Things got a little bit furry this morning, I believe, so she headed out to the edge of the sea. It was a beautiful day, the rain sharp and cold, the wind whipping in blue. It was a return to where it all began - journey back to heartland. So much has happened for her, so many changes, new words, a new interior construction and sense of wholeness.When she came back to the city a few weeks ago she talked suspiciously of a re-dis-intergration, and I know at time there have been moments when it feels like the centre will not hold and she will return to psychic anarchy. But through practice she's remained thus far, intact. At times I've watched her marching to a mantra that must be at each moment repeated, holding to the edge, her knuckles white, lips white.
She walks a line sharp and fragile, triangular weathered sandstone, balancing one foot in front of the other, bare foot to grip, repeating at each step the mantra, perhaps not tomorrow, but nevertheless in this moment free, and free now and free now and now and now and now. Arms wide.
The rain is cold, it is fine to feel on skin.
If I see her again I'll say hello.
William Butler Yeats (1865 - 1939). This written 1919.
| The Second Coming | |
|---|---|
| Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight; somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? | 5 10 15 20 |
| Printings: The Dial (Chicago), November 1920; The Nation (London), 6 November 1920; Michael Robartes and the Dancer (Dundrum: Cuala, 1921); Later Poems (London: Macmillan, 1922; 1924; 1926; 1931). |
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4 comments:
I know this place, these places, well. I read recently something about the notion of 'apoclyptic' thinking. I believe it represents massive shifts in consciousness and developments of the psyche, but I also believe these things always carry their reflection into the consensually realised world. It's how it works, inner and outer reality run parallel and individual humans operate as one in the collective unconscious.
Dreaming last night I was beseiged by visions of my own, I cannot describe the apocalyptic blackness that descended from the sky and turned a colour 'film' into black and white. There were large beasts running from the imminent storm, crashing into each other but a car load of 'us' were heading in the opposite direction. It was one of many heavy dreams and probably had something to do with the full moon. I awoke exhausted.
Hey Michelle, you have so many intersting things to say. Thanks for your contribution.
I didn't mean to infer an interior pulling-apart as apocalyptic as that described by Yeats, his poem speaks of the universal you describe, but for me it is a handy quote. My inner chaos is nowhere near as catastrophic.
None the less I agree with what you say. I don't remember receiving a great deal of comfort from my 2 years of boarding school church, but one phrase someone once quoted from the Anglican bible, (I think it might be from a prayer) was "as above, so below." Always that is true.In the mind so the body, in the collective thinking so the individual, in my heart so in my actions...
Might I suggest that your dream becoming "black and white" is hinting at thinking without the shades of grey and colour that key the everyday. Apocalypse can be a war of good and evil, (black and white) true even in the current discourse around global warming. it is this absoluteness that creates fear, as proponents of 'the war on evil' well knew. It is in the interstices where confusion AND solutions are found, don't you think?
Absolutely, that is where I live - in the intersticial zone. Interestingly this conference I am doing a paper for is structured around that very idea, the margins and overlaps. It is what I love best but of course has it's downside - mainly that of feeling permanently insecure!! :) Oh well, after so many years on the planet I am used to it now.
Interesting response about the war in/on black and white though, it is fascinating that these things work on so many levels. In my paintings at the moment there is a bit of a battle going on aboout whether to do them in B & W or colour or combine them which is what I want to do. But my supervisor does not seem to support this for very good reasons I guess - art historical and the 'rules' of image-making.
And the 'as above, so below' is one of the many mantras of the Druid philosophy, Celtic in origin maybe? I have heard the Rosicrucians mention it too I think.
What do you mean by 'the rules of image making' precluding a mix of b+w and colour? Whose rules? I am not understanding.
It is a rich zone to live in. But yes, the downside...thanks for that insight, so simple and so obvious, once spoken.
As above, so below: a universal truth; it's intrinsic to the I Ching also.
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