Last night a lake, a woman, wearing leaves on her face, sat on a silver floating bridge sitting in a shining lake, not bridging anything, but just adrift. She wore beech on her chin, willow on her cheeks, haw on her head, seeds and other leaf debris.
A man that I feel was the presence of my father put his arms around me, his body turned into a prism, all around me, a rainbow then formed from the prism and into the lake, another bridge.
Notes, keywords. Bridge, connectivity, silvering, body of water, leaves, Jungian consciousness, prism, rainbow, graces, emitting light, water, land, masculine and feminine energies, father energy, mother, symbol
Jungian bridge: (WIP research)
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Before going to sleep I was reading about the Miraculous medal and the nun Catherine Labouré in Clark Strand & Perdita Finn’s book ‘The Way of the Rose’, the apparition that appeared to her, she did not believe that it was Mary, but could not quite explain why.
Inanna the Sumerian Queen of heaven.
The back of the miraculous medal central image monogram.
The central image is a monogram: the letter M with a crossbar through the middle supporting an upright cross. Bizarrely, and completely unremarked upon by modern scholars, the lower half of that symbol turns out to be the cuneiform word for Inanna, the Sumerian “Queen of Heaven”. The first cuneiform tablets were not translated until much later in the nineteenth century, and so there was no way Catherine, even if she had been educated, which she most definitely was not, could have understood what she had seen. - page 204
Poem (the spirit likes to dress up)
The spirit
likes to dress up like this:
ten fingers,
ten toes,
shoulders, and all the rest
at night
in the black branches,
in the morning
in the blue branches
of the world.
It could float, of course,
but would rather
plumb rough matter.
Airy and shapeless thing,
it needs
the metaphor of the body,
lime and appetite,
the oceanic fluids;
it needs the body’s world,
instinct
and imagination
and the dark hug of time,
sweetness
and tangibility,
to be understood,
to be more than pure light
that burns
where no one is –
so it enters us –
in the morning
shines from brute comfort
like a stitch of lightning;
and at night
lights up the deep and wondrous
drownings of the body
like a star.”
― Mary Oliver, Dream Work