Back-ache swoops in for a visit. My old friend. His intensity more explicit as he grows older. As we near our inevitable end. Why is it? When first comes his knock (and ‘I’ decline) my soul present spirit is ‘me, an old man’. Stuck. Hard as rock.
late winter’s afternoon sunlight dapples the white wall little jump spider rushes across the lazy light’s play jumps on a fly, ricochets back one step. pauses. fly flies off late winter’s afternoon light sadly flits here and there on the white wall. spider stands still. i wonder: while she now stands there, so still, is little jump spider carried away by her struggle with severe self-criticism? arguing with herself ‘did i do something wrong?’ ‘what exactly happened there?’ ‘how could i let that happen?’
from the depths yon Earth glittering like a distant town, viewed from a dark path: playful dappled delight fading down below beyond darkening of Night.
‘Some say that all gods and all living creatures originated in the stream of Oceanus which girdles the world, and that Tethys was the mother of all of his children. But the Orphics say that black-winged Night, a goddess of whom even Zeus stands in awe, was courted by the Wind and laid a silver egg in the womb of Darkness; and that Eros was hatched from this egg and set the Universe in motion.’ – Robert Graves, from The Greek Myths The one and the many What are creation myths if not stories and patterns for the rebirth of soul? That our consensus culture utterly […]