Swathed in Spolinsky Sworvings
It must follow from the following that not only the world but the Christian lit of the world in MacDonald, Lewis, Williams, tolkein's myth-poetic is part and parcel of the following so that there is no lit shorn of these trappings to edify the spaare construct of the virgin with oil in the lamp. O'connor and Chesterield, are another brand of the same along with Dickens. all these are the literary streets Pilgrim progresses on his way to the holy city, the Babylons and Paris. What does it leave/ Only Kafka remains. and so I picked up the Way of Escape.
The
fallen angel mind imposed upon all human learning, early in Greek myths, late
in Jung/Freud, operators on a bridge that connects the former to the latter day. There is a double strand of layers to this bridge on whose
upper deck long legged thrones sit in rows whose feet hang down. Gyres of
immortal turpitudes of their feet hang down. They glow. Feet and head connect
as ampersand.
Under their seats of their thrones are endless home grown volumes of commentary and journal in every language stretch from one end of NPR to the other. This is the reality that the thrones as rulers are creating for their kings on the lower deck, who indulge this ferment by projecting it in the violent passion in the dreams of those below, the moon chained villages that live on the ground. Suspended from the deck so they can be seen by the villages on the ground, NPR stars in radium pyres flash like fireflies in nightjars. These were the stars that met the wishes always rising that the stars had sent. They could as easily have been plum-trees that grew crooked over the rivers overhung with ripe fruit to feed the gulls that circled in and out like wheels in wheels out of the eyes, but that was too OuTre, preserved in some cloud, on a disc? If not how will we know that any of it is true? Flying like butterflies in fall about the heads and necks of the NPR travelers, swallows of different colors dart. Hawks and chickens, ducks, white and red orange parrots thick as leaves in a wind. These are their thoughts, the beautiful puffed birds, powerful, corrupt, grotesque, are everything that could be said of bobbling on one ungainly foot.
so that all institutes of higher learning teach the archetypes, egregori thought control, begins with nursery rhymes and fairy tales, goes into teachings about animals and plants, all the Greek gods, Kabbalah paths, alchemical transformations, full moon meditations, astrological angles.
It is the angel unconscious projected upon the human by the fallens for human myth. Jung calls them archetypes. They are imposed to supplant what really happens, a new katabole where the myths become visible in media as mutant e-men, comic characters, scientists, superstar entertainers, football players. The fallen construct a universal world system suspended from this bridge just because they could, to flout it in the face and show their power, but their purpose is genetic, viz. to take women, always the spoil, and children, the sacrifice of war.
We call these bridges because those who cruise the lobbies of river mouths do. We should call them divine gates, and The bridges suspend from even greater reconstituted towers which fit the quantum structo, both and neither. We merely observe the algorithms, concurrent with our sympathy that runs in waves. In the case of vulgar idiots who profane this wilderness with every breath, the proof for this quantum info is to sell it to the masses with that analogy of plus, minus, either, both and maybe neither. In quantum landscape either/or every hill will valley, and every valley hill, and both maybe together invent a numbering beyond 100 where you stop.
The images flow upward from down below too. The tribal folk along the river give up visions and sound. Home and Rome become Holmes. Songs in this state of mind wear chartreuse clothes with yellow scarves and dandy hats that impersonate the nightjars. The ones below impersonate the ones above on a two way up and down. The up and down are one, the down up, the up down one. Projections of poems sail from the bridge, which is not over or under either, but around and through. Water birds inhabit winged trees there where high herons dive. On the hill shoulder, pears and parables of sun light descend to a rookery where Democracy makes love in her Sunkist hair to the alabaster plain of the moon. Winds turn the mother of pearl to blue. There are no lands or sun or stars. The crowd is singing of itself—House and Mouth, but neither exist in that way except as radiant abyss. Just the opposite of pure vacancy
Once this was called empirical thought, well designed, but don’t take my word for it, see for yourself. The boots of the kings lay in contempt upon the tomes of the books like necks, whose heads have been left below in the trees. Book heads, nicely bound in leather, lay on the ground like Egyptian mummies, at nice 7 degree angles too.
The egregore collective group mind, thoughtform or collective, an autonomous psychic entity made up of, and influencing, the thoughts of a group of people. The symbiotic relationship between an egregore and its group has been compared to the more recent, non-occult concepts of the corporation (as a legal entity) and the meme. But the egregore concept is itself a mask.
If the experience of the domination imposes Freudian mythologies as dreams, these dreams are kakangelic (Geoffrey Hartman). We might change the term to kaka-genic to describe this false inner speech and thought control. This implies how dirty it is, the piety of the sinister. Wrestling the suspended fallen angel of the unconscious anesthesizes the human as if a body part were removed. What is the bad news Freud brings? That civilization is demonic and we wish for its death couched in terms of Oedipus, the death of the father (you are of your father the devil). The ultimate demise of this unconscious is liberating since it is the demise of trauma in the first place, replaced by peace. Viewing the mind within is not a catalog of wounds accumulated from the Fall, but a redemption unknown to Freud.
Unmask Jung's dream interpretations and you will see they are tarot readings abstracted to Marvel Comic love of alchemy and I Ching. He is a tool, a medium for the daimon, not particular to him. This daimon is possession the same as out of Shinto where the collective fallen voice gives its one utterance in many symbols as an inversion of piety. Jung's unconscious is a series of tarot cartoons collected from similar omens in all national religions. A compendium of these inversions is offered sometimes as anthropology, sometimes as religion, sometimes as science. Jung's dissertation was a study of these as divination processes.
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Shaker room at Met
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Jung’s doctoral dissertation of the occult, in 1902, “On the Psychology and Pathology of So-Called Occult Phenomena,” written while working at the Burghölzli Psychiatric Clinic under Eugen Bleuler (who coined the term schizophrenia), likely stems from when
"Carl Gustav Jung was between three and four he had a dream which remained with him throughout his life. The vicarage in which the family lived stood near the Laufen castle, and there was a large meadow stretching back from the vicarage's farm. The child found himself in the meadow where he found a rectangular, stone-lined hole in the ground. Having never seen it before, he curiously peered down into it. There was a stairway leading down by which he hesitantly and fearfully descended. At the bottom was a doorway having a rounded arch and closed by a green curtain. It was a big, heavy curtain of worked stuff like brocade, and it looked very sumptuous. Curious to see what was behind it he pulled the curtain aside. He saw before him a dimly lit rectangular chamber about thirty feet long. The ceiling was arched of hewn stone. The floor was composed of flagstones with a central red carpet running from the entrance to a low platform on which stood a wonderfully rich golden throne. He was not certain but perhaps a red cushion was on the seat. It was a rich throne, like a king's throne in a fairy tale. Something was standing on it which he thought was a tree trunk about twelve to fifteen feet high and one and a half to two feet thick. It was a huge thing reaching almost to the ceiling. But it was made of a curious composition: it was made of skin and naked flesh, and on top there was something like a rounded head with no face and no hair. On the very top of the head was a single eye, gazing motionlessly upward." here
Dreams correct lopsided consciousness, i.e. give their opposites to correct. All quasi repository myth from Babylon, Rome, Sumer and the Nemo is a fraud chimera of true and false to take over the unconscious. Celebrated deconstructions of death, the death of the text, the death of the author, the death of the reader are canonized doctrines of this false religion of the death of the unconscious. The elite, having killed everything else but themselves do so in order to bring the Paleozoic to life, with the giants, and ET/AI to worship the unconscious and the stars! Ho. Ho. Their faith is as solid as Napolean's penis. You should ask if so then what is true? Like Pilate. The fallen angel unconscious is a projected melange broadcast into human thought whose mythic symbols must be destroyed.
The Interpretation of Dreams is neither science nor fiction but a confessional literature of attempted self-justification. Geoffrey Hartman says Interpretation is new text in the sense that such dream accounts, even if they existed before Freud, only exist after him in this style. It is difficult to turn thought into language. Inner experience has its own history of this exegesis in Kierkegaard. Freud's is the ultimate particular of these narratives, a style that became the standard of inner speech, a mythology of cloak and boot, espionage of the outer imposed upon the inner, except that we ask who is spying on who if the outer is drawn into this miasma. Such confessions are fiction, but they establish their own texts and are revered more than fiction, more like religion. Jung pretends his religion of the unconscious has some kind of order in its archetypes, but it is as a groom of the stool, to clean the refuse generated by an unspeakable polluted king. In Freud the dream is like a sentence without end or purpose.
Hartman cites Philip Rieff on Freud's piety of the sinister. This is called inverse piety to separate it from a true form of piety such as Johann Arndt's, Wahren Christenthem, known and practiced. Freud brings only the bad news of the psyche and offers no hope for it except more of itself and its celebration in analysis. These profanations are wrestlings with the fallen angel of the unconscious, "profanations defamation, self-slander, equivocation, distortion ambivalence, displacement, repression, censorship"(Hartman. The Critic's Journey, 214). The unmasking of Freud's method of analysis is called an interpretive sculpting in excrement by Kenneth Burke. Sleep is just anesthetic enough to reveal this fall into the katabol remnants that remain. Visions to this effect while we live and feel the miracle of life and nature are miracles in themselves. Even in the anti authority of 20th century doctrine Freud poses a universal human nature of the fall glimpsed in dreams, a monotheism of science which considers the unified field real, but not much else. The unified field would be the one of opposites, death and life, evil and good, unconscious and conscious, for only in the unconscious do we glimpse our true desperation. Slumber, sleep walk, wish produce complacency in these numb viewers in their anesthetic, so that the mass of humanity makes religion out of dreams which Hartman calls kakangelic. "Freud brings bad (kaka) news about the psyche, and offers no cure except through the very activity-analysis- which reveals this news" (Critic's Journey, 212).
These are the freight cars of oppression that have rolled the human rails, except for the foundation of Israel to oppose them. Not that the modern Israel is not perverted. Fallen forces want to perpetuate all human guilt, to prevent the forgiveness for sin that the letter to the Romans makes so clear. Our sin can be forgiven, their's cannot, but we have to rehearse our forgiveness, its healing and hope on every occasion that those thoughts inculcated in myth, psychology and politics emerge. Constantly. This battle for righteousness taking shape in our lives is the sole purpose of our existence, for we are in a war to the death with these fallen forces. They occupied the earth long before our creation, which is intended to supplant them. Since they think as fallen ones think, they seek to restore the world to themselves by destroying the human. They own all of science, all of CERN, all of D-Wave, and all of Singularity Net, all of hybridization...and the list goes on. There only one thing they didn't count on. It was that the blood of Jesus would save us from our sins.