Tag Archive | alchemy

owl love

stolenhatWhere did we all get our warm caps?

Ask owl.

 

oforowl

swoops o’er the unwatchful, their head-tops to swipe.

O, Owl.  Hunting mind cozies.

My head is an eclipse, crowned with woolens bound with vine.

I descend the red carpet of my heart

allying rose and sword.

–The Odalisque.

crow morphology (she)

what lies beneath?

Side 2, Groove 4: [audible]

the stones memorialize the stones entomb

the stones are the threshold through which the beginning embarks upon its end

the stones are the threshold through which the end returns where it began.

the stones’ mass warps the field so that  a journeyer setting out in any direction with any goal will quest his way back to them.  the stones.

above hawk soars scanning the damp field for food.

below, a burial ground of childish things. let the rapture resurrect them with child-like wisdom.

to the east a wild horse, spiral horned, departs through the shell shellac of dawn, in search of dark.

to the north, crow remains always crow for the wolves are hungry but easily outsmarted.

to the west a stag retreats in the deep blossom of the ever-dying sun.

to the south a pleasure garden, fragrant and fruitful, walled with fire.

in the middle a stone laid on its side maybe toppled maybe placed that way who knows? and what matter?

she sits there, in her afternoon gown.

Cursus, too heavy to speak, cotton-mouthed and miserable, drags himself towards her.

The toppled stone is not hers, but she has done her best to dress its dark mourning for pleasant repast.  here find flowers grown in the pot of her hand, basalt for three, silver spoons to hold tongues in place, claw-edged tongs to pick words, desiccated lumps of sugar, from his dry mouth.

She has her pitcher of cream, and knives, too for piercing or spreading thin.

Cursus heaves himself upright and collapses on his table.

his mouth is parched but his heart is drowning.

she says:

crowmorph_she_qtrszcrowmorph_she_txt

Intro to  Crow Morphology.

Previous Groove.

vinyl

Crow is a parrot.  Why is Crow a parrot?  To ask me regularly where I am going?  Crow is the trickster of the obelisk, never sincere, always accurate.  Crow caws for shiny things: broken nib, gold earring, my white hairs.  Crow stole me something precious to rob me of my luster.  My scrapbook recalls these things about Crow.

Hawk eyes have been spying on Crow.   Hawk wishes to be helpful to me, but is also motivated by jealousy:  Hawk is metaphysically inclined and feels that if someone is going to shape-shift, it should be Hawk.  But Hawk does not see that Hawk metaphysics are conceptualized rationally, through the lens of personality.  Hawk shape-shifts in evolution towards a true Hawk self.  Hawk is rational enough to believe that Hawk can never be anything but a more radiantly manifested Hawk.  Which is, after all, quite-something.  It is enough.

Crow, on the other hand, radiantly-manifested black, logician of the irrationally inevitable, master of minute probabilities, infinite leverager of the cosmic shuffle farce…

knows anything is possible.  Crow travels fast when looking lazy.  Crow is prone to fuzzy logic: howcome time stops where mind is light?

Crow knows.

Soaring Hawk spotted, with hawk-eyes, the rim of something hidden beneath stones.

It is a strange record of peculiar happenings.  We don’t understand them.  We detect fragments: stones, childhood, art, the self, the real.  Disappearing.  Crow is in this record.  Also a stag.  And a “he”, named Cursus.

Hawk and I call this found-arcanum “CROW MORPHOLOGY”.

crowmorph_record

Imagine you are on a boat far out at sea.  You see a large twinkling star: it could be nearby, or very far and very bright.  You sail towards it.  As you steer by its guide through the black waters of night, your boat scruffs a sandy shore.   Still the star is there.  You see nothing else.  You are stuck.  You drift…to sleep.

Wake up.  See, where the star was, a black impenetrable tower.  The star flickers in an open window.  The star is a candle fueling the work of an odalisque and her friend Hawk.  The candle heats a teapot which generates steam to turn round and round a record with a pen nib riding its groove.

You, on the shore, hear from that pen what sound?

It is very hard work.

We will incorporate the bits we can decipher here in my scrapbook.

More soon.

–The Odalisque

 

 

 

desert (n) desert (v)

I am thinking about the lion roaring in the enraging desert:

lioninthedesert_text_qtrsz

What is passive, immobile, asleep in the heart creates a desert which can only be cured by roaring.

The desert is not in Egypt; it is anywhere once we desert the heart.

Our way through the desert is the awakening to it as a desert, the awakening of the beast, that vigil of desire.

the desert is where the lion lives  our guardian

“The lion roars at the enraging desert”  [Wallace Stevens]

The more our desert the more we must rage, which rage is love.

We fear that rage.  We dare not roar.

greedy paw, hot and sleepless as the sun, fulminating as sulfur, setting the soul on fire.

lion in the desert

Happy Winter Solstice.  The days now lengthen.

Live in the leonine passions of the soul.

–The Odalisque

(text excavation from James Hillman.  Read unexcavated text here from The Blue Fire.)

figures (obelisk triangulation)

[click to enlarge]

figure [unenumerated]:  boreal

(cross-reference)

figure 2: perspective/aquatic

(cross-reference & view verso)

figure [unenumerated]: astral/beloved

figure 17:  traverse  (the obelisk)

why does the phoenix want to garb me in fire?

I first asked this question in my post on fashion.

[click to enlarge]

[cued]

 


( Phoenix: no fear of darkness.  darkness/fathoms/fire.  journey/easy. it circles/home.  ODALISQUE ODALISQUE ODALISQUE/you’re afraid of fire.  I bring a light/a match/and strike it.  FORGET MYSELF AND WATCH YOU.  COLLAPSE/LIKE WAX/COLLAPSES.  AROUND AN INTERIOR FLAME.)

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