Category: Poems

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Telesphorus: From Carl Jung

At the height of his life, Carl Jung was discovering the secrets of the Alchemical. He built a fortress of solitude near the river of Zurich. A stone monument was erected by Jung in which he inscribed Latin phrases. One reads:

CGJung

“I am an orphan, alone; nevertheless I am found everywhere. I am one, but opposed to myself. I am youth and old man at one and the same time. I have known neither father nor mother, because I have had to be fetched out of the deep like a fish, or fell like a white stone from heaven. In woods and mountains I roam, but I am hidden in the innermost soul of man. I am mortal for everyone, yet I am not touched by the cycle of aeons.” -C.J.

Prior to this account, Jung was deep within his academic career as a psychologist. Until a series of apparitions and premonitions occurred within dreams. He began to be drawn to the Gnostic’s, his unconscious was sending him mysterious signs. “The material brought to light from the unconscious had, almost literally, struck me dumb.” (Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections) He endeavored to discover the eternal truth’s of the universe.

“Consciously, deliberately, then, I abandoned my academic career. For I felt that something great was happening to me and I put my trust in the thing which I felt to be more important sub specie aeternitatis. I knew that it would fill my life, and for the sake of that goal I was ready to take any kind of risk.”

And so began the Jungian transmutation…

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The Pale Rider

Walking into to town the others see me coming.
They turn with askance at my rider who sways to and fro.
Head down to shun the sun with the brill of his cap.
Though I be the sober, he be the other.

Drinking water from my trough, he journey’s to the bar.
Avoiding the others at stools end.
Deep in contemplation he seems to be.
Not a glance up, nor the tip of a cup.

Back on the saddle he sways to meet the days end.
Leaving town they bid farewell and see his hollowed eyes.
Not knowing whither to he goes, or from whence he came.
We leave prompt all the same and he asks for no ones name.

I steer him here and there as if I know the way myself.
Wishing on the stars we meet our journey’s end on the moon itself.

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If I Could Give You the Stars and Outer Space

What sort of love is this?
Do you think of me when the morning dew hits?
In my arms do you feel any bliss,
A sudden need for a kiss?
There is love, but of what kind?
Confused passion for we are blind.
We are the scars left on another over time.
Or have we settled-assuming true love we’ll never find?
I feel no warmness from you.
When times of happiness are seldom few.
Why do we return expecting something new?
My inmost thoughts you pretended you knew.
I don’t want love like your movies on lifetime.
You should already know me without a lifeline.
I wish we had met at the right time,
Never really felt you to be all mine.
You fight yourself from change.
Both of us can’t seem to act our age.
But I somehow found a way,
Into my soul- things I cannot convey.

If this is what I’m left with,
I’ll have nothing at all.
Love has become some myth
Leading me unto the Fall.

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MIA

To whoever actually reads any of this,

I’ve been working steadily since May, not a lot of personal time feels like I’ve enslaved myself. I apologize for the sudden break in writing, I have strayed from the self. As the world continues to corner itself, I hope my writings reach who they need to. In the coming years we will hopefully see the truth break free-the revealing. The Revelation or Apocalypse, as you frightened may call it. The translation from Greek apokalyptein “uncover, disclose, reveal” doesn’t seem to mention hell on Earth.

Heil Trump

 

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It Twitches and Festers

The levee’s been pushed to a brink,
If caught in the midst a heavy heart would sink.
Tears from heaven pour down hardened rain.
if only such a thing could wash away the pain.

Quiet and somber I feel your despair.
The shell of a man forewarned to beware.
And still she told me she gets what she wants,
Shifting emotions nullified if the past still haunts.

Our love is a cauldron mixed of bitters and sweets.
While my once wicked ways through your scars it seeps.
Aches in my chest from happiness divest;
Too little, too late—what once was, now irate.

Forgiveness a thing only measured by time,
and through it all I just wish you were mine.
To you I seek to do good—for all I repent
but kindness is misunderstood with outcry’s of resent.

Are you the dawn that had already set,
or the sunrise I never knew I had met?

Painting by William Blake
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Seeking

Cast into the physical,
a Sethian just looking for residuals.
In a sea of sheep, it’s hard to find any individuals.

Forbidden from the garden,
are the two with concealing garment.
For they had tasted knowledge and for that were abolished.

Oh Saklas, be thee foolish,
thinking Fate on your side is your true wish.
The prevalence of goodness is your cold dish.

Yet millions of years later,
the Demiurge is still a fuckin’ hater.
Still waitin’ on the end, but that’s a story for later.

To the rich few we cater,
bailing them out just to produce another failure.
Never asking, just obliging and waiting for the savior.

Between logic and insanity we reside,
of the rich and poor no greater divide.
He who will cross the Rubicon shall cast out the final lie.

Getting high on a whim,
both cursed and blessed by Djinn.
The struggle of salvation only found within,
but it’s much easier to just bask in sin.

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From Bitter Submergence, Loving Enlightenment.

This life it weighs on thee.
Bound to material,
the physical we endure combatively.
Earth-born all is ephemeral.

Ancient works uncovered,
only intensify a burden.
We are fallen angels unfeathered,
—of that I am certain.

Two into one, of three we be.
Yet unto one a return,
and of three they see.
Of transcendent planes we yearn.

Mortality the prescription,
sense perception an unawakened state.
Past loves I’m missin’-
dwelling on the things I hate.
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Of those from within,
and those of without.
Some just trying to win,
others filled with doubt.

On heavens light we pretend,
the end we cannot comprehend.
Seek and ye shall find,
an aeon not bound by time.

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It’s the bottom of the 9th and I can’t find my bat.

Two roads split off from here,
never felt so open, nor so near.
Too late to breathe, too little to adhere.

My life is a colored path of missed taken steps.
Swallowed my share of mistaken breathes,
all of which I aim to keep, souls I chose to reap.

A darkness held me,
and you always told me,
if I only knew how to be set free.

It came from within,
didn’t call, a pretentious way to win.
Never required science, no nuclear fission.
Just a willingness to see a tardy vision.

Been dead all this time,
Frankenstein’s monster I was a mime.
Most intelligent, all pain, all grime.

Giving life to a thing that had past,
the weight of someones world like steel ballast.
Sunken down the river, hoped you’d never last.

I cursed you like the sun,
a scorn you could outlast.
Now I sit in lament,
wishing you could leave just as fast.

Yet I come as soldiers torches burning the night.
‘Come out my dawn’, unaware you’d adorn a fight.
A war lost-one of attrition, a beggars fiction.

Time is a selfish bitch.
All you did was wish
for a time I was yours,
and emptiness was no lore.

Can’t seem to hold a beat,
liquor knocking me off my feet.
Let us be absolved-be let free.

No longer alive and not nearly dead.
Wish I could take back all the things I had said.
Yet that is the sentiment of time,
no ones truly yours, you are not mine.

So feed your fancies from a screen,
only hope you won’t hear me scream.
Cannot fathom, cannot see,
on this bar stool I’d rather lean.

‘Why are you being nice?’
‘Why do you like me?’
You are the fire that thawed the ice
after years to you it wasn’t likely.

Oh how stubborn the scars that refuse to fade.
Or are they reminders of better days?
No just a reason to stay away.
Four years lost but still love-always.

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The Poet

A moody child and wildly wise
Pursued the game with joyful eyes,
Which chose, like meteors, their way,
And rived the dark with private ray:
They overleapt the horizon’s edge,
Searched with Apollo’s privilege;
Through man, and woman, and sea, and star,
Saw the dance of nature forward far;
through worlds, and races, and terms, and times,
Saw musical order, and pairing rhymes.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson