Carl Jung wrote of the unconscious,
Of its autonomous quality.
Resurrects to wreak havoc–
A self in constant static.
We do not carry our shadows;
Au contraire, they contain us.
As if another being controls,
We remain bound, mere puppets.
ALLOW IT
Here come the philosophers,
What’s the nature of consciousness?
Simple: we are many...the stream multiplies.
Each day, carried away, lost in the fray.
Lost but found,
The self is always melting.
The allure of remaining core,
Un corps dipped in fondue.
Knowledge does not penetrate the fog,
The road hidden, in constant flux.
With observation there’s no easy path.
Fear and worry, like vultures, encircle.
Consider Jesus the Christ.
The cross before him, infinitely seen.
The path open, ready for its traveler,
Yet his steps were laden, his sweat profused.
EXAMINE IT
Within us lay a multitude of desires.
This, a disconcerted thought,
Do all of them stem from me?
This is no quixotic belief.
Evil desires do not alone lead astray;
Good ones pester that imagination of us.
The desire for love whisks us away.
The desire for good transports today.
How then does one react
When good desires combat?
A grapple of good versus good—
Noble against noble.
To stand bare, frozen...madness
For each pull one way, disastrous.
The double minded is now unsteady.
Unstable, now swayed to unable.
SUFFER? IT?
Clarity is sought like a drug,
As if its possession dispels the smog.
The folly of humanity—for knowledge is vanity.
When clarity of sense is want.
Alas, clarity of that sort does not exist.
For even with knowledge, we must rumble.
Each to its own—God, self, and others.
This war is not abstract but experiential.
Deductive reasoning seems remedy,
In reality it is merely malady.
One cannot abate emotions,
They stand transient to knowledge.
I truly hate philosophy: Its wisdom and knowledge.
I despise thinking, reading, and collating.
To what end do we learn?
To what end are we aware?
My thoughts are fragmented,
Ripped from reality, almost demented.
The rational mind brings no refuge—
Seek, and you may find.
We need weapons of another kind.
For this life is long and brutal.
Let life sway.
Submit to existential dismay.
This life will bruise, for it's a brute—
SO, BE BRUTAL WITH IT TOO.
Comments