Excerpt: "Stultifera Navis"

The Ship of Fools - "But water adds to this the dark mass of its own values; it carries off, but it does more: it purifies. Navigation delivers man to the uncertainty of fate; on water, each of us is in the hands of his own destiny; every embarkation is, potentially, the last. It is for the other world that the madman sets sail in his fools' boat; it is from the other world that he comes when he disembarks. The madman's voyage is at once a rigorous division and an absolute Passage. In one sense, it simply develops, across a half-real, half-imaginary geography, the madman's liminal position on the horizon of medieval concern—a position symbolized and made real at the same time by the madman's privilege of being confined within the city gates: his exclusion must enclose him; if he cannot and must not have another prison than the threshold itself, he is kept at the point of passage. He is put in the interior of the exterior, and inversely. A highly symbolic position, which will doubtless remain his until our own day, if we are willing to admit that what was formerly a visible fortress of order has now become the castle of our conscience. Water and navigation certainly play this role. Confined on the ship, from which there is no escape, the madman is delivered to the river with its thousand arms, the sea with its thousand roads, to that great uncertainty external to everything. He is a prisoner in the midst of what is the freest, the openest of routes: bound fast at the infinite crossroads. He is the Passenger par excellence: that is, the prisoner of the passage. And the land he will come to is unknown—as is, once he disembarks, the land from which he comes. He has his truth and his homeland only in that fruitless expanse between two countries that cannot belong to him." ~ 'Madness and Civilization'

On Ouroboros

My first encounter with Ouroboros was because of a Free Masonry book I read as a child. As my interest in mythology, symbolism, and world religions grew the symbol kept popping up. I recall the book 'Alchemy' by Marie-Louise von Franz; an Ouroboros emblazoned on its bright green cover and then having encountered it again in some literature I had the privilege of perusing in the Catholic National Library at St. Michael's Abbey in Farnborough, Hampshire; a Benedictine Monastery I stayed at for a time. From then on it would be through Jungian literature. Anyhow, I have always been fascinated by it.

The term Ouroboros is Greek in origin although the symbol itself predates its definition and has been used across cultures. The definition states the obvious, it is the Tail Devourer. The Ourboros consumes itself so that it may live. Existence is the source of its own sustenance (i.e. Life requires Life or the loss of Life to thrive). It symbolizes the eternal or immortal process at hand. According to Joseph Campbell, "...the goal of the myth is to dispel the need for such life ignorance by effecting a reconciliation of the individual consciousness with the universal will. And this is effected through a realization of the true relationship of the passing phenomena of time to the imperishable life that lives and dies in all."

On Attunement

We have all walked with empathy and sympathy to varying degrees. Although sympathy is traditionally defined as a feeling of pity and sorrow for others' misfortune, I've grown to understand it in terms of support, harmony and fellowship - giving or receiving. Sympathy is an acknowledgment of emotional hardship along with the provision of comfort and assurance. Empathy, on the other hand, is understanding what others are feeling because you have experienced it yourself or can put yourself in their shoes. Both indicate attunement. Both facilitate the free flow of life energy between energetic beings. It is being open to the way everyone and everything around us feels - observing and then deciding what we want to do with that sensory input. Empathy and sympathy serve as an access point to the more subtly communicated or guarded aspects of one another and the bigger picture we are a part of. They bond us.

We are often inundated by our senses. It can seem quite burdensome and exhausting in some instances and invigorating in others. The feeling realizations that we arrive at are like the ocean, with waves cresting and bottoming out or with tides ebbing and flowing continuously. That push and pull is very real. We develop ways of managing the uninterrupted stream of input. Some people block themselves off entirely, some build elaborate defenses, some are inspired by and channel it, some reroute it, some filter the desirable from the not so, some unconsciously own it (to both their benefit/detriment and others'), some gleefully drift in it and allow it to wash over them, and some of us absorb and transmute it. We all dabble in some way or another as there is no way for us to avoid its presence and effect. Our attunement, no matter the state or our current understanding and use of it, is a fundamental aspect of our Being. We are connected sensitive beings. I do not feel that there is any way to physiologically detach yourself from what you are inherently a part of, however, there are numerous ways that we attempt to do so intellectually and psychologically.

Poetry: 'Chattel'

When a hug becomes a cling

...a hold, a clench

...a tendency, a trench

...a feeling then a string

When what lends itself so freely

becomes what you wish to own

When the cage you find yourself in

was once considered home

So, what is willed then

of the children

who we rear and steer

who we naively hope to shield

from our insecurities and fears

When a doubt becomes a dread

...a thought, a pillar in the head

...a vision, laws for all to follow

...and others much too hard to swallow

While standing where you are 

you see all you wish to be
A lonesome star that churns afar

and yearns to be a tree

When what dances there before you

entreats acknowledgment and love

When what showers you with adoration

is insensitively snubbed,
is doused in conflagration

and fueled by your neglect

When "the best is yet to come"

because what's present is regret

"Turn then your eyes...," the Sun spoke,

"I am not too proud to state..."
"...that the darkness, just as I..."

"...is here besides to illuminate."
To see the night sky clearly 

it's best to walk the dark

to let go of what you think you need

the covetousness, desire, and greed

the bailing of stream waters

the seizing of a moment,

that's as fleeting as the seasons,

but in it's deft flow is most potent.

Sometimes the cling, the clench, 

and the trench we excavate,

are filled with fluid waters

which stagnate in such a state

And so, the very thing that heals

is poison in the well

It's tainted by possessiveness 

and lies we tell ourselves

Sometimes the fibs, so fanciful,

that dance enchantingly

before our eyes and in our minds

belie our genuine needs

They undermine our sense of presence

with veblen goods and feathered pheasants,

promises of life so pleasant,

pointing toward the mountain top

When strewn in bloom before your feet

is Life's majestic crop

And though it too will fade in time

to hug will be enough

For in abundance Life provides

that which it knows you need most of

Poetry: 'Love's Lament'

Have you ever been with someone;
someone who's slightly off?
Whose head, while yours was in the clouds,
was face down in a trough?
Have you ever noticed how you shine
eclipses all they are?
How your growth casts shadows of distress
and drapes them in the dark?

Have you seen beyond the flattery
and honeyed words received?
The deafening silence, loneliness,
and bitterness that seethes?
Have you ever tread the devil snake
who's writhing in despair,
beneath your heel of saintliness
and crying out for air?

Do you stop to wonder
how your shine precedes their thunder?
That when the stars align for you
their heavens burst asunder?
Or is the approbation
a buoyant buffer zone;
too distant although within reach;
too different dialects they speak;
one landscape lush the other's bleak?
Your throne fashioned from bone.

These gusts of laud which loft you up
buffet them tirelessly...
This windswept lonely moorland soul
erodes to steep ravine.
Have you ever been with someone;
someone who must pretend?
Who's never felt like they belong
to this world you're living in?

Have you noticed how you shine
is matched by how they gloom?
How what you celebrate as life,
to them is but a tomb? And,
how the love that you attract
contributes to their wounds?

Perhaps some day they'll change their tune.
Perhaps the tables turn.
But, for now the fable's writ is such:
one's quenched while one must burn.

On Honesty and Offense

For me, to live conscionably and unapologetically is to live honestly; to be oneself without pretense. But many of us project a false self due to the fear of being spurned. We'd rather be accepted for who we aren't than risk the rejection of who we genuinely are. We filter or censor parts of who we are so to comply with the standards of those we choose to have relationships with. It is an exhausting and impossible task as offense seems to be characteristic of interpersonal relationships, particularly open and honest ones. It is merely a fact of life. The reality is that I can never be freely and fully myself without the likelihood of friction, disagreement, and misunderstanding - principles will collide.

Many of us romanticize such a virtue as acceptance but find ourselves intolerant in our routine dealings with one another. Where I may say, "I am sharing my sincere self!" Another will assuredly respond from time-to-time, "But I'd prefer that you did so according to my understanding of decorum." Oddly enough, both parties are welcoming each other. Although they are both engaged in sharing exactly what it is they feel - inviting the other in - the occasional offense will arise. Blogger, magentamirror, posted, "I share with you a piece of my life and you think I am evaluating you, criticizing you, comparing you to others, rejecting you . . .And yet, all the while, I am welcoming you." What she perceived as an act of honesty and vulnerability was in turn perceived as an offensive slight. She goes on to point out the following:

Poetry: 'Frail'

Where one and one are one. From where all and none have gone.
Where all share the same sum
When dust from bone. And sand from stone.
From water born; no life alone
Where wind is blown.
And warmth arise to lighten skies
New day. New birth to be.

With infant eyes at each sunrise
A different world to see; new opportunity
Where all are friend to me. From Love sprouts honesty.
An I with which to see the lies belies derived belief
To heal and mend. No more pretend.
This I reveals, beyond the bend, how Fear relies on We

Here now, differences prevail. Where trust so oft' assailed.
Where Fear and Love decide our fate
Within the choices that we make.
This one, I sense, come give-or-take
Ever a fragile state.

Fragile II by Jiskah

Poetry: 'I and Why'

There once was Why 'round every bend

This Why existed without friend

Its will to know insisted, growing with the thoughts enlisted

With every thought it entertained

Why thought it knew a lot

It came one day asking to play

And so I thought, "Why not?!"

"Why this?!" "Why that?!" "How come?!" - This Why was insecure;

Its knowing without cure; Unassured, this Why's endured

Its trek affords it little rest

So, why do I in it invest?

Is I or Why here at behest?

If I by Why than why am I?

"Oh, my..." Life's quite the quest (ion).

On Form and Function

Let us consider the 20th century architectural/design principle that "form follows function", that is the principle that the shape of an object or structure should be primarily based upon its intended function or purpose. Life is the very archetype for this principle, both macrocosmically and microcosmically. Imagine yourself stepping back to observe the whole of existence, as a pedal might a bicycle. Perhaps from such a vantage point you would exclaim, "Aha! So, that is what I am part of. I am this way so it may function that way." But since the pedal, as some seemingly insignificant component, can no more understand the persistent force that is exerted upon it from its place in existence than we as humans can, instances such as the crushing weight of a foot relentlessly bearing down atop it or the contrasting sense of weightlessness & relief felt due to an effortless downhill glide may be the difference between the sense of adversity and good fortune that is felt by a human. Microcosmically, the pedal (a small mass made possible by the concentration of a lot of energy) is a mechanism for the transportation of energy. Macrocosmically, the bicycle (an even larger mass) is a mechanism for the transportation of even more energy. Conceivably, we are structured - constantly evolving, as all else is - to fill some dynamic need in the greater process that is continuously unfolding. This is a very big picture we are a part of.

For me, the whole of existence is like a tapestry comprised of all manner of being. It is an infinitudinal mural amidst which every temporal and spiritual expression or manifestation of the greater reality may be realized and explored; a mural escarpment that endlessly stretches in all directions, adorned by all that exists. All are functioning components serving some purpose or another; where even our form, as human being, is governed by our intended function. I trust in the infinite, inexorable, exploratory, and ultimately ineffable wisdom of the process at-hand. I trust that no matter our self-abasement, modesty or self-importance, as humans (i.e. the youngest species), we are but a tiny piece of an unimaginably larger process. I trust that process. It is the initiator, the sustainer, and prevailer. It is all there is, be it the "Entire universe", "Multiverse", "Ultimate Nature of Reality", "God", or whatever have you. It is my greatest love.

Random Thought (#9,349,492,495,321)

All Are Related. There is no other alternative but for us to dwell side by side. It is all we have ever done whether in times of conflict, conciliation, or harmony. Everything is a "child" (to anthropomorphize things) of Life, be them the embittered, estranged, or enlightened, be them plant, animal, insect, virus, bacteria, human, and so forth. To identify more strongly with one family member versus another seems no more likely to bring about "peace" than some other outright act of violence. To draw a line is to draw a line. It is to situate significance based on partiality; nevermind there was never any distinction other than those that Life, in all its infinite wisdom, has masterfully delineated of its own accord and allowed us to make something of. For me, it seems as though we are all cells within one unified self, and one could entertain the possibility that whatever transpires is what Life has mandated or at the very least permitted. I recognize that Life will in fact administer its own partiality. While it does, I will try my best to channel Love, Peace, and Gratitude as well as I am able.

Poetry: Untitled

Jejune. Glut. Clouds. Fog.
Purposeless. Here. Floret.
Obscure. Days. Fissure. Daze. 
Same. Neurotic. Brain.  Bouquet.
Sane. Space. Strain. Shame. 
Thought. Plenty. Empty. Shanty.
Scanty. Passion. Exhausted.
Foisted. Fashion. Hoisted. Bastions.
Lofty. Laurels. Green. And. Graying.
Grayling. Strafing. Stray. Decembrists.
Brain. Decay. Systemic. Peace.
Polemic. Cease. Remembered.
Thought. So. Rendered. Join. 
The. Day. Being. Seeing. 
Watching. Feeling. Reeling. All.
Wretched. Rancor. Duty. Calls.
Forget. Beset. Till. And. Trawl.
Advise. Inform. Facts. Reform.
Tales. Write or Reed. Bite to Bleed.
Vacancy. Meaning. More. Or. Less.
So much. Too little. Too late. On time.
Demand. How much? Our values. Writ.
Be still. Proceed. To. Shape. Or. Shift.
Gift. Needs. Wants. Rift. 
Bridge. Bird. Shoal. Warmth.
Clandestine. Give. Get. Sift.
Glance. Doubt. Cheer. Jeer.
Coerce. Route. Tout. Release.
Grasp. Pipe. Flask. Bump. Blast. Off.
Fast. Taunt. Conceal. Concede.
Wonder. Wandering. Refuse. Reprieve.
Build. Breed. Gallup. Grieve.
Free. To. Be. As. I. Believe.
Will. Steely. Breeze. Spree.
Sprig. Spring. Living. Tree.
Consistently. Erratic. Miserably. Emphatic.
Jejune. Bloom. Ensconce. Entomb.
Wonderfully. Nomadic.
Always. Out. Of. Tune.
Haberdasher. Soul. Stitch. Spirit. Twitch.
Anchored. Pitch. Born. Crying.
Living. Dying. Lying. Loom. Lusting.
Trusting. Brooding. Ogling. Purge.
Forgive. Forget. Significant. Drudgery.
Mire. Admire. Begrudgingly.
Flippant. Strewn. Plant. Or. Prune.
Honesty. Is. Nature's. Broom.
Always. Sweeping. Weeping. Tears.
Watering. All. That's. Near.
Making. Taking. Room. So. Dear.
Whence. Toward. Where E'er. Steered.

The Divided Brain - Iain McGilchrist

"...the intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honours the servant, but has forgotten the gift."

"Psychiatrist Iain McGilchrist describes the real differences between the left and right halves of the human brain. It's not simply "emotion on the right, reason on the left," but something far more complex and interesting. A Best of the Web talk from RSA Animate.

Iain McGilchrist is a psychiatrist and writer. Before he came to medicine, he was a literary scholar -- and his work on the brain is shaped by a deep questioning of the role of art and culture. As his official bio puts it: "He is committed to the idea that the mind and brain can be understood only by seeing them in the broadest possible context, that of the whole of our physical and spiritual existence, and of the wider human culture in which they arise -- the culture which helps to mould, and in turn is moulded by, our minds and brains."

His recent book The Master and His Emissary explores the nature of the brain's two hemispheres (the right is the "master," in McGilchrist's terms). How have our two hemispheres evolved to relate -- and how did their relationship create our consciousness, our culture, and our ability to understand our own brains?"

On Being, Not Becoming

My state-of-being is a temporary residence. It is one moment amidst an infinite amount of moments. My state-of-being is one flap of one hummingbird's wing amidst a limitless charm of them inexhaustibly fluttering about. Each moment, however insignificant it may seem or unnoticed it goes, has changed me. I am never as I was. No matter how strongly I am influenced by an experience and any accompanying beliefs, emotions, and ideas; no matter how strongly I cling to them and the sense of identity that is derived from them; and no matter how apparent some tendencies or themes appear to remain, something has changed. Something has been introduced, reinforced, revised, or removed. Even as I write these words I am changing. Life (be it as a human or any other expression of existence) seems to be dynamic. To attempt to understand the current moment, as it continuously unfolds before me, from the perspective of previous moments is to miss the mark every time, and yet it seems like the only perspective I can ever proceed from. Lest I trust that understanding is an inherent characteristic of each moment that I need only ever to experience - to be is to understand.

If the me I will become a moment from now does not yet exist how might it be accurately contemplated, discussed, or prepared for. It is an attempt to address what can never be known. Everything seems to exist in this state; from one moment to the next compulsively chasing the unknown. Motivated by the desire for certainty or control I plan & predict. I analyze, anticipate, reason, and or speculate. I must realize at some level of my being that I can never accurately capture, much less comprehend life beyond our species' anecdotal, conjectural, or so-called factual insights into it. Such insights are themselves limited to human cognizance. Currently, my insights lead me to believe that life is from one moment to the next. The most I seem guaranteed of is my experience of it. We seem capable of choice, so we are in this sense self-deterministic; however, in choosing a devotion of some kind or another a resistance to the general dynamism of life's current arises. I assume that the mind must match said dynamism if it is to avoid the conflict or confusion that naturally accompanies such obstinacy and Promethean idealism. If the mind is tethered to an unreasonably rigid (or even well rationalized) conviction it seems necessarily at odds with the very context from which it originates - namely the mutable nature of life itself.

On My Mind

After reading a 2012 blog post on The Secret Life of an INFP - Inside My Mind  I commented on several things I relate to, many of which I could not put in to words as succinctly as its author, aelthwyn, had. Some were as follows:

I enjoy novel experiences. I love people's stories. While I have an aversion to ambiguous feedback and gossip the behaviors interest me. I appreciate  thoughtful conversation, that is to say what folks "think, feel, and theorize about various topics of mutual interest" and their own individual interest. What was shared in the post reminded me of something I reflected on in a blog post of my own as regards "small talk": On Honesty.

I too, like the author, have background noise; what some call thoughts and others voices. The noise is often breached by the grating of intrusive sounds. The sensation is as though a real life conversation had been interrupted; sometimes a symposium, other times it is the dissonant rambling of several voices vying for attention, and at other times a euphonious chant or chorale. In some instances the breach is a welcomed interlude and in others it is entirely inconvenient. My mind frequently repeats familiar songs and composes original melodies, which I routinely hum. Occasionally (be it minutes, hours, or days later) a lyrical element will be realized. I do not know musical notation and I am too shy to perform or to record myself. Admittedly, some part of me longs to sing with others, and envies those who do.

Sometimes, I'll stare blankly in to space; a sudden lapse in consciousness is how I'd best describe it. When asked to recount the experience there isn't much to tell; it is typically brief and I don't seem to be reflecting on anything in particular, as there is nothing for me to convey. When it happens in the presence of others I'm usually met with an, "Albert. Albert? Albert!", "Hellooo?", "Are you alright?", "Are you paying attention?" or "Where were you?" The closest thing I can relate it to are the absence seizures I've read about. However, those occur more often in children. Another person brought up partial seizure, but short of visiting a Neurological specialist I can't know for sure. I prefer to walk barefoot, unless it is unreasonably scalding or cold. While rocks, sticks, and stones are sometimes uncomfortable to walk on or slow my pace I enjoy the sensation of them underfoot and the idea of my flesh touching the Earth's, much like the keen satisfaction I derive from skin-to-skin or eye contact.