aporia heights: The Will to Survive

Words whisper, carrying more than one might know, hypostases rather than mere understanding. Words grow from roots, spawn families, travel and mingle, get lost, get found, and often marry the strangest bedfellows. Like our bodies, our ideas, and our culture, words evolve, handed down to us from a place beyond memory. As the warp and woof of language, words possess the magic to shape the immaterial into the solid things of psyche ~From my intro to AO's The Archives of the Heart

The Moon's Favors says: Thanks for suggesting us OPEN SOURCE!

If you put your hands on this oar with me, they will never harm another, and they will come to find they hold everything you want. If you put your hands on this oar with me, they would no longer lift anything to your mouth that might wound your precious land that sacred earth that is your body. If you put your soul against this oar with me, the power that made the universe will enter your sinew from a source not outside your limbs, but from a holy realm that lives in us. Exuberant is existence, time a husk. When the moment cracks open, ecstasy leaps out and devours space; love goes mad with the blessings, like my words give. Why lay yourself on the torturer's rack of the past and the future? The mind that tries to shape tomorrow beyond its capacities will find no rest. Be kind to yourself, dear to our innocent follies. Forget any sounds or touch you knew that did not help you dance... ~ Rumi ~

I am certain of nothing but of the holiness of the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination ~John Keats

Things are because we see them, and what we see, and how we see it depends on the arts that have influenced us. ~Oscar Wilde, The Decay of Lying

Jung, Tolkien, Hillman, Jackson

From Crowley's Little, Big

CGJung: selected letters

Krugman

Mike: "These Gothic cathedrals are living yantras"

Diotima

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OCCUPY OVERPASSES

Compassionate Listening Project

Violence is a poison

Why I don't Facebook 1 and 2

Protect Shenandoah Mountain

ARAS

Theseus

Dreams

I dream about old houses, places where no one has lived for years. In my dreams, I visit the places alone, or with shadowy night creatures I know are part of me even as I dream. The houses speak to me of the lives they have witnessed, but that is not what enthralls me. They were the canvas of time and space that held and framed and kept the life that went on inside of them with the knowledge of a pregnant being.

Last night, I walked through the rooms of a great old Victorian, observing the layout, planning its restoration. I long to dress and furnish these rooms. I caress the banisters as I walk up the stairs. I try to remember every detail, but what is left to me in waking is not detail, but the feeling of a presence.

How can I take you there?

What is of particular importance for the study of literature, however, is that the manifestations of the collective unconscious are compensatory to the conscious attitude, so they have the effect of bringing a one-sided, unadapted, or dangerous state of consciousness back into equilibrium.
~CGJung, Psychology and Literature in Modern Man in Search of a Soul

The inspired speech of myth
begotten of the Daimon
reveals that the world is the theater
of the periodic revolution of soul.
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My homepage. (I lose things.) Please enjoy the decorations. deborah mattingly conner

Sunday, June 12, 2011

The Will to Survive