HOME & HOLIDAYS

GARDENERS AGAIN
   -for Mom

When a figure is sacrificed in the planting culture, that figure is the god...from whose body the food of the spirit comes. There is a sublimation of what originally was a very solid vegetal image. He [the figure] is on Holy Rood...
the second tree in the garden of Eden....  The tree of coming back to the garden is the tree of immortal life.                     -Joseph Campbell,  Power of Myth/ mythic sacrifice

Gardener again, dark earth clinging to her hands
she stood that day just on the outer edge
plucking crimson beets from the garden, enough
to bind together in a bunch.  But when she saw us
coming up the drive, she raised it like a torch

over her head.  It was a triumphant move
her calloused hands helping an 87th harvest
into high fulfillment.  Seeing her own red flame lifting life
like a torch I had a hunch & enough that when I saw her
defending life's threshold just then, that's just what I said.

A light bringer holding salutation how is it I find you torched
a cultivation yourself, ripened with harvest?  In offering
your small, red sacrifice, the low, hyperborean scents still hold
how you reconcile in me a god's former identities; you are
almost enchanted or I am by the sight of you.

Actually, that is what I wished I could have said to her
but I didn't know how or about red beets in that poetic way
I know red beets now.  Torch and twin, Phosophoros
light bringer and Dadophoros, light bearer, the nature of your
secret phrase unspoken, passes inward.  And, in passing

something I am too, passes away.  I might always only come
to life made up in lines which do not exist; how yours lit mine
a blaze that day; how the smell of fresh beets harbor still
this low phrase, one humus clung, its autochthonic rhythm
sprung fresh as rain.  That we may be gardeners again.


©2016 The Covenant stephaniepope mythopoetry.com


notes


1. One important quality of red beets has to do with their color. What gives the red beet its red color belongs to remarkable antioxidants called betelains.  Betelains give their red staining quality to beets.  As a mythic image the red staining quality of betelains is linked to the kiss of Aphrodite and cosmetics.  Used in the 19^th c to provide Victorian ladies their pretty red lips, applying betelain stain to the cheeks gave them a proper Victorian blush.  Applying this stain to the cheeks, lead, too to the new phrase, “red as a beet!”

2. Another important quality of red beets has to do with their scent and taste. This scent and taste is what causes folks to either love them or loathe them.  Red beets carry something desirable yet also excrescent, unusual (ab or ad normal―an outgrowth usually unwanted) in their soul still coveted even as it seems unattainable.  The opening up of this space between the wanted and the unwanted is the poetic sense here.

What gives to the red beet its scent and taste is a substance called geosmin.  Geosmin is responsible for that fresh scent in your garden after a spring rain. Humans are very sensitive to geosmin even in very low doses causing this extreme, emotional, wanted-unwanted response to the red beet.  It seems the scent of the beet strikes a specific organic pose linked to the dark, sweet, rich earth, " rich earth" itself invoking the chthonic dimension. 

Even linguistically we see a language bond between this image of the dark earth in the word humus, Latin, meaning earth and the Latin, humanus, meaning man also rooted in the  “hum” in the word,  exhume,  meaning to uproot or dig up. 

Often said of bodies after their proper burials, exhume translates as ex (out of) + humare, bury, from humus, earth or chthon; this gives that sense of something that isn’t a thing but ‘soul’ being unearthed.  Something not dead, and more like an eternal newborn, this “red” is always green. 

THE HOUSE A HERO BUILT #OHJDailyWord 8/14/16

Gateway to the caves near Tangier legend says are created
 by the Greek demigod Hercules Photo: Herbert List/Magnum

THE PULL OF A MYTH

A cave condoles 12 labors
a gap aligns fantastically…
the pull of old Tangier.

©2016 Herculean Blues stephaniepope mythopoetry.com

THE POET'S PRACTICE

Narcissus, Carravaggio, Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Antica, Rome

THERE IS AN ART TO FOLLOWING A POETIC EXPERIENCE

There is an art to following
a poetic experience. Consider
Carravaggio’s pool.

If you dream,
dream such an encounter
nine shades deep; what

saturates the air
of a waterless syllable
watery in nonbeing

slumbering where a roof leaks in;
a tapper, M___ in living darkness
pools darkness shading each drop

inward with watery syllables. M___
seems ghostly but she’s not. As
medium she inspires the first word.

The first word, the medial word

not only inspires kings and poets
before you, it inspires a god to make

love with M___  from the other
side. And now, from that side
where there is no other side

and, if
you are
blessed,

some waterless syllable
dream-gathers the muse
a dream dreams in you

nine shades deep. M___
where the roof leaks
watery in nonbeing

inwardly dreams

thing-less things
alive with being―

B(e) comes being―
out of it (e)M-Bodied (experienced)
the dream, always speechless

doesn’t say squat; it
shows you something
you wouldn’t otherwise see (or know.)

Mnemosyne’s watery atlas of images 
(in likeness) initiates you into a
metaphysics of pure presence

Yet, of the tapping toneless tone
neither first nor lasting echo, being
of image talking with image

remember,
the medium
is the message.     

©2016 Mneme's Pool (What Carravaggio’s Narccissus Encounters)
stephanie pope mythopoetry.com

notes

1. “The medium is the message”, Marshall McLuhan’s line, reminds me that the form of the medium embeds itself in the message. This creates a symbiotic relationship by which the medium influences how the message is perceived. Not only does content influence reality, the characteristics of the medium do. McLuhan says the content of the medium is another medium. The contents of our psyches express another medium, a spiritual one— the one in which I can’t even say “ours”.

2. Abraham Maslow in working out his psychology of being, (TPB) thinks very few people developed themselves spiritually. He also plays with the image soul of this language, medium/message: mess age/massage/mass age

3. He refers to our spiritual need as self-actualization as did Jung but perhaps one can reimagine the contents of spirituality (archetypal images) actually as a present absence, a specific lack or lag in spiritual development across the human species itself.

4. M____ the medium for spiritual self-actualization didn’t start out that way but developed as the poem developed over time.  M___ began as a mytheme, that story about a longing in the soul for the impossible return from that side where there is no other side, long absent and beloved.

HOW TO BECOME FREED FROM A GAME OF LOSING

Prometheus, Henry Fusili ,1770-71

IN THE KITCHEN UNDER THE SKIN SINK

Adam, to God:       
“I have done nothing spiritually wrong.”
God, to Adam:     
 “It is not that you have done nothing spiritually wrong;
   it is that you have done nothing spiritually.”

Everything is infinite in that it is metaphoric, poetic, symbolic,
pointing to something ever deeper and more vast.
                   -Thomas Moore, twitter 5:00am, August 6, 2016

In the kitchen under the skin's ink death
takes on the role of a dark magician
belonging to King Adam’s identity

winning requires this identity accept
the dark magician in contest and
on behalf the world, lose. Winning

requires the king to lose
which is, likewise, our own
defeat. Meanwhile,

one’s dema-terial mysterium
an imaginal center for shaping
a mythic body that isn’t identity

nor some other “other”—out of
an apple tossed the uninvited
into the fire a panis bis coctus

outcast into likeness formed—out of
the dema remateria material
a slaying of identity distilled.

In a timeless psyche-making
an infinite image and likeness
makes one’s soul home.

    ©2016 EXTRACTING THE ELIXIR OF LIFE stephanie pope mythopoetry.com




notes

Myths of Creation / Creative Mythologies

1. Paris, Eris and the apple tossed as working with the always outcast and the uninvited 

2.  Working with The King & The Corpse: Tales of the Soul's Conquest of Evil (Heinrich Robert Zimmer. Joseph Campbell. Editor. Princeton University Press; Revised Edition: New Jersey, 1971

3.  Working with dema mythologies

4.  Working with the image of the skin of things and the fire that transforms it / The Pandoran/Promethean Myth

THUNDERMOON 2016: Social Media and Soul-making

BLOOD TO INK

television social media takes us places shows us peoples worlds lives we cannot in our bodies visit;  [1 ] we dine amiss.

dynamis, the word, a feminine Greek noun for force or power reminds me of that enlivener leading the mind’s heart to god…that is,

to god
beyond god
                                                  ~

Think of it, that moment;  Anima Mundi connecting to Great Spirit, that mysterious phrase referencing the totality encompassing

both conscious and unconscious knowing.
What of it?

Think of it; on the one hand, the world’s psyche & pneuma, on the other hand, spirit & cosmos the former, a voluptuous

rounding expanse,  the latter
continuously expanding.
                     ~

This is our spiralic gesture, a centerlessly centered dynamic level.  What is must mature for us to grow cosmically conscious?

Wonder do I if a mysterious unknowable beyond conscious & unconscious knowing—god

(the one who is the other of two)
may hear  this weeping  in our vale

listening behind (or down in and through)
our own conscious ear

                     ~
May this uncommon sense for the totality of god awaken god to how earth suffers.

A sensing of this quality of omniscience my poor movements may not muster but my heart, my heart to this mystery awakens, too.

                                                         ~

And, I can imagine how moved is god when god looks round upon us this deserted and weeping. I meditate then

what likeness is the like in which god shall next take form? Pray what, at the moment of its incarnation here, such totality in god Xpressed

may mean to our world
soul—a psyche of god at work

whose likeness imitates everywhere
the psyche of cosmos.



©2016 Tweeting Graffito stephaniepope mythopoetry.com




notes

graf·fi·to

[gr uh- fee-toh] NOUN [PLURAL GRAF·FI·TI]

In archaeology, an ancient drawing or writing scratched on a wall or other surface.

---

[1] The original line using the word “television” being quoted in the opening line of the poem first appears in a poem, ‘What Else Can We Do?” by Ric Scow Williams.  This poem is sent to me in an email dated July 10, 2016 at 1:51pm

THUNDERMOON 2016: Social Media and Soul-making

BLOOD TO INK

television social media takes us places shows us peoples worlds lives we cannot in our bodies visit[1] & we dine amiss.

dynamis, the word, a feminine Greek noun for force or power reminds me of that enlivener leading the mind’s heart to god…that is,

to god
beyond god
                                                  ~

Think of it, that moment;  Anima Mundi connecting to Great Spirit, that mysterious phrase referencing the totality encompassing

both conscious and unconscious knowing.
What of it?

Think of it; on the one hand, the world’s psyche & pneuma, on the other hand, spirit & cosmos the former, a voluptuous

rounding expanse,  the latter
continuously expanding.
                     ~

This is our spiralic gesture, a centerlessly centered dynamic level.  What is must mature for us to grow cosmically conscious?

Wonder do I if a mysterious unknowable beyond conscious & unconscious knowing—god

(the one who is the other of two)
may hear  this weeping  in our vale

listening behind (or down in and through)
our own conscious ear

                     ~
May this uncommon sense for the totality of god awaken god to how earth suffers. 

A sensing of this quality of omniscience my poor movements may not muster but my heart, my heart to this mystery awakens, too. 
And, I can imagine how moved is god when god looks round upon us this deserted and weeping.  I meditate then

what likeness is the like in which god shall next take form? Pray what, at the moment of its incarnation here, such totality in god Xpressed

may mean to our world soul—a psyche
of god at work

whose likeness imitates everywhere
a psyche of cosmos.


©2016 Tweeting Graffito stephaniepope mythopoetry.com


notes

graf·fi·to

[gr uh- fee-toh] NOUN [PLURAL GRAF·FI·TI]

In archaeology, an ancient drawing or writing scratched on a wall or other surface.

---

[1] The original line using the word “television” being quoted in the opening line of the poem first appears in a poem, ‘What Else Can We Do?” by Ric Scow Williams.  This poem is sent to me in an email dated July 10, 2016 at 1:51pm

THE ANARCH FIGURE #ohjdailyWords

BEFORE THE GATE

“The anarchic remains, at the very bottom, as a mystery, usually unknown even to its bearer. It can erupt from him as lava, can destroy him, liberate him….the free human being is anarchic, the anarchist is not.”    ~Ernst Jünger, Eumeswil


"The flute of the Pied Piper of Hamelin has never left us and it is essential that we train our ear to detect its false notes because in our case the flute is being played by the rats."  ~Dimitris Mita, author

Purification, Piper
plays of light
a pibroch art

©2016 The Piper’s Art stephaniepope mythopoetry.com


notes

Jünger, Ernst. Eumeswil.  Joachim Neugroschel, trans. Marsilio Publisher. New York: 1981. p. 41.

A ROMANTIC PANTOMIME, A DERELECT STATUS #vss #5words #writingprompt

A VERY SHORT STORY
      La vita è una combinazione di magia e pasta
                 – Federico Fellini, Italian film director 

holocaust a
pick o' pasta


©2016 Zymarikaphobia stephaniepope mythopoetry.com
#VSS #5WORDS #WRITINGPROMPT

IN A CAREFULLY EXERCISED CARING EXERCISE, PATTERNS

BY ALL DESIGN, A TRACE OF THEE
        ~For Ric

Breakage
consumption
displacement—this

intense situation
concerned with
“Mine!”

Slippage
invasion
erasure—this!

But, myth suspects
all othering; in a myth
there is no other side

     ***

One’s origin
is
a native

always-already
hidden
contra-diction—this

one, marked (by gods)
is the other
of two; this

way-making
discovers violence is
on its way to perdition.

So, way-making now
carries our differences
as differ/ance (Derrida)

way-making
the ance-nature

our emptiness

her mask
slips
in

a little
logos & the
three bears


©2016 The Costume stephaniepope mythopoetry.com

FAITH, KNOWLEDGE & DEATH BY FANTASY

TO STARDUST GO LIGHTLY

            Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch'entrate.
                               
                                    ~Dante, Canto III, line 9

"Our earth in which we take root is faith. The water
by which we are nourished is hope. The air by which
we grow is love. And the light is aquaintance (gnosis),
by which we ripen to maturity"
                                    ~ Gospel of Philip, 79:25-32

Wretched apart in the art—fall
heaped like an ab-sensed hope
(t)racing the hoop of heaven 

©2016 Verloren Hoop stephanie pope mythopoetry.com
            Prompt 136 #SenseWrds @SemperSum @PromptAttn



 NOTES


1. Dante senses in Canto III, line 9 the kind of hope one has must deepen in/to a new mode of seeing the world: “Abandon all hope ye who enter here.” This awareness becomes a little clearer in the next few lines of Canto III.


Qui si convien lasciare ogni sospetto;
ogni viltà convien che qui sia morta. Lines 14-15

Here must all distrust be left behind;
all cowardice must be ended.

Variant translation: Here one must leave behind every image of hope for such images double as a defense against a pneumatic experience  or “knowing”of divine nature or what Derrida calls “metaphysics of pure presence”. Avoiding this leave-taking amounts to an act of cowardice; such defense must meet its death Dante’s poem says.

So a deepening inward means first an imaginal act whereby all images have no outer reference and secondly, to achieve an entirely new way of seeing, at the same time one is crossing over the inner threshold, one must accept a specific death by fantasy.  Death by fantasy means from here onward Dante will be soul or psyche lead.

And yet, Dante is carrying a kind of negative hope, a forlorn hope, a verloren hoop, as he begins his inner journey toward a poetic mode of seeing. This mode of seeing is the always and already “first way” and the always already forgotten and/or abandoned and/or lost world of the infant soul yet to ignite in Dante’s own heart. The image, "infant soul" signs a kind of present yet to presence or reveal itself.

To understand this poetic insight one must understand what it means to be forlorn.  One way to look more deeply is to consider the etymology of the word, “forlorn”.  It is here you will find the image of the verloren hoop.


2.  For the notion of the trace racing the design, see the writings of Jacques Derrida. Wiki provides the following picture of what is meant by (t)race: “ ‘the always-already hidden’ contradiction”

Trace can be seen as an always contingent term for a "mark of the absence of a presence, an always-already absent present", of the ‘originary lack’ that seems to be "the condition of thought and experience". Trace is a contingent unit of the critique of language always-already present: “language bears within itself the necessity of its own critique”.[3] Deconstruction, unlike analysis or interpretation, tries to lay the inner contradictions of a text bare, and, in turn, build a different meaning from that: it is at once a process of destruction and construction. Derrida claims that these contradictions are neither accidental nor exceptions; they are the exposure of certain “metaphysics of pure presence”, an exposure of the “transcendental signified” always-already hidden inside language. This “always-already hidden” contradiction is trace.
 

3.  More lines from Dante

4. More on the discourse between psyche and pneuma, faith and gnosis

5.  The fantasy image that helped write this poem is never mentioned in the poem; it is that of  a forlorn wing. This is the same image in active imagination that helped write the poem, Ad Mortuos. (2010)  This poem was made into song and incorporated into dance in a Brainwave Performance April 26, 2015

MAKING A LIVING LIVING A MAKING: The Story of Old Woman

Diego VELÁZQUEZ - Vieja Friendo Huevos  Image in Public Domain
(Old Woman Cooking [i.e. ‘frying”] Eggs )
National Galleries of Scotland, 1618.    

LIVING BEYOND A MENSTRAL CYCLE
    Psyche-making is living-making. –Stephanie Pope

Something more nonhuman
than a period of adjustment
enflames and flares
blood to ink; it is
something more real
because it’s been lived within
and recognized consciously
rendered conscious in language.

Once upon a time not of the times
nor time’s infinity, a time far beyond
life and death, no outer life to where
this wears upon an outer life; it, a
eukaryotic space in folded eons long
living low and lowing,
changed the story.

Once upon a time, Old Woman,
(Old Woman, the egg maker)
suddenly enflamed and flared
& into that space sang she life—life
more than human, boiled; life
shimmering in spreading skirts
about to lift, did so on the brink of opacity.

Such moments engulf us, soul

eats death. In such moments
something more real points to
where X marks the spot―death
itself dies here each time
such a story is retold.

There was a hole in infinity, always

(a deeply creative one.) It continues
to (t)race a design and bring to life
something more human outliving us.
Can we bring it to life in our own?


That’s it then; no outer life to the trace
racing the design, an inner image
rises up, attempts embodiment
in a timely tale―not  of times

but of a kind of timing, shaped.

For all time and times here now
forever after, Old Woman tends
to this work lowing in the animal.


Imagine it! Old Woman cooking away
a chef in the kitchen of no common thing,
she, a maker of things uncommon
we share in common.

©2016 Something More Real stephanie pope mythopoetry.com

RED WHITE & BLUE PICTURESKEW (From The White Stocking Tales Poetry Series)

GREW ONE WINTER
     The pictureskew is picturesque
            that knows it is a parasite.  -China Miéville

In foliage on a Texas tree, a pictureskew
"Let it be done to her," said the dream
and it grew in her like mistletoe
grows in winter―parasite
grey winter white
blanketing the tree.

But the tree was willing
& she taught me
that the night's white
grew in her like
mistletoe really grows
in-between
white snow
black branch
red din
blue ruffle
just grows
like the dream grew
last night in me.

Am I not like her just letting myself
do what it wants and needs her to do
knowing mostly it’s not about me at all
while I know it knows the story better
knows just what it gathers just now &
takes what it wants & matters that
into me & into how this night
in me endures it—this night!
(O holy night)

I
go g(rey)
and g(ray),
she
grows heavy
as if divinity
is the disease
and I think now
of the cost
and the worth
in the story.

Am I not like her?
Maybe not
not as certain I can bear it (or should!)
How war-civil old & blue in bark, it
like a branch suddenly remembering
where she, trunked and treed
no longer peoples now in leaves and rust
and must.

Elle at midnight, purpling in fear, I hear
tick slick. What slurs long shadows
against my back slimy? It’s tangle
shocks me wide in wake and panes
dark the holocaust this dreams in sleep
with me. It makes in me so unresolved in it
and only god knows better than it in I
this dream in mistletoe grown. What scars
my skin these shades of bearing it
winning & losing, bluing & grieving towards what union?
I’m bearing it not wanting to (but, it's not about me!) And so,
she lets my own despair closet me in the slim moss cloth
neither me nor mine. Truly, I am guilty! Guilty of letting this
throw arms around me now red in certainties so shallow
these chap in pillow-talk what spirits talk in sex sterile & clean
& religiously right an impotence of image iced eternal, sterile & yet
immortally fertile; although even these insistences slip on my sill come
midnight when

                  daylight

                              will in

                                       over-active
pastel, curl over the slips
wrapping back around the
pink dawn purpling slick
slime-stick shadows these
tick through that deadly
hour while the parasite,
heavy with what's already

                             been done, holds

                         me

      accountable
now
night slips further in-between what matters and what doesn’t.
I

do not have what it takes
god knows
things play take away so
easily with me & I
do not like words that
are not like hers—not
gifted in unsayables;
mine are not like hers
they keep looking for the way
to slip this hold of super-cold
back into its envelope. Let the
messenger slipping-god slip god knows what in-between
this confusa so pregnant in not wanting to until

not wanting to, desire slips growing gray & grey in dream upon
the silver darkness blessing its divinity blue, bee-hiving whiteness
still cloudy in words. The dream mattering clashes and smashes
tick against tock no actual snow but a honeyed overflow. The
radiant light, now blankets small dark desires like
stars freed upon dawn in early new bled light.
Night shines  blue & through, the older fundament
a symbolism of color.

How she burns night as if comfort hides inside the emanation
lives there outside the cold terror’s pretense of purity. We do not
live beyond such having nor live unfree in such doublings the
other this lives now—the thing
in all these greatest things. It lives immanent beyond us
an immortal gold
blue shades
& red knights―things
burning in lights, things eternal.
Royal forms composed & composite & opposite
create life.


O say—can you sing a quickening, par la vie
the way mistletoe in thickening sleeves a branch
where beauty eats beauty and where
no tree warms in any morality; such ritenesses
sing the way its left me at morning so leaflessly
a blue-treed, crux fixation
neither dark & servile nor whitened nor just
nor liberally sieved. Grand silver blues me new a
yearless year radiant in white while the old season of mistletoe
preferences in the same hour a flavor for the
ancient parasite devouring its own soul's skin—and
haunted blood flows. It claims in wrongdoing what innocence
lives no more morally superior than it lives thinned and dead
this thickening stick upon which the colors turn their heads
three ways and live radiant, support remote and shade
like a coat coating beyond slippery, blue-grey silence
what really lives wintering the way winter in certainty & din
gets fed midmorning hints of green.


The tree was willing and she taught me
& the night's white grew in her like
mistletoe grows in-between
white snow
black branch
red din
blue ruffle.


I think now of the cost and the worth in the story
needing some kind of wonder without words
some kind of living light behind the eyelid
clothed & enclosed in those blue-grey folds of organ—hers
a pleasure in soul-making organic to itself.



Even now
I have this deep feeling some wonder without words still lives
ever more remotely to the north of the northern most po(l)led.


©2016 Pictureskew, White Stocking Tale Poetry Series stephaniepope mythopoetry.com  This poem is first published to mythopoetry.com as In-Between Red & Blue



notes

For distinctions between picturesque and pictureskew see Beatrix Potter, Enid Blyton and the 'pictureskew'  by China Miéville

THE MUSE HAS HAD IT #6WORDS #MYSTERY

A WOMAN WITH AN URN,  Gustave Boulanger
public domain

AT THE FOOT OF MOUNT PARNASSUS
    If there is no difference in high and low, no water can come down.
                                           - Carl Jung, 1925 Seminar, p. 85

vale of tears Apollo
Kastalia gone

©2016 The Muse Has Had It stephaniepope mythopoetry.com


notes

1.  In Greek mythology the image  references poetic genius. For her myth and more see http://www.theoi.com/Nymphe/NympheKastalia.html


2. Historically  and for her relevance as a symbol for a misogynistic university see  The Castalia Fountain In The Arkadenhof Of The University of Vienna: On The Meaning Of Great Men

3.  In Carl Jung's 1925 seminar Jung writes, 
Once I had a very wealthy patient who on coming to me said, "I don't know what you are going to do with me, but I hope you are going to give me something that isn't grey."

And that is exactly what life would be if there were no opposites in it; therefore the pairs of opposites are not to be understood as mistakes but as the origin of life. 

For the same thing holds in nature. 

If there is no difference in high and low, no water can come down. 

Modern physics expresses the condition that would ensue were the opposites removed from nature by the term entropy: that is, death in an equable tepidity. 

If you have all your wishes fulfilled, you have what could be called psychological entropy.

see also the Carl Jung Depth Psychology Blogspot on blogger, Lewis LaFontaine

OUR DAILY BREAD

Our Daily Bread, Anders Zorn, 1886 watercolor National MuseumStockholm, Sweden, public domain. The artist painted his mother cooking.

ONE YEASTY DAY

Darkness bred a dark bread
abused by reason, the way our world is

left with vanishing gods; you don't suppose
this is how gods, too, are abused, left
the way they are with titans to overcome?

One thing about Mneme (at least in the Greek
poetic, experience of the divine) is

that rather significant, vertical role

they imagined she played, she a kind of edge

linking and separating irrevocably
divine & mortal hanging each immeasurably
aloof within our own dark memory

Some depth disfigurements right something,
write disfigurements into dark holes with the
blackening hole holding together in belonging
a spiraling train track “making us up” for real.
Such a crippled poetics rites one with a logos
beyond words, transfiguring & mortal in its
human incarnation; god’s body disappears
to remember this world train cars will fabricate
to trump up.

Once upon a time there was a timeless living
soul giving birth to light—such light seemed
seamlessly a word beyond words—creatrix.
Magic mused psyche-making before psyche
became a word made flesh. It still does.

Sometimes I can see through timeless, living
psyche-making and I, too, reimagine
how it keeps working opposite my own
zombie, my emptied-soul
utilitarian-eyed, cyclopian trump-train.

©2016 Give Us This Day: Our Daily Bread stephaniepope mythopoetry.com


notes1.  Regarding the trump-train/daily bread likeness as pun and what it imagines ( i.e. what it is pointing to) consider

a. a trump car is like  a trump card by which one is “taken” in
b. by way something trumped up.
c. Playing the car/card imaginally teaches one how not to a-void aka avoid the void by which one is duped. One can see it and see through it.  In one's psyche-making, one plays, too, not playing to not get played.

2. Watercolor by Anders Zorn, Our Daily Bread (1886), 68 x 102 cm, National Museum, Stockholm, Sweden. WikiArt. Image in public domain.

3. French Impressionist Andrew Zorn

VERTICALITY’S SPACE & THE QUEST: Once A Golden #Ripple Flew #poetheme #mpy

notes

1. Helle = light
    Helle + Phryxos = lightening bolt
    the hooves of KRIOS KHRYSOMALLOS  = thunder
   “where Helle fell” = “let her rip” 
   X = the spot or space where something old repeats but something new can be retrieved

This  is where a rippling effect grew  or “ripped” slashing the sea to reveal what desire lay underneath it 
in the human heart (not to mention what men and women are willing to do/sacrifice to achieve a "falling" not falling under the grip of the darker aspect [i.e. vengeful heart] in this rippling effect ) X marks the spot where soul retrieval can be had and the story can be made new or otherwise.  This making would be an example of mythopoesis. Where this making happens, [where Helle fell "here"] says it is not happening to ego. Ego is responding to the rippling effect of its absence presence and how one turns this psyche-making having recognized it in one's own heart.

2. Ripple, perhaps from Proto-Germanic *rupjan-, from PIE root *reup-, *reub- "to snatch."  Rip, meaning "to slash open" is from 1570s. “Let her rip” (from 1798 and on) means something like "to move with slashing force." But, also “rip” is said of seas (1775 on). (And so, likewise in antiquity this could be said of nereids like Nephele and her daughter Helle as well as the wrath of Ino); when there is a rip in the sea, ripples get rippling. Said of seas, a ripped sea marks the adventure ahead and maybe how desire operates just underneath in the hearts of every quest adventurer.

3. Nephele (nebula or cloud goddess), the mother of Helle & her twin brother, Phrixus, from Phryxos, (Greek) meaning "thrilling or causing shivers”, derived from ripple, sends the ram with the golden fleece, KRIOS KHRYSOMALLOS, a gift to her twin off-spring to save them from the wrath of Ino. (Something to think about is Helle as a shiver or ripple’s missing eros.)

4. Ino, once a mortal queen of Thebes took shape in the human imagination as an image doubling for the goddess Amphitrite.   Amphitrite and the Nereids govern the realm of the titanic, aged sea and its “mermaid singing” as late as the Iliad of Homer and long before she is made wife to Poseidon. (Something to think about are how tears as “mermaid singing” unite and maintain separation between Helle, missing eros & Phryxos)  

5. The Myth of The Birth of KRIOS KHRYSOMALLOS (golden fleeced, Aries) is told by the Roman mythographer, Pseudo-Hyginus (C2A.D.) in his wonder-tale, Fabulae. ( see Fabulae 188 trans. Grant) In the Fabulae, one encounters Theophane.

6. Theophane means something like divine incarnation. In her story she is sought after like Homer’s Penelope by far too many greedy suitors not particularly interested in her but in possessing her wealth. Winning Theophane is a  laying claim by divine right to a divine right, a kind of land-naming and/or land claiming belonging to another realm of insight. Inherent here is a kind of distinct, cold misogyny, too. "Here", the medium of the wondertale, may be the message, a using of the wondertale at the same time disqualifying the source of its wisdom as “knowledge”.

Theophane becomes a divine possession up for grabs by somebody else and not a divine nature (mermaid singing) with outright equality individually held or possessed and necessary to the psychic life of the anima mundi.    There is a spiritual idea, land nam but also a spiritual war and the spoils of warring factions up for grabs inherited in the story.  There is also the notion of a god's revenge for destroying what belongs to no one else ( aka the anima mundi.)  The story will tell of that moment, how people acting out of their baser animal natures, invite those seeking revenge to become wolves.

Pseudo-Hyginus tells us how Theophane (of the realm of mermaid singing before the sea is made “wife”) is turned  by Poseidon into a ewe (apparently she had no say in the matter so it seems to be against her will) and then, as part of the deception lay with her to produce “the golden-fleeced”, Aries (sic) while at the same time turned the people of the land into cattle.  The suitors sail off to retrieve Theophane a little like Homer earlier tells of Menelaus sailing off to retrieve Helen whom Paris had taken back to Troy.  The suitors, finding no people to fight but merely animals to slaughter, begin slaughtering cattle.  Poseidon turns suitors into wolves.  Thusly, is told how Poseidon’s revenge is actually the description of a ripple effect. It is a story revealing how everything human might fall into animal form acting out a terrifyingly cold “shiver” as it conforms to the archetypal grip of an inherited complex at work in the ancestral soul.

Theophane, a most beautiful maiden, was the daughter of Bisaltes. When many suitors sought her from her father, Neptunus [Poseidon] carried her off and took her to the island of Crumissa. When the suitors knew she was staying there, they secured a ship and hastened to Crumissa. To deceive them, Neptunus changed Theophane into a very beautiful ewe, himself into a ram, and the citizens of Curmissa into cattle. When the suitors came there and found no human beings, they began to slaughter the herds and use them for food. Neptunus saw that the men who had been changed to cattle were being destroyed, and changed the suitors into wolves. He himself, in ram form, lay with Theophane, and from this union was born the Aries Chrysomallus (Golden-fleeced Ram) which carried Phrixus to Colchis, and whose fleece, hung in the grove of Mars [Ares], Jason took away.

see theoi.com

7.  Amphitrite / https://youtu.be/C7lnQe9yvOA



#mpy #poetheme #ripple #mythopo #amwriting #poetry #MondayBlogs #MondayMorning #MyTwoWordAddiction

EMBODYING PRESENCE or What does it mean, "rise from the dead" ?

WHAT COLORS THE WORLD REAL

The secret a not-knot carries
is that it is what precisely
neither is nor is not—both and— 

an infinity is left behind— a coming

rises out of the black, a personal spark
having gotten into it.

Call the not-knot a blue bag

old woman carried (empty)
for effect, to leave infinity behind.

What is missing in it,  […].

Call these unspeakables your
creative core; call them abject

call their body what gives life

it's body, missing eros
added back.

So, add something back…a trace

return in a word adding
something to the scene—

let other’s feel it— you

absently present
after you’ve gone.

©2016 Chroma Soma xx stephanipope mythopoetry.com
monsters & bugs poetry series

notes

1. What is real? Life is real. Life has happened.  You have happened.  In psychology, Jung gave us some advice about this. Read what he suggests.


2. Chroma, from the Greek khroma, “color” + some from the Greek soma, meaning the body, or that word-forming element meaning “the body”; taken together they make up the word chromosome, so named because chromosomal structures contain a substance that stains readily with basic dyes.  An embodied presence colors the world real.

3.. Poetheme: kundalini's creative core, complexity, eukaryotics and woman the egg maker.


4..  All cells store DNA.  The difference between the two general types of cells, prokaryotic cells and eukaryotic cells is in how DNA is stored. Discover the difference between prokaryotic cells and eukaryotic cells

5.  Just for fun construct a cell

6.  In the beginning, when the earth was not yet cooled but cooling, prokaryotic cells formed into life. But not only do we owe our lives to them,  they colored the earth blue!  Watch this really cool video to earn more about prokaryotic cells and the beginning of life on earth.

THE NIGHT IS WANTON GREEN AND BARKING LOUDLY #MondayMotivation #motivationMonday #MondayBlogs

WHAT MAGIC? #poetry #mythopo

WHAT MAGIC COULD HAVE MADE YOU WAIT FOR ME?

there should have been a deep and pale december
a calendar with edges signed in wear
there should have been a bleak and frail tender
happening come later in the year

if only there were time to add some touches
tempos beating with you warmed you’d spend
you could have talked me through it, I’d remember
and just for you I’d do your recommend

but when you left the birds were green and singing
the god had risen conquering all dread
and just as dawn came rolling on in ender
light trumpeted and it was then you fled

I do not know the decibel that played you
nor understand the rush that you were in
I wish instead a magic would have made you
hesitate and wait for me, my friend

©2016 SHADOW DANCER STEPHANIE POPE

NUCLEAR MYSTICISM #mythopo #poetheme

3D Animation of Salvador Dali's "Galatea of the Spheres" done in
Cinema 4D, by Kallinikou Garufalia and published May 10, 2012. Of
the animation Kallinikou notes "the video...represents nuclear codes
move with the sound that according to Pythagoras is "the music of the spheres".

ALOFT A LOVE
ALONG THE EDGE PLAYED A LINE
STOP—BE TIRED—FEED THE CARING 

… Acis, salted wound asked god

to throw himself against himself

and a broken breaker bled

Galatea shed, the nuclear

s[hell]ed

near the antidote
nurse
dispersed
in conspectu rigor
mortis—de(i)
what shell held,
dull and dead and de
picted
 
           ***

Mneme gifts us near to shore
some farther reach, some wider
vision Galatea, milk white, made

nursing a past never past
nursing a call Polyphemus in love
never heard.

She lays unshelled the edge
falling unhooked out of the mouth
…her drop, an antidote, heart-ease

as if
just like a woman falling falls
in bleached stone breakers
soothing, darkening, blood-soaked sandy
stone, life turns foamy again.

In milk-white skin she carries reflection
something like moons in water.
But like a moon in water
shows us how water sees the moon,
we’ve still not heard that voice
of something earthy that is not earthly
the way the moon sees living psychic
matters.

Which may be why, there in the sacrifice
of a god’s embodiment a
theology of Mneme is nonetheless
both long ago and immortally near
and terribly hard to decode

©2016 Terror, Titan And Watermaid
stephanie pope mythopoetry.com  #mythopo #poetheme 

#LastRelationshipTaughtMe LASTING RELATIONSHIP

MELON IN BLUE//cucumis melo reticulatis
by Stephanie Pope

125 MELON

Those masterful images because complete
 Grew in pure mind, but of what began? ~W.B. Yeats

Pair the man.

the day before a day of thanks, a given, a day set aside
by executive decision, a day, 11-26, a dark day (like today)
but a place restored instead to love, nature

unutterable presence

throughout my creations, disasters, myself being with the mess
creating the dish, hovering over it hovering over me
like a shining―day.

Throughout the dark meat of an old year
the right shade & the right moment
in what lead by histories came back to root again a

natural music

capable enough in the ragged bone
& jagged edge in the shop, the man,
a lovely man, remembered and an uncommon holiday

lit again.

Without fear a deeper story embers again
the darkest part of my ancient year, a story dancing
round as fire under the stars. I am thankful today for

many things―today

a day set aside for remembering
what forms a more perfect union
a day of thanks and

giving

not a Thanksgiving Day but
the one the man
the lovely man

remembering

brought to the
moment in the shop
this shade to me.

©2008 125 Melon stephanie pope mythopoetry.com,  Bleu Melon Poetry Series

notes

1. Inspiration for the Melon In Blue occurs while shopping for lipstick in a major department store in 2007. 125 Melon is a shade of lipstick.

2. For more Bleu Melon poetry see mythopoetry.com 

3. First publication of  125 Melon mythopoetry.com

4. Second publication: 125 Melon appears in  the first annual edition of Literary House Review Anthology, 2008, Waterforest Press, publisher (under the earlier Skyline Magazines publications series) 

5. This blog marks the third publication of 125 Melon.