Friday, December 14, 2012

Dialoging with my unconscious: Part 2

Photograph of my mask creadted 12/09/12
Part II: Dialogue with a master

Well, Peter, my mask is drying on a metal rack, preparatory to being fired… I am acutely aware that time is of the essence because my insights formed in the wet, fertile, aliveness of the earthy clay will dry out and become brittle and unyielding, just like my physical mask downstairs.

What follows are my discoveries about my mask and the collective unconscious, such as they are.  I’m afraid that Jung might be disappointed. To my mind, the first archetype, even before those that Jung explored, was our original oneness with the natural world around us. As Joanna Macy put it in her wonderful book, World as Lover, World as Self:

“In the first movement, our infancy as a species, we felt no separation from the natural world around us. Trees, rocks, and plants surrounded us with a living presence as intimate and pulsing as our own bodies. In that primal intimacy, which anthropologists call "participation mystique," we were as one with our world as a child in the mother's womb” – page 13.

To the best of my ability to decipher it what my mask did for me was like a bolt of electricity, jolting me back into a living, throbbing connection with my greater self, the earth. Below is my initial attempt to poetically express in words what happened. 

My mask, Part I: The Blind, Preyless, Predator
One who used to be the predator
Pumped with testosterone
Vietnam vet, avid hunter
Craving raw meat
Now old and neutered
Eating only vegetables
Forced to watch my mother
Limb by limb
Organ by organ
Slowly, agonizingly,
Tortured and killed…

…While my screams like
One hand clapping
Fall on deaf ears.

My mask, Part II: The Conch shell connection
Like a child tunes into the living world
Holding a conch shell to her ear
To hear the roar of the Ocean

So too, the conch shell opening
On the top of my mask:
The seventh Chakra point
  Of pure consciousness
  Without subject or object 
Tunes me in
Like the jolt of electricity
From the executor’s chair:
To the cries of 
Orphaned baby chimps and elephants
Disappearing fish gasping in gill nets
Honey bees suffocating in their hives
Polar bears drowning on disappearing ice

Like the jolt of electricity 
From the executor’s chair,
I feel the Pain we are inflicting
On our Mother, The Earth.

Again, Peter, thank you for your wise inspiration and guidance.

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