The Art of Individuation
One lies awake solely because one is awake.
The night calls on you to embrace it.
For it is the unknown, the heart of darkness.
You feel it in you. Don’t you?
Those unanswered questions reminisce and flirt.
Being beyond limitation calls on me like the moon calls a wolf.
She had always told me my heart beat so strongly.
When darkness sets, those questions haunt me.
They corner me like a crazed mob and scream and shout.
Yet I glare back empty—unafraid.
When we first met online you had seldom photos of yourself,
Mostly art.
And when you were in frame, you had on a wonderful dress.
Only later I found out you were in costume as a suffragette.
You didn’t smile but gave a mug, a real mean one.
I had thought, this is a girl I want.
Doesn’t care about being in the picture, smiling, looking uninterrupted.
She was a painter, maybe had a studio of her own.
Her friends were also artists, they went to shows and made various creations.
On the book of faces you had a lover, of whom you did take pictures with.
You looked happy, smiling so beautifully.
A recent ex boyfriend, as you were messaging me.
And when you saw me, you saw an outgoing musician,
Who shares his many wonderful thoughts to the world.
What interesting things he reads,
I had a snake vision once. Maybe he’s the one.
The one to make me feel, to see.
But in reality, none of these things were true.
You are the outgoing, the center stage Leo.
Taking lead, taking charge.
I am the reclusive pinching crab,
Loving seldom, hating most.
You drove an Audi, possessed expensive items.
I lived at home, owned nothing except my state of being.
I miss when you painted, explored the esoteric.
When we listened to almost all the records at Earl’s.
Found Moon Tribe, read Moon Time
And since then have been letting.
It was just us and nature.
Then the world came and took that all away.
Now you look at me feeling sad.
Feeling sad for how you don’t feel sad.
A remorse over the loss of a feeling.
Feeling sorry for me, sorry for yourself.
Why am I this way?
So easily vexed & dismayed.
A long noosed rope, but a bit frayed.
From the smallest breeze, easily swayed.
Kick the chair from under—don’t be afraid.
When will I reach ten?
Again I fall for the trap,
A maze with no end,
No cheese for the rat.
With equal force et sicut,
The same bogging down.
Take my hand & pull me up.
In these emotions I drown.
And on that fateful night,
When apparitions meddled with light,
Our softened bodies laid in delight,
Did that feel wrong, or did it feel right?
For under the sands of time,
Lay dormant the unboxed Djinn.
Sacrificed the heart of a mime
They could not see within.
It’s so hard for me,
But so easy for you.
So easy.
My mother said to me,
You have your fathers anger.
I reminded her of her own mother’s anger too.
That’s why they both got along.
My dad and grandmother didn’t take any shit.
They could walk in a room and see everything bare.
The fake people, they’re phony masks.
They didn’t want to partake.
Tootsie & Jon would slug you in the mouth,
If you looked or said something wrong.
That’s where humans depart from each other.
There are those that see, by not seeing.
And they rebuke and lash out,
Like Jesus against the money changers.
And there are those, that simply do not understand.
Some wake up and see,
Others wake up for work.
You see me crumbled, unemployed, angry—
Unable to move forward.
I am all these things, and so much more.
Sitting in the ruin of the Tower,
I am on the precipice of something Greater.
I am the melancholic King, who goes unseen.
For what medicine has a more warming affect than anger?
At times I feel her arise in me.
The divine feminine smirking with power.
A blackness so brilliant—
Like the sheen of a crow in the Sun.
The dark murky waters of creation is where she dwells.
Animate by her energy, I enter the quantum;
Where there is no state of becoming, rather, Absolution.
She is both life and death,
The guiding and tempting force of which I am present vessel.
At this point, we both know it’s over. Your room knows we’re over. Your chest of drawers know. Your walls hanging with pictures of us know. Your sheets suck in the scent of me, only to torture you while you sleep. As you lie there, your mind will unknowingly recognize my scent. And as you reach for me, you’ll awaken alone and cold. But for now, we’ll lay here and think of the emptiness that is to come.
It’s quiet now. You’ve just told me we won’t last. You lay your head on my chest. “I wonder if she can hear my heart breaking?” I imagine my heart as shifting tectonic plates. As my brain scrambles to recognize this feeling, it exclaims “Ah, heartache. We meet again.” My brain relays messages to my liver, kidney, colon, muscles, nervous system, and lungs of the coming storm. They then ready for the great purge of sorrow to come.
I am a tree.
Like hands, my branches reach toward heaven.
My trunk is my body.
The roots extend as much below as above.
Although you cannot see them,
It is the deepest part of my being hidden.
I am brought to life from confined abysmal darkness.
— And nourished through boundless divine light.
I am not my job.
I’m bigger.
Bigger than this room.
Than these corporations,
The government, these nations.
Planets, Galaxies, this universe.
Time, gravity, material.
An apparition adrift in the cosmos.
And yet I am everything.
I’m you, her, them, us.
Fragments of light, bottled & pickled.
Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh.
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:
“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.
And so began the Jungian transmutation…
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.
Jedd the Obscure 