The Dark Earth

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You said you won't buy it (the red book), because you've lived it? 

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Yeah. Apparently the Red Book is Jung's own description of the process he used to get where he wanted to be with himself in his quest for subjective identity. Lead into gold. Gnosis. Knowledge of his own Being as that. In the Wilhelm/Baynes translation of the I Ching it is written that "The superior man contemplates his own life." As in the bird-in-hand of a living spirit instead of stultifying vague promises of translucent castles-in-the-air.

Aye, and there's the rub. What to pray for? What to prey for? Some pundits of questionable virtue state (arrogantly, as if irrefutable) that "Everybody gotta have a goal; an aim; a line of demarcation that's the standard of measurement by which one knows where they're at with what they're attempting to accomplish by hook or by crook." 

I've read of the Akashic Records since an early teenager. I got the false impression that they were some supreme record of everything that was, is, and ever will be. That first impression may not have been totally false. The problem was that my visions of what it possibly could be were too grandiose. A lotta the shit I get sha-me-d by, has been way the hell over the top. I like delusions of grandeur. I get properly disgusted with myself for allowing such to be so. They're like old friends I used to know well in the sweet bye-and-bye, and here they are sot before me for an encore. Huzzah!

Contemplating Jung's life could be sorta like, you know, in a way, like contemplating my own life or maybe, reflecting upon the similarities of our individual quests to data-mine any equivalencies I might prop myself up with by name-dropping and for shits and grins, but not really. Since all external objects are merely my own idea of what's out there that makes everything out there me, and not only SHALL I not worship another, the facticities of my own wool-gathering promise me I CAN'T worship another, if if I wanted to blaspheme the spirit as suicide-by-god. 

Your enlightenment is not up to me. I don't believe in you or find myself emotionally invested in your unique salvation. In my experience, either a person has learned to be-co-me by their own hand or they are:

... only a troubled guest
on the dark earth.

☯

The Holy Longing

Tell a wise person, or else keep silent
because the massman will mock it right way.
I praise what is truly alive,
what longs to be burned to death.

In the calm water of the love-nights,
where you were begotten, where you have begotten.
a strange feeling comes over you
when you see the silent candle burning.

Now you are no longer caught
in the obsession with the darkness
and a desire for higher lovemaking
sweeps you upward.

Distance does not make you falter.
now, arriving in magic, flying,
and finally, insane for the light,
you are the butterfly and you are fare gone.

And so long as you haven't experienced
this, to die and so to grow.
you are only a troubled guest
on the dark earth.

Goethe

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