strawberry jam and hot sauce

The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched, they must be felt with the heart. ~ Helen Keller

Writing is like strawberry jam and hot sauce. Levels of taste from sweet to hot. A multidimensional brilliance that lingers and inspires. This is my desire of reading and writing. The bottle of jam looks perfect as one sees it on the shelf, and the bottle of hot sauce has a  label that seems as if perfection too. If the jam is not preserved properly or the hot sauce not fermented correctly, it leaves one with the outward perfection but never the delicious reflection and revelation. If you do not dig what I am writing, then read some Helen Keller. Her writing is simple and profound. Never one-dimensional or exclusive. Instead her writing is inclusive and busting forth with flavors of the heart and mind that link up with the great architect of communication.

Blue Moon was a dark blue moon her lessons did not break me

“Blue, green, grey, white, or black; smooth, ruffled, or mountainous; that ocean is not silent.”
H.P. Lovecraft

The blue moon passed and I mean it is over. I am so glad. What a bitch of an experience. I felt in prison as if trapped in the iron maiden.  Feelings of hate grew from me like branches on an old oak tree ready to escape this body dungeon of despair. I was right in the middle of this hell not knowing if it would pass.  My lungs ached and my breathing stopped only reanimated by the puff of an Albuterol.  Cold then hot. Sweat melted me. I took a hot shower breathing deep and counting to ten.  My mind was a little voodoo doll where little pins of painful thoughts pierced through my mind. Hate, lies and men enraged my body. The past, the now, how or could I go on. It felt like birthing.  I did simple things . I did simple routines to keep me on track. The dishes, the laundry or making a sandwich for his lunch tomorrow.  I walked outside and sat on the plastic white chair. I felt a thin breeze touch my face as if a kiss to ease my hopelessness as I cried. I didn’t brush my teeth or read a weird ass Grimm’s Fairy Tale to my son,  just the usual prayer as the white cat jumped up to the top bunk-bed with him. I took my pain pills and drank my chamomile tea and turned on the biography channel called the Unexplained.  This slowly pulled me out of my suffering into the suffering and mystery of others. I very slowly fell into a slumber. I awoke with easy breathing. A little coughing but healthy breathing. The almost hysterical dense feelings from the day before passed and so too summer was moving into autumn. What a fight it was and now today life is normal again. My coffee is delightful. My music is good. I made it through this hell and I am happy and content now. This blue moon was a dark blue moon her lessons did not break me. My growing pains as a baby crone.

Medusa

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So often a culture can get caught up in an image for generations.

Medusa is one such image. A hideous woman with snakes coming out of her head.

This image is based on a popular Greek mythology.

Now I want to focus on the place where mythologies and archetypes blend. Taking another step, I want to focus on where archetypes and belief systems blend, and then finally to understand where a generation of false images are sustained to those who accept them.

This can create a vacuum of unconscious followers. I am one of them. It all came to an understanding when I read an article.  This article told a story about who Medusa was before she turned men to stone.  She was beautiful and Poseidon fell in love with her and they had two children one being the famous Pegasus.

The jealous Goddess Athena turned her into this hideous monster.  She wanted Medusa’s man.

I realize this is making a long story short but my focus is on the vacuum of unconscious images, mine being the one I held in my belly. One that my mother held in her belly. As women get older we all hold this in our bellies; this dark painful vacuum or Medusa the “peri to post-menopausal woman, or hag.”

Hidden also in this mythology is the cultural time of a matriarchal society destroyed by the Greek of sword and male God heads.

The time is now,  to wake up from the sleeping vacuum and reverse the pain. Medusa throws off her snakes and false image. Woman can work together and not compete.

I know her image now and it is not an ugly Gorgon. Her image is impressionistic it spirals out and up!

She is wide and deep. She is creative and terrestrial.

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Magicks For A New Age, Volume III: Beyond Ritual: Historical, Philosophical, and Scientific Considerations- Essays on the Cutting Edge of Esoteric Science. Book 10: Additional Topics. Part 1: The Esoteric Significance of the Star Algol. (Yaci Dragwyla email: polaris93@aol.com) >

Jung and the image

That is what we usually neglect to do. We allow the images to rise up, and maybe we wonder about them, but that is all. We do not take the trouble to understand them, let alone draw ethical conclusions from them. This stopping-short conjures up the negative effects of the unconscious. It is equally a grave mistake to think that it is enough to gain some understanding of the images and that knowledge can here make a halt. Insight into them must be converted into an ethical obligation. Not to do so it to fall prey to the power principle and this produces dangerous effects which are destructive not only to others but even to the knower. The images of the unconscious place a great responsibility upon a man. Failure to understand them, or a shirking of ethical responsibility, deprives him of his wholeness and imposes a painful fragmentariness of his life.

C.G. Jung: Memories, Dreams, Reflections, Confrontations with the Unconscious Pg. 192-193.

I have worked with the above image for thirteen years. Along with the quote by Jung, I have tried to creatively work with this image… It came twice to me and in different forms. The one to view as part of this essay is the first one. I have researched the image and have a great amount of insight into it. The image is a female presence and is holding something. What my focus is on is the cauldron. A cauldron takes on many mythological meanings. It is not until today that I sense that a name possible can be placed upon this whole figure. Both times I viewed this image I saw it in an in-between place. While looking outside a widow in my apartment, and seeing it reflected in the widow. There was nothing in the apartment or outside to create such an image. This is the place of the void or unknown or the unconscious projecting as an image.The second time I saw a similar female figure but she was holding a smaller caldron and also a large staff.  I viewed this image upon the ceiling while visiting a chiropractor for my health.The image was above me and transparently formed as she transfixed my view. From both of these images I created a stencil and printed them on paper.My goal is to listen to the teaching and advice of Jung on this matter. I hold true to the ethical obligation to this image and sharing it as well.I feel an overwhelming creativity happening now. Is it the full moon or the eclipse of Venus that is on my horizon? I think it might be something of Black Moon Lilith. Is she offering this caldron of the archaic feminine to me in understanding the depth within my shadow? My shadow is in the form of this image. Working on acknowledging the shadow in me and in others is something that I hope to understand more deeply… and maybe this image is whispering the way. The now…what a creative time it is!!