, black against the sky, then she was an arrow balancing the breeze, finally, after measuring the hole in the wall of my room with her wing-span, she became an awesome, majestic weight, sprung upon my wrist…

“I know why The Devil is called a light-bearer, and why he’s said to inhabit infernal regions,” her bright eyes connected with mine as she stared, “hell on earth is really only a house hewn from stone, a hill-top mansion with an open roof-top, out onto the stars. Below ground in the mound of the hill are three expansive cellars, each of which is a winter month… “

… My Soul was back, her claws silently scratching my skin as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, preening…

“The blackness brandished by Lucifer like whiplash in a mean attempt to debase us is merely a ruse, a prelude to the greater glory still to come. The mock throne he chains you and your loved one to is regal and grand, as cardboard is precious. He encourages us to become horse-like just for the fun of it when about all we are really capable of mustering is the pin from a donkey’s tail.”

I had grown tired of arguing, of defending my position.

She never listened to my side of things.

She treated my objections as if they had been formed from verbal oblivion.

It would have been nice, bearing in mind that it was my Soul out there, to pitch in at various points with an idea or two…

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…My Soul blinked incredulously, revolved her moon face through three hundred and sixty degrees and pulled her neck beneath the peaks of her shoulder blades…

“The Devil is in love with the Water Maiden. His ardour aroused and quenched by the fall and rise of the inexhaustible pitchers she measures when sifting and mixing the substance of new life: a wine warm kiss from the breath of being on her own sweet lips.
She is beautiful as an angel of light. Her purity is the very first memory of the spirit over water, or in the earth, like the sun at the bottom of the sea… unquenchable. Her shiny smile molds dragon wings and antelope horns into a dowdy hood and cloak, shifting raven claws into leather sandals. She transforms pure lust into wisdom with a laugh and a shiver of her flashing eyes: she is a guiding lamp held aloft for the lost and wayward, left to swing from a staff gripped firmly in the night… “

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Most of this new stuff went way beyond my capabilities.

It was difficult to suppress the suspicion that she was making it all up off the top of her head, slinging any old concepts together and seeing where they led just for the sake of it…

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… She crept softly along my arm, coiled herself around my neck and then hung out over my forehead, swaying in front of my eyes:
“Her Pilgrim is lighting a way to the furthest reaches, as far from the earth as it is possible to go. He is trekking out to the back of the North Wind on foot. He commences by hitching a ride with a seagull, by hopping onto its grey, silky back, and then leaps up into a cloud. From there the dark sky is only one stride away and that is where his journey really begins. On to the end of the night he travels growing weary and old…

Footstep after footstep of black space opens up and falls away without purchase beneath him.

He is using the star system of familiar animals as a guide to the cosmos but the stars traverse the heavens in circles forever swallowing and regurgitating each other.

As the light in his lamp finally begins to dim, the last flicker of flame before extinction erupts into a shining paradise of sky and sea, earth and tree… “

A Cellular Life