Days

I climb the front steps of my house,
to gather the footsteps of strangers
in my small bowl.

It rains.

I go to carnival, testing out my lesser known shadows,
and cross the carnie- line for a few days.

I dream.

Can I hold anything in these hands?
Can these fingers unpick the birds nests my sleep-weaving has created?
Is there an answering hand to take in the crossing?

I am spinning on this globe, as it spins almost imperceptibly.

God Bless Jung

 'If an individual has wrestled seriously enough and long enough with the anima (or animus) problem...the unconscious again changes its dominant character and appears in a new symbolic form...as a masculine initiator and guardian (an Indian guru), a wise old man, a spirit of nature, and so forth'.^[5]





The antithetical archetype, or enantiodromic opposite, of the senex is the Puer Aeternus.

 Puer aeternus is Latin for eternal boy, used in mythology to designate a child-god who is forever young; psychologically it is an older man whose emotional life has remained at an adolescent level. 
The puer typically leads a provisional life, due to the fear of being caught in a situation from which it might not be possible to escape. He covets independence and freedom, chafes at boundaries and limits, and tends to find any restriction intolerable.




 
"That higher and 'complete' (teleios) man is begotten by the 'unknown' father and born from Wisdom, and it is he who, in the figure of the puer aeternus—'vultu mutabilis albus et ater'—represents our totality, which transcends consciousness. It was this boy into whom Faust had to change, abandoning his inflated onesidedness which saw the devil only outside. Christ's 'Except ye become as little children' prefigures this change, for in them the opposites lie close together; but what is meant is the boy who is born from the maturity of the adult man, and not the unconscious child we would like to remain.^"

Margaret's quest

My love for you is a grain of sand in my heart.
I remain on my rock,
in the depths,
and feel the vastness of the ocean,
and my raw flesh.

the question arises: how many layers to you are there?

Lucid Dreaming

I am done
with ghosts
and illusions.

I find the ghosts in my own body
to exorcise with holy waters,
Whose  streams flow
extravagantly
unashamedly
from my secret garden.

I am an illusion
which the sun dissolves
fiercely
when the grey clouds part.

I won't be a ghost to myself,
or an illusion to my own soul.

What make you think I will compete with yours,
or be one for you?

Moon Sight

I remember me
when I look into those long ago memories of us.

I have been lost ever since the way I was lost as a girl,
with no mother- mirror to help me see.

My way of walking to find is wicked
and unreasonably wild;
impossibly moon-drunk under the night sky.

Truth shines its lights but sometimes the darkness of my childish fears,
my need
and the shade of your sudden presence leads me into the long grass.

It is difficult to leave the feel of your warm arms-
and go back,
barefoot,
to the path.

Waterfall meditation

The happy duck is
not the thief of river's song;
pond is bird and stream.

lucid thinking

Sometimes the heaviness
presses in from all sides; from inside.
Moments later the whole sky is open,
and opening me.
Watching and waiting is the secret power
that heals
the subtle and the seen.
The breath, the silken thread which conquers walls of stone.
It is the love of water which holds the pine in the earth,
not it's affection for the soil.