the shadow
Sun 6.2.19
It was time to change the background image on my computer. I picked several images as candidates, abstract colors, nature scenes, and then I came upon the one pictured above. I thought it held some interest and I put it aside. Didn’t want to face that every day. But you know, that’s exactly what I did.
It’s an image of the self as it has evolved for the human species, circa 21st century. Alone, alienated, a dark figure walks in a labyrinth seeking . . . the light. He is moving toward the setting sun and warmth. The buildings on either side overpower him to the nth degree and what few spindly trees exist serve as affirmation that he is no child of nature. What little he knows of it, assuredly, is not enough to be of help to him.
To find his way home he must retrieve his soul, which has pinned him on this empty street that is the society that surrounds him. It is his task as it is to all to break through the mirage that sucks the life blood out of him, that keeps him jumping through hoop after hoop, convincing him that he is enjoying its meaninglessness, its vapidity, or not; and if not he is swallowed up by one of the cubicles in the buildings portrayed, to enlighten him. He is a prisoner of this system. He is allowed to rebel, to behave irresponsibly with appropriate sanctions applied, but he cannot deny the reality imposed on him. To break off, he would surely fall off the planet earth; any consideration other than the society surrounding him renders the man nonhuman.
He must envelop the night, wear it like an amulet, wrap it round his shoulders as protection. He will need it if he chooses to follow the path to his true self. Intelligence, awareness, is a power, a force that pervades the universe and transcends the engulfing structures on each side of the street gorging on him.To break that seal named “reality” one may seek out a psychedelic experience, one may solely observe the discrepancies in the picture presented, and, most important, take them seriously, the bizarre, unexplainable, the mystic, magic, the intuitive, instinctive prompts, the coincidences.They are not accidents; something is happening which is not part of “reality” as we know it, but it is real, and your soul seeks it out. It needs you to unleash it.
The favorite essay this month has been, Garden
Eight o'clock Sunday morning, the police arrive at her apartment in Greenwich Village, "How long have you been living here?" The roommate Elizabeth, after having accepted her half of the deposit money and rent for their new apartment, has called the police.
New York City doesn’t open its arms to welcome her, but she’s arrived and the adventure of her life is about to unfold. She’s come from Maine with an invitation from Sarah Lawrence College to participate in the graduate writing program.
How one becomes a seeress is what this memoir explores. Stories have been specifically selected to illustrate, from the sublime to the practical, a spiritual journey introduced in each chapter by an atout, the Tarot’s major archetypes. From the Fool, to The World, our human journey with its risk and folly unfolds. There is also an artist here alive to her new world seeking inspiration among artists on the Lower East side, learning the ways and foods of her Chinese neighbors, falling in love.
