Sitting on the other side by yourself, with your Self, and no one else.
Light-years from ears that could hear what stirs within~ always searching, seeking forms to wear, names to call, and be called by.
A lonely traveler, haunted, seeking mountaintops that might reach new heavens, to replace those that are now lost, revelations that will grip your bloody soul once again.
The friends that left, and those who never arrived, greet you in lengthy dreams~ closed circles, wild horses, an empty chair, and a father that was never there, are dancing too fast in long nights of terrible pains.
The one who speaks to his own shadow in a darkened room, a madhouse echoing his golden thoughts.
Once, he walked thin ropes suspended above crowded markets, wrote as if fire surged through his veins~ a blaze seeking to consume the whole world through his fingers.
My first spiritual father, these words are for you.
The Jungian Aion
Sitting on the other side
by yourself,
with your Self,
and no one else.
Light-years from ears
that could hear
what stirs within~
always searching,
seeking forms to wear,
names to call,
and be called by.
A lonely traveler,
haunted,
seeking mountaintops that might reach new heavens,
to replace those that are now lost,
revelations that will grip your bloody soul
once again.
The friends that left,
and those who never arrived,
greet you in lengthy dreams~
closed circles,
wild horses,
an empty chair,
and a father that was never there,
are dancing too fast
in long nights of terrible pains.
The one who speaks
to his own shadow
in a darkened room,
a madhouse
echoing his golden thoughts.
Once, he walked thin ropes
suspended above crowded markets,
wrote as if fire surged through his veins~
a blaze seeking to consume
the whole world
through his fingers.
My first spiritual father,
these words are for you.
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