A Question of Balance

I have a friend, whom I haven’t seen in a while. I’ve been thinking of him lately and about a curious incident that happened a few years back. He has this temperament about him, sort of whimsical, imaginative, more of a humorous disposition. Underlying all of this is the fact that nothing ever seems to bother him. Naturally good-natured, Dave could energize a room just by his presence. It adversity were to hit, he could be solemn, and respectful but in his deep-set eyes is a hint of humor. I’ve had people complain to me that it seems he’s making fun of them in times of distress. But it was his demeanor to always be upbeat and positive. Continue reading A Question of Balance

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Echoes From The Eye Of The Storm

It is an interesting biological fact that all of us have in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean, and, therefore, we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears. We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea – whether it is to sail or to watch it – we are going back from whence we came… John F. Kennedy Continue reading Echoes From The Eye Of The Storm

In The Heart Of The Night

In the city of my birth,
On the third floor of Beckham’s Book Shop,
Surrounded by stacks of books I can only dream of reading every title,
Falling asleep on this worn out couch,
The musty smell making me dizzy.

They call it ‘the city that time forgot’ and continues to forget as we saw with Katrina,
Or the ‘crescent city’ for the bend in the river which Bienville saw as strategic,
Many nights I walked that same bend along the railroad tracks by the river’s edge,
Drinking hot beer procured from the abandoned Jax Brewery,
Oblivious to the rich history I was born into.

Wandering these streets of the French Quarters,
Past the painters, fortune tellers and street musicians trying to make a dollar,
I find myself in St. Louis Cathedral staring at the stained glass,
The pipe organ playing Bach while someone is blowing a horn in Pirates Alley,
Both melding into a complexed whole, as candles from the altar, burn our sins away.

So many nights strolling down Bourbon Street in a haze,
How many ghosts have crossed my path this night,
Dripping in the humid air of summer is like breathing thru syrup,
Or the damp cold of winter cutting you to the bone.

Growing up we’d take the Algiers Ferry across the river to the West Bank,
When night falls on a full moon you can see the city’s horizon shimmering on the water,                                                                                                                          

I think we only leave home so we can love it all the more.
It is then I understand this longing I feel for my city by the river,
You never really get over it, just strike an uneven peace between the heart
and head.

©jc2017-9

*Photo courtesy of Pixabay

Thoreau’s Ghost

Thoreau’s’ Ghost

“The fire is lit, a sacred long pipe is passed around connecting us to our forebearers, while the flickering light of the campfire creates shadows that dance onto the trees and stars.”
-JC

We happen upon a cabin from antiquity next to a pond, nestled deep within a thicket made to specifications out of fallen trees. Sitting upon its rustic porch at night amidst the visual of fireflies, we listen intently to all it has witnessed, as this rustic castle dispels all thoughts of the mundane with stories of fairy circles, dryads (tree spirits) and haunted groves, awakening our imaginations. Continue reading Thoreau’s Ghost

Papillon

Psyche

The ancient Greek word ‘psyche’, is defined as ‘soul’ and it’s also the Greek word for butterfly. The idea of transition playing heavily in their mythology… first, a moth literally transforms into a butterfly, a physical event from youth to adulthood. And second, the soul’s carried by the butterfly which eventually seeks passage into the underworld… the transition from life to death, a metaphysical event. However, we know that we are born, die and are born again each day into our authentic self and the butterfly and its attributes are the perfect metaphor for change.                                                                     Continue reading Papillon

Charting The Rainbow

“You live that you may learn love. You love that you may learn to live. No other lesson is required of man.”
Mirad

One soul connects to another. But the longing which the cerebral mind intended may end up being completely different from what it originally sought, for the soul requires and demands something more, so our longing evolves laced with these core request. Love born just of passion will fade. As love born to reconnect to the image of a life long dead may resurrect the past, but not create the bridge to our true self, thus depriving the soul of its initial search. Continue reading Charting The Rainbow

Myth of Er- Plato and Jung

 Myth of Er“The thing you sacrificed comes back  years later, knife in hand, demanding to sacrifice that which it was sacrificed for.”
-Carl Jung

In Plato’s Myth of Er, each soul returns from a previous life and chooses its attributes for the next return to Earth. These qualities make up the daimon or acorn which is representative of the unique character of that soul. It’s chosen in order to fulfill this soul’s purpose in its next life, as related to its previous incarnation. Continue reading Myth of Er- Plato and Jung

Pilgrim

pilgrim To be wild is not to be crazy or psychotic. True wildness is a love of nature, a delight in silence, a voice free to say spontaneous things, and an exuberant curiosity in the face of the unknown.
-Robert Bly

It came to pass on this day, that the wild man who created such havoc casting out demon shadows he saw in others and himself; and the inquisitive boy yearning for knowledge at every waking moment, never getting enough, are one and the same for they are you and me, forced into enchantment and awareness, abiding in a lonely house off to the left-hand way of ‘being’ by the river of  contemplation. Continue reading Pilgrim

The Call

The CallWe can’t embrace the warmth of the Sacred Father, the sun, locked in our comfort zone, nor without first venturing through the shadow land of the night, the storm… the abyss, the way of the left, the Nederland Path, which can never be duplicated.
-Heinrich Zimmer, The Art of Indian Asia

The Call is like the neon streets of the night and you’re pulled by faith into an immersed tunnel. And what causes you to follow this ever so faint voice in the wind, but convictions of the heart. And it’s telling you to stop being fooled by the imperious ego, who designated itself king of your life. Now it’s time to step outside your small world as in a leap of faith over a chasm or in setting sail to an unknown shore. Continue reading The Call