I feel like a lonely island, we’re all lonely islands and nobody knows. //We see each other’s smoke signals & call it humanity. //We see each other’s smoke signals & claim to know the archaic souls blowing the embers up to animation, but
we can only guess through the fire’s dance.
I believe we are one soul with many faces. From the Trump’s of the world to Mr. Dr. King’s peaceful protests, the spectrum of manifestation varies. Plant to rock to noise to man… We are all of creation: past, present & future, experiencing itself & creation is a loose definition & time doesn’t exist anyway. So keep that in mind, damnit.
In Jungian psychology, there exists a back further than the unconscious. It would be called the collective unconsciousness. It is here where a species’ individual minds (which exists outside the body, & is that constant first-person monologue maintained throughout life) inverts back towards a more homogenous solution. Textured, soupy One with the many individuated minds this world has to offer… Alive or dead, the symbolic DNA of thinking’s thought, imagination gone back, & personality fragmented, shared one after another here, a forever that never really began, eternal life in the here&now. // // Archetypal instincts are what populate this place I imagine in space. Somewhere. //Inherited, the imprints of images which manifest into behavior through waking life…
But! (& I’m looping around dizzy in this thought experiment,) aren’t the pictorial Archetype for human perception only? Really, they are unknown, unimagined, unnoticed… not real. //Really they are indescribable. //Really, only through consciousness do they develop imago. Only through culture do they take on formation. It’s been noted that light is what makes the scene, at least in the outer space. Dust illuminating, explosions radiating; we see what a nebula has to offer. ,,& just like that! Similarly, it is the way attention sparks a match on perception; the basic possible manifestations of existence varies.
(Chemical equation barring.)
2.20.18 : This headache is killing me, & the pain in my gut. It’s 9pm on a tuesday night & I’m watching an 1hr30 podcast on youtube about shadow work & psychedelics. Specifically mushrooms. I’m listening to his insight about the process of growing through mushrooms, (at least when ayahuasca isn’t on hand),, y’know. & I’m thinking about getting there. How many years until I’m speaking my tongue about experiences I’VE had in rainforest with elder showing my hand. How long until I’m behind the mic & jitters stuttering my speak telling adventures through the mind I’ve manipulated & integrated to solve my every little problem & yours too? I’m sick with worry.
There are parts of me as ancient and overgrown as the thick,
humid, jungles of eden: pregnant with beasts to name & a god who is watching.
I am running around inside of myself, begging the part of me that can hear itself think to
listen harder, (HEART BEAT) I’M HERE, I’M HERE.
& the answers are there.